Song of the Week

So let's get married . . . but only for the citizenship.  Ah, yes, it can only be Jens Lekman.  Hard to believe it has been five years since his masterful album, Night Falls Over Kortedela.  Lekman's first proper album, When I Said I Wanted to Be Your Dog, established the Swede as the go-to troubadour of pop earnestness and romantic melancholy.  How many times has he fallen in love since then without ever quite getting it right?  

Lekman's witty, sample-laden tracks are unforgettable, and his Morrissey-esque voice carries tunes to exquisite little epiphanies.  His early efforts contained a wistful majesty to the lo-fi production, while his subsequent output is arguably better in terms of melody and polish.  Indeed, his ear for melody is impressive, bringing magic to the small (and funny) stories of heartbreak and misunderstanding.  Meeting chicks at anti-war demonstrations.  Cutting his finger while slicing avacadoes.  Visiting an Iraqi barber in her apartment salon.  Singing with the perspective of Rocky Dennis from Mask.  There is very little that Jens can stay silent about.

The D Man is giddy over the title-track from his forthcoming album, I Know What Love Isn't.  Call it emo for people with graduate degrees in melody and heartbreak.  Of course, listeners with dark, cold hearts may find this too much (I'm talking to you, Harrington), but others will revel in the humor, pathos, and sweetness that Lekman reveals in his clever songs.

Out of the Blue and Into the Black: Stark's Night with Neil

(Stark the Vinyl Shark taking in some Neil Young)

Attending a large, multi-day music festival has been on my musical bucket list for quite some time. I’m happy to announce to the readers of The D Man’s Music that I’ve just returned from attending the Outside Lands Music and Arts Festival held in San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park. 

The reason I chose this particular festival, besides the great location, is because Neil Young & Crazy Horse were headlining (along with Jack White, Foo Fighters, Stevie Wonder, and Metallica). I’ve been a fan of Neil Young for many years, including his work with Crazy Horse, Buffalo Springfield, and Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young.  So I jumped at the opportunity to see him play Outside Lands. 

I was anxious going into the festival for a number of reasons.  First, because it is huge – 65,000 people per day were expected (the festival officially sold out a few weeks prior to opening day). Second, it would be my first music festival experience. Third, it would be my first opportunity to see Neil Young play live, so I was constantly calculating the odds of obtaining a decent spot for the main event. 

Friday proved to be cool and overcast. I began the day at the Sutro stage watching White Denim and Sharon Van Etten before moving to the main stage to watch Beck and the Foo Fighters, both of whom played a great festival set of mostly “hits” with some rarities thrown in to mark the occasion. The Foo Fighters did their best to remind the huddled masses that they are the best rock band in the land, while constantly reminding the audience of who was playing next. By the time the guys were through with “Everlong,” my fleece and ball cap were on (undoubtedly the only Twins cap in a sea of Giants gear). The temperature had dropped and the fog rolled in – it was like the ghosts from Sun Kil Moon’s “Lost Verses” had decided to linger over the festival’s main stage above the thousands of fans below. 

Neil Young & Crazy Horse started with a twenty minute rendition of their early 1990’s track “Love and Only Love” off Ragged Glory before transitioning to older material like “Powderfinger." Neil seemed to be in good spirits, taking every opportunity to indulge his musical whims – including extended jams and lengthy feedback experimentation. “How many of you were conceived in a Ramada Inn?” Neil asked before launching into the new track “Ramada Inn” – which should give you an idea of the feel of the evening. 

Skipping material from their latest effort Americana, Neil Young & Crazy Horse blended brand new, soon-to-be-released material and classics with relative ease - a wise decision in my estimation. Let's face it, who wouldn’t want to hear Neil go crazy during the Ragged Glory classic “F***ing Up”? It’s a favorite and showed his playful side when gesturing to an engaged audience. While transitioning to his acoustic guitar only once (for Harvest’s “The Needle and the Damage Done”), the set was loud, loose, and always exciting. 

Though only a 13 song set, the band played for more than two hours, finishing the evening with “Mr. Soul” and “Roll Another Number." While not the Greatest Hits style set many might have expected, Neil proved he can still perform at a high level and that he is one of the more unpredictable artists in his class.

While I’ll remember my first Outside Lands for many things, I’ll mostly remember it as the time I saw Neil Young & Crazy Horse for the first time. He rocked, he rolled, he shook the earth…Everyone (including the fog) left feeling enriched and fortunate to have spent the evening in a park with one of the world’s most revered musicians.

Song of the Week

Grizzly Bear is back. "Yet Again" is a splendid-sounding track from the band's forthcoming third album, Shields.  It seems to have everything you could want: the prolonged, uncanny electric strums, the crackling, off-kilter drums, and the haunting, harmonic hums.  Vocal prominence and instrumental breakdown, of course.  You may recall that Veckatimest was the best album of 2009.  If this track doesn't get you excited for its follow-up, you must prefer this kind of grizzly experience.

The D Man

The D Man is a commercial litigator and has too much iron in his blood.

Among other things, The D Man enjoys music, the Chicago Cubs and Boston Celtics, Sufjan Stevens, Mark Kozelek, poets, lists, The Wall Street Journal Editorial Page, Cormac McCarthy, Harold Bloom talking about Cormac McCarthy, concert posters, South Africa, sons (Dylan, Colin, Evan), theology, Adam Miller, Terryl Givens, and Truth with a capital T.

His blog is dedicated to sharing the best in contemporary music.

Consider this Bloomian rip-off: we have but one life, and cannot listen to everything.  If we choose to listen, and I believe we should, as it allows us to enjoy or contemplate our mortality, what shall we listen to?  The "popular" music shared on this blog is an attempt to answer this question.  Because you value life and what you listen to enough to visit this blog, The D Man thanks you for your participation.  Listening to great music is a pursuit that can augment your consciousness in ways that only reading can rival (and arguably even trump).

Perhaps music's prime concern is similar to reading, which Bloom suggests is to discover, in the words of Samuel Johnson, "what comes near to ourself, what we can put to use." We may likewise apply Sir Francis Bacon's solemn recommendation for reading to the realm of music: "Listen to not contradict and confute, nor to believe and take for granted, nor to find talk or discourse, but to weigh and consider."  Finally, we may paraphrase Emerson regarding the best books, and argue that the best songs also "impress us with the conviction, that one nature [sings] and the same nature [listens]."  Pragmatically, all of this means the following: learn to listen deeply, not to believe, not to accept, not to contradict, but to learn to share in that one nature that sings and listens.

Song of the Week

Chicago's precision post-rock musicians, The Sea and Cake, somehow just keep getting smoother.  Helmed by Sam Prekop's lush and unhurried vocals, the new single "Harps" from the soon-to-be released tenth album, Runner, is the band at its comfortable best.  Trading in the guitars for even more synths, the band is apparently finding new but ever-welcoming ways to dazzle.

My Morning Jacket

(Jim James from My Morning Jacket)

My Morning Jacket ring the guitar-driven sweat out of songs.  The Louisville band builds songs up, only to punish them with joyful, explicit shredding.  They just can't seem to leave a song without a defining, soul-stamped moment, whether it be a perfect groove, a soaring yelp, or a thrashing instrumental breakdown.  Hands down MMJ is one of the best live rock'n'roll bands on the planet.

Jim James skulked around the stage, his hair melding into his beard, or vice versa, playfully leading out on his flying-V guitar with untold swagger.  The poncho didn't hurt.  A royal purple poncho slung over his shoulders like he was some regal guitar-slinger sent from the lands south to pillage and burn.

The set list was curated by local fans via Twitter, and The D Man thoroughly enjoyed the wide-ranging selection.  Few bands can open up their entire catalog for a potential spot in their set, as it speaks volume to their talent as musicians, in addition to their genuine willingness to embrace their fans.  The D Man even received a shout out from the band for providing one of their selected tunes.

To the set list!

• Evil Urges.
• Off the Record.
• Circuital.  Simply a great acoustic jam.  Like many of their songs live, it builds into a killer groove, and shows off each musician's strengths, in the pocket and getting somewhere.
• The Way That He Sings.
• Outta My System.  Did anyone complain that they shared this wisdom from their latest effort, Circuital?
• First Light.
• Lay Low.  Track 8 from the perfectly-sequenced Z.  How did I forget about this gem?  The back-end shredding went to another level, lifting everyone in the park with it.
• Holdin' On To Black Metal.  Stark the Vinyl Shark correctly pointed out this song was much better live.
• Phone Went West.  Showing off some of their reggae-tinged psychedelia.
• Golden.  A feeling in my bones, I've never felt before.  Pure steel-guitar bliss-out.
• Evelyn Is Not Real.
• I'm Amazed.
• War Begun.
• Touch Me I'm Going to Scream Part II.  The audience turned into a glowstick wonderland.  The band turned into a dark, groovy club reveling in dance music.  One of the best moments of the night.
• Mahgeetah.  The D Man requested this favorite twice over Twitter.  And he got it.  A few years ago, I took a few liberties and rated "Mahgeetah/Golden" as the #16 song of the decade, and rightfully declared the tandem as two of the best driving-on-the-open-road songs ever recorded.  If you had just one song to explain My Morning Jacket, this might be it.
• Dondante.  Aural, raging, guitar-explosions. Awesome.
• Gideon.
• Encore
• Victory Dance.
• Wordless Chorus.  No need for words.
• One Big Holiday.  I told everyone that this song enjoys one of the best guitar-intros of all time.  Did not disappoint.  Not. One. Bit.

Rizzo, Rip, J, The D Man, and Stark the Vinyl Shark.  

J even said something interesting last night, but I can't remember what it was.

Song of the Week

Band of Horses new album hits shelves this September.  Check out "Knock Knock" from Mirage Rock.  The band recently played a fun set in Pioneer Park.  And, of course, they finished it off for the locals with "The Great Salt Lake."

Chicks, Man

(Victoria Legrand from Beach House)

The D Man is covered in Beach House's Bloom.  Splendid stuff.  The Baltimore band played a nice set in Pioneer Park, delivering the perfect vibe for a beautifully overcast summer night.  I recently told Mrs. D Man that I have a major musical crush on Victoria Legrand.  I note this because, in the past, she has accused me of going a little light on the ladies.  In other words, she thinks I listen to way too many dudes.

But I believe my love for women is not so skin deep.  Not surprisingly, The D Man has little time for female singers like this and this.  I am easily uninspired by Mariah vocal theatrics or over-the-top schmaltz.  Sure, some ladies like Carrie Underwood have a pleasant voice and can sing quite nice in a traditional sort of way, but their collective aesthetic is ultimately uninteresting.  Nothwithstanding such gripes, there are many talented female artists that I have loved and listened to throughout my life.  After enjoying Legrand's strong vocal presence perched behind her signature organ, I figured it was worthwhile to reminisce.

As I look back at the female artists that I have admired, a descriptive pattern emerges.  First, their voices are often striking in ways that conflict with mainstream radio.  Second, their songcraft is strong, establishing an identity distinct from prevailing trends.  Third, and perhaps most importantly, their aesthetic self is unique, inhabitating a realm unlike others.  Little wonder I enjoy Beach House so much, as Legrand easily embodies all of these noteworthy traits.

• Kate Bush.  Yeah, she gets name-dropped plenty as an influence for arty indie types everywhere.  But that does not mean her voice hasn't served as the expressive archetype for an entire generation of hip female singers.  Plus, her duet with Peter Gabriel beats anything between Tim and Faith.
• Cocteau Twins.  Nobody like Elizabeth Fraser.  No band like Cocteau Twins.
• Sinead O'Connor.  Before she went crazy, she was stunning.  And I loved this song.  Something mystical about her musical choices and vocal delivery, something that seemed to be welling deep at the edges of human emotion.  No one can argue that "Nothing Compares 2 U" is not one of the great female vocal performances of the past 25 years.
• Frente!  This Australian group with singer Angie Hart at the helm gave us one nice record, Marvin the Album.  During the early-90s alt days, Hart provided an acceptable foil to harder chicks like Kim Deal and Courtney Love.  The band's cover of New Order's "Bizarre Love Triangle" is a gem, and there were many summer nights when Rizzo and The D Man played it unashamed, in the Jeep Wrangler, with the top down.
• The Sundays.  The other day I heard "Here's Where The Story Ends" on satellite radio. I love everything about Harriet Wheeler's voice.  The fragility.  The restraint and then the reaching.  The fact that you instantly know she is cute.  For me, she will always be one of the sounds of summer.  Static & Silence tagged along with me and future Mrs. D Man for seemingly endless sunny months.
• The Innocence Mission.  Husband-and-wife singer-songwriters Don and Keren Paris have created spare but beautiful folk scenes, with deft Christian undertones that put them in a small category of faithful yet aesthetically pleasing artists.  The group's 1999 album Birds of My Neighborhood is my particular favorite.  "Lakes of Canada" is as good as traditional songwriting gets.  Just brilliant.
• More. In the past few years, The D Man has been pleased with the women throughout indiedom.  Romy Madley Croft lit up the dark nights and took home a Mercury Prize with The xx.  Alison Mosshart slinked around the stage with Jack White and held her own.  Natasha Kahn (aka Bat for Lashes) glowed under the embers of Two Suns.  Tracyanne Cambell made life sweeter on My Maudlin Career.  And Neko Case deserved constant airplay thanks to Mrs. D Man's absolute love for this ditty from the excellent Middle Cyclone.

Thanks to Beach House and others, 2012 could prove to be a banner year.

Song of the Week

Will there only be endless drifting? On Beirut's gorgeous epic from the excellent The Rip Tide, Zach Condon contemplates as much.  So the waves and I found the rip tide. Yet somehow, amid the wanderlust, Condon makes all of the right connections.  Check out the beautiful video for one of The D Man's favorite songs from the past year.


An aside.  Last November, while driving through the Mojave desert, we listened to Beirut's ever-appropriate album.  In and out of sleep from the backseat, Rizzo finally cried out to turn off this crappy, half-formed music.  Something to that effect.  At the end of our trip, however, The D Man slipped in The Rip Tide for a second run at Rizzo.  I pushed play on this track.  After listening to the song without a word, the late-night stars arcing overhead, I quietly said that is some beautiful, epic stuff, right?  Rizzo agreed and asked who it was.  My reply: Beirut, b#@%h!  Best moment of the trip.

Song of the Week

Californians can be annoying when they visit or move to your neck of the woods.  Everything is better in the Golden State, and they have no problem in letting you know.  Of course, they have reason to be proud.  As Best Coast proclaims in their song, "The Only Place," Cali's got the ocean, got the babes, got the sun, and got the waves.  So why would you live anywhere else?  Well, there is that little traffic problem.  And I hear that Modesto is sketchy.  But whatever your reasons for living outside of the left coast, there is no denying the good summer vibes of this tune.

Track 8

(Mark Kozelek of Sun Kil Moon)

On Sun Kil Moon's superb new album, Among the Leaves, Mark Kozelek pokes fun at the difficult task of writing an entire album's worth of great songs.  To write half a dozen, some guys lay back / and rest on their laurels like lazy old hacks / well, I wrote this one, and I know it aint great / we'll probably sequence it Track Number 8.

So this got me thinking: what is the best track 8 of recent memory?  Obviously, it takes a great record to set the table for a great track 8.  And I am not just talking about a solid album cut from Side Two, but arguably the best song on the record.  On lesser records, of course, the few decent tracks are usually front loaded, otherwise, a great track 8 is merely a happy accident.  The track 8s below are no accident.

• "Calgary" by Bon Iver (2011).  On last year's sublime self-titled album, Justin Vernon and friends produced this spare, pulsing stunner.
• "Start A War" by The National (2007).  Detailing the quiet, earnest pleas of a broken relationship, this track from Boxer underscores the record's paralyzing insecurities found in adulthood.
• "I'd Rather Dance With You" by Kings of Convenience (2004).  After the bliss of the quiet, this cleverly joyous song jumps out at you and, well, gets you moving.
• "Detroit, Lift Up Your Weary Head! (Rebuild! Restore! Reconsider!)" by Sufjan Stevens (2003).  A majestic high-point from Michigan's spiritual journey.
• "Ball and Biscuit" by The White Stripes (2003).  Arguably Jack and Meg at their peak: an earth-quakin', soul shakin', seventh-son preachin', electric Elephant blues-guitar stomp.
• "Duk Koo Kim" by Sun Kil Moon (2003).  Kozelek knows a thing about potent track 8s, after delivering the blows with this aching epic.
• "Idioteque" by Radiohead (2000).  Kid A's centerpiece.  The center cannot hold.
• "Waitin' For A Superman" by The Flaming Lips (1999).  Too heavy for Superman?  Too, too sad.

Song of the Week

The D Man has told you about Sweden's Kristian Matsson before.  The Tallest Man on Earth has a new album coming out in June.  The first listen is incredibly lustrous for a folkie.  Check out "1904" from There's No Leaving Now.  The golden guitars bubbling up in the background could make my day over and over again.  Check the song out here.

Song of the Week

Feels much better now that he's a black chick.  That was the text The D Man sent to Stark the Vinyl Shark after listening to Alabama Shakes the second time.  The first time listening to the band's debut record, Boys & Girls, I actually thought the singer was a stringy-haired white dude from the South.  Nice to have that cleared up.  And nice to have this notable achievement from Stark:  This is the best text I have ever gotten, no matter the context.

Check out Brittany Howard and the boys doing some serious soul-shaking and self-affirmation.  "Hold On" is the album's first track and just a positively great groove.

Five Things

(Patrick Carney and Dan Auerbach from The Black Keys)

• Rip and The D Man hit the Black Keys concert on Wednesday night.  I do not recommend giving blood before attending a rock show--not suprisingly, I felt a little depleted after saving a life or two.  That said, The D Man finds a way to rock even when there appears to be no way.  And the Keys played a hard, tight set to make it happen. The duo's last few songs ratcheted up the shredding and decibels, culminating with this massive-sounding final number.
• George Lewis, Jr. aka Twin Shadow is releasing his second album, Confess, in July.  The D Man is quite excited about it, especially after his phenomenal (and constantly-played) debut, Forget.  Check out "Five Seconds" from the new album.
• The D Man really enjoyed The Very Best's self-titled debut.  Milawi-born singer Esau Mwamwaya and London-based producer Radioclit produced a heady Afro-Western collection of songs, and even garnered a perfect guest spot from Vampire Weekend's Ezra Koenig.  Check out the awesome video for new single "Yoshua Alikuti," apparently a take on a Lil' Wayne clip.  Shot on location in Nairobi, the video is simply third-world gangsta.  That is how tru playas roll, yo!
• Just days away from receiving my pre-ordered copy of Sun Kil Moon's Among the Leaves.  Check out a couple new tracks titled "That Bird Has A Broken Wing" and "UK Blues."  Undoubtedly, we have never heard before this brand of humor and candor in Kozelek's songwriting.
• Band of Horses is touring with My Morning Jacket this summer.  Yeah, a match made in Americana heaven and, due to the schedule, I will be left standing outside the gates.

Snow Patrol

A critic once said that Snow Patrol's music is triumphantly normal.  The D Man understands what he meant by that unusual compliment.  Indeed, the band's lyrics, soft/loud dynamics, and instrumental textures are decidedly straightforward, enveloped in high production values and instantly radio friendly.  Your Mom likes this music, after all.  But unlike many bands who play in the same space, Snow Patrol does not want to be something they are not.  They make swelling and glossy Britpop for arenas, girlfriends and, yes, your Mom.  Just embrace it.

The D Man first embraced Snow Patrol because of Gary Lightbody's unabashed earnestness.  Listeners and fans can easily tell that he is a soft soul, sincere and pleasant to be around. So it does not hurt that he can flat out sing, with a rich, crystal-ringing voice that can carry his torch songs to the farthest corners of his audience.

Rip, The D Man, and Schwarzy hit the show last night while our wives went to the new Zac Efron movie.  Yeah, this year, the kid from High School Musical got first dibs.  No matter.  The men still had a great time, especially given that the band, fresh from playing large European arenas, brought their big-sounding show to a series of small club dates.  Six albums in, the band can fill an entire set with radio hits and crowd-pleasing fare.  We enjoyed the uplift, the sense of goodness that Lightbody generates with his songs.  You just cannot say that about every show you see.  So enjoy a few highlights.

• "Hands Open." Any song that name drops Sufjan Stevens is all right by me.
• "Run."  A huge song from 2003's Final Straw.
• "Chocolate."  Arguably the band's best song.  Not insignificantly, I listened to it for the first time when I was 25.
• "Called Out In The Dark." The first single from the band's sixth album, Fallen Empires.
• "New York."  Performed a beautiful duet with the opening artist, Ed Sheeran, who, by the way, absolutely owned the stage and slayed his opening set with numbers like this.  He will be taking over America soon.
• "All I Have."  Man, this song just makes me feel good.  Straight ahead true.
• "Just Say Yes."  I just really like this song.  I just do.

Song of the Week

The Walkmen have recorded some great rock songs.  Since their 2002 debut, the awesomely-titled Everyone Who Pretended to Like Me Is Gone, the New York band has evolved from a plinking and skittering vintage-indie band into something far more driven.  A highlight along the way, of course: the band's teetering-on-the-edge masterwork, "The Rat," which is easily one of the decades' great rock performances.  So check out "Heaven," the title track from the band's forthcoming release.  Tighter, groovier guitar lines and a grander sense of melody belie the sense that everything could still come unhinged.  Remember, remember, what we are fighting for.  Great tracks like this, certainly.

Song of the Week

Jim* came into my office and pronounced that we should all be listening to Chromatics' new release. Not surprisingly, as an astute listener of electro/synth/pop music, Jim was right. Kill for Love is replete with the kind of slow burning, nocturnal Euro-disco that can carry you off deep into dreamland. Check out the video for the title track below, and do not miss the album's opening track, a spacious Neil Young cover.

*Creating a new handle just felt forced. Besides, isn't Jim already a nickname for James?

Five Things

(DJ Soul Sister at Mimi's in the Marigny)

The D Man and his brothers ripped it up in New Orleans. We later joked that the Big Easy could run a commercial showing a series of clips from all of our serendipitous exploits. It goes without saying that we had a great time, and the city's music scene was a big part of our success.

• We listened to big band music at the Hotel Monteleone, home of the historic carousel bar. It didn't hurt to have some hot Kentucky Wildcat fans nearby.
• We hit Mimi's in the Marigny on Saturday night to catch DJ Soul Sister spin some records. Often cited as the best DJ in the city, she mixed obscure underground disco and old-school funk on the turntables. Without the aid of a computer, her free-flowing vinyl spins were ebullient and downright joyous. Easily the musical highlight of our trip. And the diverse crowd was cool, enjoying the little upstairs dive, dancing without thinking, and making the vibe just right.
• We snuck in some marching brass at La Maison de la Musique on Frenchman Street. We then paid the cover at D.B.A. to hear Chapter: SOUL do their thing.
• We watched a little bit of the KISS show during the free concert series by the river front. And I mean a little bit. (Check that one off the list).
• On a sweltering afternoon, we enjoyed a great set by The Avett Brothers. Later that night, we heard the drifting sounds of this Jimmy Buffett song wafting over Andrew Jackson Square. Though no cheeseburgers (rather some jambalaya) and not quite paradise (albeit rich with history and flavor), New Orleans treated us real good.

The Anthem

(Brian King and David Prowse of Japandroids)

And if they try to slow you down, tell them all to go to hell. We just found our anthem! Indeed, every good trip needs one. Especially when you are heading to the Big Easy with Rip, Rizzo, and the Old Ball Coach. Celebrating a career. Looking for some release. Secretly hoping for a fight. And if not a fight, some crawfish and basketball. Celebration rock. Undaunted.

Song of the Week

On his 2006 debut, the fantastic The End of History, Fionn Regan shared a simple directive: Be good or be gone. Thankfully, Regan's music followed suit--he understands how to write graceful acoustic ballads, warming odes that can linger in your heart for days. On the Irish troubadour's recently released third album, 100 Acres of Sycamore, the songs are characteristically rich and uncomplicated. Enjoy "For A Nightingale" and go pick up something good before it's gone.

Five Things

(Jack White)

Change has really been in the air. Father is retiring. Friends are leaving. Farenheit is creeping up (thankfully). The D Man could really use the release from a great rock show. Looking forward to hitting The War on Drugs concert later this month. That could do the trick. Otherwise, I might just have to start taking some real drugs. But considering the way that caffeine keeps me up at night, probably not the best idea. So sticking to music. Mercifully.

• Blunderbuss. Jack White's solo album is set to become a reality. Some could snicker and argue that The White Stripes were largely a solo routine. Whatever the case may be, The D Man is definitely looking forward to more tracks like "Sixteen Saltines."
• Beach House will release Bloom in May. How appropriate. Check out the superb first single, "Myth." Alex Scally's rippling guitar line is intoxicating. Not to mention Victoria Legrand.
• Twin Shadow covers Peter Gabriel's "Here Comes the Flood" at some kind of backyard pool party. Not to be confused with Peter Frampton, a sorry mistake that Stark the Vinyl Shark recently admitted to. Sheesh.
• "County Line" was one of the most underappreciated tracks from 2011. (Like Marvin Gaye channeled through a folk song). Check out "Robin Egg Blue," another fine track from Cass McCombs.
• Digging on the first single from Wrecking Ball. The Boss still has something to say.

Song of the Week

Andrew Bird, that master of picking and palindromes, is back with another fine album, Break It Yourself. The whistling violinist is in top lyrical form with the whimsical "Danse Carribe." So enjoy.

Five Things

(The Shins' Jame Mercer)

The D Man has recently been enjoying good tunes, but none of them are coming from new albums. For whatever reason, nothing has really grabbed me this year. With several albums to look forward to from established artists (Andrew Bird, The Shins, Jack White, Sun Kil Moon, etc.), here is hoping for fertile spring listening.

• The Shins are preparing to release their first record since 2007's Wincing the Night Away. Enjoy the video for the very Shinsian first single "Simple Song."
• Check out "Sunshine Chicago," the second track from Sun Kil Moon's forthcoming fifth album, Among the Leaves. The acoustic song finds Kozelek humorous and direct, but reaching again into his realm of wistful sadness, sunlight be damned.
• Bon Iver releases a new video for "Towers." The cinematic rendering is what you would expect: absolutely perfect for the song.
• Check out the fun video for one of the The D Man's sleeper songs from last year, Beirut's "Vagabond." The splendid horns accompany soldiers, nurses, smoking and drinking. Awkward dancing ensues.
• Radiohead plays two new songs. That's something, right?

Song(s) of the Week

Justin Vernon recently took home Grammys for Best Alternative Album and Best New Artist for Bon Iver's masterful self-titled second album. Given Justin Vernon's homespun debut actually came out in 2008, the voters might want to pick that one up, too--it's pretty good. Check out a recent live session featuring Vernon and bandmate Sean Carey, reworking five songs: "Hinnom, TX," "Wash.," Bonnie Rait's "I Can't Make You Love Me," "Babys," and "Beth/Rest." With just their voices and two grand pianos, the spare performance is, not suprisingly, something beautiful.

(A Little Bit More Than) Five Things

(Phil Carney, Chris Connolly, and Mark Kozelek from Desertshore)

February has been unseasonably warm and bright. So The D Man is back from his January hibernation that primarily consisted of depositions and late-night reruns of House Hunters. 2012 is looking up! First, some Caldo Verde news. Second, some fairly recent videos you may have missed.

• On Desertshore's sophomore effort, Drawing of Threes, Phil Carney's and Chris Connolly's instumental excellence is enhanced by producer Mark Kozelek's lyrics and vocals on six of the album's tracks. Check out "Randy Quaid." Speaking of the red house painter, his fifth album as Sun Kil Moon, Among the Leaves, drops this May. It sounds like another indelible incarnation. In the meantime, you should listen to "Andrew and Emma" from the sad and graceful folk album Forever the Moon, Heirloom of August's debut on Kozelek's Caldo Verde label.
• Markarians strike again with a spare but killer groove.
• Youth Lagoon's July includes some seriously strange fireworks.
• St. Vincent has some giant problems.
• Ryan Adams does his fading out of L.A. thing.
• Loney Dear names some blues after his band.

The D Man's Top Twenty Albums of 2011

2011. The sax is back! Chillwave disintegrates! Guitars get golden! Electronic music goes live! The headlines for a fine year in popular music were plentiful. Kanye and Jay-Z produce the first stadium rap album. Bon Iver creates another American folk-pop masterpiece. M83 fulfills the promises of its cinematic splendor. Radiohead defies expectations (again). Kurt Vile, The War on Drugs, and My Morning Jacket demonstrate that the axe is mightier than the sword. Fleet Foxes decide that the Beach Boys should add Simon & Garfunkel as bedfellows. Neon Indian, Washed Out, and Toro y Moi reprogram chillwave, consequences be damned.

Transitions were inevitable, too. R.E.M called it a day. (Or a few decades, to be clear). Ryan Adams started breaking hearts again. Destroyer went cosmopolitan, while Death Cab became pedestrian. Iron & Wine added some sax (of course) and left behind the quiet. Beastie Boys returned, still not quite adults. St. Vincent said she wasn't a cheerleader any more. The Drive-by Truckers, well, thankfully, maybe they didn't change.

The D Man enjoyed much of the new music--and most of the changes--in 2011. He also decided that, if a listener is honest, it is difficult to truly enjoy (and explore) more than about 40 albums a year. (Unless, of course, listening to music is your full-time job, which sort of sounds awful. Where would you turn to escape? To drive off in your car?). With that understanding, there are certainly several worthy albums that I missed, which always leaves me feeling a little unfulfilled or overwhelmed.

I wrote a poem several years ago with the following line: so many girls that I'll never kiss, so many mothers that I'll never miss. That sentiment also seems to sum up my feelings about all of the great records that I may never hear. My resulting wistfulness knows no bounds. But we only have so much time. So where to start? I suppose, in the end, that I take some comfort in this: my Top Twenty is always a fine place to begin the begin.

*An asterisk will be placed by every album that uses a healthy (or even judicious) dose of saxophone. Trumpets and other horns count, too.

1. Kaputt / Destroyer

Kaputt is the most beguiling album of the year.

On Destroyer's ninth album, Vancouver's Dan Bejar navigates the backrooms of the world, breathing cinematic life into a modern, urban noir. An atmosphere of rain-soaked city parks, throbbing nightclubs, and deserted downtown streets is described in exquisite language; Bejar's lyrical approach to his cosmopolitan subjects is nothing short of poetry. Musically, Kaputt melds watery bass-lines, smooth jazz, and new wave guitars into a lush canvas of scenesters, romantics, and playboys, all of them literate, wry, and wizened. Question: Can a record this stylized actually be the best album of the year? Answer: Need you even ask?

The words! Bejar's stream-of-consciousness is evocative. Serving as our guide and shaman--the Mystic Prince of the Purlieu at Night--Behar passes for a downtown Whitman, backed by a chorus of saxophones and trumpets sent from the reverbed heavens.

I wrote a song for America.

They told me it was clever.

Jessica is gone on vacation on

The dark side of town forever.

Who knew . . . Who knew . . .

The juxtaposition of Bejar's city poems against his immaculate take on so-called smooth jazz--a form of music that some might perceive as ironic or worse--reinforces the powerful allure of his subjects and, arguably, may be the crowning achievement of Kaputt. "Chinatown," the year's best album opener, chronicles the magnetic pull of desolate, late-night apocryphas:

You can't believe

The way the wind is talking to the sea.

I heard that someone said it before,

I don't care,

I can't walk away, I can't walk away . . .

In Chinatown . . .

The solitary poet in "Blue Eyes" seeks refuge in the pursuit of romance:

You terrify the land.

You are pestle and mortar.

Your first love's new order:

Mother Nature's Son.

King of the Everglades: Population 1.

I write poetry for myself! I write poetry for myself!

You're a permanent figure of jacked-up sorrow.

I want you to love me. You send me a coffin of roses.

I guess that's the way things go

These days . . .

(Even Bejar's come-ons are shrouded in poetic signifiers, as he repeatedly whispers to his elusive lover I've thumbed through the books on your shelves. These lines come off sounding like the most intimate thing he could ever hope to say to a woman).

"Savage Night at the Opera" is an aesthetic show-down of sorts, the musician's shrugging confrontation with another musician (or perhaps even himself):

Yes. I'm familiar with your scene.

Some would say, shockingly uptight.

21-gun salute to the Fallen Birds of the Sky.

I heard their record, it's alright . . .

Hey, Infinite Sense Of Value . . .

Hey, Infinite Sense Of Value . . .

Hey, Mystic Princie Of The Purlieu At Night!

I heard your record, it's alright . . .

"Poor in Love" is a confessional conversation amid personal (and man-made) ruin:

I was poor in love. I was poor in wealth.

I was okay in everything else there was.

Oh, I was poor in love.

She took me aside and said--

"Look I don't do this every day,

You got style! . . . All you've got is style!

I can see it from a mile away!"

Oh, I was poor in love.

"You were born okay.

Rich in name alone.

Your Jesuit profile will suit

The coming apocalypse!"

Oh, I was poor in love.

Poor in love . . .

Bejar's lyrical brilliance is a thing to behold, as the imaginative refrains keep coming with an almost blinding precision. Largely driven by the epiphanies strewn throughout the record, somehow, incredibly, each of the nine tracks on Kaputt managed to be my favorite song of the year at some point in time. The literary riches in "Suicide Demo for Kara Walker" and the incomparable 13-minute closer "Bay of Pigs" are almost too difficult to describe. And this is an easy-listening pop album?

The vocals! It would be too clever by half to call Bejar's duet partner, Vancouver singer Sibel Thrasher, a modern-day Dickinson because clearly she gets out of the house. Indeed, she would disagree that there is no frigate like a book--she has a voice that has seen things. Where Thrasher's vocal counterbalance is womanly--even heavenly--Bejar's singing is cool, sophisticated, and dipped in a Dylan-esque quill. To help emphasize the free-flowing verses that permeate the album, Bejar reportedly recorded some of his vocal tracks while lying down on his couch.

The soundtrack! Kaputt easily employs the best-sounding horns of the past decade (and probably much longer). Where the music might be passed off as an amusing distraction at first, if not a winking derivation of soft-jazz tropes, repeated listens reveal a richness that belies mere irony. The music is soulful, artful, yes, even beautiful. Where else can you get a three minute pan-flute intro for a song about race and violence that finishes with a groovy, trumpet-infested breakdown?

The prologue! It cannot be over-emphasized: the degree of difficulty in pulling off this album is, well, off the charts. In lesser hands, the record would have sounded ridiculous, a lightweight rip-off circa 1981. Even the lyrics could have been a bumbling mess, untethered to the underlying music. But Bejar is no fool. Without sounding neither sleight nor overwrought, he weaves his nonchalant, lyrical asides across jazz-lite jams that, significantly, brim with sincerity, humor, and pathos. Bejar's sly bemusement is so casual, so off-the-cuff, one gets the feeling that he is worrying about something else at the same time he is explaining everything listeners need to know about the human drama.

Like some of The D Man's favorite albums during his adult life, I could think about--and discuss--Destroyer's record for the better part of the day. The album is such a bewitching aesthetic achievement, I feel compelled to write a thesis to unearth its virtues. Not surprisingly, such heavy lifting, while sure to be enlightening, is ultimately unnecessary with this immediate musical pleasure.

Kaputt.

2. Bon Iver

I can see for miles, miles, miles. Leave the parenthetical coasts and strike out for the continent. Consider the wide expanse and the places that unfurl. Minnesota, Wisconsin. Michicant. Lisbon, OH. Winnum, TX. Calgary. On Bon Iver's masterful self-titled album, Justin Vernon sets his earthworn gaze across it all.

With an album that was immediately hailed as a staggering achievement, it is already difficult to contextualize Vernon's second American masterpiece and the musical transformation that came with it. Vernon travels beyond the unconventional and folk-riddled province of the upper Midwest, the sometimes spare and insular scrawl of For Emma, Forever Ago. He goes continental. Expansive. While his songs retain their intimacy, Vernon refashions a realm of Americana, folk, and pop music that, candidly, few listeners could have imagined and even fewer artists could have conceived.

Put simply, Vernon's recontextualization is about textures. The feel of things. The feel of words, instruments, and sounds. The way a song moves, hangs in the air, crystallizes, then breaks apart. Like a Mercator projection, some uber-produced records lose their contours and become flat and one-dimensional. Here, the music is gilded with shapes and edges, a topographical foray into resplendent tangibleness.

The staccato drum beats of "Perth." The sinewed guitars of "Minnesota, WI." The coin-dropped chinging of "Michicant." The deep-toned vocals of "Hinnom, TX." The gentle key-bounce of "Wash." The epic pulse of "Calgary." The songs, all of them so striking in their emotional connection, cut wide swaths across the open trails of your heart.

On the final track "Beth/Rest," Vernon becomes the indie-rock Peter Cetera, taking his emotional grandeur to its logical extreme. The song arcs out into soft-rock orbits, spinning off lush vocal effects, piano runs, glittery guitar solos, and sax interludes. The song teeters at the edge of overkill were it not so good, so heartfelt. Some listeners have cringed at the purported sappiness, as if Peabo Bryson were manning the soundboard. To that, I offer my condolences for missing out on a potent piece of populism.

Recently, a fawning critic said that the boombox scene in Say Anything has been saving itself for "Holocene." Under the weight of those and future expectations, where does Bon Iver go from here? If you have been listening, of course, the answer to that question is simple: anywhere he wants.

3. Hurry Up, We're Dreaming / M83

M83's awesome double-album, Hurry Up, We're Dreaming, delivers on all of the promises that Anthony Gonzalez's prior records have made. His mastery of cinematic and cerebral electro-pop is on full display, spinning out gorgeous after gorgeous moment of life-affirming music. Cynicism dies in the face of his unyielding sonic optimism.

Like all great artists, Gonzalez has a firm grasp of his own aesthetic and a keen sense for how to harness its greatness. Where double-albums are often misguided, bloated, or short-handed, here the 22-track epic is clearly the inspired format for M83's diversity and expansiveness. Huge singles ("Intro" "Midnight City"), world-tinged pop tracks ("Reunion," "Claudia Lewis," "Steve McQueen"), swirling instrumentals ("Another Wave from You," "Echoes of Mine"), and strangely fantastic one-offs ("Raconte-Moi Une Histoire," "Year One, One UFO") are perfectly sequenced throughout the two sides. On their own, Side One and Side Two would merit placement in the The D Man's Top Twenty. Together, they equal impenetrable feats of symphonic electronic music.

Gonzalez's self-described "very, very, very epic album" extends the nostalgic magic of Saturdays = Youth and embraces the wide-screen electronica of Before the Dawn Heals Us. Enjoy the incredible live clip of "Midnight City," hands down the best single of the year. Yes, there will be sax, as it is obvious the menage a trois of live drums, laser synths, and 80's jazz feel like they were destined to be together.

4. Helplessness Blues / Fleet Foxes

Fleet Foxes' eponymous debut was a stunning delight, one of the best albums of the last ten years, and arguably one of the finest folk-pop records of all time. The Northwest band's second album, Helplessness Blues, is a thrilling indication that these musicians are in it for the long haul. So without further discussion, The D Man's favorite moments from the overwhelming abundance of melodies and harmonies.

• Montezuma. When Pecknold sings and my mother and father in the beautiful, melodic opener.
• Bedouin Dress. Not sure what that instrument is, but it sounds like a snake-charmer.
• Sim Sala Bim. The opening stanza. He was so kind, such a gentleman . . . . Makes me feel like I'm sitting in some windswept parlor, something foreboding to come. Then it does.
• Battery Kinzie. I woke up one morning!
• The Plains / Bitter Dancer. The third act. Defying death incarnate. At arms length, I will hold you there. Enter bursting ooohs and aaahs.
• Helplessness Blues. Arguably the most thrilling mid-song shift of the year; the song's second half is a fleeting burst of imaginative clarity and harmony. If I had an orchard, I'd work 'til I'm sore.
• Lorelai. The lilting music, the lush harmonies, all of it, right now. I was old news to you then, oooold neeeews, oooold neeeews to you then.
• The Shrine / An Argument. Another exciting transition. Another brilliant, ancient-sounding song.
• Grown Ocean. The swervy guitar licks. The building sense of urgency. Leaves me in shambles of joy.

5. The King of Limbs / Radiohead

Too many critics and fans have struggled with the fact that they could not place The King of Limbs in the unfolding Radiohead narrative. As if every studio album from the band should follow some discernable and linear path, building on (or running away from) the album before, some listeners failed to embrace an obvious fact: this time around, Radiohead just wanted to play to their own fancies, unencumbered from the heft of their singular and storied catalog.

Until The King of Limbs, diehards could trace the British band's notable progression--or re-invention--on an album-by-album basis. The story goes something like this: Pablo Honey (the uneven creep), The Bends (the alt-rock classic), OK Computer (the magnum rock opus), Kid A (the po-mo masterpiece), Amnesiac (the twitchy Kid A companion), Hail to the Thief (the brooding commentary), and In Rainbows (the glorious re-emergence). So where to put the new album? It is not an extension of In Rainbow's large-scale visions, although some traces made their way over to the new record. It is not a return to rock-centric guitars established by The Bends or OK Computer. It is not an insular retraction into experimentation like Kid A. So what gives?

To a certain extent, the record feels like the band's first singer-songwriter album, where Yorke's vocals are truly front and center. The surrounding instrumental flourishes, perceptive and patient, are seemingly employed to accompany the singer's wishes. Undoubtedly, the tightly-wound songs serve the band's continued fascination with rhythm. While some listeners may long for Greenwood's guitars to play more of a leading role, to a signficant degree, this is drummer Phil Selway's record. His meticulous time signatures are without peer.

The King of Limbs contains only eight tracks and is by far Radiohead's shortest record. As a result, the record feels cohesive and, for whatever reason, seems to flow toward and away from the immediate highlight "Lotus Flower." The first half of the record is filled with addictive rhythms largely fueled by Selway's sticks--the strange tracks grow increasingly more interesting with repeated listens. (See "Bloom," "Little By Little," "Morning Mr. Magpie," and the dub-stepped "Feral.") The second half of the record is a treasure trove of songs, starting with the spiritual piano dirge of "Codex," moving into the tender acoustic strums and vocal loops of "Give Up The Ghost," and signing off with "Separator," a track that only Radiohead is capable of conceiving and pulling off.

Maybe Radiohead defied convention (again?), producing a small, strange, beautiful, and rhythmically-challenging record that suggests, definitively, the band is as self-assured as ever.

6. Smoke Ring for My Halo / Kurt Vile

Kurt Vile reconfigures the classic guitar album into an effortless and singular moment. His laid-back cool and sprawling, drawn-out vocal delivery are the perfect foil to his ambling guitar passions. The songs feel tossed off and unfinished and at the same time so perfectly executed. The record's amalgam of folk, blues, and psychedelia, rooted in stoner-tinged classic rock, burrows deep within each song, revealing a hazy world of living-room couches, garages, tour buses, and, significantly, friends and lovers coming and going.

"Baby's Arms" opens the album as the most honest rock'n'roll love song in years. "Jesus Fever" then jangles into the record's most catchy chorus, a surprise given that Vile's vocal hooks simply roll by with the music's nonchalant undertow. "Puppet to the Man" thrums with power-chord crackle, and it has the feel of the perfect kiss-off: Well i bet by now you probably think i'm a puppet to the man / well, i'll tell you right now, you best believe that i am.

Vile's overarching confession is perhaps summed up best in that song: Sometimes i'm stuck and then i think i can't unglue it. Not surprisingly, he searches for ways to get out of a jam or, at the very least, he talks himself into the necessary confidence. Consider the haunting "Runner Ups": My best friend's long gone / but i got runner ups.

Despite the personal discord, Vile breaks through with what appears to be his hoped-for mantra in "On Tour":

I wanna write my whole life down

burn it there to the ground

i wanna sing at the top of my lungs

for fun, screaming annoyingly

cuz that's just me

being me, being free

That exultation leads him to this: i'm just playing, i got it made, most of the time. Fortunately, Vile's gorgeous finger-picking reaches for the beauty in the gloom, and as a result, this dark and personal album sounds nothing short of transcendant.

7. Days / Real Estate

If indie guitar pop is your thing, then this is your thing. The New Jersey band's sophomore album, Days, faintly traces the same hazy summer dreams of fellow east-coasters Beach House. Where the Baltimore duo's instant classic Teen Dream was awash in organ-drones and Victoria Grand's lived-in vocals, Days is carried by lustrous guitar intricacies and the band's easy-going, reverbed harmonies. Like Teen Dream, however, Days' deceptively unadorned melodies are difficult to ignore. The album packs a punch even when it sounds so sleight and weightless.

Days is played with such casual exactness, the album brings to mind the precision of The Sea and Cake, only breezier, warmer, and embossed with reverb and delay. Though the band is likely capable of producing intricate post-rock, the loose feel of this album is vintage melodic pop, recalling the lush and artful melodies of the Byrds, early-R.E.M., and The Shins. During certain moments, the band's vocal shimmer even suggests the Beach Boys, as the songs are transported by suburban-garage guitars that hint at the surf just a short drive away.

Like many indie records of the past several years, Days allows you to create a contextual narrative in your head, rooted in a very specific place or time. For The D Man, that place and time is a youthful summer not too far distant and the carefree romance that slowly evaporates under the long afternoon of my memory. The result is, without a doubt, hypnotic.

8. The Year of Hibernation / Youth Lagoon

Trevor Powers is 22 years-old and hails from Boise, Idaho. His debut album, The Year of Hibernation, is not what you would expect to hear from the spud state. With carefully-crafted and eminently listenable bedroom arrangements, the record's daydreams envelop lyrical anxiety in sonic guaze, attempting to cover up some of the emotional bewilderment. But the artist's vulnerability results in another kind of clarity: a striking musical confession.

On its face, The Year of Hibernation is an unvarnished and home-made blend of buried vocals, keyboard runs, and guitar interludes--the sound of a young and independent musician overhearing his deeply-guarded thoughts. But the emotional complexity of the record is arresting. A clash of joy and mourning, Powers jettisons perfect understanding in favor of emotional honesty. To that end, Powers reaches a small contextual transcendance, a Bon Iver-like DIY recording of a private place and time: the excavation of the artist's youth.

The record runs at just over a half-hour and it feels like a short but unflinching conversation with your best childhood friend, a foray into enchanting memories and painful separations. Where the vocals are buried in the mix, seemingly emerging from the recesses of memory, Powers' instrumentation is clear-cut and in the present-tense. The crystalline keyboards give shape to the intentional spaciness, creating gravity with each note, while the spindly guitars appear from the outer reaches to punctuate his expressions.

The Year of Hibernation's one-word songs are, put simply, small but powerful vignettes of youth. "17." "Posters." "July." "Daydream." "Afternoon." And just when things get too heavy, the music gives way to an exuberance that only the young at heart can understand.