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This being the end of the decade and all that, I, like many people, am in a retrospective mood. As such, I’ve put together a list of my favorite songs from the ’00s, which I thought I’d share with you.
This is a purely idiosyncratic list; I make no claim that these are the “best” songs on any objective level, only the ones that I personally like the most. Also, I limited myself to one song per artist, partly for my own sanity, since that helped me narrow the list down. (And, apparently, I hated 2001, that being the only year not represented on the list.)
I didn’t dare try to rank them, so they’re in alphabetical order by song title (a refreshing change from alphabetically by artist, no?). If someone banished me to that mythical music critic’s desert island with nothing but a ’00s-limited, solar-powered iPod Nano, this is what I would hope would be loaded on it, to be my soundtrack as I slowly starved, since I couldn’t very well eat the Nano.
This just in: my favorite record of the ’80s revival that’s been ongoing since the early ’00s and now seems to be (maybe) coming to a close is now official. It’s not by The Killers, or The Bravery, or The Faint, or Interpol, or (insert the name of a trendy or once-trendy band here). No, it’s by a waifish Soviet émigré who insists on wearing stubby faux-antlers in her promo photos and isn’t signed to any label at all. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Doe Deere, and her five-song EP Supernatural.
The amazing thing isn’t the degree of accuracy with which Ms. Deere channels the early-Madonna/Cyndi Lauper/T’Pau sound. Rather, it’s the utterly infectious songwriting; I guarantee that if “One Touch” or the saucy come-on “What U Like” had been released in 1985, we’d still be hearing them every time that Time-Life tried to sell another “Best Hits of the ’80s” collection. Even now, in a just world, this music would be all over the radio, or your radio-substitute of choice. It’s hooky, hummable, and most of all, fun.
This is not really intellectual music; it’s not in the mode of ABC or even Echo and the Bunnymen. But it’s some of the best party music recorded in this decade or any other, and it’s definitely worth seeking out.
Release date: April 21, 2008
Label: None
Rating: Awesome/10
Once again, it’s time for my legally-mandated post about my year-end favorites. As always, the choices are utterly idiosyncratic, contain no fruit juice, and are void in AK, PA, the US Virgin Islands, and where taxed or prohibited.
1. Goldfrapp, Seventh Tree
1.What better way to follow up the Kylie-meets-cabaret Supernature than with…a lush, organic slice of English folk-whimsy? Actually, it doesn’t sound like a very good idea at all — at least until the first notes of the album begin playing. From that point, it’s a tour de force that recalls Fairport Convention, the Strawbs, Mike Oldfield, and even Nick Drake, without properly sounding like any of them. The whole thing is great, but the highlights are the glassy-eyed cult propaganda of “Happiness” and the exquisitely textured single-of-the-year “A&E.” It was a tough call, but this was my favorite thing I heard this year.
2. Beck, Modern Guilt
I’ve decided I like him better when he’s depressed.
3. Ladytron, Velocifero
Amber will beg to disagree with me here, but I found this particular howling vortex of feedbacking synths to be my favorite Ladytron album ever. It’s deeply alienated, and even more deeply unfriendly, and even though the record is filled with jackhammer drums, it’s oddly static, as if it were running in place. In other words, it sounds just like 2008 felt…
4. Kasey Chambers & Shane Nicholson, Rattlin’ Bones
For an established artist to make an album with his or her spouse is a calculated risk, but it’s a risk that paid off in spades on Rattlin’ Bones, with Nicholson’s weathered voice proving the perfect counterpoint to Chambers’ crackling alto.
5. Crystal Castles, Crystal Castles
Yeah, I know, they’re so two years ago. But darn it, I liked it anyway.
And, in other news…
Album that had no right to be any good, but actually was: Jennifer Lopez, Brave
Seriously. It’s a pop record, sure, but it’s a much, much better pop record than I would have imagined her capable of back when she kept talking about how she was still, was still Jenny from the block. It’s not without its naff tracks, but it’s light years better than it should have been — well past the point where I enjoyed it unironically.
Album that was supposed to be good, but that I hated: The Kills, Midnight Boom
Everyone seemed to love this but me, but it just sounded like over-processed sludge to me, the kind of sleaze that manages to make decadence sound like a really, really long day at the office, and not really much fun at all. You can always side with the 256,923,279 other critics on the web who thought it was wonderful — I’ll understand, promise! — but I really couldn’t hear what all the fuss was about.
Album I really wanted to rate more highly, but in all honesty couldn’t: Kylie Minogue, X
Kylie’s one of my all-time favorites, as anyone who’s read more than two of my reviews will know, and I dearly wanted her first proper post-cancer album to be magnificent. And yes, this was better than Body Language. But in the end, it was four classic tracks, eight average ones, and one outright embarrassment. (Seriously, why is “Nu-di-ty” on here? And why is “White Diamond” missing?) Even though I was listening to “2 Hearts” and “Wow” all summer long, it’s still no better than her fifth or sixth best album, and it’s got way too much filler on it for me to put it on my list. Much as I like Kylie. Which is a lot…
Running the sound for a live band is one of those thankless jobs where it’s your assigned task to make yourself invisible. If you’re doing it well, no one notices you — everyone’s attention is focused on the music. But should you fail, you become very, very visible, and you do it very quickly.
I spent an awful lot of Ladytron’s 6/27 show at the Sonar acutely aware of the sound guy.
In fairness, I think they’re probably an extremely difficult band to mix live. The squealing, shifting synths and super-processed guitars that form the center of their sound seem like they’d be hard to get good separation on, especially given that the ‘tron refuse to use any sequencers and so every keyboard is actually being played live. Additionally, neither Helen Marnie nor Mira Aroyo are super-powerful vocalists, but the lyrics demand to be heard well enough to be understood. There’s an awful lot of information there crammed into the mid-range; the album that Ladytron are touring behind, Velocifero, is on my record-of-the-year shortlist, but it almost demands a high-definition sound system.
Anyway, I spent the whole first half of the concert listening to a lot of bass and not much else — “Ghosts,” the brilliant lead single, sounded like it was coming out a stairwell. It got a little better towards the end, but not enough. The problem was compounded by the fact that this was possibly the loudest show I’ve ever been to, and the speakers almost sounded like they were clipping; the Sonar is also a building with harsh, unfriendly acoustics even when it’s full, which it was. Read more »
First of all, just for the record, I can see a case for rating this album as high as #5 on the list of the worst album titles ever. Seriously, who vetted that? Neither one of the halves of the title of Coldplay’s new album, Viva la Vida or Death and All His Friends is particularly good, but putting them together with that oh-so-pretentious “or” makes for something that’s decidedly less than the sum of its parts, and the simple fact that it’s stolen from Frida Kahlo doesn’t make it right.
At any rate, this album marks the official moment where I don’t know what to make of Coldplay’s career. They haven’t always been popular on this particular site, but they were at one point a band I truly loved, a group who’d put out a very good EP (Brothers & Sisters) and full-length (Parachutes) of early-Radiohead-inspired guitar pop, and what’s still one of my favorite records of the ’00s (A Rush of Blood to the Head), which drowned enough melancholia to last a lifetime under so much reverb that it would have made The Edge blush. It was beautiful, it really was.
Then came X&Y, the 2005 album that was supposed to make them the biggest band on the planet, but didn’t, mostly because despite the presence of a couple of very good singles, it was an overproduced pile of sludge. It was the exact same thing as their previous albums except less so, the stale, sad sound of four guys realizing they’d already used all their ideas.
Which brings us to the aforementioned VLVODAAHF, a kitchen-sink attempt to reinvent themselves as an art-rock band, even to the point of bringing in Brian Eno to produce it. It’s got flashes where it’s excellent, but it doesn’t succeed as an album, because there’s a fine line between creative energy and desperation, a line that Coldplay continually edge over.
One of the biggest problems is the band’s continual use of “songs in sections,” pieces with at least two vastly different parts. It’s not an inherently bad idea, but the execution leaves a lot to be desired. For instance, the modal violins in “Yes!” are brilliant, as are the slide guitar bits. But then it goes into a moment of stale stadium grandstanding that lasts for a minute and a half, and by the time it comes to a merciful end, it’s difficult to want to listen to it again. And I can’t even figure out why “Lovers in Japan/Reign of Love” is one track, especially since there’s no segue in between the two parts; it simply stops and then starts again, and the second half is vastly inferior to the first.
The things that do work are impressive. The organ that drives “Lost?” adds a delicious new wrinkle to their sound, and the tympani and sawing strings make “Viva la Vida” possibly the best moment on the album. But two great songs don’t make a great album (see X&Y), and there are at least as many bad ideas as good ones — like, to take another instance, starting the record with two and a half minutes of instrumental boredom with the terribly ironic title of “Life in Technicolor.”
I had high hopes for Coldplay. But at this point, I’m starting to be afraid that their career arc is going to be a match for Liz Phair’s.
Release date: June 17, 2008
Label: Capitol
Rating: 5/10
It’s cool to be eclectic these days. Power trios are out; glockenspiels and harmoniums are in. How many words you rate in a music column is directly proportional to how many instruments your liner notes say you used. And if you’re not touring with a string section, we didn’t really want you at our festival anyway.
I’d complain some more except that this particular fashion statement has produced some truly stunning albums in the last three years or so: Arcade Fire’s Neon Bible, Sufjan Stevens’ Illinois, and The Polyphonic Spree’s The Fragile Army, just to name a few off the top of my head. (I thought those were great records anyway; that’s been the general consensus around here, but your mileage may vary.) Now, to that illustrious list can we add the latest release from Islands, Arm’s Way?
Erm…not so much. On Arm’s Way, what Islands really sound like is a cut-rate Wolf Parade cover band being repeatedly strangled by a vaudeville act. Every time one of the songs really starts to get going, it’s interrupted by some sort of of sophomoric diversion, like the sub-”Fool in the Rain” Latin break that cuts “J’aime Vous Voire Quitter” in half, or the horrible middle section of “Life in Jail,” which sounds like something that The Wiggles might have rejected. The album shifts gears so much that you’d think Islands were trying to become Boredoms circa Pop Tatari, except that they a) aren’t experimental, b) aren’t funny, and c) don’t have Yoshimi P-We screaming Peggy Lee songs. It’s indie rock for the ADD set, unhindered by the need to have memorable lyrics, or melodies, or hooks, or even novel sonic textures. The only exception is “Creeper,” which is what might have happened if Hall & Oates had been signed to Sub Pop — you can decide for yourself whether you think that’s a good recommendation or not. Otherwise, Arm’s Way represents the absolute dregs of the pocket symphony revival, which is pretty impressive to me given how much I hated the last of Montreal album. There’s nothing here that hasn’t been done better before, with the exception of the parts that should never have been done at all.
Label: Anti
Release date: May 20, 2008
Rating: 2.5/10 (Includes a slight boost because I think Hall & Oates are hysterical)
I decided to take a small break from the whole switching jobs and moving across the country thing that’s currently occupying my life and write something brief about this album, which I’ve been playing a lot recently. It’s good box-packing music, I’ll tell you that.
Pixelh8, a.k.a. Matthew Applegate of Hidden Fortress, is a chiptune musician, and The Boy With The Digital Heart is, according to the liner notes, “pure chiptune music.” As such, for anyone who might not know the terminology, essentially the entire (instrumental) record was created using video game consoles and old (pre-’95) computers.
Is it gimmicky? Sure, although the gimmick isn’t a unique one. But is it good? Yes it’s good. The repetitive, cyclical riffs are catchy (”Chocolate Milk” gets stuck in my head all the time), the use of the often at least somewhat recognizable sounds is clever (”Your Parents House,” punctuated just like that, is probably the best example), and in general, it stands up well on simply musical terms, not just as a trick album. There are occasional down moments — “Meet Me In The Arcade” doesn’t do much for me — but overall, it’s a surprisingly strong record. Also, my wife doesn’t like it, which is usually a good recommendation (see: Ifihadahifi).
This is Pixelh8’s second full-length, and I’ll be curious to see if he can keep the sound fresh as his career goes on. But for now, this one’s worth hearing.
Label: Hidden Youth
Release date: Dec. 12, 2007
Rating: 8/10
What can I say about this album?
This CD is nothing but sugar-coated sugar, to the point where it makes Pixy Sticks look like a health food. It has hi-NRG covers of Phil Oakey (”Electric Dreams”), Heart (”Alone”), and The Cult (brace yourself for it…”Sanctuary”) on it. The entire thing is sung by a girl who goes by Katy ‘D’ — with quotes, just like that — who sounds like she’s in ninth grade. She’s not, however, as you can tell by the fact that they’ve got her posed on the back in an auto racing suit with the number “69″ on it. This CD has not one, not two, but three songs on it that I guess are “updates” of some sort, given that the titles are followed with “07,” something you don’t usually see outside of budget best-ofs of ’70s album rock artists who can’t get the rights to one of their big hits.
This CD is awesome.
Seriously, the whole thing is ridiculous, but I can’t stop listening to it. I don’t know if that says more about Kandystand or about me, but as far as cheese-dance goes, this album is truly great. Take this review for whatever it’s worth, but this is the sort of thing that completely compromises my objectivity. I’m dimly aware that I haven’t got any business listening to it, but I can’t concentrate any further than that, because the speakers are turned up so loud. I’m trying to resist, but I find myself utterly unable to.
Must…show me how you find…the….SANCTUARY…
Release date: Nov. 12, 2007
Label: Self-released (Team Hayward)
Rating: Dude…I don’t know. 7/10? 2/10? 10/10?
One of both the great joys and the great frustrations of working in the arts, any of the arts, is that sometimes you get an idea, but you can’t tell at first whether it’s a good idea or a bad idea. A lot of the time, you have to spend some real effort developing it before its goodness or badness becomes evident.
Which is sort of a roundabout way of saying that I don’t really blame Joe Sierra for the fact that Vicious Love really isn’t that great. Sierra isn’t a singer — he’s incredibly prolific, but most of his work is techno or instrumental trance — and so for this record, rather than hire a vocalist, he simply programmed one. All of the “vocals” on the album are in fact created by a computer program called Vocaloid, which creates pitched vocals based on a template created by a real-life singer. It’s mostly been used in J-Pop; other English-language artists, including Mike Oldfield of Tubular Bells fame, have used this software in spots before, but this is the first time I’ve seen anyone try to make and sell a full-length in English using it for all the vocals before (though I could have missed someone). That’s the idea.
Problem is, in practice, it doesn’t end up being a good idea. The computer-vox sound like the spirit of a rather bored Madonna possessing a Speak & Spell: not only the timbre, but even the timing is off, and the lyrics are often difficult to make out. It’s an effect that certainly fails to sound like an actual singer, and while I can imagine it being manipulated to sound “futuristic” in a sub-Computer World-era-Kraftwerkian way, or “disturbing” in a manner that would make Gary Numan proud, it doesn’t do either, mostly because of the lazy, elevator-trance backing. I half expected the computer to burst into a rousing chorus of “the next available service representative will assist you” — which probably would have improved my opinion of the album. The tracks all blend into each other; “What You Know,” which has slightly more aggressive programming, is probably the highlight by default, but that’s not exactly a rousing endorsement.
It was probably worth it for Sierra to take a shot at making this album, but it’s not really worth it for you to hear it, unfortunately. With luck, Sierra will already have moved on to the next idea — which, let’s hope, turns out to be a better one.
Label: Self-released
Release date: 2008
Rating: 4/10 (includes a +1 bonus for trying the concept)
Ever since I first realized who the “Echo” in Echo & The Bunnymen was, I’ve had a soft spot in my heart for bands that credit their machines as full members. So I’m predisposed to like Looptron from the get-go, simply because the otherwise solo Neil Sharkey insists on crediting his laptop prominently in all of his press materials. He’d get double points if he gave it a name, but Looptron is still a pretty new project, so maybe there’s still time.
The cyborg duo’s first release, Obsolete Before You Start, is five tracks of fizzy synths, gleefully computerized drums, and intermittent bursts of heavily-processed guitar. The sound, which is pitched somewhere in between Dntel and Ultra-era Depeche Mode, works to best effect on the swirling “Play My Guitar” and the vocoder-happy title track. It’s not the sound of someone playing to their influences; it’s the sound of someone who knows what he likes and is going to make quite sure he has a good time doing it. Actually, it makes me feel a lot more cheerful than most electronic music, which I think has less to do with the subject matter or the chord progressions and more to do with the fact that it sounds like Sharkey enjoys what he’s playing and isn’t just trying to make it big enough to get a plug from Pitchfork or his picture taken with Kraftwerk. Or maybe the Kraftwerk mannequins.
Anyway, you can buy this EP from CDbaby or iTunes, and I’d rather recommend that you do. “Whore” is sort of middling, but the other four tracks are very nice, and if we all hurry up and buy a copy, maybe Sharkey and his as-yet-unnamed electronic partner will return the favor and drop a full-length soon.
Release date: Jan. 26, 2008
Label: Self-released
