Top 10 Albums of the Year (Preview)

5.) Arcade Fire- The Suburbs

Expectations are a funny thing. They have the uncanny ability to drastically alter how we perceive new artistic material. Even more than that, the sad reality is that (whether we choose to admit it or not) critical reception plays an important role in determining a specific work's place in our society's artistic hierarchy. It's for this very reason that we have our own personal "guilty pleasures", work that, if highly-regarded in your social circle, would assuredly be an outspoken favorite, thus ceasing to be guilty at all. But instead, we entrust our "personal" judgment to alternative outlets such as television, public opinion, magazines, or the consensus of your most respectable, avant-garde friends.

That being said, it seems artistic response is constantly changing over time, leaving us, the consumer, unsure about how we should regard the artist's latest work. Take, for example, works such as Kid A, Pinkerton and Strangeways, Here We Come (just to name a few)-- all of which were greatly under-appreciated albums upon initial release (and often even to this day), though I'm more interested in what else they have in common-- all three were unfamiliar follow-ups to successful pop juggernauts. In reality, these successors were just as strong as the albums that prefaced them, only different and less accessible. In addition, there are just as many accounts of poorly-received albums with marginal follow-ups being publicly lauded. So, who's responsible for this? Ourselves, really. Whether we're raising or lowering the bar, expectations always get in the way of the truth. But, this is supposed to be about The Suburbs, right?

I must admit, I wasn't too surprised to see Arcade Fire's latest release receive widespread acclaim, both commercial and critical-- it's a cogent musical statement that harbors many effective movements and occasional flashes of brilliance. It passes through so many styles and moods, it's almost impossible for someone to not connect with at least one track on here. Whether it's the swingy, Neil Young-inspired folk number "Wasted Hours", the anthemic romp "City With No Children", or the 80's new-wave feel of "We Used To Wait", you can't blame Arcade Fire for not being ambitious enough. They set out to make a new sound for themselves, mostly steering clear from the Bowie, Talking Heads, and Springsteen comparisons from their past two albums.

But The Suburbs has it's share of blemishes, notably the faster, more rock-driven tracks like "Month of May" and "Ready To Start", which seem to only drag the album down with overproduction and monotony. It's ironic that those songs happen to be two of Arcade Fire's live-staples (both have been performed on their recent late-night guest appearances)-- with their conventional distortion, uniform drum beats and unimaginative melodies, both tracks sound like bad 80's throwbacks to bands like Joy Division and early Human League.

I believe that, in time, critics will realize that The Suburbs isn't a masterpiece or even a "great album" by any standards. I think the true reason for it's positive reception lies somewhere in the embarrassment Rolling Stone must feel for naming Weezer's Pinkerton a runner-up for "Worst Album of the Year" or the legendary Robert Christgau giving OK Computer the honor of "Dud of the Month". Nobody wants to be proven wrong by the test of time, and the fact is that you'll get a lot less hate-mail for giving an album too much credit than not enough-- trust me, it will spare you from having to listen to the backlash of any given artist's devoted followers.

Depending on where they go from here, The Suburbs will likely be known as either Arcade Fire's brief misstep or the point in which the band began their steady decline. Regardless of what any of the critics say now, it simply will not become a classic and would be lucky to even grace a respectable "End of the Decade" list ten years from now. Do you know how I know this? It's simple-- Answer this question (and be honest with yourself):

If every media outlet gave The Suburbs a lukewarm review like the one I gave last month (or worse) and the band was considered to be socially "uncool", would you give two shits about this album?

Perhaps in the pejorative sense, but that's even a stretch. The truth is, we want to like the album because we like Arcade Fire. We might even go so far as to convince ourselves it's great by listening to it over and over until it becomes so familiar, we can't help but enjoy it. Any form of music can grow on you if you're exposed to it enough-- that's why they overplay every song on the radio until it becomes a part of your daily routine; when that day comes, you're going to look forward to hearing it.

Like I stated before, the album is clearly an ambitious one. The problem is, ambition doesn't keep you coming back for repeated listens. It also doesn't help that the album is sixteen tracks long and takes over an hour to endure. Personally, I don't see myself voluntarily sitting down to listen to The Suburbs in it's entirety again. I think I'll just stick with the eight-or-nine songs I care for and patiently wait another three years for the next one.

--Jon Manning

Arcade Fire- The Suburbs

Arcade Fire- The Suburbs
Rating: 7.6/10

I really shouldn't have to mention Funeral at this point. After all, it's been six long, frigid winters since Win Butler & Co. unleashed the innermost depths of their musical spirit. It succeeded in showcasing their natural ability to translate the raw emotions of despair, love, childhood nostalgia, grief, and hope into ten unrestrained heart-wrenching tales that are equally haunting, abstract, and beautiful. It seems they created this work, not for their desire to affect the listener or even for career advancement, but rather as a coping mechanism. As a result, never before has any band sounded so vulnerable on record.

Though Neon Bible lacked that endearing vulnerability (most likely due to the ego-boost of Funeral's praise), it still showed signs of promise. But even Neon Bible's strongest points couldn't hide that Win Butler had seemingly run out of engrossing stories of personal affliction. We found Butler revisiting the themes of religion, war, and the ocean without having much to say about them. Instead, he resorted to a form of stream-of-conscious imagery, while attempting to disguise it as authentic emotional distress. In building on their sound, they did just that; adding layers upon layers of instruments, occasionally resulting in the overblown sound of a band that's trying a little too hard. While most tracks on Funeral open with melodic hooks until they crescendo into an even-more-melodic wall of sound, too many tracks on Neon Bible start out in full-sprint, allowing nothing new to present itself. This results in some songs feeling dull at times.

So, what about the new album?-- well, it seems to take all those negative qualities of their last release and mold them into a high-handed concept album, which wouldn't be nearly as bad if the album's basis was interesting or original. But an entire album devoted to the suburban experience and the lifestyle that supplements it? I think I'll sit this one out, guys.

"In the suburbs, I learned to drive/And you told me you'd never survive."

Seems a bit extreme, doesn't it? It's the opening line and lyrical motif of the album (and later revisited on "Suburban War"). But, I guess he's right; those kids of middle-class income families have it pretty rough with their four bedroom houses and neighborhood friends who all live within biking distance-- I was one of them. And not a day goes by that I don't stop and ask myself "how did I survive?"

Only this is reality, and the reality is that Arcade Fire have an undying weakness for melodrama. In this case, taking something as overtly ordinary as suburbia and turning it into a hectic battlefield replete with dozens of lifeless bodies and an underlying theme of injustice. As exciting as that sounds, it's actually better than it looks on paper. That is to say, there are some good tunes on here. Musically, the band is going for the following:

"Arcade Fire delve into hints of electronica, but are still ultimately the same band."

The only problem is, this isn't entirely true. Yes, their use of digital sequencers might come as a shock to those who expect the analogue foundation on which the band established itself. But as it turns out, its use is spare, refined, and an overall positive addition the band's sound, adding a dimension no other instrument could have revealed. Rather, it's the rest of the instrumentation that falls short. With Neon Bible somewhat lacking in appropriate orchestration (I originally accredited this to Owen Pallett's absence), this album proves their string section's effectiveness is in gradual decline. Even with Pallett on board, I've yet to find a violin line half as striking as that on "Crown Of Love", or a string arrangement that should breathe the same air as "Wake Up" or "Rebellion". It's simply nowhere to be found.

Clocking in at over an hour, The Suburbs is by far the band's most guitar-driven album, which is by no means a criticism. "Modern Man" utilizes its palm-muted rhythm guitar perfectly, adding chiming guitar licks to the background mix. While "Empty Room" opens with one of the albums most inventive string sections (second only to the ethereal Half Light I), it's Regine's soaring vocals that establishes it as the album's most compelling cut yet. But as soon as you expect the song to take off into the heavens, it slowly fades out, leaving the listener to only assume the band was too lazy to write an appropriate bridge. Which brings me to another issue I had with this album-- about halfway through my first full listen, my collective focus drew away from the band's sound and songwriting and toward an unexpected factor that quickly became all I could think about:

Damn, this album has a lot of fade-outs!

By the album's end, it's unnerving, really (7 of 16--almost half!). I'm not against the concept of a recording ending by gradually diminishing in volume, because if done correctly, it can achieve the enlightening effect of endlessness or inevitability. But at a certain point, you can't help but think that the band simply had no creative ideas regarding how to end the songs. Album highlight is the closing "Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains)" where we find Regine taking the lead behind an electronic dance beat and atmosphere akin to Blondie's "Heart of Glass" while pulsating synth lines cascade throughout the track. She belts the rippling chorus like it's her destined swan song:

"Living in the sprawl/dead shopping malls rise like mountains beyond mountains/and there's no end in sight/I need the darkness someone please cut the lights".

With its digital aspects front-and-center, this track could be squeezed onto the Magnetic Fields' Holiday and fit perfectly. The album ends in a whimper as Win Butler and a string quartet lament a brief, anti-climactic reprise of the opening track. This seems like a missed opportunity, as it undoubtedly would have worked better as an instrumental piece. Instead they close the album with harmonizing whispers before its inevitable fade-out.

There's no hiding it. This is Arcade Fire's weakest release yet and while it may work well as a cohesive whole, it's too long and the sum of its parts sadly don't create too rewarding of an experience. In my opinion, except to torment or drain the listener, there's no reason for the dismal "Sprawl (Flatland)" or even the lagging "Suburban War", with its half-hearted tempo change that never really takes off. In addition, decent songs like "Month of May" and "Rococo" offer little payoff when translated to the record, leaving only the arrangements to blame. Perhaps if they had chosen only ten or eleven of the best tracks and reordered them to work, this review would have taken an entirely different tone, which brings us to an important question: should an album with an excess of material not be as well-regarded as one of restraint and brevity? The real answer is contingent on how you perceive the studio album.

• -The LP is the most important artistic statement a musician can make and can only be judged as a whole. All tracks should flow together, creating a clear and concise experience devoid of any filler.
• -I rarely have the patience to sit through an entire album, so instead I judge it based on its best songs. When artists leave the less accessible cuts off, I'm only being deprived of material that I could possibly warm up to in the future.

Both points are valid. In a way, hitting the skip button while listening to an album is equivalent to ignoring the unattractive smudge on a painting or skipping the boring scene of a movie. On the other hand, what would the White Album have been had the Beatles only released the better half of its material? The subjectivity makes it difficult to assess, but what's apparent is that The Suburbs is far from perfect. It introduces a band undergoing a serious transition, struggling to find and reestablish their new sound, which generally forgoes the hard-hitting drums and instrumental hooks in favor of a more atmospheric, jam-band sound. It also indicates a desire to bypass the less common instruments that helped define their earlier music, like the accordion and glockenspiel. In the end, Arcade Fire took a chance that didn't quite pay off like we had hoped but, despite its flaws, it's a pretty solid album. The lyrics match that of Neon Bible but the message is more hopeful. According to the band, society is missing its heart completely and while retrieving it may be the objective, the most important thing is to stay strong and keep up the pursuit.

(Continue with more Funeral comparisons until fade-out.)

--Jon Manning

Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains)

We Used To Wait

Los Campesinos!- Romance Is Boring

Los Campesinos!- Romance Is Boring
Rating: 8.5/10

In early 2008, Hold On Now, Youngster came and went in the blink of an eye. To say it was overlooked by many critics and a vast majority of the public would be a gross understatement. Despite (or possibly because of) its naive, childlike intimacy, it managed to encapsulate the raw, angst-ridden energy of nerdy adolescent bookworms everywhere. Eight months later, the band released the brief, aggressive We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed, which maintained a much darker tone and atmosphere than its predecessor. It was less instantly gratifying, but received more commercial attention and praise, ultimately overshadowing their jarring debut-- a rare case of a band's prolificacy actually working against them.

With Youngster being a collection of the band's earliest material and We Are Beautiful originally intended as an EP, it's fair to say that Romance Is Boring is the band's first attempt at starting an album from scratch. So the fact that this album materialized in just over a year's time is shocking, to say the least. In many respects, it's a blend of their two previous efforts-- it continues with the ominous vibe of Beautiful, enhancing it with a more lively and often sinister musicality but, unlike their previous release, Romance includes a handful of memorable radio-friendly tracks. Though its music is generally hit-or-miss (mostly 'hit'), as usual, the record truly belongs to singer/lyricist Gareth Campesino (if you weren't already aware, the band stole a page from the 'Ramones'-- all members officially go by the same surname).

The album commences with a song entitled "In Medias Res" (a Latin phrase used to describe a story that begins during conflict) suggesting that we're about to be thrown directly into the heart of the storm. A lightly strummed acoustic guitar lulls you into a false sense of security until the drums enter and Gareth lets out a scathingly tongue-in-cheek: "well, let's talk about you for a minute..." before proceeding to rant about himself for the majority of the record. Two minutes into "In Medias Res", the music shifts to a grim and dissonant drone while multiple voices recite some of the most graphic and intriguing lyrics I've heard in a long time:

"I'm leaving my body to science/not medical, but physics/...drop me at the highest point and trace a line around the dent I leave in the ground/that'll be the initial of the one you'll marry now that I'm not around".

The song culminates in a triumphant march when a bouncy horn section enters without fair warning or precedent, resulting in one of the most compelling movements the band has yet recorded. I could attempt to describe it in detail, but it simply needs to be heard to be believed. "There Are Listed Buildings" is the album's most obvious return-to-form-- exciting drum beats, chirping guitar riffs, shifting time signatures, and choral chanting assure us that Los Campesinos are still the same Welsh misfits that recorded great tracks like "We Are All Accelerated Readers" and "Broken Heartbeats" not so long ago. With Aleks taking the lead for the first time on the record, "We've Got Your Back" is more of what we've come to expect from the Campesinos family. What's more, her vocal delivery has vastly improved over the past few years, making her recent departure from the band all the more upsetting.

"Straight In At 101" is one of the best cuts off the album, filled with countless hooks, wonderful melodies, and some hilarious narratives. But despite a handful of comical assertions, the song eventually ends with Gareth lamenting his shattered ego; the instrumentation unexpectedly drops out, leaving him alone to recite in a melodically disheartened mutter:

"...I phone my friends and family to gather around the television/the talking heads count down the most heart-wrenching break ups of all time/imagine the great sense of waste, the indignity, the embarrassment/when not a single one of that whole century was mine".

Gareth is such a likable, honest voice for the band. He possesses the natural ability to communicate and invite his listeners into his personal life without appearing needy or manipulative. After the first few songs, I noticed myself becoming more and more personally invested in what he had to say. Break-ups are tough, man-- I've been through my share and can definitively say there's no lonelier sensation, not to mention that they always bring to the surface feelings of anger and inadequacy. That's exactly what Gareth is experiencing-- only, it grows frustrating for the listener when he seems to revel in adding insult to emotional injury. The melancholy splendor of "The Sea Is A Good Place To Think Of The Future" establishes a different kind of maturity in Gareth's lyrics, masterfully painting the picture of a young girl with anorexia struggling through a life of depression.

"I can see five hundred years dead set ahead of me/and five hundred behind-- a thousand years in perfect symmetry".

The album closes with the the relaxingly subdued "A Burn Scar In The Shape of the Sooner State", which nostalgically recounts the dissolved relationship in allegorical specificity. It ultimately concludes with the band repeatedly chanting "I can't believe I chose the mountains every time you chose the sea" --likely representing the disconnect between what the two lovers individually deemed important in their lives. I'd like to think the sea and mountains symbolize her being open and him being rigid, but clearly the two are in completely different places, causing their instinctive desires to tear them apart. Although there's a new degree of seriousness in many of the album's lyrics, Gareth Campesino doesn't exactly stray from the quirky and often hilarious lines he's known for sneaking into his songs:

"I think we need more post-coital and less post-rock/seems like the build-up takes forever, but you never get me off"

--it's uncomfortably blunt, isn't it? Whereas most songwriters would throw in these asides mostly for shock-value, you get the feeling that he's doing it out of constructive desperation. In contrast, lines like "every girl I ever kissed I was thinking of a pro-footballer" serve as a constant reminder that he's far away from taking himself too seriously as a songwriter.

I think it's safe to say the glockenspiel-wielding indie-pop band that emerged just a few short years ago is no more. As saddening as the thought of that is, it's equally as exciting to witness Los Campesinos grow and evolve as a band. Though Romance Is Boring is less consistent and lacks the "pop" sensibility of their debut, it fully affirms that the band is talented enough to excel at a different type of expressive indie-rock. Whether it's the catchy singalong title-track, the pounding "This Is A Flag, There Is No Wind", or the lovingly raucous "Plan A", this album introduces a diverse catalog of styles and sounds. Their previous releases rarely utilized studio effects or extensive production value for sonic texture, but on Romance, Los Campesinos create a spacious atmosphere that genuinely sounds like no other album in my music library.

Though Romance Is Boring not a "great album" (though it does get better with every listen), it certainly is encouraging-- it gives me a great amount of confidence in the fact that, regardless of the direction they choose to pursue, Los Campesinos' next release will be an honest, authentic expression of the band's collective disposition. If you decide to read into the concept of musicians coming together to create a unified product, the previous statement may sound obligatory or even inescapable-- but it's really much less common than you might think. I would even speculate that, more often than not, collective compositions generally derive from either artistic tyranny, concession, or pandering. Though his creative input is far from domineering, one thing is for certain-- without Gareth's candid verbiage, Los Campesinos would undoubtedly lose a majority of its charm and allure. Ranging from witty and amusing to insightful and contemplative in a matter of seconds, he sports his heart on his blood-drenched sleeve like it's a quirky fashion statement. In the final moments of the album's opening track, Gareth presents us with a fascinatingly heartfelt dilemma:

"If you were given the option of dying painlessly in peace at forty-five/but with a lover at your side/after a full and happy life/--is this something that would interest you?"

My guess is that he would answer "no" to his proposition, seeing as how this album exists almost entirely to ensure the listener that love without pain is unfeasible and happy endings are merely the product of fiction. It's extremely pessimistic, I know, but for a lot of people, it's just the way things turn out. I personally don't buy into the inevitability of loneliness. But still, given the unfailing opportunity to experience a brief, fulfilling life with the woman I love-- I can't help but say yes.

--Jon Manning

There Are Listed Buildings

In Medias Res

Romance Is Boring

Straight In At 101

LCD Soundsystem- This Is Happening

LCD Soundsystem- This Is Happening
Rating: 9.1/10

No more James Murphy albums? Though it appears LCD Soundsystem might not see a fourth release, thankfully this doesn't mean Murphy will be leaving the industry completely. After all, how could he? The man's obviously very talented and at the apex of his career. At 40 years old, he may not be the youngest indie-rock star, but his ability to write, perform, and produce unique electronic dance-pop has only ripened with age. He produced this-year's Stuck on Nothing by fellow DFA power-pop band Free Energy, creating a engrossingly removed atmosphere. It established a strange dichotomy between the album's inviting sound and its demand to keep the listener at a safe distance. This being his only output in years, one couldn't help but wonder if this unusual production value was any indication of what was to come with his own musical aspirations. I'll spare you the suspense-- it's not.

On the 2005 self-titled debut, Murphy confessed to improvising all the album's lyrics live in the vocal booth, frequently resulting in spontaneous rambling. This is the impulsive technique of someone who evidently doesn't put much emphasis on lyrical eloquence or brevity. Sound of Silver revealed a man showing much more seriousness about what he had to say, resulting in lyrics that were often reflective and poignant. It shouldn't come as too much of a shock that on This Is Happening, Murphy's lyrics truly shine.

Opening track "Dance Yrself Clean" is a brilliant exercise in patience. With its oscillating electro-percussion and understated instrumentation, we hear Murphy's muffled voice struggling:

"Present company/excluded every time/present company-- the best that you can find".

The song's thin, arpeggiated synth-line enters, teasing us with its gentle, melodic resonance. At this point, we all remain seated, waiting for it to explode into a blaring dance number-- and Murphy knows it. The man's got the entire world's attention-- he'd have to be crazy to give it up right away. After all, what's another few minutes to tack onto what seems like decades since we first made our way through Sound of Silver back in early '07, only to fall for "New York, I Love You" and its sly false-ending? It takes "Dance Yrself Clean" three whole minutes for it to erupt into its infectious electronic groove. The noisy distorted synth-bass hits and piercing snare fills give Murphy justification to shout at the top of his lungs:

"Don't you want me to wake up?/Then give me just a bit of your time".

We're all ears, Jimmy. Now, show us what gold sounds like...

"Drunk Girls" is Murphy's most obvious attempt at a radio-friendly single yet, which makes it all the more surprising that it's one of the album's weakest cuts. It's a fast-paced guitar track along the same lines as Silver's "Watch the Tapes", only with a backing chorus cheering "drunk girls!" and "drunk boys!" while the lead vocal juxtaposes each group's character at their intoxicated utmost. "All I Want" brings to mind Silver's epic "All My Friends", with its steady, looping drum and piano rhythm leading the way for a variety of guitar riffs and synth lines that gradually build into an overpowering wall of sound. With his guard fully down for the first time on the album, Murphy's vocals come in sounding as sweet and sincere as they ever have:

"From now on, I'm someone different/cause it's no fun being predictably lame/from now on, there's true indifference/cause I just want what I want".

The song swells up, then gradually dies in a culmination of its foundation slowly buckling under the weight of it own earnestness. It's the perfect moment to put the album on pause and sit back in awe. After all, Murphy has truly outdone himself here. The Bowie comparisons are valid, sure. But, I'll go on record saying I much prefer this recording to "Heroes"-- its arrangement is more explosive and its driving beat serves as a constant reminder of Murphy's perseverance. When he belts "take me home", you're tempted to find some way to make that happen.

So, now that you've fully collected your thoughts, you're more than ready to press that play button for the second time. Only, when you reach for it, you're puzzled to feel your heart sink inside of your chest. I mean, why even continue listening when you know you've just heard the album's highlight? Then that electro-swagger of "I Can Change" permeates throughout your mind and, once again, you're all ears. Murphy's soft voice enters so reassuringly, practically whispering: "tell me a line, make it easy for me". And as soon as he begins pleading "never change", there's really nothing left to do but melt at the beauty of it all.

"Love is a curse/shoved in a hearse/love is an open book to a verse of your bad poetry".

By the song's end, we find Murphy at his most vulnerable-- he's on his knees promising he can change "if it helps you feel real love". Clearly he's not the self-involved hipster we once took him for. "You Wanted A Hit" is an obvious stab at the record industry and, though it takes a minute or so to really take-off, it's one of the album's most enjoyable listens. With its oriental-sounding synth hooks, catchy bassline and the singalong chorus "we won't be your babies anymore", it's exactly what you'd expect from the band that deemed themselves North American scum. In a way, it wouldn't be too surprising if Murphy actually released it as a single. Notwithstanding the irony, it's certainly catchy enough to be played on the radio, though its nine minute running-time would require heavy editing.

The jazzy "Somebody's Calling Me", with its slow tempo and initially-minimalist production, is the album's red herring and likely to be written off as a throwaway. In actuality, it's the most unique and inventive track This Is Happening has to offer. The steady piano bounce and snapping percussion heard throughout the recording gives the impression of a waltz beat while retaining its 4/4 time signature, and when the song builds, the synthesized organ in the chorus creates an almost hypnotizing effect. By the song's end, Murphy's affected voice sounds so distant, it feels as if he's shouting to us from a spaceship passing through time.

This Is Happening is the sound of a 40 year old man undergoing a late stage of maturity. It's only been five years since Murphy was concerned about "losing his edge" and now he's more worried about securing his love's bitter tears and pity. There's no doubt this album is one of the years best-- the real question is how it compares to its predecessor. At the risk of sounding trite, the truth is they're completely different albums and ultimately incomparable. While it's perfectly valid to state that the new album doesn't contain a track as electric or jarring as "Watch The Tapes" or eerily haunting as "Someone Great", it's equally fair to say that Silver possessed a mere fraction of the emotional depth found on This Is Happening. Tracks like "I Can Change" and "All I Want" break entirely new ground for Murphy, showcasing his songwriting maturity and understanding of how to connect with the listener on a less superficial level.

However, it's this very development that sustains the albums only real shortcoming: Murphy's so busy showing off his new-found wisdom that he occasionally forgets to relax and not take himself so seriously. Which is why if you're a fan of LCD Soundsystem for its dance-floor gratification or hilariously offbeat lyrics, you'll most likely be disappointed in this release. Previous tracks like "Get Innocuous", "Disco Infiltrator", and "Tribulations" sound like they were specifically designed for dance-club rendering. And though Happening's "One Touch" and "Pow Pow" are unabashedly fun throwbacks to his earlier work, most of the album's cuts lack the danceability we've come to expect. This, however, is a small price to pay, considering there is not a weak track on here. In a way, you can't help but feel a little resentment toward Murphy-- he's a middle-aged, able-bodied man destined to sit in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. In many respects, This is Happening is an important step forward-- I just pray that one day he decides to get up and walk again.

--Jon Manning

I Can Change

All I Want

You Wanted A Hit

Dance Yrself Clean

Home

Tallest Man On Earth- The Wild Hunt

Tallest Man On Earth- The Wild Hunt
Rating: 8.1/10

It's hard to believe that Kristian Matsson is Swedish. He's got the Americana/Folk genre down to an absolute tee and his ability to concoct metaphors and abstract imagery far surpasses that of most native English-speakers. Matsson's full-length debut, Shallow Graves, showcased him mastering the art of folk music with surprising ease. His raw voice and vocal phrasing drew many comparisons (and rightfully so) with Bob Dylan, though instead of focusing on personal reflection or political assertion, his lyrical content largely resides in the abstract, as well as his obvious affinity for nature (even his two full-length album covers strive to depict the rustic beauty found in Earth's natural surroundings).

The Wild Hunt offers more of what we've come to expect from Matsson; minimal production value, finger-picked guitars, overpowering vocal yelps, rhythmic acoustic strumming, and the occasional banjo, possibly to remind you that he's a folk musician (in case you forgot what you were listening to).

The title track opens the album on a high note with its brief, trickling banjo line subtly accenting the melody of the chorus:

"I left my heart to the wild hunt a-comin'/I live until the call/and I plan to be forgotten when I'm gone/yes, I'll be leaving in the fall".

Future single "King of Spain", with its aggressive strumming and storybook lyrics, brings to mind "The Gardner" from Shallow Graves. Matsson's vocal phrasing on the track illustrates his impressive flexibility, ranging from strident barking to hushed asides in just a matter of seconds. The song comes to an unexpected climax when the thunderous guitar slows its tempo during the last chorus-- Matsson reaching for (and sustaining) the highest note he's put to record.

While The Wild Hunt is a succinct, enjoyable listen, it makes little attempt to be anything more. Shallow Graves seemed to be a promising beginning for Matsson's musical calling, consisting of many memorable folk melodies whose imaginative lyrics seemed to flow together in an incredibly organic way. Thankfully, there are a few songs on here that fit that description, notably the bouncy "Troubles Will Be Gone" and contemplative "Love Is All". But in the scheme of things, The Wild Hunt is less consistent and can't help but feel like a step back for Matsson.

I don't think many people expected him to go too far outside his cozy little niche, let alone break any musical ground with this release. Still, except for the long-winded piano ballad "Kids on the Run", there's nothing this album delivers that Shallow Graves didn't already supply two years ago. Even the dragging "You're Going Back" feels like an unsatisfying rehash of "The Gardner". While The Wild Hunt is a perfectly respectable sophomore effort, Matsson's songwriting is noticeably less inspired than that of his previous work. In the end, I'd really like to see the self-designated Tallest Man on Earth be able to go out of his comfort zone with his next release-- and if people don't respond to it, he could always have a promising career in the NBA.

--Jon Manning

King of Spain

Troubles Will Be Gone

Vampire Weekend- Contra

Vampire Weekend- Contra
Rating: 6.9/10

Love them or hate them, it's hard to deny that Vampire Weekend are opportunists. Since their debut album just a few years ago, they've been riding the coat-tails of every pop musician to ever incorporate world music into their sound (David Byrne, Paul Simon, Peter Gabriel) and they just so happened to stumble onto a music scene remiss in their supply of notable reggae or African crossover music. This leads many unquestioning teenagers to deem their sound "different" or "unique" when, in fact, most people with a humble awareness of the genre could easily detect their specific influences. Of course, just because an artist's influences are noticeable, if not obvious, doesn't necessarily mean it's a sign of weakness; and it definitely doesn't have to mean they're "opportunists"-- they could be recording the music they love and ultimately want to make. Only Contra seems to play up the island-music aspect of their sound, stressing the reggae melodies and ska upstrokes much more than their 2008 debut. While many tracks on Vampire Weekend utilized elements of dub and calypso, some avoided the genre almost entirely-- ("Oxford Comma", "Walcott", "Campus", "M79"). These recordings still had a sound of their own, but they were unquestionably indie-rock. So, you might be able to see how Contra's overall lack of "rock music" components might be construed as pandering to the attention they received from their tropical sound.

Now, let's go back to the band's influences-- the sad reality is that there always comes a point in which musical aspiration becomes mere imitation. This thought must have crossed my mind a half-dozen times upon first listen to Contra, most of the comparisons being with the mid-career music of Paul Simon (Graceland, Rhythm of the Saints). On the former, Simon masterfully blended the instrumentation of proficient African musicians with more western-based structure and added his own brand of smart, melodic songcraft. The latter was more of an attempt to utilize complex Brazillian and African polyrhythms as the basis of all tracks, adding melody and lyrics later. The result was often beautiful and undoubtedly unique.

Contra's second track, "White Sky" is dripping with Simon trademarks, specifically the synth/guitar line that ebbs and flows throughout the recording (listen to Graceland's Crazy Love Vol. II and tell me it's not a basic facsimile), but also "Diplomat's Son", with its breezy melody and backing vocals-- it seemingly had to be drowned in electronic beats and samples to stop the tape machine from screaming Simon's name. What's more, I don't believe it's a coincidence that these tracks happen to be two of the best cuts from the album. Contra's first single, "Cousins", is likely the album's strongest track and the record's only conceivable crossover hit. It's a better, more energetic version of their 2008 breakthrough single "A-Punk" with an unexpectedly effective chorus. The ska-heavy "Holiday" is an upbeat, summertime track and while "Giving Up The Gun" is a sure-fire future single, it sounds a bit out of place on the record. Its heavy, electronic tones and reverbed atmosphere curiously don't fit in with Contra's trebly vibe, which is generally more nimble and modest.

As far as Contra's lyrical content goes, it's not so much about what they have to say, but rather how they can say nothing and make it appear cryptic (and what semi-ethnic rhythm to put behind it). Take, for example, the album's opening line:

"In December, drinking horchata/I'd look psychotic in a balaclava".

We're not even ten seconds in and we're already reaching for a dictionary. Oh, so he's singing about a Mexican rice drink and a hypothetical ski mask. That's sort of cool, I guess? By the song's end, we can glean (with no thanks to singer Ezra Koenig) that "Horchata" is likely about experimenting with new things and growing old with the person you love. Could he have told us this without name-dropping an Israeli holy-land or obscure brand of mineral water? Possibly, but that might actually require him to consult his emotions for personal meaning in his lyrics. This would only make it increasingly more difficult to hide behind words that serve no purpose other than to flaunt his awareness of alternative cultures and their lexicon.

I suppose that's my biggest problem with Koenig: his inability to just cut the shit and get real for a minute. He's too worried about his image to show the slightest amount of seriousness in his work. It's that frat-boy kind of mentality: "leave the pensive, depressing stuff for the emo kids-- we're just trying to have a good time here."

Despite Contra's high-points, it's the three songs in between "Holiday" and "Cousins" that considerably slow down the album. The grating, auto-tuned vocals of "California English" fortunately help distort the song's abysmal lyrics. Aside from one good line about the French Connection, Koenig's carefree message is borderline moronic at best:

"sweet carob rice cake, she don't care how sweet she taste/fake Philly cheese-steak, but she use real toothpaste".

I believe I speak for everyone when I say: "what the fuck?"

"Taxi Cab", on the other hand, is a four-minute piano-driven track that doesn't really go anywhere. With its light synthesizer and soft, airy vocals, the song could put you to sleep while running to catch a bus. "Run" suffers a similar fate. Though it's a much more engaging listen, it's still too long and offers nothing exciting or unexpected. Koenig opens the track with an attempt at lyrical depth and cleverness:

"Every dollar counts/every morning hurts/we mostly work to live/until we live to work".

It doesn't get much more vapid and unoriginal than that. The last time I remember hearing this many cringe-worthy lyrics was back in 2001 when Weezer's green album made assertions like "open your heart and let the good stuff out". Wow, man! I never really thought of it that way.

In the end, I don't think Contra will help widen the band's fan-base, let alone win over any self-avowed Vampire haters. I'm sure that many of their followers will see it as a strong follow-up, while just as many will be somewhat disappointed in the album's facile, innocent tone. Whether they know it or not, Contra has backed the band into an unfortunate corner. I expect their next album to continue with exceedingly lighthearted lyrics, recurring Caribbean influences, and frequent use of subtle synthesizers. I hope I'm wrong-- if it were up to me, their third release would unveil an unseen maturity while introducing a more aggressive, experimental musicality they alluded to in their debut. Because as much as I may like the "world music" aspect of their sound, when it comes down to it, this recent switch to mimicking Paul Simon feels so unnatural-- Peter Gabriel, too.

--Jon Manning

Cousins

White Sky

Titus Andronicus- The Monitor

Titus Andronicus- The Monitor
Rating: 9.3/10

In 2008, The Airing of Grievances- Titus Andronicus' self-released debut went fairly under-the-radar and failed to garner much more attention when reissued by XL the following year. The fact is that, even with all its flaws, Airing was easily one of the years most rewarding listens; brilliantly executing its own brand of lo-fi garage-rock. It was abrasive, yet catchy; poignant, yet uncompromising. But what stood out most about this record was its use of the spoken-word monologue to drive home its message that alienation, despair, and thoughts of iniquity can be used as a badge for any man to proudly display over his wounded heart. Needless to say, The Monitor had a lot to live up to-- and thankfully it does.

Within the opening seconds of the album, we are not surprised to hear Patrick Stickles channeling the great Abe Lincoln, declaring: "as a nation of free men, we will live forever or die by suicide" before droning guitars and pounding drums make way for an unexpectedly clear vocal approach by Stickles. Whereas his screeching vocals were once drenched in reverb and pushed into the background, they are front-and-center here, creating a strikingly stirring effect. No longer does he lack the confidence in his delivery or rely on artifice to distort his unrelenting stammer. He's comfortable getting right in your face and screaming your ear off with personal tales of paranoia, intoxication, frustration, and occasionally love.

Throughout the album's first half, the instrumentation remains familiar and loyal to that of their debut. "A More Perfect Union", with its three-part song structure and autobiographical lyrics, tells the story of the band's departure from New Jersey in search of everything and anything unfamiliar. Less than ten minutes into the album, we are bombarded with our third reading from Stickles, already surpassing the two speeches that bookended their previous effort. He's clearly content with accosting his listeners with as many passages as it takes to convey the isolation and fear he's undergoing. "Richard II" suggests the band might revisit the works of Shakespeare, sharing their own interpretation of the ill-fated king, but the title is purposely misleading. Instead, it's merely a scathing hate song that pays homage to the Billy Bragg track, from which it borrows a few lines. The song's upbeat shuffling snare rolls and distorted guitar riffs effectively contrast the grim subject matter, with Stickles berating his subject for "burning orphanages down" and "cutting ears off of dead men". The song peaks when we hear Stickles shout out:

"There's only one dream that I keep close/And it's the one of my hand at your throat"

before a blazing guitar riff and thrashing percussion enter out of seemingly nowhere. Though "Richard" is an obvious highlight, at this point in the record it's difficult to overlook the fact that it seems to be more of the same from the band. Sure, it's as loud, hard-hitting, and triumphant as their previous work (and possibly even more-so), but it just feels a little safe and familiar. That being said, it'd be impossible to anticipate what lies ahead-- "Richard" ends in a minute-long drone, as if to set apart side-one from the challenging deviation of the album's remaining tracks.

It's roughly five minutes into album centerpiece "A Pot In Which To Piss" when a honky-tonk piano begins to scale the mountaintops behind a perfectly-executed string line, establishing the albums first truly-inspired moment. When the song swells into its final movement, blaring trumpets and harmonizing backing vocals leave no doubt that this is Titus' most ambitious arrangement and recording to date. Two-part single "Four Score And Seven" fares just as well. Part one showcases their softer side, delving into the country roots they typically obscure with layers of distortion. Production is replete with a violin and harmonica, giving the eerie effect of a train passing in the distance. The track eventually escalates into an infectious shuffle, with a dozen voices chanting "you won't be laughing so hard" with so much beauty, it's quite easy to overlook much of the disdain it carries. Part two is not so much a continuation as a different song entirely, this time with Stickles snarling "we're all depraved and disgusting". It's clear he's fed-up, most likely with the direction our society is moving, or to put it perfectly:

"We've been coddling those we should be running through/don't wait around for them to come shake hands, they're not gonna be waiting for you".

"Theme From Cheers" is clearly the album's most humorous track and possibly its best. It's not so much about the desire for a place where "everybody knows your name", but rather about getting trashed with a few buddies in your quaint, yet all-too-familiar hometown. Dan McGee of Spider Bags takes the mic for the second verse, creating an electrifying dynamic not typically heard in Titus' studio work. The song concludes with Stickles pining for the frat-boy lifestyle to never cease, purchasing the local bar and slowly growing old with his fellow band-mates: "funny we're still doing carbombs after all these years".

Piano ballad "To Old Friends And New" is another high point in this record, with its meandering marching beat and duet vocals, it's easy to label it as one of the few 'love songs' found in the band's repertoire. However, instead of affectionate dialogue, both lovers seem content with dwelling on the numerous problems that plague their relationship. When the song culminates in the presumably Yo La Tengo-inspired refrain "it's alright the way that you live", it's accepting, heartfelt, and incredibly uplifting (emotions you wouldn't exactly expect from Titus Andronicus), thus adding another dimension to their music and ultimately proving the band's versatility. Epic closer "The Battle Of Hampton Roads" clocks in at fourteen minutes, the last six of which is instrumental jamming with multiple guitar solos, trumpets and bagpipes. The song contains my favorite lyric on the album:

"There's a way to live the values your forefathers gave you/prepare to be told 'that shit's gay, dude'/well, i guess what they say is true/there is no race more human, no one throws it away like they do".

You've really got to give Titus Andronicus credit on this one. With their second effort, they've managed to surpass the raucous Airing of Grievances while staying true to its overall sound and spirit. They retain the buzzing guitars and thrashing drum sound that helped define their debut while adding brand-new elements into the mix (violin, trumpet, saxophone). No one can dare chastise the band for not being themselves or pandering to the mainstream. It's true, The Monitor has a cleaner, more accessible sound, but at this point in their career, it's the best album Titus Andronicus could have made, and simply no one else could have made it.

After all, The Monitor has a lot to offer-- memorable melodies, blistering guitar riffs, singalong chanting, unexpected tempo changes, and instantly compelling lyrics. Now, for the twist-- not once in this review did I even mention the Civil War. But that's exactly what this album is: a loosely-based Civil War analogy. Does this surprise you? Well, it really shouldn't, seeing as how Titus front-man Patrick Stickles is as belligerent as he is well-read. The sources of his recited commentary remain contemporary with the time-period, ranging from Walt Whitman and Jefferson Davis to abolitionist William Lloyd Garrison.

Only two years since formally stating his many grievances, it's somewhat surprising that Stickles still has so much to say. In this case, he's comparing the inhumanity of the war to the viciousness with which many in our society treat their fellow man. It may seem like a bit of a stretch, but I think the point is more valid than you choose to believe. Blind hatred, judgment, and callousness have become pervasive components in our society's every-man-for-himself mentality, causing an inherent distrust and unwillingness to accept or lend out a hand to others. "The enemy is everywhere" Stickles keeps reminding us. Evidently, he's been hurt a few times before, leaving him to doubt the intentions of everyone around him while entrusting us to rightfully seek their true identity. He's become the very thing he's set out to destroy-- one of many casualties of war, I suppose. This only goes to show that it's easy to be skeptical, but when it comes to displaying kindness, compassion, and concern for our peers, clearly it's still us against them.

--Jon Manning

Theme From Cheers

Four Score And Seven