Monthly Archives: February 2010

Top 20 Albums of 2009, #11-1

#11. Yeah Yeahs YeahsIt’s Blitz!

Both It’s Blitz! and my #10 pick below are similar in that their creators left behind their trademark buzzsaw guitar sound in favor of one that’s smoother, sleeker, more sophisticated. The aural equivalent of exchanging a leather jacket for a silk suit. The rough edges have been sanded away, and there’s more breathing room to explore the possibilities of the voice. There seems to be no escape from the throbbing synthetic influence of dance music in 2009, but if the electronic pulse of the discotheque is wielded with the amount of taste and confidence heard on It’s Blitz!, there’s no reason even the most Luddite classic-rock purist shouldn’t love it.

#10. Julian CasablancasPhrazes For The Young

Strokes frontman Casablancas (mostly) leaves behind the heavily-processed sneer that was the voice of his former band in favor of a more open, natural singing style. The strength of the melodies and the complexity of the arrangements — all by Casablancas himself — tips us off as to who the driving wheel of the Strokes’ songwriting really was. Other band members’ solo albums are certainly pleasant enough, but don’t give many hints of the powerhouse talent on display here. Much ink has been spilled (as with It’s Blitz!) over the use of synthesizers in place of guitars, and its Tokyo nightclub vibe, but rest assured Casablancas does vary up the styles and our friend the guitar is still very much in evidence. It’s not as good as I hope the next Strokes album will be (this fall, maybe? please?), but it’ll do for now.

#9. M. WardHold Time

Some fine, fine music has been made by just a guy or girl with a guitar. But what can be captivating at a coffeehouse or camp-out, or on a spunky debut album can begin to sound dull and repetitive over the course of several albums. Most recording artists know this, and by their third or fourth album, have begun to hang a little production flesh on their folk troubador bones. Hold Time is a sterling example. Ward’s already-strong songwriting is carried even higher by a funky, retro production style that’s part Pet Sounds, part T. Rex. And guest appearances from Ward’s “She & Him” partner Zooey Deschanel, Lucinda Williams, and Grandaddy‘s Jason Lytle are icing on the cake.

#8. Deer TickBorn On Flag Day

It’s not a very original statement to say that what passes for country music these days isn’t really country — it’s braindead, glossy pop, with a fiddle thrown in as an afterthought — so I’ll just acknowledge the truth of the statement and move on. If you want the real deal, you have to dig deeper. As hacky Nashville producers and song-pluggers began slowly killing mainstream country music over thirty years ago, a disenchanted musical response has always been bubbling angrily away, from the “outlaw” movement of the 70’s, through cowpunk bands like Jason & The Scorchers in the 80’s, to the earnest alt-country acts of the 90’s. In the 00’s, shitty Nashville country is more prevalent than ever, but the disgruntled, reactionary response by artists who know what true, soulful country should sound like is getting harder and harder to find.

The best country album this year was made by a band called Deer Tick from Providence, Rhode Island, which is kind of sad. It proves that the Deep South — the region that gave birth to every genre of music that I care about — is now almost completely culturally bankrupt. Deer Tick’s sound hearkens back to a time when that wasn’t the case. When they play stright country, it’s right from the Hank Williams/Lefty Frizzell style book. When they play rock, it’s Chuck Berry’s chugging, countrified R&B they use as their template. (“Straight Into A Storm” could be a lost Berry B-side.) A touch of folk introspection rounds out the package.

#7. Dan AuerbachKeep It Hid

That the solo album of one-half of The Black Keys sounds pretty much like The Black Keys is no surprise. Nor is it a surprise how good it is, as The Black Keys’ brand of gritty, lo-fi blues has been a staple on my playlists since their debut four albums and most of a decade ago. The main difference is Auerbach’s bluesy moans and reverb-drenched guitar are stripped of bandmate Patrick Carnahan’s clattering garage-band drumming, and his tentative attempts to strecth out (the excellent acoustic opener “Trouble Weighs A Ton,” for example) are given the necessary space.

#6. Jason Isbell & The 400 UnitJason Isbell & The 400 Unit

Three brilliant but moody songwriter-guitarists in The Drive-By Truckers was one too many, so Isbell was cashiered after a five-year stint, and immediately put out his impressive first solo record, Sirens Of The Ditch, which earned a spot on the Holy Bee’s 2007 list. With a new backing band on board, Isbell continues to hone his fiery bar-room sound and continues to develop as a lyricist. Isbell’s songs consist mainly of finely-drawn character studies or drown-my-sorrows honky tonk weepers, sometimes with a subtle undercurrent of political or social conscience. All of which are hallmarks of the best Drive-By Truckers material, by the way, but Isbell and the mighty 400 are doing it almost completely below the radar.

#5. The Avett BrothersI And Love And You

Famous for their raucous live shows featuring fleet fingerpicking and a slew of rural-music influences (folk, bluegrass, country) that informed their style but never defined it, The Avett Brothers throw us a slight curve by creating an album of mellow (if sometimes spooky or anguished) piano ballads. They have not abandoned their stringed instruments — far from it. Acoustic guitar, banjo, and cello/violin provide the frills and flourishes, but keyboards are the melodic bedrock here. If Elton John had been born in the piney hills of Carolina instead of somewhere in England, he might have sounded something like this.

#4. Pink MountaintopsOutside Love
Sister group to the harder-edged Black Mountain (represented on the 2008 list), Pink Mountaintps is the more experimental of the two Canadian collectives headed by Stephen McBean. I generally like a firm footing in my music, and am suspicious of a band trying to coast too far on atmospherics, but Pink Mountaintops’ ponderous, echoing, fuzzed-out sound is indeed all about atmosphere. However, it has such keenly-felt yearning (especially in the heartbreakers “While We Were Dreaming” and “And I Thank You”) in the vocals — delivered by McBean & friends in clusters of two or three, or in Wall of Sound choral unison — that its sandal-gazing self-indulgence is forgiven and the album ends up charming and captivating.

#3. The Dead WeatherHorehound

Another Jack White side project — alongside The Raconteurs — and another winner. White is not the main voice here, however, turning over the majority of the vocal chores to Alison Mosshart of The Kills. If The White Stripes bring a taste of noisy dissonance to standard blues forms, The Dead Weather deconstruct the formula even more. Horehound is a cacaphony of buzzes, drones, and howls, created by Mosshart’s feral vocals, Dean Fertita’s primitive-sounding organ, and White’s drumkit bashing. It seems on the verge of spiraling into a complete noise-rock clusterfuck, but clings to a grim level of listenability with the tenacity of a gutter-rat, its traditionalist heart beating strong under all the scuzz.

#2. Franz FerdinandTonight: Franz Ferdinand

Franz’s first album was a “typical” buzz-band debut — about four hot-shit singles and some pretty good filler. Their second album also followed the usual pattern — written and recorded too soon after the smash debut, and desperately attempting to force-grow some artistic development and sonic expansion. This can result in the dreaded “sophomore slump,” but in Franz’s case, it worked, and the second album was even better than the first.

Reputation firmly established, Franz Ferdinand took their sweet time with their third album. Tonight can be heard as a loose concept album chronicling a Saturday night in the life of a typical British lad: going to a Franz Ferdinand concert (hence the album title, and a trying-to-sound-like-ourselves cheeky rewrite of their biggest hit “Take Me Out” entitled “No You Girls”), meeting and becoming infatuated with a girl, going to an after-hours dance club (represented by the hypnotic techno throb of the eight-minute “Lucid Dreams”), and parting ways with the girl as the sun rises. Or it can be heard as simply a great pop album, with catchy choruses, dashes of electronica, and cool percussion, including exuberant cymbal crashes in just the right places.

#1. The Black CrowesBefore The Frost…Until The Freeze

I grow tired of defending The Black Crowes, mostly because their detractors are so often correct. They hold a special place for me because of the fierceness of their Stones/Faces-influenced first two albums. What of it? Some bands coast for decades on the strength of one album, releasing nothing but half-baked shit forever after (*cough*Violent Femmes*cough*), yet their fans are not mocked and derided the way Crowes fans are outside of the hippie/jam-band community. So yes, the Crowes spent most of the 90’s riding the beads ‘n’ beards pothead circuit, putting out a series of increasingly incoherent and mediocre albums, and then hanging it up in 2002 for a hiatus during which they were not really missed. But when they re-emerged in 2008, they were a different — much better — band.

Different, certainly, from the young gunslingers of their first two albums, but aging has suited them. Age has deepened their grasp of fundamental blues and R&B motifs, which they seemed to forget during the worst of their wretched jam-band era. Age has polished their songwriting, and most of all, age has improved their playing. I mean, these guys play well. It’s not just a few chords and a rack of effects pedals that seems to pass for guitar-playing these days (yes, by some on this very list.) Long-time guitarist Rich Robinson is joined by new guitarist Luther Dickinson, who also plays with the North Mississippi Allstars, and together they form a team whose prowess lies not just in flashy soloing — though they can certainly do that — but in perfect rhythm and feel. “Body music” as it is called by Crowes hero Keith Richards.

Recorded live (with most of the crowd noise edited out, a la Neil Young’s Rust Never Sleeps) at Levon Helm’s “Midnight Ramble” barn in upstate New York, the Crowes’ already formidable six-man lineup is augmented by an additional percussionist and a banjo/fiddle/pedal steel specialist in a grand display of instrumental virtuosity.

There were two versions of this set released: a standard length album (Before The Frost) and an expanded double-length with a different running order (Before The Frost…Until The Freeze). The extra tracks are for the most part quieter and quirkier, leaning more toward country-folk than blues-rock. This #1 ranking would apply to either one, but I prefer the more experimental longer version, which is also the only one available on vinyl. I don’t know how long the band can continue at this level, but my faith in them has been somewhat restored.

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The 4 Types of Women on OKCupid

The Holy Bee is not made of stone. There are times when my solitary lifestyle is…well, kind of sad. Not often, mind you. Don’t shed any tears for me. For the most part, I have zero problem with an existence of doing whatever I want whenever I want to do it, but how many Deadliest Catch marathons and trips to Brownie’s Lounge will make a life complete? Sometimes, the need for companionship of the feminine variety rears its ugly head. Easy enough to solve, right? Hell, I’ve even managed it in the past a few times myself. But these days, I have a special set of issues that prevents the solution from being cut-and-dried:

Issue #1: I’m not really sure, deep-down, that I want companionship after all. I’m a loner by nature, so any move in this direction is hesitant and half-assed.

Issue #2: I’m waaaaay pickier than anyone who looks/acts like me has any right to be.

Issue #3: I don’t go out, and where would I go if I did? (A “nightclub”? Hahahahaha. Can you imagine me at a “nightclub”?) Brownie’s Lounge doesn’t count. You can see the STD microbes jumping off the women at Brownie’s Lounge. And I’m not yet reduced to flirting with women in the checkout line at WinCo.

Issue #4: Can’t flirt anyway. Got no game. Had it once. Lost it long ago. The idea of walking up to a stranger and striking up a conversation is as ludicrous an image as me in an Ed Hardy shirt at a “nightclub.”

Even my next door neighbor, a shuffling, tubercular sixtysomething with a porkpie hat and a permanent scowl seems to have a girlfriend, although she has twice made nocturnal visits to dump boxes of his shit on the lawn, so the relationship seemes somewhat volatile at best. But if he can do it, why not me? (Actually, he can do it because he doesn’t seem to have my Issue #2. I’ve caught glimpses of the gargoyle he “dates”, and it’s no coincidence she only moves around by dark of night.)

So that leaves us with the wonderful world of the Internet. The fine folks who brought us Anna Nicole Smith autopsy photos, “Leave Britney alone!”, and “2 Girls, 1 Cup.” Sure, you can pay good money and sign up for the nationally-advertised E-harmony.com and Match.com. But “paying” for “romantic companionship”? It’s a slippery slope, brothers and sisters, and I refuse to do it. It’s one of the few principles I have left. So the free site, OKCupid, is the only viable option.

I’ve long since gotten over any embarassment over having a profile there, but it was a rough start. I was in a depressed, drunken stupor when I signed up on the day after Thanksgiving 2007, and I immediately went into a cringing shame spiral. But I shook it off, hung tough, and explored the opportunities. I don’t expect miracles, and I’ve sometimes gone months between log-ins, but the hook is in the water, right?

Let’s talk age. One of the first things OKCupid asks you is what age range you’re interested in. I initially cast a pretty wide net (21-38), then two things (very) quickly occurred to me:

1. Any self-respecting woman in her early-to-mid twenties with all of their faculties would rather gnaw off one of their own limbs than date a fossilized fud like myself, unless he were fabulously wealthy (or at least the owner of a ski-boat.) I have to remember I’m 35, and a haggard 35 at that.

2. #1 doesn’t matter, because I would end up chewing off one of my limbs if I had to spend too much time with one of those hyperactive chatterboxes too young to remember Johnny Carson, Cheers, or the World Series earthquake.

So I reined in the age range a little. 29-38 seemed appropriate. This makes the dating pool extremely shallow, because most women my age are still trying to make their first marriage work (spoiler alert: it probably won’t).

After over two years of dipping in and out of OKCupid, it has gradually dawned on me that most (not all, you nitpickers) women, 29-38, who have profiles on that site fall into four broad categories (no pun intended):

#1. The Whirlwind
“Grab your passport, let’s travel!! Where? Any-fucking-where! It doesn’t matter, as I’m kind of an empty shell, and constant motion is preferable to sitting still and listening to the roaring void that is my personality!” Snowboarding in the winter, wakeboarding in the summer, the Whirlwind has no patience for soft, sedentary reflection, it’s go-go-go. She will run you into an early grave if you try to keep up with her, which is fine ’cause your premature death gives her more time for rock-climbing and trips to Ireland.

#2. The Girly-Girl
She matches all the stereotypes. These are the girls that the “oppressed males” in beer commercials are always trying to escape from, and with good reason. They like wine-tasting, celebrity gossip (Jon & Kate count as celebrities to them), chocolate, Oprah, Lucky magazine, and relationship discussions. Especially noteable for their absolutely appalling taste in all forms of popular culture, their DVD shelves are groaning with titles like Dirty Dancing and The Notebook, and their iPod playlists are chock full of Jack Johnson, Keith Urban, and Colbie Caillat. They may be smart, but they never display an iota of intellectual curiosity. (Warning: She will eventually turn into The Castrating Shrew, but that’s a different set of categories.)

[SIDE NOTE: I thought the “Girly-Girl” was a Madison Avenue cliche, a creature existing solely as an antagonist in the above-mentioned commercials, but they’re clearly out there. I suppose their opposite number is the “Manly-Man,” but it’s no longer the rugged, square-jawed Marlboro Man type. No, the new “Manly-Man,” according to the advertising wizards, is an unshaven, overgrown fratboy prone to bellowing incoherently and high-fiving his Token Black Friend over how shiny his truck is or how good he thinks his pisswater light beer tastes.]

#3. The Pretentious Grad Student
She may have graduated long ago, but never left the mentality behind. Very, very intelligent — much more so than you, certainly, you scruffy fuck — but hasn’t laughed out loud in a dog’s age. (A particularly pithy Jon Stewart quip or trenchant New Yorker cartoon may draw a wry smirk.) Reading list consists of hefty volumes on socio-political issues, or Gabriel Garcia Marquez novels. She listens to jazz, or Brazilian folk, or just whatever pops up on NPR’s Fresh Air that day (who has time for music when there’s causes?) She loves Thai food, or is vegetarian, or God help us, vegan. She often has a little bit of the Whirlwind in her, enjoying an occasional escape into the “real” culture of Europe, or some oppressed Latin American banana republic. Her Facebook profile picture for the next eighteen months will be her in front of some Mayan ruins in oversized boots and a hemp rucksack. In short, she’s completely insufferable.

#4. The “I’m-Just-A-Country-Girl”
Whole lotta these lurking around. She owns Tim McGraw and/or contemporary Christian CDs (hasn’t bought an iPod yet). Enjoys camping. Probably voted for Bush, twice, if it occurred to her to vote at all. Dumb as a fucking fencepost.

So no match for me. I seem to fall between the cracks (again, no pun intended) of these categories. The 21-28 year olds have their own set of categories, which are embryonic versions of all of the above (the only real difference is the 29-38 year olds have decent jobs), with the addition of Party Girl, Faux-Hippie Girl, and Aren’t-I-Nerdy/Quirky?-Girl.

In ten years, I might be writing about a whole new set of categories for 39-48 year olds. Stay tuned.

[ANOTHER SIDE NOTE. ACTUALLY, MORE OF AN END NOTE: Despite the rib-tickling satire above, I really believe these websites do work if you want them to work. I actually did meet one or two nice, normal women through that website, and even went “out” once or twice. What happened? See my Issue #1. I backed away.]

[END NOTE #2, FIVE YEARS LATER: Ok, the site works. See comments below. B-T-dubs, replace the incredibly dated Internet and Jon & Kate references above with whatever happens to be the new viral sensation and reality show celeb-du-jours in the year you’re reading this.]

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