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"What Christmas Means to Me"
Adrienne's holiday song picks:
"Riu Chiu" — The Monkees. Hate 'em or love 'em, this pre-fab band's take on a classic choral piece is dazzling.
"Baby It's Cold Outside" — Johnny Mercer and Margaret Whiting. Not exactly a "holiday" song but certainly one that makes you want to snuggle up by the fire with a mug of egg nog.
"Happy Holidays, Y'all" — Robert Earl Keen. Heart and humor and a verse about Nicorette
"Christmas Wrapping" — The Waitresses. A perfect song that the Spice Girls couldn't even ruin.
"St. Stephen's Day Murders" — The Chieftains with Elvis Costello. It ain't all about peace, love and understanding.
"The Coventry Carol" — Alison Moyet. Better than wassail to cure what ails you.
Jesse's holiday picks:
"Fairytale of New York" — The Pogues w/Kirsty MacColl. Key lyric: "You scumbag/ You maggot/ You cheap lousy faggot/ Merry Christmas your arse/ I pray God it's our last"
"White Christmas" — Bing Crosby. Bing invented Christmas.
"2000 Miles" — The Pretenders. The saddest Christmas song ever...
"Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)" — Darlene Love. ...except for this one...
"Christmas in Prison" — John Prine. ....or maybe this one.
"F—k Christmas" — Fear. Predictable, dumb, and funny.
"Santa Claus is Coming to Town" — Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band. Predictable, dumb, and funny.
"I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm" — Billie Holiday. More a winter song than a Christmas song per se. As warm as she ever got.
Barry Henderson's [away with you traditionalists!] holiday picks:
"Ukrainian Bell Carol" — any quality choral group. The only Christmas music with pace worthy of the season.
"God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" — Nat King Cole. His version takes a standard and soars.
"Good King Wenceslas" — The Prague Madrigalists. Lousy king (actually a prince); good music; great performers.
"Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire" — Natalie Cole. Wonderful family for caroling, no?
"Silent Night" — Joan Baez. The only voice on earth that does it justice. Take that Carole King! And the nice thing is you'll find her "O Holy Night" and "O Come, O Come Emannuel" on the same album (Noel).
Joe Tarr's holiday picks (I love several of the above too, so don't label me jaded and mopey):
"Millie Pulled A Pistol On Santa" — De La Soul. Christmas and Santa are often used to disguise cruelty.
"Father Christmas" — the Kinks. Christmas is not supposed to be angry and bitter like this Ray Davies classic, but let's face it: a holiday promoting love, giving and brotherhood has been twisted by our greedy society to become an orgy of consumption. At no other time of the year are the haves so distinguishable from the have-nots.
"River" — Joni Mitchell. At its heart Christmas is about wishing to transcend our mundane, often sad, lives. Who doesn't want a river to skate away on?
"Christmas Time in the Mountains" — Palace. Will Oldham identifies the real enemy—time. We need an enemy.
"Another Lonely Christmas" — Prince. There is no longing comparable to the one that cuts across a grave. And no other time when the absence of those we've buried is felt so strongly.
"Merry Christmas Baby, I Don't Want to Fight" — The Ramones. It's snowing outside and it's a cruel damn world, but tonight, darling, will you just curl up with me on the couch with a bottle of wine?
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Some looks back at the songs that rocked while 2000 rolled.
Instead of the usual pretense about "10 best" and so forth, we decided to abandon all hope of comprehensiveness (waddya think we are, Entertainment Weekly?) and compile some freely subjective mix tapes. Worth noting: nobody made all four lists, but one band (Yo La Tengo) made three, and several made it onto two. Of what we heard this year, this is some of what we liked:
Lee G.'s 2000 Mix Tape
"Music"—Madonna, from Music. Come on, you know you love it.
"Corazon"—Titan, from Elevator. The Mexican Beastie Boys get funkier than their Yankee counterparts. And they're brave enough to wear mullets full-time.
"Say My Name"—Destiny's Child, from The Writing's On the Wall. Yes, they're dumb-as-paint producer's puppets, but this is a sharp, smart R&B song in a year running short on such.
"Samba Do Gringo Paulista"—Suba, from Sao Paulo Confessions. A Serbian-born Brazilian electronic-music producer introduces house music to the samba.
"Livin' Was Easy"—The Glands, from The Glands. The return of slacker rock, with bonus CSN&Y harmonies.
"Ms. Jackson"—Outkast, from Stankonia. A long overdue apology to all the baby's-mother mothers out there.
"Theme De Yoyo"—The Art Ensemble of Chicago, from Les Stances a Sophie. R&B diva Fontella Bass joins the Art Ensemble for a freshly reissued epic groove piece/blow-out that sounds as fresh today as it did in 1970.
"Moody"—ESG, from A South Bronx Story. Spooky, minimalist funk from the early '80s, hitting CD for the first time.
"How to Disappear Completely"—Radiohead, from Kid A. The best song from an album not known for its songs.
"Limbo: The Organized Mind"—Raymond Scott, from Manhattan Research, Inc. It turns out that cartoon-music inspiration Scott spent the last decades of his life in his basement making incredible electronic music. This trippy soundtrack for a Jim Henson short film is just the tip of the iceberg.
"B.O.B"—Outkast, from Stankonia. Funkadelic lives.
"Try Again"—Aaliyah, from Romeo Must Die Original Soundtrack. Timbaland meets the Roland 303.
"So Nice (Summer Samba)"—Bebel Gilberto, from Tanto Tempo. The daughter of bossa nova legend Joao Gilberto brings her father's music into the 21st century—still whispery, lilting, and seductive.
"Last Days of Disco"—Yo La Tengo, from And then nothing turned itself inside-out. The ultimate rock-critic's band highlights their finest album in years by writing a song about awkward rock-critic types falling in love while trying to dance to actual dance music—triple-word score.
"Untitled (How Does It Feel)"—D'Angelo, from Voodoo. Forget Prince. Think Marvin Gaye.
"You Said Something"—PJ Harvey, from Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea. PJ suddenly forsakes her epic whores and mothers for singing about someone who could actually be her talking late at night on a Brooklyn rooftop and gets an epic out of it anyway.
"In the Air"—The Handsome Family, from In the Air. When this Chicago duo combine a fear of driving over bridges, flying dogs, and a girl "whose skin smelled like snow" into a hymn about breaking worldly bonds, they come up with a song that updates the deepest country traditions, twists them, and transcends them.
"Slowly"—Amon Tobin, from Supermodified. The Gil Evans of modern electronic music torches it up with a languorous big-band drag, and there's no band.
"Getting in the Way"—Jill Scott, from Who Is Jill Scott? Words and Sounds Vol. 1. Lauryn who?
"One Mo 'Gin"—D'Angelo, from Voodoo. Forget Marvin Gaye. Think D'Angelo.
—Lee Gardner
Jesse Fox's 2000 Mix Tape
So much for the new millennium—rock'n'rollwise, this year seemed full of people doing more or less the same thing as before, and more often less than more. So it's not surprising that of the four albums that actually made me jump up and down in my living room—Outkast, Eminem, Primal Scream, and Talib Kweli—three were hip hop, with a range that shows just how big that tent has gotten. Other than that, lots of indie rock and pop, and a straight-up shot of Hank. And if you can resist Sisqo and Mystikal, well, what's yer problem?
Side A has all the gas, sass and ass. Side B is evidence the year was much prettier than it seemed. Sadder, too.
SIDE A:
"Eternalists"—Talib Kweli and Hi-Tek, from Reflection Eternal: Train of Thought
"I Wanna Be Your Gun"—The Mayflies USA, from The Pity List
"The Way I Am"—Eminem, from The Marshall Mathers LP
"You're No Rock 'n' Roll Fun"—Sleater-Kinney, from All Hands on the Bad One
"Swastika Eyes"—Primal Scream, from Xtrmntr
"Gasoline Dreams"—Outkast, from Stankonia
"Shake Ya Ass"—Mystikal, from Let's Get Ready
"It's Bigger Than Hip Hop"—Dead Prez, from Let's Get Free
"Who Want What"—Beanie Sigel w/Memphis Bleek, from The Truth
"The Thong Song"—Sisqo, from Unleash the Dragon
"Warning"—Green Day, from Warning:
SIDE B:
"The Model"—Belle and Sebastian, from fold your hands child, you walk like a peasant
"You You You You You" —The 6ths, from Hyacinths and Thistles
"I've Seen It All"—Bjork w/Thom Yorke, from Selmasongs
"Idioteque"—Radiohead, from Kid A (runner-up: "The Crystal Lake," Grandaddy from The Sophtware Slump)
"Alone and Forsaken"—Hank Williams, from Alone With His Guitar
"Our Way to Fall"—Yo La Tengo, from And then nothing turned itself inside out
"In Particular"—Blonde Redhead, from Melody of Certain Damaged Lemons
"Wild Packs of Family Dogs"—Modest Mouse, from The Moon and Antarctica
"Pissing in the Wind"—Badly Drawn Boy, from The Hour of Bewilderbeast (runner-up: "Son of Sam," Elliott Smith from Figure 8)
"Storm"**—Godspeed You Black Emperor!, from Lift Your Skinny Fists Like Antenna to Heaven
**Yeah, I know, it's 22 minutes long. Call it a coda...
—Jesse Fox Mayshark
Joe's Sad Songs
Most of my picks are melancholy, which may be a sign of general turn of century malaise and uncertainty or simply a reflection of my own fear and sorrow (I'll never really know for sure). Hopefully 2001 will bring happier songs.
"Tina"—the Mekons, from Journey to the End of the Night: Their politics soundly defeated at the start of the millennium, the world's greatest band mutters against the dying of the light: "But I can still dream of things that have never been but some day will be."
"Waiting for the Moon to Rise"—Belle & Sebastian, from fold your hands child, you walk like a peasant.
"Wild Packs of Family Dogs"—Modest Mouse, from The Moon and Antarctica
"Let's Save Tony Orlando's House"—Yo La Tengo, from And then nothing turned itself inside-out: A dream of American pop-culture past.
"I've Seen It All"—Bjork w/Thom Yorke, from Selmasongs.
"If You Won't Hang Around," "Magicians"—Amy Rigby from The Sugar Tree
"Haligh, Haligh, A Lie, Haligh"—Bright Eyes, from Fevers and Mirrors: Sadly, Conor Oberst seems to be getting more self-absorbed with age; but damn, this is poetic, passionate self-absorption.
"Africa Dream," "Too Late," "Soul Rebels"—Talib Kweli & Hi Tek from Reflection Eternal: So hard to pick just one.
"Horses In My Dreams"—PJ Harvey, from Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea: A dreamy declaration of happiness.
"Blue Eyes Crying In the Rain"—Sally Timms & Jon Langford from Songs of False Hope and High Values: the old Fred Rose song, which Sally was born to sing: "Life is like a dying ember, only memories remain." Good night, sweet love.
—Joe Tarr
John Sewell's 2000 Mix Tape
"Time of Your Life"—Steve Diggle, from the Buzzcocks lead guitarist's solo album Some Reality, a surprisingly mature effort that brings to mind The Kinks, The Who and Paul Weller.
"Crawl"—Alkaline Trio. These guys just get more focused and melodic with every recording.
The Marvelous 3 at Moose's Music Hall. I haven't had this much fun at a local show since Cheap Trick's Knoxville debut in 1979.
"Modern Dance"—Lou Reed, from Ecstasy. Saint Lou's storytelling skills just keep getting better.
"Inside"—Ekkehard Ehlers. The work of composer Charles Ives gets the cutup treatment by a German technophile. The experiment succeeds.
"Everything Means Nothing To Me"—Elliott Smith, from Figure 8. Despair never sounded so sweet.
"Slippery Rock"—Pezz. A paean to monogamy by committed punk rockers.
"Nobody Rides For Free"—Grant Hart. The former Husker Du drummer (and former junkie) returns to the world of the living with an album (Good news For Modern Man) that is largely guitar free. Imagine Dylan meets Burroughs meets Brian Wilson. It rocks too.
"Weirdest Home Videos"—Thomas Newman. Thomas Newman's American Beauty soundtrack is my favorite contemporary classical recording released in 2000. Mixing the techniques of Reich and Glass with a postmodern surrealism, Newman delivers an oddly affecting work that is best digested through repeated listenings.
"You're Having The Time of My Life"—Jets To Brazil. Former Jawbreaker frontman Blake Schwarzenbach has dismayed many (including myself) with his current rejection of hard guitar sounds. The hooks and the great lyrics are still there, though. And that's more than enough.
"Blue Milk"—Stereolab. If you think this is too long, I'd suggest resetting the knob on your tolerance level. I hope the 'Lab continues in this direction.
"Misery"—Green Day, from Warning:. Faux polka probably isn't exactly anyone's idea of punk rock, but who cares? As with all Green Day material, it's the songwriting, not the subculture affiliation, that scores another homerun for the band.
"I Want It All"—Trans Am. It's really kind of ridiculous to pick a single song off Red Line, an album that is best digested in its seamless entirety. But this song is probably most memorable because of the vocoder—bringing to mind an updated Kraftwerk. Great driving music.
"Bright Pavilions"—Superdrag, from In the Valley of Dying Stars. This song reminds me of Superdrag's legendary White Avenue era, and that's a beautiful thing. Not to say that the band is rehashing their past hits, it's just that the whammy bar thing pulls my heartstrings every time. These guys never fail to deliver each and every necessary ingredient for pure pop greatness. Wow.
"Quickstep"—J. Church. With the release of One Mississippi, J. Church's Lance Hahn is bordering on voice-of-a-generation status. Punkish pop that even (gulp!) full grown adults can appreciate.
—John Sewell
December 14, 2000 * Vol. 10, No. 50
© 2000 Metro Pulse
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