20- Shit Robot- “Take em Up”
If Nancy Whang is singing, it will be on my year end list. On this matter, I will accept no arguments. Her voice engages you through a weird blend of sterilizing monotony and genuine emotion. She has this robotic digitized way of singing at times but segues beautifully into more melodic wave form deliveries, like when she sings “but he said it's all right, and he said it's all right, and you know it's all right, now there's just no reason not to say no”. Musically “Take em Up” is like an 8 bit bedroom beat cracked up on melodramatic overture, sketchy guitar strings and obtuse synth base notes. The whole thing is salacious and scandalous, only cynically encased in aristocratic yet soulless shell. But as Whang memorializes the exploits, mishaps and mysteries of her nights that casing is splayed open. By growing slightly more jittery, with a carful blending of euphonic soft notes from the key board and increasingly elongated, ephemeral echos of Whang's voice, the rhythm becomes more organic. As the end approaches, the beat slows down, giving way to a broken down speech from Whang. She tries to convey the futility of desire, and our unwillingness to grow beyond its depleting effects on us. While she seems to have reached her limit from these tribulations, she's got one more round in her still. She ends it on a high note.
19- Delorean- “Real Love”
There's something so dreadfully obvious about the characteristics of your typical summer song. It's frenetic tempo, high pitched but light voice, something about the beach or volleyball or John Hughes movies, an up beat three chord solo that is admittedly really catchy. We all love this stuff. “Real Love” is nothing like this, but this song was one of the highlights of my summer nevertheless. Something about it seems like the very thesis of my favourite season; almost as if it represents that liminal part of the beach just between the sun scorched shards, and the fully submerged soothing mush. Beginning with a slightly grating and obscured synth, it seems immediately atypical. It's got a slow moving, molasses dripping kind of bass line, with oddly Asiatic and slightly scathing whispers, as if an alien child was singing. But the keyboards that kick in half way through move at twice the speed and double the glitz and glamour. Through some divine intervention of engineering, it all works together. Ekhi Lopetegi's voice at times slowly plods through the extra terrestrial sound scape, at other times picking up speed, growing more punctuated and acute to accompany the keyboards intro (which oddly reminds me of the Vegas level where you fight Balrog in Street Fighter 2. Anyone else?). “Real Love” may not be your average summertime tune, but considering these boys grew up along the beaches of Spain, maybe its time to reevaluate that dogmatic criteria.
18- Spoon- “Before Destruction”
Not Quite “Ghost of You Lingers”, but almost as good and definitely the best song off of Transference. Its strange how Spoon can churn out a seemingly endless torrent of tightly paced speedy pop, but its their more atypical and moody songs that are always the best. “Before Destruction”, lyrically minimal though it may be, communicates volumes. The sharp stitched together percussion and icy cold acoustic strings are washed over by a subdued yet dominating accordion- of all things. Forged together, the whole thing seems to bring about whatever the opposite of nostalgia is. Its not quite synonymous with regret. Its closer to mourning, but not eulogizing. Britt Daniel speaks with a sort of passive aggressive cynicism; he wants to attack who ever he is singing about, but there is a history compelling him not to. He wont reveal exactly what happened, only speaking in terms of before and after, skirting around the periphery. What we're left with is a mystery, but a pretty cool one nevertheless.
17- Caribou- “Jamelia”
The closing track on Swim, “Jamelia” is an almost exhausting exercise in schizophrenia. The song repeatedly and anxiously builds up to something of significance, only for Dan Snaith to loose his nerve and then coweringly recede back to its initiation. It's as if Snaith is desperately trying to communicate something, but his thoughts are shrouded in layers of amnesia that constrain him. He continues to fail and only a few faint sounds manage to bubble to the surface before evaporating. Anxious tension yields to resentful acceptance that what ever Snaith needs to say, its not going to happen. Suddenly the beat explodes and a riot of razor sharp violins eviscerate their way through the amnesiac barriers, and all of Snaith's will and intent are briefly unleashed. Frighteningly aware and stressed that he can't maintain this, he recklessly tries to organize and articulate the thoughts he thought he had lost. He frantically wails and shrieks as he sees the gaping hole in his psyche he just shattered through is minutes, seconds away from reconstituting itself and once again segregating pieces of himself. He has to let loose what he can while he can; its an exhilarating piece of release and venting. Just as he fears, the song ends with him once again imprisoned by the sound of nothing. But it's remarkable while it lasts.
16- The National- “England”
Really tough call between this and “Afraid of Everyone” but like they say in Highlander, “there can only be one” (that was highlander right?). The song seems particularly striking because of its piano beat. It seems so regal; it's fitting it would open a song named after a country that shelters one of the worlds most eponymous monarchies. It's restrained and demure, yet utterly sophisticated and revered. Matt Berninger's ordering of words and phrases make the verses just roll so naturally and effortlessly from him in such a graceful way. It's a perfect match for the melody. Then the song seems to change, evolve more specifically. The brass kicks in, with singular slow burning notes. They are so glaringly sharp that it seems almost like something from a synthesizer or some other digital construct. It gives the song a distinctly modern or even post modern characteristic. As the rolling drums become more enthusiastic, and the brass becomes more complex, subduing and overtaking the piano, Berninger's voice grows less restrained, more emboldened. Its a linear song, but one that seems to continuously grow and develop into something increasingly grand. All the way it still maintains this monarchal but benevolent tone; something I imagine is no small feat.
15- The Walkmen- “Juveniles”
With guitar strings that are dripping with relaxation and Hamilton Lethausers voice surprisingly oozing with contentment, “Juveniles” is likely to improve your mood. What's interesting is that the subject matter is not drastically different from more scathing or cynical tracks like “The Rat” or “On the Water”. In this case, while his attention seems stubbornly focused on the same conditions- isolation, loneliness, stagnation- he seems to have accepted these realities, and even found the silver linings within them. “You're with someone else tomorrow night/ doesn't matter to me” he sings, and you tend to believe him. The melody is comforting and supportive, with a sort of rustic and nostalgic tone to it, only repurposed and produced with a more modernized sentiment. Sort of like blending the alienation of urbanity with the isolation of the wilderness, only somehow it's the opposite of dreary and draining. It turns out The Walkmen are just as good as cheering one up as they are at venomously tearing them apart.
14- Beach House- “Walk in the Park” (live)
In the spirit of specificity, we are discussing here the live version of “Walk in the Park” as performed on the EP initially debuted on itunes in the summer. You may argue that you can't make distinctions between a song and its live facsimile when discussing its qualities. Get your own blog. The merits of this song are readily apparent- I would prefer to discuss what makes this live version so compelling and even more affecting then the one from Beach House's recent LP. As the verse transitions into the chorus for the first time, instead of a clean relatively uneventful segue the rhythm is broken up by three repeating strums from a mostly submissive guitar. If interjecting those strings is somewhat startling, it creates a sense of heightened anticipation as the chorus seems less of a foregone conclusion. Of course it always comes, but its all the more gratifying this time. Victoria Legrand's voice is carried endlessly forward in the most harrowing of ways. She hits every note with a slight guttural thud, but her words are trailed by a faint wisp of her voice, like a comets tail or something equally celestial. In the live version she occasionally loosens her throat slipping into a noticeably lower octave before tightening back up. It breaks up the linearity of her voice; its such a small thing, but its effect on the song is monumental. Its one of those brief seconds in a song that I precisely await and long for; it seems new and bizarre and intoxicating every time I hear it.
13- Deerhunter- “Revival”
It seems innocuous at first. It has a sort of sharp, crisp and rustic mixture of acoustic guitar and drumming. The first few seconds may lead one to equate “Revival” to a sort of diversionary song that may get lost in the shuffle of more grandiose efforts. At first Bradford Cox's voice seems a little hollow and frail. But once he is done leisurely strolling through the first few lines he shifts gears and segues into something much more engrossing. As if he is astonishing even himself, he is consumed and overwhelmed by epiphany and awakening. The name “Revival” seems appropriate. All of the instruments merge together into one coalesced spine that carries the newfound weight and importance of Cox's voice, raising it above the drudgery he thought had swallowed him. Even if he only gestures through slightly elongating his words and slowing his tempo, he is noticeably changed. He begins experimenting with vocal inflections, adding wails and yelps. His desire to make music seems to remerge from him; some aspect of himself he believed to be dormant. All of this is elusively subtle, and maybe even a tad subliminal, but no less mesmerizing. It's a tragedy that Revival is such a truncated song; otherwise it cold have placed higher on the list.
12- Arcade Fire- “The Suburbs”
Not a song to be taken lightly, “The Suburbs” paints a borderline traumatizing visage of Win Butler's fears. The initial piano carries a certain quaint familial warmth to it; but something seems slightly off. As if you were hearing it at some sort of carnival of the deranged, it has a sinister underbelly to it. It's not readily apparent or easily perceptible at first, but it creates a level of tension- Butler's voice is weighted down and frail, depleted by the exhaustion of crusading against something so vast and tyrannical as life in the suburbs. He seems almost numb; indeed this is a sentiment he conveys directly “by the time the first bombs fell, we were already bored”. The suburbs desensitizes us from many things, not the least of which is the importance of a human connection; he laments “You're part of town against mine/ I saw you standing on the opposite shore”. It creates an artificial, but no less devastating sense of separation. All Butler can do is flee, escape; and you're coming with him. That sinister underbelly of the song swells and makes itself more apparent, as the faint wailing synth becomes more pronounced overtaking other instruments. At first it seems to complement the piano, however as things progress to its conclusion, it seems more akin to perverting it. In the end, even if he does secure a release form such a lethargic confinement, the trauma will stubbornly persist “In my dreams we're still screaming”. Its a haunting and thoroughly engaging dissent into the horrors of normalcy.
11- LCD Soundsystem- “All I Want”
It's kind of funny how LCD chooses to brand themselves, at least to the uninitiated. The lead singles off of all three of their LPs have been satirically goofy or hipster friendly party songs. But the bands greatest strength is when they speak and play more earnestly, honing in on beats that are less about hard edges that instead have softer curves, so to speak. In “All I Want” James Murphy and company prove this point exceptionally. Instead of erratic cow bells and forceful synth hooks (awesome as they are) theres a long burning slightly muddled keyboard backed up by a cappella. The guitar is kind of sappy and sweet like something from a 80s ballad. Murphy's voice even seems slightly different- grown up and more wise because of it, but slightly disoriented causing him to hold back just a little at first. Indeed, Murphy is somewhat burdened by the anxiety of confusion. He finally begins to understand that he's no longer the person who never needed anyone for so long. Such an epiphany seems to have bone rattling implications, you can hear it in his voice; it's incredible. The song becomes all the more distraught as he realizes the agonizing restructuring of his character has come too late. He laments, “Wake at the start/ and the dog and the girl are gone”. The tune gets really cool here as the song disaggregates into this kaleidoscopic array of beats sort of dancing around each other. Each bleep and bloop on its own is unremarkable, but they bounce off each other and react, without playing in unison. There's just enough space in between the timing so the sounds don't achieve convalescence, but they don't stumble into randomized divergence either. Murphy becomes more pronounced and direct, finally starting to yell just as he realizes the people he needs aren't there to listen anymore. It's exhausting and punishing, leading him to the point of almost collapse where all he wants to do is go home. More specifiably for someone to take him home.
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