Year in Review |
Albums of the Yearby AV Music Staff |
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Singer/songwriter Jason Anderson
The Wreath (K)
Singer/songwriter Jason Anderson (aka Wolf Colonel) synthesized six years of tireless touring around the world, a catalog of diverse recordings, and the influence of punk, power pop, and folk, and came up with The Wreath. A beautiful, moving audio postcard from the road, the record includes exultant love letters to family, friends, and life all wrapped in sweet, simple melodies, shimmering piano, clean acoustic guitar, and backed up by drums, bass, electric guitar, even a little brass when appropriate. The Wreath also has introspective confessionals that overflow with sentiments that create an easy empathy within the listener. —matt barber
Antony and the Johnsons
I Am A Bird Now (Secretly Canadian)
Discovered by Current 93’s David Tibet and mentored by Lou Reed, Antony And The Johnsons’ star exploded this year with the release of their second album. Fronted by the romantically deep voice of Antony (no surnames please) and backed by a rotating cast of string players and percussionists, nothing else released this year rivalled this amazingly beautiful meditation of love, loss and despair. Although the songs drip with a powerful melancholy, it’s still impossible to ignore the hope within. Probably not since Brian Wilson has so much happiness come from such deep dark sentiments. Perhaps the greatest thing about I Am A Bird Now is the fact that it arrives as a full and complete artistic statement. Few records these days can make that same boast without falling into cliche or being tied to a specific time period. We should be grateful for its arrival.—tracy morrow
Black Mountain
Black Mountain (Secretly Canadian)
The debut from the Vancouver, BC cult-like outfit displays that they are ready, willing and able to jump from terrestrial roots-garage and heavier-than-hell cosmic jamming to abstract, psychedelic funk from places unknown. If ever a band has been able to distill and reconstruct a vast and impressive record collection, here they are. One minute they are at a sludgy “Sabbath do the Stooges” number called “Druganaut,” then they are The Velvet Underground (“No Satisfaction”) on into no wavey dance rock (“No Hits”) into the all-in-blender pocket symphony with “Heart Of Snow” and the alternating spare and chaotic comedown of “Faulty Times.” —donny kutzbach
John Cale
Black Acetate (EMI/Astralwerks)
John Cale’s discography now spans forty years and nearly as many styles: the early classical training under Aaron Copland, the avant-garde rock of the Velvet Underground, the elegant pop of Paris 1919, the snarling proto-punk of the “Island Years,” the recent electronic experiments, etc. This year’s Black Acetate ties many of these loose threads together, in Cale’s most diverse effort to date. A newfound obsession with hip-hop (!) is reflected in several tracks, particularly the funky “Hush,” whose melody seems lifted straight from a blaxploitation film. But there is also plenty of vintage, hefty guitar-driven rock (“Turn the Lights On” and “For a Ride”), and tasteful, classic pop (“Satisfied” and “Gravel Drive”). The grab-bag of genres maintains an impressive unity throughout, thanks to clever production. Anyone with a favorite “Cale phase” will find something to like on Black Acetate —and even the uninitiated may find it surprisingly accessible.
—jennifer behrens
Common
Be (Geffen)
While this was the year of Kanye West —and deservedly so—the best hip-hop record came from another revered Chicago MC. Common’s sixth album, Be, showcases the rapper’s significant gifts as a storyteller, philosopher and street-corner sage. He tackles courtroom drama (“Testify”), erotic magnetism (“Go”), and the beauty of fidelity (“Faithful”) with compelling artistic vigor. Fusing Gamble & Huff-era R&B with gospel choirs, simmering electronica loops and classic breaks à la DJ Premier, Be is a monumental, socio-political, anthropological platter of songs. And while Kanye’s appearance on “The Food” is typically infectious, it takes the backseat to the spine-tingling spoken word of Common’s father that closes the album. “Be the author of your own horoscope,” he advises in “Pop’s Reprise.” Hip-hop was founded on attitudes like this, and Be does them justice like no other album of 2005. —joe sweeney
Eels
Blinking Lights And Other Revelations
(Vagrant)
This fragile, bizarre and brilliant double disc from Mark Oliver Everett (aka “E”) is not ideal holiday listening. Anybody in low spirits during this notoriously depressing season should probably avoid songs like “Suicide Life,” “Checkout Blues” and “Losing Streak.” But if you take a step back from the sweet wallowing of the lyrics, you’ll see an astonishing mural of leafless trees and overcast skies. Soft, aching instrumentals and recurring musical motifs maximize the record’s dramatic potential, and injections of dark humor (“Going Fetal,” “Hey Man”) are welcomed reprieves. Blinking Lights... is nothing short of a masterpiece—an album that swims in the muck of life with tenderness and simplicity. —joe sweeney
Feist
Let it Die (Arts and Crafts)
Feist (aka Leslie Feist) has made an astonishingly good and virtually unclassifiable album that takes on a kaleidoscopic form meshing cabaret, folk, jazz, pop vocal, r&b and beyond. This immaculately recorded album deftly manages to mix originals, standards and songs by the Bee Gees and Ron Sexsmith for an overall cohesive, thoughtful statement. A track like “Mushaboom” has a free and easy after-hours feel, while ”One Evening” offers an inexplicable but wonderful late-’70s FM vibe to it. Throughout, Feist displays an effective knack for simplicity and sultry understatement. And oh, that voice! —donny kutzbach
The Frames
Burn The Maps (Anti)
Since the embarrassing demise of grunge in the mid-’90s, the best self-important arena rock bands have been on the senior circuit, like the bitchin’ Supertramp show at Darien Lake in ’02—our asses had been so thoroughly rocked, we had to take the long way home until the feeling came back. With Burn The Maps, Irish drama rockers The Frames capture the spirit of ’70s posturing without sounding like an artifact. While U2 got shoved down our gullets yet again in ’05, The Frames were making more interesting over-the-top art rock. A stadium-sized ego is present in every trembling note from gifted lead singer Glen Hansard, and The Frames have more than enough creative juice to warrant all of these soulful struts. —joe sweeney
Richard Hawley
Coles Corner (Mute)
Sheffield, England’s finest songwriter returns with what is arguably his best record to date. While the arrangements on Coles Corner, named after a lover’s rendezvous point from Hawley’s past, are the songwriter’s most grand and sweeping musical statements so far, they maintain the same sense of quiet beauty and intimate confessional-ism of his past efforts. As ever, Hawley’s songs of late-night pubs, slow-moving trains and slowly recovering broken hearts don’t need much interpretation: this man is singing about love in all of its splendid, brutal and nostalgic forms. However, Richard Hawley is not some one-trick pony content to simply mumble out a selection of morose tunes (no matter how much that might thrill his fans) but rather a complex balladeer who is able to wear his heart on his sleeve while keeping the quaver in his voice in check. Recommended for fans of Frank Sinatra, Roy Orbison and Scott Walker alike! —mark norris
I Self Devine
Self-Destruction (Rhymesayers)
“From the ice-cold streets of the Minneap,” comes I Self Devine with his stellar solo debut, Self-Destruction. Taking the radical step of delivering sharp hooks and lyrics that actually talk about some shit, Self-Destruction arrived in early August as a desperate prophecy. It’s not fashionable to talk about problems of poverty and violence in America’s forgotten cities, but I Self Devine put out a collection of songs filled with frustration and a ready-to-burst rage. The best artists are the ones who try and warn us of our approaching fate, and it’s impossible to hear a song like “All We Need is Another Day” without thinking of the giant wake-up call of Hurricane Katrina. New Orleans may be geographically distant from I Self Devine’s home in the northern Midwest, but the cultural and economic proximity is shoulder-to-shoulder. We were all sleeping on a lot of important things this year; don’t sleep on this record. —matthew holota
LCD Soundsystem
LCD Soundsystem (DFA/EMI)
Don’t abandon the dance floor just yet! LCD Soundsystem has made it safe for the shaking of asses once again. The world has been waiting for a dance record to bring the beats but also offer an air cleverness and fun. Little surprise it came in the form of the long-awaited, full-length debut of DFA Records founder James Murphy’s group. This album is a full plate that refracts from robot funk recognition (“Daft Punk Is Playing At My House”) to snarky, gurgling, synth-fuelled raveups (“Disco Infiltrator”) to the Beatlesque (“Never As Tired As When I’m Waking Up”). The album is housed with a second disc collecting LCD’s initial clutch of singles including the outstanding sound-off “Losing My Edge.” —donny kutzbach
The Magic Numbers
The Magic Numbers (Capitol)
From the start, The Magic Numbers sounded like a British music journalist’s wet dream. Comprised of two oversized sets of brothers and sisters, the band’s sunny-pop music contained liberal dosings of Beach Boys harmonies (another group of singing siblings that battled the bulge), garage rock undertones and immediate melodies. The group quickly became darlings of the British press and their ever-smiling, hirsute (well, the boys at least) visages beamed from the cover of every limey rag from here London to Liverpool. For once, the Brits weren’t just hyping hyperbole. The Magic Numbers’ self-titled debut is a fun, occasionally wistful trip into a world of unforgettable pop. Seeing the band live at UB a month ago confirmed the impression that this band’s blend of perfect harmonies and tight rhythmic interplay have been honed by performance rather than in a studio. Mamas & The Papas, you’ve been served! —mark norris
Aimee Mann
The Forgotten Arm (Superego)
Boy meets girl. Boy loses girl. Boy kicks heroin. Boy wins girl back. C’mon, who hasn’t been there? Former ’Til Tuesday frontwoman Aimee Mann’s fifth solo disc is also her first concept album, narrating the rocky romance of John, a drug-addled boxer, and Caroline, his long-suffering love. Despite its highly specific plot, The Forgotten Arm is surprisingly universal; ”Going Through the Motions” and “I Can’t Help You Anymore” contain the same insightful commentary on love and loss that have made Mann the patron saint of the brokenhearted since 1993’s Whatever. —jennifer behrens
Marah
If You Didn’t Laugh, You’d Cry
(Yep Rock/PHIdelity)
True-to-the-bone rock and roll at its purest and finest. Cut entirely live and spontaneously in a span of three weeks, it bleeds with the sincerity and power of Marah’s previous high-water marks, bearing the rawness and spark of Let’s Cut The Crap And Hook Up Later On Tonight and engendering the gritty, streetwise soul and stories of Kids In Philly. It arguably bests either one of those records, showing off Marah’s most focused set of songs to date highlighted by a sturdy balance of joyful rock (“The Hustle,” “Poor People”), ragtag country stomp (“Sooner Or Later”) and elegant folk (“City Of Dreams”). —donny kutzbach
The New Pornographers
Twin Cinema (Matador)
Each individual song on the third full-length by Canadian pop collective The New Pornographers has more interesting ideas than the entirety of most albums currently dominating the charts—and more memorable choruses as well. When Twin Cinema isn’t resurrecting new wave-influenced ’80s pop or multi-layered psychedelic rock, it sounds like Tin Pan Alley turned inside out by geeks with extensive record collections spanning decades and an attention to detail that borders on obsessive. The stunning one-two punch of “Jackie, Dressed In Cobras” and “The Jessica Numbers” typifies the eclectic brilliance of this album. Both are twisted, theatrical flights with precise timing, cryptic lyrics, and lush production. Elsewhere, “The Bleeding Heart Show” and “These Are The Fables” are arranged in a more straight-ahead fashion and are haunted by a hint of wistfulness carried over from band leader A.C. Newman’s 2004 solo disc The Slow Wonder. —matt barber
Son Volt
Okemah And The Melody Of Riot
(Transmit Sound)
Like the majority of Southern states, country and roots rock are generally thought to be the province of gun-toting, God-fearing folk who readily fall in line behind the conservative right. It’s a good thing that artists like Son Volt’s Jay Farrar are out there challenging such assumptions. Patriotism and critical thinking are not mutually exclusive, and neither is country-rock and intelligent, informed commentary, Okemah And The Melody Of Riot proves that. Pointed, insightful lyrical content that examines the corruption of the current presidential administration in the United States and the stagnation of modern radio and the record industry is juxtaposed with the inspiring words of songs like “Afterglow 61,” “Endless War,” and “6 String Belief.” —matt barber
Spoon
Gimme Fiction (Merge)
Spoon has etched a distinctive career of skewered pop that dabbles in abstracts, like noisy passages, oddball percussion and spare minimalism, while always remaining something of a “proper” rock outfit and anchoring itself with hooky, hummable melodies. While less experimental than 2003’s Kill the Moonlight, Gimme Fiction is driven by the usual up-front piano and guitar and finds the band messing with touches of plastic soul, loopy funk, cubist blues and powerpop—all to a satisfying end that is uniquely Spoon. Britt Daniels’ wordplay and faux English singing are as strong as ever. “I’m gonna get it right/One of these days” he sings on the pathos-driven “My Mathematical Mind.” Of course, Spoon has it all right as this record is another artful turn by one of America’s most continually inventive bands. —donny kutzbach
Supergrass
Road to Rouen (Capitol)
In case you haven’t figured it out already, growing up is a big drag. Nowhere is that fact more obviously exhibited than in the current music being made by the once celebrated Brit-pop bands of mid-to-late 1990s. The Gallagher brothers still insist that Oasis is the best band in the world, but they’re the only ones who believe it. Damon Albarn seems to have stopped thinking of the Gorillaz as a Blur side project and more correctly as the unexpected meal ticket that is now his only claim to fame. Youthful exuberance can really only last for a few albums and after that, whaddya got? Thankfully, Supergrass, once Brit-pops most “lad-ish” lads, has managed to grow up gracefully. Road to Rouen contains none of the contagious pop heard on the group’s previous albums. Instead, the record is a decidedly delicate (and largely acoustic) meditation on the inevitable onset of maturity. Growing old has rarely sounded so good.—mark norris
Teenage Fanclub
Man-Made (Merge)
Once upon a time, Teenage Fanclub was the world’s best Big Star tribute band. That’s not to say that TFC spent all their time directly ripping off that noted 1970s power-pop band, but it sure did owe a heavy debt to Mssrs. Chilton, Bell et al. Where Teenage Fanclub was once a group of sincere imitators, it is now the gold standard. Fifteen years on, the group’s perfect harmonies, chiming guitars and melancholic lyrics have become an inspiration for all bands hoping to instill their music with sincerity and a sense of “realness.” Expectations for Man-Made, the band’s first new album in five years, weren’t particularly high; which made the quality results all the more unexpectedly delightful. In a better world, songs like the hypnotic “It’s All In My Mind” and the bitter-sweet rocker “Time Stops” would be chart-topping hits. Sadly, we don’t live in that world so we’ll just have to console ourselves with the fact that Teenage Fanclub has made its best record in a decade. Here’s hoping it doesn’t take another five years for the next one.
—mark norris
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