Best Album of 2012, Honorable Mentions

First Aid Kit, The Lion’s Roar

First Aid Kit initially got noticed covering a Fleet Foxes song on YouTube in 2008.  The song-choice proved fitting; since then, the Swedish sister-act has developed its own brand of harmony-rich, folksy Americana.  Produced by Mike Mogis (a gifted musician with production credits on records by Bright Eyes, M. Ward and Monsters of Folk), the Kit’s sophomore release has a number of tasteful instrumental touches that lend it some indie-country cred.  Bells (and whistles), glockenspiel, accordion, autoharp, mandolin, dulcimer, pedal steel and trumpet all pop in and out here and there, spicing up the mostly acoustic guitar-keys-drums arrangements.  Still, the main course, the foundation of the whole album, the engine that drives this thing, is the vocals.  Powerful yet reserved, throaty yet smooth, the two individual voices are each capable of holding their own.  But when combined, the effect is staggering.  These are the kind of harmonies that hit me deep, that seem to swell and grow and take on a vivid, luxuriant, resonant quality.  And rest assured, they’re not the result of multi-tracked studio trickery; I saw the gals play a pretty large ballroom and not only did they pull it off live, they stepped in front of their microphones at one point and filled the space with their voices, sans amplification.  Must be something in that Scandinavian water.  Highlight: Despite their relative youth (the sisters are aged 19 and 22), “In The Hearts Of Men” makes a pretty strong case for their maturity.  Reflecting on the trials and tribulations of life in general, it might be the most superbly sung tune on the album.

 

Frank Ocean, Channel Orange

Frank Ocean turned the hip-hop establishment on its ear last year when the release of his debut LP came with the revelation of his bisexuality.  The unrequited love that led Frank-O to the realization is beautifully, sometimes touchingly, chronicled on Channel Orange.  Confronting and revealing the pain and turmoil may have been cathartic for the then 24-year-old but, the album is anything but an outlet for sad-sack sulking (also, it isn’t wholly autobiographical -- Ocean peppers the set with tales of other distant, drifting or otherwise lost souls) and the accompanying music is nothing short of compelling.  The slow-burn R&B sounds at once thoroughly contemporary and respectfully Steve-Wonder-ous.  Taken as a whole, Channel Orange is a shining example of Ocean’s unique vision and noteworthy talent.  Highlight: Perhaps commenting on a generation’s attention span, the album affects a detached sense of channel-surfing as the songs cycle by.  Remarkably, even though it feels disconnected, it still holds your attention.  

Tennis, Young & Old

This, among a few other records, was the soundtrack to my summer.  Roadtrips, barbecues, yardwork sessions -- all were accompanied by the airy, unassuming pop sounds of the husband-and-wife duo from Denver.  Patrick Riley and Alaina Moore wrote their first album on a lengthy sailboat trip; it’s lo-fi, kinda surfy, and has a nice ‘50s feel to it.  This, their follow-up, picks up where it left off (the first song is appropriately titled “It All Feels The Same”) while increasing the drum presence, turning down the reverb, and generally polishing things up a bit.  Moore still sings in a delicate voice bordering on twee, her piano still anchors some songs; Riley still plays lean but loose, his guitar (along with some nuanced keyboard work) still provides brief flourishes hither and thither.  The tunes are fairly simply constructed and the entire thing clocks in at just over half an hour.  The album though, is anything but plain or trite.  Songs like “My Better Self” and “Robin” gently seep in after only a couple listens while the album-closing “Never To Part” (a cheery-sounding account of arranged marriage) does well to further the mood of the set before effectively capping it.  This mood, and maybe the whole aesthetic, might be best summed up by the repeated “High Road” lyric: “Paradise is all around but happiness is never found.”  Think about that.  Highlight: The fleeting guitar break about halfway through “Origins” isn’t overtly surf-rock but, it still rides a tasty wave of pure and easy good vibrations.

Best Album of 2012

Am I back?  Nah, probably not.  But I figured I’d blow the dust off ye olde GimDang to name the Album of the Year.

The Walkmen, Heaven
The seventh album from NY-based, DC-born band The Walkmen is a confident statement of purpose, a resounding declaration of independence, and a clear indication of the group’s mind state.  Heaven shows that America’s venerable statesmen of indie rock, active since the year 2000, are comfortable in their skin, wearing their hearts on their sleeves and their age like a badge of honor.

Conspicuously present are guitarist Paul Maroon’s now-signature chiming guitar tones, drummer Matt Barrick’s creative patterns full of tambourine and tom fills, and multi-instrumentalist Walter Martin’s (or Peter Bauer’s -- they trade bass and organ duties) atmospheric organ stabs.  Refreshingly, the whole thing sounds as if it were recorded live, with little overdubbing.  I can’t be certain whether or not this is the case but, it wouldn’t surprise me; the accomplished band is known to turn in fantastic live sets and has been playing together long enough to really establish a tight connection.

Perhaps most notable is how focused an effort the album is.  Where past material sometimes felt disjointed, like jagged puzzle pieces jammed together, Heaven presents a prettier picture.  “Song For Leigh” comes across as a fully formed, developed idea, one that the band who recorded “Revenge Wears No Wristwatch” in 2002 wouldn’t even try to attempt.

What’s more, the album presents a more grown-up, composed Walkmen.  Wait -- can it be true?  Have The Walkmen really come of age?  The opening song, “We Can’t Be Beat,” confidently affirms, setting the tone with subtle instrumentation (an acoustic guitar!) and a line that signals this sense of arrival: “It’s been so long / but I made it through.”  Halfway through the set, “Line By Line” reminds listeners that ‘the wicked will die, the honest man survives’ and that yes, “we all scrape by.”  Though the band’s old cynical distrust creeps in on “The Love You Love,” the Be-My-Baby-sounding “Heartbreaker” reinforces the album’s emerging theme and asserts “these are the good years / the best we’ll ever know.”

Seeming reflective, even contented, Heaven finds The Walkmen treading fairly new ground.  Case in point, the photos printed on the inside of the cover show the members of the band posing with their children.  Indeed, the tone and content of this album is more mature, more assured, more accepting than previous releases.  Gone is the howling Hamilton Leithauser of 2008’s “In The New Year,” gone is the angry, accusing protagonist of 2004’s “The Rat.” 

The lyrics on the title track speak to this newfound, or at least newly-realized, maturity.  Over a comfortably driving jangle, Leithauser looks back and sings “you’re my best friend / all of my life, you’ve always been.”  It’s like the band, young-ish as they may be, are finally ready to look inward, to draw their kin closer, to accept their heretofore-rejected nostalgia and settle into adulthood.  And adulthood, I should add, suits The Walkmen very well.

Foxygen at Holocene.

The far-out, fun and fresh-faced Foxygen played Holocene in Portland last night.  As a fan of the young (read: just old enough to drink) band’s newish album We Are The 21st Century Ambassadors of Peace & Magic, I was kind of disappointed with the show.  Still, I was enthralled and, perhaps more importantly, I was entertained.

The band took the stage looking kind of sheepish, maybe nervous or uncomfortable with their growing notoriety, maybe just affecting some kind of sense of road-weary ennui.  I don’t know.  Either way, they launched into “Bowling Trophies,” a fuzzy, instrumental slice of psychedelia complete with roaring engine noises and distant vocals -- the ensuing freakout would set the tone for the entire show.

Foxygen landed in Portland fresh off their polarizing appearance at SXSW, in which frontman Sam France had what some called a bit of a meltdown; they’d already been touring for months and, after taking off this April, they’ll be back on the road through July.  Maybe the life of a touring musician is taking its toll on France.  At one point last night, he started waxing philosophical, asking ‘what are we all doing in here, who are we, what are we doing?’ and talking about ‘psychological stuff’ happening in his head.  Whether or not it was all an act is up for debate but, when he sang, he came across as a totally capable showman.  His voice veered between lilting and angelic (as on “San Francisco”), deep and sultry (as on “Make it Known”), and bark-y and unhinged (as on the new album’s title track and “On Blue Mountain”).  Alternating between robot-style moves and aggressive, Jagger-like finger-pointing, he stalked the stage and engaged the audience with a wild, wide-eyed fervor.  Though he spent a bit of time with his back to the audience, singing to the drummer, France still seemed focused on the task at hand. 

France’s songwriting partner, and probably the bulk of the brains behind the whole Foxy operation, Jonathan Rado, seemed more in-control.  He stood to the side, playing guitar and taking turns on the keyboard with Elizabeth Fay (I think that’s her name) and France.  He wore a funny hat and polka-dot shirt.  Oh, by the way, France wore a denim jumpsuit. 

The set stuck mostly to material from Ambassadors, with some songs from the group’s previous release Take the Kids Off Broadway.  Conspicuously absent were standout tracks “No Destruction” and “Oh Yeah.”  Due to the album’s unabashed appropriation of sounds from the sixties, part of me also expected a couple covers from the decade to flesh out the set but alas, no dice.  Either way, the band treated its tunes less like concrete rules and more like loose guidelines.  France rapped a few lyrics on “Shuggie,” the band cut out my favorite half of the title track (which may or may not have had something to do with the fact that they invited a bunch of other dudes on stage and things got a little out of hand), and the musical twists and turns that subtly color much of the album felt way more abrupt and jagged live.  Though they didn’t perform the songs exactly as recorded, which I usually find refreshing, they got a little too far out for my tastes, which I actually found somewhat disappointing.  I ran into a friend after the show and he mentioned the bravery (bravado?) of the young, mostly unestablished band in straying so far from the script.  Maintaining your artistic integrity is one thing but, potentially alienating fans is quite another.  I suppose Foxygen has some growing to do.  They, and when I say ‘they’ I mean Sam France, came across as attention-starved theater-kids (not that there’s anything wrong with that), dramatic and flippant and unusual or atypical just for the sake of it.  Even so, I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. 

Wow -- I’m still writing?  I’m really glad I got to see Foxygen and I’ll be really interested to see where they go from here.  Ambassadors is the easy (yet early) frontrunner for my album of the year pick. 

Best Album of 2011

So there I was, in the year 2011, seeking danger, begging for it. “Gimme danger,” I commanded. I asked and lo, I did not receive. Instead I got safety. I got comfort and solitude. And it was good.

Much has been made about Helplessness Blues, the sophomore LP from Seattle’s Fleet Foxes. Foremost among its praises is its vocal sound, the warm choral arrangements that set and maintain its tone. From the opening finger-picked notes of “Montezuma,” which provides the album’s most lush but spare moment and prominently showcases singer Robin Pecknold’s rich voice, to the closing “Grown Ocean,” the entire set is layered with the group’s now-signature harmonies. Not surprisingly, Fleet Foxes have drawn comparisons to everyone from CSN to... CSNY.

Throughout, the percussion is soft, the instruments mostly acoustic, and the production organic. As beautiful as the music is, almost laughably so, its purpose seems to be to frame and accentuate the vocals rather than to compete with or steal attention from them. Though a number of fantastic melodies and peculiar-sounding instrumentations are present, those vocals are always front-and-center. And with subject matter ranging from deathbed regret to the joy of child-rearing, the words are both mature and introspective, reflective and forward-thinking.

References to nature abound, to plants and landscapes, orchards and mountains, earth and sky. Coupled with the elemental aspects of the music, the effect is transporting. It’s as if just by closing your eyes, you can be whisked away, to a simpler, more pure place.

If that sounds cheesy to you, you can just cheese it, pal. Because in a year when I got peace and tranquility, not danger, Helplessness Blues was my shit. It’s GIMDANG's Best Album of 2011.

Oh, that magic feeling.

Many of time’s most celebrated musical acts produced their celebrated music by writing songs as a group, together. Indeed, two heads are often better than one and collaboration often results in a more well-rounded product. These collaborations sometimes manifested themselves as partnerships – Jagger/Richards, Page/Plant or John/Taupin for example – that allowed each player a role in the creative process.

The relationships, like any, were at turns tumultuous and harmonious. One could convincingly argue that the state of the relationship had an influence on the resulting music and that the emotions of the people involved were partly, but not solely, responsible for the output of quality work (certainly the musicality and creativity of the individuals played a big part too).

One of the most successful songwriting partnerships was Lennon/McCartney. DUH. A friend recently argued that the work of Lennon/McCartney as Beatles was superior to the work of Lennon and McCartney as solo artists – that their partnership conjured something magical in the two of them that they could never replicate or hope to top on their own. I completely disagreed.

See, having listened to a lot of the Beatles, and having listened to a shitload of solo John Lennon lately, I’m realizing that the dissolution of the Beatles freed Lennon to pursue his own, unique brand of music – music that never would have materialized had Lennon not been free to realize his own, unique vision.

Paul McCartney was way-awesome, and his role in the musical partnership cannot be understated. But clearly, Lennon’s post-Beatles stuff wouldn’t sound anything like it does had the two collaborated on it. Just listen to the spare “God” off Plastic Ono Band and imagine how much less effective it’d be with a jaunty McCartney bass line. Or the airy “You Are Here” off Mind Games; how would that sound with a Paul-to-the-wall horn section or a busier melody? I don’t necessarily surmise that McCartney would have actually done these things if given a seat at Lennon’s songwriting table. My point is that he could have. Without Paul in the room, John could write and perform the songs just as he saw fit. It goes the other way too: McCartney’s Band on The Run wouldn’t sound like it does – hell, it wouldn’t be as awesome as it is – if Lennon had a hand in its creation.

It’s a fact that removing an element from an equation (L + Mc = magic) produces a different outcome (L – Mc = different magic or Mc – L = different magic). That point is unassailable. It’s mathematical. The understanding that those outcomes, while magical, are still incomparable apples and oranges is the takeaway here. It all boils down to personal taste, which outcome sounds better to you or which brand of magic you prefer. Because really, it’s all magic in the case of L and Mc… and oh, that magic feeling. Nowhere to go.

Top Five Albums of 2010, Honorable Mentions

Dr. Dog, Shame, Shame
The fifth full-length from the Philadelphia outfit finds the group treading familiar waters. The album is another exercise in Beatles-style pop rock – fun, bouncy and well-written.

Glasser, Ring
Armed with an able voice, Cameron Mesirow made the year’s most refined electronic album. Her laptop beats form compelling textures of sound, providing a warm haven for her Enya-esque vocals.

Local Natives, Gorilla Manor
An ultra-hip L.A. indie band (with the gear, beards and haircuts to prove it), Local Natives managed to fly under the mainstream radar all year. Hard to believe considering their album is stacked with big, moving, harmony-laden songs.

Tokyo Police Club, Champ
The Canadian foursome switched labels (again) and recorded a set of lively songs (again) for their third album. (Again) the music is electro-tinged, energetic and ebullient.

Kanye West, My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy
Kanye’s long-awaited album came out at the end of the year but still managed to top many of the year-end, best-of lists. Though it’s certainly dark and twisted, the album isn’t all that beautiful. Either way, it’s groundbreaking hip-hop that cements Kanye’s reputation as one of his generation’s greatest talents.

Yeasayer, Odd Blood
This hyped Brooklyn group simultaneously turned me on and turned me off. Their emo-dance album has some great moments, recalling Depeche Mode and Tears for Fears at their finest, but the cheese of some of the lyrics and the discord of some of the music are cringe-inducing.

David Bowie, Station to Station (Reissue)
Bowie’s far-out 1976 album, which he famously does not recall making, got the deluxe treatment this year. Even when coked-out and paranoid, Bowie again proved himself to be inimitable. The album also comes packaged with an unheard ‘76 show at Nassau Coliseum.

John Lennon, Mind Games (Reissue)
Timed with the 30th anniversary of his tragic death, all of Lennon’s solo material was remastered and reissued. This 1973 album, which he apparently just tossed off without much thought, is my favorite of the lot. Lush, introspective songs sidle up to sneering rock songs and make for a well-rounded pop album.

Top Five Albums of 2010, no. 1

Arcade Fire, The Suburbs

A focused, ambitious album about suburban sprawl and the kids that call it home, no other release of 2010 came close to matching The Suburbs in vision, timeliness and gravitas. To say nothing of the music itself, the album identified a uniquely American sentiment, took it, and ran with it. All this from a gang of Canadians. To be specific, bandleader Win Butler and guitarist brother Will spent a solid part of their formative years on the outer edges of Houston; their experience informs much of The Suburbs.

From the defeated “Modern Man” (sample line: “I feel I’m losing the feeling”) to the triumphant “Wasted Hours” (sample line: “wasted hours that you make new, and turn into a life that we can live”), a common thread runs through all sixteen songs. The album’s central theme is clear: the cookie-cutter suburban American lifestyle is crushing individuality. It is at once impressive and depressing to hear a fantastic band describe so perfectly the gloom of the burbs and the desolation of the people living there.

The album is perfectly paced, ebbing and flowing as passionate anthems (“We Used To Wait”) seek to convert non-believers and paranoid, solemn dirges (“Sprawl I (Flatland)”) speak to those in the know. Pointed without being cynical, the album is nonetheless an attack on what has become the American Way.

But even though a pervasive mood of frustration and despair colors the set, there still exist glimmers of hope. Whether it’s the building and stacking of hooks and layers on the hipster-profiling “Rococo” or the speed-string glee of “Empty Room,” galvanizing moments of profound musical beauty can be found and felt despite the album’s overall bleak tone.

And while the tunes don’t necessarily grab at first blush, they reward repeat listens. Songs like “Half Light I” and “Month of May” can feel plain initially. However, when taken in the context of the entire 60-minute set, they become more powerful, more moving, more inclusive even.

Indeed, Arcade Fire has a reputation for making audiences feel like they’re part of something bigger than rock and roll. With this collection of arena-ready songs, emphasizing feelings to which many can relate, Arcade Fire are fast approaching U2 and Springsteen levels – levels of fame and prominence that compel millions of rapt fans to hang on every word.

The Suburbs is the band’s third album; it debuted at number one back in August. It improves on their second, which improbably improved on their first. If they continue down this path, they will undoubtedly be legends in their time. Part of this is due to the uniting power of their music. Just try to ignore the grandeur of “Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains)” or the intensity and force of “Suburban War”. So while Arcade Fire tell us that the suburbs destroy our sense of self, their fine album (so appropriate for 2010) reminds us that we’re not alone.

**UPDATE: Arcade Fire and The Suburbs were awarded the Grammy for Album of the Year.

Top Five Albums of 2010, no. 2

Beach House, Teen Dream

Baltimore isn’t a city known for its friendliness. Or its beaches. But Baltimore-bred Beach House’s alluring Teen Dream feels warm and inviting. Perhaps the boy-girl duo harnessed a strange, foreign energy to craft this album, a hazy and hooky set of layered and luscious songs.

On the opening “Zebra,” organist Victoria Legrand’s subtle, androgynous vocal simultaneously demands attention and lulls into submission as guitarist Alex Scally weaves atmospheric lines into a tuneful tapestry. “Used To Be” builds and builds only to suddenly topple, leaving alone a subdued Legrand to breathily chant “any day now” over metronome ticks and keyboard swells.

Though suffused with a notable sense of calm, the album is anything but a sleeper. The music is transporting, almost mystical (particularly on “Lover Of Mine,” which finds Legrand channeling Stevie Nicks at her witchiest).

Of all the albums I bought this year, this may be the one I listened to the most. Its airy feel fits a number of different settings and lasts from start to finish. The set ends softly, almost unnoticeably, as the closing “Take Care” takes nearly three minutes to completely fade out. It’s a fitting finale to a cloudy, drifting album that holds your attention while unobtrusively fading in and out of your consciousness.

Top Five Albums of 2010, no. 3

Best Coast, Crazy For You

Somehow, Beth Cosentino and co. wrote some of the most beautifully haunting, achingly lonely and touchingly poignant (but utterly simple) music of the year. All with just a handful of chords, no bass and a four-track. Seriously.

The production is muddy; the band is ON but each song still sounds like a demo. Even so, Cosentino’s voice communicates a sense of bracing honesty – that she means what she says. What she does say involves puppy-love, kitty-cats and pot-smoking. A simple girl with simple concerns making simple music, Cosentino definitely seems more interested in bongs and backyards than 401(k)s and nine-to-fives. Still, in that simplicity lies beauty. When soaked in reverb and splashed with sunshine, songs like “When I’m With You,” “Goodbye” and “Each And Every Day” shimmer like a summer day viewed through the tinted lens of a satisfying high.

The So-Cal vibe of the 13 tracks hits like waves crashing on the beach. And for one desperate moment, each song creeps back in your memory. By capably blending girl-group hooks with grunge sounds and pop stylings, the music feels familiar and comforting – like some kind of Ronette/Hole/Beach-Boy taco. It speaks to any young person, boy or girl, who’s been in a relationship, who’s felt happy or sad or jealous or apathetic, who’s maybe felt all those ways at once. Here’s hoping that the band’s superb full-length debut, which followed a series of EPs, won’t be its last release.

Top Five Albums of 2010, no. 4

The Soft Pack, The Soft Pack

The front of this San Diego foursome’s album shows the group on a beach, passing a joint. They look like typical stoner rock guys: messy hair, wrinkled shirts, Ray-Ban shades. And if you were to judge this book by its cover, you might assume it was typical garage rock music. However, when you assume, you make an ASS of U and ME. The Soft Pack actually make an atypical up-tempo racket, complete with deliberately-dumb vocals and shit-shaking riffs (“Mexico” even has a bit of slide guitar).

The band’s sound owes as much to nineties noise-rockers Pavement as it does to eighties punk-rockers the Ramones. Throw in a dash of present-day indie rock to firmly plant the band in the here-and-now and you’ve got a well-rounded recipe for unabashed fun.

Take the surf-y lead guitar on “Down On Loving.” It hangs loose over the rhythm section, adding a retro jolt to an otherwise contemporary song. And the Farfisa on “Move Along”? It’s so frantic, jammed between a manic one-chord guitar attack and frenzied drums, that it tells me these boys were born to boogie. And boys they are. Really, I still don’t know whether “Pull Out” is about driving or doing it.

The band’s sense of immaturity is apparent throughout (with “Flammable,” a brash threat to burn down the house, being another example), making me think the guys are more concerned with having fun than having fans. In fact, I saw them play to a nearly empty room last spring. But with an album this catchy (and assuming they follow it up with an equally accessible release), it won’t be long before they become a hot ticket.

The Soft Pack is a glib, flippant album – perfect for an escape from reality and a journey to la-la-land – something I desperately needed in 2010.