tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-359280182024-03-06T03:29:28.124-05:00indierocket!a discussion of life, the universe and everything — but mostly music.patrickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07630179800789862590noreply@blogger.comBlogger169125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35928018.post-57914476192257260852008-05-23T10:27:00.004-04:002008-05-23T10:47:34.162-04:00Tube :: Why?, Band of Horses, Weezer<object height="355" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ir-oBeMltLY&hl=en"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ir-oBeMltLY&hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="355" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Why? :: "Song of the Sad Assassin"<br /></span>We loves us some Why? here at the 'rocket, and "Song of the Sad Assassin," what with its clunky toy-piano riffs and lurching structure, is one of my favorite jams from <span style="font-style: italic;">Alopecia</span>, one of my favorite records from this year. The video is as brain-melting as some of Yoni Wolf's abstract rhymes, but that's why we like it, innit?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1SbeZ-Ldpazxj9869ZqInDe5W0PnaP17bheBzorKKzl3aaEembB9bEhEEnunaKbJc9OjS8Igx4ewTysd6jjmdyfT5PvTy2meO3k-Y03WRROc8boLsN5rsdH_Mq1ShaKHj1lEr/s1600-h/bandofhorses4.jpg"><span style="display: block;" id="formatbar_Buttons"><span class="" style="display: block;" id="formatbar_CreateLink" title="Link" onmouseover="ButtonHoverOn(this);" onmouseout="ButtonHoverOff(this);" onmouseup="" onmousedown="CheckFormatting(event);FormatbarButton('richeditorframe', this, 8);ButtonMouseDown(this);"></span></span><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1SbeZ-Ldpazxj9869ZqInDe5W0PnaP17bheBzorKKzl3aaEembB9bEhEEnunaKbJc9OjS8Igx4ewTysd6jjmdyfT5PvTy2meO3k-Y03WRROc8boLsN5rsdH_Mq1ShaKHj1lEr/s400/bandofhorses4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203581570188652290" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Band of Horses :: "No One's Gonna Love You"</span><br /><a href="http://pitchfork.tv/videos/band-of-horses-no-ones-gonna-love-you">pitchfork.tv</a> has a video up for Band of Horses' "No One's Gonna Love You," the most charming and endearing song from last year's charming and endearing <span style="font-style: italic;">Cease to Begin</span>.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL0AxvmdZS63y2b7uANUTyiCyyRq0m9ZVgnUtvDoK_rJcNjo1onQNjU05kycEE9Q7oOFxjU-oOlAZryfHlQgPV41FEcFwbOzfY-XUyMEz1UZ4FoUo2IIE8jqvTBk8sFRykM8VE/s1600-h/Photo_WeezerThe_300RGB.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL0AxvmdZS63y2b7uANUTyiCyyRq0m9ZVgnUtvDoK_rJcNjo1onQNjU05kycEE9Q7oOFxjU-oOlAZryfHlQgPV41FEcFwbOzfY-XUyMEz1UZ4FoUo2IIE8jqvTBk8sFRykM8VE/s400/Photo_WeezerThe_300RGB.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203584207298572050" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Weezer :: "Pork and Beans"<br /></span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=muP9eH2p2PI">Sigh</a>. Remember when Weezer was, you know, good?patrickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07630179800789862590noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35928018.post-2983065721913344772008-05-08T11:28:00.003-04:002008-05-08T11:35:53.913-04:00Musings :: Tokio Hotel: The "Future of Music"?<embed src="http://www.mtv.com/player/embed/wp/" width="400" height="330" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" flashvars="CONFIG_URL=http://www.mtv.com/player/embed/wp/configuration.jhtml%3fvid%3D231258&allowFullScreen=true" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="never" base="."></embed><br /><br />This was posted to <a href="http://idolator.com/388234/tokio-hotel-the-future-of-music-whether-you-like-it-or-not">Idolator</a> this morning under the headline "The Future of Music, Whether You Like It Or Not."<br /><br />The indierocket! response: <span style="font-weight: bold;">Jesus. Fucking. Christ<span style="font-style: italic;">. </span></span>It's as if someone invented a machine that took the characters from <span style="font-style: italic;">Rock Band</span> — complete and utter lack of charisma and all — and made them real. Then made them start a band. A shitty, dishwater-grey mallternative band.<br /><br />Seriously. There is absolutely nothing redeeming about this. Nothing.<br /><br />If this is the "future of music," as Idolator posits, then Doc Brown and I need to get back to work on that Delorean.patrickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07630179800789862590noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35928018.post-64244230928616686112008-05-06T10:45:00.005-04:002008-05-07T10:38:12.235-04:00New Noise :: Capsule: Blue<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWi18Aa3pEOE-i88Vi442bFOz8SMqw9_NjKJU6DpzDk4S9KaNGIN78xgVyGa0wUPZAKhPhETBCtELfia8NaT6UzZS1Y6DhhmGasgyMDHmUU5y-RE196xktVtUqg4rrxWziBupM/s1600-h/01909.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWi18Aa3pEOE-i88Vi442bFOz8SMqw9_NjKJU6DpzDk4S9KaNGIN78xgVyGa0wUPZAKhPhETBCtELfia8NaT6UzZS1Y6DhhmGasgyMDHmUU5y-RE196xktVtUqg4rrxWziBupM/s200/01909.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197277286175018002" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Capsule<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Blue</span> (Robotic Empire)<br />Verdict: 9.0.<br />RIYL: Orchid, Off Minor, Pg. 99, Circle Takes the Square, Cave In<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">skramz</span> </span>(skrāmz)<br />- noun<br />1. <span style="font-style: italic;">Informal</span> A new term for the screamo/emo bands of the 90s, or anything that is REAL screamo/emo. I'm not sure if the term is supposed to be taken seriously or not, but it's there. Possibly created in revolt of the shitty 'new' emo bands and self-proclaimed 'emo' kids.<br />(source: <a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=skramz">urbandictionary</a>.)<br /><br />You see, this is what irks me as a music journo. As much as I enjoy the convenience of ultra-specific genre labels (see: post-metal; baile funk; nerdcore), the names deigned to them rarely, you know, <span style="font-style: italic;">mean</span> anything. Seriously: <span style="font-style: italic;">Skramz</span>? What the everloving fuck is that? Why can't we just say that Miami's <a href="http://www.myspace.com/capsulefl">Capsule</a> is a hardcore band? And then why can't we just follow that up with a clause like, oh I don't know, "in the vein of '90s screamo titans Orchid and Pg. 99"? Plus: Skramz just sounds (and looks) fucking retarded. Look: Capsule is a screamo band — essentially short for "faster, more brutal hardcore with lots of screaming and/or shouting." Yeah, that's dumbing it down, but at least it means something.<br /><br />I digress in the interest of keeping things simple. Capsule fucking slays. <span style="font-style: italic;">Blue</span> is an absolute powerhouse from start to finish; it's heavy, it's spazzy and, at times, it's even absolutely gorgeous. It's a monolith of aggression and power. It's a panic attack gone horribly, horribly right. You'll need a helmet so there won't be a mess when <span style="font-style: italic;">Blue</span> blows your mind.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Blue </span>kicks off in high gear with the balls-tighteningly fantastic one-two punch of the dense "True Blue" and the spastic, thrashing "Cobalt Connection." (See the color motif running through here? Yeah? Yeah.) The energy and spirit contained within invoke Orchid and Commander Caterpillar, but the off-kilter tunings and malicious riffs recall the early work of art-core monoliths Cave In. Indeed, it's when Capsule stretches the song lengths past the 120-second mark that things get really interesting. "Determinal" starts off as another exercise in controlled fury before devolving into a beautiful, grungy drone. Follow that up with the sullen, somber "Blue/Green" and you have a nice respite (and a seldom seen change of pace) from the brutal ass-kicking of the rest of <span style="font-style: italic;">Blue</span>.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Blue</span> is a confounding and wonderful conflagaration of brutal blast-beats, shifting time-signatures and galloping punk spirit. Blurry, buried shouts are surrounded by thunderous mountains of guitar and bass, buried beneath the avalanche of melodic onslaught. And yet, for the conscious listener, intricate melodies in bizarre tunings sneak their way into an overall unnerving amalgamation of genres, creating an anxiety-filled album of fevered beauty. Easily one of the most unique and rewarding listens of the year.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span>patrickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07630179800789862590noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35928018.post-1018800617054485102008-05-01T11:04:00.009-04:002008-05-01T12:15:23.839-04:00Interview :: Pelican<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh06DzJKO14pyN1JF7RF_35VjFDW2ziqeVsImv1R7ECRLju0jYwkXjAHdejOy1IYt5yCms9l0pBfUL-kYYfnzmXkP5sAQ1G3SW-88vTYkPqaHcNjwragrrmDhS8gZx6CzU7mrGJ/s1600-h/pelican-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh06DzJKO14pyN1JF7RF_35VjFDW2ziqeVsImv1R7ECRLju0jYwkXjAHdejOy1IYt5yCms9l0pBfUL-kYYfnzmXkP5sAQ1G3SW-88vTYkPqaHcNjwragrrmDhS8gZx6CzU7mrGJ/s400/pelican-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195425700003908610" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.pelicansong.com">Pelican</a> is an instrumental band from Chicago that plays a dense, sprawling, heavy brand of instrumental music that often gets the band branded "post-metal." But that doesn't sit well with guitarist Laurent Schroeder-Lebec: indierocket! spoke with Lebec in advance of the band's <strike>upcoming show at the <a href="http://www.newbrooklandtavern.com">New Brookland Tavern</a></strike> about why post-anything is bullshit. An edited transcript is after the jump. <span class="readmore"><a href="http://gogoindierocket.blogspot.com/2008/05/interview-pelican.html#more">More...</a></span><span class="fullpost"><a name="more"></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The first thing people probably notice about Pelican is the absence of a singer. Was it always the intention for Pelican to be an instrumental band?</span><br />Yeah, pretty much. I mean, at the beginning we definitely toyed with the idea of getting a singer; there weren’t that many instrumental bands around at the time, so we really didn’t have much of a point of reference for being instrumental. So we definitely thought at the beginning that we would eventually get one, but it just sort of happened that some songs materialized and it didn’t really seem like there was a need for one. Then we were put in the situation of wanting to play a few live shows and not having a singer to do it, but we kind of couldn’t pass up the opportunities — it was to open for High on Fire and then for Isis.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">You don’t pass something like that up.<br /></span>No, not at all.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">My friend Russell has this theory that all music is better with vocals. The idea is that instrumental bands start at a deficit, having to try harder to keep the listener entertained and having to compensate for the tangible emotional connection a singer brings. As an instrumental band, how does Pelican approach its music so that the listener is not only entertained but emotionally invested?<br /></span>The main way we do that is to keep ourselves entertained and inspired. I think if the performance comes we’re putting comes across as us enjoying what we’re doing and that we’re connecting with our own art, then we’re just looking for an audience to connect with that experience with us.<br />It’s the same as going to see a jazz band and there’s no singer and somebody says, ‘Well, this jazz band would sound a lot better if they had a singer. And these musicians seem to be lacking an emotional connection.’ And that couldn’t be further from the truth. I think that people are maybe too connected to the presence of a singer in their music and find that, maybe, instrumental music is averse to that. But I don’t think that’s the case; people connect with soundtracks in the same way after they see a movie. I think that our music can be quite emotional.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">So is it liberating not having a singer?<br /></span>It definitely imposes less structure. For us, we’ve found it to be pretty freeing. I think we fill the sonic palette pretty well with just instruments.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Pelican is often lumped in with other bands — usually Isis, Godspeed You Black Emperor!, Russian Circles, Mogwai, Tortoise, etc. — often because you’re all instrumental bands. Do you think Pelican’s pigeonholed by being instrumental?<br /></span>I don’t mind the association with any of those bands — we’re all fans and there’s obviously a degree of inspiration. I think that there is a general pigeonholing that comes from being ... instrumental in general; people feel the need to lump instrumental bands in with other instrumental bands and there’s so much music out there. We’re inspired by everything out there that’s under the sun. It’s all there in our music and we don’t choose to put any titles on it.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">So maybe “post-rock” or “post-metal” isn’t the best descriptor, then?<br /></span>I just don’t think that there’s any post- anything. I think most genres around right now are going to be around for a while. You know, I’m a huge fan of metal and have consistently listened to metal for most of my life, and I definitely didn’t think that, all of a sudden, it was like, ‘Oh, metal is over; there’s a post-metal world.’ I think what there is is with the advent of the Internet and people learning about bands all over the world that are doing things a little bit differently; you find that there’s a lot more cross-pollination of genres, and I definitely think that’s something that happened for us. I definitely come from a punk, power-pop and traditional metal background and our other guitar player Trevor [de Brauw] has much more of a taste for experimental music.<br />We rarely butt heads about where we’re going musically. There’s not a lot of self-conscious reflection on how we’re crafting our art. It’s evolved alone and with each other, and I think our music has, too. So I’m really not too concerned with what team we belong to or who we should be touring with and what people think of us; I think for the most part we find that we’ve been playing music with pretty much anyone. We’ve toured with High on Fire, Mono, Daughters, black metal bands.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">And like now, you’re on tour with Thrice and Circa Survive, and those bands obviously have a different fanbase than, say, Mono or Opeth. Is it difficult to cater to different crowds like that?<br /></span>We’ve done so much different stuff that it’s pretty easy to feel like we can do anything, you know? And that’s what’s rewarding about playing the music that we do. That’s the challenge and that’s what makes touring really fun. When we started touring on a regular basis — and this is like three years ago — you just find that after a certain amount of time you’re really hitting the same spots.<br />When you’re playing the kind of music we’re playing, you’re also kind of shooting yourself in the foot in terms of potential for being huge. But that’s not the reward; we just want to build up a community of people who are excited about the directions we’re taking and the chances we’re taking and how we’re growing musically.<br />The language between each other on stage and the rush we get from playing on stage is what keeps us on the road.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">There’s an almost seismic evolution from the self-titled EP to City of Echoes, which is much more complex and dynamic and a lot airier that your earlier works. Was this a natural evolution or a conscious decision?<br /></span>I definitely think it’s natural. We write and generally the songs we write in batches. The weird songs are always the first few songs for a record. You write one and you’re like, ‘Oh man, this sounds different and we’re just not sure where we’re going.’ And you kind of doubt yourself a little bit and you always have this fear of repeating yourself at the same time; you don’t want to tread the same ground. So we started writing this record [<span style="font-style: italic;">City of Echoes</span>] and just right away with the first song or two found that we were really headed in a different direction. And the rest of the writing went smoothly after that. And a year later, you’ve got <span style="font-style: italic;">City of Echoes</span>.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Are there any unifying themes to Pelican records?<br /></span>Traditional themes: family, health, falling in love, getting married, the pursuit of happiness in one’s life — it all gets sorted in there.<br />City of Echoes was a reflection of our own lives. We don’t really look back and try to understand where the music came from. The only moments we sit down and try to assess where something was coming from is if it was going wrong. But if everything sounds on point and everyone’s having a good time, you’re not going to say, ‘Whoa, guys, slow down. What does this mean?’<br />Any song is a different vignette is a ... little reminder or little triggers to remind ourselves from our times on tour.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Has there been any progress for the new record?<br /></span>We’ve got four or five songs written. And it’s already shaping up to be really different from [City of Echoes].<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Is self-parody something you have to actively try to avoid?<br /></span>We have to. We’re just that hardwired to do it. If we feel like we’re treading old ground, it just starts to feel comical, and we’re very aware of the parodies of the genres we’re playing in and out of.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Pelican's May 1 show at the New Brookland Tavern has been canceled, but the show must go on: Opening acts Castalia and ...for science! take the stage at the New Brookland Tavern at 8 p.m. Admission is $4 ($6 if you're under 21). Call 791-4413 or visit newbrooklandtavern.com.</span></span>patrickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07630179800789862590noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35928018.post-11953781000636186682008-05-01T10:09:00.002-04:002008-05-01T10:11:39.519-04:00april was the cruelest month.dear loyal indierocket! readers (hi, mom!):<br /><br />between new jobs and new situations at old new jobs, indierocket comrade tug and i have been busy. that's no excuse for our neglect, though.<br /><br />we'll try harder. we promise.<br /><br />-patrick.patrickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07630179800789862590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35928018.post-89342357202527978542008-03-24T12:48:00.002-04:002008-03-24T12:51:34.719-04:00Musings :: Twelve-Year-Old Throws Rocks at Kill Soulja Boy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJTlbD5uT2s7s77_EQqLaBIemPH4kOfLnuFZfHfm2zM4Z4MB7J4tBDfAmtjXdkumg4RBcekXic3_nEO9fDsl1T4Fldx4q6pEMFxK-jd-fmGp9Hq77IS363blp9V9IWiOvuLmHg/s1600-h/souljaboyclean101tm.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJTlbD5uT2s7s77_EQqLaBIemPH4kOfLnuFZfHfm2zM4Z4MB7J4tBDfAmtjXdkumg4RBcekXic3_nEO9fDsl1T4Fldx4q6pEMFxK-jd-fmGp9Hq77IS363blp9V9IWiOvuLmHg/s400/souljaboyclean101tm.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5181351354924312386" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.pantagraph.com/articles/2008/03/22/news/doc47e43e02deb00524014754.txt">This</a> makes me giggle:<br /><blockquote>"BLOOMINGTON -- A 12-year-old boy was arrested and accused of throwing a rock through a hip-hop performer’s tour bus windshield Thursday night, police said.<br /><br />Bloomington Police Lt. Pete Avery said the boy told officers, “I hate Soulja Boy.”</blockquote> <blockquote></blockquote>I believe the children are our future.patrickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07630179800789862590noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35928018.post-51825931404045509012008-03-11T13:26:00.003-04:002008-03-11T13:40:51.235-04:00New Noise :: Kaki King, Russian Circles<object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/pVYp2sgA9M0"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/pVYp2sgA9M0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object><br /><br />I'm a big Kaki King fan; I think <span style="font-style: italic;">Legs to Make Us Longer</span> was one of the best albums of its year, and <span style="font-style: italic;">...until we felt red</span> is an underrated pleasure. "Pull Me Out Alive," the first single from King's newest longplayer <span style="font-style: italic;">Dreaming of Revenge<span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span>, released today. It's an interesting mid-tempo indie-pop track, and the mostly strummed (and incredibly jangly) guitar work seems to mark a departure point from her previous textured-guitar work. I'm interested to see how the rest of the record turns out; hopefully, King won't have abandoned the ambient textures that attracted listeners in the first place to fire off more polished pop tunes.<br /><br /><object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/RmOR1I2Q-OI"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/RmOR1I2Q-OI" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object><br /><br />This video for Russian Circles' "Harper Lewis" has been circulating YouTube for seven months now, so crazy obsessive fans (such as yours truly) have been rocking this jam for some time. (<span style="font-style: italic;">Pitchfork</span> posted the studio version of the track, which appears on the forthcoming <span style="font-style: italic;">Station</span>, last week.) While it doesn't explode like "Death Rides a Horse" or evolve as eloquently as "Carpe," "Harper Lewis"'s slow-burning build is still pretty kickass.patrickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07630179800789862590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35928018.post-74938959303308964032008-02-20T16:26:00.005-05:002008-02-20T16:43:23.309-05:00Get Out :: 02.20.08<span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Get Out is indierocket!'s occasional guide to getting down in the Soda City.</span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNOP1iuqUe-8aSDx9spZIYpmQh0nkkh2kh_8MuWSh-i4LWn16347Z8xvzt_efmMeky1JJvwcWLXr-4LIkhJzp6nf34PCaZ-_BRnDckoIXfOKqYALuHjCDAaJ0tM7394IbgpgIG/s1600-h/022008.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNOP1iuqUe-8aSDx9spZIYpmQh0nkkh2kh_8MuWSh-i4LWn16347Z8xvzt_efmMeky1JJvwcWLXr-4LIkhJzp6nf34PCaZ-_BRnDckoIXfOKqYALuHjCDAaJ0tM7394IbgpgIG/s400/022008.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5169177418874181442" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">...for science!, Anthems for Odyssey<br />New Brookland Tavern :: 7 p.m.<br /></span>...for science! plays loud, slow, heavy post-rock; Anthems for Odyssey plays tight, fuzzy, gothic shoegaze. It's a nice complement; trust us. <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Damage: $5 ($7 under 21)</span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">.</span></span>patrickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07630179800789862590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35928018.post-26500417064291624992008-02-18T13:28:00.003-05:002008-02-18T14:14:49.778-05:00New Noise :: American Gun: The Means and the Machine<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcfh9nbi34B6nWYB0wbwf8Avh7i3g338cHC_wCAn1IVvggqY8nH1NsPytHUYpZlsh6TIUBQx0siN2JOJP9DQMAoVYSGBuT6H0U9UJJaF8f1BLlwFwu1cipR_YpBny_hT4-gn6K/s1600-h/means250.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcfh9nbi34B6nWYB0wbwf8Avh7i3g338cHC_wCAn1IVvggqY8nH1NsPytHUYpZlsh6TIUBQx0siN2JOJP9DQMAoVYSGBuT6H0U9UJJaF8f1BLlwFwu1cipR_YpBny_hT4-gn6K/s200/means250.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168389245130725170" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">American Gun<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The Means and the Machine</span> (Diamond D)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Verdict: </span>8.3.<br />RIYL: Whiskeytown, Lucero, Drive-By Truckers, Avett Brothers</span><br /><br />In the grand tradition of Southern rock bands — and please note the distinction from Southern-rock bands <span style="font-style: italic;">a la</span> Skynyrd et al — American Gun possesses a hootin', hollerin', carryin-on' spirit that wouldn't feel authentic coming from a band of carpetbaggers. Indeed, much of American Gun's swagger can be traced to old-time country's bigwigs — The Man in Black, The Possum, The Red-Headed Stranger, The Killer and The King — and the parts of which that can't are easily touchstoned — Whiskeytown, Lucero (hell yes, Lucero; the band expertly covers Ben Nichols' "All the Same to Me" on <span style="font-style: italic;">Means</span>), Americana, Brit-rock.<br /><br />So while such easy sonic references are a music journo's dream, it begs the question: Where are the original bones in the band's body? The bones here come from songwriters Todd Mathis and Donald Merckle, the creative forces behind the band's attractive indie-Americana tunes. Typical dual-songwriter comparisons — Lennon-McCartney or, perhaps more appropriately, Farrar-Tweedy — don't exactly fit, as there's never the sense that one is pulling in an entirely different direction than the other. Besides, both probably fall more toward the Tweedy side of the scale anyhow, though Merckle's tunes tend to be darker, folksier affairs and Mathis' to be edgier, overdriven affairs. And, indeed, the album works its best magic when each sticks to his strengths: Merckle scores a one-two punch with the tongue-in-cheek opener "Drunk Girls" and the roots-poppy "Fight Song"; Mathis sets <span style="font-style: italic;">Means</span> ablaze with follow-up tracks "Horses" and "Neil Young Mood." Those themselves make for an incredibly strong side one, and while it's not that side two is lackluster or disappointing, it's not really again until the tongue-in-cheek closing number, the Mathis-penned "Jesus Gave Us Rock 'n' Roll," that American Gun again hits on all cylinders. Again: There are good tracks — Mathis' longing, lonesome "First Impressions" most of all — but the second half's preponderance of slow-burners and plodding tearjerkers bleeds off a little too much momentum.<br /><br />I'm not thrilled with Chris Stamey's production of the record — it's a bit airy and dissociated for a band whose live strength is foot-stomping fervor. Stamey's saving grace, though, is introducing the band to pedal-steel virtuoso Al Perkins, whose melodic lines glide with blissful grace. Indeed, it's the steel playing that pushes most of the tracks into the alt-country straosphere; and when you add flashes of mandolin and horn sections, it's that much tastier.<br /><br />Ultimately, <span style="font-style: italic;">The Means and the Machine</span> is about the same as American Gun's debut, <span style="font-style: italic;">Dark Southern Hearts</span>: A good-not-great, immensely solid outing that, were the band not toiling in relative obscurity, would provide a nice addition to the hallowed catalogs of New West or Lost Highway.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.myspace.com/americangun">American Gun [MySpace]</a><br /><a href="http://www.americangun.net">American Gun [official website]</a>patrickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07630179800789862590noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35928018.post-58925033321673437472008-02-08T13:29:00.001-05:002008-02-13T17:05:35.855-05:00New Noise :: Grand Archives :: Torn Blue Foam Couch<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/__J1KdbNmpPM/R6yjgY4OZLI/AAAAAAAAASc/w2g2BvqNq4I/s1600-h/GrandArchives.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/__J1KdbNmpPM/R6yjgY4OZLI/AAAAAAAAASc/w2g2BvqNq4I/s400/GrandArchives.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5164682649516532914" border="0" /></a><br />You might remember me posting the demo for this song <a href="http://gogoindierocket.blogspot.com/2007/08/newish-noise-grand-archives.html">a while back</a>. Back then, it was just a track on a four-song demo EP that they had thrown together themselves. Now signed to <a href="http://www.subpop.com/">Sub Pop</a>, Mat Brooke and Co. are about to drop their full-length (out Feb. 19th - <a href="http://www.msplinks.com/MDFodHRwOi8vd3d3LnN1YnBvcC5jb20vcmVsZWFzZXMvZ3JhbmRfYXJjaGl2ZXMvZnVsbF9sZW5ndGhzL3RoZV9ncmFuZF9hcmNoaXZlcw==">pre-order</a> and you get a bonus 7-inch), and to whet our whistle, Sub Pop has released the final version of 'Torn Blue Foam Couch.'<br /><br />To be honest, I'm a little torn with how to feel about the new version. I suppose that's to be expected. For something like ten months, the demo is the only version of the song I had ever heard, and if I would ever get off my lazy butt and post my list of favorite songs from 2007 (soon, I promise), you would already know that this was my favorite song of the year. I have a few problems with the final version (and they really aren't problems, I'm just not used to the new arrangement). First off, I never realized that the chord structure was the same as <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Canon_in_D">Pachelbel's Canon</a> (you know, that wedding song), but the new version's intro makes it unmistakable. Nothing wrong with that. It's just a little distracting. Another bother is that the piano is accompanied occasionally with a keyboard of some kind that occasionally detracts from the simple beauty of the piano. It's shorter, so it's build doesn't seem quite as magnificent as the original. There are new things that I do like. For instance, the horns really give it the Beach Boys feel that I think the band is going for, and the drums sound even better than the original, which I didn't think possible.<br /><br />Anyways, enough of my opinions. Why don't you decide for yourself? Here's both versions. Discuss!<br /><br />Grand Archives <a href="http://indierocket.secret-hq.com/files/Grand%20Archives%20-%20Torn%20Blue%20Foam%20Couch.mp3">Torm Blue Foam Couch (demo)</a><br /><br />Grand Archives <a href="http://indierocket.secret-hq.com/files/Grand%20Archives%20-%20Torn%20Blue%20Foam%20Couch-official.mp3">Torn Foam Blue Couch (final)</a><br /><br />Pre-order <i>The Grand Archives</i> <a href="http://www.msplinks.com/MDFodHRwOi8vd3d3LnN1YnBvcC5jb20vcmVsZWFzZXMvZ3JhbmRfYXJjaGl2ZXMvZnVsbF9sZW5ndGhzL3RoZV9ncmFuZF9hcmNoaXZlcw==">here</a>.tughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12456641411160319200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35928018.post-53439049582647823942008-02-01T12:10:00.000-05:002008-02-01T12:59:02.609-05:00Get Out! :: 02.01.08<span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" >Get Out! is indierocket!'s occasional guide to getting down in the Soda City.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">FRIDAY :: 02.01.08</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPGhOclYf0qphKAyrzWDQ5PoL3pcwJUi0JADYyw8G1evxLHH5MK81eL4aoaWizLceOhZSTijBEy8eKsme9tddxycV5KAIRGltcJPcjdRY4huWlPd5nwNfQyNNpH6OLacHNBrp6/s1600-h/blackswan3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPGhOclYf0qphKAyrzWDQ5PoL3pcwJUi0JADYyw8G1evxLHH5MK81eL4aoaWizLceOhZSTijBEy8eKsme9tddxycV5KAIRGltcJPcjdRY4huWlPd5nwNfQyNNpH6OLacHNBrp6/s400/blackswan3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5162061048277238962" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Black Swan :: Hunter-Gatherer :: 11 p.m.</span><br /><a href="http://www.myspace.com/blackswansc">Black Swan</a>'s dark, progressive indie rock makes excellent use of post-rock and goth-rock touchstones, creating a moody, atmospheric sound all its own. Reid Hardaway's nimble, heavily reverbed arpeggios counter-balance Courtney Vincent's simple piano structures perfectly, and Hardaway's tasteful use of delay recalls early British shoegazers Ride. And let's not forget the rhythm section, the simple-yet-effective combination of bassist Joe Greene and drummer Daniel Wilson. The most striking of Black Swan's compositional elements, though, is Vincent's voice, which is at once seductively husky and elegantly restrained. <span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Damage: $3</span>.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">SATURDAY :: 02.02.08<br /></span>Colour Revolt :: New Brookland Tavern :: 6:30 p.m.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkfy9GjEplX2UV2-PS1LwrqYR0sQYPZXXQnO0W7oRIe9SPkHv-PitZME4EpvH3ju82ERhs-6RG11u61LxRIauKhmUMH7xboWBwC4Nvm_Mc_Fp4WYwSWbbzLHWKPgVVby9jj1tW/s1600-h/colourrevolt2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkfy9GjEplX2UV2-PS1LwrqYR0sQYPZXXQnO0W7oRIe9SPkHv-PitZME4EpvH3ju82ERhs-6RG11u61LxRIauKhmUMH7xboWBwC4Nvm_Mc_Fp4WYwSWbbzLHWKPgVVby9jj1tW/s400/colourrevolt2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5162063122746442946" border="0" /></a>I say this with the utmost reverence: <a href="http://www.myspace.com/colourrevolt">Colour Revolt </a>blends everything I love about post-<span style="font-style: italic;">Good News</span> Modest Mouse, pre-<span style="font-style: italic;">Worlds Apart</span> ...Trail of Dead, <span style="font-style: italic;">Surfer Rosa</span>-era Pixies and classic Neil Young and distills it into a perfect temper tantrum of indie-rock furor. Call Colour Revolt post-apocalyptic-rock: Drums hit like claps of thunder; bass guitars rattle like earthquakes; guitars twist and flail like whirlwinds; and singer Jesse Coppenbarger encapsulates the lonesome, confused spirit of the last man on Earth. The Oxford, Miss., quintet's new record, <span style="font-style: italic;">Plunder, Beg and Curse</span>, continues in the same urgent vein as its self-titled debut; don't be surprised if most of the set is derived from it. <span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Damage: $7.<br /></span></span><span><span><a href="http://dw.com.com/redir?&destUrl=http%3a%2f%2fmusic-files.download.com%2fsd%2fOK-Vw23rBRxtAGqxzWyTL9sakiysgH3HrhIVmj0SeuvFYvO1nx31JNcAFwy7VrmuCzePqx79z6QQPatLkTwJO0gcvn3tbpvS%2fmp3download%2f101107500%2f192%2fColour_Revolt-Naked_And_Red.mp3&edId=3&siteId=32&oId=3600-8592_32-101107493&ontId=8592&lop=btn&tag=btn&ltype=dl_192k&astId=2&pid=101107500&mfgId=101107493&merId=101107493">Colour Revolt - "Naked and Red" [from <span style="font-style: italic;">Plunder, Beg and Curse</span>]</a><br /></span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span>Josh Roberts & the Hinges :: Headliners :: 9 p.m.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUgbFo0PszxJmJytgswdamkIwde75vc_xZ0ClQLpTXLDyNfQBvTpkYFj3Yx1XxiKSWWjRobmvsgInrUggqXOm3wFB8TmTFYfEeEaMBYepCg2qLiBBm6VmYms50j9xbR6A1Z8T_/s1600-h/joshroberts&thehinges1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUgbFo0PszxJmJytgswdamkIwde75vc_xZ0ClQLpTXLDyNfQBvTpkYFj3Yx1XxiKSWWjRobmvsgInrUggqXOm3wFB8TmTFYfEeEaMBYepCg2qLiBBm6VmYms50j9xbR6A1Z8T_/s400/joshroberts&thehinges1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5162066833598186706" border="0" /></a>Put simply, there's no such thing as a bad <a href="http://www.myspace.com/joshrobertsandthehingesrock">Josh Roberts</a> show. And that's all there is to it. The Hinges' new record, <span style="font-style: italic;">My War Cry is Amor</span>, is a raucous, rollicking riot through the world of alt-country, from the punkish "Atom Inhibitor" to the lugubrious, triumphant "Every Brick of Downtown." <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Damage: $7.<br /></span></span><span><span><a href="http://www.archive.org/download/2007.12.14_JoshRobertsAndTheHinges_5PointsPub_Columbia_SC/2007.12.14_JoshRobertsAndTheHinges_5PointsPub_Columbia_SC_02_EveryBrickOfDowntown.mp3">Josh Roberts & the Hinges - "Every Brick of Downtown"</a> [live at the Five Points Pub [via <a href="http://www.archive.org/details/2007.12.14_JoshRobertsAndTheHinges_5PointsPub_Columbia_SC">archive.org</a>]]<br /></span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Rob Lindsey & the Friendly Confines :: Art Bar :: 10 p.m.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSErEw0_x-ZXJEaF7ffuTuRolXUfrK7PPfg1ZXzY2Hdqt3ixpZYs0aG9o3CVCEC7AuDbD22RF5GIZ2p-AlInBDsiMPAPf1-zjYW_YBZjHV-Oyi89BYsc9t1WpaJwKVM9C8us87/s1600-h/roblindsey.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSErEw0_x-ZXJEaF7ffuTuRolXUfrK7PPfg1ZXzY2Hdqt3ixpZYs0aG9o3CVCEC7AuDbD22RF5GIZ2p-AlInBDsiMPAPf1-zjYW_YBZjHV-Oyi89BYsc9t1WpaJwKVM9C8us87/s400/roblindsey.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5162070059118626018" border="0" /></a>We here at indierocket! love us some <a href="http://www.myspace.com/thefriendlyconfines">Rob Lindsey</a> — I like to say he's a more literate John Mayer or a pop-rock Tom Waits — and we're glad to see he's put together a backing band — featuring members of another indierocket!-beloved local group, Magnetic Flowers — to flesh out his intricate and interesting guitar-pop. <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Damage: $3.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Jam Room 20th Anniversary Bash :: Five Points Pub :: 8 p.m.<br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCw2zO74HPzywRxotqk3CukStGIFTgByuNXT3S9EDV7B6BDrcN2Hjk06cxNNuDZOFJfzCyraYJhXx9g6W7CiQp02NYCk0WRP1u_1I7AYqjcBB8MT3QB5vXJeMMUny6FLKedld_/s1600-h/dbetm8.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCw2zO74HPzywRxotqk3CukStGIFTgByuNXT3S9EDV7B6BDrcN2Hjk06cxNNuDZOFJfzCyraYJhXx9g6W7CiQp02NYCk0WRP1u_1I7AYqjcBB8MT3QB5vXJeMMUny6FLKedld_/s400/dbetm8.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5162070063413593330" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.jamroomstudio.com/">The Jam Room</a>'s a veritable Columbia institution; Jay Matheson's client-list is long and impressive, including The Queers, Kylesa and local heroes Stretch Arm Strong. We're most excited about our boys <a href="http://www.myspace.com/dbetm">Death Becomes Even the Maiden</a>, but the night also features some blasts from Columbia's past: Old-timey punks Scary Hand and 49 Reasons play, as do reunited goth-rockers Bachelors of Art. <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Damage: $5.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span></span></span><span><span><a href="http://media3.sonicbids.com/EPK/Assets/audio.mp3?file_id=%7BD703B32F-459B-498F-AD98-BDB9F5559767%7D">Death Becomes Even the Maiden - "Control"</a> [from <span style="font-style: italic;">The Arrangement</span>]</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span><br /></span></span>patrickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07630179800789862590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35928018.post-80985294289417089682008-01-31T13:51:00.000-05:002008-01-31T14:00:34.638-05:00Musings :: Bill Cosby to Release Rap Record<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-dQSIbMuVBOv9oru9zGJBT1u_xDjhxJqphijqVAVc0fJu9OzoZ8hPdmdeIPMqQvyrmD2Pwobijme5aUhLGas6JqplbcBMHiLN-WxUxFxsC9jHNSxqMxsJbPe-pZEvw2MLyiiW/s1600-h/onion_imagearticle1872.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-dQSIbMuVBOv9oru9zGJBT1u_xDjhxJqphijqVAVc0fJu9OzoZ8hPdmdeIPMqQvyrmD2Pwobijme5aUhLGas6JqplbcBMHiLN-WxUxFxsC9jHNSxqMxsJbPe-pZEvw2MLyiiW/s400/onion_imagearticle1872.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5161717476663362706" border="0" /></a>You SEE, <span style="font-style: italic;">THEEE</span>-oh, the HIP-HOP is a moral sewer, you see, with the suggestive dancing with hippin' and hoppin' and bippin' and boppin'. You see, we had the jazz <span style="font-style: italic;">MU</span>-sic back in my day, <span style="font-style: italic;">THEEE</span>-oh, we didn't have the dope-pusherrrrrs and the soldier boys with their crankin' and their supermen. Why don't you get yourself some JELL-O <span style="font-style: italic;">pud</span>-<span style="font-style: italic;">ding</span> with the flavors and the chocolate and tastes so good in your mouth and tongue, you see. <span style="font-style: italic;">ROOOO</span>-<span style="font-style: italic;">DEEEE</span>!!!<br /><br /><a href="http://allhiphop.com/stories/news/archive/2008/01/31/19220155.aspx">Bill Cosby Working on Rap Album</a> [via allhiphop.com]<br /><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.channel101.com/shows/show.php?show_id=121">House of Cosbys</a> [via Channel 101]patrickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07630179800789862590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35928018.post-49935930346652252162008-01-30T12:29:00.000-05:002008-01-31T14:29:20.417-05:00New Noise :: Aloha: Light Works<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnGLhPD75jHXlp_5qlrgvcTQABaoYKsEvFSpQUxxxYrNUx9WAChhLEZ_BncLASlOZ50cAmgymjoI9v1D60hKcxFaIIypiqLvkovLDQqZBItnO34lEONx4bFj0ejR3yHSZqkrqG/s1600-h/Aloha.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnGLhPD75jHXlp_5qlrgvcTQABaoYKsEvFSpQUxxxYrNUx9WAChhLEZ_BncLASlOZ50cAmgymjoI9v1D60hKcxFaIIypiqLvkovLDQqZBItnO34lEONx4bFj0ejR3yHSZqkrqG/s200/Aloha.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5161332020528415858" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Aloha<br /></span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Light Works </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">(Polyvinyl)</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Verdict</span>: 6.4.<br />RIYL: Death Cab for Cutie, The Shins<br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;">Light Works</span> is an astutely appropriate title: The seven tunes on the mini-LP (or really long EP) are profoundly quiet, eschewing Aloha’s trademark prog-rock clamor for plaintive, heart-on-sleeve indie-pop built on pristine, plucked acoustic guitars and pastoral piano figures. Indeed, “Too much of anything is wrong,” which Tony Cavallario muses on “Passengers,” is much less a lyric and much more a statement of purpose; to call <span style="font-style: italic;">Light Works</span> sparse is an understatement. Quasi-prog arrangements and refined architectural elements go out with the old; sad-bastard, Plans-esque sentiment and palpable wuss-pop come in with the new. Indeed, fans of latter-day Death Cab for Cutie will eat this shit up — though, to its credit, it’s much headier and a much more refreshing listen than anything Death Cab’s done since <span style="font-style: italic;">The Photo Album</span>, most especially "Body Buzz," which doesn't aspire to anything more than steady trot, but its end-of-summer-romance aesthetic is at once picturesque and gorgeous in its low-key splendor, making perfect use of piano and organ accents (not to mention yet another brilliant performance from drummer Cale Parks). But Aloha’s greatest strength was its beefy, quadraphonic ornamentation; the adventurous listener was rewarded with the efforts of an adventurous band. Now, the adventure is gone. In short, <span style="font-style: italic;">Light Works</span> isn’t good, but it isn’t bad; it’s decidedly middle-of-the-road. “I must admit, I’ve slipped a bit,” Tony Cavallario croons on “Broken Light.” Maybe you have, Tony. Maybe you have.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.polyvinylrecords.com/media/prc-147-01.mp3">Aloha - "Body Buzz"</a> [from <span style="font-style: italic;">Light Works</span>]<br /><a href="http://www.emusic.com/album/Aloha-Light-Works-MP3-Download/11126652.html">Aloha, <span style="font-style: italic;">Light Works</span> [eMusic]</a><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.myspace.com/aloha">Aloha [MySpace]</a><br /><a href="http://www.blogger.com/www.polyvinylrecords.com/bands/band_info.asp?bandID=5">Aloha [Polyvinyl]</a>patrickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07630179800789862590noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35928018.post-86412465205297922912008-01-30T12:06:00.000-05:002008-01-30T12:14:44.119-05:00Musings :: Death Cab for Cutie Name New Album<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig3vnCLBVtNmuQPB63yvOfxF8QBlQDc_6oAPLloZsYkwx8voM45ffCFBPbVjn9Wsu_W54i6vHAEKHZhYx9j2h0CPv4_KHgU7K66SnE2otEM5bCdrtqwSmV4SP0AKpsVX3meitD/s1600-h/DCFC-tiger.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig3vnCLBVtNmuQPB63yvOfxF8QBlQDc_6oAPLloZsYkwx8voM45ffCFBPbVjn9Wsu_W54i6vHAEKHZhYx9j2h0CPv4_KHgU7K66SnE2otEM5bCdrtqwSmV4SP0AKpsVX3meitD/s400/DCFC-tiger.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5161317413344642130" border="0" /></a>Ben Gibbard: "<span style="font-style: italic;">Narrow Stairs </span>— now <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> is an exciting title! Huh. That's funny. I can't feel my pulse. Shouldn't I have a pulse? Could this have something to do with the bland, watered-down tripe I've been releasing since <span style="font-style: italic;">We Have the Facts and We're Voting Yes</span>?"<br />Chris Walla: "No. You're fine. Now let me get back to my solo record."<br /><br /><a href="http://www.deathcabforcutie.com/news/148/new_album_title/">Death Cab for Cutie Name New Album</a> [via deathcabforcutie.com]patrickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07630179800789862590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35928018.post-29313329022326720872008-01-25T12:57:00.000-05:002008-01-25T17:19:35.854-05:00Tube :: Nada Surf<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/__J1KdbNmpPM/R5pXHo4OZKI/AAAAAAAAASU/5KZOaWlsf8Q/s1600-h/nadasurf.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/__J1KdbNmpPM/R5pXHo4OZKI/AAAAAAAAASU/5KZOaWlsf8Q/s400/nadasurf.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5159532111850267810" /></a><br />Before I even start talking about these videos, I would like to (respectfully) inform Nada Surf bassist Daniel Lorca why he doesn't get too much facetime in these videos. Here's a hint - it rhymes with 'red socks.' Apart from questionable hair decisions, I'm pretty excited about Barsuk releasing the new Nada Surf album <i>Lucky</i> on Feb. 5th. <i>Weight Is A Gift</i> and <i>Let Go</i> are two of the best straight-up pop/rock albums of the Aughts. The few promo tracks released thus far haven't completely won me over, but admittedly, their previous two albums were growers for me, so I expect about mid-February I'll be driving down the road, singing these songs at the top of my lungs like an all-girl road trip. <br /><br />Two (!) videos from the album have dropped recently, and 'Whose Authority', the first one presented here, is far and away the best. Why, you ask? Because the Jonathan Krisel-directed video features none other than Michael C. Maronna of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Adventures_of_pete_and_pete">Pete and Pete</a> fame! Man, I haven't seen that guy since those <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uK0ziaFHMFM">Ameritrade ads</a>. Thankfully, he's not quite as grody in this video where he bike messengers the hell out of some packages in New York. I dig it. You will too. And can someone please get Maronna more semi-serious work like this? I think he can take it.<br /><br />The video for 'I Like What You Say' is pretty darn good too but loses huge points with me because of the whole cutesy animated indie rock video virus that's been going around for the past two years. At least it doesn't involve unwashed hair, though.<br /><br /><center><object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/BoLKvWf4Fd0&rel=1"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/BoLKvWf4Fd0&rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object></center><br /><center><object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/1POCk-oY5TY&rel=1"></param><param name="wmode" value="transparent"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/1POCk-oY5TY&rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"></embed></object></center>tughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12456641411160319200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35928018.post-54858518061021728812008-01-16T15:11:00.000-05:002008-01-31T11:24:47.555-05:00New Noise :: The Field, Sound of Light<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgoe0SVxy3VgoIXHKVUchGo8oFabujlP0Z2MMFrXludTW5DSRSl21L9G4-9jd71TWQidOQHNux44hN8u5iMD3_W1bB0mIDphAt_xc1DoPd_9X49ZfBuJVqMd2lHWLz4TXIjJBn/s1600-h/fasad_natt.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgoe0SVxy3VgoIXHKVUchGo8oFabujlP0Z2MMFrXludTW5DSRSl21L9G4-9jd71TWQidOQHNux44hN8u5iMD3_W1bB0mIDphAt_xc1DoPd_9X49ZfBuJVqMd2lHWLz4TXIjJBn/s400/fasad_natt.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156170010575765730" border="0" /></a>Here's the thing about music that's designed to fit a purpose: It is (or at least should be) judged against Eno's <span style="font-style: italic;">Music for Airports</span>. Above, you'll see Stockholm's <a href="ttp://www.nordiclighthotel.se/en/">Nordic Light Hotel</a>, the core design element of which, according to its website, is the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aurora_%28astronomy%29">Northern Lights</a>. And the hotel (or at least the marketing firm the hotel employs) has asked a very strange question, at least for a hotel (or at least the marketing firm the hotel employs):<br /><br />What does light sound like?<br /><br />"This question," the hotel's website reads, "inspired our musical concept called 'Sound of Light.' However, the idea of creating music inspired by light was only the starting point for the project. The goal was to portray our entire hotel through music but our main idea was simply to produce a far out record that made great listening. To realize this ambition we decided to invite recording artistes to interpret our hotel experience and express it by making a record. One record for each artiste, to give them the space they need to fully develop their interpretation." The first of such artists was fellow Swede Axel Willner, known to the electronic music community as The Field. In essence, <span style="font-style: italic;">Sound of Light</span> is <span style="font-style: italic;">Music for Hotels</span>, and, moreover, <span style="font-style: italic;">Music for the Northern Lights</span>.<br /><br />Most, if not all, of <span style="font-style: italic;">Sound of Light</span> falls into a fairly simple pattern, endemic of most electronic musicians: Sample-hold-repeat, with bells and whistles (literally and figuratively) orbiting around the central beat of the song. However, this is an advantage, as it makes the breaking <span style="font-style: italic;">Sound of Light </span>down into four long tracks, each clocking in at or near 15 minutes long and delineated further into particular times of day, more palatable, as <span style="font-style: italic;">Sound of Light </span>is designed almost narratively in structure.<br /><br />"Morning" kicks off with a stuttering-yet-lock-step synth-and-drum-machine groove similar to <span style="font-style: italic;">Amnesiac</span>-era Radiohead and explodes into what could essentially be called a chorus that recalls the reverent techno of Daft Punk. My only quibble with "Morning" is that, as a narrative element, it seems mislabeled; perhaps it's just <span style="font-style: italic;">my </span>mornings, but "Morning" is far too upbeat and caffeinated, far too sunny. Regardless, there's a gorgeous break around the eight-minute mark where the beat reverses swims against the tide; a remarkable distraction from the relentless dance groove.<br /><br />"Day," narratively, is much more fitting — another unyielding high-hat beat runs throughout the song, which is accented by clicks and clacks eerily reminiscent of computer keys. The machinic pounding found later builds like a Tinkertoy Tower, eventually crushing itself under its own weight — just like a day at the office. "Evening," then, is its antithesis — playful (with synthesized female cooing) and a loping dance beat. It starts out fairly dull, actually, like background music for "upscale" mall stores such as Express. (Uhh, not that I've ever been in there.) But it, like its three companions, unfolds spectacularly, gradually adding piece upon piece (laser beam synths, hisses of static) without losing itself, ironically maintaining a skeletal minimalism. Not surprisingly, "Evening" is also the most playful — the most fun, if you will — of the four tracks, and the most likely to be found bumping in an actual danceclub.<br /><br />"Night" is the most explosive, a nearly beatless song that interlopes arrythmic synth tremors and high-hats around its vast interior. Indeed, it sounds almost hollow, like the reverbed echo of a canyon in which every sound is peripheral. Because of that, it's the one that's also the most calming, like staring into a clear night sky on a crisp night.<br /><br />So is listening to <span style="font-style: italic;">Sound of Light</span> like viewing Aurora Borealis? (Or, for that matter, even staying in the hotel?) Having never seen the lights (nor been to the hotel) myself, I can't say. But I'd imagine that it'd be a breath-taking, awe-inspiring experience. <span style="font-style: italic;">Sound of Light</span> is neither, but it's a damn fine attempt. Each of the four tracks on the EP — and to call it an EP is almost egregious, as it's a hair over an hour long (longer, even, than <span style="font-style: italic;">Music for Airports</span>) — unfolds gorgeously, as if guided by unseen mathematics and programmed to burst into one million tiny pieces of light on a night sky. <span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;">The Verdict: 7.8/10.</span></span>patrickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07630179800789862590noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35928018.post-27374220026781030712008-01-10T09:29:00.000-05:002008-01-10T10:23:09.863-05:00Get Out! :: BJ Barham @ The Whig :: 01.11.08<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/__J1KdbNmpPM/R4YsMI2J9NI/AAAAAAAAASM/K3alJrb47vo/s1600-h/153767846_IMG_4626.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/__J1KdbNmpPM/R4YsMI2J9NI/AAAAAAAAASM/K3alJrb47vo/s400/153767846_IMG_4626.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5153855410616792274" /></a><br />Please apologize my recent lack of posts, but holidays + mini vacation + (new job x 2) = Tug has been short on time recently. I did want to take the time, however, to tell you guys about a guaranteed barn-burner going on tomorrow night at The Whig. You've heard me talk about American Aquarium many times before, so it should be no surprise that I'm excited about a solo tour by their lead singer BJ Barham. Now you've heard me extol the virtues of American Aquarium, and how they're a boisterous, hard-drinking explosion of a band, and while that may sound hard to pull off for an acoustic solo act - if there's anyone who can do it, it's Barham. While I've heard it said that all Southerner's are natural-born storytellers, Barham inherited the trait in spades plus the added bonus of being a smooth talker. Look to hear songs from American Aquarium's upcoming record plus some old favorites. The highlight of the night will be that one song that I always forget to ask the name of, but you'll know he's about to play it when he introduces it with, 'This song is about a whore...' Oh, wait. That's lots of his songs.<br /><br />Head to the band's <a href="http://www.myspace.com/americanaquarium">myspace page</a> to see if Barham's coming near your town. Especially if you're in the Charleston area Sunday and want to swing by and see my boys (and girl) at the Tin Roof. Tell 'em Tug sent you.<br /><br />American Aquarium <a href="http://indierocket.secret-hq.com/files/American Aquarium - Lover Too Late1.mp3">Lover Too Late (live in Charleston)</a>tughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12456641411160319200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35928018.post-28135740745857640382008-01-03T13:30:00.001-05:002008-01-03T14:32:54.295-05:00Musings :: Decoding Soulja Boy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn-dI7f8WrkhdYaX7Fw5TGFApI38k3Xj2ACMQXM5Ol-9Kg1vygGSilKD3hFw4d7CP6JR8VOz6FrrSLRMJx8c_7L6v2skgUwX0Zlj_V6z5DvoyzZ9PJ-qHycw2GBMQy4IrLQcJP/s1600-h/219-Souljah+Boy.bmp"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn-dI7f8WrkhdYaX7Fw5TGFApI38k3Xj2ACMQXM5Ol-9Kg1vygGSilKD3hFw4d7CP6JR8VOz6FrrSLRMJx8c_7L6v2skgUwX0Zlj_V6z5DvoyzZ9PJ-qHycw2GBMQy4IrLQcJP/s400/219-Souljah+Boy.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151319699713425346" border="0" /></a>"Crank Dat (Soulja Boy)"<br />Soulja Boy<br /><br />Soulja boy off in this hoe / Watch me crank it, watch me roll / Watch me crank dat soulja boy<span style="font-size:78%;">1</span> / Then Superman dat ho<span style="font-size:78%;">2</span> / Now watch me do (crank dat soulja boy) / Now watch me do (crank dat soulja boy) / Now watch me do (crank dat soulja boy) / Now watch me do (crank dat soulja boy)<br /><br />1. Crank dat Soulja Boy: Verb. 1. Masturbating an erect penis.<br />2. Superman that ho: Verb. 1. The act of ejaculating on your sexual partner's back and then stick the sheets to him/her; when she wakes up in the morning he/she has a cape.<br /><br />Soulja boy off in this hoe /Watch me lean and watch me rock / Superman dat hoe / Then watch me crank dat robocop<span style="font-size:78%;">1</span> / Super fresh now watch me jock / Jocking<span style="font-size:78%;">2</span> on them haterz, man / When I do dat soulja boy / I lean to the left and crank dat dance (now you) / I'm jocking<span style="font-size:78%;">2</span> on yo bitch ass / And if we get the fightin, then I'm jockin<span style="font-size:78%;">2</span> on yo bitch ass / You catch me at yo local party / Yes I crank it<span style="font-size:78%;">3</span> everyday / Haterz get mad cuz / I got me some bathin' apes<span style="font-size:78%;">4</span><br /><br />1.: Robocop: Verb. 1. The act of ejaculating semen into a bucket and then placing it on your partners' head.<br />2.: Jock: Verb (Intrans.). 1. To attempt to imitate one's particular style. 2. To engage in flirtatious behavior.<br />3. : Crank it: Verb. 1. Turn up music to an unreasonable volume. 2. Masturbate.<br />4. : Bathin' Apes: Noun. 1. A ghetto shoe and clothing company originated from Japan.<br /><br />I'm bouncin on my toe<span style="font-size:78%;">1</span> / Watch me supersoak dat hoe<span style="font-size:78%;">2</span> / I'ma pass it to arab<span style="font-size:78%;">3</span> / Then he gon pass it to the low (low)/ Haterz wanna be me / Soulja boy, I'm the man / They be lookin at my neck / Sayin it's the rubberband man<span style="font-size:78%;">4</span> (man)<br /><br />1.: Bounce on my toe: Verb. 1. To attempt to keep one's balance while masturbating.<br />2.: Supersoak: Verb. 1. To completely cover one's sexual partner with semen.<br />3.: Arab: Noun. 1. Here, a Soulja Boy collaborator.<br />4.: Rubberband Man: Noun. 1. A drug dealer. 2. One who is able to perform fellatio on oneself.<br /><br />Watch me do it (watch me do it) / Dance (dance) / Let get to it (let get to it) / Nope, you can't do it like me / Hoe, so dont do it like me / Folk, I see you tryna do it like me / Man, that shit was ugly<br /><br /> Soulja boy off in this hoe / Watch me crank it, watch me roll / Watch me crank dat soulja boy /Then Superman dat hoe<br />Now watch me do (crank dat soulja boy) / Now watch me do (crank dat soulja boy) / Now watch me do (crank dat soulja boy) / Now watch me do (crank dat soulja boy)<br /><br />I'm to clean off this hoe / Watch me crank it, watch me roll / Watch me crank dat roosavelt<span style="font-size:78%;">1</span> and supersoak dat hoe (x10)<br /><br />1. Crank that Roosevelt: Verb. 1. Perform a typical lean-and-rock dance that involves swinging your hand over your lower stomach while thrusting your pelvis and legs forward in one swift motion. 2. To fornicate.<br /><br />I'm to fresh up in this bitch / Watch me shuffle, watch me jig / Watch me crank my shoulder work / Superman that bitch<br /><br /> Soulja boy off in this hoe / Watch me crank it, watch me roll / Watch me crank dat soulja boy /Then Superman dat hoe<br />Now watch me do (crank dat soulja boy) / Now watch me do (crank dat soulja boy) / Now watch me do (crank dat soulja boy) / Now watch me do (crank dat soulja boy)<br /><br />Summation: No matter <span style="font-style: italic;">what </span>it's about, "Crank Dat (Soulja Boy)" blows.patrickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07630179800789862590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35928018.post-51888245365718986712008-01-03T10:40:00.000-05:002008-01-03T12:22:14.581-05:00New Noise :: Smashing Pumpkins, American Gothic<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFvCKfDTdKBVGIDes2G-PYBQxPUOX2Haj8Wi9Yl5aP4I9KEN2JKBhvdlxf1OdsbllmZSQ5-WUMzMwevYlrTK_YBxXSrIIAJmlr_EJt8maYswPRPufBWALGP2ddzKmWjFmXlzfO/s1600-h/LIve+photo-Brussels_CThomasVerfaille_2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFvCKfDTdKBVGIDes2G-PYBQxPUOX2Haj8Wi9Yl5aP4I9KEN2JKBhvdlxf1OdsbllmZSQ5-WUMzMwevYlrTK_YBxXSrIIAJmlr_EJt8maYswPRPufBWALGP2ddzKmWjFmXlzfO/s400/LIve+photo-Brussels_CThomasVerfaille_2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151277325566082978" border="0" /></a>Can we just throw this tripe on <span style="font-style: italic;">Gilmore Girls</span> and be done with it? <span style="font-weight: bold;">Verdict: </span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span>3.8/10</span>.<br /><span style="display: block;" id="formatbar_Buttons"><span class="on" style="display: block;" id="formatbar_CreateLink" title="Link" onmouseover="ButtonHoverOn(this);" onmouseout="ButtonHoverOff(this);" onmouseup="" onmousedown="CheckFormatting(event);FormatbarButton('richeditorframe', this, 8);ButtonMouseDown(this);"></span></span><a href="http://www.pitchforkmedia.com/page/news/47727-smashing-pumpkins-issue-new-ep-today">Smashing Pumpkins Issue New EP Today</a> [Pitchfork]<br /><a href="http://www.fileden.com/files/2007/1/2/584531/rose_march.mp3">Smashing Pumpkins - "Rose March"</a> [via themodernmusic.com]patrickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07630179800789862590noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35928018.post-79130288299242061112008-01-02T12:53:00.000-05:002008-01-16T12:29:28.099-05:00The Year in Review :: Part Four: Denouement<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnLlcxpIowvOkXqHW0Ifeq6MwE81MdrusbmxXZhe4C5b_fvTRdHQdKpBVz9Y4Jx0l9dLcOW6z3xTygaBUlS0fiFwUFXZTb_5nY3IzuQsHrDg-kLH5KPDkdyrgM64uE_JvPILha/s1600-h/indierocket-yearinreview.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnLlcxpIowvOkXqHW0Ifeq6MwE81MdrusbmxXZhe4C5b_fvTRdHQdKpBVz9Y4Jx0l9dLcOW6z3xTygaBUlS0fiFwUFXZTb_5nY3IzuQsHrDg-kLH5KPDkdyrgM64uE_JvPILha/s400/indierocket-yearinreview.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150939676712107634" border="0" /></a>In which indierocket! editor Patrick counts down his favorite records of the year. <span class="readmore"><a href="http://gogoindierocket.blogspot.com/2008/01/year-in-review-part-four-denouement.html#more">More...</a></span><span class="fullpost"><a name="more"></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVOqDnULhqWXu-_gJ9GbN8Ba8i2dNMEVks4kWSlgVK8vXjKr3LpWvk5-2XXUjwqbIjvfSloOA8ZZ_1RNF5uDHrWKxqYdmcQnNd3EGQMQLx98GX0aBGKfqgpcGDvYrRMv9AbNeH/s1600-h/1dirtyprojectors.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVOqDnULhqWXu-_gJ9GbN8Ba8i2dNMEVks4kWSlgVK8vXjKr3LpWvk5-2XXUjwqbIjvfSloOA8ZZ_1RNF5uDHrWKxqYdmcQnNd3EGQMQLx98GX0aBGKfqgpcGDvYrRMv9AbNeH/s200/1dirtyprojectors.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150946754818211458" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">1. Dirty Projectors, </span><i style="font-weight: bold;">Rise Above</i><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Dead Oceans)</span><br />Mad genius Dave Longstreth and company rewrite, reimagine and recontextualize Black Flag's seminal classic <span style="font-style: italic;">Damaged</span>, showing that the problems of the past — remember, <span style="font-style: italic;">Damaged</span> came out in '81 — are still the problems of today. But Longstreth — replaying the album essential from (an albeit very damaged) memory — and company turn Black Flag's calls to arms into Baroque meditations, utilizing snaky guitar lines, Dirty South beats and other compositional curveballs to abet Longstreth's beautiful, melodic tenor. The words are the same, but the message is different: Damaged was pissed off; <span style="font-style: italic;">Rise Above</span> is hopeful. That, to paraphrase Frost, makes all the difference.<br />Dirty Projectors - "Rise Above"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisVhAsyD3khWD0pTXV7kpIyawLuzxZNTinjycMJlu-pbO_K64XX8wBmMOxFHtJCVESgyPaQ5H9xPdITXlhg0YlgWZmsJdlNq9hAkbWplnPaeJ92xIWHr6VkiS1t0ohyphenhyphenFwuYNtW/s1600-h/2twilightsad.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisVhAsyD3khWD0pTXV7kpIyawLuzxZNTinjycMJlu-pbO_K64XX8wBmMOxFHtJCVESgyPaQ5H9xPdITXlhg0YlgWZmsJdlNq9hAkbWplnPaeJ92xIWHr6VkiS1t0ohyphenhyphenFwuYNtW/s200/2twilightsad.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150946759113178770" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">2. The Twilight Sad, </span><i style="font-weight: bold;">Fourteen Autumns and Fifteen Winters</i><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Fat Cat)</span><br />It's s#!t being Scottish was the grand sentiment of Irvine Welsh's <i>Trainspotting</i> (well, that and heroin is bad for you), and no Scottish rock group in recent memory has captured that gloomy sentiment like The Twilight Sad. A Sunny Day in Glasgow it ain't: Anchored James Graham's thick Scottish brogue, The Twilight Sad crafted an epic, guitar-driven and appropriately titeld shoegaze masterpiece filled to the brim with torrents of reverb-washed guitar riffs, subtly powerful drumming and twinkling, hypnotic melodies rooted in Scottish folk. Trust me: When "Cold Days from the Birdhouse" bursts into high gear, you'll get it.<br />The Twilight Sad - "Cold Days from the Birdhouse"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRn0QsxQ1lXvBHQihvhuhyphenhyphenOAcpXschW2hyKGKCcX-k6lu2wC4yi-pOAEUKSPNfk7JOzjN32uOJ-k9JPqFAoKwd6uscg6PsN1ZXfrF77O4efgULcdHE7syPgpUeQsbSuIiMYmmV/s1600-h/3pillarsandtongues.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRn0QsxQ1lXvBHQihvhuhyphenhyphenOAcpXschW2hyKGKCcX-k6lu2wC4yi-pOAEUKSPNfk7JOzjN32uOJ-k9JPqFAoKwd6uscg6PsN1ZXfrF77O4efgULcdHE7syPgpUeQsbSuIiMYmmV/s200/3pillarsandtongues.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150946763408146082" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">3. Pillars and Tongues, </span><i style="font-weight: bold;">Protection</i><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (self-released)</span><br />Sometimes surprises come in the most wondrous of places. It was in a small town in Indiana that I discovered Chicago trio Pillars and Tongues, who expertly mash together three of my favorite musical genres: Stately post-rock, haunting slowcore and challenging Chicago free jazz. Protection's tunes veer back and forth between restrained beauty (a la The Dirty Three) and wild, thrashing, chaotic jazz (think the electric cello work of Fred Lonberg-Holm). <span style="font-style: italic;">Protection</span> is practically perfect in every way.<br /><a href="http://www.myspace.com/pillarsandtongues">Pillars and Tongues [MySpace]</a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_SDQ54EhD5IRInRTVR9-ecNDj0mxpWHxyxu9K3PeJR6jNU98_GvQeZ6BNlCpMlMNDe2nDMdvWuXcNJ7q4KzIHU0tYT9XhId44GLQ7ssVR_Oo07B4y8X9PGTLaQI1Ih5IXPDTt/s1600-h/4loveofdiagrams.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_SDQ54EhD5IRInRTVR9-ecNDj0mxpWHxyxu9K3PeJR6jNU98_GvQeZ6BNlCpMlMNDe2nDMdvWuXcNJ7q4KzIHU0tYT9XhId44GLQ7ssVR_Oo07B4y8X9PGTLaQI1Ih5IXPDTt/s200/4loveofdiagrams.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150946767703113394" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">4. Love of Diagrams, </span><i style="font-weight: bold;">Mosaic</i><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Matador)</span><br />If Kim Deal fronted Wire, the result would have sounded a lot like Love of Diagrams. <span style="font-style: italic;">Mosaic</span>, the Aussie trio's American debut, doesn't reinvent the post-punk wheel, but it doesn't have to: It expertly recalls the pioneering godfathers of the genre (Wire, Burma, Gang of Four) and evokes the skilled blend of malaise and fury of The Pixies. Yet it's no stale period piece, working spellbinding magic with tracks the likes of "The Pyramid" and "The Pace and the Patience."<br />Love of Diagrams - "The Pyramid"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizqbFWrLKZx4YTcOklQxXCXxmW_i1v3bLtGTcPTYghYTj2aEtUoAX1Pp3XARzd7w9ddkj69BMUaxXL6FyAxbpHPYkTIdJ_t5aQWAh-7ezTCrt-4zh4198LzkX-MBXtWtlQUIsy/s1600-h/5radiohead.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizqbFWrLKZx4YTcOklQxXCXxmW_i1v3bLtGTcPTYghYTj2aEtUoAX1Pp3XARzd7w9ddkj69BMUaxXL6FyAxbpHPYkTIdJ_t5aQWAh-7ezTCrt-4zh4198LzkX-MBXtWtlQUIsy/s200/5radiohead.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150946767703113410" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">5. Radiohead, </span><i style="font-weight: bold;">In Rainbows</i><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (ATO/XL/self-released) </span><br />Forget all the digital release, pay-what-you-want bullshit associated with <span style="font-style: italic;">In Rainbows</span>. You would've plopped down $20 for this at your favorite record shop and you know it. And it's worth every penny — <span style="font-style: italic;">In Rainbows</span> finally does what no Radiohead album since <span style="font-style: italic;">OK Computer</span> has been able to do: Blend the band's electronic tendencies with its three-guitar orientation with absolute aplomb. The record's also Thom Yorke's most lyrically harrowing yet, as evidenced on the absolutely gut-wrenching "Videotape."<br />Radiohead - "House of Cards"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAke8l-VJ7MCZIJVDF1b6hvPhSkz7ZhHr3rcJShVy8cO1UNTlLTr3e_AKUfvEWSe9grJGv-KsLZLg2oXjSMZ0TojrReVWe_s5rnfHDgkzUl5grLWG9nluRt7CNLZ0UjjV67TTr/s1600-h/6battles.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAke8l-VJ7MCZIJVDF1b6hvPhSkz7ZhHr3rcJShVy8cO1UNTlLTr3e_AKUfvEWSe9grJGv-KsLZLg2oXjSMZ0TojrReVWe_s5rnfHDgkzUl5grLWG9nluRt7CNLZ0UjjV67TTr/s200/6battles.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150949267374079698" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">6. Battles, </span><i style="font-weight: bold;">Mirrored</i><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Warp)</span><br />"People won't be people when they hear this sound," Tyondai Braxton — through pitch-shifting manipulation — croons on "Atlas," one of <span style="font-style: italic;">Mirrored</span>'s standout tracks. But perhaps he should've said "People won't be people <span style="font-style: italic;">until</span> they hear this sound": <span style="font-style: italic;">Mirrored</span> is possibly the most sonically adventurous record of the year, bringing dinosauric prog rock into the digital age. Nothing on <span style="font-style: italic;">Mirrored</span> — from the precise, kinetic drumming to the intricate guitar loops and phrases to the highly processed vocals — is an afterthought; it's a human exercise in being <span style="font-style: italic;">in</span>human, a masterful melding of man and machine. This is the future of music, and the future is now.<br />Battles - "Race:In"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJgJEfhT9B71ntlhU-fe-F7U7vOR3-P-kkujuuhiHVc4Woa1giRrGnV7-XoqXZwk8EOGKkOkhO93A4HNRpocfRIhaMqzMzUiW1uv2mfsp6HH0fJ64BqIskeRX3wFNJa-dLNMQq/s1600-h/7electrelane.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJgJEfhT9B71ntlhU-fe-F7U7vOR3-P-kkujuuhiHVc4Woa1giRrGnV7-XoqXZwk8EOGKkOkhO93A4HNRpocfRIhaMqzMzUiW1uv2mfsp6HH0fJ64BqIskeRX3wFNJa-dLNMQq/s200/7electrelane.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150949271669047010" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">7. Electrelane, </span><i style="font-weight: bold;">No Shouts, No Calls</i><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Too Pure)</span><br />Sure, <span style="font-style: italic;">No Shouts, No Calls</span> doesn't break any new ground, but what's the shame in just recognizing it as an excellent record. <span style="font-style: italic;">No Shouts, No Calls</span> finds Electrelane at its best since <span style="font-style: italic;">The Power Out</span>, blending girl-group soul and Krauty art-rock with ease and grace.<br />Electrelane - "To the East"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinz59psXK6difI4Lj_BXp9g2el2pRD4OBB0q-nATOQqXrU59WIMxNXtLXDsvMLqbMZLpCETMyxvSvXpuITQtRQ7ouVyp-39tWQD1cjHBM3nMzSRv7f38NKrU33mBkc2dAPgBMq/s1600-h/8yesterdaysuniverse.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinz59psXK6difI4Lj_BXp9g2el2pRD4OBB0q-nATOQqXrU59WIMxNXtLXDsvMLqbMZLpCETMyxvSvXpuITQtRQ7ouVyp-39tWQD1cjHBM3nMzSRv7f38NKrU33mBkc2dAPgBMq/s200/8yesterdaysuniverse.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150949275964014322" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">8. Yesterday's Universe, </span><i style="font-weight: bold;">Prepare for a New Yesterday, Vol. 1</i><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Stones Throw)</span><br />Sure, Madlib — nee Otis Jackson Jr. — churns out more music than a vinyl-pressing factory. But his Yesterday's Universe project is the diametric opposite to his Yesterday's New Quintet, looking forward while looking backward, blending the finest cuts of free-jazz skronk, baile funk, thick soul bass, hip-hop beats, post-bop piano, sitar drone and synthesizer solos to create the most groove-conscious record of the year.<br />The Otis Jackson Trio - "Free Son"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizaYkDpXU4mTndyT8nPTlaJ17ObCE6j4cScIcvchQfSQjzNPl2C90V6xC7dHnfSiYJal_guhW0z_hyphenhyphenxQk077pHBlRVmM0x8wANFw6YaLBFETD7nIjWBuTB9HBVNlOY9At6bsrH/s1600-h/9theengines.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizaYkDpXU4mTndyT8nPTlaJ17ObCE6j4cScIcvchQfSQjzNPl2C90V6xC7dHnfSiYJal_guhW0z_hyphenhyphenxQk077pHBlRVmM0x8wANFw6YaLBFETD7nIjWBuTB9HBVNlOY9At6bsrH/s200/9theengines.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150949280258981634" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">9. The Engines, </span><i style="font-weight: bold;">The Engines</i><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Okka Disk)</span><br />Chicago free-jazz is not for the faint of heart. But while The Engines embody some of the hallmarks of the Vandermark sound, they cull the right ones and perform them perfectly. The overblowing and blustery unison horn lines are kept to a minimum, relying on the quartet — each of whom are accomplished composers and Vandermark sidemen — to lock into vicious steamroller grooves. Sure, The Engines can rev with the best of 'em, but like every good engine, it's best when it just purrs along.<br />The Engines -<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPJWbHa4L5NG9CeGuM4azCG-IxJBAIxVD2P-HD7sFZSRH4eeq9Mx9T72yhMptroLVfiw-7LZwrRXzL1bo0lqfIBaun1RH_EdO15fxYQfvnuYQo0l5SAjZg6onq2-j3Efb6r6yr/s1600-h/10baroness.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPJWbHa4L5NG9CeGuM4azCG-IxJBAIxVD2P-HD7sFZSRH4eeq9Mx9T72yhMptroLVfiw-7LZwrRXzL1bo0lqfIBaun1RH_EdO15fxYQfvnuYQo0l5SAjZg6onq2-j3Efb6r6yr/s200/10baroness.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150949293143883538" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlwUHZvRpFMVw71yoPkP8y2H7NNH2gBGRXyVbLTUiBl34QRpRGW5Va_q9R25RCZgE35xAfpMniwbLTRySxY_enCc_ieMTkusqFnfiOS_H7WTEYbfUJl8NVh8WV2N5-YmQvCe-2/s1600-h/10boris+michiokurihara.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlwUHZvRpFMVw71yoPkP8y2H7NNH2gBGRXyVbLTUiBl34QRpRGW5Va_q9R25RCZgE35xAfpMniwbLTRySxY_enCc_ieMTkusqFnfiOS_H7WTEYbfUJl8NVh8WV2N5-YmQvCe-2/s200/10boris+michiokurihara.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150949958863814434" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">10. (tie) Baroness, </span><i style="font-weight: bold;">Red Album</i><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (3D)</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />10. (tie) Boris and Michio Kurihara, </span><i style="font-weight: bold;">Rainbow</i><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Drag City)</span><br />The two best heavy records of the year couldn't have been more opposite: Baroness' new-millennium metal meets in the middle ground between Mastodon and Kylesa, amping up its epic, brutal dirge with intelligent, indie-rock-rooted melodic accents. All hail the new lords of smart-metal. Across the Pacific, Japanese sludgelords Boris teamed up with national guitar hero Michio Kurihara to create an unlikely monster: A sludge-metal record filled with psychedelic sunshine; an organic, heat-driven record, the knife-like tones of which cut a shining swath through the din.<br />Baroness -<br />Boris and Michio Kurihara - "Rafflesia"<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYt9PWetwpBo1ADF1rGCe0IXX3-iCF4DmeO7b8SVN0hpod2HWhSrpSBgjE3g_gcSPMj6dwH2APAUtIXvr4CWPA7dqAzBFULO-AR92mpyXgWft4YtJX9HS1SQLhDDcAQakqOMyH/s1600-h/11burial.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYt9PWetwpBo1ADF1rGCe0IXX3-iCF4DmeO7b8SVN0hpod2HWhSrpSBgjE3g_gcSPMj6dwH2APAUtIXvr4CWPA7dqAzBFULO-AR92mpyXgWft4YtJX9HS1SQLhDDcAQakqOMyH/s200/11burial.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150950396950478642" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">11. Burial, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Untrue</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Hyperdub)</span><br />Burial's danceable grimestep is a little too active for Eno's definition of ambient music, but it still comes pretty close. <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Untrue</span></span> is like looking out onto a Minnesota lake in the dead of night in the dead of winter (and we're playing up death only <span style="font-style: italic;">slightly</span> facetiously): Its production is icy, sleek and absolutely gorgeous in its stark simplicity, and angelic voices blow about like snowflakes in the wind. Close your eyes and it's just like December in the Land of 10,000 Lakes.<br />Burial - "Near Dark"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2VLWsstClkowBkwkOJLLe8kMX5WCnLyqqjx_c2NfnyW2rHTOBVwunS9f8vUGiRPFYP4XtLzWLblPJ46jvYBTklCbel5r7hyJL33yVs0fsNFXv8BXKduZcXDrEkndA6YfynLsg/s1600-h/12ourstoalibi.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2VLWsstClkowBkwkOJLLe8kMX5WCnLyqqjx_c2NfnyW2rHTOBVwunS9f8vUGiRPFYP4XtLzWLblPJ46jvYBTklCbel5r7hyJL33yVs0fsNFXv8BXKduZcXDrEkndA6YfynLsg/s200/12ourstoalibi.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150950401245445954" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">12. Ours to Alibi, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Beacons</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (self-released)</span><br />Atlanta's Ours to Alibi did something I never thought possible: It out-Explosions-in-the-Skys Explosions in the Sky. From the opening cello riffs of "The Dirt is a Womb" to the resounding coda of "Weary, We Fell Upon Land," <span style="font-style: italic;">Beacons</span> takes the listener on a journey through post-hardcore-inflected post-rock.<br />Ours to Alibi - "Beacons"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisuLkD9gRkANFH6YYu4W3O3MzZmu5yDm0bFSTiYn_e4G_4CpABgjBbbui_sLPZ8g1lk4NedE1Di9-DVxhU_31EkyLUb0WdvRDZuOusiDSiYXBn59CY9H3cjlGNa9XgWhxrcL85/s1600-h/13meneguar.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisuLkD9gRkANFH6YYu4W3O3MzZmu5yDm0bFSTiYn_e4G_4CpABgjBbbui_sLPZ8g1lk4NedE1Di9-DVxhU_31EkyLUb0WdvRDZuOusiDSiYXBn59CY9H3cjlGNa9XgWhxrcL85/s200/13meneguar.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150950409835380562" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">13. Meneguar, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Strangers in Our House</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Troubleman Unlimited)</span><br />Dude, it's Meneguar. <span style="font-style: italic;">I Was Born at Night </span>was retroactively one of my favorite records of 2005 (having heard it in 2006), and <span style="font-style: italic;">Strangers in Our House</span> expands upon its jittery energy expertly. The NYC quartet sounds a little less like Q and Not U and a little more like its own band — and that's a good thing.<br />Meneguar - "Bury a Flower"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMnoLnkDmPZz4JutuxjM45q7rV3_03WLTLEB2bhcNaYNZrvZGX4XHFrk9bvZElQmuo1Ddoa8iARG8EtUFB_oTqxZsPMppggs7mbiTOSBPxjCfyQtT5vWMmXopeNXBtdoi6z_6W/s1600-h/14eits.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMnoLnkDmPZz4JutuxjM45q7rV3_03WLTLEB2bhcNaYNZrvZGX4XHFrk9bvZElQmuo1Ddoa8iARG8EtUFB_oTqxZsPMppggs7mbiTOSBPxjCfyQtT5vWMmXopeNXBtdoi6z_6W/s200/14eits.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150950414130347874" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">14. Explosions in the Sky, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">All of a Sudden I Miss Everyone</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Temporary Residence)</span><br />Just because Ours to Alibi beat them to the post-rock punch doesn't mean that Explosions in the Sky aren't still the kings of transcendent, cinematic American post-rock. They made that Smashing Pumpkins tour worth going to. Bonus: The attached remix disc, which contains bang-up remixes of "The Birth and Death of the Day" (by Justin Broadrick of Jesu) and "Catastrophe and the Cure" (by Four Tet).<br />Explosions in the Sky - "Welcome, Ghosts"<br />Explosions in the Sky - "Catastrophe and the Cure (Four Tet Remix)"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitkzcraLmLIK4vCZgaCfJExQMBj7l2_meIXjuqdNstpu8qI7FLCReFldVmtbdVFEhO9VdQORPnkarw991n0vnzB2Sz9XPVjO_Os-81vcZXonVXN_LwJqqsYGrEdWscT08YNlSN/s1600-h/15kickball.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitkzcraLmLIK4vCZgaCfJExQMBj7l2_meIXjuqdNstpu8qI7FLCReFldVmtbdVFEhO9VdQORPnkarw991n0vnzB2Sz9XPVjO_Os-81vcZXonVXN_LwJqqsYGrEdWscT08YNlSN/s200/15kickball.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150950418425315186" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">15. Kickball, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Everything is a Miracle Nothing Is a Miracle Everything Is</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Houseopolis)</span><br />Kickball's <span style="font-style: italic;">ABCDEFGHIJKickball</span> was among my shoula-beens from last year, so it makes sense that this Pacific Northwest trio cracks this year's list with another set of attractively unwieldy indie rock tunes, each of which burst with authentic nervous energy. <span style="font-style: italic;">Everything</span> also wins massive points for having three of the best truisms of the year, each occuring in "Fight": "If you fight / It's automatically a fight"; "If you don't believe in ghosts / You won't see ghosts"; and "If you build / A house on the beach / It's automatically a beach house."<br />Kickball - "Fight"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirqGCdnhyphenhyphen-jfwbsn9fqITEnhzZ6R1oZFCmDhUlXzR58c-Zq08XbDOeGgg94Y6S4rtRfuiRxKqiVZnQaUvXjDU04OBhZSju-jQi8RXQDL4q9ZT872XLoihRMyLaxd6qOB0ccbr9/s1600-h/16spoon.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirqGCdnhyphenhyphen-jfwbsn9fqITEnhzZ6R1oZFCmDhUlXzR58c-Zq08XbDOeGgg94Y6S4rtRfuiRxKqiVZnQaUvXjDU04OBhZSju-jQi8RXQDL4q9ZT872XLoihRMyLaxd6qOB0ccbr9/s200/16spoon.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156108742867288018" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">16. Spoon, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Merge)</span><br />Everybody's saying it, but it's true: <span style="font-style: italic;">Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga</span> is the best record Billy Joel never made. While <span style="font-style: italic;">Ga</span> doesn't recreate the absolute magnificence of <span style="font-style: italic;">Girls Can Tell</span> or the strutting glam-rock brilliance of <span style="font-style: italic;">Gimme Fiction</span>, it still showcases frontman Britt Daniel at his leanest and meanest, crooning like he never has before, most especially on "The Underdog," the finest (and, truthfully, the most Billy Joel-biting) of the lot.<br />Spoon - "The Underdog"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit4SNzTnAprlmHs377vJpDAyOHtHy5H1iWH_uIxK7y6rQYYXDgOrIMazDOfKk5Nse06Tmbx7wwIzogpSkVRbayl7BjGBeanw3H_P6DvWQk17d626pXDtsWoM2CngVMZBFFVGVH/s1600-h/17aesoprock.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit4SNzTnAprlmHs377vJpDAyOHtHy5H1iWH_uIxK7y6rQYYXDgOrIMazDOfKk5Nse06Tmbx7wwIzogpSkVRbayl7BjGBeanw3H_P6DvWQk17d626pXDtsWoM2CngVMZBFFVGVH/s200/17aesoprock.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156108747162255330" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWeoutG0bbX0W_bwaXvfTwasXqdaF7AKbQaGZZPRH_KbhiPgpufQDRv_AaaPqFHfTmtdoSO6wIoII1eWFjrFj5ZESumwHM-Y7ZrRW61k_3e91xrLn_CgqlU3Sl7hmzrO0b5iLq/s1600-h/17ghostfacekillah.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWeoutG0bbX0W_bwaXvfTwasXqdaF7AKbQaGZZPRH_KbhiPgpufQDRv_AaaPqFHfTmtdoSO6wIoII1eWFjrFj5ZESumwHM-Y7ZrRW61k_3e91xrLn_CgqlU3Sl7hmzrO0b5iLq/s200/17ghostfacekillah.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156108751457222642" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">17. (tie) Aesop Rock, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">None Shall Pass</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Definitive Jux)</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />17. (tie) Ghostface Killah, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">The Big Doe Rehab</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Def Jam)</span><br />Aesop narrowly edged out El-P for best indie-rap record of the year; Ghostface takes the mainstream crown.<br />Aesop Rock - "Keep Off the Lawn"<br />Ghostface Killah - "We Celebrate" (feat. Kid Capri)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUQboAZBIvO1JON7MwjpOktSEMIpfaE6oZZ5MptAGb9otEIu4YgTb4OpZAqw8awIu1_ldVblYQSmFp-frNVsRKLbLbfSzuUYHznVfYTAEALEJ_lBspBgjDOSEOMhP4XrMcxP9R/s1600-h/18lessavyfav.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUQboAZBIvO1JON7MwjpOktSEMIpfaE6oZZ5MptAGb9otEIu4YgTb4OpZAqw8awIu1_ldVblYQSmFp-frNVsRKLbLbfSzuUYHznVfYTAEALEJ_lBspBgjDOSEOMhP4XrMcxP9R/s200/18lessavyfav.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156108751457222658" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">18. Les Savy Fav, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Let’s Stay Friends</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (French Kiss)</span><span><br />Les Savy Fav, we were never <span style="font-style: italic;">not</span> friends. That said, you sound as good now as you did on <span style="font-style: italic;">The Cat and the Cobra</span>. Glad to have you back.<br /></span><span>Les Savy Fav - "What Would Wolves Do?"<br /></span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhusTJrfZy8MLmWlB6MdUqjGHL4ad6PlL7G-1o7315bht8Yu6morcAw2SVx2JEnFskV8iiG9K9Z5mnX2R1ans3iACjE3NjDSGjcK1ujRw5uFRqt3W2_vI-edeM-szUgYeyznma1/s1600-h/19dinojr.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhusTJrfZy8MLmWlB6MdUqjGHL4ad6PlL7G-1o7315bht8Yu6morcAw2SVx2JEnFskV8iiG9K9Z5mnX2R1ans3iACjE3NjDSGjcK1ujRw5uFRqt3W2_vI-edeM-szUgYeyznma1/s200/19dinojr.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156108755752189970" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">19. Dinosaur Jr., </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Beyond</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Play it Again Sam)</span><br />Fuck it. There's <span style="font-style: italic;">definitely</span> something in the water in Massachusetts. The only post-millennial rock reunions that haven't been utter embarrassments have come from the Bay State (see: Pixies, Burma). Continuing this trend is Dinosaur, which reunites the original lineup of Lou Barlow, J Mascis and Emmett Jefferson "Patrick" Murphy III for the first time since 1988's <span style="font-style: italic;">Bug</span>. <span style="font-style: italic;">Beyond</span> finds Dinosaur in fine, furious form; it's as if they never tried to kick each others' asses on stage.<br />Dinosaur Jr. - "Been There All the Time"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDbzQh3jYvoZDVdsOnERzBNN2hM0cKMFhqG68KKdq2sa_zn-8lq9Edz-bSbitbqPZnfRvc7CmT0I7ZeOWahDGRKZ-Ec0QgFs4KraeFhkZLl5rYxDO61P4uazlg9hahEcJ8-0d7/s1600-h/20thurstonmoore.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDbzQh3jYvoZDVdsOnERzBNN2hM0cKMFhqG68KKdq2sa_zn-8lq9Edz-bSbitbqPZnfRvc7CmT0I7ZeOWahDGRKZ-Ec0QgFs4KraeFhkZLl5rYxDO61P4uazlg9hahEcJ8-0d7/s200/20thurstonmoore.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156121932711854114" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">20. Thurston Moore, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Trees Outside the Academy</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Ecstatic Peace)</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span>True, this ranking might be a reflection of how little I actually digested the Sonic Youth frontman's first solo release since <span style="font-style: italic;">Psychic Hearts</span>. But you know what? I like <span style="font-style: italic;">Trees Outside the Academy</span> a lot more than I liked <span style="font-style: italic;">Rather Ripped</span>. The unusual chord structures and bizarro tunings are still there, but there's a folksy ruminence that permeates the record; a simple, western-Massachusetts charm that enhances Moore's particular quirks instead of suppressing them. Bonus points for "Thurston @ 13"; I know I wasn't that cool when I was 13, and you damn sure weren't.<br />Thurston Moore - "Wonderful Witches"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk08HoRwbYwuACr0gaL9hN3Fj0NAFFwVx6Cmobnr9VrsHssWMJpeCL7yLKLf13qRPAJnNp80pc1ol_hGhcZMyshtsJI7pcYHSBJXhnLbpRmcVHbpHyfLPwQxAY00KT1i9c-D6W/s1600-h/21bandofhorses.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk08HoRwbYwuACr0gaL9hN3Fj0NAFFwVx6Cmobnr9VrsHssWMJpeCL7yLKLf13qRPAJnNp80pc1ol_hGhcZMyshtsJI7pcYHSBJXhnLbpRmcVHbpHyfLPwQxAY00KT1i9c-D6W/s200/21bandofhorses.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156121941301788722" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">21. Band of Horses, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Cease to Begin</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Sub Pop)</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span>Again, this falls under the caveat of "Just because it's disappointing doesn't mean it's bad." On the contrary: <span style="font-style: italic;">Cease to Begin</span> is a delightful and logical follow-up to <span style="font-style: italic;">Everything All the Time</span>. The lush, reverbed guitars are still there, and Ben Bridwell still has a knack for ear-catching, easily hummable indie-rock melodies. Whereas <span style="font-style: italic;">Everything All the Time</span> was stricken with themes of death and triumph, <span style="font-style: italic;">Cease to Begin</span> is a darkly romantic record, most especially in the shimmer of "Detlef Schrempf." (I have to say, though, that I was a little disappointed to find absolutely no reference to the German sharpshooter actually, you know, in the song.) Dig that beautiful artwork, too.<br />Band of Horses - "Detlef Schrempf"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4YS44t3szMRozwNJGkR7rNyxYTBwcbObOsBJ7z6ILWv9KvTwznXsQ5lrphrdlajld3a9O6uCmjqfjUazVhl7S48hMlS7-_E1WJJ2ox-IqasWnd2sXvMHo85fmfEqnYYFnkbU3/s1600-h/22bridge61.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4YS44t3szMRozwNJGkR7rNyxYTBwcbObOsBJ7z6ILWv9KvTwznXsQ5lrphrdlajld3a9O6uCmjqfjUazVhl7S48hMlS7-_E1WJJ2ox-IqasWnd2sXvMHo85fmfEqnYYFnkbU3/s200/22bridge61.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156121941301788738" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">22. Bridge 61, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Journal</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Atavistic)</span><br />Again, Chicago avant-jazz can be a difficult thing to get into. And this Ken Vandermark-led quartet doesn't make it particularly easy. <span style="font-style: italic;">Journal</span> is filled with all the guttural, atonal sax-skronk you'd expect from Vandermark, and while that's all well and good (after all, Vandermark's a legend in his own right and, as you'll recall, a MacArthur Foundation-recognized genius), <span style="font-style: italic;">Journal</span>'s strength is found in the supporting players: Jason Stein's bass clarinet work masterfully complements Vandermark's difficult phrasings, and Nate McBride's bass is best when it's in searing, snarling orbit around Tim Daisy's outstanding drum work. And, indeed, it's when McBride (who alternates between acoustic and electric bass) plugs in that the ensemble really soars, most especially on the spy-movie-riff "Various Fires (For This Heat)" and the appropriately hard-hitting "Shatter."<br />Bridge 61 - "Various Fires (For This Heat)"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh52F0Pvhln4-_8U6DvB6Bvd5_11PUa4PM8Q21w9GaTVzLx0fTh3wbbwztEyo9pnbNgP3pvPHkqTnmADf2vBJhO-su_8_7wqD6ZYCHUvo4mjnnyGrUfcBNc9rxP8CtWMZWmiLHI/s1600-h/23upupdowndown.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh52F0Pvhln4-_8U6DvB6Bvd5_11PUa4PM8Q21w9GaTVzLx0fTh3wbbwztEyo9pnbNgP3pvPHkqTnmADf2vBJhO-su_8_7wqD6ZYCHUvo4mjnnyGrUfcBNc9rxP8CtWMZWmiLHI/s200/23upupdowndown.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156121945596756050" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">23. Up Up Down Down Left Right Left Right B A Start, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Worst Band Name Ever</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (self-released)</span><br />Sometimes somber, sometimes sunny, always earnest indie rock <span style="font-style: italic;">a la</span> American Football (or <span style="font-style: italic;">really</span> early Jimmy Eat World) from this New Jersey quintet. That's all there is to say; one of the most absolutely pleasant discoveries of the past year.<br />Up Up Down Down Left Right Left Right B A Start - "Boise"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYRy10oJQtQve8QRsclVUIIdktZxOdOZd8Ce2v0hj3NJB9n_toj7hfCqlPcmmZZmhFe-HVQFCTYzxSeV4claCRVpvCF-QTdtrCMeU1UW3w1ao61z3ODsxVOyyJWDptlA7aRo_t/s1600-h/24shellac.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYRy10oJQtQve8QRsclVUIIdktZxOdOZd8Ce2v0hj3NJB9n_toj7hfCqlPcmmZZmhFe-HVQFCTYzxSeV4claCRVpvCF-QTdtrCMeU1UW3w1ao61z3ODsxVOyyJWDptlA7aRo_t/s200/24shellac.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156121949891723362" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">24. Shellac, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Excellent Italian Greyhounds</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Touch and Go)</span><br />What, you thought Steve Albini was going to put out a record this year and I <span style="font-style: italic;">wouldn't</span> put it on my year-end list? Foolish reader, don't you know that Albini's the smartest man in rock history, and that Shellac's angular angst gets my fists a-pumpin'? (Aside: Albini, as I've learned from the Electrical Audio message boards, is a <span style="font-style: italic;">much</span> better poker player than I am.)<br />Shellac - "Steady as She Goes"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv3cRCo19QTYvAgaZyjFfV9t_RwfnI3eC06I0uLMXybm9naQt_4ziwHzuUHV2L6E-ACsCs5n0x7VosRIVaAxSkPsjeQnJPN_Nbz4-RIrNMKNXwxvmFjmEkuiyNrbbReQ7nZTJC/s1600-h/25jesu.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv3cRCo19QTYvAgaZyjFfV9t_RwfnI3eC06I0uLMXybm9naQt_4ziwHzuUHV2L6E-ACsCs5n0x7VosRIVaAxSkPsjeQnJPN_Nbz4-RIrNMKNXwxvmFjmEkuiyNrbbReQ7nZTJC/s200/25jesu.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156123934166614130" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">25. Jesu, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Conqueror</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Hydra Head)</span><br />Sounds like icebergs fucking. “Conqueror” is one of the most achingly beautiful epics in recent history — slow, emotional, breath-taking and destructively heavy.<br />Jesu - "Conqueror"<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzoIZI2ADBSE93mI96VtBWkzedLaU7_bQs-iQ1hUspuYrR5Y09cGKCBEBm6wchKk-YnO3w-VQloLGcHpbLZr_TwJugaEY7ZeU0zpHncnKjHP-q1TQZ7gdUqUMOpqDGVRVJrd3m/s1600-h/26menomena.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzoIZI2ADBSE93mI96VtBWkzedLaU7_bQs-iQ1hUspuYrR5Y09cGKCBEBm6wchKk-YnO3w-VQloLGcHpbLZr_TwJugaEY7ZeU0zpHncnKjHP-q1TQZ7gdUqUMOpqDGVRVJrd3m/s200/26menomena.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156123938461581442" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">26. Menomena, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Friend and Foe</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Barsuk)</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><span>Basically makes it on the strength of "Wet and Rusting" alone, but that doesn't mean the rest of the record — especially "Pelican" and "Rotting Hell" — ain't any good.<br />Menomena - "Wet and Rusting"<br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjToC9yHUba6ragOq4tz0C8jpan0GIJDZdqe6rhGgiefJhv8UHkDA5uWieVKh6wEKABRxjgm3-4uxrgk9KkDBhSATFMTsfPW1dM3wfaAhy0Tlc01w6OWMQgC_OABcMoyXITwu9a/s1600-h/27low.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjToC9yHUba6ragOq4tz0C8jpan0GIJDZdqe6rhGgiefJhv8UHkDA5uWieVKh6wEKABRxjgm3-4uxrgk9KkDBhSATFMTsfPW1dM3wfaAhy0Tlc01w6OWMQgC_OABcMoyXITwu9a/s200/27low.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156123947051516050" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">27. Low, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Drums and Guns</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Sub Pop)</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><span>So apparently the biggest thing to happen to Alan Sparhawk between <span style="font-style: italic;">The Great Destroyer</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">Drums and Guns</span> was a nervous breakdown. Hey, whatever works — <span style="font-style: italic;">Drums and Guns</span> is yet another fine record from the Minnesota slowcore giants. Delicate? Not as much as <span style="font-style: italic;">Things We Lost in the Fire</span>. Austere? Not so much as <span style="font-style: italic;">The Great Destroyer</span>. Hypnotic? As fuck.<br />Low - "Murderer"<br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJPcJltWp_lsVNnt8anbBIa6PkGzmJLX6Wc-JW-BTHI14qIzEUvBukkM5FdFHMk_8HYcOOJWcC3yDKkfLRTujPDFe-BhsgggvhuXvVdzTXqWZrDlTGEiyNMs40FxP-0mNxSha-/s1600-h/28dethklok.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJPcJltWp_lsVNnt8anbBIa6PkGzmJLX6Wc-JW-BTHI14qIzEUvBukkM5FdFHMk_8HYcOOJWcC3yDKkfLRTujPDFe-BhsgggvhuXvVdzTXqWZrDlTGEiyNMs40FxP-0mNxSha-/s200/28dethklok.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156123947051516066" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">28. Dethklok, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Dethalbum</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Williams Street)</span><br />Call it heavy meta: We know it’s supposed to be a joke, but what does it say when an animated band rocks harder than just about every metal band in existence? There’s more life in these songs than in anything Cradle of Filth’s ever written. And it’s as witty as it is heavy.<br />Dethklok - "Hatredcopter"<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWjC5IJA3UJ55ZYKninI9Ay8vHT1xxhfpsUvM4sVjbW5fNzz214T24EGTkYPnQSpsYO5PIw0ZvuXTQlpC6aQNKQRzSp8zM3mH5_atqVhVwWhjLMxPi0_dmoYLwiNV_oL1yQHDS/s1600-h/29btbam.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWjC5IJA3UJ55ZYKninI9Ay8vHT1xxhfpsUvM4sVjbW5fNzz214T24EGTkYPnQSpsYO5PIw0ZvuXTQlpC6aQNKQRzSp8zM3mH5_atqVhVwWhjLMxPi0_dmoYLwiNV_oL1yQHDS/s200/29btbam.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156123951346483378" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">29. Between the Buried and Me, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Colors</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Victory)</span><br />Dude, I hate just about everything Victory Records (which by now has the 15-year-old-girl-into-shitty-emocore market pretty well rogered) has ever put out. But this Raleigh quintet is the exception that proves the rule. Epic sonic-clusterfuck mathcore for the thinking man.<br />Between the Buried and Me - "Prequel to the Sequel"<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0DFJFCjrKcw6Rz3H5fasQqplichHb6wkBWh7SQjhGMYYXPTj1nN45rsmdRCSNmr-1K499BxCNtbPvsxzl2AnLCpSxD0l_-k3p1Xy3h6y5wSB2hd3Z9c_CjiRBGxBVRoWU_Bo2/s1600-h/30noage.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0DFJFCjrKcw6Rz3H5fasQqplichHb6wkBWh7SQjhGMYYXPTj1nN45rsmdRCSNmr-1K499BxCNtbPvsxzl2AnLCpSxD0l_-k3p1Xy3h6y5wSB2hd3Z9c_CjiRBGxBVRoWU_Bo2/s200/30noage.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156126008635818178" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">30. No Age, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Weirdo Rippers</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Fat Cat)</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><span><span style="font-style: italic;">Weirdo Rippers</span> absolutely rips, weirdly, even. No Age accomplishes something very few lo-fi duos manage to do: Sound bigger than the sum of its parts. <span style="font-style: italic;">Weirdo Rippers </span>is hardly an album; it's an all-out <span style="font-style: italic;">blitzkrieg</span> of fuzz-rock, filled with chugging chords and fantastic feedback.<br />No Age - "Everybody's Down"<br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC6Bh84ya2WtcKuKC7odC-zeejfYziu8KDB010zf2hqD6S9cGf6xtOdQVs4oZIr5gn18Brzvy-osab1BaCiXAhwzFy38zqejozc3nmt9AZxJ009DOabaCI-Rd9rO6qLfCHjOmy/s1600-h/31wutang.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC6Bh84ya2WtcKuKC7odC-zeejfYziu8KDB010zf2hqD6S9cGf6xtOdQVs4oZIr5gn18Brzvy-osab1BaCiXAhwzFy38zqejozc3nmt9AZxJ009DOabaCI-Rd9rO6qLfCHjOmy/s200/31wutang.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156126008635818194" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">31. Wu-Tang Clan, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Eight Diagrams</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Street/Universal Motown)</span><br />Dude: Wu-Tang ain’t nothing to fuck with. And even though the Killah Bees have depreciated into a squabbling, O.D.B.-less mess, they can still kick out some sick-ass rhymes.<br />Wu-Tang Clan - "Wolves"patrickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07630179800789862590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35928018.post-19735418838483655962008-01-01T15:48:00.001-05:002008-01-04T10:03:48.579-05:00The Year in Review :: Part Three: Quandary<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyepjTwtZrg451pn2R9rK34WGlVzIUnomghzR26tlCldh2_DFl0udJB3ir5atuPo7A79hGhy3QaHz0AKPia1JsNbATrKtaeX_5RHZEGFsaOv-DuT5X1M8AbDJbnCE9NBFLfEi8/s1600-h/indierocket-yearinreview.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyepjTwtZrg451pn2R9rK34WGlVzIUnomghzR26tlCldh2_DFl0udJB3ir5atuPo7A79hGhy3QaHz0AKPia1JsNbATrKtaeX_5RHZEGFsaOv-DuT5X1M8AbDJbnCE9NBFLfEi8/s400/indierocket-yearinreview.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150612975729769698" border="0" /></a> <p class="MsoNormal">In which indierocket! editor Patrick ruminates upon albums he didn’t pay enough attention to this year. <span class="readmore"><a href="http://gogoindierocket.blogspot.com/2008/01/year-in-review-part-three-quandary.html#more">More...</a></span><span class="fullpost"><a name="more"></a> <br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5ve1udcf2SjymFgDg46n4yPlJoYdnd6fUkbccQx9zaJ0PcmqA07EvXICO4jG-tJH10mRO8P3NLkippbm7bm5_m-8_i4bhdU-yOtVAjGL82a1aP_87VYp79PD6uCoyFPNgLslW/s1600-h/againstme!.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5ve1udcf2SjymFgDg46n4yPlJoYdnd6fUkbccQx9zaJ0PcmqA07EvXICO4jG-tJH10mRO8P3NLkippbm7bm5_m-8_i4bhdU-yOtVAjGL82a1aP_87VYp79PD6uCoyFPNgLslW/s200/againstme!.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150614135370939634" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Against Me!, </span><i style="font-weight: bold;">New Wave</i><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Sire/London/Rhino)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal">Hey, signing to a label doesn’t mean you’re a sellout! Just about everything this Florida agit-punk quartet’s put out since <i style="">...is Reinventing Axl Rose</i> has been filled with killer, sharp-tongued, fist-pumping anthems, and <i style="">New Wave</i> is no exception. Mostly, I didn’t listen to this because I gave it to a friend of mine.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh60UPeJW48XiSoR6hC6kMDgkCd9ocKiQgdP59EvwAtl0qG6Sj3DuSqkf6Us4mYFBd219qryBDlmD8vS4WII1YTdCDZjcSsyzU_BVcDcwcwzL2_eXZWmoKEPDmnYYIe7SarYVSM/s1600-h/blackfranics.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh60UPeJW48XiSoR6hC6kMDgkCd9ocKiQgdP59EvwAtl0qG6Sj3DuSqkf6Us4mYFBd219qryBDlmD8vS4WII1YTdCDZjcSsyzU_BVcDcwcwzL2_eXZWmoKEPDmnYYIe7SarYVSM/s200/blackfranics.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150614139665906946" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Black Francis, </span><i style="font-weight: bold;">Bluefinger</i><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Cooking Vinyl)</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Dear Mr. Charles Kitteridge Thompson IV: As a rabid Pixies fan, you know I love you. But I just didn’t get around to listening to <i style="">Bluefinger</i>. I’m sorry. But it’s not like <span style="font-style: italic;">Bluefinger</span> is <i style="">Teenager of the Year </i>or anything, is it? No harm, no foul, right?<o:p><br /></o:p></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoEV34zWCSjYk9qaPezMcTEH5NS_okYuOgNUvG5JOMA1ApwDhHC8Mx3LYLAHFC_6enij3GYu5WcXQEICYaGFSKFIb6bGtI2Rh86kNouzGhEbk1Te_f8liptei-IVMA-Hy6kF5N/s1600-h/bowerbirds.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoEV34zWCSjYk9qaPezMcTEH5NS_okYuOgNUvG5JOMA1ApwDhHC8Mx3LYLAHFC_6enij3GYu5WcXQEICYaGFSKFIb6bGtI2Rh86kNouzGhEbk1Te_f8liptei-IVMA-Hy6kF5N/s200/bowerbirds.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150614143960874258" border="0" /></a><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">Bowerbirds, <span style="font-style: italic;">Hymns for a Dark Horse </span>(Burly Time)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">No, I don’t like freak-folk. But I like Phil Moore and Beth Tacular. (Plus I was a huge fan of <st1:city st="on">Moore</st1:city>’s other band, <st1:place st="on">Ticonderoga</st1:place>. Plus, Bowerbirds’ freaky folk is married with <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">California</st1:place></st1:state> sunshine-pop to a delightful degree.</p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIzB4brTD2yuBGmuM1XGohyphenhyphen0nH4JYWLFfjCcC7Q-b4trF_PjkHqQSrDe9-9nVlvpBPfKvuTRJO2ZwP2lhNNR5N-8JKlbq9UTu_cmxa4viG7MdgBHGKUWY1CmgIvcGhvLzA0w7Y/s1600-h/dalek.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIzB4brTD2yuBGmuM1XGohyphenhyphen0nH4JYWLFfjCcC7Q-b4trF_PjkHqQSrDe9-9nVlvpBPfKvuTRJO2ZwP2lhNNR5N-8JKlbq9UTu_cmxa4viG7MdgBHGKUWY1CmgIvcGhvLzA0w7Y/s200/dalek.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150614143960874274" border="0" /></a><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Dälek, <span style="font-style: italic;">Abandoned Language</span> (Ipecac)</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I never watched <i style="">Doctor Who</i>. I also failed to listen to <i style="">Abandoned Language</i>. Serendipity? Perhaps. But I liked <i style="">Absence</i>.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhptkvLgDr3_PkZKPfbGO6SBK00-w2Kyls7wtYXezNK5pIu1Hfhyphenhypheng5wmS-SzXyhAKXLt4bLrEc9nBiCiYRnC8NhPvJC6vulsAUY8S0nHbU1QkVyQWsb5eUuHwqQu44b7Owl72qj/s1600-h/steveearle.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhptkvLgDr3_PkZKPfbGO6SBK00-w2Kyls7wtYXezNK5pIu1Hfhyphenhypheng5wmS-SzXyhAKXLt4bLrEc9nBiCiYRnC8NhPvJC6vulsAUY8S0nHbU1QkVyQWsb5eUuHwqQu44b7Owl72qj/s200/steveearle.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150618950029278738" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Steve Earle, </span><st1:street style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;" st="on"><st1:address st="on">Washington Square</st1:address></st1:street><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"> Serenade</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (New West)</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Steve Earle is awesome. <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on"><i style="">Jerusalem</i></st1:place></st1:city> is badass. ‘Nuff said. That said, I didn’t listen to this.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-CpHwx9GefD8coTt-shFeGSzvL5zzR715HlXdm-rq3T1IFNFiUd-y00RH23wjrLTwl-sW7Rk1PN82PuQyATzeWuPX_WbWHgiMXrQpoSsVqmxuM2hndI4OS_8U6lE6tbKmWSPf/s1600-h/earth.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-CpHwx9GefD8coTt-shFeGSzvL5zzR715HlXdm-rq3T1IFNFiUd-y00RH23wjrLTwl-sW7Rk1PN82PuQyATzeWuPX_WbWHgiMXrQpoSsVqmxuM2hndI4OS_8U6lE6tbKmWSPf/s200/earth.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5151303069600055218" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Earth, <span style="font-style: italic;">Hibernaculum</span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Southern Lord)</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I like Earth. I daresay I love Earth, based on the little I've heard. And, if nothing else, I respect the hell out of the legendary Seattle drone-metal group. But while "Ouroboros is Broken" set the standard for drone-metal in 2007, that was the only track I heard from <span style="font-style: italic;">Hibernaculum</span>.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1KRn0wdbOhFTaPNHJnFPszfUsB8-_Eu-RCIohyphenhyphenyy8gTCTM1YryuCN1mQba_51F8CS-BxaGzotuqKi_LzocV93hhd5NLrsbgqZ7OaW-dGpGYcFWAEp8EEtgqrebJEovIKMy3nY/s1600-h/thefield.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1KRn0wdbOhFTaPNHJnFPszfUsB8-_Eu-RCIohyphenhyphenyy8gTCTM1YryuCN1mQba_51F8CS-BxaGzotuqKi_LzocV93hhd5NLrsbgqZ7OaW-dGpGYcFWAEp8EEtgqrebJEovIKMy3nY/s200/thefield.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150620212749663794" border="0" /></a></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">The Field, <i style="">From Here We Go Sublime</i> (Kompakt)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sing me Swedish techno: This made so many year-end lists that I’ll probably regret not listening to it.<o:p><br /></o:p></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBQSGqIjsO3QMagI2n-UdEG8ySGLeE-X2fDn3bYXj4VgosXkJ_BQIxJM0Ugo6Kv9W3IhWsW4YuBNcXTyg1_ET5ZlhN_YOQF0du1yY7zesig6LpJqespMHA0s_tLvYNVWh3Zz9K/s1600-h/interpol.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBQSGqIjsO3QMagI2n-UdEG8ySGLeE-X2fDn3bYXj4VgosXkJ_BQIxJM0Ugo6Kv9W3IhWsW4YuBNcXTyg1_ET5ZlhN_YOQF0du1yY7zesig6LpJqespMHA0s_tLvYNVWh3Zz9K/s200/interpol.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150614148255841586" border="0" /></a><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">Interpol, <i style="">Our Love to Admire</i> (Capitol)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I wasn’t a fan of <i style="">Antics</i>, so I avoided Interpol’s third release. But I loved <i style="">Turn on the Bright Lights</i>, so I feel bad about it. Dig that cover art, though.<o:p><br /></o:p></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLXDiUqiSvU_mEAFGCXHLY68kiDdxXEt_1DgvVmPhyfPp53B20RlKs7FGST5OFcRcMrL_RO6vMSInMort9F7vqsJhDYHGZxofAIa1_3sReuTQ-Nn0XprigpCxS06Uynze2AdxA/s1600-h/sharonjones.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLXDiUqiSvU_mEAFGCXHLY68kiDdxXEt_1DgvVmPhyfPp53B20RlKs7FGST5OFcRcMrL_RO6vMSInMort9F7vqsJhDYHGZxofAIa1_3sReuTQ-Nn0XprigpCxS06Uynze2AdxA/s200/sharonjones.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150618937144376802" border="0" /></a><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings, <span style="font-style: italic;">100 Days, 100 Nights</span> (Daptone)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Chalk this one up to a classic case of “Hey, I loved that one song, but I never listened to the whole record.” The title track is a modern soul <i style="">tour de force</i>, but that’s all I know.<o:p><br /></o:p></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtEmlrm24SCS9jFCpqPGJcmzT2dXPj0KsRY0B0Tt13TP20Q0CL9pV7DehUHekYOQdZ_oe4CybnT-GLgbzVSloEWgPIhI1Oaj36mPkgvQLqL8TFF5ZTdDavPRh2n5fULDfMhw0v/s1600-h/lcdsoundsystem.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtEmlrm24SCS9jFCpqPGJcmzT2dXPj0KsRY0B0Tt13TP20Q0CL9pV7DehUHekYOQdZ_oe4CybnT-GLgbzVSloEWgPIhI1Oaj36mPkgvQLqL8TFF5ZTdDavPRh2n5fULDfMhw0v/s200/lcdsoundsystem.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150615642904460610" border="0" /></a><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">LCD Soundsystem, <i style="">Sound of Silver</i> (DFA/Capitol)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Given its position on just about every year-end list ever, I’m actually ashamed to have not heard this entire record. As such, I have to keep it out of the big list, despite the unquestionable awesomeness of “North American Scum” and “All Your Friends.”<o:p><br /></o:p></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhetCH9s0lmd3iQvGhD3ts4ITacIEts5_VfvJ8Kvnva8tm8knnec6sxgho2b1y-PQuP126eA_Ss24sz8i89_zpnWQASpc1F1k19UvdCC8SeyLTS9xc1sio82T-OUW0alF5hG4_9/s1600-h/lupefiasco.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhetCH9s0lmd3iQvGhD3ts4ITacIEts5_VfvJ8Kvnva8tm8knnec6sxgho2b1y-PQuP126eA_Ss24sz8i89_zpnWQASpc1F1k19UvdCC8SeyLTS9xc1sio82T-OUW0alF5hG4_9/s200/lupefiasco.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150615647199427922" border="0" /></a><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">Lupe Fiasco, <i style="">The Cool</i> (Atlantic)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">This one was a lot simpler: It came out in mid-December, and I just haven’t had time to digest it yet. But if it’s anything like <i style="">Food and Liquor</i>, it’s getting the shaft by being stuck on this list.<o:p><br /></o:p></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7wB-mMC14DU_6f8GdyoxYKPAHjIrYS3OBb73RVzAIfISGqQaS_YryYTlkIzPMqhu4yVtcR5ToKH44RJrEmg7CEobWoeEMYMq6T_8gEuleVz31c3Qh7Kcd_DJ9RtXdbelz1gQe/s1600-h/madlibbeatkonducta.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7wB-mMC14DU_6f8GdyoxYKPAHjIrYS3OBb73RVzAIfISGqQaS_YryYTlkIzPMqhu4yVtcR5ToKH44RJrEmg7CEobWoeEMYMq6T_8gEuleVz31c3Qh7Kcd_DJ9RtXdbelz1gQe/s200/madlibbeatkonducta.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150615651494395234" border="0" /></a><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">Madlib, <span style="font-style: italic;">Beat Konducta Vols. 3-4: In </span><st1:country-region style="font-style: italic;" st="on"><st1:place st="on">India</st1:place></st1:country-region> (Stones Throw)</p>I’m sorry, I was too busy listening to the Yesterday’s Universe disc.<br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMux60sfzrvJAo9d96BrDTtvFvpKtNCy_Q3FZ8jWP4t5Xpt0KK-c_Ctdmke5btP7D0q78TZsCumMZmbrRk4cBVKGNMyhyphenhyphen5e880CitoYUH2TTqJ7WmUsgdYtf5ffRTW7V4KsSNI/s1600-h/modestmouse.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMux60sfzrvJAo9d96BrDTtvFvpKtNCy_Q3FZ8jWP4t5Xpt0KK-c_Ctdmke5btP7D0q78TZsCumMZmbrRk4cBVKGNMyhyphenhyphen5e880CitoYUH2TTqJ7WmUsgdYtf5ffRTW7V4KsSNI/s200/modestmouse.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150615655789362546" border="0" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Modest Mouse, <span style="font-style: italic;">We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank </span>(Epic)</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Hey, “Dashboard” was pretty cool, wasn’t it? And that guy from The Shins was on it a lot, right? Maybe I just really <i style="">want</i> this to be good.<o:p><br /></o:p></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgunEX1C_5G9OrbHfFG4FMGCs7CUQ2F7L7m7hgCS_JjlxYvf8bSTP7ysqcP_jov9z9tgyLHEA0UqbXNeRwJj426NMw8bLz1xO_ioK-hnQnxaKCwNd87GDQivC018fFes0i-by50/s1600-h/thenational.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgunEX1C_5G9OrbHfFG4FMGCs7CUQ2F7L7m7hgCS_JjlxYvf8bSTP7ysqcP_jov9z9tgyLHEA0UqbXNeRwJj426NMw8bLz1xO_ioK-hnQnxaKCwNd87GDQivC018fFes0i-by50/s200/thenational.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150620221339598402" border="0" /></a><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">The National, <i style="">Boxer</i> (Beggar’s Banquet)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Another record I’m ashamed to admit I haven’t listened to all the way through, mostly because it topped several of my friends' lists.<o:p><br /></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbro6iktl034ApG58xis1xmy-Bpu2kyME4ETpph6HklxlCxO_wA24O0kMJsPpHs3MSSA_eakHXVlV_Uxqv7m4WqVFhVdACno6UN_LMnlOYPRMKZXtHV-M_5RImB4QoUA8Ve16D/s1600-h/okkervilriver.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbro6iktl034ApG58xis1xmy-Bpu2kyME4ETpph6HklxlCxO_wA24O0kMJsPpHs3MSSA_eakHXVlV_Uxqv7m4WqVFhVdACno6UN_LMnlOYPRMKZXtHV-M_5RImB4QoUA8Ve16D/s200/okkervilriver.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150615660084329858" border="0" /></a><st1:place style="font-weight: bold;" st="on"><st1:placename st="on"><br /></st1:placename></st1:place></p><p class="MsoNormal"><st1:place style="font-weight: bold;" st="on"><st1:placename st="on"><br /></st1:placename></st1:place></p><p class="MsoNormal"><st1:place style="font-weight: bold;" st="on"><st1:placename st="on"><br /></st1:placename></st1:place></p><p class="MsoNormal"><st1:place style="font-weight: bold;" st="on"><st1:placename st="on"><br /></st1:placename></st1:place></p><p class="MsoNormal"><st1:place style="font-weight: bold;" st="on"><st1:placename st="on"><br /></st1:placename></st1:place></p><p class="MsoNormal"><st1:place style="font-weight: bold;" st="on"><st1:placename st="on"><br /></st1:placename></st1:place></p><p class="MsoNormal"><st1:place style="font-weight: bold;" st="on"><st1:placename st="on"><br /></st1:placename></st1:place></p><p class="MsoNormal"><st1:place style="font-weight: bold;" st="on"><st1:placename st="on">Okkervil</st1:placename> <st1:placetype st="on">River</st1:placetype></st1:place><span style="font-weight: bold;">, </span><i style="font-weight: bold;">The Stage Names</i><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Jagjaguwar)</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Ditto. And I really like Okkervil River's first record.<o:p><br /></o:p></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcA5EG9zKxznopWc5EhvlmRSVRzaUeYuRL8LnB1X98e-ViZEhwklDRAcUUEREWPBkz7smhJvYzhnS1i9TyfDBlEYMMOwXAWMwhQwTBBKt3QSXd4UyovSnGbpU21tw9vQGgHup2/s1600-h/sigurros.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcA5EG9zKxznopWc5EhvlmRSVRzaUeYuRL8LnB1X98e-ViZEhwklDRAcUUEREWPBkz7smhJvYzhnS1i9TyfDBlEYMMOwXAWMwhQwTBBKt3QSXd4UyovSnGbpU21tw9vQGgHup2/s200/sigurros.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150618941439344114" border="0" /></a><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">Sigur Ros, <i style="">Hvarf/Heim</i> (XL)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">This mostly good, sometimes boring Icelandic post-rock band kind of pushed me away with <i style="">Takk...</i> and flew too far under my radar this year, despite a heavy push from my boss.<o:p><br /></o:p></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO4ec-4kMKXmHEKMB5G-OXKvTSs2h-qQ23Cm6MAcZ-4ZPXI9EQv3OAEWh277poTtqCdyLsSD9EsdgO2neIco7u9IYe3Mv3YEMB258l7qg_Tmdp9bPLf7VD6FHCWn8Jw6ykRplR/s1600-h/starsofthelid.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO4ec-4kMKXmHEKMB5G-OXKvTSs2h-qQ23Cm6MAcZ-4ZPXI9EQv3OAEWh277poTtqCdyLsSD9EsdgO2neIco7u9IYe3Mv3YEMB258l7qg_Tmdp9bPLf7VD6FHCWn8Jw6ykRplR/s200/starsofthelid.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150618945734311426" border="0" /></a><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">Stars of The Lid, <i style="">And Their Refinement of the Decline</i> (Kranky)</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="">Refinement</i> received so many comparisons to Eno and Glass that I’m genuinely surprised that I didn’t listen to this.<o:p><br /></o:p></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx_PuMwQJPrduRCJDK2cOngTltf6sdKlD0MEn70l9MRZaDpQsygWEols1o8ly28mUFa0qV27pvyGNxdy8PKTWwoGwj2Gv3UY_wZC9QnTDm0IuX81pROli5A61XF0SmhCIHUoZU/s1600-h/kanye-graduation.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx_PuMwQJPrduRCJDK2cOngTltf6sdKlD0MEn70l9MRZaDpQsygWEols1o8ly28mUFa0qV27pvyGNxdy8PKTWwoGwj2Gv3UY_wZC9QnTDm0IuX81pROli5A61XF0SmhCIHUoZU/s200/kanye-graduation.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150622214204423762" border="0" /></a><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">Kanye West, <span style="font-style: italic;">Graduation</span> (Roc-A-Fella)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Here’s my theory: <i style="">Dropout</i> was <i style="">A New Hope</i>; <i style="">Late Admission</i> was <i style="">Empire</i>. Therefore, <i style="">Graduation</i> is <i style="">Jedi</i> — not as good as either, but still a nice way to wrap things up.<o:p><br /></o:p></p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdm8AkAujoISRJQRYNeebMH5MkJrAgu0-dKDIvWQdAozlGfkkxwoxrTT33IGH30Fo4OU9dugeYPRJfmlX_gKz0ceU7hubbcQDqtjl8V0lDAwUitDEUlhESwMqlDiCdlhSrNrVI/s1600-h/whitestripes.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdm8AkAujoISRJQRYNeebMH5MkJrAgu0-dKDIvWQdAozlGfkkxwoxrTT33IGH30Fo4OU9dugeYPRJfmlX_gKz0ceU7hubbcQDqtjl8V0lDAwUitDEUlhESwMqlDiCdlhSrNrVI/s200/whitestripes.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150622214204423778" border="0" /></a><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">The White Stripes, <i style="">Icky Thump</i> (Warner Bros.)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Yet another case of a band with a disappointing follow-up (<i style="">Get Behind Me Satan</i>) to a record I adored (<i style="">Elephant</i>). I hated The Raconteurs, too. But the single was banging. Perhaps I gave them one too many A-list sneers this year. Should’ve listened to this one; I generally enjoy The White Stripes.<o:p></o:p></p></span></span></span></p>patrickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07630179800789862590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35928018.post-1279600791407860622007-12-31T16:46:00.000-05:002008-01-01T12:17:54.108-05:00The Year in Review :: Part Two: Vilification<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkbc-9HsniyW4rU1E_auoOVUNBTS5qhfZMtsIHfwkgsCvB5Mp3peYANdK_gDM9KI8RnsYJMltx_QBAit9sQPEMDBC8GTP61qhpFfXCPxLD7ILsIkK2ER6mjRfZarZn_6dZcIA2/s1600-h/indierocket-yearinreview.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkbc-9HsniyW4rU1E_auoOVUNBTS5qhfZMtsIHfwkgsCvB5Mp3peYANdK_gDM9KI8RnsYJMltx_QBAit9sQPEMDBC8GTP61qhpFfXCPxLD7ILsIkK2ER6mjRfZarZn_6dZcIA2/s400/indierocket-yearinreview.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150263386866711746" border="0" /></a>In which indierocket! editor Patrick takes on the year’s biggest disappointments and biggest stinkers. <span class="readmore"><a href="http://gogoindierocket.blogspot.com/2007/12/year-in-review-part-two-vilification.html#more">More...</a></span><span class="fullpost"><a name="more"></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJPOjVXPUuJW2_nxcOUgAz2GaXCN6zpBzQfRh8Kw7yFz6yriNF0Z8k-MYTAHrjrFi3DzR5BWk-WvuoePVxCQBobFJdsucOY-LProJoBuP3fg5CFRnPV9HJvVKnOie0puAqw_bR/s1600-h/aplacetoburystrangers.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJPOjVXPUuJW2_nxcOUgAz2GaXCN6zpBzQfRh8Kw7yFz6yriNF0Z8k-MYTAHrjrFi3DzR5BWk-WvuoePVxCQBobFJdsucOY-LProJoBuP3fg5CFRnPV9HJvVKnOie0puAqw_bR/s200/aplacetoburystrangers.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150557209874398418" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">A Place to Bury Strangers, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">A Place to Bury Strangers</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Pimp City)</span><br />Don’t believe the blog hype. Total Jesus and Mary Chain ripoff.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfxjmG1s7vGTxG98R9ILgOBbfIok_WFeD8nCNvVAMy2WmO0_iHxqq0BmLlwPAHZQem214gyXZytNehoERMrxgtybo6eDOJbbKv-0MpFATZoVmZV5C_ekDiYter0EDFRMA61391/s1600-h/arcadefire.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfxjmG1s7vGTxG98R9ILgOBbfIok_WFeD8nCNvVAMy2WmO0_iHxqq0BmLlwPAHZQem214gyXZytNehoERMrxgtybo6eDOJbbKv-0MpFATZoVmZV5C_ekDiYter0EDFRMA61391/s200/arcadefire.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150257356732627906" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Arcade Fire, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Neon Bible</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Merge)</span><br />Whereas <span style="font-style: italic;">Funeral</span> was an outstandingly cathartic meditation on death and the hereafter, <span style="font-style: italic;">Neon Bible</span> is too much of a <span style="font-style: italic;">Born in the U.S.A.</span> carbon copy. Sure, Win Butler’s still one of the better songwriters in indie rock, but there’s too much morass here (see “Black Wave/Bad Vibrations,” “My Body is a Cage,” the title track), which drags down the stellar moments (see “Intervention,” “Keep the Car Running”).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIo45DU4-E_zXy_mRZ80gOOx_4zjKgIkxdO_lNtuyWJFa7hKiIJQBLLOcpziNhJ2NoICayrAnm-EHq_0GvzCX24GyOeKsFrE6hiUg4qoriUOFXHm4d1x_Uh_NE54HFMV9iP1fX/s1600-h/bandofhorses.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIo45DU4-E_zXy_mRZ80gOOx_4zjKgIkxdO_lNtuyWJFa7hKiIJQBLLOcpziNhJ2NoICayrAnm-EHq_0GvzCX24GyOeKsFrE6hiUg4qoriUOFXHm4d1x_Uh_NE54HFMV9iP1fX/s200/bandofhorses.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150257365322562514" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Band of Horses, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Cease to Begin</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Sub Pop)</span><br />Just because a record is disappointing doesn’t mean that it’s automatically bad. <span style="font-style: italic;">Au contraire</span>: <span style="font-style: italic;">Cease to Begin</span> is a fine record, far from a sophomore slump, applying a Southern spit-and-polish to the majestic Northwestern grandeur of <span style="font-style: italic;">Everything All the Time</span>. But I said Ben Bridwell would miss Mat Brooke, and I was right — despite the addition of Columbia keybanger extraordinaire Ryan Monroe, <span style="font-style: italic;">Cease to Begin</span> suffers from a ritualistic sameness, not from song to song, but within the songs themselves. While <span style="font-style: italic;">Everything All the Time</span> relied heavily on pristine builds and emotional catharsis, <span style="font-style: italic;">Cease to Begin</span> is too pristine, too precious and a little too tedious.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrpFj-x0xeuJ9kQokxhGCmNMwFWxQgHZquc6WYPWiKlEJ6XdO1dtLW9i9CZuphyirfejVJDh7Hr4AFzu_lEvcH220Sgcl6BHWQcUgwi5MVl5w1fjycthSKlzhmOVNyy-iVi36Y/s1600-h/blocparty.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrpFj-x0xeuJ9kQokxhGCmNMwFWxQgHZquc6WYPWiKlEJ6XdO1dtLW9i9CZuphyirfejVJDh7Hr4AFzu_lEvcH220Sgcl6BHWQcUgwi5MVl5w1fjycthSKlzhmOVNyy-iVi36Y/s200/blocparty.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150257365322562530" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Bloc Party, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">A Weekend in the City </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">(Vice)</span><br />Now <span style="font-style: italic;">this</span> is a sophomore slump record. Was Kele Okereke too concerned about the rumours that he likes getting buggered by geezers to write good songs?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj88UQ2g6VRmsTAtB9KqHjXGVayTFsaZ_0FUg-Qa1nGZTyI_PJEJLwLfoyEAYCd9yU9_j_bEHJQp7fEgTZitaVVMxQ6lx30m09Th4scs9A4Qu26ytamtpk7AY3K9GLjkZp5tmub/s1600-h/cyhsy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj88UQ2g6VRmsTAtB9KqHjXGVayTFsaZ_0FUg-Qa1nGZTyI_PJEJLwLfoyEAYCd9yU9_j_bEHJQp7fEgTZitaVVMxQ6lx30m09Th4scs9A4Qu26ytamtpk7AY3K9GLjkZp5tmub/s200/cyhsy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150257365322562546" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Some Loud Thunder</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Wichita)</span><br />What did I say two years ago? Clap Your Hands Say Meh? I hate to say “I told you so” ... wait, no I don’t. I fucking told you so.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Kdf8ugFTopWWFDrLYrDcAFoY7Q0rCTzrzm8YDLjaOoSb-Waveqa-NobBonplCait4XPUGDme31eofzPUBCE8RY3bgBzIhFgt-uw6FFTLgE1i5bnEAMCB3c9egrDSXf8aPI1D/s1600-h/deerhunter.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-Kdf8ugFTopWWFDrLYrDcAFoY7Q0rCTzrzm8YDLjaOoSb-Waveqa-NobBonplCait4XPUGDme31eofzPUBCE8RY3bgBzIhFgt-uw6FFTLgE1i5bnEAMCB3c9egrDSXf8aPI1D/s200/deerhunter.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150258503488896002" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Deerhunter, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Cryptograms</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Kranky)</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br />Don’t believe the blog hype, part two. Yet another begulingly Pitchfork-loved record that's no good, yet people went absolutely ape-poopy over it. Why?<br /><br /><span class="fullpost"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh281BIX-Yzc6mznR978S9245_uT9Stwqf9oZtPn9cZ1eD481Clrpr82Ajde69ecnBwv23BCQsE0gg9GX_hpKXZD-zwJSsz4k3K2FVnHD3lbmvQX0yWmQ4T3G2XSxjxhhOQSlRz/s1600-h/lavenderdiamond.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh281BIX-Yzc6mznR978S9245_uT9Stwqf9oZtPn9cZ1eD481Clrpr82Ajde69ecnBwv23BCQsE0gg9GX_hpKXZD-zwJSsz4k3K2FVnHD3lbmvQX0yWmQ4T3G2XSxjxhhOQSlRz/s200/lavenderdiamond.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150258507783863314" border="0" /></a></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span class="fullpost"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Lavender Diamond, <span style="font-style: italic;">Imagine Our Love</span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span>(Rough Trade)</span><br />Don’t believe the blog hype, part three. More boring than watching baseball.</span><br /><br /><span class="fullpost"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNWvs_jnzNWbnxBUtE4tjSG9VJUJWeWhb64XITVXXTC8-OhrmJ_Fyj8d42ySfPld3DdHWoHrQJaDvtxC8fWC5WjdJmeoHu3wmJfkXg9p6lURmbjIJKjVYvq7noGZ8MN0IUPyVf/s1600-h/marsvolta.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNWvs_jnzNWbnxBUtE4tjSG9VJUJWeWhb64XITVXXTC8-OhrmJ_Fyj8d42ySfPld3DdHWoHrQJaDvtxC8fWC5WjdJmeoHu3wmJfkXg9p6lURmbjIJKjVYvq7noGZ8MN0IUPyVf/s200/marsvolta.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150258507783863330" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Mars Volta, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">The Bedlam in Goliath</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Universal)</span><br />How does one say “Just stop it!” in Spanish?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEingUNskVy2zR2ResGCWnsKASBMOMTYcgmEn2eoVHelBBzN6J79-YLNe4rVypjzCI7gFMaRqmRWiGIwxq7K_Uyzt5UwKLMaPpWBT9R2zmNEkVYeht-56qoC6Nq7YCSOBLMurSjR/s1600-h/mia.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEingUNskVy2zR2ResGCWnsKASBMOMTYcgmEn2eoVHelBBzN6J79-YLNe4rVypjzCI7gFMaRqmRWiGIwxq7K_Uyzt5UwKLMaPpWBT9R2zmNEkVYeht-56qoC6Nq7YCSOBLMurSjR/s200/mia.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150258512078830642" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">M.I.A., </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Kala</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (XL)</span><br />This is what I wrote about <span style="font-style: italic;">Arular</span> back in 2005: “oh, i'm sorry. i didn't realize "galang" was the indonesian word for 'shit.' it's as if every single genre ever known to man took a giant shit into a pot, and said, 'lo, this, too, is music!' it's not. it's the densest, most inaccessible piece of crap i've ever listened to. the only reason indie kids like it is because they think they should, because no one else gets it.” <span style="font-style: italic;">Kala</span> is even worse, taking the worst parts of genres I both love (baile funk, electronica) and loathe (dancehall, dub, dirty house) and turning into an unintelligible mush of yelps, squawks and rattles. Sure, perhaps it’s one of those albums that I’ll never “get,” but that’s what this list is about, innit?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcNRqrkvfog8EOzgQWH9eOVa567OW_u5Q2hvjMrppPwdFMtkTroEY3iDPEllKpoP4Olx3Va2Huen8Nn95N2eXB5pu7HO3PUUOL9kGCfUlhi5bryytJbbYby5_hychSRIeN1jwG/s1600-h/minusthebear.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcNRqrkvfog8EOzgQWH9eOVa567OW_u5Q2hvjMrppPwdFMtkTroEY3iDPEllKpoP4Olx3Va2Huen8Nn95N2eXB5pu7HO3PUUOL9kGCfUlhi5bryytJbbYby5_hychSRIeN1jwG/s200/minusthebear.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150258512078830658" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Minus the Bear, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Planet of Ice</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Suicide Squeeze)</span><br />One of Minus the Bear’s strong points has always been its temporary-yet-fleet-footed diversions into King Crimson prog. (See “Women We Haven’t Met Yet,” “Let’s Play Guitar in a Five Guitar Band,” basically all of <span style="font-style: italic;">They Make Beer Commercials Out of This</span>.) But <span style="font-style: italic;">Planet of Ice</span>’s downfall is its all-to-frequent excursions into bloated Floydian butt-prog. An underwhelming record from an extraordinary band with a nigh-impeccable track record.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5nBo2p86_n7biZ_ycxjEFpRGbAKOBR16cgDzeb4Uk_brwQ_D17FY7j5aFA135GV0eu8ZWKuZK51j6p4Qxv6PDt7kn57XLFxu7xCFoRdzoGq2hEewIRIRqSxMtgD8_PkM54ONb/s1600-h/pandabear.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5nBo2p86_n7biZ_ycxjEFpRGbAKOBR16cgDzeb4Uk_brwQ_D17FY7j5aFA135GV0eu8ZWKuZK51j6p4Qxv6PDt7kn57XLFxu7xCFoRdzoGq2hEewIRIRqSxMtgD8_PkM54ONb/s200/pandabear.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150260092626795602" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Panda Bear, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Person Pitch</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Paw Tracks)</span><br />Admittedly, I’ve never been able to get into freak-folk. But after seeing this record top so many year-end lists — including the one penned by our dear indierocket! comrade Tug — I wanted to like this. But it just seems like paint-by-numbers ‘60s psychedelia a la The Beach Boys.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdXeAuPpXWEzJyMlHX08gnjzqq3BFe7VVcHadGYFN1dRcYUjO9E5JHak5YGzIXWbby7opLyQgJ-Ezx2nUs7e5AGEeKwPfGb6OmMMDhVCQ9ogHwNGI_5Bu6pyQ7m1IIhkhcXFsH/s1600-h/pelican.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdXeAuPpXWEzJyMlHX08gnjzqq3BFe7VVcHadGYFN1dRcYUjO9E5JHak5YGzIXWbby7opLyQgJ-Ezx2nUs7e5AGEeKwPfGb6OmMMDhVCQ9ogHwNGI_5Bu6pyQ7m1IIhkhcXFsH/s200/pelican.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150260092626795618" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Pelican, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">City of Echoes</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Hydra Head)</span><br />Disappointing only because Pelican is one of my favorite bands, and <span style="font-style: italic;">City of Echoes</span> just isn’t up to the bar-setting snuff of <span style="font-style: italic;">The Fire in Our Throats Will Beckon the Thaw</span>.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIQIdsEEV80fICFnEhPJUYn3aDRi1LVL6318BVcpmyZqEJbSLzQcrAi9hGjMJFG9VHt2e3XLD_xpLZt7jWgCAdIjrukJXeD5n71k2NqA-953QjZmWRXcSOABRwZn_tz_8NgajC/s1600-h/rilokiley.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIQIdsEEV80fICFnEhPJUYn3aDRi1LVL6318BVcpmyZqEJbSLzQcrAi9hGjMJFG9VHt2e3XLD_xpLZt7jWgCAdIjrukJXeD5n71k2NqA-953QjZmWRXcSOABRwZn_tz_8NgajC/s200/rilokiley.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150260096921762930" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Rilo Kiley, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Under the Blacklight</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Warner Bros.)</span><br />At least Jenny Lewis is still hot.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimvV8QuJX6KeMGEo_rEjv7J6KTHYNxo7Mm04etQ8ibMe7id1B19TDosW8GGsydJuY4Hb12IuEcA13SMeoPkLukZpkLIm2bzwKRmR0wN2GyJqAwnRcD6-RGI49QxAhyF8Sq2Gv3/s1600-h/rosebuds.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimvV8QuJX6KeMGEo_rEjv7J6KTHYNxo7Mm04etQ8ibMe7id1B19TDosW8GGsydJuY4Hb12IuEcA13SMeoPkLukZpkLIm2bzwKRmR0wN2GyJqAwnRcD6-RGI49QxAhyF8Sq2Gv3/s200/rosebuds.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150260096921762946" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Rosebuds, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Night of the Furies</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Merge)</span><br />This hurts. I love The Rosebuds, both as a band and as people; Ivan Howard possesses one of my all-time favorite voices, and Kelly Howard is a keyboard-mashing looker with no peer. But <span style="font-style: italic;">Night of the Furies</span> is bogged down in end-of-the-dance-party melancholy, willful hook-freedom, cheeseball-synth string arrangements and unusually flaccid songwriting. While I reiterate that not all disappointing records are bad — and Night of the Furies is by no means bad — they’re disappointments for a reason. What was wrong with being a garage band people could dance to, guys? Why go all Smiths-via-Human League on us?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQJb9Mjr0sntjAY67IGtRF5jXyI23mjSmU4BoMjvvABiXM8_JUmWcVuHasV8y385R-K4mb5J-CCTxtTdFdUe7xclCYDceJ8iWlT387q46Ya9SjkFsZVNbyDV6BOChFp-AjLwV6/s1600-h/smashingpumpkins.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQJb9Mjr0sntjAY67IGtRF5jXyI23mjSmU4BoMjvvABiXM8_JUmWcVuHasV8y385R-K4mb5J-CCTxtTdFdUe7xclCYDceJ8iWlT387q46Ya9SjkFsZVNbyDV6BOChFp-AjLwV6/s200/smashingpumpkins.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150260101216730258" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Smashing Pumpkins, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Zeitgeist</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Martha’s Music/Reprise)</span><br /><a href="http://gogoindierocket.blogspot.com/2007/07/tube-smashing-pumpkins-tarantula.html">You all know</a> <a href="http://free-times.com/index.php?cat=11011801074507906&ShowArticle_ID=11460611070916635">how I feel</a> <a href="http://gogoindierocket.blogspot.com/2007/08/tube-smashing-pumpkins-thats-way-my.html">about this</a>. Worst record of the year.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp9c_FoqRvjWMPXfq8BlBS1Tht1_CkUwCbFMtIVYOo7yTT4ij9qaVuh5NNynFm2WmE8CUwskfHnHMi5ULKK1JBp-ZF7Y2zJKCQcoD1hdA3UrA15mu7sYM2Vl_mb7X0oCeXE0nf/s1600-h/wilco.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp9c_FoqRvjWMPXfq8BlBS1Tht1_CkUwCbFMtIVYOo7yTT4ij9qaVuh5NNynFm2WmE8CUwskfHnHMi5ULKK1JBp-ZF7Y2zJKCQcoD1hdA3UrA15mu7sYM2Vl_mb7X0oCeXE0nf/s200/wilco.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150261316692475042" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Wilco, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Sky Blue Sky</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Nonesuch)</span><br />Anyone who says <span style="font-style: italic;">Sky Blue Sky </span>is their favorite Wilco record is either a Nels Cline fanboy, a dad-rock apologist or a fucking liar. <span style="font-style: italic;">Sky Blue Sky</span> isn’t bad, just boring, content to twiddle around with flat, second-rate ‘70s soft-rock songwriting. Still, “Impossible Germany” is one of the year’s finest guitar-driven songs, and <span style="font-style: italic;">Sky Blue Sky</span> is at least better than <span style="font-style: italic;">A Ghost is Born</span>.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDwcPOKh93zzQ-XIxpQnBjAx6mwpY4IJ0j4dlIeuyntPo5How4lf2RKXPH_X_3TzUBWiOHXlcyfSI3N7ALCvaiZPQeMxu1oWSL3snfdLJTbQRRCgGPf8JPYD9y-RLJxFhuPXgA/s1600-h/amywinehouse.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDwcPOKh93zzQ-XIxpQnBjAx6mwpY4IJ0j4dlIeuyntPo5How4lf2RKXPH_X_3TzUBWiOHXlcyfSI3N7ALCvaiZPQeMxu1oWSL3snfdLJTbQRRCgGPf8JPYD9y-RLJxFhuPXgA/s200/amywinehouse.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150261316692475058" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="display: block;" id="formatbar_Buttons"><span class="on" style="display: block;" id="formatbar_CreateLink" title="Link" onmouseover="ButtonHoverOn(this);" onmouseout="ButtonHoverOff(this);" onmouseup="" onmousedown="CheckFormatting(event);FormatbarButton('richeditorframe', this, 8);ButtonMouseDown(this);"></span></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Amy Winehouse, Back to Black (Republic)</span><br />There’s a <a href="http://www.google.com/url?sa=t&ct=res&cd=1&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.whenwillamywinehousedie.com%2F&ei=xmd5R5aHOoy4iAGHwqw1&usg=AFQjCNHPZILTK-10JrnMbtiBQILS6HRVEw&sig2=PnI7_dvAKA7l6h_eHZuMhA">web site</a> devoted to taking bets on Amy Winehouse’s date of death for a reason. Even rehab couldn’t save this trainwreck.</span>patrickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07630179800789862590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35928018.post-79961238504246562742007-12-31T15:51:00.000-05:002008-01-01T12:25:40.389-05:00The Year in Review :: Part One: Perspicacity<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz3yUl6ieNIU1JIDAOU1A0Zs_H6b1PJBFsTboSuGBQMJomJRAMbcSaIg-6yYTkfWqSiVD6wI76cpSzyUkzQwoSFVy74cHlTjBrlir_AyN02T4KbjxTc0exkFJodo-qDGAWD1WS/s1600-h/indierocket-yearinreview.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz3yUl6ieNIU1JIDAOU1A0Zs_H6b1PJBFsTboSuGBQMJomJRAMbcSaIg-6yYTkfWqSiVD6wI76cpSzyUkzQwoSFVy74cHlTjBrlir_AyN02T4KbjxTc0exkFJodo-qDGAWD1WS/s400/indierocket-yearinreview.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150254659493165986" border="0" /></a>In which indierocket! editor Patrick identifies the albums released in 2006 that <span style="font-style: italic;">should</span> have made last year's year-end list. <span class="readmore"><a href="http://gogoindierocket.blogspot.com/2007/12/year-in-review-part-one-perspicacity.html#more">More...</a></span><span class="fullpost"><a name="more"></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitHQ3KCB75rfZqpKXQAKW9erFl852x9HBAznTLFGvvACnYlDxhvmOX9KT3rNIfKOJeE5Z9uvvnOI_radtE2CZaidROF1Wpb-ZD6bLFyEwvwfVirSr5krZXhUrl4wpEjN0kPUgn/s1600-h/cinemechanica_arts2006_cover.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitHQ3KCB75rfZqpKXQAKW9erFl852x9HBAznTLFGvvACnYlDxhvmOX9KT3rNIfKOJeE5Z9uvvnOI_radtE2CZaidROF1Wpb-ZD6bLFyEwvwfVirSr5krZXhUrl4wpEjN0kPUgn/s200/cinemechanica_arts2006_cover.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150244506190478050" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Cinemechanica</span>, <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">The Martial Arts </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">(Hello Sir)</span><br />Speedy, strong, shape-shifting post-hardcore that grabs you by the balls and refuses to let go.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinC3or-WE_Aq6b2erp2mL4mCmi-5ZXCASYQgt45HX18PPgYTeZu1rM5EfJvXL66sbax0CJUAxWrboS7AO8DBZS3Mk6I1311rl5tqFV6uZQruFIW0V3ftJNYu7W29oPJAPg4IU6/s1600-h/ornettecoleman.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinC3or-WE_Aq6b2erp2mL4mCmi-5ZXCASYQgt45HX18PPgYTeZu1rM5EfJvXL66sbax0CJUAxWrboS7AO8DBZS3Mk6I1311rl5tqFV6uZQruFIW0V3ftJNYu7W29oPJAPg4IU6/s200/ornettecoleman.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150245287874526018" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Ornette Coleman</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Sound Grammar </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">(Sound Grammar)</span><br />The free-jazz master’s best work since <span style="font-style: italic;">Science Fiction</span>.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi24X21lgBIkBpsnuQd3SRePBzh8DT2146_-5QsTjDtFXekh5I3fmD8hL7IL1aHI_zBZvFKpheAgWtsatXiAyQhDotDJQ6agpgyOG9931s4J70VtAOHhacrxNQjdBuySwjIlwVY/s1600-h/colourrevolt.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi24X21lgBIkBpsnuQd3SRePBzh8DT2146_-5QsTjDtFXekh5I3fmD8hL7IL1aHI_zBZvFKpheAgWtsatXiAyQhDotDJQ6agpgyOG9931s4J70VtAOHhacrxNQjdBuySwjIlwVY/s200/colourrevolt.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150244506190478066" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Colour Revolt</span>, <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Colour Revolt</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Esperanza Plantation/Tiny Evil/Interscope)</span><br />While the record doesn’t necessarily do the band the fullest justice, the grandiose nature of this Mississippi quintet’s epic indie rock is on full display. This is what ...Trail of Dead should be sounding like these days.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia5LmcUlC8YsdSYDw0llRABQxzOIwvxUze2Xih-Ixr3hCObkDnpVepiU4Y6M9ulDZjQS26ldCzi2raQ7eivHPCUJk4pNiZwxFcGvtK5HhWpw1ine1BZiS6PpdQH0M3ASDPzAC6/s1600-h/gamenight.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia5LmcUlC8YsdSYDw0llRABQxzOIwvxUze2Xih-Ixr3hCObkDnpVepiU4Y6M9ulDZjQS26ldCzi2raQ7eivHPCUJk4pNiZwxFcGvtK5HhWpw1ine1BZiS6PpdQH0M3ASDPzAC6/s200/gamenight.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150244506190478082" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Gamenight</span>, <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Simple Starts in the Mind</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (New Beat)</span><br />Nimble emo-prog from Knoxville buoyed by hyperliterate lyrics and acne-scarred broken-heartery.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6wTdnAw_R27bC5BxNLdNsYqR2OAq8SoPYBZj464yBHKBgcnY8EumoLM4z3rg5hepQ8DmXP8RI-qNCdYlTJd1cu9UVYJ4lSgVLQQ79YdpkKZNWd_aB3F5Ah3Cd-o157kn3XBze/s1600-h/kakiking.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6wTdnAw_R27bC5BxNLdNsYqR2OAq8SoPYBZj464yBHKBgcnY8EumoLM4z3rg5hepQ8DmXP8RI-qNCdYlTJd1cu9UVYJ4lSgVLQQ79YdpkKZNWd_aB3F5Ah3Cd-o157kn3XBze/s200/kakiking.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150244510485445394" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Kaki King</span>, <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">...Until We Felt Red </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">(Velour)</span><br />Because when the horns come in on “You Don’t Have to Be Afraid,” you finally understand. Because “Gay Sons of Lesbian Mothers” is extremely elegant in its simplicity.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWYIPc5YOSDUR-Hzx11EKxtGPvpgj815NRi5kzQdy9Qe7epf583kLf7CIHf1CL0oCZRHHJvZey0STu_xMQS-UUBt22oiUnVGWW6fRGClLG8nTU85ztL2cYFNAaPaBXvuPoyF5k/s1600-h/kickball1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWYIPc5YOSDUR-Hzx11EKxtGPvpgj815NRi5kzQdy9Qe7epf583kLf7CIHf1CL0oCZRHHJvZey0STu_xMQS-UUBt22oiUnVGWW6fRGClLG8nTU85ztL2cYFNAaPaBXvuPoyF5k/s200/kickball1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150245283579558690" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Kickball</span>, <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">ABCDEFGHIJKickball</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Yoyo)</span><br />I went to Nashville with my dear friend Jordan Blackmon in May to record with our dear friend Aaron Graves. I took a bus back to Columbia, and on the way to the bus station, we listened to this wondrous gem of Franco-tinged Northwestern indie pop. After that, “Shoulders” never really exited my head.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFEJP7heQ8Fihywrehc7NoxgiNZHCXjAin8LBOkEJJ8P9c9Yml1UQhzueXpkzN-HtareKjeyCkbME3-NW0eb_vh_ofLAiHmpmk1grwytAKM0W2mEpgV4fBWAOGwLAyZ8D3WydE/s1600-h/10900307_155_155.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFEJP7heQ8Fihywrehc7NoxgiNZHCXjAin8LBOkEJJ8P9c9Yml1UQhzueXpkzN-HtareKjeyCkbME3-NW0eb_vh_ofLAiHmpmk1grwytAKM0W2mEpgV4fBWAOGwLAyZ8D3WydE/s200/10900307_155_155.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150246812587916162" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />Midwest Product</span>, <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Swamp</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> EP (Ghostly International)</span><br />I first heard “Swamp” — the <span style="font-style: italic;">World Series of Love</span> version — in a Hummer ad. True story. This EP remixes that gem and throws in four new tracks of haunting, delicate glitch-pop.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWlp0C_fwSIcctnBwC5agw1MWm6-gRFZIF0zH3E-363b7AgZ05kXWw5tuUqqBYOPCLoSpoh9_9pRvW_GleyvYrT0hbkRhHG513tyr1zeOV5Zex09-INQDIQSXD8u1e5MZHGJiZ/s1600-h/plasticlitte.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWlp0C_fwSIcctnBwC5agw1MWm6-gRFZIF0zH3E-363b7AgZ05kXWw5tuUqqBYOPCLoSpoh9_9pRvW_GleyvYrT0hbkRhHG513tyr1zeOV5Zex09-INQDIQSXD8u1e5MZHGJiZ/s200/plasticlitte.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150245287874526034" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />Plastic Little</span>, <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">She’s Mature</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Traffic)</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">She’s Mature </span>is anything but — the Philly-bred raunch-rap ensemble is as nasty as it wants to be, putting Luther Campbell and company to shame. And yet, for all the smut, there’s true street intelligence (“Crambodia”), outrageous satire (see “Rap O’Clock,” “All Y’all Niggas Dead”) and flat-out club-banging genius (see “The Jumpoff”).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidodhNpaEid03hOtWkIcusJiKrYOCwQbjuPQKhK_atfhg5LAReNUfpEWXLNgXIwzf9lqRemt0EtBFwuYa3O0yqrXrskhZ1kKSdyyFq5wVZ-1_luQCUH-ioaK7uG41SWNuIQdiD/s1600-h/tmibh.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidodhNpaEid03hOtWkIcusJiKrYOCwQbjuPQKhK_atfhg5LAReNUfpEWXLNgXIwzf9lqRemt0EtBFwuYa3O0yqrXrskhZ1kKSdyyFq5wVZ-1_luQCUH-ioaK7uG41SWNuIQdiD/s200/tmibh.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150245287874526050" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />This Moment in Black History, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">It Takes a Nation of Assholes to Hold us Back </span><span style="font-weight: bold;">(Cold Sweat)</span><br />The names are meant to be provocative; the music is, too. This Moment in Black History’s raucous trash-punk lays Dirtbombs that explode with <span style="font-style: italic;">Sandanista!</span> fervor.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaJGe811saSq6B1NWVR6nDCzpuXO0WnRbBR_hJ7vJm-9t8rHu4zt6zGwThBhI-UTPYnWDM1Ip-Q8_L4IvCvZ75eE073M2F2hYiBV5k9rUHwfo-9NdaSiAmTWETp9YvOeC9-soe/s1600-h/sopercussion.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaJGe811saSq6B1NWVR6nDCzpuXO0WnRbBR_hJ7vJm-9t8rHu4zt6zGwThBhI-UTPYnWDM1Ip-Q8_L4IvCvZ75eE073M2F2hYiBV5k9rUHwfo-9NdaSiAmTWETp9YvOeC9-soe/s200/sopercussion.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150246812587916146" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />So Percussion, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Amid the Noise</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Cantaloupe)</span><br />When I saw this acclaimed New York Ensemble perform Steve Reich’s <span style="font-style: italic;">Drumming</span> in Columbia, I was blown away. When I heard its foray into glitchy, percussion-heavy blip-hop, I was eminently pleased. Like any ambient music worth its salt, it adheres to Eno’s requirements to a tee.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSnrGw189nmqmRv8d3xqwuEomHa0lPSh0jPFmwdn-uRwy8doY2e-vZWTzyopR7MQKOePJ1uA1hjzeuBG7Em2SI-NOplfcCrJ-XzmkOPJrYDNyQrXsTyDoSfgD8aooRYfu83pJJ/s1600-h/alansparhawk.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSnrGw189nmqmRv8d3xqwuEomHa0lPSh0jPFmwdn-uRwy8doY2e-vZWTzyopR7MQKOePJ1uA1hjzeuBG7Em2SI-NOplfcCrJ-XzmkOPJrYDNyQrXsTyDoSfgD8aooRYfu83pJJ/s200/alansparhawk.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150244501895510738" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />Alan Sparhaw, </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Solo Guitar</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"> (Silber Media)</span><br />I’m a guitar nerd, OK? I like when guitarists from critically acclaimed slowcore monoliths fuck around with ambient guitar works, all right?</span>patrickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07630179800789862590noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35928018.post-59276738244323536142007-12-17T13:48:00.000-05:002008-01-04T10:00:38.062-05:00Tube :: Tug's Favorite Videos of 2007Well, it's that time of year, folks. I've made my list, checked it twice, and here's my favorite music videos of this past year, with some slight commentary by myself along the way. Feel free to waste an hour or so of time that you're supposed to be working with these flickering images. <span class="readmore"><a href="http://gogoindierocket.blogspot.com/2007/12/tube-tugs-favorite-videos-of-2007.html#more">More...</a></span><span class="fullpost"><a name="more"></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">18. RJD2 - Work It Out</span><br />Directed by Joey Garfield<br /><object height="355" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/WZmgZN1umsM&rel=1&border=0"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/WZmgZN1umsM&rel=1&border=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="355" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">17. Bishop Allen - Click Click Click Click</span><br />Directed by Randy Bell<br />I just blogged about this one the other day, but hey, it's still good enough to get on the list. Beware the cuteness!<br /><object height="355" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/_LpmrZbTu1o&rel=1&border=0"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/_LpmrZbTu1o&rel=1&border=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="355" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">16. Robyn - Konichiwa Bitches</span><br />Directed by Johan Sandberg, Fredrik Skogkvist, Henrik Timonen<br />Pat posted about this video way back <a href="http://gogoindierocket.blogspot.com/2007/02/tube-robyn-konnichiwa-bitches.html">when</a>, and it still makes me laugh almost a year later. Have fun picking out your favorite hip-hop simile. My favorite is 'Count you out like a mathematician!'<br /><object height="355" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/XC_GnG1wO38&rel=1&border=0"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/XC_GnG1wO38&rel=1&border=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="355" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">15. Bat For Lashes - What's A Girl To Do?</span><br />Directed by Dougal Wilson<br /><object height="355" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/n1wnOUH2jk8&rel=1&border=0"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/n1wnOUH2jk8&rel=1&border=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="355" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">14. Dizzie Rascal - Sirens</span><br />Directed by W.I.Z.<br />The fox-hunting metaphor in this video makes for some great music video gravitas.<br /><object height="355" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/drBqdyOioIs&rel=1"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/drBqdyOioIs&rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="355" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">13. Spoon - Don't You Evah</span><br />Directed by Hideki Kozima and Marek Michalowski<br />I'm not sure if this was the 'official' video for this song, but I think the story went that these guys made a video with their Keepon dancing to an older Spoon track, and then Spoon saw it and asked them to do this one. I may be making that up. Oh, and the cuteness threat level (CTL) has just jumped to RED, motherfuckers.<br /><object height="355" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/nPdP1jBfxzo&rel=1&border=0"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/nPdP1jBfxzo&rel=1&border=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="355" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">12. Feist - 1 2 3 4</span><br />Directed by Patrick Daughters<br />What can I say? I love it.<br /><object height="355" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/9D0aTSkslWY&rel=1&border=0"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/9D0aTSkslWY&rel=1&border=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="355" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">11. Final Fantasy - This Lamb Sells Condos</span><br />Directed by Stephanie Comilang and Jamie Shannon<br />Another one that I posted about <a href="http://gogoindierocket.blogspot.com/2007/02/tube-final-fantasy-this-lamb-sells.html">earlier</a> this year.<br /><object height="355" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/U1kL568eg1w&rel=1&border=0"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/U1kL568eg1w&rel=1&border=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="355" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">10. The National - Apartment Story</span><br />Directed by Banner Gwin<br />There's no real 'trick' or twist that makes this video great. It's pretty straightforward, but I think it's one of those instances where the music and the pictures just fit perfectly together. There's also some very well-composed shots in here.<br /><object height="355" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/S97xQKZDV_4&rel=1"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/S97xQKZDV_4&rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="355" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">9. Beirut - Elephant Gun</span><br />Directed by Alma Har'el<br />Whip out your mustache and do mustache-y things with it!<br /><object height="355" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/kjeh6P4sRfw&rel=1"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/kjeh6P4sRfw&rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="355" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">8. Grizzly Bear - Knife</span><br />Directed by Isaiah Saxon and Sean Hellfritsch<br /><object height="355" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/OJpC9JqSnJk&rel=1&border=0"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/OJpC9JqSnJk&rel=1&border=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="355" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">7. Fionn Regan - Be Good or Be Gone</span><br />Directed by Si and Ad<br />If you haven't heard of Regan yet, do yourself a favor and check this video out. The concept behind the video puts Regan singing the song in various places, all recorded live and blended together so subtly that you can hardly tell. And it's a heck of a song too.<br /><object height="355" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/pj66XgK3NvE&rel=1&border=0"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/pj66XgK3NvE&rel=1&border=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="355" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">6. Animal Collective - Peacebone</span><br />Directed by Timothy Saccenti<br />This is the first of two appearance by Timothy Saccenti on this list - a feat that no other director managed to do. Could it be that Saccenti is going for total music video domination? Keep reading...<br /><object height="355" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/fxvGHQHiY70&rel=1&border=0"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/fxvGHQHiY70&rel=1&border=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="355" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">5. Justice - D.A.N.C.E</span><br />Directed by Jonas & Francois<br /><object height="355" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/fo_QVq2lGMs&rel=1"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/fo_QVq2lGMs&rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="355" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">4. Malajube - Montreal 40-C</span><br />Directed by Louis-Philippe Eno<br />Another one that I blogged about <a href="http://gogoindierocket.blogspot.com/2007/04/tube-malajube-montral-40c.html">previously</a> and is also supercute.<br /><object height="355" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/DbU7BXLI-qE&rel=1"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/DbU7BXLI-qE&rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="355" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">3. Menomena - Rotten Hell</span><br />Directed by Stephanie Comilang and Jamie Shannon<br />Yep, I <a href="http://gogoindierocket.blogspot.com/2007/07/tube-menomena-rotten-hell.html">blogged about it</a> before, so catch my comments at the link.<br /><object height="355" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/t0LIBCw8syA&rel=1"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/t0LIBCw8syA&rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="355" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">2. Battles - Atlas</span><br />Directed by Timothy Saccenti<br />And Saccenti scores again! Originally released sometime in <a href="http://gogoindierocket.blogspot.com/2007/03/tube-battles-atlas.html">March</a>, this was a tiny window into the awesomeness that would be <i>Mirrored</i>. The 'mirror room' was built by the band themselves, and well, if you haven't seen it already, just watch the damn thing and be amazed. So if it's so good, how come Mr. Saccenti didn't get the top spot on my list? Well...<br /><object height="355" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/IpGp-22t0lU&rel=1"><param name="wmode" value="transparent"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/IpGp-22t0lU&rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="355" width="425"></embed></object><br /><br />1. La Blogoteque<br /><br />I'm kind of cheating here, but it's my list, and I can do whatever I want. I'm giving my top spot to the guys at <a href="http://www.blogotheque.net/takeawayshows/">La Blogotheque</a> and their incredible Take-Away Shows. It's a combination of live music and film that's quite revolutionary in it's sepia-tinged brilliance. Do yourself a favor and check out a few of my favorites from this year below, and then head to their website and spend days watching all the goodies they have to offer. Here's hoping they make some kind of DVD box set...<br /><br /><div><object height="250" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.dailymotion.com/swf/1DhNMsaUKlxgIn2vX"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.dailymotion.com/swf/1DhNMsaUKlxgIn2vX" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" height="250" width="425"></embed></object><br /><b><a href="http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x39p1p_691-malajube-montreal-40c_music">#69.1 - MALAJUBE - Montreal -40°C</a></b><br /><i>Uploaded by <a href="http://www.dailymotion.com/lablogotheque">lablogotheque</a></i></div><br /><br /><div><object height="250" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.dailymotion.com/swf/76RIAXFns73B4gFE6"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.dailymotion.com/swf/76RIAXFns73B4gFE6" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" height="250" width="425"></embed></object><br /><b><a href="http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x2d5ui_551-dirty-projectors-part-1_creation">#55.1 - Dirty Projectors - Part 1</a></b><br /><i>Uploaded by <a href="http://www.dailymotion.com/lablogotheque">lablogotheque</a></i></div><br /><br /><div><object height="255" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.dailymotion.com/swf/660Ko8ayDWXlDaa0f"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.dailymotion.com/swf/660Ko8ayDWXlDaa0f" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" height="255" width="425"></embed></object><br /><b><a href="http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x1fwmf_403-the-national-start-a-war_creation">#40.3 - The National - Start a war</a></b><br /><i>Uploaded by <a href="http://www.dailymotion.com/lablogotheque">lablogotheque</a></i></div><br /><br /><div><object height="250" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.dailymotion.com/swf/4BFp1nEpmADLGaRbL"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.dailymotion.com/swf/4BFp1nEpmADLGaRbL" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" height="250" width="425"></embed></object><br /><b><a href="http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x1jgpp_41-arcade-fire-neon-bible-wake-up_music">#41 - Arcade Fire - Neon Bible & Wake Up</a></b><br /><i>Uploaded by <a href="http://www.dailymotion.com/lablogotheque">lablogotheque</a></i></div>tughttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12456641411160319200noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35928018.post-13562566466558168512007-12-14T11:49:00.002-05:002007-12-14T12:19:03.575-05:00Get Out! :: 12.14.07<span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Get Out! is indierocket!'s occasional guide to getting down in the Soda City.</span><br /></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-RM8o9WYYEt4CbiYVqR9PWraVJRcvfoBc-YM9hL6UnUxIy7Pr7IkViosB6VLGlazsD3Dwe70Mhyphenhyphen8SCbRgQ0K5eZYOBThl4dFmsAz-NK7BUgq8GnGVaf9YP5aLe-k8mqbunldT/s1600-h/descolada.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-RM8o9WYYEt4CbiYVqR9PWraVJRcvfoBc-YM9hL6UnUxIy7Pr7IkViosB6VLGlazsD3Dwe70Mhyphenhyphen8SCbRgQ0K5eZYOBThl4dFmsAz-NK7BUgq8GnGVaf9YP5aLe-k8mqbunldT/s400/descolada.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5143872673098758802" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Descolada :: The 112 :: 7 p.m.<br /></span>When a band cites such disparate bands as The Dirty Three, R.E.M., Massive Attack, Joy Division, Old Man Gloom, The Jesus Lizard and Isis as equal influence, the immediate, knee-jerk reaction is to call bullshit. But Asheville's <a href="http://www.myspace.com/descolada">Descolada</a> incorporates all make and manner of styles into its unorthodox clamor, boasting a violin-wailing banshee and a heavy-as-fuck, take-no-prisoners rhythm section. It's as if Warren Ellis were playing with Neurosis, equal parts achingly beautiful and cathartically heavy. Highly recommended for the curious and adventurous. Bat-shit tech-metal quartet <a href="http://www.myspace.com/seinzumtode">Sein Zum Tode</a> and bass-driver post-rockers <a href="http://www.myspace.com/jacobandi">Jacob and I</a> open. This is a house show, so we implore you: <span style="font-style: italic;">Don't do anything in this house you wouldn't do in your own. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Damage: Donations highly encouraged</span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">.</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2QPmFOXh2xtcGi8fGwKCw3LQlln-zHVHSEGLz53mIuthn48WlF9-ByzFNSyrojqTeeWcIFf-2kcu46wm-U0u9-MFAIlrdFa6fD7WvOhgfj09SLDMhNJxg64z0VnGNzjgYAHVW/s1600-h/enginesbig.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2QPmFOXh2xtcGi8fGwKCw3LQlln-zHVHSEGLz53mIuthn48WlF9-ByzFNSyrojqTeeWcIFf-2kcu46wm-U0u9-MFAIlrdFa6fD7WvOhgfj09SLDMhNJxg64z0VnGNzjgYAHVW/s400/enginesbig.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5143871998788893314" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Engines :: University of South Carolina School of Music Recital Hall :: 7:30 p.m.<br /></span>Forget Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon. Let’s play One Degree of Ken Vandermark, as each member of the Chicago free-jazz quartet <a href="http://www.theengines.net">The Engines</a> — tromboner Jed Bishop, saxophonist Dave Rempis, bassist Nate McBride and drummer Tim Daisy — have all cut their teeth in one of the modern-jazz titan’s numerous groups. And while there are several hallmarks of the trademark Vandermark sound to be found in The Engines self-titled disc, particularly the blustery, blistering unison horn lines and steadfast-yet-inventive percussion, remember that these men have all distinguished themselves and composers and leaders outside of Vandermark’s realm. Indeed, it’s when The Engines cut loose and let fly with reckless abandon that the quartet shines, settling into ruthless, sometimes Zeppelin-esque grooves, particularly on “Jet Lag” and “Mash Tun.” Sure, these engines can go from zero to 60 in a heartbeat and stop on a dime, but its when set on cruise control — guiding the listener with subtlety and finesse rather than steamroller force — that the ride is most enjoyable. Saxophonist Aram Shelton, another notable Chicago player, opens on reeds and electronic manipulation. <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Damage: $7.</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIart6SW80CX9Z1dRB1XdheQnPV6jyRn_aLQC7xpEe-w_LzGgEJyf9TjSdSjjJZMjaQ5VwD6yE9RxwE9u2Xx-cRv_oF9bn3BL9amO7njvBoJ667KpNjDJ7cI4ACvnZxwdxLxto/s1600-h/losperdidos1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIart6SW80CX9Z1dRB1XdheQnPV6jyRn_aLQC7xpEe-w_LzGgEJyf9TjSdSjjJZMjaQ5VwD6yE9RxwE9u2Xx-cRv_oF9bn3BL9amO7njvBoJ667KpNjDJ7cI4ACvnZxwdxLxto/s400/losperdidos1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5143874846352210594" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Los Perdidos :: The Whig :: 10 p.m.<br /></span>Who says global warming is all bad? Look, aside from that brief cold snap at the beginning of the month, it’s been a relatively temperate winter here in the Capital City. Therefore, you have absolutely no reason not to break out your finest beachwear as our resident surfanistas return to The Whig for their annual yuletide extravaganza. ‘Tis the season, so expect a classic carol or two to sneak into Los Perdidos’ sizeable set of swingin’ instrumental surf-punk originals, which recall everyone from Link Wray to Santo and Johnny to Shadowy Men on a Shadowy Planet. <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Damage: Free.<br /><br /></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMngbVDNgS3uvg639bi071RKfQQwykWmvKIMv5E6vjnNriaGFIeVoY1QlefWgbZHyLhs2EkuwELNwIkJguGHVdQGdO34bcgjFHucrabLn1LQC4k9CH_kJ4NEOZADkb4ZIrVGIc/s1600-h/joshroberts&thehinges1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMngbVDNgS3uvg639bi071RKfQQwykWmvKIMv5E6vjnNriaGFIeVoY1QlefWgbZHyLhs2EkuwELNwIkJguGHVdQGdO34bcgjFHucrabLn1LQC4k9CH_kJ4NEOZADkb4ZIrVGIc/s400/joshroberts&thehinges1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5143875675280898738" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Josh Roberts & the Hinges :: Five Points Pub :: 10 p.m.<br /></span>Put simply, <a href="http://www.myspace.com/joshrobertsandthehingesrock">Josh Roberts</a> is one of the finest songwriters the Capital City has to offer. The former helmsman of the good ship Captain Easy recently released his second record with The Hinges — and the first with the current incarnation of the band — <span style="font-style: italic;">My War Cry is Amor</span>, which is chock-full of delectable tunes, from the raucous "Atom Inhibitor" to the sweet "B+1B" to the epic "Every Brick of Downtown" to the tender "The Hardest Part of Winter." And as good as those records — <span style="font-style: italic;">Amor</span> and the debut, <span style="font-style: italic;">The Sugarbird Test</span> — the live Josh Roberts experience is one to behold, as Roberts is a consummate showman and righteous gunslinger. <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Damage: $7.</span></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhGaR-KQ-RNQqshX2yFWN8_NAdw7NrmgRoGkPTysLgjmcqVHs_m8JbrCwpiAFSrQCw7LHgCOK0VXiDNdQC30OCKP2F32XvdIxqDXfgfWqzWSp3cpU8zlmokxpkqGFpj79GRLXd/s1600-h/179527815_l.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhGaR-KQ-RNQqshX2yFWN8_NAdw7NrmgRoGkPTysLgjmcqVHs_m8JbrCwpiAFSrQCw7LHgCOK0VXiDNdQC30OCKP2F32XvdIxqDXfgfWqzWSp3cpU8zlmokxpkqGFpj79GRLXd/s400/179527815_l.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5143877169929517762" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">Blinded by Underpants :: Hunter-Gatherer :: 11 p.m.<br /></span>If Tug can blog about his band, I can about <a href="http://www.myspace.com/blindedbyunderpants">mine</a>, dammit. Loud, earnest, riotous post-pop <span style="font-style: italic;">a la</span> 764-HERO, Swearing at Motorists. Good time for all. Plus, the Hunter-Gatherer is a perfect spot for a night-ending nightcap after you've been to one (or all) of the above shows. <span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Damage: $3.</span></span>patrickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07630179800789862590noreply@blogger.com0