HeiBräu

TV on the Radio – Dear Science

He’s a what, now? Well, he’s a newspaper man, to be sure. That seemingly off-the-cuff lyric from “Dancing Choose” seems somehow to typify TV on the Radio; their constant struggle as New Yorkers is to echo the front-page atmosphere of dissent in our present political climate. This, of course, is supplemented with more standard fare (“Make Love All Night Love”).

There’s always a mixed bag of blips and bleeps on any TV on the Radio track, but the markedly mature thing about Dear Science is its evident pop sensibility (“Dancing Choose,” “Golden Age,”). To qualify that: Tunde Adebimpe’s vocals take some unpacking, but frankly the arrangements are a strict (and stark) improvement over Return to Cookie Mountain. That is not an altogether simple achievement, granted the hard-earned critical reception to their 2006 release.

Whether or not TV on the Radio has seen their magnum opus in 2008 is certainly a point of contention. One point that can’t be disputed, however, is that this is their first non-hideous album cover, a fact the indie music scene celebrates with palpable vigor. Although its terse electronics and seemingly heavy-handed facade make Dear Science a challenge, the parental wisdom you have stored in the recesses of your brain finally resounds all-too clearly: nothing good ever comes easy.

TV on the Radio’s “Halfway Home,” from Dear Science.

Portishead – Third

Portishead are quite plainly masters of atmosphere, relentlessly crafting arresting constructs of electronic wonder and looped guitar until Third‘s intermission, “Deep Water,” offers some stripped-down antique flavor. As with Portishead’s every go, the band has proved themselves capable of getting their hooks into the listener simply by drawing the tension out. Adding bit by bit, they tease and tack on weight until the mammoth tunes appear ready to collapse under their own weight.

One of them does, in fact – “Silence” merely cuts off just before the five minute mark, ostensibly to keep it from spiraling right into oblivion. Beth Gibbons’ fragile lament enters a full two minutes after the band has wound the song into a tight, dark, coil. Just as the opener for Third threatens to run out of steam, a new descending guitar line breathes aching life into a plaintive mass of torment. It may not exactly be a trailblazer of an album, but as we’ve seen that in the past, some of the best albums are perfecting, not pioneering.

Emotive and evocative, Third was worth the decade wait.

Portishead’s “The Rip,” from Third.

The Walkmen – You & Me

You & Me bounces along on a deft bassline at the start of “Dondé está la Playa” and doesn’t stop impressing until the abrupt ending of “If Only It Were True,” rambling through 51 minutes of jangly, sweet indie rock with style abounding. Lead singer Hamilton Leithauser even channels a bit of Frankie Valli on “Canadian Girl.” To seemingly contradict this, he grips his microphone as if it could fly from his grasp at any moment, cocking his head and baring teeth to eke out the high notes. For a voice that intones a certain stately composure, his presentation is patently unaffected.

Listening to The Walkmen is enjoyable partly because they write great pop music, but more so because they play it with such care. Their harmonies and horns are never gratuitous, and the band orchestrates its stops with the song’s best interest at heart (“Red Moon”).

Take “In The New Year,” for example: the ringing and breaking chorus is a lulling delight; the agogic tension between the drums and the rest of the band is truly masterful. While the band is basically working variations on a theme, they’ve more than proven that they are capable and hardy balladeers. They’ve bested A Hundred Miles Off and given Bows + Arrows a run for its money, if not surpassing it altogether, with this excellently mature album.

The Walkmen’s “Dondé está la Playa,” from You & Me.

Vampire Weekend – Vampire Weekend

Rather unceremoniously crowned “the whitest band” by blogosphere socialite and author Christian Lander, it’s easy to see how a newcomer might be hesitant to dip their toes. In reality, however, Vampire Weekend have penned and plunked out some of the most markedly black (well, that is to say, “African,”) music of the year. With its layered polyrhythms (“Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa”), and call-and-answer harmonies (“One (Blake’s Got A New Face)”), it’s almost a spiritual successor to Graceland.

Weekend’s members having met while studying at Columbia University, their lyrics and music exude youth and the carefree university conduct, going so far as, tellingly, to have named a song “Campus.” But all this is lost on the 34 minutes of jangle-pop bliss that is Vampire Weekend, because in truth, the audience cares less about how they did it, as long as they keep doing it. The media, as well: even for one of 2008′s most feted debuts, a number of TV spots and a movie soundtrack feature is not a bad dash of press.

“Mansard Roof” is a deceptively fitting opener, starting with naught but a modest key intro and Ezra Koenig’s agile baritone. Soon the string arrangement gives way to a rambunctious drummer and skittering guitar tremolos, succinctly and perfectly expressing Vampire Weekend in a single track. They’re seeing the tops of those houses now, unquestionably.

Vampire Weekend’s “Oxford Comma,” from Vampire Weekend.

Bon Iver – For Emma, Forever Ago

Every year, we get some folk gem of an album that promises to be the new folk bible for the next ten years. Iron and Wine, Kings of Convenience, Andrew Bird, Joanna Newsom, Devendra Banhart — all have come in and quietly shaken things up just the past five years. The latest product of our pressing times is Bon Iver, the pseudonym for Justin Vernon, a pretty unassuming-looking twenty-seven-year-old from Wisconsin.

The recordings on Emma may be rudimentary in spots, but that’s certainly part of its charm. The buzzing sympathetic string in “Flume” and the flimsy Silvertone guitar timbre throughout may suggest an amateur, but Vernon writes and arranges like a pro, and his unique vocal manner can rouse the listener gently even at a fast clip (“Lump Sum”). And although the trappings are rural and the subject interpersonal, the rambling “For Emma” is startlingly theatrical, with its cryptic narrative detailing tender heartache. To the careless listener, “Re: Stacks” won’t betray its true meaning, but when introducing the song, Vernon is more than forthright concerning his destitute dealings: “There’s a black crow sitting across from me / his wiry legs are crossed / and he’s dangling my keys, he even fakes a toss / whatever could it be / that has brought me to this loss?”

Even the setting is picturesque: the entire album was recorded in a small cabin in the sticks of Wisconsin. This is surely one of the finest folk albums of the year, boasting more than just the soul-baring lyrics and smooth crooning we’ve come to take for granted of late. If you’re at home amidst the distant swirls of chimney smoke and falling snow, For Emma, Forever Ago is your instant folk classic.

Bon Iver’s “Flume,” from For Emma, Forever Ago.

Cut Copy – In Ghost Colors

You’re unlikely to find a more imminently danceable record this year than the Australian trio Cut Copy’s sophomore effort In Ghost Colours. Their carefree synth-pop riffings and Dan Whitford’s dead-on retro croonings bind in looping strands together like some irresistable, sugary double-helix. “Hey you!” he intones on “Feel The Love,” just as a light-as-air, harmonized Hal-9000-on-ecstasy chimes in with “while you’re roaming around / hope you find what you’re looking for!” Before the song ends, it breaks down into the hardest-jamming dance number 2008 saw all year.

Though the album seems like it can’t top the blockbuster opener track, it’s loaded front-to-back with numbers that burn up the night. In Ghost Colours is a buoyant, fast paced tunnel-of-love trek past streaking, neon-soaked backstreets and darkened, velvet-rope corners. Don’t be the one who missed it.

Cut Copy’s “Feel The Love,” from In Ghost Colours.

M83 – Saturdays = Youth

Nouveau 80s has taken a lot of interesting forms in the last year, but nobody channels the era of cultured pop electronica quite like M83. Still, this is no rehash of Mr. Mister and Depeche Mode, and with the band still being the work of Anthony Gonzalez alone, it’s downright impressive.

“You Appearing” is a wistful and weighty opener, setting the mood with an airy vocal refrain before giving way to the triumphant anthem “Kim & Jessie.” The textures at work in these two tracks alone are trembling with energy and ardor, and take listens upon listens to fully uncover. At this point, however, the album is really only warming up. By the time Saturdays approaches the revolving instrumental epic “Midnight Souls Still Remain,” the eleven minutes of calm it provides are the only way to wind the record down properly. For a Frenchman, this album was crafted inside a bubble of a surprisingly American aesthetic: “death is her boyfriend / she spits on summers and smiles to the night / she collects crowns made of black roses / but her heart is made of bubble gum.”

The really spectacular thing about M83 is that Gonzalez sees tone as a means to an end, rather than an end in itself. This allows him to paint some terrific songs using his arrangements as a hue on his palette rather than as the medium itself, as so many of the post-rock and indie bands nowadays do. The result is a staggering, surprisingly hopeful album that positively shimmers with grandeur.

M83′s “We Own The Sky,” from Saturdays = Youth.

Fleet Foxes – Fleet Foxes

While this may be the most overhyped album this year, Fleet Foxes is certainly no slouch. Given its rather pastoral setting — look at the cover, for Pete’s sake — this album looks as if it’s cut from folk cloth and ready to give Sam Beam a thrashing. In the end, however, this humble giant is unfiltered pop, with its gorgeous harmonies and fetching choruses — a true sing-along album from a prodigiously talented group.

To date, Fleet Foxes has sold over 200,000 copies, which is nothing short of an indie music miracle, but also speaks to the universal allure of the music. It’s quite a benchmark for a band of their appeal, and certainly a record for their label Bella Union.

Although the album is as cohesive as any of those listed here, the strength of its individual tracks is impossible to deny. “White Winter Hymnal” is an instant classic, with its pleasant gospel sway and 60s-era guitar riff; it’s a full-fledged pop-folk gem. “Oliver James,” a gentle acoustic ballad, is one of the superior album closers of the year.

What’s good in 2008? A band that plays music for the love of music, releasing a killer debut that can’t possibly be surpassed with a sophomore effort. What’s better? God bless them, they do it justice on stage. The inescapable downside? As mentioned, they are in their honeymoon. Here’s hoping their dedication to the craft doesn’t take a nosedive when the garbage has to go out.

Fleet Foxes’ “Ragged Wood,” from Fleet Foxes.

Deerhunter – Microcastle

“Saved By Old Times” is an incredibly telling title. For all the progressive pop leanings that Deerhunter employ, they eschew modern songwriting almost as a whole, embracing the fuzz and drone of decades past. It might all be in an effort to exorcise their childhood demons, specifically those of lead singer Bradford Cox, who, stricken with Marfan Syndrome and the crippling divorce of his parents, has more than his fair share.

Cox has basically spent the last two years asserting himself as one of the most important figures in independent music today. Whether he’s wrestling with his solo effort Atlas Sound or shoegazing with his five-piece Deerhunter, his psychadelic musings on 60s pop, 90s rock, and 00s sensibility are a swirling miasma of creativity. Despite the band’s incredible output thus far, you get the excited feeling at the pit of your stomach that more is on the way, and it might be just as good. Or, if somebody up there likes you, it might even be better. Fingers crossed.

Deerhunter’s “Saved By Old Times,” from Microcastle.

Shearwater – Rook

Not everyone in the music business is trying too hard. At the end of the day, there are loads of people who want to make beautiful, creative music, but with the lengths that “indie” music has stretched the past few years, in some cases it’s been a race to see who’s going to hit the next gold mine. Refreshingly, Rook shivers with the fervor and panache of an imaginary world, rather than the deepest exploits and sullies of our own.

Rook embarks with an apropos crash from “On The Death Of The Waters,” and the avian drama “Rooks” is likewise crackling with energy. It’s when the album first pauses in the repose of “Leviathan, Bound,” however, that it is so firmly established as the finest album of 2009; it’s one of the best songs released this year. Accompanied by the artful hammered dulcimer drone, the melody of “Leviathan” is a vitreous aperture into the deep of vocalist Jonathan Meiburg’s theatre. The magic and myth spoken of here — and indeed, throughout the album — immediately abstracts Shearwater: this kind of material would utterly reek of camp and bombast coming from any other artist; Meiburg’s voice empowers the theme rather than parodying it.

What separates Shearwater from all others this year is their magnificent and effortless capture of poetry within paean: “my winged children, all / will fly over the mountain wall / to the lid of the sky / and slice its belly full wide / with their warm knives.” Rarely do you see any artist so seamlessly blend their songwriting with their medium. The pacing, too, is noteworthy: by the time the album approaches the steaming and fang-ridden centerpiece “Century Eyes,” a full five tracks of cat-and-mouse dynamics have drifted by like ships in the night, and the sudden change is at once both unexpected and welcome. The sole voice resounding, “tear it off!/tear it off!” easily outshines the thick vocal arrangements of the neo-Wilson era, at least in 2008.

It was once said that writing about music is like dancing about architecture. When one hears Rook and is enveloped by its subtle craft and careful arrangement, they encounter a consonance with the distant haze of this other world, and are ineffably satisfied.

Shearwater’s “The Snow Leopard,” from Rook.

~ by HeiBräu on 01/01/2009.

Posted in 2008, Best Of