Matt Medlock



Listen to Gang of Four's "You Don't Have to Be Mad"

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Gang of Four are back. The legendary and highly influential English post-punk band that gave us classic albums such as Entertainment! and Solid Gold haven’t delivered an original studio album since 1995, but a recent reunion that found them playing scattered shows and festivals has proven to be more fruitful than some might have anticipated, and a new LP called Content will be released soon. Listen to the terrific new song “You Don’t Have to Be Mad” right here.

May
27
2010
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The New Pornographers - Together Review

Is it possible to be satisfied and disappointed at the same time? Maybe not simultaneously, but I wouldn’t hesitate to describe Together as a satisfying record and an unfortunate disappointment. The latter basis is tied to preconceptions—I’ve anticipated greatness from the New Pornographers ever since their debut Mass Romantic delivered as much. The former is linked to responses both visceral and resounding to what occurs while it unfolds. Is it momentous in its immediacy as the group’s finest hours have been? Absolutely not; critical, then, to my deflated feeling of disappointment. But it envelops the listener loosely, warmly, invoking quiet reactions you might not even notice after multiple spins, and while reexamination might not be an easy impulse, for its quiet and comfortable spell, it is satisfying.

May
26
2010
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How's Your Favorite Rock Star Going to Die?

morrisontombWe love them. We follow them. We obsess over them. We don’t know them. We’ve never even met them.

The human race has been immersed in a celebrity culture since the beginning. That hairy dude dragging his knuckles on the ground who first learned how to make fire probably got all the Stone Age endorsement deals, lived in the cushiest cave with every primitive amenity known, and got to pick and club any woman he wanted. The first fella who figured out how to stick a spear into the breast or throat of a mammoth (or a Jesusaurus Rex if www.creationmuseum.org is your homepage) must have made the rounds on the “grunt show” circuit before the resulting meal was even consumed. It is in our nature to be fascinated by, thrilled by, or even envious of those who live different lives than us.

Even those of us proud to avoid the gossip rags, the soulless entertainment programs, watch absolutely no reality TV, and didn’t even know what TMZ was until the Tiger Woods fiasco (like yours truly), have at least a few celebrities we respond to enough to watch each new movie, buy each new record, read each new book, and keep tabs on them until they retire, fall from grace, or die. And none inspire this sort of rampant enthusiasm as musicians, be it pop diva, tortured poet, roadhouse warrior, or full-blown rock star. There’s just one little problem — many live by the sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll adage and die long before their time. And so the mystique grows…

May
16
2010
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MGMT - Congratulations Review

I feel like I’ve been here before. Quite recently, in fact. Last week, I ventured the not-so-original-or-provocative theory that the electronic dance outfit Hot Chip should stick to singles that clatter in the brain for days and leave album opuses to other groups, preferably those working outside their hit-friendly genre niche. This week, I parrot the same suggestion to the Brooklyn synth-pop outfit MGMT as I let Congratulations wind to a close once again. Hot Chip had the disadvantage of sticking to bubbly synths and chattering drum machines, wandering mostly in delicate, dilute Pet Shop Boys territory, while the sophomore major label LP from MGMT primarily ventures into acid pop and psych rock territory, areas which can elude criticisms by eliciting both full-steam full-lengths and instantly memorable singles to digest again and again. Unfortunately, MGMT, ahem, manages to botch both potentials, winding up with a mostly listless album of marginal appeal with hardly any songs asking to be placed on repeat.

Apr
23
2010
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Hot Chip - One Life Stand Review

Hot Chip is a singles band. What once would have been a gracious compliment in the 50s and 60s when LPs were being assembled recklessly while crisply produced 45s were pored over with zealous appreciation has now become a slighting blow suggesting that only the mp3 age has saved the target from the doom of obscurity. It’s not that singles bands can’t make good albums (Buzzcocks spring to mind), and in fact, Hot Chip has delivered three before now ranging from serviceable to very good. But Hot Chip’s strengths lie in electronic dance music, a genre known for its hits, not its long players. On their finest albums, they threw whatever they could at the listener—the losers hampered nothing sandwiched between dancefloor jams, disco rockers, synth bubblers and buoyant pop ditties. Narrative artifice or mood evocation wasn’t really beyond them, they just didn’t care (and neither did we).

Apr
15
2010
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Third Annual Record Store Day!

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The third Saturday of April is quickly approaching, so you know what that means: Record Store Day! Or, if you didn't know, a day to show your fondness for the independent record store community, a noble and cherished group of small-time music retailers operating independently from the big, corporate chains. Across the country, numerous stores are showcasing various events on April 17 centering on a celebration of music, including performances, cook-outs, body painting, meet & greets with artists, parades, DJs spinning records, and many more. To support your local indie retailer (or to just have a great time), visit the official Record Store Day website and find out what events are happening near you. Greatest holiday ever? Take that, Bastille Day!

Apr
13
2010

Gorillaz - Plastic Beach Review

Damon Albarn is one of the more unusual pop stars of our times. It’s actually easy to forget that he’s a pop star at all despite being in the genre’s vanguard for the last twenty years and being a part of groups that sell tons of records (the last two Gorillaz LPs alone have seen some 15 million copies fly off the shelves). Making more headlines as BritPop provocateur than media-baiting hellion didn’t help (despite his Blur-era satirical fame-whore persona better known in the UK); neither did the fact that he spent most of the last decade under the guise of cartoon monkey men. Dictating talent over temper, as well as standing alone (and looking ahead) instead of copying/watering down, even makes him seem elusive as a trendsetter. But more than any of that, there’s the fact that modern pop has become to the masses synonymous with torpid R&B, wilted rock, and bubblegum while Albarn remains in that select group with the M.I.A.s and Thom Yorkes of the world that not only continue anticipating instead of regurgitating but see intricate subtlety as opportunity for something drastic.

Apr
13
2010
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Spoon - Transference Review

Since their urgent, refreshingly scuzzy and dryly spastic early days on Matador and Elektra, Spoon proved that there was still plenty of life left in the post-Pixies model. Then, in two deft swipes with Kill the Moonlight and Gimme Fiction on Merge, they found the greatest comfort of feverish extreme extrapolated from core self—taut and rhythm-based, the former was reduced to the barbed, husked essentials and the latter was the varied, warts-and-all reverberations built upon hyper-sensitivity to those essentials. Brilliant records both, and perhaps never to be topped, but should we decide one day that we were simply spoiled, we may rewrite the route Spoon has navigated since those days. But what strikes me most dispiritingly is that the last two Spoon LPs, 2007’s Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga and this year’s Transference, are their least endearing, ensnaring and exciting albums to date. Those dizzying extremes pushed to the breaking point on their best full-lengths weren’t nudged further; they were reinterpreted, as if their newfound bravery caused the itch for exploration that resulted in them cowing themselves into murkier waters, moored at last into areas they haven’t mastered (or never should have ventured in the first place). Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga was described as the band’s “pop album,” but had precious few immediate pop winners (and just as few that eventually grew to heights they once made seem effortless to reach). Transference is the ugly side, dominated by grainy texture, insensible outbursts, and wandering focus, and it requires a very specific spirit to make such hostility palatable (even in a tentative state).

Mar
27
2010
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Greatest Music Giveaway Ever! (Some Hyperbole Included)

giveawayLoyal JPP readers probably recall the Fifty Years of Great Music project where I listed the one hundred best songs and albums of each of the last five decades. Maybe you read it, maybe you didn’t; maybe you dug it, maybe you thought I was an idiot. Or maybe you’re angry upon landing at this site and discovering that it doesn’t feature photoshopped nude pics of celebrities. However it might be, buck up, sir or madam, because it still might be your lucky day. Most giveaway sweepstakes announce right off the bat what you’ve got a shot at winning, but not the Greatest Music Giveaway Ever. You have the chance to win any one of approximately five hundred prizes—and you get to decide what we send you. Provided, of course, that you win. You do want to win, don’t you?

Mar
07
2010
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Tim Williams - Careful Love Review

It’s always unfortunate when personal details overwhelm the so-called art. Usually this reflects the gulf between interest in product and profession—the trainwreck of Britney Spears’ personal life is far more entertaining than any song or show stamped with her name—but this trend isn’t indicative of Tim Williams. Truthfully, I would have only recognized one song by the singer/songwriter before recently (the wonderful small-time hit “Novel”), yet I had read some time ago about his intensive heart surgery to replace his left pulmonary valve. Easier bait for readers and consumers, perhaps, but don’t the respectable deserve better? Still, it’s certainly worthier than the tabloid fodder to which we’re accustomed, and his recovery could even be described as inspirational, but if his medical emergency is how you best know him (if you even know him at all), it’s time to play catch up on what you’ve been missing.

Mar
02
2010
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Vampire Weekend - Contra Review

It perplexed me that shortly after the release of Vampire Weekend’s self-titled debut, the rough impression suggested that more people hated the band than liked them; not just because I happened to be among the latter, but because it seemed so ridiculous to lash out against them with the predominant reasoning being that they were too educated, too cultured and referenced places like Dharamsala. Were these the same folks who hilariously derided Obama for being elitist? I mean, why talk about the Dalai Lama’s residence when most are just proud to boast about surviving the streets of their home burg?

Contra will likely continue the fashion of infuriating and delighting those who’ve already drawn their lines in the sand. The band has tightened up a bit, which is beneficial and distracting for an outfit of international mash-up artists, and their study of Afro-beat, calypso, reggae and collage add referential tangents to the recent work of Animal Collective (those elitist bastards!), but essentially you’re gonna get what you’ve invested prior to purchase. Maybe their pursuit of ideals beyond their closed-door Columbia University exclusivity might let a few stragglers in, but this will never be a band of words so long as they remain so vague and precariously precious on paper but so winsomely thrilling in practice.

That aforementioned notice of the AC pumping through Contra’s veins applies mostly to the polyrhythms that sparkle beneath die-cut guitar patterns and a web of rubbery additives both synthetic and orchestral (the presence of heavenly harmonies on several tracks merely alludes to Merriweather Post Pavilion). This rings particularly true on “California English,” which lurches with nervous meter though the wobbly Auto-Tune of Ezra Koenig’s vocals that makes it sound like tape loop experiments (or that the “English” is in fact of the broken variety). They find the other side of the pasture with the hooky “Give Up the Gun.” But even with its more uniform, powerful beat, it’s no more a betrayal than leadoff “Horchata,” which is stickier and perhaps even more irresistible than anything off their debut (yes, maybe even “A-Punk”).

Elsewhere, Vampire Weekend eschews tricky message in favor of elegantly flavored expression. The fractured beat and junkyard-styled instrumentation of “Cousins” transforms that first single into the kind of avant-punk that homebodies might find more comfortable (though it jerks and bobs with restless discomfort). “Diplomat’s Son” has a relaxed calypso rhythm that gradually builds in agitated tension; it crumbles away at the midway point to relieve that anxiety only to be recharged later in an instant and collapse once again not long after that. During that track’s breezier moments, blipping keys and synths pulling off symphonic-style flourishes erode any semblance of their core unit playing it safe. And on the immeasurably ecstatic side, wild, discombobulated falsettos send “White Sky” into the ionosphere and the aptly-named “Holiday” belongs on the soundtrack to any film montage of Americans having a ball in the Bahamas.

One of the prevailing themes of Contra seems to be some kind of (astonishingly) graceful defense against the naysayers tempted to accuse them of being overly posh and preppy. On “Taxi Cab,” Koenig tweaks both the class divides (“You said, ‘Baby, we don’t speak of that,’ like a real aristocrat”) and the trend of “low” celebration (“You’re not a victim, but neither am I, nostalgic for garbage, desperate for time”). And “California English” nudges at inward self-importance both on image and a fascination with the very elitism of activity: “Leafing through a stack of A-Zs to surf the UK/Waiting with the wind against your face/And gel in your hair…Sweet carob rice cake/She don’t care how the sweets taste/Fake Philly cheesesteak/But she uses real toothpaste.” Alluding to a more blue-collar ethic will win them no converts—“Every dollar counts and every morning hurts, we mostly work to live until we live to work” on “Run”—but they remain just inscrutable enough for us to insert our own perceptive measurements (or just not give f-ck all about any of it).

But VW’s strength remains with their gift of fusing various world sounds and finding irrepressible rhythms to churn and broil restlessly until the final pass. Further evidence of this is offered through comparative contradiction by mild closer “I Think UR a Contra,” which sleepwalks through its hazy flutters, bogging down even more when the strings listlessly bleed—as sincerity-in-a-coma, it stands in direct contrast to the sweep of “Run,” which enjoys ponderous moments, but leavens them with chattering beats and positively stirs with its ornate fanfare. Luckily, “Contra” is positioned last as a modest comedown, allowing the rest of the disc to rumble, jive and soar with incongruous precision and the sheer joie de vivre of springy melody and soaring harmonies. Even though Contra is somewhat stiffer in mentality than its free-for-all cousin from ’08, both serve as nearly unblemished examples of sharply colorful clutter and irresistibly catchy music that must seem alien to those proud to defile the folks sitting on the upper crust.

Feb
17
2010

CD Impressions: January 27, 2010

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Welcome to another edition of CD Impressions, the bi-weekly feature at JPP that allows the music writers to offer brief opinions and critiques on recent albums. We’ve been absent for a while, but we’re back today to offer a look at some leftovers from 2009 that we’ve finally caught up to. Among them: jazz-pop singer/songwriter Norah Jones, the chillwave alias Memory Tapes, the debut full-length of the Strokes’ Julian Casablancas, and Polish metal trio Grimlord.

Jan
27
2010
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Jared Burton - Amerikana EP Review

There’s an unusual place between soft, willowy idealism and overly scarred scorn that Jared Burton navigates precariously across Amerikana. It’s such a temptation to feed into the fodder of those optimistic/pessimistic outlooks that too often we forget about the territory not divided by such hard lines. The songs of Burton’s debut EP were written during the first half of the last decade, a stormy time for a country witnessing a societal tear that went as deep as anything since the shameful blemish of segregation. But Burton makes no plays for the right or the left, nor does he covet some comfortable safe haven among the moderates that would have made him neither loved nor hated by those who define themselves so stridently in specifics fed to them by outsiders, both “allies” and “enemies.” That Amerikana carries the weight of universal crisis might make the skeptical ready to lambaste him as vanilla when they wanted talking points and poisonous diatribes, but this isn’t the sound of a man who can’t make up his mind, can’t come to terms with the external struggle, or just wants everyone to get along. Being a frontline correspondent won’t do—he has a critical eye and a forgiving hand.

Jan
24
2010
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2009: The Year in Music

2009musicMost of us have already put a final nail in the coffin of last year, but let’s take one last look back at the final year of the aughts before moving on to the new decade. Considering that I just finished the Fifty Years of Great Music series (and the JPP staff already offered its own Top 10 of the year), simply revisiting the best songs and albums that 2009 had to offer would be repetitive (and in so little time, what else can I say that I haven’t already?). So instead, let’s try and figure out how this last year progressed (and regressed) the state of popular music on pop culture and beyond. While there’s no doubt plenty ahead that you probably wish that you could simply forget forever, some things are tough to shake and, yes, some should be remembered for their impact, import, greatness or tragedy. To refresh your memory of the best, worst and weirdest things that happened in music during 2009, read on.

Jan
19
2010
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Fifty Years of Great Music: The Top 100 Albums of the 2000s

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The nearly year-long project Fifty Years of Great Music has finally come to an end with the final installment, the Top 100 Albums of the 2000s. I mark the occasion with a heavy sigh of relief, as time restrictions has made elements of its creation more arduous than enjoyable recently, but since I’m sure everyone’s already getting sick of all these “best of decade” lists, putting it off even longer would have been unwise.

As it was with the 2000s’ song list, I have included the full list of nominees (300 instead of 500) on the last page, as well as links to any reviews that you can find on the site. And feel free to offer your own two cents about how right or wrong I am. After all, this is a celebration of great music, and no one deserving should be left in the dark.

Jan
14
2010
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Weezer - Raditude Review

It’s not that I’m a sunny-eyed optimist (as anyone who has perused my reviews will attest), but I do occasionally feel pangs of curiosity that overshadow prejudiced predictions (as anyone who did a double take over the appearance of Chris Cornell’s latest in the review section will attest). I was warned in advance: Weezer’s decline became the stuff of legend as the aughts weaned on, and their new one is titled Raditude. Joking about how awful the name is would be too easy; it would also be wrong since, for this collection of power pop nuggets, I can’t think of anything more appropriate (even more than Look Elsewhere or Not Your Older Sibling’s Weezer). The reasoning is simple: "raditude" sounds like a clueless slang buzzword passed between teenagers of a certain easily-cowed mentality (both the extro and introverts), and the songs of Raditude are clearly aimed at them. Anyone who came of age as a teen in the mid-90s with the first two Weezer records are way beyond this flat fluff, or so I can only hope.

Dec
22
2009
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CD Impressions: December 21, 2009

cdimpressions

Welcome to another edition of CD Impressions, the bi-weekly feature at JPP that allows the music writers to offer brief opinions and critiques on recent albums. This time, we're pleased to present a look at recent albums from the extreme noise rock duo Lightning Bolt, Christian rockers Relient K, James Chapman's electronic pop alias Maps, and indie alt-rock darlings Animal Collective.

Dec
21
2009
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Them Crooked Vultures - Them Crooked Vultures Review

Like many a slightly jaded music lover, I am predisposed to being skeptical about “supergroups.” Been burned once, twice, a dozen times too many. I believe that the last one I was naïve enough to get juiced for was Audioslave—in its aftermath, I was wary enough to lower my expectations (and mostly just ignore) the likes of Velvet Revolver and Eyes Adrift. Even on the recent occasion that they’ve produced above average results (however slight), Monsters of Folk and The Good, the Bad and the Queen couldn’t live up to any expectations beyond the fringe of realistic. So why would I be juiced all over again by the appearance of Them Crooked Vultures, the latest hotly anticipated supergroup to swing into action and drop a relatively unassuming LP? Well, there’s Josh Homme for one, from the best hard rock group of this decade. There’s Dave Grohl for another, from one of the best hard rock groups of the last decade (and the none-too-shabby Foo Fighters). And finally there’s John Paul Jones, from the greatest hard rock group of, um, ever. This isn’t a supergroup; it’s the council of axe-wielding gods deciding to send their favor to mortals.

But there I go again—drooling over the impossible dream knowing full well that there’s going to be some sort of irredeemable Jar Jar Binks in the mix to spoil it all. The Binks in this bunch is an intangible one, though. It’s not that you wish it was as good as the best of Zeppelin, Queens and Nirvana; it’s not that you expected this record to completely alter the course of history with its atomic landing; it’s not even that the band doesn’t sound like they’re firing on all cylinders and having a whale of a good time. The drawback left me struggling for a terse explanation, so instead I shall dance around it in hemhaw indecisiveness while praising it for its sure-footed charisma and tremendous performance. Yes, the eponymous offering from Them Crooked Vultures might lack greatness, but the band grazed its collective talons against the prize. It’s like a satisfying ending when one expected a finish that would be chiseled into the tablets of history—or, more bluntly, who cares: ya got laid, didn’t ya?

The basics of what you would prepare yourself for are all here. Homme cracks out his meaty riffs, ricocheting either with angular tension or flitting through high chords in a squealing solo or ten. Grohl belongs behind the kit where his combination of instinctual finesse, anticipatory timing and jarring force has rarely been rivaled from anyone new in, oh, thirty years? And as he was in Zeppelin, Jones is the everyman workhorse—bass, piano, clavinet, slide guitar, organ…whatever you need, he delivers. And they work well together—their interplay doesn’t sound casual or diffusive; the grooves they ride across bleached wastelands and their quick responses to a different man’s flight of fancy make it sound like these three have been working with each other their entire careers. The problem is that it doesn’t sound like they’ve been writing together their entire careers: the performance might be immaculate, but several of these cuts sound like jam sessions they edited down in the studio instead of proper songs (especially “Warsaw or the First Breath You Take After You Give Up,” which isn’t executed with as much epic aplomb as one would have liked).

The lack of ego-driven control helps a lot. No single member dominates (especially surprising since Homme, as both lead guitarist and vocalist, could have attempted a coup) and you can sense immediately that all three have a tremendous amount of respect and admiration for each other—I still vividly recall Grohl playing Wembley with the Foo, and when Jones and Jimmy Page joined him on stage for a rendition of “Rock and Roll,” he was overcome with so much gushing, dreams-come-true glee that it infected everyone watching. That fanaticism might have been helpful for Grohl since he’s the closest to odd man out—not a lot of Nirvana/Foo style to be heard here, but the easiest (but still unfair) way to describe the music of TCV is that it’s Zeppelin-sized English blues and proto-metal as filtered through the psychedelic crunch of QOTSA’s groove-heavy robot rock. Leadoff “No One Loves Me & Neither Do I” could have been an updated Zeppelin B-side and first single “New Fang” would have fit in nicely on Era Vulgaris; most of the rest blurs the lines but remains safely in the realm, and even the prog indulgences sound culled from either group’s repertoires.

Since these sorts of side projects so rarely attempt grand statement in favor of venting creativity and pounding out brash tunes, what really matters are the songs. The early run is particularly impressive, featuring stomping rhythms and gnarly riffs on tracks like “Dead End Friends” and “Mind Eraser, No Chaser.” On the latter, Homme sings, “Drug company, where’s a pill for me?/I call it mind eraser, no chaser at all,” which fits in well with Queens’ typical hedonistic pleasures, but he continues with a devilish smirk by adding, “Robotic mambo me/DIY kit lobotomy/It’s a tuck taste dance craze movie of the week/You buy the doll, kick up your bowl, then piss on the seats.” Later, “Elephants” is the first of three blistering epics (and handily the best thanks to a breakneck Motorhead-esque riff that readjusts to a more deliberate style of punishment in the middle), and even though it wears the mark of this kind of meeting-of-masters venture (showin’ off kinda shit, yeah?), you’re still locked in beneath its trumpeting command. It’s right around here, though, that one begins to wish for a mite bit more inspiration—everyone’s still providing the ingredients, but even the best dish gets tiresome without variation. True, there’s diversity in store, such as the appropriately drugged-out spacey stew of “Interlude with Ludes,” the proggy keyboard swamp in “Scumbag Blues,” and the jerky dance funk swagger of “Gunman,” but a little more (or just less overall) would have helped make this sound like a tighter set. I wouldn’t exactly say the doldrums set in, but you certainly recognize that the album runs past an hour in length.

Them Crooked Vultures never delivers that master track, the kind that could be canonized alongside the best of these musicians’ pasts. Even with immediate, knuckle-cracking winners like “Gunman,” “New Fang” and “Elephants” in the mix, this disc indulges in a cliché even more tiresome than the term “supergroup”: it’s a “grower.” You know, like the third Foo record, Era Vulgaris and In Through the Out Door—all really good albums, but not the best either act produced by a sizable amount. But again, that sort of easy-to-gauge comparison isn’t where it falls short of greatness. Maybe they deserve the benefit of the doubt, and they certainly deserve the freedom to pursue whatever professional passions they like, but we’ve been spoiled into thinking we deserve the best from them every time. Such a selfish sentiment is fitting for my, erm, crooked consideration of this album. This is down-and-dirty rock n’ roll as it was meant to be played by these brilliant musicians, and even short of that intangible missing element, it deserves some shred of your devotion.

Dec
10
2009

Fifty Years of Great Music: The Top 100 Songs of the 2000s

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At last we arrive at the final decade of Fifty Years of Great Music, the one that’ll be over in a matter of weeks (none of that stickler talk about the decade not ending until the start of 2011). And with a few weeks still left to play out, is it really fair to judge the cream of the musical crop already? Maybe not, but I’m hedging my bet. Besides, I’m sure this list would look very different in a year, and different again the year after that. After all, how I judge the best songs of last year has changed considerably just in the last eleven months. These things aren’t set in stone, not even the older decades; Fifty Years of Great Music is just how I feel right now.

As a special treat for the penultimate decade, I have included links and/or streaming audio inside for every one of the Top 100 songs so that you can sample, stream and/or watch the songs if you need a refresher or want to enjoy them right then and there. Also, I have added the full list of 500 nominees on the last page so you can get a better shape of how I felt about the 00s (or “aughts,” as I like to call them, not the “noughties”—ugh, are they gonna name the next ten years the “teenies”?). Eventually, when I have the free time, I will do my best to update past lists with the same features, but consider this my gift to you for now. Ho ho ho.

Dec
02
2009
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From the Archives: Nine Inch Nails' "Year Zero"

In a surprisingly short time frame (for Reznor, that is), NIN manages to release an album before the last left the public conscious. That this is no throwaway cash-grab makes it all the more startling; this may actually be Reznor’s most ambitious effort to date. It’s a bleak concept album (but aren’t almost all concept albums essentially grim?) examining a not-too-distant future world, a frightening police state controlled by religious oppression and terrorism. But isn’t the entire conceit inherently unnecessary? After all, while there are certainly landscape and structural changes between this future and the actual present, the topics of contention are as timely and accented now as then. Why not simply write about the disastrous state of these subjects here and now?

Nov
29
2009
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