Vikings & Beekeepers

 

40. Wilco Yankee Hotel Foxtrot (2002)

We all know the story behind Yankee Hotel Foxtrot: the interband strife (mainly between the late Jay Bennett and the rest of the band), the label ignorance and, finally, the ascension of the underdog (and double pay day!). It’s a wonderful story, but it’s a little too perfect. At times it seems that the YHF fable is more intelligent marketing than anything. With YHF, Wilco’s reputation jumped from “really good alt-country band featuring the other guy from Uncle Tupelo” to “the greatest American band of the 21st century.” The hyperbole was excessive and the urge to backlash is understandable, but dammit, YHF really is a terrific album. Sure, it’s reputation as a difficult album is overstated (“Reservations” is schmaltzy pap and “I’m The Man That Loves,” for as much as I love it, is just a really straightforward pop song with some skronky Crazy Horse guitar shoehorned in for effect) and the legitimately difficult moments can go overboard (the final third of “I Am Trying To Break Your Heart” is not a lot of fun to listen to), but YHF still remains the best album by a truly great band. YHF is a fairly fascinating snapshot of post-9/11 America, which is deeply ironic considering the album had been completed well before the World Trade Centre attacks. But since the album didn’t see the light of day until 2002, it’s hard to hear cryptic songs like “I Am Trying To Break Your Heart, ”“War On War,” “Ashes Of American Flags” and “Jesus, Etc.” in any other context. But maybe that’s the way it was meant to be. Thanks to all the headaches leading up to this album’s delayed release, the album grew into something meaningful and Wilco became the band of their generation.

“Poor Places”  

 

39. Dirty Projectors Bitte Orca (2009)

Last year, the AV Club conducted an interview with Dirty Projectors frontman David Longstreth where they presented him with a list of reference points that different publications had used to describe his band’s sound. It’s a fascinating read as no two critics point to the same influence. The comparisons include Talking Heads, Steely Dan, Frank Zappa, Prince, King Sunny Ade, Queen, Battles, Jimmy Page, The Books, Of Montreal, Kelis, Scritti Politti, Beyonce, A-Ha, Mariah Carey, Phil Collins, Steve Reich and Yes among others (this very blog pointed to Captain Beefheart as a possible inspiration). Longstreth reacts differently to each comparison, deriding a few as less than valid, but the fact that there is such a wide array of supposed influences is no accident. Dirty Projectors sound like a lot of things at once, but at the same time they hardly sound like anyone else (compare their take on West African music compared to, say, Vampire Weekend’s).

That would explain the sense of confusion one could get when listening to Bitte Orca, their stirring and complex technical masterpiece of fragmented performances and accidental pop structure. Bitte Orca sounds like a lot of things and hours could be spent playing “name the influence,” but it’s wholly unique, with jagged edges that sound smooth and shattered song structures that feel linear. For me personally, Bitte Orca took a long time to fully sink in (with the exception of the immensely accessible “Stillness Is The Move”), but over time the convoluted charms of this idiosyncratic pop album began to sink in, and they just furrow deeper and deeper into my head in a way that many of their supposed influences can’t.

“Temecula Sunrise”  

 

38. Manitoba Up In Flames (2003)

Turn of the century electronica meets sun-specked 60s psychedlica (or at least Elephant 6’s version of it) to create one of the most euphoric mazes to ever get lost in. Oh, and it’s Canadian too!

Dan Snaith crafted a pretty monumental career for himself in the 2000s under his Manitoba/Caribou moniker (aside: “Handsome” Dick Manitboa is a douchebag), and Up In Flames holds up as his greatest achievement (which is saying something for the guy who would later go on to write “Melody Day”). On Up In Flames, Snaith created an IDM album more immersed in acoustic instrumentation and having more in common with Brian Wilson and Phil Spector than, say, Autechre. But it’s still not a traditional pop record by any stretch. Snaith has captured sounds from another time and used live instrumentation to communicate them, but it’s still a decidedly avant album. Instead of cold, calculated snaps and beats, Snaith draped Up In Flames in day-glo warmth and a vibe of primal joy. I used to listen to this music with the lights out in my dorm room, which may seem contradictory with the albums sound and feel, but I think there was logic to what I was doing. After all, who needs actual sunlight when Up In Flames burns just as brightly and warms just as quickly?

“Kid You’ll Move Mountains”

 

 

37. Comets On Fire Avatar (2006)

Comets On Fire’s early albums were like a huge, inebriated backyard BBQ, where the booze and drugs flowed in equal measure and everyone was there to JAM. They were loose, loud and lavish and it seemed like the psychedelic noise show would never end. Then came Avatar, the band’s fourth album and their last album to date (what’s with that?). Avatar is the soundtrack to that same psychedelic backyard BBQ slowing down as the buzz starts to mellow, the hangers-on and acquaintances dissipate and the fire starts to crackle with a little less intensity. The party’s no longer raging, but it’s still pretty special. Of course, that doesn’t mean the party is in a malaise or that the band’s penchant for psychedelic noise blasts has dropped. Far from it. “Dogwood Rust” is a burner like the best stuff from Field Recordings From The Sun and Blue Cathedral, but it feels like it’s more in control, with a subtle but important emphasis on the song, not just the wreckage it creates. “Holy Teeth” is a classic piece of psycho-insanity, but it’s over and done with in under three-minutes, less than half of Avatar’s next shortest song. Instead, Comets On Fire let their grooves breath and the results are magnificent. “Jaybird” flutters until bursting open into a riff-centered jam, “Sour Smoke” bounces along a killer organ lead and “Lucifer’s Memory” is a bluesy, slow-burner that makes room for a strong vocal performance for singer Jarod Miller and allows the band to contrast and contract, making for the band’s quietest song, but also their most dynamic. While they tempered the squall of their previous work, on Avatar Comets On Fire tap into something unique and rewarding. The fires burning dimmer and the party atmosphere has quieted to a low hum, but this will also be the experience you will remember for years to come.

“Lucifer’s Memory”  

 

36. Pretty Girls Make Graves Good Health (2002)

Pretty Girls Make Graves should have led the revolution for angsty and angular art punk for girls instead of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, but Karen O and and company had a lot more going for them: their aesthetic was New York boho cool, while PGMG’s looked like they just walked out of an Everett, WA Hot Topic. The YYYs boasted hip musical peers like TV On The Radio and Liars, while PGMG had the bass player from Murder City Devils. The YYY’s had a catchy and at-least-at-the-time interesting name, while PGMG went the highly emo approach by referencing a Smiths song. The YYYs’ Karen O was a wild, booze-loving Amazonian with a captivating look and much-discussed demeanor, while PGMG’s Andrea Zollo was short, a tad larger and not particularly dynamic. Also, did I mention the part about the bass player from the Murder City Devils?

One thing the YYYs don’t have on PGMG is that they never made an album as rad as Good Health. Packed to the brim with a ricocheting dual-guitar assault and Nick Dewitt’s propulsive drums, Good Health gets the heart rate pumping and the body sweating in just 9 tracks and 28 minutes. As a guitar guy, Good Health has always had my heart. The hammer-on assault that opens “If You Hate Your Friends, You’re Not Alone” was enough to suck me in and the stereo speaker fun of “Sad Girls Por Vida” only further validated the band’s awesomeness, but it would be a shame to forget Zollo’s contribution. The band’s technical prowess is ridiculous, but it’s Zollo who provides the human element, showing real rocker girl lungs on “Por Vida” and “By The Throat” and a tastefully tender side on lovelorn “The Get A Way” (“You’re all that matters”). Pretty Girls Make Graves never hit it big the way they really should have, but Good Health remains an album ripe for rediscovery – it’s such a razor sharp, moving piece of pop-inflected post-punk, it would be a shame to see it forgotten. As Zollo sings on the incredible album “Speakers Push The Air”: “I found a place where it feels alright / I heard the record and it opened my eyes.” Good Health might just be that record.

“Speakers Push The Air”

 

 

35. Constantines Shine A Light (2003)

The Constantines have been dogged with comparisons their whole career. Rarely did a mention of the band go by without an additional mention of the big BS (in a review I wrote for kevchino.com, I said the band sounded like Bruce Springsteen playing in front of Fugazi and covering Clash songs, not exactly wonderful insight, but still pretty apt). It was far from a damning comparison – and in this day in age, what band doesn’t come with an easy-to-spot influence? – but it certainly hung around the collective necks of the Constantines. But sometimes you just have to own up to the influence (look at the Gaslight Anthem, they have) and release awesomely ragged and impassioned post-punk anthems that will never go out of style. Although a hair less consistent than their 2001 self-titled debut, Shine A Light is a bruised, romantic and prideful work, with some of the band’s most stirring songs ever. The groovy thud of the title track is only outdone by Webb’s cry of “Sister don’t reduce yourself / You’ve gotta find something to love / Pigeon girl’s got no religion / You are a diamond in the rough”; “Nighttime/Anytime (It’s Alright)” burns with desert-scorched guitars and Webb’s defiant, gut-check vocals; “Young Lions” is a rocker that hits like a hymn and “On To You” is perhaps the most gruff piece of out-and-out sentimentality I’ve heard this decade. Chills.

“On To You”  

 

34. Brian Wilson SMiLE (2004)

We all know the story behind SMiLE: the genius, the drugs, the meltdown, the unrealized potential. Even with the likes of Detox and Chinese Democracy sitting on the shelf for so long, they’ll never hold as much lore as this lost Beach Boys classic. When Brian Wilson finally told the world that after nearly 40 years of false starts, he had finally finished his “childhood symphony to God” people were shocked. Of course, the album now belonged to Wilson, not the Beach Boys, and it is initially jarring to hear Wilson’s band, The Wondermints instead of the original group’s work. It’s an approximation of what the original members did, but it’s not the same thing. Love him or hate him, there’s no denying how integral Mike Love’s nasal whine is to the Beach Boys’ sound. But that minor caveat aside, the resurrected and revamped SMiLE is a beautiful piece of work and a more than justified labor of love. It’s hard to think how reactions would have been had the album been released when it was supposed to, but in ’04 the album remains whimsical, strange and oftentimes heartbreaking. More of a feat in tracklisting, SMiLE is built around three suites, each containing a handful of leitmotifs and centered around three major tracks (“Heroes And Villains” in the first suite, “Surf’s Up” in the second, “Good Vibrations” to cap off the third). Previously released SMiLE cast-offs like “Cabin Essence,” “Vega-Tables,” “Wonderful” and the already mentioned three all sound marvelous in their new, proper context – everything here has a home and it all flows perfectly. When SMiLE finally saw the light of day, we applauded Wilson for pulling it together and bringing the album into existence. Six years later, SMiLE still feels like a miracle and better yet, it actually sounds like a miracle too.

“Roll Plymouth Rock”  

 

33. Sufjan Stevens Illinois (2005)

Sufjan Stevens has kept relatively quiet in the years following the release of Illinois. It seems the “50 albums for 50 states” gimmick was not as realistic as originally thought. Or maybe he just can’t fathom having to follow up Illinois, a beautiful, expansive masterpiece of baroque pop, intimate folk confessionals and unimpeded ambition. And who could blame him? Matching Illinois is a nearly impossible task. Marrying the grandeur attempted on his first state-based album, Greetings From Michigan, with the soft-spoken and sturdy songwriting of Seven Swans, Illinois is a large, capital “A” album that remains captivating throughout thanks to Stevens’ expertly detailed, (perhaps manipulatively) emotional story-telling and his ability to stretch his legs musically, adroitly jumping from weepy, yet haunting folk (“John Wayne Gacy, Jr.”, “Casimir Pulaski Day”) to Van Dyke Parksesque baroque suites (essentially every interstitial track) to playful, unexpected funk (“They Are Night Zombies!!”) to Stevens’ signature Vince Guaraldi bounce (“Come On! Feel The Illinoise!”, ”The Tallest Man, The Broadest Shoulders”). And while Stevens’ music and lyrics are dramatic, sensitive and faith-focused, his appeal isn’t limited to Paste Magazine subscribers. Judging from the album’s cover and track titles, you can tell that Stevens comes to the game with a fully developed sense of humor, so it’s not all maudlin. Also, “The Man Of Metropolis Steals Our Hearts” comes with a pretty mean guitar lead, so it’s not as pussified as one might think. Illinois proves to be surprisingly well-rounded and well-adjusted, and it hasn’t lost an ounce of its power since the day it was released. Stevens might be reluctant to follow up Illinois, but he probably doesn’t need to anyway.

“Casimir Pulaski Day”

 

32. Japandroids Post-Nothing (2009)

Japandroids aren’t a band I feel like writing about anymore. I would rather just listen to Post-Nothing, a youthful but fashionless frenzy of guitar noise, twin attack vocals and unbridled enthusiasm (to steal a phrase from Cosmo Kramer). When I first heard Post-Nothing, I got myself caught up in the idea that this was a lo-fi record that didn’t focus on the annoying trappings of lo-fi. But even that seems to be overstating it. Post-Nothing is nothing more than a couple of buddies who figured it would be awesome to start a band together and write the kinds of songs that they themselves would find awesome. And it is awesome. Listening to Post-Nothing, it feels like the band should do away with song titles altogether and just title them by a system of exclamation mark ratings. I don’t know about any song called “Young Hearts Spark Fire,” but I do know the one about worrying about dying and obsessing over Sunshine girls. Also, that song is an “!!!!!” (maybe more). “Wet Hair”? Is that the one about French-kissing French Girls? Yeah, that song’s a “!!!!!!!”

Post-Nothing is nothing short of exhilarating even as the band repeats their refrains over and over again. For this guitar-and-drum duo, the “plug in, tune up, let’s go” method is not a stylistic or creative decision, they just want to get down to playing their hearts out and living through their songs. It makes me feel like I’m 16 again and all I want to do is start a band with my buddy’s and rock out…crazy together/crazy forever. Japandroids members David King and Brian Prowse have done just that and Post-Nothing is the uplifting document that most of us could have only dremed of. “Two hearts beating / Oh Yeah, oh yeah!” Oh yeah!!!!!

“Young Hearts Spark Fire”  

 

31. Ted Leo And The Pharmacists The Tyranny Of Distance (2001)

My favorite thing about Ted Leo is that he always sounds like the biggest music fan. A Boss-loving Jersey kid with a DC punk background, Leo seems to play music that he himself would have loved as a kid. Compositionally showy (Leo is a killer guitar player and he wants you to know it), nakedly earnest (that would be the Springsteen influence) and fiercely DIY, Leo is terribly easy to root for. The Tyranny Of Distance is the first album where Leo’s songwriting finally catches up with his winsomeness. Cobbled together from some stolen moments recording with his friends (there are no defined Pharmacists here), Tyranny is anything but cohesive, but the individual songs trump the concept of “unity of sound.” After spending a few years with 90s mod-punks, Chisel, Leo jumped into his 2001 album almost fully formed, crafting an album with virtually no filler (although there are missteps) and a plethora of moments that jab at your pleasure centre like an exposed nerve. If “Biomusicology” and “Under The Hedge” don’t win you over at the onset than surely “Timorous Me,” the album’s “Ain’t that America?” meets “Ain’t that Thin Lizzy?” centerpiece will do the trick. Of course, there’s also “The Gold Finch And The Red Oak Tree” and “You Could Die (Or This Might End)” to close out the proceedings on an engaged and engaging note. Ted Leo would really blow up in the indie scene an album later, but Tyranny marks the point where he became not just one of the most reliable and beloved artists of the decade, but also an easy pick for one of the best.

“Timorous Me”  

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