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amps on 10 and a sunrise in tow: the best songs of 2005 (part two)Jan 12 '06 (Updated Jan 15 '06) Write an essay on this topic.
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The Bottom Line (The second half of my Buy None, Get Two Free sale)
********** As I said in part one, with its introduction-like introduction, I’ve created a two-cd mix of my favorite songs of 2005, copies available for the asking. As a representation of my musical year, the set’s pretty good, but 158 minutes is only so much room. Two major oversights: 1) The mixes forget to honor how much shiny dance-pop I enjoyed this past year. No Gwen Stefani’s “What You Waiting for?”, nor Robyn’s “Who’s That Girl?”, nor Girls Aloud’s “Biology”, nor Pay TV’s snarky “Refrain Refrain”, nor Baxendale’s “I Built This City”. At some point I’ll overlook enough that I can collect it together and make a lovely exercise workout tape. Hey, I’m skinny. I’ll have credibility. 2) Intentionally, the mixes skip some songs I fear most people would hate. Long, hyper-complex rock with classical or even jazz influences (Dream Theater’s “Panic Attack”, Underground Railroad’s “Julian Ur”); weird avant-gardism (OOIOO’s “Grow Sound Tree”) and underground rap (Pedestrian’s “Jane 2: Electric Boogaloo”); songs that sound like they were made by half-insane 9-year-olds (Applied Communications’ “Do You Know What I’m Saying?”, Gabby LaLa’s “Be Careful What You Wish for”). Of course, I didn’t think a lot of people would like System of a Down, so what do I know? ********** As a brief diversion, I decided here to list, in public, how I came to be aware of the songs on these discs (which, in some cases, does mean how I became aware of the artist ten years ago and kept buying everything they made). For all my reputation as “obscure” or “informative”, my methods amount to “the voices outside my head told me to buy this record”. Witness: RADIO/VIDEO: Clarkson, Zeppelin/Plant, NIN, System. A MUCH-MISSED RADIO SHOW CALLED “OFF THE BEATEN PATH”: New Model Army. REVIEWS (by strangers): Porcupine, Dar, New Porn, Sufjan, Decemberists. NEGATIVE REVIEWS: Horse, Count Zero. I like it when a band’s accused of having too many ideas. NIFTY ALBUM COVER: (Rheostatics, which led to) Ford Pier. MP3 BLOGS: Comet, Fitzgerald, StJude’s, Jackson, Troubled, Cantankerous, Stairs, Spingla, Shallows. If you’re not aware of MP3 blogs, they’re a wonderful novelty: you just need to find a crank who writes well and has good taste, and when they review a song, they’ll make it (temporarily) available for free download, just as I offer free mixes. They tend to focus on the overlooked artists that don’t get free play by more normal methods – as a reader and downloader who can play the song ten times if you want, you’re basically hearing an instantly-generated hit single. And if you like the song, you can buy the record; it works, I’d say, as well as buying an album for a great radio song does. Not a knock: I say that as someone who _likes_ his Jesus Jones, EMF, and Primitive Radio Gods albums. And the biggest category: FRIENDS AND FRIENDLY ACQUAINTANCES: In these specific cases, Eric led to me to Okkervil and Sage, Mike to Decomposure (with a co-assist on Beck), Jer to Spektor and the Weekend, Drew to Common, Liz to Beck, Garbage, and Sleater (with a co-assist on Common). My Mom long ago introduced me to Tori, glenn mcdonald to Low, Adam Turner to Propagandhi, Miles Goosens to Fluid Ounces, Jeff Norman to his own work. Thanks, everyone; this small sampling seriously understates y’all’s contributions to my music life. When ten people make a record seem interesting, I’ll believe them; but when one person I trust makes a record seem interesting, I’ll believe that person, too. More votes isn’t democracy in action, it’s marketing and attention-span. Someone’s gotta be gullible enough to be convinced _fast_. I enjoy the role; feel welcome to join me. ********** Disc Two: Amps on 10 and a Sunrise in Tow Monkey Typing Pool, “Study Rain” Made by a friendly acquaintance of mine – Jeff Norman, whose weblog (spanghew.blogspot.com) reminds me of how I'd write if I understood "brevity" – “Study Rain” has the geekiest possible origins: in Jeff’s attempt to turn a cryptic spam e-mail and two obscure book passages into an impression of early R.E.M. The result, however, is (like Murmur) far too lovely and elusive and haunting to show its dorky roots, even as you read the lyrics an 8th time and spot the angry political thread that holds the words together. Jeff’s early-Stipe impression is spot-on, while, with the pitter-pat of the drum machines and gentle ringing of the keyboards, I honestly prefer this to almost all _real_ R.E.M. songs. And let us be clear: I like R.E.M. a lot. Sufjan Stevens, “They are Night Zombies! They are Neighbors! Run for Your Lives! Aaaaaahhh!” The second-geekiest possible origins: after writing a critically-adored album (Greetings from Michigan) about the state in which he made his life, Sufjan Stevens carelessly pledged to write one album apiece about _every_ state, such as Illinois, so that suddenly he was writing tunes in the library while dog-earing encyclopedia entries. On "Night Zombies", he uses his ignorance. As the choir of white women blankly sing of “Logan, Grant, and Reagan, in the grave with Xylophagan”, of “Comer and Potato Peelers! G-R-E-E-N Ridge! Reeders! M-C-V-E-Y, and Horace, E-N-O-S, start the chorus”, they of course are not summoning people but jotted notes: ashes to ashes to multiple-choice quizzes that everyone dreads. That’s exactly why – to piano and solemn Dire Straits-y guitar, to vibraphone and building strings – the dead must rise from the grave, grab us by the shoulders, and make us remember to care. We should pay attention; one day it will be our turn. Tori Amos, “General Joy” Piano and solemn refracted guitar and shuffling trap drums can also, of course, be used to protest the production of new corpses, by leaders who think more production of anything is good. Common, “the Corner” When you protest the death dealt by rich white presidents, maybe you can afford understated beauty. When you protest the death dealt by people who dropped out of your own high school classes, it helps to rap to a steady, swingin’ beat, and your jazz chords should cut in and out abruptly. Beck, “Rental Car” And when you sing about death, kick-the-can, and driving around as just random bored equivalents, you should spice up that beat with funky guitar, a jolly verse melody to lift your tired voice, and an absurdly peppy a-cappella breakdown by a cute girl you once met on a double-bill with her band. Ford Pier, “I Don’t Know Nothin bout Nothin” Beck tends to sound playfully lazy. Ford Pier’s playfulness here – and his awareness that frantic punk rock is best with stop/start rhythms, plonky marimbas (xylophones?), and a singer who’d probably make a fine opera tenor if he ever stood in one place and took a deep breath – comes from over-thinking, to the point where the two dubious assumptions in “I think, therefore I am” stop being easy to swallow, and then everything else falls down. A metaphysical choice between running around in a panic and running around for joy … but who says the opposition implied by “choice” is real, either? Jackson and his Computer Band, “Rock On” Dance music for yoga masters on sudden amphetamine highs; a Lose Weight through Epileptic Seizures workout plan for the easily bothered; Thriller as seen through a mirror maze, a prism, and a prankish animator who set his Pixar CGI-art program on “Shuffle”. Weekend, “Kick Myself” Straightens the synthesizer lines out, brings in the guitar / bass / drums, charges full speed ahead, and makes a pop song for an early-1980’s revival that doesn’t (for once) pretend the rock audience was more elite, more afraid to dance, or less fond of big hair and power chords than it was. Garbage, “Sex is Not the Enemy” The bouncy pop song for, by contrast, a totally inaccurate mid-1990’s revival, in which the grunge guitars and trudging bass-lines never kept anyone from sounding like they were having a great time. Might contain the stupidest lyrics about “revolution” ever heard, but Shirley Manson sounds cool singing them, and she also sings in favor of sex, so it all works out. Troubled Hubble, “Ear, Nose and Throat” Ever since R.E.M.’s “It’s the End of the World as We Know It” – and Billy Joel’s “We Didn’t Start the Fire”, a potentially great song derailed only by an icky chorus that proved Joel had nothing to say – I’ve wondered why more bands don’t write songs in its formula. It doesn’t seem hard. You need one note for most of the verse (one more than the average rap song, sure, but do-able); a fast, steady, loud pace, the vocals rushing a little ahead of the beat; a bunch of disconnected phrases that, put next to each other, are evocative enough to seem like they might advance an argument; and a soaring chorus, flying out from your favorite chord, tying things together loosely with a big, abstract theme. “Ear, Nose, and Throat” is the first attempt at such a hit I’ve heard in 15 years, and while Lookout! Records apparently couldn’t duplicate Green Day’s success for them at will, it’s a heck of an exciting single. Sleater-Kinney, “Entertain” Maybe the fiercest, most squalling, most martial pop song ever to unmistakably _be_ a pop song, which I imagine is why it’s been such an alterna-hit. The lyrics make a big fuss over being anti-nostalgia and anti-entertainment, and okay, cool; but I don’t hear them inventing any new instruments or notes or methods, and I darned well enjoy every second of this music, so may Sleater-Kinney forgive me for missing the point, as long as I go remind everyone to buy their records. Which they do make and sell, so, yeah. System of a Down, “B.Y.O.B.” Maybe the most batshiit whatever-the-heck to ever be played, regularly, amid a bunch of pop songs. (This gives me hope for the world.) A jumpy, hyper cavalcade of vocal tones, screwed-up rhythms, hammering beats, Stevie Wonderisms, howled poetry, and surprisingly catchy anti-war rage. Cantankerous, “Flesh Roast” “Industrial” music and “pop” music are thought to be very different categories. Dunno why. They’re both made with lots of help from machines, they both tend to layer lots of sounds onto simple melodies, they’re both usually built for dancing, and they’re both more fun when the singer has self-confidence and a cute sneer. Cantankerous invite us to hop around singing about evil lynch mobs, aided by bass, synths, low buzzy “boingggg” noises, and fiddle. What’s not fun about that? Stairs, “Escape Clause” But then, I still expect my pure pop songs to be bouncy, to pile melody on melody on melody, and to be sung so we can make out all the words, even if they baffle us. The Stairs aim to be Boston’s version of the New Pornographers ... or maybe of the superstars the New Pornographers ought to be. Or neither, I never met’em; what you lookin’ at me for? Count Zero, “Schizoid Astroplane” Speaking of Boston bands, Count Zero have come to sound less claustrophobic, less ridiculous, and more, er, twangy than they were when I grew to love them. But their intelligence, sideways tunefulness, analytical picked-on jadedness about male / female relationships, and stilted robotic charm are still right there on display. Jen Spingla, “Smaller” Basic kickass rock’n’roll, twangy only in the sense that Tom Petty’s Heartbreakers ever were. A relationship song for the methodical, who prefer to outline the pitfalls _before_ there’s a need to be jaded. “I will judge you fairly/ I just ask that you judge me fairly too/ and lose those expectations/ cuz we don’t deserve that, you know”. Worth a try, surely. Low, “Monkey” The creepy twilight shadow of kickass rock’n’roll. The guitar is heard only in its shimmers of feedback, the bass in its near-subliminal buzz; the church organ warms up to bury someone who isn’t technically dead yet, and the truly lovely duet vocals sigh around each other like they’re meeting over opposite sides of a wall topped with barbed wire. “Tonight you will be mine” is often presented in pop songs as a romantic sentiment, but there’s an aura of threat and judgment behind those expectations, and Low are far too honest to pretend otherwise. Mary Timony, “In the Grass” Dreamy and nightmarish are a thin, hazy line apart, and if Timony’s melodic sense and flat vocals would fit on a Low record, this particular bed of cymbals and organs and glockenspiel is something I can float away on _without_ assuming gravity will wake up and nab me any second now. Timony’s an incredibly underrated guitarist, but that may be, in part, because she keeps writing such compelling songs with no guitar at all. Thee More Shallows, “ 2 a.m.” Despite the lovely xylophone hook and soft fake choir, this isn’t quite a dreamy song – in part because of the unsettling tendrils of just-off-key bass and just-over-the-hill bombing raids, and in part because it’s a weary-voiced song about that jerkoff upstairs neighbor who won’t stop playing sledgehammer hockey with his elephant to maximum-volume Motley Crue. The ultimate unused rock song topic, played with grace, beauty, and the unmistakable feeling of almost, almost arriving at a state of blessed nothingness. But if you reached it, of course, the album would end and you wouldn’t hit re-start or find another one to play. Or read a book, or pet a cat, or work off extra calories by slamming your fist into your pillow with frustration. You’d go from “dreamy”, which makes for great songs, to “out cold”. Boring! It’s 2 a.m., and you don’t have to be up for five more hours. Shouldn’t you re-think your priorities?  |
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