Tunes we liked this year
Year-end critics' lists can be great fun, but sometimes, in ranking art, they tend to commodify it too much. Music is (or should be, anyway) about expression and emotion, and it's kind of tough to grade those ephemeralities. Here for your consideration are simply some recordings we dug, listed alphabetically. Maybe you'll like them too. Aside from Gillian Welch, the Moldy Peaches, the White Stripes and Bjork there was little consensus in our picks (hey, where are the Strokes?). Matthew T. Everett, Jonathan Frey, Lee Gardner, Kurt Hernon, Jesse Fox Mayshark, John Sewell and Joe Tarr contribute.
The Bigger Lovers, How I Learned to Stop Worrying (Black Dog)—Eschewing the more obvious copy-cat power pop that permeates the genre nowadays, The Bigger Lovers hitched themselves to much bigger stars—owing as much if not more to Robyn Hitchcock and his Soft Boys as they do the Beatles or Badfinger. (KH)
Bjork, Vespertine (Elektra)—Her most intimate album, all wist and whispers. I love the instrumental track played on a music box. And the way she finds wonder in the everyday world. And the way she chants "I love him I love him I love him." Do you believe in magic? She does. (JFM)
Cannibal Ox, The Cold Vein (Def Jux)—In a year when the vast majority of hip-hop was inconsequentially glossy and flossy, Vast Aire and Vordul put Harlem on the rap map with this suite of grime, heartbreak, and sci-fi beats. (LG)
The Dickies, All This And Puppet Stew (Fat Wreck Chords)—The Dickies claim the dubious distinction of being America's longest running punk band. And what's more, this outing features Knoxville ex-pat David Teague on lead guitar. Puppet Stew wavers between sublime idiocy and sublime pop perfection. And I'm not sure which I like better. (JS)
The Dismemberment Plan, Change (DeSoto Records)—The Dismemberment Plan has moved farther away from their post-hardcore D.C. roots into a realm of dreamy, synthesized indie-pop layered over brittle hip-hop beats and slinky funk bass lines. A brilliant conflation of pop and dance music, somewhere between the Flaming Lips and Stereolab, and just as good as either one. (MTE)
Bob Dylan, Love and Theft (Columbia)—He turned 60 this year. And he sounds alive and carefree in a way he hasn't since, oh, 1966 or so. Funny, tuneful, prophetic, swinging. If you still think he can't sing, there's no hope for you. For the rest of us, he sounds as good as ever. Maybe better. (JFM)
Henry Flynt, You Are My Ever Lovin'/Celestial Power (Recorded)— Flynt is a little-known never-was as a composer, but this issue of his seminal work should remedy that as the mystic minimalism of Terry Riley and LaMonte Young meets the dry and eerie cadences of Appalachian fiddle tunes. Take a trip and never leave the farm. (LG)
Dave Holland Quintet, Not for Nothin' (ECM)—Improbably improving on the Prime Directive release of 1999, among the best albums of that year, Not for Nothin' contains some of the most interesting happenings in jazz, combining musical sophistication with the sweetest of ear candy. (JF)
The (International) Noise Conspiracy, A New Morning, Changing Weather (Burning Heart Records)—Marxism was little more than a quaint leftover from the Cold War during the booming '90s. But it's a different world, and the (International) Noise Conspiracy's mix of white soul and hardcore makes revolutionary politics funky again, recalling the angular, sloganeering grooves of the Fall and Gang of Four. Should be the soundtrack for the next IMF protests. (MTE)
Jan Jelinek, Loop Finding Jazz Records (Scape)—Jelinek outshines the rest of the clickhouse/ glitchkids post-techno school by creating living, breathing music. The slightest bits of jazz samples are assembled into repetitive sonic textures that occasionally resemble (egad) melody. Muzak will never be this good. (JS)
Jimmy Eat World, Bleed American (Dreamworks)—Arena rock for kids who aren't even old enough to know they're supposed to hate arena rock. Jimmy Eat World makes the question of emo ("What's emo?") moot with Bleed American, a straight-up rock record played with urgency and conviction. (MTE)
John Lewis, Evolution II (Atlantic)— This last studio recording is in keeping with Lewis' legacy of elegantly nuanced blues and a celebration of jazz at its most honest. Alas, the composer of the jazz standards "The Golden Striker," "Django," and "Two Bass Hit" is no more. (JF)
Lightning Bolt, Ride the Skies (Load)—This is more or less a vote for the live show, wherein this bass-and-drums duo have proven themselves the premiere ecstatic rock noise experience on the planet. When played really loud, the album isn't too shabby either. (LG)
LiLiPUT (Kill Rock Stars)—This two-CD set compiles everything this legendary, underground all-female rock group recorded in the late '70s and early '80s. It's the way art music (heck, all music) should be: primal, smart, catchy and unlike anything you've ever heard. (JT)
Scott Miller and the Commonwealth, Thus Always to Tyrants (Sugar Hill)—Twelve great songs, innumerable great lines, smart as ever but wiser than before. He can still rock—the Superdrag assists are a nice touch—and the folky stuff feels homegrown, all organic. Knoxville's lucky to have him. And of course, he's lucky to have Knoxville. (JFM)
(This also made the New York Times top-ten list — Jojo the Webmonkey)
The Moldy Peaches, The Moldy Peaches (Rough Trade)—Playground punk from a 20-something duo. They don't deny adulthood, but they do redefine it (and not just by wearing bunny suits). They're silly, but they mean what they say. Even when what they say is, "I love it when you slip me a roofie." (JFM)
Mark Mulcahy, Smilesunset (mezzotint)—former Miracle Legion frontman Mulcahy has always had one of the most distinct and fantastic voices in all of pop music—now he has an equally, if not exceedingly, mesmerizing set of tunes to carry it. Fantastic. (KH)
Oneida, Anthem of the Moon (Jagjaguwar)—A big, sloppy sprawl of fuzzy drone rock and clamorous art noise, with a nod to Uriah Heep. Oneida finally reaches the over-the-top heights they aimed for on their first two releases. A staggering, dizzying experience, and clearly my favorite record of the year. (MTE)
John Oswald, 69 Plunderphonics 96 (Seeland)—Over 25 years worth of unauthorized pop and classical cut-and-paste pranksterism, courtesy the most eloquent semantic terrorist ever to pick up a sampler. Get this landmark collection while you can, before the copyright lawyers catch up to Seeland (see www.plunderphonics.com for more details). (LG)
Remember Shakti, Saturday Night in Bombay (Verve)—This re-birth of Shakti, the '70s proto "world music" group, injects essence into a world-weary genre. Original Shakti cofounders John McLaughlin and Zakir Hussain and their new bandmates are at turns fire and introspection, an anthem to a world beyond cultural division. (JF)
Superdrag, Greetings From Tennessee (Arena Rock)—This import-only collection of odds and ends proves once again that nobody does it better than our home team. Maybe it's not on par with a legitimate full-length offering, but it's another piece of hard evidence that John Davis & Co. are the powerpop kings. (JS)
Uptown Sinclair, Uptown Sinclair (d-Text)—As good a return to real rock 'n' roll as you're likely to hear these days. Lead man Dave Hill writes terrific adult boy/girl tunes that are as wry as they are mature. And this crack rock outfit around him knocks 'em down as quickly as he sets them up. (KH)
Gillian Welch, Time (the Revelator) (Acony)—An album of American mythology for a year that desperately needed it. Welch and partner David Rawlings sing eulogies for things we didn't even know we'd lost, but they also blaze trails forward into the murky dusk. Haunting melodies, soulful harmonies, sparkling words. Dark, but not hopeless. (JFM)
The White Stripes, White Blood Cells (Sympathy for the Record Industry)—Wall-to-wall great rock songs played with sensitivity, swagger, heart, and grit—what a novel approach. (LG)
Shannon Wright, dyed in the wool (Quarterstick)—Wright's the kind of artist who gives her music over entirely to her emotions, which at times are so raw and painful, you feel like she's speeding toward you in bus. But, give these songs a few listens and suddenly you're hooked and riding shotgun, catching subtleties that were at first overwhelmed by her roar. (JT)
Steve Wynn, Here Come the Miracles (Blue Rose/Down There)—Steve Wynn has spent 20 years since Days of Wine and Roses, his debut disc with former band the Dream Syndicate, traveling the rock 'n' roll landscape. On Miracles he returns to the burned-out shell of the Days world from whence he came—and he winds up with the best record of his career. (KH)
January 3, 2002 * Vol. 12, No. 1
© 2002 Metro Pulse
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