Obligatory Best-of-Decade Post, part 1 of 1.

I’m taking a break from not writing poetry to hunker down and consider my own list(s) for the best things of this decade, as this is the first decade of my life I can claim to coherently remember almost all of. I’m tempted to go with a film list, as it’s what I’ve had the most experience speaking critically about on the internet. But for no better reason than it’s just what I’m in the mood for, I’m going to break down my top albums of the ’00s.

But the thing is, I’m completely self-indulgent (I have a poetry blog, for fuck’s sake), so this list has nothing to do with trendsetting or societal/industry/cultural impact. In fact, calling this a “Best-of” list is probably a misnomer, since it’s really just “All the Shit I Liked Over the Last 10 Years.”

So… yeah. Here’s about a dozen of my picks, in no particular order….

Queens of the Stone Age, Songs for the Deaf (2002)

It’s a long drive from the Mojave to Los Angeles, and Songs for the Deaf is the perfect accompaniment to such a strange trip. This album, which features the strongest drumming of Dave Grohl’s career, to say nothing of Josh Homme’s knack for making simple ideas seems complex and vice versa, rocks in a dozen different ways from start to finish. Progressing not unlike a David Lynch film, it starts out with enough punch to hook you in, and slowly gets a little more strange as it goes on, culminating with a set of songs that are a little creepy, a little sexy, and endlessly intriguing.

Jimmy Eat World, Bleed American (2001)

I don’t want to sound like a dick, but Bleed American is easily Jimmy Eat World’s best album. And why is that? Because it’s their most DIY effort, eschewing major-label support and forcing the band to take day jobs to pay for the recording. In my opinion, its a near-perfect pop rock record, starting off with a huge bang (the title track) and moving smoothly through upbeat anthems and heartfelt acoustic songs. The biggest charm to this album is that a lot of its songs are about songs, or more specifically, how much songs can mean to people and the way they encapsulate moments and memories. Bleed American is an album for music lovers, by music lovers.

Iron & Wine, Our Endless Numbered Days (2004)

It was the first time he recorded in an actual studio, but all the technology in the world can’t affect Samuel Beam’s voice, and he sings with such intimacy that it’s as if he were a tiny bearded angel perched on your shoulder. Iron & Wine’s debut, Creek Drank the Cradle, was lauded for being stunningly good for something recorded on four tracks in someone’s house. But there is absolutely no authenticity sacrificed by Our Endless Numbered Days being recorded in a studio. If anything, it benefits from the scene change, allowing for a fuller sound thanks to outside musicians and proper mixing. Iron & Wine won hearts by being soft, emotional and intimate, and Our Endless Numbered Days is all of those things.

Freeway Cars and Trucks

It would figure that the first thing i post in 2009 isn’t even written by me.

But it is an article written about a Tom Waits album.

As you read, ask yourself: does this remind you of someone you know?

i would say names were changed to protect the innocent,

but you and i both know theres no such thing.

How to Make a Mix CD (Slightly Revised!)

There’s no more sincere expression of emotion or a better way to capture the feeling of a special time than a well-made mix tape (or mix CD [or iPod playlist; whatever your preferred medium is nowadays]). Face it: most of us are not poets or musicians, and though we may have all these complex, profound thoughts and emotions we wish to convey, most of us simply don’t possess the cognitive dexterity to express them on our own. But, a well-made mix can capture the essence of a favorite season, make a workout routine more enjoyable, tell that special someone just how they get your blood pumping (or boiling, as the case may be), or provide the soundtrack to a long road trip. A mix is a project that takes thought, time, consideration and passion, just like any other work of art.

Welcome to This Cold World.

Winter’s upon us, and I am happy.

This is what I call the “magical” period, the time of year when I’m filled with warmth and sentimentality before, y’know… seasonal depression sets in.

So while you head out the door into the cold, looking at the white ground the way a writer stares at a blank page nestled in his typewriter,  I’ve been making a mix for you.

This mix is made for sitting idly by a window, or taking a slow stroll, or riding a bus- what you’re doing doesn’t matter. The only thing that has to be happening is the snow has to be coming down. Watch the snow fall, listen to these songs, and all will seem right in the universe. For an hour or so, anyway.

Happy winter, everybody.

Autumn

Life is forever in motion. Always reshuffling itself in an organized chaos, the world is a perpetual transitional period. A cycle exemplified in the changing of the seasons, and no season represents change like the season of autumn. It is a timeless cliché: the colors of the leaves, the gray skies, the biting cold yet refreshing breezes. It is a welcome change from the muggy heat, blue skies, and endless green of summer time. Suddenly, you finds yourself working to warm up the body, rather than cool it. It is a lovable tragedy that a person is always trying to alter their state of being, never satisfied. People are always too cold and too warm, too tired and too awake. When one puts a coat on to warm up, they often will take it off in minutes because now they’re too warm. Perhaps it’s merely a desire for something different; growing weary of the current state and vying for a deviation from the norm. Then, the deviation will become the norm, and the cycle begins anew. It’s the great human flaw: our lust for novelty, and our contempt for the familiar.

Autumn never seems to last very long, either. It lasts nearly four months, but it never establishes itself like winter or summer do, which seem to drag on and on forever. The same could be said about spring, but nobody likes spring anyway, so we won’t talk about that. It’s as if once the last leaf falls the season’s over, and the masses are ready for winter to begin. Maybe this is why I like Autumn so much: It seems to never be around long enough for me to grow tired of it. Regarding winter, once it begins to draw close to spring time, one will sometimes become gently impatient for the melting of the snow. The same can be said at the end of summer. Maybe not with school children, who enjoy the last day of summer like a death row inmate enjoys his last meal, but once one becomes old enough to appreciate such things.

Change is what life is all about. There is an old saying, “variety is the spice of life.” It’s half true. The fact is, without change, there wouldn’t be “life” as we know it. It would merely be existence. And that’s no fun.

In celebration of the most beautiful of seasons, I’d like to share with you one of my famous mixes, this one dedicated to the season of change. You can find it here at Blogspot, where they actually allow embedding.

Enjoy the fall, everyone.

A Quick Hotlist

I’ve got a lot of albums that I want to give attention to, but just don’t have the time/patience/textual dexterity to write about each individually. So, I’m compiling a quick list of albums that are worthy of attention. they might not all be new, but screw it; I’m not up on what’s new anyway. So, submitted for your approval, a list:

• Kanye West – Graduation. I can’t say I’m a fan of most contemporary hip-hop, but I picked this up on a whim, and I have to say I’m real impressed, and not just because he (successfully) sampled Steely Dan on the track “Champion.”

• Sigur Rós – ( ) [the Blank Album]. This album intrigued me immediately with it’s minimalistic ethos. It’s very ambient, and a beautifully constructed breakup album. Listen to this one while it’s raining and think about how she’s never coming back.

• Between the Buried and Me – Colors. I had written off this band when I’d first heard them, mostly due to the screamy vocals. However, this album is not only the best metal album I’ve heard in a couple years, it’s probably one of the most dynamic albums released in the last few years, period.

• Muse – Black Holes and Revelations. I simply can’t get enough of this album. Muse writes some of the most exciting songs I’ve heard in a long time; the bombastic “Knights of Cydonia” immediately comes to mind. Honorable mention to their equally awesome previous effort, Absolution.
  

• Kasabian – Kasabian. Super tasty Stone Roses-esque revivalists. the songs are real catchy with a nouveau-retro Britrock bite.

• Jeff Buckley – Grace. Yeah, I know I’ve talked about this album already; it’s that good. The man wrote some of the best chord progressions I’ve ever heard and could sing the pants off of a nun.

• The Sword – Age of Winters. These Texans do sludgy, old-school garage metal and they do it damn well.

• Queens of the Stone Age – Era Vulgaris. You don’t need a reason to pick up the latest QotSA album. You just need to know it’s out.

• Kamelot – Ghost Opera. Operatic swords-and-mountains power metal, American style.

• Minus the Bear – Menos el Oso. Tasty, tasty Seattle indie-prog-pop that will put you in a good mood. For the perfect nighttime driving soundtrack, check out their EP, This is What I Know About Being Gigantic.

Hey, have I steered you wrong before?

Doubt it.

…But You Don’t Really Care for Music, Do You?

Last night I found myself lying in bed staring at the ceiling, mouth agape in stupification at what I was hearing. Surely nothing could sound this good. Could it really be so powerful, so emotional, so moving as to essentially hypnotize me? And more importantly: Why haven’t I been listening to this all my life?

I’m talking about an album.
An album called Grace.
An album called Grace by Jeff Buckley.

Jeff Buckley wrote each one of the songs on Grace as if on the next day, he was going to die.  Each one is so urgent, so sincere that I literally laid in bed with chills running up and down my spine, deciding then and there that this was among the best music I’d ever heard. It makes it all the more depressing to know that Buckley drowned in 1997.

Get this album. Listen to it. Have your heart broken.

The Last Last Dispatch?

When The Police announced their comeback, the reunion was heralded with such fanfare that included a performance at the Grammys, a televised press conference, and a high-profile interview in the New York Times. As a result, the trio sold out two nights at Madison Square Garden.

When a little-known independent trio named Dispatch decided to reunite, they posted a note on their Myspace page. They sold out three nights at Madison Square Garden.

Dispatch is arguably the biggest act in the history of independent music. Formed in the mid-’90s, the band managed to side-step all major record labels and gain fame and popularity through word of mouth and with the help of sites like Napster. After they disbanded in 2002, they threw a second farewell show two years later at the Hatch Shell in Boston. That show drew a crowd of 110,000 strong – the largest in independent music history.

Three years and three independent projects later, one thing has been powerful enough to reunite Dispatch one more time: the dire situation in the nation of Zimbabwe. The amount of extreme poverty and illness in the small nation, once considered Africa’s breadbasket, is sickening. The band is donating all proceeds of the three-night event – expected to reach $2.2 million – to help the struggling country.

I was lucky enough to be at the first concert last night. The show was Fucking. Incredible. Dispatch hasn’t played together in over three years, but you’d never know it by watching them. Their stage presence is striking and their chemistry on the stage with one another is palpable, even to nosebleeders like myself. The 22-song set featured numerous guests on horns, including friend of the band Craig Dryer, percussion, the “fourth member” of Dispatch (their old touring van Wimpy), and a Zimbabwean youth choir to open the show and help out on Dispatch live staples “Out Loud” and “Elias,” a song written about a Zimbabwean fieldworker that one of the band members befriended while living and teaching in Zimbabwe.

By the time I had become a serious Dispatch fan, the band had already gone their separate ways. So to have the opportunity to see them play live just once is something I will treasure for the rest of my life. This was, by far, the best concert I’ve ever been to. But the best part is, thanks to the magic of the internet, we can download the concert I went to just last night on the band’s Myspace page. One track is even free of charge, the rest are the standard $0.99, and the album itself is $15. Again, all proceeds are going to go to help out Zimbabwe, so I recommend buying it not just for your pleasure, but for your conscience as well.

If you really, really want to see this sold-out show, head down to MSG around 7 pm; last night there were a ton of people trying to get rid of tickets for friends that didn’t show up (I suppose Dispatch fans aren’t the most reliable bunch on the planet.) Obviously, watch out for scalpers, check dates, all that. But if you’ve got some cash to burn, you just might get into the show tonight or Sunday.

Long live the ‘Spatch.

Finer Distinctions

I write poetry with a computer.

My father wrote poetry with four strings.

The song is called “Annette” and yes, that is my father playing the bass guitar.

Not Comfortable Discussing Things Amelodically.

Everyone likes music. This is a rather obvious explication that must be aired out, not unlike musty bedsheets, before we get underway. Everyone likes music. There is not a single person alive who has never heard at least one musical composition that they enjoyed. Everyone, at some point, has tapped their toe, stomped their heel, bobbed their head, or snapped their fingers to the beat of some song.*

*Note: a large exception and apology to the hearing impaired, as well as quadriplegics, for whom the previous statement unfortunately does not apply.*

Moving on, there is a line of distinction which must be drawn at some point. A further clarification has to be made, for surely the fellow sporting the blowout haircut with the “wifebeater” undershirt-as-outershirt ensemble who is assaulting passers-by with techno-industrial noise coming from his comically overhauled Honda Civic cannot be placed on the same team, or even the same sport, as the scraggly-haired young man spending his evenings hunched over a notebook, guitar in-hand, scribbling a dazzlingly indecipherable mixture of notes and words with near religious fervor. Both, obviously, like music. However, there is a nigh-impassible canyon of difference apparent.

And here, gentle reader, is where the distinction must be made: between those who like music, and those who get music.

Those who get music are often musicians themselves, but that is not necessarily the rule. To truly get music, one can’t simply know just what notes are being played, but why they need to be played. And there lies the distinction. The understanding. The understanding of the emotion, the passion that is palpable beneath the music.

My brother made mention of music that moved him to tears. He is someone who gets music.

Crass as it may sound, sometimes it is, in fact, a matter of taste. For example, the 24-year-old Insane Clown Posse fan does not, in all probability, get music. That subtly cute girl wearing the thick-rimmed glasses she doesn’t need who can be seen going to show after obscure show just so she doesn’t get laughed out of the coffee shop for not being scene enough does not get music either, though she does not know it. Conversely, the groom-to-be who spends days sorting through his cavernous record collection to find the song to which he and his new bride will share their first dance together, taking into consideration each choice’s ambiance, lyrical content, melody, tempo, danceability, and a gamut of other criteria just to make sure his bride will cry with joy in his arms as they dance not only gets music, but is going to make one hell of a husband to boot.

I lost where I was going with this. In short, I get music. and I hope you get me.

Ever-crescendoing,
Christopher.