18-year-old Archy Marshall (aka King Krule) will release his full-length debut, 6 Feet Beneath the Moon. His single "Easy Easy" and its accompanying video knocked The D Man's socks off. Sure, there is the expressive and deeply-British voice, which is an obvious reason to stop and consider his seemingly precocious talent. But there is something powerful simmering underneath his music, a deep-rooted tension that hints on desperation, despair, or worse.
When I was trippin', my face hung to the floor. And I saw demon women. -The eighteen-year old chatting and smoking weed next to me.
The National are not a marijuana band. Drowning your sorrows in pink rabbits, sure. But the clutch of teenagers hemmed in with us by the stage would not understand such a distinction. They have never listened to Alligator or held down a real paying job. So when my new friend offered me a joint and described his first experience with acid, he surprisingly touched on two things the band's songs do relate to: demons and women.
The D Man, Rip, Rizzo, and Stark the Vinyl Shark were tangled with the kids throughout The National's near transcendent set at Pioneer Park. With the aid of the band's expert playing, Matt Berninger's dark-hued inner monologues hit the head and the heart. When the kids--some half our age--started moshing during the climax of "Abel," Rizzo strategically positioned himself in the fray. Every experienced concert-goer knows a moshpit is just a fight in embryo; Rizzo was ready to thrown down in the event one of his forearm shivers was met with foolish resistance. (Hopefully the assailed would at least be in his twenties). Stark laid some wood, too, and for the better part of the night we were able to ward off the wannabes and keep Rip and his closed-eyed reveries out of harm's way.
Berninger fed off the crowd's overzealous response and seemed to recognize the undisputed urgency of a perfect summer night. Deep into the set-list, the frontman's microphone brooding lorded over into maniacal yelps. He even jumped into the crowd on two occasions, supported by several blistering guitar moments that punctuated the band's refined post-punk. The Dessner brothers have obviously learned the art of turning their stately accents into all-out assaults.
In a span of just seven years, The National have gone from Kilby Court to the Barclays Center, a heady ascent that has expanded their melancholy into mass rock-n-roll uplift. The set-list was sublime. Impeccably sequenced to rise and fall, the band careened into something profound when they closed with the best version of "Terrible Love" they have ever played.
A longtime fan could not complain with the career-arcing curation. Opening with "Fake Empire." Playing back-to-back Alligator tracks "All the Wine" and "Abel." Closing with "About Today" before the encore. Hitting Boxer standouts "Mistaken For Strangers," "Apartment Story," and "Slow Show." Sharing fine new tracks from Trouble Will Find Me. Bloodbuzz. It was all as it should be.
Fake Empire. Those opening piano lines! That horn-inspired fanfare! We're half awake in a fake empire. Indeed!
I Should Live in Salt. Like many of The National's tracks--and entire albums for that matter--this song is a grower. It gets more poignant every time I hear it.
Don't Swallow the Cap.
Bloodbuzz Ohio. I happened to have my Buckeyes cap on from playing golf earlier in the day. (If ever a band hit the links, The National would be a top five bet). I could tell that Berninger, a Cincinnati native, noticed me even as he was carried to Ohio in a swarm of bees.
Mistaken For Strangers. Is this the best white-collar song ever written? The supremely-detailed opposite of a Springsteen song? Showered and blue-blazered. Fill yourself with quarters.
Afraid of Everyone. Berninger said this was the only political song they have ever written. Like the best ones (see here, here, or here), its specific references are tied to universal themes, allowing almost every listener to get behind the message. The band slayed the singular thrust of the song's pathos--one of the best moments of the night.
Conversation 16.
Squalor Victoria. Exhibit A for The National's elegant rock-n-roll musicianship. The string and piano flourishes, the post-rock guitars, and the elliptically-precise lyrics underpin Berninger's world-weary baritone. But when he shredded his vocal cords near the end of the song, raising heavenly glasses was met with surprising fury. Another unexpected highlight.
I Need My Girl.
This Is The Last Time. On every song, drummer Bryan Devendorf could be praised for his understated yet song-carrying syncopation. In the on-stage set-up, he easily recedes into the background. But his sticks cannot be overlooked at any time during the show.
All The Wine. I'm a festival, I'm a parade!
Abel. My mind's not right! My mind's not right!
Slow Show.
Apartment Story. A few years ago, The D Man wrote that this was one of the Thirty Best Songs of the Decade. Though the band has many other songs that could make a compelling case, there is little doubt that this is majestic pop storytelling.
Sorrow.
Pink Rabbits.
Graceless. A standout from Trouble Will Find Me, this song is another in a long line of glorious and intelligent crescendos. Can any other band build to more magnificent climaxes? Plateaus on plateaus, vistas on vistas.
England.
About Today. A touching and exquisite track that was recently featured in the closing scenes of The Warrior. From the Cherry Tree EP. The band has found a way to make it more muscular and potent, the initial dirge toppling into a guitar-strewn apex.
Humiliation.
Mr. November.
Terrible Love. It's a terrible love and I'm walking with spiders! The three-song encore closed with an inspired performance of the opening track from High Violet. Though the album version is slightly underwhelming for The D Man, "Terrible Love" proved to be an excellent closer. Berninger was still wading through the crowd as the Dessners and Devendorfs exceeded maximum velocity that had been building throughout "Humiliation" and "Mr. November." Saving the very best for last? Well played, gentlemen.
(Jenny Lewis and Ben Gibbard from The Postal Service)
Like every college kid in 2003, I listened to The Postal Service. I remember driving across the Olentangy River onto High Street, heading towards The Ohio State campus with my windows down on a humid fall day and blaring "The District Sleeps Alone Tonight." The band's seminal (and only) album, Give Up, proved to be vital Ohio listening that year, along with Elephant, Ghosts of the Great Highway, It Still Moves, and Transatlanticism. (Ben Gibbard had some year, right?).
I am also transported to the treadmills of the Dublin Rec Center, where the songs' Atari-driven backbeats gave life to my running. Nostalgia is a strange elixir. As I listened to The Postal Service's set last night, it was as if I had just stepped off from campus--or the treadmill--and my life was fast-forwarded in an instant to the concert, everything else falling away and leaving only the music from then and now. It felt exhilarating.
Gibbard's command of the vocals was reassuring, while Jimmy Tamborello's electronic production was clean and precise. And Jenny Lewis was even more alluring--especially with a guitar in her hands--than she was in that Corn Pops commercial. The band sounded great, and there were more live drums and guitars than I had ever anticipated. (Gibbard and even Lewis hit the kit several times throughout the night). The crowd was a smattering of punks, hipsters, college kids turned suburbanites, and young people who clearly did not listen to Give Up ten years ago. The D Man, Rizzo, J, and Stark the Vinyl Shark joined the throngs at Saltair and had a great time. We all agreed afterwards that the show could be boiled down to its essence: it was a lot of fun.
The District Sleeps Alone Tonight. How can you open with anything else? The first track from Give Up is still an original pop creation.
We Will Become Silhouettes. I'm not coming out until this is all over. Arguably the most enjoyable post-apocalypse song ever written.
Sleeping In. Not surprisingly, I remembered almost every lyric from every song. This number stood out in high relief during the set. Gibbard's sharp vocals were effortless, and his lyrics have not been dulled by the past decade. Don't wake me I plan on sleeping in!
Turn Around.
Nothing Better. The "duet" from the album. This performance could be considered the Conway Twitty and Loretta Lynn of the indie world. Gibbard and Lewis appeared to be having a great time as they danced together and traded good-natured emotional barbs. Their voices have always been perfect for each other.
A Tattered Line of String. The new songs that were released with Give Up's deluxe reissue fit in seamlessly during the show.
Such Great Heights. Gibbard thanked the crowd and reminded us that we were all here ten years later because we still liked the music. When the song's initial bleeps started pouring through the speakers, the crowd began clapping in unison. Everyone knew every word. When Gibbard hit the lightning-quick guitar strums, The D Man experienced some kind of personal euphoria. A few years ago I tried to capture the Thirty Best Songs of the Decade, the most essential tracks of the 21st Century. Though the list may be a little different now, this massive pop song would still make the cut.
Natural Anthem.
This Is The Dream of Evan and Chan. The band's "first song" started off the encore. From Dntel's Life is Full of Possibilities.
Brand New Colony. I knew there had to be another song coming from the album, but I could not remember what was left. When the video game bloops tumbled out, the crowd went Super Mario 3 or something. Since the band created their influential lap-pop masterpiece, thousands of wannabes have tried to make meaningful music from their computers. But few have ever done it this well.
The D Man's baby hiatus is over. You know what it's like to have a fourth kid? Imagine you are drowning, and then someone hands you a baby. (Mostly) joking aside, The D Man is enjoying brilliant summer and will be hitting a string of great concerts in the near future. I still have a Sun Kil Moon concert breakdown to share. And Stark the Vinyl Shark wants to talk new classic rock. So things are looking up! Blog posts coming! Baby and all!
The D Man has been immersed in Random Access Memories, Trouble Will Find Me, and Kveikur. Check out "Isjaki" below. The lyric video will not be helpful. But the music will.
When it comes to naming children, The D Man prefers classic Anglo-Saxon names with strong allusory power. Tapping into my familial roots and recalling bygone ages also helps to avoid the trendwinds of the day. Dylan, for example, is decidedly from the Isles and their maritime climbs, and the name alludes to poets (Thomas) and troubadours (Bob) alike. So it will come as no surprise that we have named our first daughter, Caroline. Strong and feminine, it is a name fit for queens.
Caroline is also the greatest name in pop music history. With that possibility in play, the choice was too easy. Welcome to the show! A musician's muse and a daddy's girl for sure.
"Caroline, No" by The Beach Boys (1966). Brian Wilson and Terry Asher penned this beautiful song as Wilson's first solo single, but it ended up on the magnificent Pet Sounds anyway. Wilson said it was the prettiest ballad he ever sung. Hard to argue with him.
"Sweet Caroline" by Neil Diamond (1969). Hands!Touching hands! You know this one!
"Long May You Run" by Neil Young (1976). With your chrome heart shining in the sun / long may you run. Neil Young reminisces about the waves singing, what else, Wilson's "Caroline, No." The D Man has been known to sing this throat-catching number--along with "Silver & Gold"--as bedtime lullabies to my boys. Pretty girls will like this one, too.
"Pretty in Pink" by The Psychedelic Furs (1986). The Psychedelic Furs' title track from the John Hughes/Molly Ringwald movie. Yes, the song is about Caroline.
"Caroline" by Fleetwood Mac (1987). From Tango in the Night, the final album released by Fleetwood Mac's classic line-up. Lindsey Buckingham wrote the song and carried the vocals.
"Roses" by Outkast (2003). Caroline plays a starring role in a sweet-smelling track from Outkast's monster album, Speakerboxxx/The Love Below. Caroliiiiiiiiine, all the guys would say she is mighty fine . . .
"Caroline" by Old Crow Medicine Show (2008). The popular touring band offers their lady some banjo. She accepts. Caroline, you do just fine.
"Caroline" by Wolfmother (2009). Even Australian pop-metalists sing about Caroline. The D Man can already hear the soundtrack to a weekend of teenage rebellion, which, hopefully, will only consist of staying out past curfew and drinking too much Red Bull.
"Caroline" (2013). Mark Kozelek (Sun Kil Moon) and Jimmy Lavalle (The Album Leaf) team up for this acoustic strummer bedded in beautiful electronic touches. If there was ever a sign we picked the right name, this timely tune confirmed our hopes and expectations. Check out a recent live solo version of the song, which Mark (incredibly) dedicated to us at his recent Salt Lake City show.
The D Man supports power-pop in all its permutations. Slick, fuzzy, and everything in between, from The Lemonheads to Brendan Benson to Nada Surf. I have really been digging on Mikal Cronin's fuzzied-out guitars on MCII, which never seem overrun his delightful melodies and hooks.
Vampire Weekend just released their third album, Modern Vampires of the City. Somehow, the band have made a record that is tighter, stranger, and arguably stronger than their first two classics. The college kids have become adults; the arch insights have given way to arresting ruminations, heavy things like relationships, belief, and death. All while still sounding like the most accessible pop band on earth. Check out the lyric video for "Ya Hey." (Yes, for you Old Testament fans and Bloom readers, that is a play on Yahweh).
Kurt Vile's guitar-driven jams just seep into your consciousness. The D Man cannot get enough of Wakin On A Pretty Daze, especially with the sun out and the windows down. Check out the video for "Never Run Away," a series of Philly-is-my-town clips from the laid-back six-string king.
Wild Nothing is releasing a seven-track EP titled Empty Estate. In the wake of Nocturne, this is important news. The video for "A Dancing Shell" is laid-back new wave and reminds The D Man of a track that would have appeared on Kidd Video. Just for evoking that awesome Saturday morning experience, the track and video score a perfect ten.
The D Man has been derelict in his duties. There is some great stuff going on in music right now. So I will be throwing up something new every day to make amends. Check out the new video for "Sea of Love," a track from The National's forthcoming album, Trouble Will Find Me. The concept is a homage to this punk rock favorite beloved by the band. They are coming to town for Rip's birthday. Happy brooding!
Daft Punk is back. Our favorite robot duo, not surpisingly, stay up all night to get lucky. Check out the disco-dripping groove for first single "Get Lucky," which is apparently only a small portion of the full song. With clever advertising for the release of Random Access Memories, Daft Punk seemingly has everyone stirring, longtime fans and casual listeners alike.
Vampire Weekend will release Modern Vampires of the City in May. Check out the exquisite lead track, "Step," and the vibrant bounce of "Diane Young." Right in the wheelhouse, right?
Rhye's debut album is shrouded in mystery. People love that sort of thing, including The D Man. As discussed by various reviews, the pair of Mike Milosh and Robin Hannibal have largely kept their identities and motivations under wraps. They have refused to say what Rhye refers to, and their full names don't appear in the liner notes to their spectacular record, Woman. What we do know is that Milosh's voice is a lovely, gender-defying instrument that magnifies the intimate romance of the duo's cosmopolitan, R&B-inflected songs. And if "Open" isn't the best easy listening/adult contemporary/love song I've heard in the past several years, well, it just is. Break it out, gentleman.
Consistent with their practice, Rhye initially released the videos for standout tracks "The Fall" and "Open" anonymously. The videos trace the story of two couples figuring out their place in love, and the intersection of their grass-is-greener sighs is compelling watching. Pay close attention or you may just miss it. Though the clips demonstrate love's complexities, the songs themselves, like the rest of the album, are powerful reinforcements for the allure of deep-rooted and lasting relationships.
The Glasgow band CHVRCHES delivers immediate keyboard-based pop music. With a slew of recently released singles, they expect to release an EP and an album sometime this year. It doesn't hurt that The D Man has a major musical crush on vocalist Lauren Mayberry. Not only does she have a law degree and a masters in journalism, but she infuses her lyrics with a gravity that surpasses the fact that she is quite pretty. Given her prominence, someone said the band is like M83 meeting Taylor Swift. Though this may be a decent shorthand to describe their first few singles, it probably undersells CHVRCHES unique capabilities.
Enjoy this live performance of "The Mother We Share."
Matt Pond is not very cool. Which makes him sort of cool. Something like that. He is apparently too well-adjusted, too suburban, too straightforward guitar-pop to be recognized by the powers that be. But like many longtime listeners, The D Man enjoys his music anyway. It's the kind of music that fills in the cracks of your listening habits; throw it on and find immediate comfort no matter the setting. For example, I have listened to Pond at the gym for a decade. That makes no intuitive sense. But Pond's voice, his feel for a nice little hook and melody, sure does.
Check out the lyric video for "Love to Get Used" from his new release, The Lives Inside the Lines in Your Hands.
A flurry of releases and track leaks necessitate much deserved links. In the event you have missed some highlights, The D Man is here to point you in the right direction. Enjoy.
My Bloody Valentine actually released their second album. The D Man is still processing his first few listens. Check out album tracks here.
David Bowie's new album will hit shelves--and the interweb--this spring. "Where Are We Now" evokes the icon's wistfulness for his time in Berlin--and his apprehension for his time in the here-and-now.
James Blake's "Retrograde" is an excellent track from his forthcoming album.
Foxygen has a great band name in the tradition of Japandroids. Check out the L.A. classic-twee outfit's latest singles here and here.
The D Man has really been digging tracks from CHVRCHES and Haim.
Postal Service released a new track that will be featured on the deluxe reissue of Give Up.
Is this guitar heaven? Well, it's a new Kurt Vile track, so pretty much. "Wakin On A Pretty Day" is blissed-out guitar magic, another effortless yarn in his unspooling vibe. It is always exciting when you listen to a track for the first time and instantly know that it will be one of the best tracks of the year. I could wake up to these guitars for the next month. The follow-up to Vile's excellent Smoke Ring for My Halohits the shelves on April 8th. Vile told Spin that Wakin On A Pretty Daze sounds like Fleetwood Mac's Tusk. "It's totally our Tusk, but no cheese, Just rock. You turn it on and it sounds like me. But the guitar playing is better and the ideas are new. It's classic, it's epic, with many more solos."
Enjoy the D Man's Grammy redux. Nothing eloquent here, just my real-time, off-the-cuff remarks as the show progresses.
Taylor Swift opens the show with a Mad Hatter-themed performance of "We Are Never Getting Back Together." It is okay. I like Swift. But after watching another night of wannabe epic performances, The D Man is still waiting for anything remotely as interesting as Radiohead's tag-team with the USC marching band in 2009.
Ed Sheeran is still blowing up. He was electric when we saw him open for Snow Patrol and had no idea who he was. Though "The A Team" is a pleasant song, it doesn't help having Sir Elton John at the piano. He sounds bloated and way past his prime.
Fun wins an award. I suppose their singles are decent enough on first listen, but they already seem disposable, so last week. Not sure how you can throw their entire album on and enjoy it more than once. (Note: my five-year old enjoys "We Are Young," which seems about right).
Mrs. D Man on John Mayer: "He has such a giant head and face." I opt out of my funny comeback regarding his current girlfriend Katy Perry.
Miranda Lambert and Dierks Bentley. Kind of boring. Did you know Lambert is married to Blake Shelton? Well, you should know that.
Miguel is smooth. He sings his smash R&B hit "Adorn" and sounds pristine. And even skinny Wiz Kalifa's little rap breakdown is fitting. Nice moment.
Carrie Underwood wins an award for a completely underwhelming song. But she is still pretty and classy, so that's something.
Johnny Depp looks even more like Keith Richard now.
So Mumford & Sons play their banjos fast. Sorry, but they just feel like posers. Though their stuff is decent and middling, their fans act like they have brought something new to the table. It feels gameplanned by the suits. Go listen to Whiskeytown. The Avett Brothers. Something.
Justin Timberlake and Jay-Z. Their performance of "Suit & Tie" confirmed (again) that they are real superstars.
Chris Brown recently sucker punched Frank Ocean in a studio parking lot. But Ocean beats him up in the new "Best Urban Contemporary Album" category, whatever that is.
The Black Keys win a Grammy for "Lonely Boy." A real rock'n'roll band still selling some records. Good for them.
Maroon 5 performs with Alicia Keys. Do any real men actually buy their records?
Kelly Clarkson wins for "Stronger." Didn't that song come out five years ago? She gives one of the better acceptance speeches, though. Funny and sincere.
Rihanna strips down her performance in the hopes she has one of those, "hey, did you see her stripped down performance" moments? She looks pretty in a black dress with bright red lipstick. Sometimes that will have to be enough. Because you know she is back with Chris Brown, right? Pretty much the biggest douche on the planet. The fact that she is rolling with him tells you something about her spectacular lack of judgment.
"No Church in the Wild" wins a Grammy. Mrs. D Man says: "You can pick Jay-Z's voice out of a lineup." I'm pretty sure she doesn't mean that as a dig.
Kelly Clarkson can really sing. I always say that about people that I don't listen to, but that clearly have some vocal prowess.
The Bob Marley tribute is mostly fun. The D Man is not going to lie, it pained me to see Sting shilling on a Bruno Mars song with the genius lyric "your sex takes me to paradise." But we get to hear "Walking on the Moon" and one of the best bass lines of all time. So it's a wash.
Jack White plays "Love Interruption" and "Freedom at 21." He still shreds. He is still cool.
We skipped right through Hunter Hayes. God bless the DVR.
Text from Rizzo: "Prince is a lower case god." He doesn't hurt this image by employing a needless walking cane during his walk to the microphone. When Gotye wins "Record of the Year" for "Someone that I Used to Know," he is blinded by Prince's presence and can't stop thanking him. Prince just makes people do that sort of thing.
The Levon Helm tribute is great. "The Weight." T-Bone Burnett, Zac Brown, Mavis Staples, Brittany Howard, Sir Elton. Much deserved.
Frank Ocean leaves the nation scratching their head with his rendition of "Forrest Gump." Though the visuals are entertaining, the song choice is perplexing. Channel Orange is an instant classic, you have a chance to introduce yourself to the world, and you choose to sing the 11th best track on your "Best Urban Contemporary Record?" Methinks he outsmarted himself on this one.
Of the five albums nominated for "Album of the Year," the worst one wins. Mumford & Sons' Babel. The D Man could have lived with Frank Ocean, The Black Keys, or Jack White. Oh well, you can't expect the The Suburbs scenario every year, or even every decade for that matter.
Strange ending to the show. Chuck D (sans Flava Flav) rocks out to a generic rap with LL Cool J. They throw in a couple nods to MCA, but the Grammys miss a big chance to honor the Beastie Boy the right way.
Frightened Rabbit, that venerable Scottish indie-rock band that always sounds like a Scottish indie-rock band, have just released their fourth studio album stateside. Pedestrian Verse finds the band feeling generous and expansive. Having consistently penned some excellent songs--see "Head Rolls Off" and "Swim Until You Can't See Land"--the band's albums are well worth exploring. Before running off to do that, check out the video for "The Woodpile," where frontman Scott Hutchison walks into a local incident.
The Flaming Lips will be featured in this Super Bowl ad on Sunday. But things get darker from there, as the band is set to release their thirteenth stuido album, The Terror, in April. Wayne Coyne (by the way, a great Instagram follow) explains, "Why would we make this music that is The Terror--this bleak, disturbing record? I don't really want to know the answer that I think is coming. Maybe this is the beginning of the answer. If we have love, give love and know love, we are truly alive and if there is no love, there would be know life. The Terror, we know now, that even without love, life goes on . . . we just go on . . . there is no mercy killing." For a band with consistently awesome album cover art, check out The Terror's existential blast of loneliness here.
Toro Y Moi's new album morphs from chillwave to dance-pop. Check out the videos for the first two singles from Anything in Return, "So Many Details" and "Say That."
Youth Lagoon will be opening for The National at the Barclay's Center in Brooklyn. Heady stuff for a young kid from Boise that was only recently making music in his bedroom. Trevor Powers will be soon releasing the follow-up to his phenomenal debut, The Year of Hibernation. Check out "Dropla" from Wondrous Bughousehere.
Depeche Mode has a new single from the forthcoming album, Delta Machine. Listen to "Heaven" here.
The Knife's first studio album was otherwordly, spawning one of the best songs in the new milennium. Seven years later, the Swedish siblings Karin Dreijer Andersson and Olaf Dreijer will be releasing their second record, Shaking the Habitual. Check out the freaky track "Full of Fire" here.
Rizzo and The D Man hit The Walkmen show last night. The band was spectacular. Sure, The D Man is prone to hyperbole, if only because life is better with some embellishments. But it was one of the better live performances I have seen in some time. I was just feeling it. The venue was right--tight, compact, loud--and Hamilton Leithauser's voice crackled with emotion and urgency. He lords inside each and every song, brooding, considering, challenging, while his veteran bandmates shelter him with sophisticated compositions.
The band's vintage rock'n'roll casts a peculiar, urban vibe throughout a room, enhanced when an upright piano is sprinkled throughout the set. Their intra-song rhythm changes are exciting, and Paul Maroon's guitar tones are often sublime. Rarely does a band exceed my expectations, but these guys were supremely talented professionals.
Highlights included tracks from most of their fine records. "Blizzard of '96" (from Everyone Who Pretended to Like Me Is Gone), "The Rat" (from Bows & Arrows), "In The New Year," "On the Water," and "Four Provinces" (from You & Me), "Angela Surf City" (from Lisbon), "We Can't Be Beat," "The Love You Love," and "Heaven" (from Heaven).
It has been six long years since Justin Timberlake dropped Future/Love/Sex/Sounds, his excellent sophomore solo album. With so many wannabe pop stars crammed down our collective throats, good news is on the way: JT is finally releasing a new album. And he is a real pop star. Sure, he has dabbled in acting with some decent results, but just like us he knows where his bread is buttered. Listen to his album teaser for The 20/20 Experiencehere, and then check out his first single, "Suit and Tie." The D Man will share his same advice from six years ago: "Get over it haters, Timberlake is cooler than you--and more talented."
Jimmy LaValle is The Album Leaf. And his 2004 album, In A Safe Place (produced by none other than Jonsi), is one of The D Man's all-time favorite listens. His ambient, thought-provoking electronica is simultaneously lush and wintry. So imagine my surprise when I heard that he would be teaming up with blog favorite Sun Kil Moon for a full-length April release, Perils From The Sea.
The project began when Mark Kozelek, a fan and acquaintance of LaValle, asked Jimmy to co-write a song. LaValle, a long time admirer of Kozelek's work, said yes, and the track "What Happened to my Brother" came together quickly. Pleased with the results, the two agreed to record an entire album. For the album LaValle reportedly chose a more minimalist approach to the music than The Album Leaf's large sonic soundscapes. The lyrics and singing, of course, are provided by Kozelek.
It is somewhat disorienting to hear Kozelek, a master of the fuzzy open-tuned guitar jam and quiet nylon-string reverie, sing alongside the hypnotic synth sounds provided by LaValle. But if their first collaboration is any indication of what is to come, the results will be chilling.
Among my few gifts, The D Man can recall vast amounts of music, melodies, lyrics, and artists. Even more impressive, I can summon thousands of specific memories inextricably tied with the music I was listening to at the time, no matter how random or meaningful those memories might be. "Maneater" by Hall & Oates? Standing in a dimly-lit barn for a Halloween party, when I couldn't have been more than four years old. "Captain of Her Heart" by Double? Sitting in the Ford pick-up with my brothers after fielding grounders at the Spanish Fork baseball park. "Rush, Rush" by Paula Abdul? Talking with friends on the college quad during summer basketball camp at BYU. "Just Another Day" by Jon Secada? Hanging in Chad Hall's basement and expecting his Mom to come and tell us to turn off VH1. "Crossroads" by Bone Thugs N Harmony? Chilling in a St. George hotel room with my high school basketball teammates in between games. You get the idea. With the music playing, these and countless other moments stand in high relief, etched forever into my mind, some almost three decades later.
Of course, other musical moments carry more meaning in my inner, personal narrative. Listening to the Beach Boys while driving to California with my family for summer vacations. Making a music video for "It's Tricky" in our basement with Rizzo, Lizard, and J, complete with Adidas sweatsuits, gold chains, and killer footwork. (Need to get that fresh joint up on Youtube!). Watching "Undone (The Sweater Song)" debut at midnight on MTVs 120 Minutes and discovering the key to junior high. Attending my first Sting concert in Park City and chanting over and over again, Be yourself, no matter what they say. Listening to Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots for the first time in my car and smiling for an hour straight. Driving to early-morning law school classes through the fall fields of Ohio and being carried by Sun Kil Moon. Watching my boys dance to "Gobbledigook."
Music helps me defy the ravages of time. It fixes my memories in vivid contrast to the thousands of experiences that I have forgotten, suspending real moments before me as I survey the arc of my life. Perhaps this is what I like best about music: linked with my experiences, unique and mundane, it carves out reality that I will remember long after the haze of memory has swept over my senses.
This year will be no different. Twenty years from now, I will easily recall listening to Nocturne while driving to work that one morning at 6:00 a.m. I will remember Victoria Legrand's voice expanding across the summer concert lawn, filling up all of the empty space as I looked up at the stars. I will see the green bayou running past us in the car as my Dad and brothers soak in the anthem for our trip to New Orleans. I will hear Brandon Flowers every time I end up in Southern California. These and other moments will never fade from my view. How could they? They are the stuff of my life. And music was there.
Even the name is evocative. A void, animated. A great surging cloud of mystery, trepidation, and beauty. Almost as if the name, the idea, the thought of this strange, moving abyss can enhance the actual music itself. And then, somehow, it does. So it goes with Wild Nothing's splendid second album, Nocturne.
Early morning drives when other headlights are still coming into focus. The slanting light of the canyon sun diving into the west. The late night considerations of where your life may go next. All of this and more may be accentuated by this ineffable record. A worthy soundtrack for every pause, every moment of self-aware solitude. How many records can be so appropriate, rain, snow, or shine? Dreamy enough, uptempo enough, open-ended enough for enjoyment and contemplation?
Truth is, Wild Nothing does it better than some of their influences. And the "it" is the pretty melancholy of indie-pop nostalgia. With influences from The Cure to the Smiths, from Echo and The Bunnymen to the Cocteau Twins, from Talk Talk to The Psychedelic Furs, countless bands have since tried to capture the forlorn loveliness emanating from a particular strain of UK guitar pop. With Nocturne, Jack Tatum and his bandmates do not merely capture that essence, they enhance it. In a year when the top five albums on The D Man's list could rightfully hold down the top spot, you will have to excuse this longtime Anglophile from selecting his favorite album of 2012 to stand supreme. (And please ignore for a moment that Tatum hails from Blacksburg, Virginia).
The sepia-toned, synth-and-guitar pictures from Gemini and the Golden Haze EP have been developed here with even more fidelity, and the results are vibrant and transportive. Lovelorn dreams echo throughout the record, a gorgeous sheen enveloping every guitar line, every sustained synth effect. The vibe is effervescent, the feeling possible.
Tatum's lyrics are simple, impressionistic, merely a jumping off point for your own projections. You can have me, you can have me all, he sings over and over again on the title track, making the invitation explicit. I try to feel something for you / but that's all I can do / give my shadow to you, he admits on "Shadow." In "Only Heather," Tatum sings, only Heather / can make me feel this way, and as listeners we just understand this bare truth, one we have felt before. Without the music, these lines really mean nothing. But with the music, they can mean anything we want.
Is this record the most complex, challenging, or epic record of the year? Not by a long shot. Is this music the highest degree of aesthetic difficulty? Probably not. Is it somewhat sleight, maybe too ethereal? Perhaps. But my final praise can be summed up this way: if The D Man had a band, our record would sound just like Nocturne.
There is no need to psychoanalyze the best rock album of the year. If they try to slow you down, tell them all to go to hell. This line pretty much sums up the record's ethic: go hard or go home. And if you go home, we will come get you out of bed and have you partying again.
Couched in slightly ragged, anthemic power-punk that leaves all nuance at the bedside, Celebration Rock's message is one of fist-pumping excess. Joyous, all-night, fist-pumping excess. The songs are not about the hard-hitting comedown (who wants to hear that?), but rather the upward flight of friends, adrenaline, and intoxication. In other words, the same stuff rock bands have been singing about for 50 years. Here, however, the tone is all celebration. Case in point: find me a better three-song run of rock than "Adrenaline Nightshift," "Younger Us," and "The House That Heaven Built." You cannot. These songs will get you to Hell and back, unscathed.
Too bad more listeners cannot escape the confines of their classic rock vault. Fans of AC/DC's straightforward approach would love this album, even though it has been informed by years of punk and alternative listening. The riffing is crowdpleading and the sing-alongs are glass-raising. It would be impossible not to love this record if rock'n'roll is in your DNA. Or if your blood-alcohol content is above the legal limit.
Bloom. On Beach House's sumptious fourth album, the band's luminescent realm engulfs listeners. A remarkable expansion of Teen Dream's ethereal lushness, Bloom sounds even bigger, almost cavernous. Long gone is Victoria Legrand merely plinking an organ and haunting a small chamber draped away from the world. Here, the record bursts forth in wide swaths, covering everything in an outsized, romantic dreaminess.
The Baltimore duo never stray far from their strengths. Alex Scally's guitar ripples with hypnotic intensity. And Legrand's voice, as always, is spellbinding. But Bloom is not just a high-water mark for their evocative sound. These are great songs. Strip away the abyss-making keyboards and swirling guitarlines, and listeners are left with lyrical, stand-alone songs. Legrand could sing any track with minimal accompaniment and it would retain its lovely aura. Bloom sounds like the culmination of the duo's ever-increasing sense of what they can become. Like the best bands, Beach House inhabit their own private place, inviting listeners inside to experience their unique aesthetic vision. "Myth," for example, is one of the most majestic tracks of not only this year, but of any given year--indeed, its powerful allure is self-fulfilling and difficult to define: help me to name it! After the duo's first two records, it was difficult to conceive of them beyond down-tempo, sparkling bedroom pop. Now, it is hard to imagine them surpassing the depth and beauty of these last two records. Timeless. Gorgeous. Enthralling.
Channel Orange is the finest R&B album The D Man has heard in a long, long time. Frank Ocean totally outclasses any of his peers. His smooth vocals and lyrical smarts are substantial; some in the game may be calling for wealth redistribution. It seems unfair that someone with such a silky voice should also be writing incisive, in-the-zeitgeist character sketches that luxuriate in richly textured soul music. This record could easily hold down the top spot on this list, were it not for The D Man indulging himself this year with three sentimental favorites. (Editor's note: The explicit version is not very explicit, but you can swing the clean disc and not lose any of your streed cred).
"The best song wasn't the single, but you weren't either," Ocean sings on "Sweet Life." Hiding away in "the black Beverly Hills," his muse cannot escape "domesticated paradise, palm trees and pools." Though he may feel resentment, he also understands the pull of "whatever makes you feel good, whatever takes you mountain high." But there is some sly criticism in his final assessment: "Don't know why see the world, when you got the beach."
The record is finely attuned to insightful details in the life of its characters, but grand enough to conceive of something startingly epic like "Pyramids." Ocean sings about Cleopatra, "the crown of our pharoah," and then traces the degradation of the black woman, "the jewel of Africa," at the hands of unworthy men. She goes from Queen/Godess to working the late-night shift at the gentleman's club, aptly-titled Pyramids. The song is masterful in its scope, precise in its personal touches, stretching from the glories of ancient kingdoms to the misery of a modern, urban apartment. It is difficult to think of another R&B song to rival its sweeping, groove-laden message. Ocean has arguably set the standard for a new class of R&B prose.
An almost sampleless album, the music is vibrant and crisp, yet lived in just enough to pull you closer listen after listen. It works as an in-the-background aphrodisiac, as well as a wide-screen experience. In an era of overkill, Ocean unspools his vibe with sophistication. One critic noted that he brings substance with style, rather than style demanding to be considered substance.
Ultimately, Channel Orange demands listeners to up their game. Ocean refuses to pander to the lowest common denominator like so many of the genre's studio and radio lackeys. But it would be unfair to limit this record to a specific label or class of listeners. Destined to become a classic, Channel Orange is as alternative and indie as any record released in 2012.
Like Grizzly Bear's last two records, Shields sounds strangely antiquated, as if plucked from a bygone era of indie rock. This time, however, the foursome crank up the force of their spiraling compositions. Stronger, louder, and more dynamic, Shields' aesthetic dimensions are considerable. The record can sound like Auntie Em's farmhouse spinning in the tornado--with old phones, silver-leafed picture frames, and yellowed photos flying around--and then in an instant the music shifts, landing in the unsettling calm of Oz's technicolor beauty. With Grizzly Bear, a song goes places. (On this same note, it is not a stretch to believe Shields could serve as a suitable psychedelic replacement to Dark Side of the Moon's popular soundtracking of the classic 1939 film).
Grizzly Bear has become one of those democratic collectives where you know each player's name precisely because of the unique contributions he makes to the whole. When performing, the band typically stands four across on the stage, emphasizing each musician's claim as a frontman. On any given song, listeners may hear Chris Taylor's swervy bass or keyboards framing the atmosphere, Chris Bear's snapping drum-kit jolting the rhythm forward, Daniel Rossen's roiling, unorthodox guitar strums circling and retreating, and Ed Droste's inimitable vocals, climbing through the music's difficult terrain and finding just the right places to rise and fall with melody.
Shields is arguably Grizzly Bear's finest album, which is high praise when considering the heft of Yellow House's hazy incantationsand the precision of Veckatimest's splendid production. So where, then, does this band stack up? With a string of uncanny achievements, it is a question worth asking. Though the foursome may not possess the excitement or intensity of Radiohead's post-modern visions, it may be enough that Thom Yorke and company are one of the few comparable bands out there given the high level of Grizzly Bear's ambient originality and compositional complexity. In rarified air, peers are simply hard to see.
In a recent Uncut interview, Mark Kozelek was asked which record he was most proud of. His answer: 2010's Admiral Fell Promises, hands down. "Bury me with that one. That album is me at my best, my most focused. It's cohesive, beautiful." Long-time listeners can appreciate what he means in the wake of Admiral Fell Promises' intense, classical-guitar driven lyricism. That album may be the epitome of his signature prose and patient playing as a purely solo enterprise.
In stark contrast, Sun Kil Moon's fifth proper album, Among the Leaves, is a palette cleanser of sorts, and Kozelek has admitted as much. "My old approach sort of died, at least for the time being. I was probably working on a song and realised I'd already written it 100 times. I've done the romantic approach to death and wanted to have a laugh this time." Loose, autobiographical, and, yes, funny, Among the Leaves is easily the most off-the-cuff recording of the singer-songwriter's career. Where AFP was laced with classical embellishments and painstakingly poetic details, this record is direct and decidedly unlabored. Kozelek recorded many of the tracks in just a take or two, and the result is unadorned and engaging. Listeners have never been so welcome to inspect the artist's life as artist, with all of its glories, struggles, meaning, and mundanity.
Kozelek shares intimate experiences from life on tour and life at home in San Francisco. On the road, he sings about back-stage hook-ups, back pains, and crushing homesickness. At home, he recounts his past lovers (leaving him for riches or worse), his love of cats, and his sometimes painful relationship with writing songs. His honesty is arresting, even for his cult of followers.
His biting humor is also apparent. He titles songs such as "I Know It's Pathetic But That Was The Greatest Night of My Life," or the aptly autobiographical "The Moderately Talented Yet Attractive Young Woman vs. The Exceptionally Talented Yet Not So Attractive Middle Aged Man." In "Lonely Mountain," he reminds a friend jealous of the singer's relative freedom that "nothing came by luck / your Dad paid for your college / my Dad gave me five bucks." In "Track No. 8," he recounts the difficulities of being on the road: "You get on this plane / I'll sit at your desk / and I'll leave at eight and be home by five / call me from Warsaw if you have time." This theme of dislocation weaves its way throughout the record. In "UK Blues," he deals with being down during a European tour with numerous funny asides: "Denmark, Denmark / everyone rides bikes / everyone is white." And on his return home, while standing on the street in front of Lincoln Hall in Chicago, he remembers heady days long since gone: "My band played here a lot / in the nineties when we had / lots of female fans / and f--- they all were cute / now I just sign posters / for guys in tennis shoes."
But there is still some vintage Kozelek, too. In "The Winery," an exquisite tale of coping with a former girlfriend leaving him for a rich man, his poetic contrasts are striking, the transitions of the song sublime. It is a master-class in traditional songwriting, and even includes some of his well-known boxing allusions. In a closing nod to the riches unearthed throughout the 17 tracks on Among the Leaves, it is a song well worth considering here, in the same format of the prose provided in the liner notes.
you moved up near the winery i'm down by the oil refinery you left my rags for his riches left a note best wishes our cats still go out at night coolin' in the moonlight and the lights of martinez scatter on the carquinez i play guitar 'til morning light alone with it i've built my life met some lovers through my skills some have lasted others just fill time remembering you there with me taking walks along the sea years fly by cursing us all end of summer end of fall winter spring listening to almeida play pavane for a dead princess tarrega and albeniz and his own discantus santos vs benitez espada vs quevas ray leonard vs duran no mas no mas my tv glows my ceiling fan hums iron mike broke bones julian bream played the chaconne bobby fischer took rooks smokin' joe threw hooks roburt burns wrote poems ed gein dug up bones martin luther had a dream you never did anything you're up there in the vineyards using some pretty words eat at french laundry burnin' through money and i'm here eatin' pistachio nuts over by the taco truck scribblin' words on receipts just get stuck in repeat i walk along the service stops and the antique shops come home in the evening hear the dogs howlin'
Since their 2002 debut, Everyone That Pretended to Like Me Is Gone, the Walkmen have evolved from a skittering, vintage indie band into something far more driven. A highlight along the way, of course: the New York band's teetering-on-the-edge masterwork, "The Rat," which is easily one of the decades' great unhinged rock performances. So now comes Heaven, arguably the band's most cohesive album to date, tighter and grander than anything we have heard before.
That rare rock'n'roll record chronicling domestic contentment, Heaven glories in the strength of lasting relationships. "We'll never leave / we can't be beat / the world is ours," sings Hamilton Leithauser on the jangly, opening strummer, "We Can't Be Beat." Later, he recognizes "these are the good years / the best we'll ever know / these golden light years." Little wonder the album's photos include the band with their spouses, girlfriends, and children; these guys are genuinely giddy about their current good fortune. For goodness sakes, Leithauser even adds a sweet song about singing to his daughter ("Song for Leigh").
Though this is not the messied-up and raging version of the band from ten years ago, Heaven is a welcome and varied collection of clear-eyed rock songs with the unmistakeable mark of golden experience. The clean, luminous guitars are also noteworthy. The record's pristine production, wisely, allows them plenty of space to sparkle. So there is also room for Leithauser's gruff warble--here, stretched out to its finest capacities--to carry the emotional weight of marriage, children, and friends. On the album's remarkable title track, he sings "stick with me / oh you're my best friend / all of my life / you've always been," and closes with the powerful reminder, "remember remember / all we fight for." Indeed.
Michael Angelakos has some problems. But making intricate, vibrant, maximalist pop music isn't one of them. Taking his songs at face value, his drinking has led him to dark places. His shifting personalities has cost him friends. His overwhelming anxiety has paralyzed his efforts. Yet, if there is one constant he can cling to, he has been carried (perhaps literally) by his girlfriend. In a way, Gossamer is his unblinking gratitude.
Like Passion Pit's debut Manners, the tracks on Gossamer are buoyant electro-pop confections, bubbling up and spreading out in colorful swaths of effects and melodies. But the canvas is much bigger this time, both in terms of the advanced arrangements and the deeply-personal lyrics. A song like "I'll Be Alright" feels supercharged with a million pop particles firing in all directions. And it is difficult to think of another artist creating a sunny, sophisticated R&B slow-jam like "Constant Conversations," while at the same time rendering genuine insights into alcoholism and relapse. Angelekos examines his life with an unflinching eye, and when his unsettling behavior is intertwined with the self-assured brightness of the music, it makes for jarring juxtapositions. In reference to his drinking, for example, Angelekos notes his "life has become some blurry little quest," while the music bounces along with synth-gurgling glee.
Though the personal difficulties are undoubtedly real--Passion Pit canceled shows this summer so that Angelekos could regroup--it sure embeds a pop record with extra gravitas. The soul-baring struggles, paired with the heady hooks, are immediate and immersive. And despite the bewildering problems portrayed throughout the album, one thing is certain: it may take some time for Angelekos to figure out his personal life, but his music is only getting better.
On the album's actual cover photo, a naked Natasha Khan carries a naked man on her shoulders. The private parts, ahem, are covered up, barely. (Yeah, I expected all of you would click on the link before reading this parenthetical--some readers you are). The D Man imagines the provacative photo is a feminist metaphor for the emotional and physical burdens that women must carry for the haunted men in their lives. Perhaps this is too literal of an interpretation, but I doubt it. After all, we are somewhat problematic as a gender and species and, well, you saw the photo, didn't you?
So if you are an emotionally stunted male, it looks like this record could pose some problems. But there is hope. Once the music begins, all potentially contrived attacks will glance off your (brawny?) chest, and you will be hardpressed to excuse yourself from listening. Because the songs are visceral enough, so right in front of you, so intoxicating, the only thing that will matter is the dark beauty of another Bat for Lashes record.
Artful and unguarded, The Haunted Man is Natasha Khan at her most elemental. Her lyrics are raw, her melodies succinct and urgent. Unlike the embellishments in past records, the production here is meticulous, cutting away unwarranted intrusions into Khan's subterranean world. On tracks like "Laura" and "All Your Gold," there is little to interfere with her direct, emotive ambitions. Yet she remains just as mysterious, sensual, and compelling as ever.
The songs are mostly flights of fantasy. On "Winter Fields," the track swirls over a bed of strings, and then marches forward with perfectly-placed drum fills, evoking a bleak scene from a dream: Oh mother, I'm scared to close my eyes / Some winter dreams make you dive and dive, and dive down. On "Wall," Khan sings over stretched-out synth lines, sultry and confident, imagining a woodland path to redemption: when you see a wall, I see a door. On "Marilyn," her tremulous falsetto rises above dark-shaded electronica for a brief, shining moment: holding you, I'm touching a star! Steeped in pop-culture romanticism--turning into Marilyn, leaning out of a big car--Khan's marriage of sound and voice is sublime.
Though some artistic chanteuses overdo the drama, Khan is not content to draw out her pain and longing with slow, dirge-like compositions. There are no look at me writhe before you moments that, for better or worse, frighten away many would-be male listeners. She prefers movement, pulsating rhythms, flashes of color, carrying songs forward with purpose and emotional thrust. Some of her songs could even be described as club music cloaked in arthouse cinematics. Indeed, songs like "Daniel" from Two Suns, or "All Your Gold" from this record, are really just Phd versions of Ke$sha dance tracks. This may be the best thing about Bat for Lashes: she moves.
