So, it's officially halfway through the year for music. In that spirit, I'm putting up half of a year-end list. These five songs and five albums are simply some that have captured my attention this year. The emphasis this time around isn't to objectively list my five favorite songs or albums of the year, but just to throw up ten total pieces of music that are deserving of attention.
SONGS
Japandroids: "Younger Us"
"Younger Us" doesn't do anything that Japandroids didn't do on their breakout album Post-Nothing. Thunderous guitars that straddle shoegaze and punk, enormous hooks from emo's heyday, and a balls-to-the-wall ballast. What sets "Younger Us" apart, though, is a stronger sense of melodicism and maybe even restraint. Where Post-Nothing was frenzied, "Younger Us" grabs a hold of that energy and fights with and against it, creating something that reminds of what made Post-Nothing great and promises an even brighter future.
T.I.: "I'm Back"
"I'm Back" was the first song that T.I. released after being incarcerated, and it sounds like it. Tip gnashes his teeth at anonymous targets, sweating frustration at a rap game he could only watch. The synth palette that T.I. spits over is fine, but it's really just a canvas for Cliff Harris to just never fucking let up. Tip barely takes a breath on the track, rapping over himself like there's just too much for one of him to say. The decision not to name his targets turns the whole affair into an indictment against rap in general in the King's absence and served as T.I.'s reascension to the throne.
Erykah Badu: "Jump in the Air and Stay There" [ft. Lil Wayne and Bilal]
Apparently, there are ten versions of "Jump in the Air and Stay There," the inexplicably web-only bonus track from Badu's New Amerykah Part Two album. But there isn't any need for ten versions when the first one is this good. "Jump" sounds like it's beamed from some funky outer-space satellite where everything is going to explode, or like an R&B soundtrack to the thoughts of Sam Rockwell's character in Moon. Lil Wayne's loopy guest verse only enhances the otherworldly feeling. The video for this track was a kaleidoscopic mess, and it fit perfectly.
James Blake: "CMYK"
I wrote a big piece earlier this year, the gist of which was basically about how I don't "get" dance music. "CMYK", from British producer James Blake, gave me something to "get." In pulling from and chopping up hits from Aaliyah and Kelis, Blake seems to suggest that the divide between dance tracks on the pop charts and dance tracks on trendy dubstep labels isn't all that wide, that it's possible to engage your brain and your booty simultaneously.
Broken Social Scene: "World Sick"
If it were okay to describe music in one word, I'd be out of a job. Problem is, there is only one word to describe "World Sick," the opening track to Broken Social Scene's Forgiveness Rock Record. "Epic." The Caribbean-tinged rhythms and guitars that open the track might belay that, but after that first chorus hits the song begins aiming for the stratosphere, winding upwards in intensity until the whole cacophonous thing folds under its own weight and has to drift peacefully to its end.
ALBUMS
The National: High Violet
The point of contention most people have with the National is that the exist within a very narrow emotional range. The problem with trying to dissuade people from this opinion is that it's, well, true. The National communicating pretty much one thing: soul-battering, world-weary depression. What makes High Violet such a terrific record is the sheer musical scale they use to paint that depression, even while singer Matt Beringer delves into the existential minutiae of owing money to the money of the money he owes. It's widescreen in its sadness, which expands its emotional range so it becomes all-inclusive.
Titus Andronicus: The Monitor
Bruce Springsteen was never as influential as he has been over the past ten years, with bands like the Hold Steady, the Gaslight Anthem, the Hold Steady, and Titus Andronicus all either playing with him, namedropping him as a primary influence, or referencing him in their lyrics. The Monitor is a vibrant and violent rock record that swings from emotion to emotion on the drop of a dime. It's huge without being bloated, youthful without being immature. While the Boss' sonics aren't so much in play here, both Bruce and the Glenwood boys make their way with a New Jersey versus the World energy that translates universally.
Sleigh Bells: Treats
"Crown on the Ground" was my favorite song of 2009, and it almost slipped into the top ten of my favorite songs of the 00s. Not every song on Treats, the debut album from the group behind "Crown on the Ground", is as good as that one, but it's a close thing. Like "Crown", Treats thrives on its disparate elements, namely huge hip-hop beats, punishingly loud guitars, and sugar-sweet pop vocals. Everything about Sleigh Bells is pushed to extremes, and its this lack of subtlety, paired with an absolute singularity of vision that pushes Treats beyond being merely loud dance rock and into being something terrifically unique.
Akira Kosemura: Polaroid Piano
Polaroid Piano was a revelation for me. Kosemura's piece for solo piano, arranged into bite-sized loops of delicate beauty, came out of nowhere as one of my favorite records of the year. Pedals and keys were mic'd individually, creating a feeling of intimacy, as if Kosemura were right next to you, and the incidental bits of guitar and xylophone, or the sounds of birds and children, were all happening around you. Listening to Polaroid Piano is like listening to infinity, as the pieces rotate around their central figures and a one minute piece, or the album as a whole, could stretch pleasantly into forever.
Magic Man: Real Life Color
On the same day that Pitchfork posted a Forkcast for insta-indie darlings Cults, they also posted the track "Monster" from the group Magic Man. The group filtered the melancholic electronica of the Postal Service through a lo-fi lens without strictly adhering to either, and as a result created something more emotionally affecting. Real Life Color is sadness up close, close enough to see all of the imperfections that can be hidden by distance. The dulcet keyboard tones that litter the record are undercut by harsh drum machine patterns or defeated vocals. In a way, Real Life Color lives up to its name, willfully accepting that it can't be quite as clear or picturesque as the movies, and more beautiful for it.
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