2015: My Top Ten Albums of the Year

It’s been a long, long time since I’ve posted anything here. Hopefully this site won’t see as much inactivity in 2016 as it did in 2015. So to make this count, let’s dispense with the intro clutter here and get right down to business:

My Top Ten Albums of 2015

10) BEACH SLANG – The Things We Do To Find People Who Feel Like Us
BSTTWDTFPWLUThough it was released a day before Halloween, the music on Beach Slang’s debut album is summer music. You can practically feel the humidity increase in the air around you when you turn it on, and each song is jam-packed with hazy guitars and raspy odes to drinking, drugs, love, youth, and the power of rock ‘n roll. That description might make you think of The Hold Steady or Japandroids (who are labelmates with the band), but Beach Slang don’t really have much in common with either of them.

There’s a song on The Things We Do called Young and Alive, for example, but there’s a vague sense of menace to it; the overall feeling it imparts is “okay, we’re young and alive now – but for how long?” Likewise, on I Break Guitars, it’s not a song of pure rawk triumph – there’s some ambiguity at work in it. Practically the first thing you hear is the line “I can’t think with all this noise” (the second line is even more telling: “I Waits my voice/to feel again”). And in a song called Porno Love, the band craft something startlingly poetic by murmuring “it’s heaven” repeatedly like a mantra as all the sound in the song washes away, out into some vast rock and roll sea. Fortunately, as debut albums go, “it’s heaven” just so happens to be the perfect self-summary.

9) YOUNG FATHERS – White Men Are Black Men TooYFWMABMT
Upon first listen, it’s kind of hard not to compare Young Father to TV On The Radio – both bands are adept at pivoting from genre to genre with grace, and they both know how to weave layered, hooky vocal parts together to great effect. But whereas TVOTR’s albums all have an immaculate, slick production (courtesy of their guitarist, Dave Sitek), White Men Are Black Men Too is sounds like it was recorded in a dim basement with scavenged equipment that’s not quite in working order: uneven beats delivered by brittle, handheld percussion, synths that seem to warble in pitch, drifting in and out of tune, and an overall mix that feels burnt and overdriven.

If that sounds unpleasant, rest assured it’s not. The music of White Men Are Black Men Too (just like the provocative title) commands your attention, and it’s full of emotion that’s powerful, yet restrained. Midway through 27, the beat bottoms out and the line “One in a million/you look familiar…” is delivered a few times with little more than a hushed croon; it’s barely there, and yet it feels enormous. So if you’re looking for something Scottish to listen to which sounds nothing like the self-conscious, maudlin exports the country’s presently known for (Frightened Rabbit, We Were Promised Jetpacks, The Twilight Sad – heck, even CHVRCHES¹), White Men Are Black Men Too should do the trick, and then some.

8) FAILURE – The Heart Is A Monster
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In the alt-rock history book, Failure are (unfortunately) little more than a footnote. They never sold a lot of records. They never received a lot of airplay. Perhaps the most notable thing about them is that A Perfect Circle covered one of their songs back in 2003 – six years after Failure had disbanded.

Failure weren’t even the first of their peers to resurface after a decade and change of absence (see: Soundgarden, Alice In Chains, etc.). But whereas the more recent outputs of those groups have been middling at best, Failure’s first new album in nearly 20 years is stunning in its depth. They’ve doubled down on all the things which (apparently) made them a hard sell in the 90’s – their penchant for dissonance in strange places, their peculiar song structures, their surgical use of guitar textures – and the results are incredible. The Heart Is A Monster is an impeccably produced record, and each song is packed with a myriad of differing elements, each one of which is tucked and sewn into the perfect spot. There’s no better “Exhibit A” of all of this than the song Come Crashing, so I’m just going to stop now and leave you to listen to it.

7) DONNIE TRUMPET & THE SOCIAL EXPERIMENT – Surf
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2015 saw new releases from Kendrick Lamar, Dr. Dre, A$AP Rocky, Drake, Future, Drake and Future, Young Thug, Vince Staples and Earl Sweatshirt – but I prefer Surf to all of them. Released as a free mixtape at the end of May² by a group of Chicago musicians (including Chance The Rapper), Surf is a tricky album to pin down. It’s got a flow all its own, juxtaposing moments of almost overpowering exuberance with moments of still melancholy, sometimes within the span of a single song (Slip Slide), sometimes with the shift from one song to another (and sometimes both).

Like the Young Fathers album listed above, there’s a ramshackle feel to a lot of the music on Surf, as though it were created in the moment out of what was available. There’s no sense of urgency or stress as a result of this, though (this is no coincidence, as the album was recorded over the course of two years). The music on Surf is never not relaxed, and seems to spring forth like water, going wherever it’s got to at whatever pace it must. It’s an easy album to get lost in, and it’s even easier to want to stay there.

One final note: the song below, Sunday Candy, is my favorite song of 2015. Give it a listen!

6) SUFJAN STEVENS – Carrie and Lowell
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It was 2010 the last time that Sufjan Stevens released an album, the occasionally brilliant, occasionally frustrating Age of Adz. On a purely conceptual level, that album was a giddy, delightful kiss-off to all the people who didn’t want anymore damn Christmas albums or mixed media nonsense from the guy who promised us an album for every state. As music, though, The Age of Adz often collapsed under its own manic weight.

Carrie and Lowell, by contrast, is weightless. The music here is among the most clear and sobering that Stevens has ever crafted, and the remarkable presence that everything on the album has is anchored all the more by the fact that so much of it deals with absence. Stevens’ mother (Carrie, from the title; Lowell is Stevens’ stepfather) passed away from stomach cancer in 2012, and the music here was borne as an act of reconciliation, with Stevens trying to work through the reality of his relationship with a woman who existed largely in the periphery of his life.

Carrie and Lowell isn’t a giant dirge, though; this isn’t Benji. Yes, there’s sorrow on these songs, but there’s longing and joy, too. And even though Stevens is working with a fraction of the musical palette he’s utilized over the past ten years here, he’s never made a collection of songs as singular and powerful as this before. And given his career, that’s really saying something.

5) COURTNEY BARNETT – Sometimes I Sit and Think and Sometimes I Just Sit
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By the time Small Poppies came on for the first time, I thought I had Courtney Barnett’s debut album all figured out. I’d already heard the first three songs on Sometimes I Sit and Think (including the sublime Pedestrian At Best), and I thought I knew where things were going to go (or at least were likely to go) from there. Oh, what hubris on my part. For the next seven minutes, I sat and listened, spellbound. What I was hearing sounded like an alternate-universe Ultraviolence song which Jack White stumbled by mistake, pounding out surf rock versions of his Ball and Biscuit guitar jams. Put simply, that was not something I was expecting. That first listen of Small Poppies is something that’s going to stick in my memory for a long time.

Sometimes I Sit and Think is full of unexpected surprises like that. Hell, half of the joy of the album when first listening to it is wondering where Courtney’s wry, free-association lyrics are going to take you next. The humor on this album is an absolute delight, and as icing on the cake, it’s witty without a shred of pretense or irony (“Don’t jump little boy/don’t jump off that roof/You’ve got your whole life ahead of you/you’re still in your youth/I’d give anything to have skin like you”). It’s a charming album, but not a cloying one. It’s fun, but not overbearing, laid-back, but never boring, and it’s as far as debut albums go, it’s practically without equal.

4) NATALIE PRASS – Natalie Prass
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Natalie Prass’ self-titled album was the first album I listened to front to back in 2015. It was released a mere three weeks into the year, when the Midwest was wracked with snow and ice – and I remember feeling there was a roaring fireplace right in front of me the entire time it was on. I fell asleep to it on the Metra more than once during commutes from the suburbs to the city of Chicago, and that didn’t really have anything to do with the music being soothing (which it largely is), but rather, because it made me feel as though I was at home, even in a traincar full of strangers.

Every song on Natalie Prass feels like it was encased in amber and unearthed many years later, a musical time capsule of sorts. The instrumentation virtually eschews anything electronic, favoring instead an abundance of strings, horns and woodwinds. And Prass’ voice is another anachronism. She doesn’t wield it as weapon, poised at the front of the mix and ready to plow you over with its power. Most of the time, it’s a wispy coo that floats around all the other instruments, sometimes getting lost among them, only to surface a few beats later. I know there’s a fair amount of people who’ve dismissed this album as Lite FM nothingness, but when I came across it, it took hold of me in a way few other things this year did. Grab a warm blanket and a hot drink, and give it listen.

3) ALABAMA SHAKES – Sound and Color
screen-shot-2015-02-10-at-8-13-20-amI know this may sound blasphemous what with Adele’s 25 having come out just a few weeks prior, but for me, there was no greater vocal performance I heard in 2015 than what Brittany Howard delivered across the 12 songs and 48 minutes of Sound and Color. It’s simply incredible; whether she’s harmonizing herself like a chorus of raindrops in Over My Head or howling like a banshee near the end of Miss You, she’s in a class all her own.

Much like Howard’s shapeshifting vocals, Sound and Color is an album that resists classification (though that didn’t stop it from debuting at number 1 on the Billboard 200 when it was released back in April). It belongs to no one genre; its Wikipedia entry lists no fewer than six: blues rock, roots rock, soul, southern rock, garage rock and Americana – and I don’t think the album is ever really wholly any one of those.

More than any other album on this list, Sound and Color makes exceptional use of space. Songs will sometimes erode away into almost nothing, only to erupt in an explosion of sound moments (see: Gimme All Your Love). This isn’t merely a dynamic trick, a quiet/LOUD one-two like Mogwai might do. When it happens, it’s the result of a transformation, a near absence of sound suddenly morphing into a total presence of one. It’s a hard thing to capture into words, and I’m admittedly not doing that good of a job with it. Point being: if you haven’t listened to Sound and Color, listen to Sound and Color. In 2015, there was nothing else like it.

2) SHAMIR – Ratchet
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The first time I heard Shamir via the song On The Regular, I was in a car with friends heading up to Wisconsin for a camping trip – and I must confess that I didn’t really like it. I didn’t dislike it, per se, but On The Regular, for those who’ve never heard it before, will not sound like whatever you think a song like On The Regular might sound like. There is nothing “regular” about it; it is totally, beautifully, deliriously unique. And it took a second listen before that truth really sparked up in my brain.

Ratchet is an album that doesn’t stay in one place for too long. It can be elegant and soulful one minute, and feverish and trippy the next – and it’s not afraid of ballads, either (indeed, my favorite song on the album, Demon, happens to fall into that category). There’s a lot of comparisons that people have made about the music on Ratchet, but the thing that comes to my mind most often when listening to it isn’t usually people’s first instinct: it’s LCD Soundsystem. Like Jame Murphy, Shamir has a fondness for varied percussion (bells, blocks, tambourine, taut trap kit drum beats) and spastic, laserlike synth pulses. Unlike James Murphy, Shamir’s got a magnificent voice, and none of his songs overstay their welcome at any point. For a lot of albums, a person could reasonably argue that they could have been made by anybody. Ratchet, by contrast, could only have been made by Shamir.

1) FAITH NO MORE – Sol Invictus
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Don’t let that #1 fool you – Sol Invictus is not the best album of 2015. It’s honestly debatable whether or not it’s even really my favorite album of 2015 (though I’d be hard-pressed to name something I listened to more). It is, however, a miracle of sorts – a comeback album that actually signifies a comeback of something.

Sol Invictus sounds decidedly like a Faith No More album, and while a band retaining their sound after a prolonged absence isn’t exactly noteworthy on its own (see: Sleater-Kinney’s excellent No Cities To Love, another 2015 release), it’s a revelation here, because when the album starts up, a hard fact becomes obvious very quickly: Faith No More have no modern-day contemporaries.

Yes, bands like Incubus and the Red Hot Chili Peppers are still technically around, but they’ve diluted themselves into forms that bare only a passing resemblance to what they once were – and no one has rushed in to pick up the banners they once carried. This is not a criticism, but an observation – and in fairness, Faith No More don’t have anything on Sol Invictus that sounds like, say, Jizzlobber. But the truth of the matter is that music like this – music with a goofy theatricality, a poppy sensibility, all being mashed together by hard rock’s teeth – just doesn’t get made any more. Faith No More were an anomaly back in the 90’s, and they’re even more so now. When Mike Patton yowls “May the dead live!” over and over again on Matador, he’s not lying – with Sol Invictus, the dead really have come back to life. And I couldn’t be happier to have them.

1No disrespect meant to any of these bands, all of whom I adore.
2You can download the album here.

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2014: My Top Ten Albums of the Year

It’s December 17th at the time of this writing, and 2014 is on its way out. Now last year, I put this list out a bit too soon and ended up excluding a certain album by Beyoncé in doing so. I waited a bit this year and I’m glad I did, because something similar happened, and I was ready for it.

So. The ten albums below are the ones that have had the most impact on me throughout the year; for me, they’re the ten best that 2014 had to offer. This list used to be a Top 25, but I’ve shaved it down some. Ten just feels right.

With that, here we go:

THE TOP 10 ALBUMS OF 2014

10) SWANS – To Be Kind

Swans - To Be Kind Since their reformation in 2010, Swans have been descending deeper and deeper into some treacherous well of primal, cosmic terror – and for our benefit (thanks???), they’ve been grabbing whatever malignancies that they can find down there, and have proceeded to hammer and sculpt them into songs. Maybe that’s hyperbolic, but what *other* conclusion can you possibly draw while listening to (nay, enduring) something like Bring The Sun/Toussaint L’Ouverture for 34 minutes?

It’s been said again and again, but it needs to be said perhaps one more time: there’s not another ensemble who’s reformed after such a prolonged absence that’s come back with as pure and as natural a vision as Swans have. To Be Kind is (as The Seer was before it) the pinnacle of what the band’s been reaching for their entire career – and whatever’s left in that horrible well, rest assured they’ll find it.

9) EMA – The Future’s Void

EMA -The Future's Void This year, Zola Jesus pushed herself further into pop territory than she’s ever been with Taiga, while Margaret Chardiet (aka Pharmakon) crafted a nightmarish ode to decaying bodies with Bestial Burden. Somewhere in between the expansive joy of the former and the sense of danger of the latter is EMA’s The Future’s Void, one of the catchiest – and noisiest – albums of the year.

The songs on The Future’s Void sneakily play against expectation; Cthulu evokes not Lovecraftian doom, but the good ol’ fashioned blues, rendered through a canyon. Dead Celebrity, completely devoid of cynicism, is instead a surprisingly sweet ballad about fame and death. And Neuromancer (below) is a hypnotic tribal jam adrift on a sea of electronic waves – and not, you know, a Billy Idol song.

8) RUN THE JEWELS – Run The Jewels 2

Run The Jewels - Run The Jewels 2 About 40 seconds into All My Life, Killer Mike spits out the line “pow pow pow leave your chestplate open.” It’s a cold, visceral image, one that just so happens to be underscored with pistol sound effects from the Nintendo 64 game Goldeneye. Whatever make/model MIA used for gunz in Paper Planes is studiously absent here.

It’s juxtapositions like that which make RTJ2 so fascinating to listen to. During Close Your Eyes (And Count To Fuck), Mike caps off a particularly volatile verse denouncing the prison industrial complex with an aside about religious indoctrination, and then El-P chimes in with “they’ll strip your kids to the nude and then tell ’em God will forgive ’em.” That line hits like a freight train every time I hear it, and the album is loaded with lines just like it. Killer Mike and El-P have each been doing their thing in the hip-hop scene for ten-plus years now, and this here is only their second collaboration as Run The Jewels. They’re apparently already at work on album three. When you listen to RTJ2, you can’t help but think “how could they not be?”

7) CHARLI XCX – Sucker

Charli XCX - Sucker Sucker has been out in the world for maybe a week or so now, but it feels like it’s an old friend. Maybe that’s because Charli XCX has been graciously gifting us with a song here and a song there for six months (to the point where roughly half of the album had been made available in advance of its December release). Some of these songs, like Boom Clap (THE summer jam of 2014), require no introduction. Other songs that have come out subsequently, like Gold Coins, may not have gotten as much exposure or press, but are nonetheless remarkable (were it to flirt with a minor key, Gold Coins could easily have fit onto the latest Nine Inch Nails album).

All of the songs released thus far on Sucker, though, appear near the beginning of the album. Everything on the latter half of the record is relatively uncharted, in a chronological sense. And while there’s tons of great songs to be found there, the album’s closer, Need Ur Love, is the clear standout for me: an entirely unexpected and deliriously wonderful cap-off to a fantastic album. It’s the Bound 2 of 2014. It may, in fact, be better.

6) D’ANGELO & THE VANGUARD – Black Messiah

D'Angelo & The Vanguard - Black Messiah As mentioned above, Charli XCX’s Sucker has been out for roughly one week. Black Messiah, D’Angelo’s long long long long long awaited follow-up to 2000’s Voodoo, has been out for two days. I’ve listened to it only twice. I will no doubt listen to it many times more. But in those two listens, it’s already been made plain to me that the album is something extraordinary. Like the third My Bloody Valentine album that casually surfaced last year, Black Messiah is at this point less an album for me and more of a reward for patience and faith. It’s musical fulfillment on the deepest and most gratifying level possible.

I can’t really distill the album down for you right now. I don’t know if I even should. And I’m pretty sure that the sixth place ranking up above isn’t honest. But it’s what I did. With that, it should be given that I don’t know how to introduce or summarize a song like Really Love at this point either, so I’ll just drop it below and be done with it.

5) AGAINST ME! – Transgender Dysphoria Blues

Against Me - Transgender Dysphoria Blues Transgender Dysphoria Blues was the only album of 2014 which moved me to tears, and it did so more than once. I hesitate to ascribe a reason for this, as I’ve seen more than a few pieces declaring the album’s emotional resonance to be “universal”, a label which is more than a little disrespectful (not to mention tone-deaf). When you take a specific, personal and direct experience and attribute universality to it, you’re degrading it – even if your intentions are malicious. Yes, this is the first Against Me! album to be released following Laura Jane Grace’s coming out as a transgender woman. And when she sings “never quite the woman that she wanted to be” on Paralytics States (below), my eyes well up. I don’t feel that trying to find the “why?” of it is productive or worthwhile. Where would I end up at? I don’t see the point in trying to find the wellspring there, and frankly, it doesn’t matter. These are Laura’s songs, and we’re all lucky enough to be able to hear them. Nothing more needs to be said than that.

4) SIA – 1000 Forms of Fear

Sia - 1000 Forms of Fear 50% of the time. If I had to pin down how frequently Sia’s vocals are intelligible during the course of her swing-for-the-fences sixth album 1000 Forms of Fear, I’d say 50% of the time. For a pop album, this doesn’t really compute; by definition, these songs are supposed to be singalong songs, songs that stir something in you so deeply that you can’t help but join in.

On this album, Sia’s rocketship of a voice is a smokescreen half the time, so you end up gravitating to those bits and pieces of phrases that float through when the smoke clears momentarily. On Hostage (which would’ve been right at home on Paramore’s self-titled album last year), the line that sticks with you is “don’t lock me up.” An odd moment to take away from such an upbeat song, to be sure. Sometimes, though, it isn’t even a lyric that you take with you; on Free The Animal (which you can stream below), it’s the Dan Deacon-esque glissandi that Sia carves her voice into during the chorus.

Sia’s been making music for nearly 20 years now, but hasn’t made a straight-up pop album until now. It was worth the wait, and then some.

3) ST. PAUL & THE BROKEN BONES – Half The City

St. Paul & The Broken Bones - Half The City I was up late one night in the summer watching The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson with my girlfriend, and they showed a still of St. Paul & The Broken Bones in advance of their performances on the show. I didn’t know what to expect; the band looked like the collective kid-brother of The Mighty Mighty Bosstones or something. Imagine my shock, then, when they started playing soul music, music that sounded as though it was being summoned directly from an era in which none of the band members were even alive to experience.

Every once in a while, a band does this; they sound as though they’re coming directly from a time that has since passed. Wolfmother did it with their debut album. The Black Keys did it with Rubber Factory. Hell, even Iron Maiden managed to make an 80’s Iron Maiden album in 2003 with Dance of Death. And now, St. Paul & The Broken Bones’ Half The City is among them, a musical anachronism of sorts. An album from the now that just as easily could have been part of the then. And a classic in every sense of the word.

2) GOAT – Commune

Goat - Commune With a name like Goat, spelled out in gothic lettering, and track names like To Travel The Path Unknown and Hide From The Sun, you might think Commune is a metal album (and Goat, by extension, a metal band). Neither is true, though the inclination to think the opposite is understandable. In terms of lineage, Goat hover somewhere between Comets On Fire and Dungen in the psych-rock omniverse; they sound, though, like neither. The songs on Commune are vast, cavernous things that sound like they’ve blistered over from being left out in the sun too long. In that sense, the album feels not *old*, but ancient.

Commune is only Goat’s second album, a fact I inevitably marvel at every time I listen to it. I loved World Music, their debut, but that album is a comparatively tamer affair. You can sense the band still finding their footing when it’s playing. With Commune, this feeling is nonexistant; every song feels like a rust-tinged relic carried over from someplace far away. Every song is as it must be. Forgive me if that sounds dopey – just listen to Gathering of Ancient Tribes and you’ll see what I mean.

1) CLOUD NOTHINGS – Here and Nowhere Else

Cloud Nothings - Here And Nowhere Else The last time Cloud Nothings released an album was in 2012. Attack On Memory it was called, and it was an open, muscular and bracing album (due in no small part to Steve Albini’s engineering). And now, two years later, we have Here And Nowhere Else. In terms of the sound, it’s the opposite of Attack On Memory; where that album was expensive and unrestrained, Here And Nowhere Else feels cramped and strangled, like a gallon of gas forced into too small a container. The songs themselves aren’t exactly filled with any more or less dread or doubt than the previous album, but they certainly *feel* darker. The entire album feels as though it’s straining to escape some sort of prison that it’s stuck in, giving it an energy that Attack On Memory lacks.

When Now Hear In comes on in my workout playlist, I pick up the pace. When I’m Not Part of Me comes on my iPod while I’m walking around, my stride increases. When Quieter Today comes on while I’m driving, I instinctively speed up, and have to concentrate and force myself to slow down. And when No Thoughts comes on, wherever I am, I need to get up and move around. It’s not a song I can listen to sitting still. The energy that permeates this album is transferred directly to me. Every time. It’s the top album of the year for me, and from the moment I first heard it, it could never not have been.

So there we go. That’s all for this year. Comments welcome, as always. Take care, everyone!

2014: THE TOP TEN METAL ALBUMS

Between NPR’s continual repping of Agalloch, Rolling Stone casually sneaking a YOB album into their Top 50 album list of 2014, and Baby Metal now possessing their own subreddit, the trend of metal seeping out of the fringes and into the mainstream is showing no signs of slowing down.

Is this a good thing? I like to think it is. It’s still a little surreal at times, though. I don’t know; I don’t really have a deeper point I’m working towards here – this is just an observation.

So with that, let’s get down to the list…

…PSYCH! Haha, okay, so there is a list, and it is coming – but first, there’s something else we’re going to do. You see, there were five albums that I’ve adored this year that are – for lack of a better term – outliers. All five are definitely in orbit around the metal realm, but they don’t really “fit” anywhere on the list itself. And while that all may seem arbitrary, it’s not to me. So here they are:

THE OUTLIERS

SOEN – Tellurian

Soen - Tellurian While the comparison’s admittedly imperfect, in a lot of ways, Soen *feels* more like Opeth than whatever it is that Opeth has presently devolved into. Considering Soen boasts former Opeth drummer Martin Lopez among its members (in addition to Joel Ekelöf of Willowtree), this isn’t all that surprising. But Tellurian, the ensemble’s second album, and first to feature new members Joakim Platbarzdis and Stefan Stenberg, is surprising – not for how it at times resembles Opeth, but for all the ways it doesn’t. Void, which you can stream below, is a prime example of this; it reminds me a lot of Maserati or Tool, in the way it keeps expanding and building upon its central melody (and the drumwork, sweet Jesus, the drumwork; Lopez’s intricate, textured falloff in the last minute or so here is AMAZING).

No, Tellurian isn’t a substitute for Blackwater Park II, but it is a much purer distillation of the gentler direction Opeth began to take shortly after that album’s release. If Pale Communion or Heritage sounded anything like this, they’d be albums I’d go back to again and again. But they don’t. So I don’t. Fortunately, though, I’ve got Tellurian.

EMPYRIUM – The Turn of the Tides

Empyrium - The Turn of the Tides It’s been 12 years since Empyrium last released an album – and in that time, I haven’t really listened to any neofolk. It’s just lost its appeal to me somehow; I initially thought this odd, given that albums like Ulver’s Kveldssanger and Empyrium’s Weiland always made me feel rather introspective – but then I thought about how The Album Leaf and Stars of the Lid provide me that same inward focus now, so I guess it’s really not all that odd. I say all this because The Turn of the Tides is definitely *not* a neofolk album. It’s kind of like Elend? Or The 3rd & The Mortal, or even early, early Dead Can Dance – and it’s also not. Not really. The sound of The Turn of the Tides is big and expansive in its own way, as is the sorrow it imparts. You could easily dismiss a song like With The Current Into Grey as being laughable or cheesy, as you could the album as a whole. And I wouldn’t try and correct you if you did. But that’s not something I can do. As I love Rush, Estradasphere, and Danny Brown, so too do I love this.

CYNIC – Kindly Bent To Free Us

Cynic - Kindly Bent To Free Us In 1993, Cynic released their debut album, Focus – and then did nothing else for a long time. It took them 15 years to make a follow up (2008’s excellent Traced In Air), and they’ve been more or less active ever since. A few EP’s and a demo collection of a scrapped album later, and we now have Kindly Bent To Free Us. Only a six year wait this time. Not bad.

Cynic have always toed the line between death metal and a myriad of other genres – jazz, progressive rock, new age music, etc. – but here, on Kindly Bent To Free Us, they’ve jettisoned the metal portion of their sound almost entirely. People seem to split on the results, but I think it’s wonderful. The songs here are serpentine, melodic and adventurous. Hell, Mastodon kind of started to push into this territory with Crack The Skye a few years back, but sadly, they backed away from the precipice they were on with subsequent albums instead of diving right in. Refining your sound is always a bit risky, but Cynic nailed it here. The song below, Endlessly Bountiful, is one of my favorite songs of the year.

ANATHEMA – Distant Satellites

Anathema - Distant Satellites Anathema’s legacy is backwards, if you think about it. I always seem to contextualize them with people who are unfamiliar with their work by beginning with their metal roots in the early 90’s, and then moving forward from there. It’s an interesting way of framing it, yes, but it’s not the honest way to do it. Truth time: save for Eternity, Anathema’s metal output isn’t all that great. It’s just not. The first time they really made me take notice came with their lone alt-rock(ish) album, A Fine Day To Exit, and it’s the celestial, gorgeous thing they’ve since morphed into (2003’s A Natural Disaster is one of my favorite albums of all time) that’s truly noteworthy.

One of the most unique things about later-period Anathema is the wonderment their songs take in being small. Not emotionally or intellectually small, but cosmically small; that feeling you get if you start to fathom how unfathomably vast the universe is and how petty and insignificant you are in comparison – that’s where Anathema’s songs have been mined from for the past ten years. Sometimes they find sadness or longing in that space, but they’re equally as likely to find joy there. Distant Satellites begins at the former end of the spectrum, and ends at the latter, with Take Shelter. If you only listen to one song from this Outlier section, make it this one.

THE SOFT PINK TRUTH – Why Do The Heathen Rage

The Soft Pink Truth - Why Do The Heathen Rage I saved this one for last, because it’s the most important album on here. A simple explanation of what Why Do The Heathen Rage is would be that it’s a collection of black metal songs reconfigured into industrial house jams (although “jam” is pushing it, at times). That’s technically true, but there’s so much more to it than that.

In the spirit of black metal, The Soft Pink Truth is comprised of one man, Drew Daniel (perhaps better known for his work in Matmos). But Drew didn’t just put this album out because he thought it would be funny to turn a Darkthrone track into a techno song; he put it out because, as both a gay man and a fan of black metal, it’s a direct way to at once pervert, mock and confront the vile homophobic and racist politics of the black metal scene (politics which continue to persist through all manner of ignorance even in an era when Deafheaven get a write-up in The New York Times).

At this point, I’m going to stop just because there’s no way I can continue to do this topic the justice it deserves. Below you can listen to The Soft Pink Truth’s cover of Venom’s Black Metal, and I’d highly encourage you to read this article, as well. I will say this, though: the need for albums like Why Do The Heathen Rage in the metal scene at large is incalculable.

So there we go. That, as they say, is that. And now:

THE TOP TEN METAL ALBUMS OF 2014

10) ENABLER – La Fin Absolue Du Monde

Enabler - La Fin Absolue Du Monde I always find at least one album a year that I inevitably gravitate towards that’s in the vein of Enabler’s La Fin Absolue Du Mondue (the title’s French for “The Absolute End of the World” – it’s also the title of the movie-within-a-movie of John Carpenter’s Masters of Horror season one contribution, Cigarette Burns [The More You Know!]). This year, there are more than a few higher-profile releases than this one that are racking up all the praise – but La Fin Absolue Du Monde is the best; it’s got more life to it then Trap Them’s Blissfucker, it’s leaner and meaner than Mutilation Rites’ Harbinger, and it’s not as unbearably serious as that awful new Young And In The Way album.

If I had to tie it down, I’d say that La Fin Absolue Du Monde is most reminiscent to what Weekend Nachos are doing, save that Enabler are far less likely to kick the beat out from under you. But the energy, the aggression and momentum the album generates is spiritually similar. That’s all, though. Both bands are assuredly their own thing. As for you, reader, you can check out I’ve Got A Bad Feeling About This below.

9) CORMORANT – Earth Diver

Cormorant - Earth Diver I wasn’t completely sold on Cormorant’s last album, 2011’s Dwellings; it just felt like it was missing something to me. Earth Diver does not have that same problem. The songs here feel unmoored from any specific place or time; they feel, for lack of a better word, classic. And new vocalist Marcus Luscombe (who replaced founding member Arthur von Nagel last year) slips into the songs better, his raspy wails not far removed from John Haughm (of Agalloch – you’ll see them below!).

In almost every aspect, Earth Diver feels more primal and raw than its predecessor, and the shift in tone is a welcome one. Mark The Trail, which you can stream below, exemplifies this; the galloping guitars, the push/pull tension of the drums against the rest of the music, the worn-around-the-edges production, it all feels so vibrant and alive. Yes, I was reticent for what this album had in store, but for the next one? Count me the fuck in.

8) GODFLESH – A World Lit Only By Fire

Godflesh - A World Lit Only By Fire Justin K. Broadrick has been so prolific with Jesu and Final the past six or seven years that the idea of Godflesh coming back into being seemed almost non-existent. I had kind of resigned myself to the fact that the closest we’d get to that sound again from Broadrick was the nebulous and ultimately disappointing Greymachine album he did with Aaron Turner (of Isis). But lo and behold, Godflesh whirred back up again; they resumed touring, released a new EP, and then, a few month later, this – their first album in over a decade.

Godflesh’s sound is singularly simple: abrasive, pulsating, and repetitive. Guitar and bass heave about like mechanical monsters. The drums are sampled (courtesy of an Alesis 16 drum machine). And the song Carrion, in particular, underscores superbly well what Godflesh’s music does: it picks at you. It picks and gnaws and prods you until you just get lost in it.

7) FALLUJAH – The Flesh Prevails

A2000 Fallujah make the kind of death metal I get easily excited about; I mean, the genre’s sound is so stark and specific that I can’t deal with it in long bursts unless it’s, like, Carcass or Necrophagist (or Meshuggah, or any of the other brawny, technical bands). The Flesh Prevails, only Fallujah’s second album, is incredibly technical – but not impenetrable. Likewise, it’s extraordinarily melodic, too – but lest you think it’s a Soilwork album, it’s not. It occupies a space that, for me, is *the best* of both worlds.

The key to Levitation, the song I’ve shared here for you, is largely personal. The song is track five (out of nine), and it’s right around this point that if a death metal album isn’t doing it for me, I begin to zone out. Levitation had the opposite effect on me. I was transfixed, completely so. Hopefully you will be too.

6) WO FAT – The Conjuring

Wo Fat - The Conjuring I admit, I didn’t know what the hell I was getting into with The Conjuring. All I had to go on was the cover art. Which, yeah, it kicks ass, but the metal behind that madness could sound like pretty much anything. My expectations were wide open, but I’ve got to be honest with you – the lumbering hellspawn lovechild of Kyuss and Spiritual Beggars striding out to melt my face off was not high on my list of expectations.

It’s not all that difficult for a five song album that’s nearly fifty minutes long to morph into a laborious task to undertake, but Wo Fat continually command your attention throughout The Conjuring via both their hypnotic, resin-caked guitar solos and a few thoroughly unexpected flights of fancy (an all too brief cowbell breakdown surfaces to incredible effect on one of these songs; I won’t say which one – I needn’t spoil that for you). The first track on the album is below; it’s roughly ten minutes long, and it’s worth listening to every second of it.

5) AGALLOCH – The Serpent & The Sphere

Agalloch - The Serpent and The Sphere I can’t think of another band who’s success and increased exposure in recent years has pleased me more than Agalloch’s. I’ve been a fan since I picked up a copy of The Mantle from The End Records back in 2002, and I’ve never looked back. The music they create is completely unique to them. They’re a signpost band, and an impossible one at that; “sounds like Agalloch” is enough to get me to listen to pretty much any album, even though I know that nothing sounds like Agalloch.

The Serpent & The Sphere is the band’s fifth album, and overall, it’s just a bit lighter than their previous effort, 2010’s Marrow of the Spirit. But “lighter” is relative, and as is the case with all of Agalloch’s music, there’s a tremendous amount of beauty in the bleakness that they conjure up (of which there is still plenty). I can’t think of a better song to share with you than the album’s opener, Birth and Death of the Pillars of Creation; it’s the best example of what makes Agalloch who they are. May the accolades continue to flow their way.

4) ELECTRIC WIZARD – Time To Die

Electric Wizard - Time To Die A week or so ago, I made an unusual discovery while taking a long (90-ish minutes) train ride: Time To Die is a great album to fall asleep to. No, really. It did the job with gusto on a particular noisy train when all the old standby “albums for sleepin'” on my iPod failed. I thought about this, and actually, it makes perfect sense. Time To Die pushes you towards oblivion. It’s not so much an album as it is a soul-punishing gauntlet. That might not sound particularly appealing or enjoyable, but at least for me, I’ve found that it is. The music bores into your soul, and in doing so, puts you into an almost zenlike state. You’re everything, and nothing, asleep and awake, alive and dead.

Oh, and also, there’s lots of Satan on Time To Die, too. You know, if that’s your thing. Dude’s everywhere.

Now at this stage in their career, I really didn’t expect Electric Wizard to have an album like Time To Die in them still. Their last couple of albums were good, but not great. The cynic in me just assumed this dovetail would continue. Good thing there’s a demonbat thing on the album’s cover to tell that dove where to piss off to (hint: anywhere). I’ve shared the title track below; there are better songs on the album than it, but it showcases best what the album does to you in perhaps the most accessible manner possible.

3) DESTRAGE – Are You Kidding Me? No.

Destrage - Are You Kidding Me No Of all the albums on this list, Are You Kidding Me? No. was the only one that left me giddy with a big dumb smile smeared across my face the entire time it was playing. It’s a genre-jumper, but it’s not an aimless one; every vault is precise and executed impeccably. Heady Dillinger Escape Plan riffage collides with breakneck power metal solos, which bounce atop half-beat breakdowns, and then…shit, I don’t know. There’s music box melodies. Vocal harmonies erupt out of nowhere, there’s soulful warbling, death growls, glitchy electronic bursts, symphonic keyboards, and that’s all in the FIRST SONG.

I’m not going to try and deconstruct this anymore for you; the album resists deconstruction. More to the point, deconstructing it makes it all sound exhausting – and nothing could be further from the truth. I don’t know anything else about Destrage save for this one album, so I don’t know if they’ve always been like this, or if this gleeful wall-smashing of theirs is a recent development, but either way, I am sold. Oh, and that first song I mentioned previously is below. Go ahead and hit play, and toggle repeat on, too, while you’re at it. You’re going to want to do that.

2) NE OBLIVISCARIS – Citadel

Ne Obliviscaris - Citadel When I was younger, I used to be big into progressive metal – Evergrey, Dream Theater, Pain of Salvation, pretty much anything on InsideOut. But I’m not anymore. With a few exceptions, it’s just so goofy, it’s hard to still be moved by it at age 30 in the same manner that I was when I was 15 or 16. Citadel, the second album by Ne Obliviscaris, has a few fleeting moments of overly-gooey sincerity, but these moments come and go, and they fail to take anything away from what is one of the most startlingly realized and passionate metal albums I’ve heard in a long long time.

Much of this is due to Tim Charles’ violin work, which isn’t treated as a sort of novelty, but is fully integrated into the music. It’s every bit as vital as the guitars, and it adds a surprising burst of color to the songs whenever it surfaces. And the songs themselves (most of which approach if not exceed the ten minute mark) are winding, thrilling endeavors. They never run out of steam and they don’t get bogged down in repetition or pointless noodling. They carry you someplace, and it’s someplace you’ve never been before. So, if you’ve 17 minutes on your hands, give Triptych Lux a listen. You won’t hear anything else like it.

1) ANIMALS AS LEADERS – The Joy of Motion

Animals As Leaders - The Joy of Motion Metal or otherwise, there’s not a truer album title to be found this year than The Joy of Motion, the third album by Animals As Leaders. Just read it again: The Joy of Motion. That’s EXACTLY what the album showcases, and in doing so, it pulls of some kind or miracle. The Joy of Motion never, ever, ever stops its forward momentum. It changes it, twists and reconfigures it into strange and exciting new forms before you, but it never gives you a serious reprieve from motion of the music.

I usually hate this, because nonstop motion negates itself over time; if everything is always moving, then nothing is really moving. Excitement is then reduced to boredom. And it’s easy, oh so easy, to surmise if an album is going to go barreling off towards that limbo with no hope of ever coming back. The Joy of Motion openly defies that limbo. It’s a breathless and thrilling declaration, a declaration that yes, actually, you can keep moving and not lose anything – you can actually keep moving and gain everything. I had thought that impossible. It’s good to be wrong sometimes.

There’s no metal album I’ve listened to more this year, and to be continually reminded that (in the words of Billy Corgan) the impossible is possible every time I listen to it, well, there couldn’t really be any other choice for my number one metal album of the year. Spend a few minutes with Tooth and Claw, below. It’s its own reward.

Well folks, if you made it this far, thank you. That’s all I’ve got for now. More lists are coming soon, so stay tuned!

copy of a copy of a

You guys ever hear of this little band called Foo Fighters? I’m sure you have. They’re rad, and they’re everywhere, and they have been for a great long while, and they will continue to be for even longer than that because they are as rad as they are.

I mean, if I were to say:

There goes my hero
Watch him as he goes

it’s pretty much guaranteed that approximately 100% of anyone who heard that began air drumming at some point during that sentence. That’s how rad the Foos are.

So anyways, in November of this year, Foo Fighters are going to release their eighth studio album, Sonic Highways (which you can pre-order in a multitude of configurations here). As far as albums go, the idea behind it is pretty intriguing: the eight tracks on the album were recorded in eight different US cities, each with its own rich musical history (Austin, Chicago, Los Angeles, Nashville, New Orleans, New York, Seattle, and Washington, D.C.). They’ve also got a documentary series on HBO chronicling this endeavor, the first episode of which airs tonight. And as an added bonus to all of this, the majority of the album’s eight songs feature a musical guest from the city in question. So NYC’s Chuck D will make an appearance on I Am A River, the track record in New York, and DC’s Bad Brains will appear on The Feast and The Famine, Carrie Underwood on Congregation (laid to tape in Nashville), and so on. There’s already so much depth to these eight songs, and we haven’t even heard most of them yet. So I’m excited. You should be to.

I say “most of them” because the album’s first song, Something From Nothing, was released yesterday. It was recorded in Chicago at Electrical Audio by none other than legendary curmudgeon Steve Albini, a man who to the uninitiated is perhaps most famous for being the guy who recorded Nirvana’s final studio album, In Utero. Granted, this song had been teased by Dave Grohl a few weeks ago in this amazing clip, unbeknownst to us – but now we can listen to the whole thing, including that blood-curdling scream.

Oh man, isn’t that great? I love it! I love it! I – wait, what?!?!

……

That’s SO COOL! Holy Diver!!!

Yes, that’s right. Grohl & co. reached back some 32 odd years and grabbed a portion of the main riff from Holy Diver, the eponymous tune from Ronnie James Dio’s very first solo album, and put it in this song. Given that the whole idea behind the album is all about musical history and legacy, a riff lift like this just kind of makes sense. Also, it’s not like Grohl and Dio (RIP, sir) were strangers; they both appeared in that wretched Tenacious D movie together. And Grohl’s gone on record as being a big metal fan.

How big? This big:

PICTURED: Stephen O'Malley [of Sunn O)))], Dave Grohl, Lemmy Kilmister (Motörhead), Wino (Saint Vitus), & Greg Anderson [also of Sunn O)))]

PICTURED: Stephen O’Malley [of Sunn O)))], Dave Grohl, Lemmy Kilmister (Motörhead), Wino (Saint Vitus), & Greg Anderson [also of Sunn O)))]

That right there’s a press photo taken from the Probot recording sessions. Now Probot was a little-known album Dave Grohl spent four years willing into existence in the early 2000’s – and it bears a striking resemblance to Sonic Highways in terms of its structure. You see, around that time, Grohl (being the multi-instrumentalist madman that he is) recorded several heavy, heavy tunes, each with a different take on a sort of classic metal flavor. Very gradually over the next few years, he began reaching out to a series of venerated metal musicians, asking them if they’d like to do vocals on any of these songs. According to a Rolling Stone interview, Grohl’s dream list was as follows:

Eric Wagner from Trouble, Snake from Voivod, Cronos [from Venom], Lemmy and Wino. We started making phone calls trying to find all these people.

All of those folks wound up on the Probot album, as did Max Cavalera (Sepultura/Soulfly), Lee Dorian (Cathedral/Napalm Death), Mike Dean (Corrosion of Conformity), Kurt Brecht (Dirty Rotten Imbeciles) and Tom G. Warrior (Celtic Frost). Oh, and King Diamond *and* Jack Black are on it, too. As is Kim Thayil (of Soundgarden). So yeah, this thing is LOADED. And while it’s not the most engaging album ever, it comes from a place of love (the video for Shake Your Blood, the song featuring Lemmy, comes from perhaps a place of too much love – the caged, dancing Sucide Girl models is pretty icky and decidedly un-Grohl, and not in a good way. It’s the kind of attitude that metal, and music videos in general, need to jettison much more quickly than they actually are).

Grohl doesn’t need the pedigree he’s got to lift a riff from Dio, and whether or not you’re down with it is going to depend largely on how much the idea of the association of the two musicians together pleases you. Personally, I love it. I don’t think I could love it more, actually. It doesn’t bother me, in much the same way that Jet stealing the a healthy dose of Iggy Pop’s Lust For Life didn’t bother me back when that was a thing.

You know what does bother me, though? This:

*COUGH*THAT’SABLATANTRIPOFFOFPHARRELL*COUGH*BEINGUSEDTOSELLFAKESUGARWATER*COUGH*

And this:

*COUGHCOUGH*GEETHATMAJESTYSOUNDSANAWFULLOTLIKESIGURROS*COUGHCOUGH*

*Ahem*

Sorry.

Something in my throat.

Someday You Will Find Me

There’s an excellent episode of The Adventures of Pete & Pete where Little Pete takes a shortcut to school and ends up passing by a house where a band is jamming in the garage. He stays for a moment, nodding his head along to the music while the band rocks out, and then he takes off. He continues along for a while, and then suddenly, in the middle of the street, he stops. It hits him. He has a favorite song.

Hard Day's Pete

This is, in a broad sense, a good thing – although earlier in the episode Little Pete would disagree (he dismisses those who call into his radio show with song requests as “jerkweeds”). But the awful side of this discovery soon sets in: yeah, he’s got a favorite song, but he has no idea what it’s called – and no idea if he’ll ever find it again. That one moment where it fused with him is gone, and the band that rocked the song out seems to have vanished.

This kind of thing doesn’t happen much anymore. In 2014, if you hear a song that you dig but don’t know, you can just hum it into this thing, and it’ll tell you. Case closed. But in 1994? This type of thing could haunt you.

A year or so after this episode of Pete & Pete aired, I was in Florida with my family for the summer, and while they were all outside on the beach having a blast, I was confined indoors, recovering from an awful sunburn I had gotten the day before. The skin on my shoulders was peeling off, collecting into fleshy knots on the bed I was lying on, and every part of me felt like the surface of the sun. I had all the blinds in the room closed to keep the light out, and my only companion was the radio.

We stayed in a small town not too far away from Daytona Beach, and I have no idea where the FM stations available to me were originating from, or even what they were called. But there was one station in particular I listened to that played a nice mix of the rock stuff I was into at the time: Stone Temple Pilots, Smashing Pumpkins, Rage Against The Machine, Pearl Jam. Good stuff. And after a patch of advertisement white noise had dissolved, this quiet song started up. And then I heard these words:

How many special people change?
How many lives are living strange?
Where were you while we were getting high?

The song continued. I can’t quite put the feeling into words, but it made me feel as though the outside I was currently cut off from was actually all around me, in every corner of my darkened room. The burning on my skin eased up, and I felt better. Not *good*, but better.

And then the song was over.

The radio didn’t have any kind of bumper that identified the song, and I didn’t know what I had just listened to or who wrote it, and it remained that way for the rest of the summer. Eventually, when school picked up again, I learned that the song in question was Champagne Supernova by Oasis, and it was on the same album as Wonderwall (which I promptly purchased). If that sounds anticlimactic, well, it was. Intentionally so. I didn’t set off on a madcap quest like Little Pete did to recapture that song as mine, as each piece of it gradually drifted away from me. As much as I would’ve loved to hear the song again, I think part of me was hesitant to chase after it because deep down, I kind of liked that for one moment, that song made me feel better when I was feeling crummy. What would happen the next time I heard it? That was something I decided to leave to fate for a time, and it was a good decision; when vacation was over, every time I tuned into Q101 in Chicago, I’d be brimming with anticipation that maybe I’d hear this song again.

Oasis - Champagne Supernova

Of course, when the mystery song identified itself, I quickly abandoned this idea – why deprive yourself of a good thing? Once I got my copy of (What’s The Story) Morning Glory?, I skipped to the end of the disc and listened to this song again, and again, and again. Champagne Supernova is arguably the best song Oasis has ever written, and it also holds the distinction of being their only song in the 6-8 minute range that doesn’t totally run out of steam midway through. It’s got one of those magical choruses that burrows into your head and stays there for all time, despite it not making a whole lot of sense. But it doesn’t *have* to make sense. That’s the beauty of this whole music thing. It just has to grab you. Noel Gallagher – a man perhaps too famous for speaking first and thinking later – offered an unusually astute rebuttal to an interviewer chiding the lyric “slowly walking down the hall/faster than a cannonball” by saying the following:

I don’t fucking know what it means. But are you telling me, when you’ve got 60,000 people singing it, they don’t know what it means? It means something different to every one of them.

I know what that line means to me: things don’t always stay how you remember them.

//

I was at a music festival with some friends in the summer of 2006, waiting for Jens Lekman to take the stage. It was still early on in the day, and the sun was just starting to peak out from behind the clouds, and I was feeling great. I’d stumbled across Oh You’re So Silent Jens right at the start of spring, and I couldn’t get enough of it. It was simple, melodic, funny, lovely – the whole package. Jens soon took the stage, and I blissed out. But then about midway through the set, Jens introduced a song that he had written about a friend of his, and it was a song that I hadn’t heard before. And it leveled me. As soon as it was over, I wanted to listen to it again, but I had no way of doing adrift in a sea of people. So once I got in front of a computer, I tried to find out what the song was called by futily trying to force my euphoria into something resembling a Google search, and after about a half-hour or so, I wound up at a Jens Lekman fan site (I think?) which informed me of something awful: this song (A Postcard To Nina), while occasionally played live, wasn’t on any Jens Lekman album. In fact, it wasn’t on any album or recording anywhere. It was a song that had yet to be recorded and released. The only version of this song that I could go back to was the one in my mind.

I tried searching for a bootleg recording of it, now that I knew the name, but was unsuccessful. I played the song in my head as often as I could, hoping not to lose it in the caverns of my memory. Sometimes, I’d catch myself humming certain parts of it while I was idling, or doing something mundane. It just kind of came out of me when there wasn’t a whole lot happening, perhaps to remind me that hey, you might not be up to much now, but you remember this, right?

Time went on, and my relationship to this song had settled in. This was just How It Was. The edges of A Postcard To Nina started to grow dull, the melody becoming warped in the fog of my ever-cluttering mind, and I began to feel a bit like Little Pete, losing piece after piece of this one song that was his and his alone, until all he could remember was one single note. It wasn’t quite that dramatic, but it sure felt like it. Then, in September of 2007 – a year and change after I had first heard it – Jens Lekman released his second album, Night Falls Over Kortedala. And guess what the fourth track was?

I was elated – but my first time listening to A Postcard To Nina in recorded form was an odd one, because it sounded so different from what I had looping around in my brain for fourteen months. The song I heard in 2006 was breezy, and light. The studio version on Kortedala is thick and lush, full of horns and xylophone and tambourine, a flirty bassline, and a wall of soulful, cooing backing vocals. Now I love this song, and I’m glad I can listen to it whenever I’d like, be it with the click of a button, or through a needle on vinyl – but I didn’t realize for a long time that the second I pressed play on track four of Kortedala, the version of A Postcard To Nina I had been carrying along in my head all this time was lost. And I do mean “lost.” I don’t remember how that song sounded anymore when I had first heard it. Not even one note. The only way I was able to get some of it back to contrast with it up above was via a shoddy, 51 second cell phone video on Youtube. The sound of the song is there (kind of), but that’s someone else’s memory, someone else’s experience – not mine. It’s not what I had. And it’s not what I remembered. That, it seems, is gone.

But maybe not. Little Pete did go back to that garage where he first heard that Polaris song, and he was able to pull it out from the void in his mind; his band became the band that played that song. Maybe I just need to head back to Union Park on a partly-cloudy day in July and wait for a while for that old version of A Postcard To Nina to surface again. Set and setting, so to speak.

And if doesn’t come back, that’s okay. It was around.

I Was Around