1. Empty Orchestra: Here Lies Empty Orchestra
Unconventional top album, but I ran into Empty Orchestra player John Duffy at work today and I was like, "You know, that album, for me, sums up Flint more than any other album I've heard since Kid Brother Collective's Highway Miles." It is blue-collar rock from the heart of the Mitten State, and done with an energetic, alt-country flair that seems to be all the rage these days. I've followed Stephen Wisniewski's songs since my inception into the whole Flint music scene and I have always admired the risks he has taken. I remember how confused people were when May/June would entertain kids with Suicide Machines tees with delicate, heartfelt folk music that inspired sitting quietly and watching, rather than mixing it up on the floor. His songs commanded respect then, and they certainly deserve the audience they're getting now. Highly, highly recommended.
2. The Arcade Fire: Neon Bible
Albums like this remind me of why I love music. I really, really liked Funeral, but the jury was still out on the band as a whole, fearing they might slip into the sophomore slump. Not happening here. This improves upon their previous album in nearly every facet, creating a darkly haunting masterpiece that will surely age well. I find myself going back to this record a lot.
3. Radiohead: In Rainbows
Sure, this is token top-list fodder, especially given the high profile of its unconventional download-only release. The band inadvertantly shook things up just by releasing it in the format they chose. I don't think they really aimed to do that, they just wanted to rely only upon themselves for their record's success or failure and take absolute control over distribution of their works. Surely lots of bands will steal from this, and more power to them. In an era where every new band wants to get signed and be the next big thing, Radiohead proves that sometimes it's still better to just do things yourself. Musically, this is a pretty schizo album with no songs as epic as anything on Kid A, OK Computer or The Bends, yet showcases Yorke as a true visionary. As In Rainbows proves, there's no formula to Yorke's music... or the way he does anything, for that matter. Jonny Greenwood is still among the best guitarists playing today.
4. Rivers Cuomo: Alone: The Solo Recordings of Rivers Cuomo
This is a geek pick. I grew up adoring Weezer and they were sort of my segue into indie-rock. This record is nearly impossible to listen to start-to-finish because some tracks truly hurt the ears, but accompanied by Rivers' liner notes, it is a fascinating and nostalgic time capsule of the enigmatic songwriter's career in music.
5. The National: Boxer
Christ, I am a late adopter lately. I heard everyone gloating about this album and I disregarded it for most of the year. Over the past couple of months I started to question why the hell I waited so long to give it a listen. The fact that Sufjan Stevens played piano on it has me less excited than the music itself, which is saying a ton. It's brilliant chamber-pop of the highest caliber. Boxer is incredibly ambitious and it pits The National up against Arcade Fire for the best of its ilk.
6. The Swellers: My Everest
I was super-hesitant to place The Swellers on my top list, since I get paid to work for them, but since they made countless other top-ten lists I feel somewhat confident in my decision to include them. I mentioned Empty Orchestra and Kid Brother Collective's LPs as the definitive Flint albums. This would rank as the third in a trio of anthemic blue-collar albums about loss aside from the romantic sense. It's a coming of age album, and it tackles some difficult subject matter. For a hyperactive punk record, it sure forcasts a gloomy outlook tinged with bitterness. These kids are pissed off, yet maintain their intelligence about the whole affair.
7. Limbeck: Limbeck
Who says alt-country can't be rollicking and fun? I loved Limbeck's first album, Hi, Everything's Great with a passion, yet its follow-up, Let Me Come Home didn't quite hit the mark for me. I got around to picking this up when I saw the band with Hot Rod Circuit in Detroit, and continually go back to listening to it. There's a lot of Paul Westerberg influence this time around, drawing the band further away from its more commercial indie-pop roots in favor of something a bit more homegrown and close to the heart. Solid record from start to finish; Casey James Prestwood is a savant.
8. The Shins: Wincing the Night Away
I'm probably the only person I know who really dug this album, at least compared to the band's absolutely stellar discography. While Wincing is very front-loaded (The first 15 minutes are among my favorite of any disc this year), it is still an incredibly consistent rock record. The more upbeat moments are the best, and explore new territories for the band's Beatles-inspired sound.
9. Original Soundtrack: Once
If any movie made me love music more than I had before, it would be Once, a charming Irish-folk indie musical in the least overbearing sense. This is a quiet, inviting movie that offers insight into a man's passion as a street musician/vacuum repairman, and the musical passion his friend, a random pedestrian and eventual musical partner, shares with him. I have yet to spin the actual soundtrack disc, but there's a loophole in that the film (loosely) follows the formula of a musical, with songs weaved through its narrative, so I've already heard the complete works courtesy of the film. Glen Hansard (also of The Frames) became one of my favorite singer-songwriters after watching this film. I hope the passion he showcased in this film isn't a ruse.
10. Patton Oswalt: Werewolves & Lollipops
This is a landmark comedy album. While the Dane Cooks and Larry the Cable Guys of the world rake in huge amounts of dough at the expense of intelligence and innovation, Oswalt dares to shake things up a bit. Opting to play indie-rock clubs and theaters versus large arenas or comedy clubs, Oswalt (along with David Cross and the other Comedians of Comedy) has opened stand-up comedy to a whole new audience -- twentysomethings. It helps that he's a geek, too. Dude's written Batman comics, even. This album is raunchy as hell, yet insightful. There's nothing more amusing than a short, pudgy angry dude (trust me, I work in retail) but Oswalt breaks so many stereotypes, showcasing a dash of charm with his extreme bitterness. Name-dropping Fugazi into a stand-up act is daring. Joking about kicking a pregnant woman in the stomach is something else entirely. Gather your friends, listen, and enjoy.
Honorable mentions: Jimmy Eat World: Chase This Light (got new life for me on vinyl -- I spin it regularly), Thursday: Kill the House Lights (the DVD, released on Victory Records, is actually fairly objective about the whole Thursday vs. Victory fiasco. No mandatory cover-ups. Worth a watch, and the CD is solid, too). Between the Buried and Me: Colors (there is so much to admire with this album... where to begin?), Minus the Bear: Planet of Ice (I didn't dig their latest release nearly as much as everyone else, but it is still definitely worth a listen).
Disappointments of 2007: Straylight Run: The Needles, The Space (yawnnn... their last EP was almost great, too). Jimmy Eat World: Chase This Light (I know it also made my Honorable Mentions list, but Futures was the closest the band had come to the greatness of Clarity, and I see this album treading the same path as Bleed American. The songs are still amazing, though... just a different direction than I had hoped).
Happy New Year, and may 2008 give us some incredible records.
Monday, December 31, 2007
Sleepwalking (creative nonfiction)
It’s another tired night at another lifeless club. The haze of secondhand smoke wafts through the sparse crowd, collecting the putrid scent of body odor along the way. I am sleepwalking through yet another newspaper assignment, reviewing yet another boring radio-rock band for no other reason, it seems, than obtaining a paycheck. It’s hard not to laugh at how clichéd the band is, with their cut-off sleeves and bad tattoos. Its members bear more in common with a football team than a group of artists.
It appears as though most of those who are in attendance are merely bar regulars. I’ve seen most of them before, and their enthusiasm for the band varies. A middle-aged white guy seems lost in the repetitive guitar riffs and forced choruses. This is probably his escape from cubicle Hell. In a way, this is my cubicle Hell. A woman a few years his elder and a decade or so past her prime fawns over the lead singer, referring to him by his first name and requesting whatever modest hit the band may have had during their prime – years before being relegated to playing small bar shows in Flint.
This has become a typical assignment for me. The bands and fans, often times, are anonymous and interchangeable, and far too often lately I have walked into each assignment with such contempt for the music and atmosphere – not to mention attitude – that it’s a wonder I accomplish any shred of objectivity. Sometimes a friend tags along and we sit in the back of the bar and sip overpriced beer, quietly poking fun at the unconvincing onstage antics of whoever is performing. Part of me wants to exclaim, “I’m too old for this shit!” but I look around and see handfuls of people who are infinitely more qualified to express such sentiments, yet they don’t.
It was a lot different six years ago.
My friend Keith and I launched an online music magazine and we set out to interview and review as many new bands as possible. Our goal was to bring exposure to lesser-known artists and expose ourselves to new music. A few years in, this plan began to backfire because we had heard so many new bands in such a short period of time, we became jaded rather fast. We became harder to impress, and it got to the point where bands would have to beg us for coverage, insisting that their band could somehow change our lives. I never had the heart to tell them that they sound almost identical to about 12 other bands I had heard that month alone. Occasionally a band will surprise me and steal my attention for a few months at a time, but so many of their peers come across as little more than empty hype.
It sucks, too. I used the music scene in high school to find a sense of belonging. I loved the same bands so many other kids adored, so we automatically had something in common. I built long-lasting friendships with concert promoters, band members, fans, sound engineers and record label owners, all based on the fact that we had similar record collections. We would introduce each other to new bands and new ideas, and we would head into weekend all-ages shows with nothing but enthusiasm. Our hard-earned money wouldn’t last, as we would collect CDs and t-shirts of obscure touring bands who made an impression with their honest music. But somewhere between then and now, that magic escaped music. I can’t even remember the names of the bands that did impress me.
I don’t know if it’s music in general, or if it’s just me, but music means a lot less to me now than it did back then. Maybe it’s the idea that music has been reduced to digital files that can be freely swapped over the Internet that makes these artists lose their significance. I do, after all, remember browsing through liner notes as an obsessive fan-boy, picking out inside jokes and pondering the significance of certain artists’ album covers. For me, there’s less emotional attachment to music when there is no physical product to admire.
I certainly hope that it’s not my age. Hell, I’m only 25. I have read horror stories by much older rock journalists about how music has essentially become ruined for them over the years, obsessing way too much over the individual elements of each recording, as is the nature of their job, to the extent that a complete album cannot merely be taken as a complete entity, but rather a sum of many, many parts.
Yeah, six years ago music and live performances gave me a sense of belonging. Tonight, I am merely an outcast. The bands are here for the money, girls and free drinks. The one thing I have in common with these guys is that I too am here for the paycheck. I have no desire to talk to the bands after the show. They needn’t inflate their egos any more. I just want to go home, file my story before deadline and get a good night’s sleep.
It appears as though most of those who are in attendance are merely bar regulars. I’ve seen most of them before, and their enthusiasm for the band varies. A middle-aged white guy seems lost in the repetitive guitar riffs and forced choruses. This is probably his escape from cubicle Hell. In a way, this is my cubicle Hell. A woman a few years his elder and a decade or so past her prime fawns over the lead singer, referring to him by his first name and requesting whatever modest hit the band may have had during their prime – years before being relegated to playing small bar shows in Flint.
This has become a typical assignment for me. The bands and fans, often times, are anonymous and interchangeable, and far too often lately I have walked into each assignment with such contempt for the music and atmosphere – not to mention attitude – that it’s a wonder I accomplish any shred of objectivity. Sometimes a friend tags along and we sit in the back of the bar and sip overpriced beer, quietly poking fun at the unconvincing onstage antics of whoever is performing. Part of me wants to exclaim, “I’m too old for this shit!” but I look around and see handfuls of people who are infinitely more qualified to express such sentiments, yet they don’t.
It was a lot different six years ago.
My friend Keith and I launched an online music magazine and we set out to interview and review as many new bands as possible. Our goal was to bring exposure to lesser-known artists and expose ourselves to new music. A few years in, this plan began to backfire because we had heard so many new bands in such a short period of time, we became jaded rather fast. We became harder to impress, and it got to the point where bands would have to beg us for coverage, insisting that their band could somehow change our lives. I never had the heart to tell them that they sound almost identical to about 12 other bands I had heard that month alone. Occasionally a band will surprise me and steal my attention for a few months at a time, but so many of their peers come across as little more than empty hype.
It sucks, too. I used the music scene in high school to find a sense of belonging. I loved the same bands so many other kids adored, so we automatically had something in common. I built long-lasting friendships with concert promoters, band members, fans, sound engineers and record label owners, all based on the fact that we had similar record collections. We would introduce each other to new bands and new ideas, and we would head into weekend all-ages shows with nothing but enthusiasm. Our hard-earned money wouldn’t last, as we would collect CDs and t-shirts of obscure touring bands who made an impression with their honest music. But somewhere between then and now, that magic escaped music. I can’t even remember the names of the bands that did impress me.
I don’t know if it’s music in general, or if it’s just me, but music means a lot less to me now than it did back then. Maybe it’s the idea that music has been reduced to digital files that can be freely swapped over the Internet that makes these artists lose their significance. I do, after all, remember browsing through liner notes as an obsessive fan-boy, picking out inside jokes and pondering the significance of certain artists’ album covers. For me, there’s less emotional attachment to music when there is no physical product to admire.
I certainly hope that it’s not my age. Hell, I’m only 25. I have read horror stories by much older rock journalists about how music has essentially become ruined for them over the years, obsessing way too much over the individual elements of each recording, as is the nature of their job, to the extent that a complete album cannot merely be taken as a complete entity, but rather a sum of many, many parts.
Yeah, six years ago music and live performances gave me a sense of belonging. Tonight, I am merely an outcast. The bands are here for the money, girls and free drinks. The one thing I have in common with these guys is that I too am here for the paycheck. I have no desire to talk to the bands after the show. They needn’t inflate their egos any more. I just want to go home, file my story before deadline and get a good night’s sleep.
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