2011 Music Lists (3)

Long time coming: 2011's #5-1

5. Tune-Yards – Whokill

“My Country,” the stunning opener of Whokill, is a barbaric yawp, a righteous tantrum and a declaration of independence. For 3.5 minutes, Merrill Garbus absolutely shreds my country with X-Acto jabs, and then defies genre-fication over the remaining nine tracks. This album bulges with Hard Rain pictures of life in America, and Garbus is raw, hopeful, seductive, ruthless and terrified in the face of her homeland experience. This album astonishes both lyrically and sonically, as each track builds into an agile sonic vessel for such diverse and powerful subject matter.

4. Miracle Fortress – Was I the Wave?

Over the last few years I’ve seen more of this “chill wave” creep into my discography. It isn’t an accident, it turns out. Was I the Wave? was immediately easy to love. Icy intro “Awe” seamlessly blurs into “Tracers,” setting an unaffected mood, but Miracle Fortress get more melodic and more sonically interesting on “Raw Spectacle.” The Drop comes about halfway in while maintaining its breathy melody and flitting synths. “Spectre” evolves further with bright melodies and harmonies riding a tide of 80s dance pop. Several songs hit the sweet spot of melodic and standoffish, dance-y grooves. I can’t help but shake my white self. “Everything Works” and “Miscalculations” continue in the same vein. You get the picture.

3. Davila 666 – Tan Bajo

“Menudo on drugs” can only partially describe Davila 666’s squalor-filled Puerto Rican punk. Cringe-inducing lyrics such as “no te gusta que te toquen, pues cabrona no provoques” abound as do tales of societal unrest (“Esa Nena Nunca Regresó”), frustrated relationships (“Yo Sería Otro”) and general angst (“¡Diablo!”). Aside from aligning themselves with punk’s thematic cannon, Davila 666 string plenty of hooks together to give extra thrust to their desperation. I like “Noche de Terror” in particular; it might be the strongest single song for its bouncing chorus that celebrates horror and pleasure. This blending of fear, anger and vulnerability make for a unique feel throughout and is one of the reasons that Davila 666 made the best album foreign album I heard all year.

2. Kurt Vile – Smoke Ring for My Halo

“I don’t wanna change, but I don’t wanna stay the same

I don’t wanna go but I’m runnin’

I don’t wanna work but I don’t wanna sit around

all day frownin.”

He’s a bit more depressed than the restless troubadours of On the Road, but Kurt Vile hangs his hat on a come-what-may ethos fleshed out in these acoustic musings. I’m mostly reminded of Tom Petty on songs “Jesus Fever” and “In My Time,” but other forefathers may surface elsewhere. Smoke Ring for My Halo: bed-ridden folk in a bottle that washed up on my shore. It might not have.

1. The Dodos – No Color

2008’s Visiter’s torrent of acoustic fury and chaotic percussion was just so damn unexpected. The following year’s Time to Die collapsed under its predecessor’s weight (for me). A sophomore slump? Perhaps. The Dodos experimented with more ornate arrangements (strings, etc.) in lieu of their earlier base formula: rabidly-strummed guitar and manic banging of sticks on drumlike things. 2011’s No Color was a cautious reach for me; I didn’t want The Dodos to end up a one-off in my memory when their sound was so unique and expressive. Happily, as you may discern from the ranking, to my ear No Color is everything Time to Die wanted to be so badly. Here, The Dodos careen through nine tracks of the same acoustic earnestness that made Visiter so exciting while also finding time to work in a decent amount of peripheral instruments. “Uhhhhhhhhhhh!!!” I’m listening to it now and that’s the only sound that expresses what it feels like to hear any of the first several tracks. They carry so much emotional intensity with just the instrumentation. Then, overlaid with sincere (and occasionally deeply profound) lyrics, sung in increasingly inviting melodies is just too. damn. good. for me to express. Loud live The Dodos.

2011 Music Lists (2)

Favorite Albums of the Year #10-6

10. Deerhoof - Deerhoof vs. Evil

Ranking among the most accessible collections in their run of great albums, Deerhoof still hold true to their sprightly garage rock sound. At this point, I’ve stopped wondering whether I’m going to enjoy their releases or not: just purchase and enjoy. Satomi Matsuzaki’s youthful vocals continue to be counterbalanced by other band members’ chimings-in, which lends the band broader emotional dexterity. Consistent, inventive and playful. This is Deerhoof.

9. Youth Lagoon - The Year of Hibernation

This series of warm-blooded broodings flickers best in interior spaces: hollows, hallways and nestled dens. However, I feel confident that, given the ability to embed speakers into the ground, this album would thaw my wintery yard over 42 minutes. As such, it’s been a grower for me over the cooler parts of the year, and its soft melodies have soundtracked many early winter sunsets.

8. Real Estate - Days

Can my catalogue possibly hold another guitar-driven indie band? Yes, apparently. A good jangle here, some wholehearted melodies there, and you’ve got Ways. Standout “It’s Real” is a top five song-and-video of the year both for combining its theme (love’s sobriety) and sound (textbook jangle rock) with the joyous memories of family dogs. These guys may be LATFH material, but they’re also a kind of Shins Light – and that ends up not being such a bad thing at all.

7. ...And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead - Tao of the Dead

It’s been nearly ten years since 2002’s once-in-a-decade burner Source Tags and Codes. Since then, the Trail of Dead have received a couple of second looks from me, but nothing has (nor could ever) come close to that enduring record. It’s time to recognize that even though they may never repeat that, they shouldn’t be expected to – and furthermore: this album rocks pretty damn hard and without some of the overwrought tendencies they’ve become known for. Rocking and getting rocked: this defines our relationship. That’s how it should have always been.

6. Wilco - The Whole Love

After a forgivable misstep in the eyes of many (2009’s Wilco: The Album), Wilco once again cement themselves in my mind as one of the most consistent bands churning out albums today. I keep wondering just how deep Jeff Tweedy’s song well can reach, cause he’s still pulling out gems (“I Might”, “Born Alone”). The biggest, though, is the 12-minute acoustic closer, “One Sunday Morning.” Like a 12-mile drive down a sun-baked gravel road, the scenery doesn’t change much, the sounds consistent, the hills rolling in rhythm, an apex on the horizon only opens up to more of the same, vast and unending. “One Sunday Morning” weeps softly with well-earned laments about religion, family and death. Nearly 20 years in, Wilco show no signs of letting off the gas.

2011 Music Lists (1)

Songs I loved on albums I didn't:

"Me Gusta La Noche" - Adrianigual (from Éxito Mundial)

Everything I know about Chile I learned from Adrianigual and this video. And Pablo Neruda. ...And Diamela Eltit. Ok, so I know some things about Chile, but this song/video opened a Whole New World for me. They pose a cross-cultural question: are these guys heroes of the uncool or just coolyears ahead of everyone? I always sensed that there was more behind the Latin music curtain, but never something so fresh and perfectly odd. Song and video of the year on a disappointing album.

Atlas Sound - "Mona Lisa" (from Parallax)

Expectations were high after Bradford Cox's excellent Logos (2009), and Deerhunter's stellar Halcyon Digest (2010). Parallax didn't resonate with me as strongly, but a couple songs stand among my favorites from his catalogue. "Mona Lisa" putters along sweetly for three minutes. The weightlessness of the acoustic verse and chorus folds nicely over a middle section of warm electric strums. Hits me right in that indie rock sweet spot.

Battles - "Ice Cream" (from Gloss Drop)

I'm overwhelmed by this band. Even at low volume, the sheer intensity of every sound coming out of the speakers threatens to deafen. At higher volumes, you're just bringing new epileptics into the world. With this in mind, it hardly seems fit to call "Ice Cream" a "song." It's more of an experience. As rough as the first 50 seconds are, they appropriately introduce the onslaught of noise waiting on the other side. This is aural caffeine.

Neon Indian - "Polish Girl" (from Era Extraña)

Alan Palomo apparently isn't the best of singers, but he's found a place for himself in the world of electropop. The futuristic video pairs well with this robotic jam, whose unfolding synthesized layers grow in warmth from an icy intro - aided by Palomo's breathy, falling melody. I like. The rest of the album's actually pretty durn good, too.

Young Galaxy - "Peripheral Visionaries" (from Shapeshifting)

I heard this song on a blog and found its infectious groove hard to shake. The soft pull of bongos, wavy synth, bouncing bass and some delicate riffage sets you drifting past a verse/chorus before soaring vocals and newer, moodier riffage takes over. Then a stadium-sized coda?? The rest of album failed to live up to this single, but Young Galaxy nailed this song.

Costa Rica

"¡Pura Vida!" says the teacher.

"¡Pura Vida! ¡Pura Vida!

Everything is Pura Vida!

Hear, oh you streets!"

The sun rises and the sun sets,

the ocean and the gulf nestle,

the rocks lie and trees wave,

the leaves grow eternal green.

"¡Pura Vida!" says the teacher.

"¡Pura es la Vida! ¡Santa sea la Vida!

Listen, you wanderers of earth!

Be understood, you mysteries!"

What is Pura cannot become imPura.

He who knows Pureza has Vida.

It was Pura long before the word.

It will be Pura long after all words fade.

"Pura, Pura, Pura es la Santa Vida!"

What I Know Now

This is an attempt at retrospective musical analysis, specifically to enshrine a few of the artists that I've recently uncovered that did not form part of my recent listening diet. The most significant musical landmark is Davila 666, a Puerto Rican indie garage rock band that flat out rocks. Following the release of their excellent album Tan Bajo this year, I began to peruse the internet for reviews and stumbled upon clubfonograma.com, a site that specializes in reviewing and promoting independent Latin music. A flood of new music soon flowed downhill into my eardrums, so I've only just scraped the surface of the thriving Latin indie scene that I've been wanting for years.

Café Tacvba - Cuatro Caminos (2003)

Released in 2003, this album plays like a time capsule of best indie rock of the past two decades. Often irreverent and straightforward, with an equal dose of genuineness, this album holds its own as a monument to off-kilter rock/n/roll Mexico style. The particular flair of the singing style affords enough versatility to be able to include such tracks as "Eres" and "Cero y Uno" in the same cohesive body. Fresh and accesible, I can't believe this album is almost a decade old.

Javiera Mena - Esquemas Juveniles (2006)

Her voice is weak, her style is shamelessly retro/hipster, yet Javiera Mena has a trump card: she means every bit of it. After my first listen through of "Al Siguiente Nivel," Mena's major single from the album, I felt like I'd heard an inspired, once-in-a-generation claim that I couldn't help but embrace. She stamps the end of the song's chorus with "This is going in the direction of my generation, which is going to move on to the next level," and, cynic that I am, I was helpless to oppose her anthem despite the retro overkill and synthe-saturation. She's got my ear. 2010's "Mena" wasn't quite as revolutionary, but it still makes Mena an artist that I'll be following for some time to come.

Cass McCombs - Catacombs (2009)

This album was on my year-end list for 2009 in the 9th spot out of 10, so it may seem strange to speak of it in the same breath as these newer-to-me albums. All I can say is that this album refuses to leave me alone. I walk down the street and find myself humming a melody, pigeoning my head forward and back to a riff, or concentrating on a specific lyric's meaning. It's a collection of songs that are sarcastic, clever and soulful, all while being just catchy enough to keep my interest - like that pinch of salt that seems to pull all the flavors together. There is a palpable world-weariness throughout the songs, leaking out through the restrained sincerity of McCombs's voice. Good song: "You Saved My Life". Fun song: "The Executioner's Song".

Odisea - Odisea Odiseo (2010)

These guys (this guy) sound not unlike a Chilean version of Scissor Sisters, employing plenty of hooky poppy dance-y "hooky dance-pop". "Cabros" is the single and standout, but there's a whole summer's worth of fun crammed into this one. Lucky I found it before the heat did this year. Now I'm ready.

On patriotism and USA soccer fandom

So I've never put on an american flag poncho, unlike formidable patriot Kid Rock. I've probably never bought a flag in my lifetime. The only times I remember donning patriotic apparel or chanting things like "U-S-A," are when I get riled up to see the USMNT (United States Men's National Team) play. This could be part of a larger series about patriotism in general, but I mainly mean to address sports today.

I own two USA shirts, one is a jersey and the other a vintage T from the '84 olympics in L.A., but I wonder: does this make me a minority in my country? I wonder how many patriotic articles of clothing my peers own. I wonder if they're ever worn, additionally. Part of me thinks there must be something wrong with that, but I'm also fairly certain that I'd fall on the "more patriotic clothing" side of the divide.

When standing for sporting events to honor the flag I feel strange. Two equally powerful thoughts run through my mind simultaneously: 1) Honor the fallen soldiers. Do it. Just think about them. Think about the suffering and how they contributed to your freedom, Aaron. It might not make a lot of sense, but just stand there and THINK. Think think think and think. Thank them from the inside of your brain. .....There. See? Easy. 2) You are opposed to war, so think about what the country means to you in other ways. Think about how hard life would be elsewhere, or something. Yeah, think about that. Get all of the cerebral frustrations out of the way and just think that this place is great. Think it!

You see, I have some misgivings when it comes to being proud of my country, yet I'll turn out for any USMNT match with a flag-bandana around my neck and a redwhiteandblue jersey across my chest.

In my time in Spain and the rest of Europe, I learned to speak Spanish first, even in the middle of Belgium where it was certain no one spoke the language, just to distance myself from the hailstorm of incursions and assumptions against me that were often the result of realizing they were speaking with an american. The man who yelled "Bush is Hitler!!" two inches from my face didn't alter my already dissatisfied view of our president at the time, but he did make me wish I were Canadian, if only for the normal conversation we would instead be having.

All foreign experiences aside, when I consider how much I care about the USMNT, I am reminded that my passion has grown because of the USMNT's underdog status. As americans, we're underdogs in almost nothing. How unexciting does the olympic medal count become when we continue to sit atop it? Isn't it more of a story when we aren't leading the standings? To reduce my/our patriotism or lack thereof to sports would be foolish, though. The reality is, for decades we have sat on top of the leader board of the world as well. Since Britain began to fade as a world power after WWI, it's been the U-S-A's party to reign over.

My lifetime has been an experience of this hegemony, and the centrality of my country on the world scene has only slightly shifted. Things may be changing little by little, but that is beside the point: everyone loves an underdog. My country hasn't been an underdog since I've been alive - neither in the sporting sense nor the political/socio-economic sense. The USMNT is one of few (and probably permanent) refuges for the underdog lovers in this country. There's just not as much joy in watching your country's teams accomplish what they should be able to accomplish at the olympics when compared to watching Landon Donovan bury the loose ball in extra time against Algeria at the World Cup. If we were once a nation that claimed the underdog spirit as a fixture of the american way (i'm thinking the Revolutionary War here), that spirit has long dissipated in almost every international arena but soccer.

So tonight I'll go wearing my shirt to watch the USMNT play Argentina, no longer wondering why I only bear these colors for this particular event: the spirit of the underdog still lives.

Words

In closing his chapter on "Corners," Gaston Bachelard remarks extensively on the spacial qualities of words. The Poetics of Space has been a very enjoyable read so far, and there's this small section that I will likely read and reread for years to come. So I'm gonna write 'bout it!

My love of words and language is still in its infancy. I have yet to learn Latin, French or any other non-latin alphabet language. This text put forth an as yet unimagined understanding of words that involves their spacial properties:

"The intellectualist philosopher who wants to hold words to their precise meaning, and uses them as the countless little tools of clear thinking, is bound to be surprised by the poet's daring. And yet a syncretism of sensitivity keeps words from crystallizing into perfect solids. A new environment allows the word to enter not only into one's thoughts, but also into one's daydreams. Language dreams.

...We find ourselves experiencing in words, on the inside of words, secret movements of our own. Like friendship, words sometimes swell, at the dreamer's will, in the loop of a syllable. While in other words, everything is calm, tight. Words--I often imagine--are little houses, each with its cellar and garret. Common-sense lives on the ground floor, always ready to engage in "foreign commerce," on the same level as the others, as the passers-by, who are never dreamers. To go upstairs in the word house, is to withdraw, step by step; while to go down to the cellar is to dream, it is losing oneself in the distant corridors of an obscure etymology, looking for treasures that cannot be found in words. To mount and descend in the words themselves--this is a poet's life. To mount too high or descend too low, is allowed in the case of poets, who bring earth and sky together. Must a philosopher be condemned by his peers always to live on the ground floor?"

Language furnishes our lives. It allows us to explain away the day, to communicate pain and to dissect the nuances of all that existence brings our way. The nature and function of language as a human tool has often kept me daydreaming semiotic theory instead of whatever I would have otherwise been doing. But to speak of words themselves as having interior space--that is, etymological, poetic and generally malleable space--is a strange yet completely understandable thought. There is always a past beneath the linguistic dust (the cellar), as revealing as it may be dormant. And often, we use words beyond their literal meaning (going upstairs), knowing we have taken a step away from the word itself, but afforded no other morpheme that both speaker and hearer could agree upon.

The final lines of the text are perfect in their explanation of the function of poets and poetry in the world. They are the great stretchers and shapers of words, the ones who furnish both our waking and sleeping dreams, and it is because of this that they may be the ones most worth our ears' attention.