Unlisted: We Have the Facts and We're Voting Yes

As I mentioned a couple of weeks ago, this site's future is still unwritten. I'm not doing another list, as the work is too much for me right now. With that said, I'm going to continue to post unlisted pieces and here is an album I adore from a band I'm ashamed to admit I love.


Band: Death Cab For Cutie
Album: We Have the Facts and We're Voting Yes
Why Rolling Stone gets it right: Well, Death Cab isn't a band that everyone knows, so I guess this album shouldn't be here. I imagine it's just a personal love of mine.
Why Rolling Stone gets it wrong: "We Have The Facts" is a wondrous romp through what appears to be an on-again/off-again relationship of hipsters in Seattle. Emotionally charged, the barbs fly ("For What Reason") while bitterness remains until the end of the album("Scientist Studies"). Musically, the perfect combination of emo-style vocal whining, angular Northwest guitars and four-piece production gives the lyrics more resonance.
Best song: "For What Reason" is vitriolic on a wonderful level; The song's opening lines give fuel for dumped boyfriends for ages: "This won't be the last you'll hear from me: it's just the start."
Worst song: There's no really bad song on here. It's a wonderful record.
Is it awesome?: Absolutely.

"I don't think I ever noticed."

I was standing with a tape recorder in my hand, about a foot away from Death Cab for Cutie guitarist and producer Chris Walla. Nervous, I'd just asked Walla what he thought of lead singer Ben Gibbard's dance moves. To me, a 21-year-old who was seeing the band a second time, Gibbard's strange foot motions were notable. To Walla -- a lanky cross between Prince Valiant and Spike Jonze -- this was just the way the show went.

I've never been a good interviewer -- my favorite interview I've ever conducted was with Built to Spill frontman Doug Martsch and was almost entirely about basketball -- but this particular event with Walla was exceptionally awkward. I stopped being a real college radio person and turned into simply a fanboy, staring a member of one of my favorite bands down.

This was March 2002. I'm not sure I'd act any different six years later.

---

Despite growing up in the north suburbs of Chicago, my parents raised me a White Sox fan. Being a sports fan in general torments me -- it's a generally stupid group -- but being a White Sox fan torments me in particular. The Sox' fanbase is a lower class than many baseball fanbases, drawing from the group of fools who rush the umpire and try to beat up a coach. It's a group that includes the main guy from Styx. It's a group that asks questions about stolen bases of Mark Gonzales.

It's not a club I'm proud to belong.

Simlarly, I love Death Cab for Cutie. The aforementioned 2002 show was attended mostly by female Rock Bridge and Hickman High School students, with a smattering of University of Missouri people, mostly affected skinny men or squealing women. It's probably sexist, it's certainly stupid, but this annoyed me.

This fanbase, of course, connects to the band and the band's frontman. Gibbard, chief songwriter and lead singer, crafts music of a mostly adolescent nature. I don't know another way to describe it. Songs like "Photobooth" -- an indie rock update of "Summer Nights" -- tells the tale of teenage love, while Gibbard's voice falls between matter-of-fact snark and the whispery tenderness of a brooding sophomore. It's brilliant in its potential to draw both men and women into the mix. Drawing on relationship experience, the songs have an overly emotional feel, though it is one that we've felt. It's sensitive, but grave enough to have heft.

Gibbard's writing defines this. His lovelorn and simple lyrics hardly have the tone of McCartney, Lennon or fellow Washingtonian Cobain but rather read like overwrought prose, albeit pleasant and relatable overwrought prose. Side project The Postal Service was a an exercise in such lyrics (Sample 1: "I want so badly to believe that there is truth and love is real." Sample 2: "I am thinking it's a sign. That the freckles in our eyes. Are mirror images and when we kiss they're perfectly aligned.") and his Death Cab work -- while more nuanced -- relies on similar emotive responses.

This is both Gibbard's blessing and curse. Death Cab is an anomaly in the current irony-centric indie rock climate due largely to Gibbard's huge sincerity. Death Cab's music isn't like Pavement's; love is good, songs about girls are encouraged and Gibbard's breakups make for great song fodder. You'll find very few non-sequitors in Gibbard's songwriting and words aren't chosen solely because they fit rhythmically.

Of course, it's not the sincerity that makes Death Cab stand out. It's the quality of said sincerity. "Photobooth" is both ridiculous and wonderful at once. It reflects a reality none of us have ever known but have yearned for, the reality of emotional fuck buddies within a three-month constraint. "Send Packing" -- a song from Gibbard's pre-Death Cab solo album All Time Quarterback -- is among the greatest breakup songs ever written. "We Have the Facts and We're Voting Yes" is a brilliant breakup album. The band's first record is full of fun metaphors and dancing guitar pieces.

But, it's also the sincerity that opens the band up for criticism. In an indie rock world that celebrates the obtuse non-sequitir (Malkmus), the overly dark (Jason Molina), the overly political (Sleater-Kinney), the genre quirky (Devendrea Barnhart, Will Oldham) and the ironic (The Go! Team, etc.), a sincere angular guitar rock band doesn't always have a place. Torquil Campbell summed it up well in an AV Club interview a while back:

God bless Animal Collective, but they really have, in their own strange way, made indie rock a much more conservative place than it should be. If you can create intellectual distance from your work, then critics will feel clever for getting it and give you good marks; if you create music that fucked-up 13-year-old girls might enjoy, then critics will feel like you're trying too hard and not give you good marks.

Death Cab doesn't get the criticism within the blog/Web community that Stars does -- Death Cab is a better band, after all. But, I've heard it many times from pretentious friends and I understand why. I often feel a little ashamed that I am a Death Cab fanboy. And I don't mean sorta fanboy. I mean I have every single thing the band has ever released, including the extremely rare split 7" with Fiver, the "Wait/Prove My Hypothesis" 7", the original "You Can Play These Songs with Chords" cassette and the limited edition "John Byrd" EP. I prefer to listen to music that's above the fray, instrumental post-rock like Mogwai and Tortoise. But, being a melodramatic asshole, Gibbard's songwriting hits my buttons. At my heart, I'm still a 16-year-old getting dumped, wanting to know why. Wanting some answers.

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Simpsons creator Matt Groening has a theory that anything serial is looked at by fans as being constantly deteriorating from the point which that specific fan first encountered the particular thing. He uses "The Simpsons" as the example, in that the first generation viewers of the show -- myself included -- found the third, fourth and fifth seasons to be the best. Whatever you first saw is what you will love the best.

Another Simpsons writer (I'm blanking on whom) mentions on the same DVD commentary that something serial will have to change things soon enough, because everything else has been done. For example, charges of Homer being too stupid were levied at the show as early as season six, mostly because the writers needed to continue to push some sort of envelope. This is how "22 Short Films About Springfield" was made, as well. Someone had to do something to break new ground and find new humor.

This isn't to say that later work isn't good. It almost always is. But, it's tough to grow with a band or a TV show. Someone who first knew "The Simpsons" via the 15th season is going to have a completely different view of the show than I. That's just life.

A lot of people have gotten into Death Cab via "Plans" or their latest, "Narrow Stairs." I like "We Have the Facts and We're Voting Yes."

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One notable thing about Death Cab's success is its slow burn. The band's debut album was well-received, though under the radar. "We Have the Facts and We're Voting Yes" was critically acclaimed, but arrived at a time when the Web did not dominate music (and therefore independent music was still not as accessible via iTunes and such). "The Photo Album" and "Transatlanticism" grew the band's popularity, albeit slowly. Eventually, of course, Death Cab signed with Atlantic and "Plans" debuted at Billboard's no. 4 position. "Narrow Stairs," released earlier in May, debuted at no. 1.

So, I don't know if I'd call "We Have the Facts and We're Voting Yes" as the band's breakout. Today's music climate doesn't necessarily make for good breakouts; fellow Pacific Northwesters Modest Mouse's "breakout" was simply when they got a video on MTV. I don't know that Death Cab has ever had a video on MTV, as the channel rarely shows videos anymore.

Like any band that achieves success within its time, Death Cab is a product of said time. The band's best work takes from the other angular guitar music of the time while combining it with the pleading lyric style of the region. Put simply, the best of Death Cab's work sounds most like the lovechild of Modest Mouse and Elliott Smith.

"We Have the Facts and We're Voting Yes" is the best of Death Cab's work. Writing about the album in 2000, I compared it to my favorite songwriter:

The total irony of this album is that it came out within a month of Elliott Smith's album, "Figure 8." Where "Elliott Smith" SHOULD HAVE gone with "Figure 8," Death Cab for Cutie perfected.

I stand by this. Elliott Smith's brilliance was in his ability to use the rhythms of everyday language in his songwriting. His songs weren't repetitive in word, he never used cliches and the pullout lines were always ones we all use in conversation.

Gibbard often gets a little cute with his lyrics, but "We Have the Facts and We're Voting Yes" has the same conversational quality. My favorite song on the album -- and my favorite of his compositions -- uses this strategy in its opening line. while "This won't be the last you hear from me, it's just the start" isn't epic and sweeping like so many Cobain lyrics, it has a mid-career Dylan quality (this, of course, is without mentioning Gibbard's splendid delivery). The album is full of similar lyrics, slowly sang over Walla's brilliant melodic-meets-mathy guitars. The album's opening track lyrics end on Gibbard repeating "I rushed this. We moved too fast, and tripped into the guestroom."

The album's breakup theme is near universal. Tiny Mix Tapes compared it to Annie Hall and listeners (well, one listener. Me.) extrapolated it to their breakup emotions. The escapism ("What ghosts exist behind these attic walls?") and the forgotten love ("Misguided by the 405 'cause it lead me to an alcoholic summer. I missed the exit to your parents' house hours ago.") all inhabit the album in various places.

While Elliott Smith's great work was able to reconcile breakups with still-in-love infatuation, Gibbard's is more sinister. Like the brilliant "Send Packing" (final lyric: "I've nothing to say that we haven't gone already."), multiple tracks on the album. The record's centerpiece, the dual "Company Calls" tracks, recount a wedding in which the protagonist lambastes the entire experience, culminating in a raucous chorus.

Set your sights destroy this partyline,
'cause it's so tired.
Set your sights! Destroy this mock-shrine,
'cause it's so tired

The same song repeats the album's theme of a resentful breakup, as the narrator recounts the arguing and unhappiness in the brilliant opening lyric:

I'll take the best of your bad moods
and dress them up to make a better you

The second track in the diad, "Company Calls Epilogue" is more sedate. A morning after of sorts, the song is no less unhappy, using the "Title Track" method of delivering somber lyrics over the song's ending while lamenting said wedding. Slow and melodic, the almost-chorus teems with resentment:

Crashing through the parlor doors, what was your first reaction?
Screaming, drunk, disorderly: I'll tell you mine.
You were the one, but I can't spit it out when the date's been set.
The white routine to be ingested inaccurately.

---

I generalize a fair amount when I write. Part of that is playing the part of a polemicist, part of it is our culture ingrained in me. Part of it is trying to be a relatable writer and mostly, it's much more interesting than the "on one hand, on the other hand" method that often inhabits my head. It's more fun to write "country music sucks" than "country music generally sucks, but artists like Johnny Cash and Merle Haggard make interesting and great music. Also, the Meat Puppets take a great deal from country. What is considered alt-country is also great, specifically Uncle Tupelo..."

And so on.

But, this record remains a wonder. Whereas later Death Cab albums fall into the overarching (The band's latest single "I Will Possess Your Heart") or the weirdly dark ("What Sarah Said"), "We Have the Facts" is specific and smart. As a concept album, it's easy to follow, but as a thematic one (slight difference), it's brilliant. It's easy to extrapolate. I first experienced the album during a breakup and personalized it to an outrageous extent. I acted like a child and took to the album as such. It was idiotic, immature and a time I wish I had back.

But, on some level, I'm glad I shared that time with the album, as strange as that sounds. It's not a place I want to revisit, but that was a time when I was able to achieve a depth of emotion I'm not sure I can access as easily anymore. The album makes me remember, on some level, why extreme teenage emotion can be fun.

The best album of 2007: The Shepherd's Dog

Because it's the end of the year, everyone needs to do an end of the year list. My list is one record. I thought to go on a rant about AV Club's list of the best records, as I have done to friends this past week, but I won't. Instead, I'll use AV Club -- probably my favorite site on the Web -- as the RS surrogate.


Band: Iron and Wine
Album: The Shepherd's Dog
Why AV Club gets it right: Sam Beam's transformation is striking, as he fills out the classic Iron and Wine sound (whispery vocals and arpeggiated guitar) on the third proper album for the band. It spans genre while still keeping I&W's sound (tough to accomplish, certainly), yet builds on said sound completely.
Why AV Club gets it wrong: not to get too deep into my problems with the list, but if someone really thinks the Wilco record is better than "The Shepherd's Dog," I think that person really needs to rethink his or her views on music.
Best song: "The Boy with a Coin" is brilliant.
Worst song: "The Devil Never Sleeps" is the worst song on the record and it's still better than 99% of songs I hear.
Is it awesome?: Absolutely.


When I was in high school and college, I would make year-end lists. This was -- mostly -- a pre-blog world, so I would simply post them on a Web site (yes, kids, we had Web sites before Blogger), I'd e-mail them to friends or I'd do a radio show about them. Being on radio for eight years was really a nice venue for that sort of thing.

I stopped doing this when I graduated college. The reasoning is pretty simple: I don't get to hear as much new music as I did while in college. While a DJ, I listened to the station nonstop. As Program Director all the music we got passed through my desk. So, at the very least, I'd heard of something and most likely, I would have heard a few songs on the station. All of this was free.

Now? Not so much. I rely on Pitchfork for bands I don't already know, and even then, I don't fully trust their reviewers. I can't afford buying tons of new records, because I have bills to pay. I'm late on everything and I mostly just buy records from bands I liked on graduation day.

(I know, I know. No one wants to hear my complain about being an adult. It's part of growing up. You stop knowing underground culture and you're supposed to settle down, breed, etc.)

My point is this: I don't think I could write a good year-end list, because I mostly buy records I know I'm going to enjoy. I obtain a lot of music (I spend a lot of money on iTunes, I am an eMusic subscriber, etc.), but it's not like I have people trying to convince me to like something -- that's what promo people do to radio station PDs.

Instead, I have a list of bands I like a lot and when they come out with records, I get them. This is good most of the time, but can be horribly disappointing other times; The new Wilco album is ass, despite what AV Club says.

Which brings us to this record. The AV Club's 25th selection rounds out the bottom of their top albums of the year. Again, I can't speak to about half the albums on the list, but I can say this: "The Shepherd's Dog" totally blew me away. That, in and of itself, is enough for me to call it my favorite album of 2007.

That's not to disparage any of the other records I really enjoyed this year (the Radiohead, Kanye West and Arcade Fire albums, for example). But, "The Shepherd's Dog" continues an arc that Sam Beam has followed for his last four releases and may -- hopefully not -- have reached its pinnacle.

Iron and Wine is probably most known from the "Garden State" soundtrack on which Beam (the main songwriter and performer in I&W) covered The Postal Service's "Such Great Heights." Beam's voice on that track is essentially perfect for the song, a track recounting the tenderness of young love. Beam's vulnerability is nothing if not endearing and his easy guitar picking deconstruct the original version's beeping and booping.

Nevertheless, the simplicity of I&W's early records -- like "Such Great Heights," I&W's first two albums have little outside of guitar and Beam's whispery vocals -- has turned into full-on experimentation within song structure and arrangement on "The Shepherd's Dog." In lieu of simple guitars and banjos, Beam brings different styles of basses and guitars and even uses a Dijiredoo on the record.

A lot of critics have cited I&W's work with Calexico on the bands' 2005 EP in their reviews of the record. Certainly, "In The Reins" is a brilliant album, combining two of my favorite modern groups. But, the idea that Beam simply got together with Calexico and decided to start using tons of quirky percussion and piano on his next record is, needless to say, silly.

Especially when you look at the pre-"Shepherd's Dog" highlight of I&W's discography, 2005's "Woman King" EP. On the record, Beam exhibits two things: The ability to lyrically work within a theme (the strong female being the theme) and the ability to arrange for a bull band. "Woman King" is mostly straightforward in its folk-rock styling, but the addition of extra guitars and percussion into the mix was a huge departure from Beam's Nick Drake imitation, but proved -- in my mind, as least -- to be his most effective. This was, of course, pre-Calexico collaboration.

Nevertheless, "The Shepherd's Dog" takes Beam's newfound (maybe?) skill to a totally different level. Instead of simply following a folk rock template, Beam switches, mixes and genre-hops.

What's so striking about this diversity of sound is that "The Shepherd's Dog" remains decidedly an I&W record. Beam doesn't try to be Calexico -- as some reviewers would suggest -- but rather works African musical motifs into his normal sound ("The House by the Sea") or uses musical onomatopoeia ("Carousel"). Even in subtle instance, where Beam simply accents his normal sound the result is striking. "Resurrection Fern" is considerably fuller than anything on "The Creek Drank the Cradle" or even "Our Endless Numbered Days." Beam even channels his inner rockabilly star on "The Devil Never Sleeps." Despite being the weakest song on the record, it's still remarkably good and something of a revelation to hear Beam's voice doubled and singing over a rollicking piano. "Wolves (Song of the Shepherd's Dog)" and "Lovesong of the Buzzard" are two animal-ased songs that move; The former being more sensual while the latter a pure strange-rhythm rocker.

---

As is my failing as a writer, I can't even coherently write about the album's lead single, "The Boy With A Coin." The song, in a bizarre time signature I still don't really understand, is based around a start/stop acoustic guitar line (again, it's a decidedly I&W album). The lyrics are typically Beam, describing two children, the curiosity of human existence and the wonder with which we see the world.

The slide guitar work (OK, I give, some stuff he probably picked up from Calexico) accents the song without making it sound a country number. The several atmospheric guitar lines -- nothing more than a note or two extended -- fill the background with weight.

The song has no real chorus, save for Beam singing "hey" and "yeah" in his near-perfect voice and the crazy rhythm gets clapping as an accent.

(When I saw I&W in the fall, it was pure hilarity to watch the crowd try and clap along.)

Again, I have a fair amount of trouble explaining just exactly why "The Boy With A Coin" is so great. It just kind of is.

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I guess one story I could tell is this: I pre-ordered the album without hearing much of "The Boy With A Coin" (as much as I love Pitchfork, I don't pay attention when they post songs on the Forkcast, as they did with the single). When I got the record home and listened to it, I fell in love with the record and had to tell someone. The problem? None of my friends -- well, none of my friends with whom I correspond often -- are really I&W fans. I imagine none of them have heard enough of I&W.

So, what did I do? I e-mailed a friend I hadn't spoken to, in, I think, six months. Maybe longer? I don't know. The entire e-mail:

Subject: Because I need to tell someone...

Body: ...And you're the only other Iron & Wine fan I know, you should really get the new album, "The Shepherd's Dog." It's wonderful. Like, amazing, ridiculously wonderful.

Here's the lead single:
http://tinyurl.com/38e6p6

OK, that's all. I hope you're doing well, otherwise.

Because, really, what else can you say, right?

---

Allmusic says it well:

By the end of the record, you may feel a few pangs for the discarded, sparse sound of early Iron & Wine, but the beauty and majesty of The Shepherd's Dog will pave right over them, and you should be able to enjoy the masterful songcraft, inspired performance, and note-perfect production with no guilt and a fair bit of awe.

That's exactly it: The sparseness of I&W's earlier records is gone and that's a great thing. The word "awe" is used and I couldn't think of a better term.

When I ordered the record, I was hoping for a good album. When I received it and listened, I was fully blown away. I haven't been that surprised by a record in a while. It surpassed every high expectation I had for it.

Unlisted: Panopticon

Band: Isis
Album: Panoption
Why Rolling Stone gets it right: The thinking man's metal band, Isis' third proper album is political without being political, heavy without being overly heavy, tender while metal and extremely drawn out. At the intersection of post-rock and sludge metal comes “Panopticon,” equal parts MBV and Sabbath. And that's not even mentioing the word “literate,” which this album nearly defines, in metal terms.
Why Rolling Stone gets it wrong: Well, for one, Neurosis basically created this sort of sound years before “Panopticon” came out, so if you're going on “who did it first,” they get this title. Still, RS shows little love for metal on the list, basically only giving credence to Metallica, Sabbath (sort of, with only two records) and Zeppelin.
Best song: “Backlit” takes the Pixies' quietLOUDquiet thing to a metal edge, all while working in the postponed climax of a great Mogwai record. It's also Aaron Turner's best “sung” (as opposed to growled, though there is growling) song.
Worst song: This album works as a whole and there are no bad songs.
Is it awesome?: Absolutely.

While heavy metal gets short shrift in the indie music press, literate metal is oftentimes lauded more than it sometimes should. I'm an example of that; I'm not much for the normal vikings and Hobbit nonsense, but give me Nietzsche and I'm sated.

As such, my love for Isis' “Panopticon” is clearly rooted in my love for two things, driving guitars and literate (some would call “Panopticon” pretentious) rock. It's full of the landmark metal downtuned and aggressive guitars all while carrying a lyrcal theme based on post-structuralist philosopher Michel Foucault's book “Surveiller et punir: Naissance de la prison” (Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison).

The album cover itself is a shape of things to come. Acting as the ever watching eye, the aerial photograph of Los Angeles is a creepy foreshadowing of the Bush administration's wiretapping actions. The album's theme of surveillance by those in power over those without power is further exemplified in the title of the record (panopticon, a kind of prison wherein a single guard is back lit against prisoners he can see in a wheel-like structure) and the song titles reflect different portions of the book.

The atmosphere of the record is its driving force. While most metal – including other bands that are considered “post-metal” like Mastodon – is about instant gratification and rapid-fire pounding, “Panopticon's” songs are mostly structured almost like a suspense novel. Songs start slow and build slowly, climaxing in a slower-than-usual metal crescendo. “Syndic Calls” is nearly nothing at the start, solely a feedback-ish keyboard line that starts a small bass line and guitar bit. This continues for a full minute – the song is nearly 10 minutes long -- until Turner comes in with his singing (again, not growling), while the band comes in, quickly and pretty forcefully. The start and stop guitar three minutes in, and the lowering of the boom of full-on distortion soon thereafter hit the song into high gear.

The Pitchfork review uses the term “waterlogged” to describe the album's sound and that's about as fitting as it comes. The record drips of reverb and the drum lines evoke something of a rainstorm. The choruses come like a deluge and the band brings overwhelming fluidity to the record only seen in the tightest bands.

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Because metal doesn't get any respect from mainstream music press (Sabbath and Metallica are really the only two metal bands on the list), it would be easy to prop Isis up, simply on the fact that this record is so literate. But, lyrically, it's sparse and powerful. Built on Aaron Turner's more able singing, the record's lyrics reflect, in mostly obtuse terminology, as in the album highlight, “Backlit.” “Always object/Never subject,” opens the song, referencing the feel of being under surveillance.

The whole album builds off this, largely on the back of Turner's voice. Certainly, the rest of the band can play – there are no Pelican drummer-type complaints here -- but Turner is the driving force here.

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What makes “Panopticon” so great? Certainly, part of my love for it is my overwhelming love of the post-rock genre.

But, the album is evocative. Because music is the soundtrack to our lives, its greatest asset can be to evoke a feeling. “Panopticon” does that without anything overt about it; In fact, I imagine that a lot of people get a feeling not related to paranoia or being watched.

There's something inherently great about being able to do that. The greatest art suggests a world of different reactions from those who consume it. Not everyone feels the same way about Michelangelo's Pietá.

In a world of Hobbit/D&D nonsense (Maiden, etc.), bar-brawl thugging (Judas Priest, etc.) and high school philosophy (Metallica), a metal record based on a French structuralist philosopher is wonderful. It's evocative and smart and one of my favorite albums of all time.

Unlisted: Either/Or

Band: Elliott Smith
Album: Either/Or
Why Rolling Stone gets it right: It isn't a big seller and the RS editors are dopes, so I see why they don't love it.
Why Rolling Stone gets it wrong: This album is a big part of the emo 2000s. Smith's songwriting and vocal influence scores of bands, including Jimmy Eat World, Death Cab for Cutie, Iron & Wine and almost any band Zach Braff likes.
Best song: Just about any of these songs is excellent, though, "Say Yes" is one of my favorite songs. Also, "Rose Parade."
Worst song: "Punch And Judy" is the weakest song on the record, but it's still pretty great.
Is it awesome?: It may be my favorite album of all time.


It's hard to write about, probably, my favorite album of all time. I don't really know how to do it, in fact.

Music is the soundtrack to our lives and a lot of what we desire in our music is to have something speak for us. We use music to define us in the same way we use fashion and movies and everything else we consume.

Music holds a special place, though, because it not only keeps the words -- something quite literal -- close to our hearts (you can sing your favorite song pretty easily), but the actual music reflects a part of us that we seek to be.

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Musically, "Either/Or" isn't anything particularly revolutionary or exciting; The slightly angular acoustic guitars, the whispered vocals and the sparse percussion is nothing new. In fact, the artist Smith is most compared to (Nick Drake) did a lot of the same stuff, thirty years ago.

Still, it was effective when Drake did it because it works. For DYI singer/songwriter stuff, it works really well. For Smith, it's perfect. His later work featured a lot of studio dicking around and all it did was take away from the music. On "Either/Or," though, he kept it simple.

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Elliott Smith is probably my favorite songwriter, largely for his ability to translate a rhythm of everyday speech into song. Too many lyrics are simply love/above or one/fun or play/day. You know, it's the sort of thing you find in a rhyming dictionary or in an *nSync song or something. The kind of thing Swedes write.

I've written before (a long time ago, actually) that "Either/Or" is one of the five albums I wish I'd written. In it, I gave the reasoning that I still believe, on some level, for my love for "Either/Or" and its lyrics:

either/or is minutiae. it's those small things. it's not about breaking up, or killing someone or drama, or excitement. it's about life. day in and day out. elliott smith is the thing inside of us that is depressed, but not manic.

While I use that to explain "Either/Or," I now can realize that Smith's entire songwriting catalog is largely reflective of this trait. Whether he's writing about heroin, politics or a "Rose Parade," the simplicity of conversation comes through in the lyrics. Sometimes, this reflects the young man that he was, as his use of profanity is the harder edge, as in "Rose Parade":

The trumpet has obviously been drinking
Because hes fucking up even the simplest lines
Id say its a sight thats quite worth seeing
Its just that everyones interest is stronger than mine
And when they clean the street I'll be the only shit thats left behind

There's a real reflection of "how people speak" in there, more than the pop music that we're all used to. Certainly, more than the Nick Drakes-wannabes that populate charts most of the time.



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I have five favorite songs. They are (in no particular order):

1. "Lost Cause" by Beck


2. "Good Morning, Captain" by Slint


3. "Hunted By A Freak" by Mogwai


4. "Tin Cans And Twine" by Tortoise


5. "Say Yes" by Elliott Smith

"Hunted By A Freak" and "Tin Cans And Twine" are both basically instrumentals ("Hunted By A Freak" has some of the best vocoder work ever). "Good Morning Captain" is a narrative about a seawreck that is basically my favorite dropped-D guitar work. Ever. "Lost Cause" is sad and depressing and, generally, I'm a pretty melancholy dude.

"Say Yes" holds a place there not because it's depressing or happy or about a breakup or because it's sweet or because it's complex. It's there because it's all of those things.

Breakups are never easy and the first reaction of anyone is probably to act like a total dickweed (Smith's "A Question Mark," from "XO," is that side of him). It's easy to get angry. It's easy to feel betrayed and it's easy to direct that anger towards someone.

But, "Say Yes" isn't a breakup song about that. "Say Yes" has a protagonist who has simply submitted to sadness. S/He is not manic. S/He is depressed. There's an explanation for the whole breakup ("situations get fucked up, turned around, sooner or later'), but the protagonist doesn't turn it

In fact, the main character of the song is growing up -- "I grew up, I didn't know" -- and learning. It's, on some level, a song about maturation in light of relationships. Something, I'm sure, we've all gone through.

Smith used to introduce the song live as "a happy song," which fits it well. It's not sad, it's not angry. It's melancholy and it's tortured and there's some happiness in there. The growth is great and something, I think, we could all take something from.

---

"Either/Or" is who I wish to be and who I sometimes see myself as. Musicians don't feel a deepper range of emotions than us non-creative types, but many of them do know how to put those feelings into words better than the rest of us. "Either/Or" is that, in a lot of ways. It's a band blessed with a keen gift for putting the melancholy into words. The "rut" and the "downturn" emotionally; The times when you're sad, but don't know why. Indeed, there isn't anything really all that sad about "Alameda's" lyrics. It actually sounds like a misanthrope's dream monologue:

You're all pretension
I never pay attention
Nobody broke your heart
You broke your own because you can't finish what you start

I think that's why I enjoy it so much. The element of disaffected sadness and constant disappointment by those around you (Smith's parents divorced when he was very young and he moved quite a bit as a child) is something I -- in my own overdramtic mind -- identify with.

Again, it's tough to write about, maybe, my favorite album of all time. But, the highest praise I can give it is this: I never turn it off and I can put it on any time. I could be driving, playing Playstation, walking to work, whatever. "Either/Or" fits like me like my favorite t-shirt. It fit when I was 16 and first heard it, it fit at 21 when I was a melodramatic college student and it fits now as a disaffected 26-year-old.

Unlisted: Animals

Band: Pink Floyd
Album: Animals
Why Rolling Stone gets it right: It's not Floyd's best known record. A lot of people -- rightfully -- can't enjoy 10-plus minute songs.
Why Rolling Stone gets it wrong: Other than "The Wall," "Animals" is Floyd's most straightforward rock record. It's also a wonderfully smart record, a political statement about British society at the time.
Best song: This is a record that sounds best as an album. "Pigs (Three Different Ones)" is my favorite on the record. It's got cowbell, a talk box, heavy keyboards and a fantastic solo.
Worst song: Nope. It's all great.
Is it awesome?: Yes. One of my favorites.

I have used the term "literate" seven times so far on this project in expressing my love for that which is smart in rock and roll. Referencing books and literature, to me, shows off something you don't see a lot in musicians: A life outside of being creative. As someone who consumes just a ton of media, I appreciate it when a band shows that they, also, do something other than hole up in the studio, write and record.

(Also, it means the song probably isn't about love.)

Pink Floyd is one of my favorite bands for just that reason. While the wheels eventually came off in the "thematic album" thing later in their time together, the ability to write songs around interesting thing -- smart things -- and make them cool, different and push the boundaries of rock and roll... Well, that's why their music has endured.

Everyone knows "The Dark Side Of The Moon." I made a case for it to be considered in the conversation of "best album ever" and I stand by that. Whatever my criticisms of "The Wall," it's the record that introduced me to Floyd (It's one of my father's favorite albums. Thanks, Pop!) and it would be up there with "Dark Side" if not for the sheer breadth of it all. With a good editor -- as we say in the journalism business -- it would be in the conversation.

There are fans of the more psychedelic Floyd records. Albums like the Syd Barrett-fronted "Piper At The Gates Of Dawn," or the film soundtrack "More" or the double disc "Ummagumma" or even "Atomic Heart Mother." They're all wonderful records and a totally different track than the more popular Floyd. Built on fragments of thought and sound experiments, many of the more out-there Floyd is a great listen and among the best in psychedelia. Certainly, it's much better than the meandering jam rock that Americans were calling psych music in the late 60s. Damned hippies.

But there are two records that don't fit into those two categories: "Wish You Were Here" and "Animals." "Wish You Were Here" is on the list -- I'll get to it in about a month at 209 -- and I won't go into great detail as to why it's an amazing album. Still, it lies somewhere between "The Wall" and "Dark Side" in the prog/hard rock continuum while still resonating in an emotional way. Also, it features the gestation of a political attack, at the two anti-industry songs illustrate.

"Animals" is totally different. A full-blown attack on 1970s political and corporate culture, the album is the band at its darkest. The hope and optimism of "Dark Side" is gone. The sentimentality of "Wish You Were Here?" Nowhere to be found.

Instead, you have Waters going straight for the jugular of British society in three ways, all taken from George Orwell's novella "Animal Farm." The pigs are the politically powerful, those who believe their own self-importance. The dogs are the robber barons, corporate tycoons and industrialists who control the pigs and policy. And, of course, the sheep are everyone else. Blindly going along with the plan, not noticing that we're the ones off to be slaughtered.

It's an album that has more resonance today than ever (hello, George W. Bush!), with the American power structure manipulating the littles over and over. We all watch because we're not the ones being sent off to war. We're not the ones who can't get married. We're not the ones who lost a house in Katrina. We're not the ones who'll get bombed when Bush decides Iran is a terrorist nation. We're not the ones defaulting on our home loans. We have our two-car garage, 2.4 kids, huge TV, gas-guzzling SUV and our giant backyard. Baaaaaaaaaaaaaah. Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. Baaaaaaaaaaaaaah.

---

It's a tough pill to swallow, I'm sure. The album is five tracks long and that's including the beginning and ending tracks; Basically identical love songs written for Waters' wife. Each is under a minute and a half.

The three 10-plus minute songs are guitar-driven epics that go into lyrical detail the stitches of each group. "Dogs" details the conniving and grossness that is industrialization and the power of the dogs.

A certain look in the eye, and an easy smile
You have to be trusted by the people that you lie to
So that when they turn their backs on you
You'll get the chance to put the knife in.

The song is powered by Gilmour. His acoustic rhythm playing drives the song while his precision solos and breaks soar over the record. If you're wondering what keeps the song going for 17 minutes, it's that.

"Pigs (Three Different Ones)" is only the highlight of the album and a triumph of arrangement, rhythm and bitingly snide lyrics. The parallel structure of the verse lyrics, is brilliant (The "ha ha, charade you are" pieces. The second verse, a subtle attack on Margaret Thatcher, seems prescient now, after a decade of her rule in the 80s. Similarly, the pointed attack on Mary Whitehouse -- a British politician of some import -- is explicit in the lyrics, as she's called a charade and "a real treat, But you're really a cry" as the song draws to a close.

Again, Gilmour takes over the song. His talk box work not only creates the pig-like sound effects to start and end the song, the talk box solos are representative of the pigs and their constant self-important chatter. Nick Mason's cowbell again keeps with the "Animal Farm" theme, as well as moving the song's staccato blues rhythm smooth-ish. And Rick Wright's keyboards sound perfect.

Finally, the deluge of a third act starts with two minutes of a soft organ piece and later cascades with Gilmour's guitar. The song's lyrics describe the sheep in detail and their eventual plot to overthrow the dogs. The Biblical middle part falls into the keyboard-centric middle. Indeed," "Sheep" is where Wright shines. The organ moves the song along to the end, as the final two verses scream in as the (in the song's plot) sheep take over.

Of course, the supremely negative Floyd rules here and the last verse is simply the Sheep acting in the same way as the power-hungry dogs:

Have you heard the news?
The dogs are dead!
You better stay home
And do as you're told
Get out of the road if you want to grow old.

---

It's striking how guitar/organ heavy the record is. Despite the track lengths, it's probably Floyd's most conventional-sounding hard rock record (save for "The Wall," of course). It's familiarly Floyd, but something more. It's a political attack as well as a statement on the nature of humanity.

It's a misanthrope's dream, basically.

---

It's funny. It's kind of hated by the band now, considering it was basically a Roger Waters solo project, save for Gilmour's input on "Dogs."

I guess I can understand that, though. It's not for everyone. It doesn't push any real boundaries, save for the time limits of eight-track cassettes. It's pretty self-indulgent and has become something of a joke, as the pig became synonymous with rock and roll spectacle.

Still, it's hard and it's negative and it's powerful. It hits home as well as any record, especially six years into a George Bush presidency that will go down as a complete disaster. "Animals" and "Animal Farm" never felt so real.

Unlisted: Spiderland

Band: Slint
Album: Spiderland
Why Rolling Stone gets it right: Not a lot of people know "Spiderland" and I'd be overstating its import if I said it was the most important record ever. It's not. But, it's important for underground music.
Why Rolling Stone gets it wrong: "Spiderland" is one of the starts of post-rock. The album's influence can be heard in everyone from Mogwai to Isis to Tortoise to The Shins and the like. It's full of emotion and angular guitar.
Best song: I have five favorite songs. One of them is "Good Morning Captain."
Worst song: The closest thing to a bad song is "For Dinner..." and it's one of the best instrumental rock songs ever.
Is it awesome?: Absolutely.

Steve Albini, before Big Black and before his status as "engineer" du jour, was a columnist for rock zines in the 80s. He was infamous for being opinionated for the sake of being opinionated and he ruffled a lot of feathers.

Nevertheless, he also has written a review, column or whatever in bits and spurts since he became a full-time engineer/musician. I don't know he came to write the definitive review of one of my favorite albums of all-time, but he did. In 1991, he wrote this for the U.K. music magazine "Melody Maker:"

Slint's music has always been primarily instrumental, and Spiderland isn't a radical departure, but the few vocals are among the most pungent of any album around. When I first heard Brian McMahan whisper the pathetic words to "Washer", I was embarrassed for him. When I listened to the song again, the content eluded me and I was staggered by the sophistication and subtle beauty of the phrasing. The third time, the story made me sad nearly to tears. Genius.

Go ahead and read it. The review makes one thing clear: "Spiderland" is so good it made Steve Albini -- a man with a heart surely made of stone -- cry.

---

My relationship with Slint is a little odd, as they're one of my favorite bands, but -- like a lot of great indie rock -- I got into them a little late. I was 10 when this record came out and I'd only known of Slint tangentially until I got to college. I'd a tape copy of "Spiderland," but had "Tweez" and the "Rhoda" single. "Spiderland" is the epic, but I didn't have a CD copy until a friend gave it to me as a gift late in college.

---

To say Slint is distinctive would be an understatement. There really isn't a band like them. They're not hardcore and while they largely set a template for post-rock, that genre has turned into something completely different. Lyrically, the band is sparse and musically, they don't fit into a genre. The clean guitars build slowly until they turn into distortion. Like the best baseball and hockey games, there's a lot of waiting around for a climax and when it comes, it's blissful.

---

There are scores of unique superficial things about "Spiderland." There's the CD that comes unmarked, with simply the TG 64 catalog number and copyright information printed on the clear plastic middle. There's the packaging, from the distinctive arachnid to the Albini-esque "This recording is meant to be listened to on vinyl" and the liner notes message "interested female vocalists write 1864 douglas blvd. lousville, ky. 40205." Allegedly, PJ Harvey wrote to this address and never got a reply. Supposedly, Rodan was created partially because Tara Jane O'Neil wrote to the address, as well.

Of course, the famous cover is also there. Taken by indie rock stalwart Will Oldham at a rock quarry in Southern Indiana, the photo has a child-like quality to it. Maybe it's just me, but swimming in a rock quarry seems to be the kind of thing teenagers did in books like "A Separate Peace." Still, the cover is classic, referenced by The Shins in their "New Slang" video.

---

There's a raw emotion in Brian McMahan's vocals is striking in its passion. The album opener, the dropped-d "Breadcrumb Trail" has McMahan half-screaming as he splays "Creeping up into the sky" in the song's chorus. His half talk/sing verses emit a coolness unparalleled in music at the time or even now. "Nosferatu Man" tells the Hallowe'en story through a rolling rhythm and high pitched harmonics. Unlike the underground rock of the 80s, there's no jangle, irony or jokes. The record is pure passion.

Throughout the record guitars build until they all fall out like a Niagra Falls of distortion. Sometimes, that cascade never comes; "Don, A Man" never climaxes. Sometimes, it takes until the final piece of the song, like in "Good Morning Captain."

"Good Morning Captain" is one of my favorite songs. Like any superlatively great song, the song creates a mood. "Good Morning Captain," however, takes you through a series of moods. Indeed, the song is like a thriller, film noir or horror film on a record. It starts off soft and slow, like the calm of suburbia. The song then speeds up to reveal a quiet, easy verse with McMahan again speak-singing the story of a shipwreck. The song's chorusy thing (it's hardly conventional, so to call the d-g-g portion a chorus is probably silly) is another exercise in anticipation. As McMahan comes closer to the resolution of the song, he finishes the song with the famous lines, over the chorusy section:

I miss you.
I've grown taller now.
I want the police to be notified.
I'll make it up to you,
I swear, I'll make it up to you.

Then, as the wailing guitar feedback comes in, McMahan screams "I miss you!" three times as the band slams into one another. Like a fantastic noir movie, the song comes together at the last moment, with the listener along for the ride.

And that's "Spiderland" in a nutshell. Slint tells a wonderful story through delayed gratification and anticipation through intricate guitar work. "Spiderland" is wonderful.

Unlisted: The Soft Bulletin

Band: The Flaming Lips
Album: The Soft Bulletin
Why Rolling Stone gets it right: No longer just an indie rock acid trip, the Flaming Lips put out a lush, heavily orchestrated album. Now a trio, the band doesn't wait to fuck around with kazoos or easy rhymes, but now simply created an atmospheric conception of reality on record that is basically perfect. The best album in a crowded field of 1999, "The Soft Bulletin" is beautiful.
Why Rolling Stone gets it wrong: This should, undoubtedly be on the list.
Best song: "Waitin' For A Superman" is likely the album's highlight, as it's the band's most introspective and conscious song. But, "Buggin'" is wonderfully fun, "The Spiderbite Song" has roots in the band's history and "The Spark That Bled" is almost operatic. And, of course, there's Wayne Coyne's beatboxing on "Feeling Yourself Disintegrate."
Worst song: This album is up there with the near-perfects.
Is it awesome?: Yes, yes. One thousand times yes.

I guess I could see a world where the Flaming Lips are considered middlebrow claptrap. They do straddle the line between being indie rock faves and AAA friends (mostly due to the music's use in commercials), but that line gets blurrier and blurrier by the day. I mean, who would've thought Explosions in the Sky would have a song in a Cadillac ad?

Still, The Lips have been doing this for a while. Their only real hit was a hit because of exposure on "Beavis And Butthead," despite it being the second-best song on that particular awesome album. Their oddball song subjects ("Christmas At The Zoo," "Guy Who Got a Headache and Accidentally Saves the World," etc.) and hook-laden if not catchy four-piece ease never really caught on with indie rockers who weren't into, well, psychotropic drugs.

This eventually led to "Zaireeka," and experiment in quadrophonic sound as well as the gullibility of fans (I bought a used copy and didn't enjoy it). It looked like the first step in a more out-there Lips, but, in reality, it was simply the shedding of the weirdo skin. "Zaireeka," as misguided as it was, was simply a step towards greatness.

---

"The Soft Bulletin" has been lauded as a concept album, but I can't seem to find the subject of the album, nor a plot, so I'm going to kick that idea out of here. Rather, it's the Flaming Lips finally addressing the world at large and reality on a record. Instead of the droning guitar and metronome beat of "Slow Nerve Action" (the best song from "Transmissions") or the kazoo and guitar riffing of "She Don't Use Jelly," the band's tenderness shows through to a comrade in "The Spiderbite Song." Ostensibly about a lie trying to cover up Steven Drozd's drug use (he said the festering wound on his arm was a spider bite, when it was due to IV drug use), "The Spiderbite" is just as well a tribute to a friend as "Shine On You Crazy Diamond" is, only a quarter of the length and much more fun. Following it comes "Buggin'," a song that could easily serve as a child's singalong as the Zombies-chamber-pop that it actually is. It's wonderfully constructed, based in piano, a heavily reverbed drum/bass combo and sweet strings.

---

The thing about the Flaming Lips is that they're a band you root for. (Name-dropper alert) I think to the time I met Wayne Coyne and how incredibly nice the guy was. It was about a year after this record came out, three friends (hi, Tehft, Joc and Mark!) and I went to Lawrence to see Elliott Smith in Lawrence, KS (that was the closest he was playing to Columbia, MO, where we went to college). The Bottleneck is a fantastic club in Lawrence; Most of the important indie bands play there.

Anyway, like the idiot self-promoter that I was/am, I wore a KCOU (our school's radio station) t-shirt. The Flaming Lips had recently played in Columbia on the first "Soft Bulletin" tour -- it remains the best single show I've ever attended -- and Wayne came up to Mark and I after the show to talk about Columbia. He asked if we were from KCOU and we asked if he goes to a lot of shows in Lawrence. I'm paraphrasing, but he basically said that Lawrence is close enough to Oklahoma (where the Lips reside) that he'd make the trip for friends of his (he knew some people in Smith's band).

Remember, this is a time when "The Soft Bulletin" was being compared -- rightly, I want to say -- to "Pet Sounds" and "Dark Side Of The Moon." The band was on everyone's favorite list for about a year and a half. Their shows were becoming must-see events. And like the nice guy he was, Coyne was just chatting up a couple of guys who worked at a radio station he liked in a town 100 miles away. Like it was nothing.

Indie rock is a culture without much separation from the fans. There aren't a lot of douche bag indie rock superstars (Isaac Brock and Ryan Adams are the only ones I can think of. Oh, also Albini.); Most of them will chat you up. Most of the time, however, it's because they're in your town playing a show for your station. But, for some reason, I expected Coyne to be shy or withdrawn. I certainly didn't expect him to come up to us because we were wearing KCOU shirts. What a nice guy.

---

This is the reason bitch and moan about Pitchfork's reviews. The review starts out with a multi-paragraph explanation about the writer's work habits and his roommates. Things readers don't care about.

(Yes, I understand the irony in my complaining about masturbatory reviews.)

Still, one of the reasons I still love Pitchfork is this line: "One of the only albums I can compare it to is Dark Side of the Moon-- a sonic exploration into a bunch of morbid themes that sound extra good when you've been kissing Ol' Lady Bong." Absolutely true and as well-worded as you can expect. "The Soft Bulletin" is a "Dark Side" for aging and change.

---

"What Is The Light" is sparse and existential, as evidenced by the song's subtitle in the liner notes.

(An untested theory hypothesis suggesting that the chemical [in our brains] by which we are able to experience the sensation of being in love is the same chemical that caused the "Big Bang" that was the birth of the accelerating universe)

It's on this album that the band tackles the big questions. In "The Spiderbite Song," it's friendship and loyalty. On "What Is The Light?" it's the universe's depth and on "Suddenly, Everything Has Changed," it's the nature of getting older. "The Observer" is a cosmic-sounding instrumental -- not unlike Floyd's "The Great Gig In The Sky" -- that further brings up the question of existence.

---

Of course, part of my fondness for this record is likely based in when I saw the band perform at Columbia, MO's Blue Note in the spring of 2000. Unlike most bands who played at a venue the size of the Blue Note (not a big venue), the Lips put on a show. In lieu of having a live drummer, horn section and orchestra, the band played to tape a lot, with Michael Ivins playing a bass and Steven Drozd moving between the guitar and keyboards.

Behind the band was a large projector screen used to, presumably, expand the audience's experience. Boy, did it. The example I always think about was the video of an open chest cavity during surgery, showing the blob that is a human heart beating. Fittingly, the loop was recorded (and played) so that the beat of the heart corresponded with the beat of a song (I don't remember which). Later, the band showed Drozd playing the drums on the screen as they played the big drum sound of "Slow Nerve Action."

One of the other highlights of showmanship occurred right before and during the band's one hit, "She Don't Use Jelly." Because it got some radio play on MTV, the Lips were booked on the old Jon Stewart Show, and before they played the song in Columbia, they projected Stewart's introduction -- skipping it in a video effect -- before the wailing introduction to the song.

During the song, in the one beat to each part, as the song lifts, men (presumably) in bunny mascot suits flung confetti into the air. The bunnies were in the audience and made everybody happy.

And "The Soft Bulletin" songs were performed just as perfectly. Coyne brought out a punching nun puppet at one point, singing to it. He used fake blood capsules to accentuate the lyrics of "The Spark That Bled." It was perfect.

It's nearly impossible to describe the glee that I felt after that show. I immediately went back to my dorm and explained to my girlfriend how happy I the show made me

---

"Waitin' For A Superman" is the pinnacle of the record. A quasi-religious (spiritual?) track, the song was largely inspired by the death of Coyne's father and how Coyne dealt with it.

Is it gettin' heavy?
Well I thought it was already as heavy
As can be
Is it overwhelming
To use a crane to crush a fly?
It's a good time for Superman
To lift the sun into the sky

Is Superman the actual hero that we've come to know? Is it God? Is it something within us that lets us grieve and deal with loss? Is it all those things?

It doesn't really matter. The rolling drums and piano march lift Coyne's pain-stricken voice as the song falls into the chorus. The "Pet Sounds"-type production is filled in with the guitar that backs Coyne's voice, as well. It's lush and achingly beautiful.

---

I don't know if it gets lost in the shuffle of 1999's music or not. "Keep It Like a Secret," "Black On Both Sides," "Blackout!," "The Soft Bulletin," "Summer Teeth" and "Come On Die Young" (all favorite records of mine) came out in 1999. Hopefully, "The Soft Bulletin" rises to the top. It's one of the best of all-time.

Unlisted: Invisible Touch

I know this album isn't on the list, but it's one I've been thinking about recently and it gives me a place to put one of my favorite pet topics. I'm hoping to get some unranked albums here in on the weekends when I should be ignoring this confounded project. So, here's the debut of unlisted weekend albums...


Band: Genesis
Album: Invisible Touch
Why Rolling Stone gets it right: Being that it's not on the list, I'd imagine their reasoning goes as such: This record is pure bubblegum rock nonsense. Much of the album can be characterized that way.
Why Rolling Stone gets it wrong: It's not all bubblegum rock and, more importantly, it's great bubblegum
Best song: "Let's Stay Together" is a classic among classics.
Worst song: "L-O-V-E" isn't all that good.
Is it awesome?: Sure.

I've mentioned before that I love progressive rock. It formed a lot of the basis of the type of music I like (Tortoise, specifically) and I enjoy the pretentiousness of it all. I'm not going to lie.

I had a period in college where I discovered -- and thus, listened to almost exclusively -- progressive rock. I picked up some Gentle Giant records, I listened to "Meddle" over and over, I dug through the non-"I've Seen All Good People" Yes records and got into King Crimson. I bought a Rush t-shirt (I still have said Rush t-shirt).

All this was spurred by a single night in Chicago during a summer weekend home whilst I was spending the off-months in my college's town of Columbia, Mo. I was drving back to my parents' house from my friend Jake's and listening to the radio. I had WXRT (a station at which I later interned) going and the title track from Genesis' "The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway" started playing. I was absolutely transfixed. I remember loving it and wanting nothing more than to hear more music like that.

Those who have spent a summer in a college town can understand why I jumped headfirst into buying all these records as soon as I got back into town. I went out and bought most of the Gabriel-led Genesis records. I bought the aforementioned Rush shirt on eBay. I remembered a friend (Ryan Woodsmall, who I can guarantee doesn't read this blog) mentioning King Crimson in regards to Tortoise (specifically) and post-rock (in general). So, that started my love for Crimson.

But, because of that night with "The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway," Gabriel-era Genesis has been my favorite prog-rock band (non-Pink Floyd divison).

With all of that self infulgence said, I also enjoy the '80s Genesis. I see it as a fundamentally different band (it is), but that doesn't mean I can't appreciate it.

--

Also, I have the indefensible position: Phil Collins is a good songwriter and a decent singer.

I know it's hard to agree with. He's easy to mock. He is probably the ugliest man ever to have a no. 1 hit. His voice gets nasally at times. His pop sensibilities are so gross that he even covered "You Can't Hurry Love" in what appears to be a grab at an easy chart hit. There have been charges of his being a general goon (I think my sister said he's an anti-semite or something), too.

And certainly, it's easy to blame the new guy when a band goes from almost exclusively making records about insane medieval English stuff, Greek mythology and science fiction to a band that does "Invisible Touch." Talk about divergent.

But, if you can appreciate good songwriting, it's there. There are great songs totally masked by Collins' whine (I like it, but I understand why people don't like it) and the silliness that is music production of the '80s. Reverbed drums! Compression! Atmospheric synthesized strings! Horns (possibly also synthesized)! All unnecessary elements of production!

But, when other bands cover Collins' music and/or it is stripped of its '80s nonsense, it's good stuff and the songs are mostly really bitter. One of my favorite Genesis tracks, "Misunderstanding" is particularly good in this YouTube clip. Moreover, the multiple covers of "In The Air Tonight" (GodheadSilo's is my favorite) show how dark it is. Certainly, the Postal Service's version of "Against All Odds" is fun and Mariah Carey's version of the same song is nothing to sneeze at. Notably, recently, though has been metal band Disturbed's cover of "Land of Confusion." I'm not big Disturbed fan, but I'll say that it's a good cover and the video is the ideological sequel to the Genesis song.

--

Speaking of which... I want, specifically, to write about my love for "Land of Confusion." Protest music in the '80s was mostly reserved for Prince' "Sign 'O The Times," punk rock that only resonated in stoners' basements and later, in NWA. I suspect Neil Young put out a protest song in the '80s, but considering he hasn't done much of worth since 1975 and he farts out a record a week, I can't imagine it was any good.

Anyway, "Land of Confusion" is a fantastic song and a fantastic protest song, augmented by the greatness that is the video.

For one, the song keeps with the hippy idea of love and the modern idea of enviornmentalism in the pre-chorus and chorus. "And not much love to go around" fits in with the boomer ideals of the '60s (all we need is love, right, you old bastards?) while "This is the world we live in" has the underlying "don't destroy the Earth" theme to it.

The video, of course, is the best part of the song. In addition to the hilarious-looking cariacture latex puppets of Peter Townsend, Mick Jagger and a cast of others, the "Reagan-as-Superman" riding on a dinosaur is just brilliant in its biting criticism at U.S. foreign policy. Not only is Raygun going trying to cowboy up the world, he's an old idiot who has to subsitute a dinosaur for a white horse as he rides to the rescue. I love that imagery.

(Also, I think it's important to remember that Reagan's acting is famous for starring opposite a chimp, hence his being in bed with the ape at the beginning of the video.)

My only issue with the song is the Rolling Stone/Forrest Gump-eque bit "I wont be coming home tonight/My generation will put it right/Were not just making promises/That we know, well never keep." That is, of course, coming from the mouth of a boomer with theidea that boomers are going to fix everything in this "Land of Confusion."

Of course, hindsight is 20/20, but Phil, Mike and Tony: You didn't fix shit. Your generation was in power since the early '90s (in the U.S.) and the mid-'90s (in the U.K.). I'm not particularly familiar with the politics of Britain, but I know the current U.S. Boomer in Chief has done a crap job of just about everything. Certainly Tony Blair hasn't been a popular guy in Britain lately.

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There are other great songs on the album, considering the album had five (!) top five hits in the title track, "Tonight, Tonight, Tonight," "In Too Deep," "Throwing It All Away" and the aforementioned "Land of Confusion." "Domino" wasn't a huge single, but it dealt with drug nuclear war any other Genesis song. "Tonight, Tonight, Tonight" is all about getting drugs (not in the good, T. Rex way).

It's easy to pile on the title track as nonsense. Those ridiculous drums at the beginning are incredibly mockable and the lyrics aren't exactly great.

But, go and listen to it. It's incredibly catchy. You'll be humming it later, I'm sure. Yes, it's remarkably dated, but it's catchy and a lot of fun.

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Do I think it should be ranked? On some level, yeah. The definition of this list is hard to wrap your brain around. Does it mean influence on other records? Does it mean originality? Does it mean best (and how the hell do you define "best?")? Does it mean best-selling?

I guess it's a combination of all those things. Certainly, the list has multiple platinum selling "Hotel California," the incredibly influential "Forever Changes" and the just plain oddball (though both great and influential, it never sold anything) "Trout Mask Replica."

The problem is that there are tons of stuff in the 350-500 range that just doesn't deserve to be there. Certainly, it could replace "Music" by Madonna or James Brown's greatest hits package (especially since the box set is on there). It's a great record that is cloaked in bad production and the general silliness that was that decade.