Small Doses - Part 1

Let’s cut right to the chase – I love EPs. In many cases I prefer them to full albums. Maybe not full albums as they were 25 years ago, but as they are now. With 15 songs and nearly an hour's worth of music…who has time? Not me. But an EP, which to me should have between five and seven songs and be about 20 minutes tops, provides just enough gravy to give you a proper taste of what an artist has to offer, but leaves you wanting a bit more. Plus, they’re cheaper, so if the band sucks, you shouldn’t be out too much cash.

Here are three faves:

Archers of Loaf - Vs the Greatest of All Time (1994): I’m fairly confident when I say that Archers of Loaf’s debut album, Icky Mettle, is pretty much the handbook for 90s indie rock. And if that is the case, then the Vs the Greatest of All Time EP is easily a supplemental CliffsNotes. Essentially, to define one is to define the other, as both releases are cut from the same raw rock energy that formed so many great bands in the 90s; bands that sparked, flared and burned with an unprecedented brilliance, only to sputter out a couple of years before the end of the decade. Of these, Archers of Loaf was easily one of the best. Gritty, irreverent, quirky and unapologetically real, they approached rock n roll with an agenda to kick convention to the side, yet retained an undeniable pop sensibility that made their music extremely accessible once you got through the top layer of fuzzy grime. Archers of Loaf were all about the drama of dynamics, and Vs the Greatest of All Time doesn’t start off with a bang but with a grouchy whisper, if you can even call it that. Audiowhore begins with a full 25 seconds of tape noise and miscellaneous sounds before a lone guitar starts to noodle about with random notes (another 40 seconds) forming a melody you’ll never hear again, and then the opening riff chimes in, casual and unobtrusive, amongst string twanging and feedback squeals, so that a full minute and a half plus in, the song properly explodes like an unexpected and self righteous bomb blast. The root notes carry an easy, almost sweet melody, but the guitars are so dissonant, played with such ferocity, and the vocals are so full of disdain, that there’s nothing you can really do but comply and bounce your head to the wave of the music, hoping for a pocket of air. And so it goes for the next four songs, with Audiowhore bleeding straight into the slam dance, yell along fury of Lowest Part is Free! and from there a languid guitar leads into Freezing Point, full of slacker venom, and in many ways a banner song for Archers of Loaf. If you’ve got the vinyl, flipping to side two brings another longwinded intro; over two minutes of solo angular guitar creating a pre-melody segueing into the gruff anger of Revenge, before an abrupt end bangs half out of control into the jarring first chord of All Hail the Black Market, a low key number that induces heart string tugging with nothing short of a lovely melody (and guitar counter melody), and even harbors a touch of sensitivity as it simultaneously oozes with bitterness and retribution. Honestly, you don’t get too many lines like this anywhere else in rock n roll: Bought off and sold, making use of your enemies, line ‘em up single file and gouge out all their eyes… These guys, or at least singer/guitarist Eric Bachmann, did seem to have an axe to grind, yet they did so with poetic rage and graceful contempt. The key to Archers of Loaf is power, which is sometimes harnessed and coerced into beautiful but dangerous swaths of sonic sound, but often as not unleashed with a glorious fury that can (or could) only be surpassed by seeing them perform these songs live. If you had to sum it all up in 20 minutes or less, Vs the Greatest of All Time would get you where you needed to be with oomph to spare.

R.E.M. – Chronic Town (1982): This is the release that changed everything for R.E.M. and me - as a relationship. I don’t think it was the first time I’d heard it, but it’s the first time I remember hearing it; at my friend Steev’s house, in the kitchen, on some cheap, worn out boom box…cassette of course. I can still remember taking the tape out of the case and having to decipher the song titles on each side ‘cos it had been listened to so much the lettering had worn off. (That tells you something right there.) The house was off a bayou, moss hanging from the live oaks, sun setting across the water, but still enough light to see what was going, which wasn’t much… and it couldn’t have been more perfect, with muses invoked, inspirations set afire and nothing for it but to sit and watch Steev smoke a cigarette and wonder if our little trio would ever amount to much. (It didn’t.) I was sixteen and fairly stupid, but I knew a good thing when I heard it, and even with my limited knowledge of music could tell from the opening jingle of Wolves, Lower that there wasn’t any other music on the planet like this, and that these four guys were doing things no one else could, even if they’d tried. From that point on, I was committed. So, the beauty and curse of being a musician is that you want to dissect songs, pick out the licks and fills and slight fluctuations of voice that make a great song a little extra special, trying to figure out what and how they are pulling that off…which sometimes spoils the magic, but other times just gives you fresh ideas. But with R.E.M. it’s always hard to tell, and the Chronic Town EP pretty much set that standard out of the gate. The parts just don’t add up. How can Mike Mills’ bass walk so languidly over Bill Berry’s frantic drumming while Peter Buck’s guitar makes noises that sound vaguely familiar and yet come from the other side of some distant planet? And then there’s Stipe, Michael, the great mumbler, who says everything by saying nothing, including brilliantly cryptic lines like, “Suspicion yourself, suspicion yourself, let us out…,” and “Gentlemen don’t get caught, cages under cage…,” and “We will stumble through the A-P-T…,” oh, and let’s not forget the beginning of 1,000,000 where he laughingly enunciates, “Teeth.” At least I think he does…on all of that. And it doesn’t really matter because, at this point in their journey, Stipe’s voice was just another instrument, a counter melody to the melodies countered and re-counter-countered on bass and guitar. Yes, there’s a lot going on in these songs, and yet they’re not jumbled or stifled, but jump and jiggle and flail about; though paradoxically they’re a bit restrained by the lo-fi production, and yet this in itself is another instrument, another mysterious layer upon the rhythm bed patchwork, a mask to the answer of the question: What’s happening here? At the time I found it surprising that this music came from the South, and not from Europe or NYC or maybe even LA. And yet it makes total sense, because Europe would have made the notes too glossy chic, and NYC turn the vocals overly cynical and the west coast make the whole package just pointlessly ironic (and yes, I know Peter and Mike are originally from CA). Only the Southern US had the bitter bite with something to prove to the rest of the planet, with a lash that changed the face of music – the way musicians approached it and the way fans listened to it – and it all started right here, four guys, five songs and 20 minutes of rock perfection.

Death Cab for Cutie – Forbidden Love (2000): As I’ve alluded to a couple of times on these pages, I’m a casual to begrudging Death Cab for Cutie fan at best. I continue to check out each release because I’m still waiting to catch the big fire that a lot of folks have already. And I continue to purchase each release because my wife already has. (Also, the “u” key is not working well on my laptop, which is highly annoying.) If there’s a band I like in small doses, it’s Death Cab for Cutie, and, as each album proves, I only enjoy about an EP’s worth with every release. So a few minutes ago I texted JT, “Best DCFC release…go!” Of course he sent back some obvious blah, blah like We’ve Got the Facts… and/or Plans and made a point to say NOT the “Photobooth” EP as he called it because, knowing me better than I sometimes realize, he knew where I was going. Of course I told him he was wrong with his choices (and he came back with some more blah, blah), but he was right in his assumption, only it’s the Forbidden Love EP (duh, JT). This was the first Death Cab release I picked up during a lunch break at Borders in Brentwood back in 2000 or so because it was inexpensive, I liked the cover art and, as you now know, I like EPs. (Side note, this was not the first Death Cab for Cutie I heard, which was Something About Airplanes when it first came out…so for once I was on top of the game, thank you Jason Smith.) This is possibly one of the most aptly titled releases in music history because all the songs, like many to most of Ben Gibbard’s tunes, are about relationships, and usually the darker, seedier, less la, la roses and rainbows side of them. As I’ve said before, for me this is both an endearing quality and a major flaw with Death Cab. However, in small doses, this band really rings true, and opener Photobooth (ok, JT was sorta “right” after all) really hits the hopeless romantic chord just left of center in my chest. Listening to it now immediately conjures memories and feelings of jogging in the Belmont area, specifically down Belmont Blvd, and composing my own songs in my head as I projected them upon tons of hopes and dreams that, well…now I write a music blog. But from the pure pangs of childhood fantasy to the harsh facts of life, B-Gibbard pretty much nails it all, with gossip and conjecture and cigarette smoke and long drives down the freeway. One of Death Cab for Cutie’s brightest moments comes from a spritely, scaled down rendition of 405, which in its lilting beauty crushes the album version from We Have the Facts… like a grape. In addition, an alternate take of Company Calls Epilogue from the same album, while not quite as powerful as that version, contains a reverb-laden creepiness that brings the song new meaning. Admittedly, it’s doubtful that any other fan of Death Cab for Cutie will choose this release over any of their six albums (wow, that many? Time flies…), but for a starter kit, the Forbidden Love EP will pretty much give you a fair rundown both thematically and musically. Good luck!

In appreciation...

I’ll tell you straight off that I appreciate everyone who reads my blog - whether you comment or not, I know you’re out there. But it is nice to get some feedback now and then, and luckily all of mine has been positive, so enough to keep me going (when work/kids/life give me the time…). But I really love it when someone gives me a little something back, as with Seattle-based pal Benji, who after reading my November 11 “There’s Only One" post featuring Leonard Cohen’s debut, had this to say about his fourth release, New Skin for the Old Ceremony.

For your (and for JT's) pleasure, I'd like to suggest a second look at Cohen's 4th Album "New Skin for the Old Ceremony." Cohen is one of the seminal singer-songwriters to me because his life echoes in his songs. From an autobiographical standpoint, his first album introduces us to themes that continue in his later work: hedonism vs religion.

Cohen slowly gives in more and more to the flesh and this album is the last one where those themes really battle. In his 5th and 6th albums he's a wholly carnal being. Then the pendulum swings the other way while he becomes a monk before his return to music with an album of religious songs.

Career arc aside, the diversity of the arrangements on the album sets it apart. In the raucous "Is This What You Wanted (To Live In A House That Is Haunted)" to "Chelsea Hotel" - the Janis Joplin affair inspired ballad that may be the best example of his resigned, confessional style - to moody mysteries like "Who by Fire" and emotional appeals like "Take This Longing," we see the already eclectic Cohen pushing himself as a songwriter.

I could go on, but for JT (who hadn't heard much Cohen) and for your readers, I wanted to make a case for revisting "New Skin For The Old Ceremony."



I had admittedly never heard this album at the time of my initial post, but after reading Benji’s well spoken praise, and knowing Benji knows his know, I decided I needed to pick up a copy. That actually proved more trying than one would think, and after a month when I finally got it, I was in the midst of new baby madness, so it was after the dawning of 2011 when I finally got to sit down and, to put it simply, really enjoy this record.

Honestly, I can’t really add, embellish or improve upon what Benji himself has already said. But I will say that despite the rather heavy themes mentioned above, New Skin for the Old Ceremony is quite an easy, even endearing listen. I won’t say it’s a stab at pop accessibility, songs like Why Don’t You Try are closer to Tin Pan Alley…hmmmm, which I guess 30-40 years earlier WAS pop, but you get what I’m saying. Basically by this point Cohen had progressed as a songwriter, not just a man putting music and melody to poems, but writing with the idea of song as a principle part of the process. Not that the poetry is any way lost, for nothing here is trite, cliché or tongue in cheek, but as raw and exposed as the dramatic opening moments of Suzanne.


So thank you Benji, and again to all my readers. I’m always open for your thoughts and comments. I know I’ve been a bit slow with these lately, but hopefully I’ll be churning them out a bit more in the coming weeks.

5 Years - Part 4

All you guys remember Frente, right? Right? Shame on you.

Oh to be taken back to 1993 and the overall giddy excitement in hearing the Labour of Love EP (British spelling on “labor” here) for the first time. It’s the last time I remember being really, really thrilled about new music because I was sharing it with my good friend Robert Lee. Remember kids, music is always better with a kindred listener. (Look JT, don’t get upset, I’m not saying I’ve never been excited when I listened to music with you, I’m just saying…well, you just had to be there).

When Frente’s debut album, Marvin the Album, finally came out over the summer of 1994 (a full two years after its native Australia release) Robert was rather underwhelmed but I was taken to the next level for as far as that album was willing to go…which was really far.

And I will not belabor either the EP or the LP at this time. Those are two gems that deserve praise in their own entries. But what I will do is speak to Frente’s second and (thusfar) final album, Shape.

I think Shape could easily be called a sophomore slump. Yes, all the ingredients from the debut are present – quirk-catchy pop songs with lighthearted, often frenetic instrumentation, fun but insightful lyrics and Angie Hart’s (…ahhhh…) dreamy voice – but where Marvin the Album was a statement to the rush and bump of life and love put to vibrant, living music, a statement of itself as what it was, nothing more or less (and really, you’ll hear no other album like Marvin), Shape had all the right pieces that never seemed to fit, sounding more like a statement for the sake of a statement, which to me, when you’re Frente!, is missing the whole point.

Initially this was a group who were able to pull a good feeling out of a bad situation, making songs about heartbreak and war almost uplifting and ridiculously easy to dance to. (Seriously, when you’re hearing a voice as sisterly sweet as Angie’s, it’s hard not to feel that much better.) But with Shape it was if they were trying to shed the frivolous skin that made them so endearing, only to leave the quirky flesh beneath an unguarded, awkward and self-conscious mess.

And mess really isn’t the right word. Marvin is a mess as far as moods and genres go. Both albums jump all over the place. But Shape lacks the immediacy, the whimsy, the open armed, come on let’s go of its older sibling. There are a lot of great songs on this album, but they approach the ears in a tired, wary, almost sterile way, relying more on “studio magic” than on bare bones rockin’, simply playing for you because they are songs and that’s what songs do and not because they get any genuine joy from it.

And that’s a lot of heavy analysis and metaphor for what boils down to “just a pop album.” But you have to understand how important Frente!’s first EP and album were, rather are, to me. These are two discs that still get heavy rotation and still make my heart skip a beat. Shape never did, and I’m sad to say likely never will…unless I can find a new perspective, which is something I’m trying to do with this series.

Angie Hart

The last time I remember listening to this album was pulling off of I-65 on the Brentwood exit, looping around to head into Brentwood. I don’t remember where I was going or where I had been, but I remember thinking, “This album isn’t doing anything for me, and I hate that.” It’s like when a good friend lets you down without meaning to. I mean I HATE saying this about a Frente! album, but there it is. Man, I suck.

Anyway…

When I put this disc in again a bit ago, I was surprised at how well I remembered the songs. Not like with Marvin where as one song is ending my brain is already playing the opening bars of the next one; but in the middle of the first chorus I would recall a word or a line or a melody. So that’s saying something. And like I said, there are a lot of good songs, they just lack the jump-on-your-back-and-give-me-a-piggy-back-ride playfulness that, well, they should have. Call it production. Call it bad timing and a lack of nostalgia ‘cos I didn’t get it back in ‘96 when I should have. Call it Bernie. Call it…well, whatever. From what I understand this was a difficult album to make because of band tension and Frente! didn’t last much longer after its release. And you know a bad vibe can kill a good thing in an instant, so I won’t blame anything but the circumstances (not that this is about blame), and try to salvage what I can from the wreckage.

A definite winner is Goodbye Goodguy. This one could have easily been a Marvin stray, but the point is that it feels like Marvin, warm and alive, and despite its melancholy content, you get an overall pleasant and enjoyable feeling listening to Angie’s lament over the loss of a love. Again, it’s the way she tells it, rather sings it, to you that makes the difference, that makes a sad song not just relatable but agreeably so. And honestly, a good bit of these songs run in a similar way (Horrible, Burning Girl, Air), though not with the same immediacy. So yes, Shape is an album that requires repeat listens.

But then there are some that just fall flat because they try too hard. And I don’t know, I’m not judging, but Marvin just felt so effortless, like those songs flowed from hands and mouth like Dylan snatching words and melodies out of the air. And few bands have more than one, maybe two, albums like that, where the magic is that prevalent; which means I’m putting too much pressure on Frente! and on Shape. Yet still, The Destroyer is just blueprint Frente! without any of the spirit and Calmly is just one of a couple acoustic based ballads that are sweet without the bitter, or bitter without the sweet, but overall lacking that addictive blend that make Frente!’s initial efforts required listening…for anyone.

I think in the end it’s all about the production, which is your standard mid-90s affair that does nothing but mar and reign in the joyous Frente! sound – which is best when in a pure form, raw and wriggling. A lot of the infectious melodies, vocally and musically, are missing, or sorely covered up in the murk. Angie's voice is as great as ever, the band is spot on, but none of it soars, and that effortless, freeform playing is muffled and restrained. Look, that ! is part of the name for a reason, kids. This is a great band going through the motions, which is good but not meeting potential. The structure is there, but the heart is gone; it’s deadpan, it's an endless Steven Wright joke (where did the come from?), but I'm not laughing.

And it’s a shame that this was pretty much it for the band. They reunited in the 21^st century, toured a bit and even released an EP in 2005, which I’ve shamefully not heard, so I like to think that, as I said early on, Shape was simply a slump while they brewed up something else exceptional. I mean I’m glad this album exists, it gives me something to strive for in a new discovery, and I’m not done exploring this album now or, if I put it down again for awhile, in another five years. And that’s the glory of music with me, sometimes some songs/albums/groups don’t manifest themselves until I need them. But c’mon, Shape, don’t hold out on me too long.

Speaking of Queen…

I had a friend/coworker “back in the day” named Tim whose two favorite bands were Queen and Judas Priest. At the time that didn’t seem to make much sense, but as I got to know Tim better it did; and as I got to know both bands (because of him) better, it did even more so.

Tim was a bit older than me and full of rock lore (among other things – dude was crazy brilliant). He also had some very unique takes on a lot of the music he (and subsequently we) listened to. One thing that he often pointed out when we’d have discussions about music – which were frequent, usually stemmed from me asking a question about this or that and often filtered back to either Queen or Priest – is that John Deacon, bassist for Queen, was a much underrated songwriter (not to mention bassist).

John Deacon, with Queen, top left

Or rather is one, ‘cost he’s still alive, just not writing songs anymore. Also, as far as I know, Tim is still alive too.

Anyway…

It’s easy to assume that the lead singer is the principle writer of any given band, at least lyrically, and from a superficial point of view (fanwise) that’s to be expected. But Queen was very much a democracy, and while Freddie Mercury was the undisputed focal point and certainly penned a great number of their tunes, Brian May equaled and maybe even surpassed him with contributions. Even drummer Roger Taylor (and I say “even” simply because drummers aren’t typically known for their sole songwriting credits) delivered at least one rocker from the very first album onward.

When I was first immersing myself in Queen, beyond the obligatory greatest hits collection, Tim would write down three to four songs per album that were must listens and, more often than not, one of them was a John Deacon offering. John didn’t begin writing until album number three, Sheer Heart Attack, with an easy going, mid-tempo rocker called Misfire that, while not the standout of the album, certainly wasn’t a misstep, or fire, either.


Tim said more than once, “John Deacon could always be relied on to provide at least one hidden gem per album.” Only this isn’t always the case…sometimes they’re one of the obvious highlights. You and I from Day at the Races, In Only Seven Days from Jazz and Who Needs You, one of the few songs I can tolerate from News of the World, were all penned by John Deacon. Oh, and maybe you’ve heard You’re My Best Friend and a little ditty called Another One Bites the Dust. You see what I’m saying?

I know it takes a real enthusiast (nice way of saying “geek”) to break down the-who-does-what and learn these things, but doing so helps catch a glimpse into the heart of the songwriter, and with a band as musically (and personally) diverse as Queen, the effort reveals fascinating layers later enhanced by repeat listens. Roger Taylor could have never written Spread Your Wings, but likewise John Deacon could have never written I’m in Love with My Car (one of my all-time Queen faves). These were two entirely different songwriters bringing in their separate facets to shine on the same diamond. The results, more often than not, are stellar.


John was the quiet, no frills member of a band who was known for, well, “breaking free” of so many type casts (and yes, John wrote that one as well). His songs are for the most part sweet, personal and deeply sentimental. You’re My Best Friend has probably been on thousands of mix tapes over the years, and Who Needs You on nearly as many break up compilations. These are songs the every-boy (or girl) can relate to and that’s part of what makes them so endearing. If Freddie was the passion, Brian was the precision and Roger was the balls out rock n roll insolence of Queen, John Deacon was certainly the heart.

I find it fitting that he has decided to retire from Queen and music altogether. It suits his personality, one I know mostly through the songs he wrote, which is legacy enough.

Also, Tim McDonald, if you're out there...thanks!!!

Stains On a Decade: '03

I started this one literally months ago; kept getting stuck, distracted, etc, and then I became afraid of it. And since that’s just silly, I’ve now come back to it with a mind to just post it as is, warts and all so to speak.

So…

Good ol’ 2003 really wasn’t much a year for me and new music, but a few things caught my ear, and here they are…

Oh, and I really don’t have an “album of 2003,” you know, one that defines the whole year for me, so these are just in random order - but the standouts have the album cover, so...there you have that.

Starting now…no, wait…ok, kidding…here we go!

The Strokes – Room on Fire: I initially wasn’t gonna include this album in the list ‘cos I’m honestly not much of a Strokes fan. But to be fair I’m not much of a Beatles fan either and yet I own all their albums and listen to them fairly often. Unfortunately (or rather not) I can’t say as much for the Strokes, and while I recognize Is This It as one of the best debuts of the past 10 years, I wasn’t really anticipating a follow up. Having said that, when Room on Fire did come out I have to admit that the couple or few times I heard it I actually liked it better than Is This It. I know most everyone (if not everyone) saw it as more of a sophomore slump, and while there certainly weren’t any stand out songs to rival the likes of Someday, Last Nite or the lethally catchy Hard to Explain, every song from Room on Fire is every bit as good as the second tier songs on Is This It (Barely Legal, Take It or Leave It, etc). And while this album is very much “second verse, same as the first,” it’s more consistent even if none of the songs peak like portions of the much hyped debut (but I tell ya, I Can’t Win makes a super duper effort). What I’m saying with more words than I should is this – with Room on Fire there are no peaks or valleys, just a nice, chugging, moderate plateau in between (well, better than that, but I wanted to stick with the landscape metaphor). I think this album is slightly more slickly produced than the first one, which benefits these songs and makes the Strokes sound like they’re no longer pretending to be the Stooges incarnate (thank you). So if you like what they did the first time you’ll be satisfied with what they did the second time. But of course if you knew the former to begin with, you almost certainly already know the latter.

The Church – Forget Yourself: Initially when a new artist emerges, at least this was the case at one time, fans could expect an album of new material every year to 18 months for the first several years. Creative juices are flowing and you’ve got to keep your public happy, right? Well, sure, but also, record labels (wisely?) wanted to keep the momentum of any built up popularity going. With many groups this sometimes meant a clunker or two or five, but the truly great bands could keep the good stuff coming even as they approach their 10-year anniversary. So in kind, by the time most bands have hit the 20-year mark it’s safe to say they’ve made their bundle, they’ve earned a bit of a rest and fans should expect a new album about every three to five years. Fair enough as many an artist’s “post heyday” output leaves much to be desired, especially when compared to their vital/critical/important early releases. I guess that’s to be accepted, but it’s certainly not always the case. The Church definitely fit the first mentioned scenario, with a slew of releases throughout the 80s until they reached their commercial peak, Starfish, in 1988, as well as their label-pleasing follow up, Gold Afternoon Fix, in 1990. But when the latter failed to keep the fame rising the boys just shrugged and started doing things the way they wanted to, continuing to put out albums every couple of years throughout the 90s, despite personnel issues, and as the new century began, doubling that output with 02’s After Everything Now This, ignoring the thought of commercial success or the idea of creating music for any other reason than music’s sake. And I’ve said about half of all of that before… So, anyway, 2003’s Forget Yourself follows that train of thought to the next level, nodding enough to previous efforts to create a cohesive pattern and then forging new territory where pick and stick have never gone before (at least not in this way). The word with Forget Yourself is “sonics.” Think Siamese Dream with less anger or radio gloss, replacing the former with a crypto-moody vibe and the latter with a disregard for all speakers on the planet save for those at the studio mixing board. Having said that, the Church can still write a catchy tune and often open an album with such. Here it’s Sealine, a mid-tempo rocker setting the stage for more tasty moments yet ahead. Next comes the single from the album, Song in Space, which basically lives up to the promise of its name and sounds like a Spiritualized song if they, you know, weren’t sorta lousy (I’m sorry…not really). Marty Willson-Piper’s See Your Lights is a searing, soaring outer world spin of garage rock, with a gnarly walk down that dares you to get in its way. The lovely Maya, from vocal line to guitar runs, is another down tempered standout, sprawling out from the heart and bringing you in with a gentle tug. Peter Koppes’ low-key Appalatia, along with understated trip-hop beat, continues the same warmth but builds upon itself with ethereal layers of guitars and pianos, maintaining a very understated “Neil Young” sort of feel. Every song is a new direction in lush landscapes often as not wandering into the truly ethereal but never getting lost within themselves. Of their post 80s heyday and 90s identity crisis albums, Forget Yourself just may be the strongest of their 00s return to form…but let’s wait until the 06 entry.

The Postal Service – Give Up: I’m glad they did, and wish he would. (Oh yes, I did!) Seriously, I didn’t hate this when it came out, and loads of Death Cab for Cutie fans were certainly drooling all over it. But while I liked the premise I thought outside of a couple of undeniably snappy tunes it was pretentious and ultimately boring – been there, done that, bought the cassette tape. In fact, the best thing about this whole project was Iron & Wine (whom I truly despise) covering Such Great Heights, which is proof that right there is a good song even if its yet to be performed to its fullest potential. But again, there are high points here in a lo-fi Bjork sort of way, and my problem with the Postal Service is my problem with DCFC – one Benjamin Gibbard, who is at once the genius and the downfall of both acts, with his heart-on-sleeve simpering just a little too real and a little too whiny for me to stomach with my current and longstanding jaded sensibilities. But if this had been an EP of say the released singles plus Nothing Better, then Give Up would have been a more solid effort and would have likely prodded me to say “give (me) more.” Alas…

Death Cab for Cutie – Transatlanticism: Speaking of Death Cab for Cutie…snore. Ok, seriously…some amazing moments are found on this album, just as with every DCFC album, and honestly, this release is far more consistent than the first three, though again suffers from being too openly personal in a way that doesn’t hit home or even open a window to the pain, but frustrates like a bad indie drama where none of the characters are believable or likable but you watch it anyway (I’m talking to you, Squid and the Whale). Still, there aren’t any songs that just flat out annoy me as in previous outings, so again, and as mentioned, there are times when the mush is just right and soul meets body (ha, ha, ha) in a very magical way. Of course the apex of this is the desperately moving title track, nearly eight minutes of tears that just keep on coming and you don’t want them to stop. Really, much like Stability from 2002, this song is a balm for any bruised heart that has experienced a great loss, and a plea to let it all out. We also get the reverse on Transatlanticism, with the super bouncy Sound of Settling, an ode to acceptance and a mantra to carry on regardless of circumstances. But really, I think what sums it up for me with this one, and in a lot of ways life in general, is the opening line of the opening track, “So this is the New Year, and I don’t feel any different.” I heard that, and I’d like to again.

The Shins – Chutes Too Narrow: I really thought Oh! Inverted World, with a couple of obvious exceptions, was a bit of a dull and overrated album. I’ll go ahead and say that I prefer Flake Music to the Shins any day, and of course there are similarities, but it’s the differences I dig…dig? These guys fall, for me, into the same conditioning as Coldplay…either dead on or dead boring. In the case of Chutes Too Narrow we thankfully get more of the former than the latter. Is it the production, which is crisper and cleaner than its predecessor, or the songs themselves, which are more ambitious and tuneful…yes, maybe, I dunno. What I do know is me likey, from pseudo-tough rockers like Fighting in a Sack and Kissing the Lipless, to truly gorgeous numbers like the ever-haunting Saint Simon and (should be album closer) Gone for Good. And of course everything is neatly packaged and tied together with James Mercer’s plaintive voice and undeniable melodies, the true focus and the source of the fuss. Folks were so gaga for the debut that they almost panned Chutes Too Narrow (I mean seriously people, stop falling for the hype), but this album is such a step away from (and ahead of) that album I almost let myself get excited for number three…but we’ll get to that one later.

The Beatles – Let It Be…Naked: Oh Paul, why…? History is not gonna change and you certainly don’t need the money. Plus, anybody who cares has already had these versions of these songs via bootleg for years. YEARS!!!

Yanni – Ethnicity: Apparently this goob was still putting out music in ’03. Has anyone stopped him yet?

Fleetwood Mac – Say You Will: Right off the bat I’m gonna say this - I really miss Christine McVie on this album, but more on her pop bliss brilliance for another time… So, with that out of the way, this album, the official comeback of the almost “classic line up” is a straight up winner…thank you Mr. Buckingham! Lindsey Buckingham’s solo career post Tango in the Night has been an underrated marvel, and proof that he was the true creative source behind the most famous incarnation of the band, pushing them beyond the conformities of AOR rock. Say You Will is basically this…a 21^st Century follow up to their 1979 landmark double LP, Tusk. The ambition, the drive, the plethora of fantastic tunes and the tinkering studio magic are all present, all meticulously stitched together, forming a patchwork of seamless, timeless music every bit as worthy of the Fleetwood Mac moniker with either this or any of the late 60s/mid 70s line ups that are more often than not dismissed or forgotten if they were even known (by the general public) in the first place. And yes, just like any longwinded album, including Tusk, it does meander at times, even becomes a bit indulgent, but that just means that there are many more nuggets to dig up from repeat listens (a must), along with plenty of standouts – Illume, Miranda, Silver Girl – to keep the momentum flowing smoothly.

Minor Threat – First Demo Tape: Certainly a release for die-hard completists (present), this collection of already familiar songs is a fine representation of what Minor Threat had to offer the disaffected youth of the early 80s and so on to the present day. My favorite bit is Guilty of Being White, where Ian had presently only served 18 years of his time. Makes me wonder that if they did a reunion, would he be able to fit in 48…probably.

Belle & Sebastian – Dear Catastrophe Waitress: After solidifying some personnel changes, and with the stopgap release of the Storytelling soundtrack to keep the scent fresh, Belle & Sebastian’s next proper album was a step (rather several) away from a) the more experimental styles of Fold You Hands Child, You Walk Like a Peasant and b) the classic twee pop ditties that endeared them to thousands in the first place. The results are a more polished, sophisticated, dance-worthy and dare I say “adult contemporary” stab at…mainstream success? I dunno. With a “classic B&S” approach at production (this here being handled by the video killing radio star Trevor Horn), DCW could have been another Boy with the Arab Strap – that is to say angular, quirky, a bit misguided, but overall fantastic fun – but instead becomes a creature all itself, standing aside from its brethren somewhat aloof and self-satisfied. And to a certain degree there’s some merit for that, ‘cos Stuart and Co certainly crafted a smart record, but unfortunately the record knows it. And while it may not have been an obvious choice, it was certainly an understandable one, ‘cos just how far were B&S expected to push the fey envelope? What I’m saying here is that a bunch of good songs, a couple of great ones and a pleasant clunker or two were sorta hampered by an over the top sound that rather weighed down these already over the top songs. This makes DCW a rather trying listen, as it forces its cleverness on you instead of letting is seep in shyly as on previous efforts. Now step back you rabid twee-boppers, this doesn’t mean there aren’t several enjoyable moments (especially the singles…Step Into My Office, Baby and I’m a Cuckoo, etc), and it’s a solid listen overall, but not one that is very memorable, and with the exception of the absolutely brilliant If You Find Yourself Caught In Love, DCW is not an album that you feel like going back to for a second helping at the end of the spin. And while I can look through the track list and hum these songs, I find that they all hum rather samey (or maybe I’m just tone deaf). Honestly, the surrounding singles released from DCW sported much more interesting b-sides than the album delivered as a whole, which perhaps shows the band was looking for a more consistent flow (having possibly learned from the “mistakes” of Fold You Hands Child…), but this overall leaves it all coming off a bit flat – which is something B&S had never been before.