Sometimes I can’t help but think of all the amazing artists and albums that have slipped through the cracks over the years. Luckily these thoughts don’t keep me up at night. But they probably explain why I listen to so much music. I’m always browsing the interweb, searching for my next obsession. But this insatiable appetite also could be my undoing. By listening to tons of new music, I probably can’t fully appreciate the stuff I have, which causes more artists and albums to slip through the cracks. It’s a viscous cycle.

This almost happened with Annuals. The first time I listened to their debut album Be He Me I hated it. After nearly a dozen listens, my opinion hadn’t changed much. Eventually I forgot about the album.

Then a few weeks ago I randomly played Be He Me in my car. I don’t know if it was the better speakers or the time spent away from the album, but it sounded completely different. It sounded alive. Beautiful, soaring melodies had emerged from the overwhelming chaos. It was unbelievable.

Album closer “Sway” is a great example of this transformation. The song features a cacophony of seemingly random sounds and noises. With repeated listens, however, this unholy ruckus transforms into one of the most gorgeous moments on the album. It’s the perfect ending to a stellar album, and also the perfect introduction to Annuals, my latest obsession.

[mp3] Annuals :: Sway

I am not a spontaneous writer. When I come up with an idea for an article, I usually spend several days (or even weeks) tweaking and polishing it before posting it on my site. The extra time helps me better organize and focus my thoughts.

I think this approach has worked out pretty well so far. When I look back on older posts, I’m usually pretty happy with what I read. I’m even happier to see that, for the most part, I still like (and listen to) the music I wrote about.

But tonight I am abandoning this approach. I discovered a song and I need to write about it. Now.

As I made the usual rounds on the internet this morning, I caught a feature on eMusic called “2009 Sleepers.” I noticed Hurray For the Riff Raff on the list so I decided to check out some of the other bands. One of them was The Antlers. After reading a few reviews of Hospice and listening to some clips, I jumped over to last.fm to see if I could stream some full tracks.

Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately) there were only two full songs posted: “Bear” and “Two.” I listened to both tracks as I hung up some shirts in the other room. The sound was a little muffled, but through the wall I heard an incredibly beautiful and haunting melody. It was the song “Two.” I had to listen to it again, except this time give it my full attention.

During my second listen, I was overwhelmed. I didn’t know what to focus on: the slow, gorgeous build of the instrumentation or the heartbreaking lyrics. After nearly a dozen listens, I still don’t know what to focus on. It’s one of those songs that causes paralysis: when it comes on, I stop whatever it is I’m doing and just listen. It’s also one of those songs that ends way too soon (despite being almost 6 minutes long).

Ultimately, however, the words I write will fail to convey just how remarkable this song is. Maybe I should spend a few more days tweaking this post. Kidding of course. Just give the song a listen.

[mp3] The Antlers :: Two

So I have a theory that there are two basic responses to breaking up with someone: sadness or anger. The first reaction produces the kind of music I normally listen to — sorrowful, introspective stuff — while the second produces punk music.

And I support this theory with the following observation. I’ve never really warmed to punk music. The reason for this is simple: I’m a moper. My response to most situations (including break-ups) is sadness. I rarely get mad — unless I happen to be driving. As a result, I have a hard time identifying with angry, bitter music.

Or so I thought. A few years ago I stumbled upon Deja Entendu by Brand New. While I remember cringing at some of the louder, heavier tracks (especially the ones with screaming), I really enjoyed the album’s slower songs. Especially “The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot” and “Play Crack the Sky.”

But lately I’ve been warming to the entire album (including the screaming). It’s just too good — amazing hooks, epic riffs, and heartbreaking lyrics abound. It took a few years, but I’ve finally come to appreciate both the quiet and loud moments of Deja Entendu.

The song posted below isn’t necessarily my favorite track from the album, but it features the band sounding both quiet and loud. There’s even some screaming!

Note: For those of you worried about the direction of my blog, rest assured. At my core, I’m still a moper (and always will be). But every now and then I feel like screaming and rocking out.

[mp3] Brand New :: Me vs. Maradona vs. Elvis

Sometimes I wish I was still a kid. Life was so much simpler back then — playing catch in the front yard until the last rays of light left the sky, building skateboard ramps in the driveway, cruising aimlessly around the neighborhood on my bike. No worrying about credit card bills, career paths, or social networks. No worrying about financial meltdowns, global warming, or terrorist attacks.

The problems confronting the world today seem unparalleled. But maybe they’ve always been this big; maybe I just never noticed them as a kid. And they’re getting pretty hard to ignore now. It seems like the more I learn, the more serious the problems become.

So how do we respond when faced with such daunting challenges? Barack Obama offered an answer to this question at his inauguration yesterday: stand united and work together towards a better future. It won’t be easy, but it needs to start happening. Soon.

And although I agree with him, I still miss the carefree days of childhood. Oddly enough, I’ve recently discovered two songs that remind me of those simpler times. Which is one of the many reasons I love music: a few well-placed notes can transport you to a different time and place, or even conjure up a long-forgotten memory.

The first song is “Kids” from MGMT’s Oracular Spectacular. In addition to its fitting title, “Kids” features a ridiculously catchy hook and some vague lyrics about growing up. After listening to this song a few times, it’s easy to see why MGMT topped so many lists at the end of 2008.

The second song, “Hands Remember” by Seabear (aka Sindri Már Sigfússon), sounds like a peaceful dream. A gorgeous string section accompanies Sigfússon’s gentle vocals. Again, the lyrics have a nostalgic feel, talking about revisiting and repeating the past. If you like this song, I highly recommend checking out the rest of The Ghost That Carried Us Away. It’s one of the best albums I’ve heard in a while.

[mp3] MGMT :: Kids
[mp3] Seabear :: Hands Remember

Apparently, it’s a tradition for musicians in the UK to pump out cheesy Christmas songs right before the holiday. The ridiculously-sappy Christmas movie Love Actually confirms this: part of the story revolves around a burned-out musician competing with a popular boy band for the top Christmas song. You can probably guess who grabs the No. 1 spot.

This tradition was further confirmed by the guys in Frightened Rabbit. Before their show at Bottom of the Hill a few weeks ago, I asked them about their Christmas song (“It’s Christmas So We’ll Stop”) and how it came to be. They joked about how they were just following tradition when they released it last Christmas.

If their song is a joke, it isn’t very funny — in fact, it’s actually a little depressing. On second thought, cynical might a better word to describe it. The song talks about how people are nice to each other only around Christmas time.

Like all good Frightened Rabbit songs, “It’s Christmas So We’ll Stop” uses seemingly disjointed thoughts and images to convey a simple, yet powerful story or idea. When you add in a gorgeous melody that grabs you and refuses to let go, it’s easy to see why this is the greatest Christmas song ever.

[mp3] Frightened Rabbit :: It’s Christmas So We’ll Stop

For the second greatest Christmas song ever, I highly recommend “Sister Winter” by Sufjan Stevens, which I wrote about last year. The original article can be found here.

In order to return my blog to its usual format, I need to clear out the backlog of music created by my summer hiatus. This post should bring you up to speed on some of my favorite albums released in the past few months. It won’t be poetic, but then again, housekeeping rarely is.

MY MORNING JACKET

After the massive disappointment that was Z, I expected very little of My Morning Jacket’s latest album Evil Urges. After several months of listening, I can honestly say Evil Urges doesn’t suck. In fact, it’s pretty solid. The band continues to distance themselves from the sound they perfected on At Dawn, which, at least for me, is disappointing because that’s the sound I originally fell in love with.

I think, however, I’ve come to terms with their new direction. Seeing them live at the Greek two weeks ago definitely helped. These guys put on an amazing show. One of the many highlights that night was an incredible version of “Touch Me I’m Going to Scream Pt. 2,” the epic closing track on Evil Urges. The studio version of this song is posted below.

[mp3] My Morning Jacket :: Touch Me I’m Going to Scream Pt. 2

THE WALKMEN

On You & Me, The Walkmen not only perfect their sound but finally feel comfortable with it. And they sound as if they’ve just shaken off an epic hangover: their new album contains a sense of weariness and regret not present in previous albums. Maybe The Walkmen have grown up.

If so, it’s for the better. You & Me is their most consistent, and ultimately, their most rewarding album to date. Ironically, its consistency might also be its biggest turn-off. Songs sometimes bleed too much into each other. It takes repeated listens before tracks distinguish themselves. After nearly two dozen spins, I’m finally there. Right now, “On the Water” is my favorite track, but this will probably change on a weekly basis.

[mp3] The Walkmen :: On the Water

SHEARWATER

Similar to The Walkmen, Shearwater sounds like they’ve finally figured themselves out. With the release of Rook, Meiburg and his band fully step out of the shadow of Okkervil River. I’m only disappointed it took so long.

There is a lot going on under the surface of Rook. The shear gorgeousness of the music often masks a strong undercurrent of anger and frustration. Which is part of the reason I like Shearwater so much: their ability to combine beauty and violence is striking. The title track from Rook, which is posted below, captures this balance perfectly.

[mp3] Shearwater :: Rooks

SIGUR RÓS

Sigur Rós has yet to release a disappointing album. With every new CD, they manage to explore new territory while at the same time maintaining their core sound (My Morning Jacket should take a lesson from them). The first few tracks on Með Suð Í Eyrum Við Spilum Endalaust, for example, can almost be described as joyous, which is definitely new territory for the band.

This mood, however, doesn’t last long. Soon the band retreats to familiar ground, slowing the flow of music to that of a glacier. “Illgresi,” the track posted below, resides on the slower second half of Með Suð Í Eyrum Við Spilum Endalaust and features the band at its simplest: a pretty acoustic guitar riff, some violin flourishes, and Jónsi’s plaintive vocals.

[mp3] Sigur Rós :: Illgresi

For the past year or so, I’ve felt the overwhelming desire to move up north for the winter and live by myself in a cabin. Kind of like Bon Iver, but not really (mostly because I doubt anything as beautiful as For Emma, Forever Ago would result). Also, I’d want to go somewhere more mountainous and snowy than Wisconsin. Probably either Alaska or western Canada.

The reasons for this are multiple. First, I want to experience the full intensity of winter (I love cold and snow). Second, I want to gaze upon the Northern Lights in all their glory. And third, I want to see how I respond to prolonged periods of darkness and isolation.

So when a good friend suggested I read North Into the Night, a story about a guy who spends a winter alone in the Arctic, I happily obliged. At the very least, it would be an entertaining read, and might even help me prepare for my adventure.

Without giving too much of the book away, the guy nearly goes crazy after spending over 5 months in complete darkness and isolation. He sleeps for days on end and often loses control of his temper and sanity. Even though my proposed adventure wouldn’t be as intense, his story filled me with apprehension. Could I really go 5 months without seeing another person?

All of this got me thinking about the nature of isolation. After some serious reflection, I’ve come up with two kinds (though I’m sure there’s more). The first type of isolation, as described in North Into the Night, is largely physical; the author (Alvah Simon) ventured to a part of the world that few inhabit, so quite naturally he was alone. The second kind of isolation is best illustrated by the story told in Justin Townes Earle’s heartbreaking song “Yuma.” The isolation he portrays is mostly psychological; the (hopefully) fictional character feels completely alone even when surrounded by scores of people in a city.

I think psychological isolation is easier to sympathize with and understand. Most of us live in populated areas. Yet somehow the constant presence of other people doesn’t always fight back feelings of isolation and loneliness. Especially with the rise in popularity of iPods and personal music players. Just pop in those little white ear buds and the surrounding world disappears!

Anyways, if you like the song posted below, I highly recommend listening to the rest of Justin Townes Earle’s EP Yuma, as well as his LP The Good Life. He has an amazing voice and a knack for penning gorgeous songs that perfectly articulate those universal feelings of heartbreak and loneliness. Which, coincidentally, sound amazing through the ear buds of an iPod.

[mp3] Justin Townes Earle :: Yuma

I’ve been struggling with this question for a while now. Is music a necessity or merely a luxury afforded those who have their most basic needs met?

I know how I would answer it. As someone who’s scrobbled over 40,000 tracks on last.fm in the past 18 months, music would appear to be a necessity to me. If you do the math, I spend around 20% of my time listening to music. This is staggering, especially when you consider that approximately 30% of my life is spent sleeping.

The percentage calculated above, however, is misleading: I often multi-task while listening to music. It makes routine chores like homework and commuting tolerable. In fact, music makes my life in general much more enjoyable, which itself is an argument supporting its necessity.

But do we really need music to survive? Clearly it does not provide the nutrition of food or the safety of shelter. There are lots of people out there who never listen to music, either because they lack the opportunity or because they get no enjoyment from it. I’d like to think I could continuing living without ever hearing another song again.

The key word in that last sentence is “think.” I get restless if I haven’t listened to music in a couple days. It calms and soothes, stirs and inspires. It is intensely personal, yet can unite large groups of diverse people. Music offers an escape from reality, taking me back to precise moments in my life or forward to moments I hope to experience. The Album Leaf’s “Twentytwofourteen” takes me back to the winter I spent living in Truckee, while I can imagine playing Beirut’s “Postcards From Italy” at my wedding.

I guess I’ve been pondering this question because I often dream about making music my profession. Whether critiquing or creating, I seem to have a passion for it that most people don’t understand. At the same time, however, I want to be a productive member of society. And if music isn’t necessary, how can I justify working in the industry?

Maybe one justification can be found in people like me. Music has profoundly shaped and altered my life, and for that reason it is valuable. Maybe not necessary, but important nonetheless.

[mp3] Bon Iver :: For Emma

The song posted above, the title track from Bon Iver’s exquisite For Emma, Forever Ago, only reinforces the value and power of music. Despite having been recorded in a cabin in northern Wisconsin during the winter, the song exudes warmth.

There’s definitely a fine line: some songs need more time to evolve and expand while others just sound bloated and self-indulgent. Songs that fall into the former category include “Cortez the Killer” by Neil Young, “The Trapeze Swinger” by Iron & Wine, “Duk Koo Kim” by Sun Kil Moon, “Mogwai Fear Satan” by Mogwai (obviously), “Oh Comely” by Neutral Milk Hotel, “Desolation Row” by Bob Dylan, and, why not, “Stairway to Heaven” by Led Zeppelin. Just to name a few.

So how do you make an epic song even better? Put it at the end of an album. For example: My Morning Jacket’s “Strangulation!” and “Dondante,” Built to Spill’s “Broken Chairs,” and Gillian Welch’s “I Dream a Highway.”

You can add “All of My Trains” by Robert Francis to this list. Like Deer Tick, Francis is an insanely-talented young singer-songwriter (albeit with slightly less buzz). Hailing from Los Angeles, he sounds nothing like his surroundings. Actually, he doesn’t even sound like he’s from this century.

His music exudes both innocence and angst, hope and despair. His debut One By One is an earnest, introspective, timeless folk record that will undoubtedly be cherished by those lucky enough to stumble upon it.

[mp3] Robert Francis :: All of My Trains

Horse Feathers is two-man band from Portland, Oregon. Their music reminds me a lot of my (brief) visit to the city last summer: serenely beautiful, yet overcast and dreary most of the time. These are rainy day songs through and through.

Intense string pieces and delicate acoustic melodies create an interesting juxtaposition. The resulting music sounds passionately resigned. Lyrics like “It’s in our blood to watch each day go by” reinforce this feeling (and also resonate with me at this particular moment in my life).

Their debut album Words Are Dead (Amazon, eMusic, Lucky Madison), released back in 2006, hasn’t gotten much attention, which I can’t quite understand. It’s a remarkably solid release; I always listen to the album in its entirety. If I had to pick a favorite song, I’d ask for permission to choose several, it’s that good.

If you enjoy the two tracks posted below, I highly recommend checking out the entire album (you can preview it at last.fm before purchasing!). You won’t be disappointed.

[mp3] Horse Feathers :: In Our Blood
[mp3] Horse Feathers :: Like Lavender