Wilco “Side With The Seeds” – Some people seem a bit surprised when I tell them Sky Blue Sky is one of my top favorite records from 2007, and maybe a lot of that has to do with the fact that I’ve barely written about it. It’s been a fairly private pleasure for me, particularly over the summer when its calming chords provided some relief from stress and worry. This isn’t to say that Sky Blue Sky is an entirely relaxing set of songs — if anything, I kept going back to it because its emotional state so neatly echoed my own experience of trying to stay cool and collected while quietly freaking out for three solid months. Most of the worst reviews for the record glibly dismissed the music as “dad rock,” which is sort of aggravating because I think that the epithet accidentally touches on the stoicism and maturity that is key to the record’s appeal, but favors a kneejerk appreciation of less emotionally (or musically) complicated music.

Also, it’s a huge mistake to write it off as an album full of wanky, meandering guitar solos. Yes, there’s a lot of solos, but they are part of dynamic, meticulously crafted instrumental sections that carry a great deal of the record’s emotional weight. The words are fine, and as usual, Jeff Tweedy’s voice is extremely charismatic and expressive despite his limitations, but for the most part, the major action on the record happens in the instrumental sections — the climax, the resolution, the postscript. It’s both the feelings buried underneath the surface that you can’t quite let out, and the things you just can’t articulate with words for one reason or another. It’s a very sophisticated and subtle work of art, and though it is understandable why so many people would either neglect or dismiss it for not immediately revealing its charms, I promise you that the album has quite a lot to offer. (Click here to buy it from Amazon.)

Ghostface Killah “Supa GFK” – Most of the time, a sample in a song is a bit like finding some old bit of junk and recontextualizing it as a decorative element in your living space. “Supa GFK” isn’t quite like that. It’s more like an elaborately decorated room that’s had some of the furniture taken out to make space for Ghostface’s rap. He seems to glide and strut through the song, totally aware of his presence in Watson’s tune, but intent to make himself at home. Unsuprisingly, the end result is so smooth, sweet, and rich that it may as well be a gigantic slice of cheesecake. (Click here to buy it from Amazon.)

Yelle “Tu Es Beau” – Under normal circumstances, this song probably would fade out somewhere around the 3:10 mark, but it just keeps on going for nearly three more minutes, sustaining and elaborating upon its blend of sweetness and melancholy. It seems romantic and gentle, but it’s hard to ignore the tug of doubt audible in the strangely hesitant melodic phrases, and the conflicted sound of Yelle’s voice in the first half of the song. (Click here to buy it from Amazon.)

Scissor Sisters “Paul McCartney” (Live 2007) – “Paul McCartney” is a song that tricks you into believing that you’ve hit the peak of musical excitement, but then hits you a bridge so glorious and ecstatic that it’s almost a disappointment when the song returns to its chorus. As such, you really don’t need much in the way of context to appreciate its charms, but Jake Shears’ story behind the title and the lyrics goes a long way towards putting the piece over the top in my estimation:

I have really vivid dreams. I had one about Paul McCartney. We were in a room by ourselves, having a conversation about songwriting. He told me some amazing things. Then, right before I woke up, he said – and it sounds a little cheesy if you just say it out of context – ‘It’s the music that connects me to you’. I felt like I’d had a visitation or something.

There’s no getting around the fact that this is specifically a song about music, but the emotional basis of the lyrics is universal: It’s about feeling lost and frustrated, and stumbling upon a moment of inspiration just when you needed it the most. The song had to feel exciting — it just wouldn’t make sense unless it came close to approximating the joy of awakening from doubt and malaise, and embracing a new confidence. It’s all the more beautiful when you realize that the most euphoric moment of the song is an expression of profound gratitude and humility. (Click here to buy it from Amazon.)

Beyoncé “Suga Mama” (Live 2007) – I’m still a little confused as to why “Suga Mama” was never released as a single from B’day — I mean, c’mon, “Deja Vu,” “Upgrade U,” and goddamn “Beautiful Liar” may have featured high profile guest stars, but that fact alone doesn’t make them catchier or more instantly lovable than this upbeat soul number that Beyoncé wrote with Rich Harrison, aka the dude who did “Crazy In Love.” Unsurprisingly, the song’s tight grooves and super-kinetic beats shine in concert, and the song’s over-the-top energy allows her to play up the boldest, most emphatic aspects of her vocal style. When she sings like this, she sounds impossibly self-assured, as though she could make anything happen through sheer force of will. It’s pretty exciting. (Click here to buy it from Amazon.)

Squeeze “Pulling Mussels (From The Shell)” (Live 2007) – When I was young, most of the music I heard was on the Lite FM and contemporary pop radio stations that played in my parents’ cars. That’s how I first heard “Pulling Mussels (From The Shell).” I didn’t know that it was by Squeeze til much later on, or that this was the same band that did “Tempted” and “Black Coffee In Bed.” Even up through the ’90s, a lot of the hits of the ’80s just sort of blurred together in my mind, as if there was just this one band called The ’80s and they just had a lot of awesome songs that were all over the radio.

For the longest time, I thought that this song was actually called “Pulling Muscles For Michelle,” and that it was about some guy who was working so hard to impress a girl that he was straining his body. It’s actually about visiting a working class seaside resort in England, but given that most pop songs are about romantic relationships, my version seemed a lot more plausible. Really, when you’re just a kid, all lyrics are pretty much meaningless — it’s just the sounds the singer makes to make the melody move along. If a song is really good, the sound of the voice and the melody will convey much more than the lyrics, and in the best cases, the words just shape your impression of the musical content without becoming the focus of the piece. “Pulling Mussels” certainly boasts a clever set of lyrics — Chris Difford was always very good with words — but it’s pretty obvious that the lyrics are secondary to the tune itself, and that it’s very much a case of a writer smuggling an unexpected subject into a musically straightforward song because they know the melody is so irresistible that people would barely notice or care. (Click here to buy it from Quixotic Records.)

Elsewhere: Wow, kinda nice to know I wasn’t alone on that “Pulling Muscles For Michelle” thing!

Also: Today is my final day filling in for Dan Kois at New York Magazine’s Vulture blog. If you haven’t reading, here are a few of the better entries that I’ve done for the site. Next week I’ll be working for Public Radio International’s Fair Game with Faith Salie, which is pretty exciting since I’m already a big fan of the show, and I’ll be involved with bringing in music guests for interviews and live performances. If you don’t already listen to the show, I recommend checking your local public radio station for listings, or subscribing to the free podcast.

Kylie Minogue “Wow” – This is the little sister of “Love At First Sight.” She resembles her older sibling quite a bit — perky filter disco runs in the family — but she’s not quite as stunning and effortlessly charismatic, and as a result, she doesn’t find it as easy to assert herself and cut loose. She’s definitely not shy or lacking in enthusiasm, but in comparison to her big sis, she can’t help but seem a bit reserved and low key. She’s gorgeous and lovely and smart and cool, but it’s just so hard to shine when you’re stuck in someone’s long, dark shadow. All we can do is hope that one day she meets some nice person who falls in love with her for exactly who she is, and isn’t terribly impressed by her superstar sibling. (Click here to buy it from Amazon UK.)

Elsewhere: Given that we both grew up in the Hudson Valley and have spent most of our adult lives in New York City, it probably shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise that I relate quite a bit to what Amanda Petrusich has to say in this essay about developing a fascination with California via books, music, and film, and being a bit let down by the reality. I still haven’t been there myself — I’ve barely been anywhere at all, I’ve never had the money to travel — but the Los Angeles that exists in my mind makes very little sense, it’s just this patchwork of images and ideas that don’t add up at all. Unlike Amanda, I don’t think I romanticize the place — in fact, it seem like such a weird mirror image of where I’m from that I there’s a good chance I might find it rather alienating. One way or another, I just feel like it’s someplace I need to go and try to understand, if only to solve this puzzle in my head.

Also: Related to Monday’s post — the most relentlessly twee video of 2007!

James Rabbit “George Gershwin” –

1. James Rabbit’s Coloratura makes me wish that this was some shady fly-by-night rar. blog, and that I could just give you the entire album all at once. I’ve been following Tyler Martin’s music with interest for a while now, and have been pleased with his progress as he plugged away, recording a few albums with his friends ever year, each an improvement over the last. But Coloratura…this is a breakthrough. This is the moment where everything suddenly clicks, and he proves himself capable of realizing his often ambitious ideas, and filling out a 51 minute album with consistently catchy, thoughtful, and inventive music.

2. Coloratura is an album mainly concerned with three things, in descending order of thematic prominence: The importance of making connections and the value of friendship; the way music and our environment can enrich our lives and affect our emotional well-being; and the awkwardness of young courtship. My favorite theme is most certainly the first, in part because it’s a topic so rarely written about in a way that isn’t totally trite, but mainly because Martin’s expression of gratitude for the support and inspiration of his friends is so incredibly thoughtful and sincere. There’s quite a bit of insecurity and anxiety in Martin’s words, but he has no interest in dwelling those feelings. Instead, nearly every song he writes is about coming to terms with that stress, and learning how to overcome it and improve himself, and on this record, he does just that with a little help from his friends.

3. From a hand written letter sent by Tyler Martin to me along with Coloratura:

Track five, “George Gershwin,” is dedicated to a dear friend, Vanessa Waring, who always seems to call me as she is walking home from work. She works in San Francisco, so often the “mixed elevations” affect how difficult it is to walk and talk, and also affect the conversations.

4. “George Gershwin” boils down the essence of Coloratura into a single, easily digestible song. Martin experimented with spoken monologues on the Colossuses album earlier this year with varying degrees of success, but he has it figured out now, and has fallen into a nice style that emphasizes his particular brand of wide-eyed enthusiasm with mannerisms lifted from Ira Glass and the Fiery Furnaces. True, it’s often a bit twee and precious, but it’s also incredibly involving and thoroughly integrated into the music. He’s not just talking over instruments — his words are musical, and there’s a constant, playful interaction between his voice and the music. Much of the record is incredibly joyful, but the chorus of “George Gershwin” is particularly effervescent and invigorating. Simply put, my entire life feels better when I hear this song, which is only appropriate given that it is basically about searching for a piece of music that can fit perfectly into your life and become a reliable source of comfort and inspiration.

(Click here to buy Coloratura from James Rabbit.)

Elsewhere: Mike Barthel imagines three Britney Spears videos directed by Richard Kelly that pay homage to Guns N’ Roses’ epic Use Your Illusion trilogy.

Also: Here it is — the end to every argument, until the end of the internet.

The Raveonettes “The Beat Dies” – It’s only appropriate that so many songs of innocent, starry-eyed, sentimental love are awash in a sea of reverb — being in that state of infatuation can often seem like being stuck in a personal echo chamber. There’s certainly a sweet sadness to “The Beat Dies,” but it is trumped by the sound of hope and belief in Sharin Foo’s slight, girlish voice. She doesn’t betray all the much emotion in her performance, but it’s just enough to make it clear that she wouldn’t want to go on in a world without romance or heartbreak. (Click here to buy it for a ridiculously inflated import price from Amazon, but keep in mind that Vice is releasing it domestically very soon.)

Blur “I’m Just A Killer For Your Love (Live in 1997)” – The album version of “I’m Just A Killer For Your Love” can’t help but seem shambling and muted in comparison to this stomping, cacaphonous live recording from 1997. This may be one of the finest examples of Blur in their late ’90s peak, with Damon Albarn’s faux-glam tunefulness colliding with Graham Coxon’s knack for severe, seemingly haphazard guitar noise to create something that improves upon the music of their most obvious influences. Coxon’s wildly expressive parts are especially impressive because he makes it all sound so effortless, as though these precisely calculated noises are just happening spontaneously, or even accidentally. My favorite noise in this particular song is the rhythmic wrenching sqwuak that is so prominent on the verses — it comes off sounding like someone wringing out the blood from a heart with a cold metal vice, which obviously goes nicely with sentiment of the chorus. (Click here to buy the studio version from Amazon.)

Elsewhere: Thank you for joining the Share-a-Lot program here at MyFavies.com. Your enrollment has made you a SuperFavie member! We hope you’ve enjoyed the great deals that we’re offering this week, like 10% off a $300 purchase at Forever17!

Birds Fled From Me “The Resisted” – Rachel Williams recalls Fiona Apple at her most spare and wounded on this heartbroken ballad, but her voice skips Apple’s soulful inflections in favor of a more fragile reading that nods in the direction of early Cat Power without aping that singer’s affectations. Like Apple, her song and her vocal performance work precisely because she so thoroughly owns her emotions, and expresses the pain of her unrequited love not so much for the benefit of whomever it is she is addressing, but rather to understand and affirm her own experience. This is the sort of song that could shatter you to pieces if you heard it at the right moment, so beware if you happen to be in love with someone who does not love you in return. (Click here to buy it via the Birds Fled From Me MySpace page.)

Kate Nash “Pumpkin Soup” – For the first few weeks that I knew this song, I heard the final line of its bridge as “I hate that you don’t think I’m unkind,” which I find a bit more interesting and appealing than the actual lyric, which is more grammatically sensible but less emotionally complicated: “I hope that you don’t think I’m unkind.” It doesn’t really change my feeling about the music — I love the way every anxious moment of this tune sounds as though it is punctuated by a half dozen exclamation points, and the way she seems to relish her chance to play the drama queen — but my misheard version adds an extra bit of insecurity that isn’t quite as obvious as the rest of what she’s singing. I like the idea that she’s frustrated by the fact that this boy would think that she’s too sweet, even when she’s going out of her way to keep things purely physical and emotionally distant. He’s smitten, and she can’t even convince him that she’s capable of cruelty! The song doesn’t land far from that mark, but it could stand to be a little more twisty. (Click here to buy it from Amazon, but keep in mind a domestic version will be out in the US in January.)

Stephen Malkmus and the Million Dollar Bashers “Ballad of a Thin Man” – David Edelstein’s review of Todd Haynes’ new film I’m Not There in the most recent issue of New York Magazine may be positive, but in complaining that Haynes is more concerned with deconstructing Bob Dylan than getting inside his head, he clues us in to just how little he understood what the movie is actually about, i.e., not the guy who sleeps and eats and DJs on satellite radio. It’s about the cultural representation of Dylan, and as such, it’s more about us than it is about him. Not to undersell the film’s substance, but when you boil down all the things that I’m Not There has to say about Dylan in particular and art in general, it’s essentially about how we turn artists into icons, and the way the mythology that we create around them can take on a life and meaning that is far greater than the person, and sometimes even the work itself.

Haynes splits Dylan into six characters, none of whom are called Bob Dylan. (The name is never once uttered in the film.) Only half of the actors resemble the man, and the one who is most clearly evocative of his actual style and mannerisms is a woman in drag. It’s important that it’s drag, by the way. Cate Blanchett’s performance as the Dylan of Don’t Look Back is meant to be an over-the-top, fabulous caricature of the artist at his most iconic, and it’s the representation that is most charged with transgressive sexuality — both his own, and what Blanchett claims for herself as she occupies his persona. Blanchett’s Dylan is my favorite, mainly because she is standing in for the version of the man I appreciate the most: The “pop” Dylan; the cynical, frustrated young artist who fought against being pigeon-holed by the media; the iconoclast who stood up to the smug, self-righteous conservatism of the folk movement at the Newport Folk Festival and the Royal Albert Hall. The events of those two concerts are represented in the film with a great deal of humor, surrealism, and melodrama. It’s a folk story, passed down through generations, and that’s the point. It isn’t about the truth of those events, it’s about the cultural resonance of his actions, and the way we tell and internalize the meaning of the narrative — it’s the moment where Dylan ceases to be a folk singer, and becomes a folk hero.

Unsurprisingly, my second favorite Dylan in I’m Not There is the one played by Marcus Carl Franklin. Unlike the fairly representational versions of Dylan portrayed by Blanchett, Ben Whishaw, and Christian Bale — or the glamorous post-modern/meta representation of Heath Ledger, who plays an actor playing Dylan in a biopic — Franklin’s character is purely metaphorical, and stands in for the young Dylan eager to cast off his past and reinvent himself on his own terms. The scenes with Franklin suggest that the singer’s transforming persona is an intrinsic part of his character, and of his art — from early on, he understood the power of becoming a character, of becoming something else for the benefit of his art, his audience, and himself.

The film does not follow a linear path, but it’s important to note that the story begins with Franklin since it establishes the central conflict of the picture, i.e., the complications of reconciling the differences between the artist’s embrace of affectation, and the premium placed on authenticity in folk music, and the culture at large — or at least up until the end of the 70s, since its worth noting that Dylan’s life after his conversion to Christianity in 1979 is not acknowledged in any way by the film. (It makes sense — nothing else after that moment in his life has any particular mythic resonance, and so Dylan the legend effectively died when his life ceased to be a story.) Even though there are six incarnations of Dylan in I’m Not There, there’s really just two versions of his myth on display, and they are at odds with one another — he’s either the idealistic truth-teller, or the guy who forces us to look beyond objective truth of biography and dig into the complicated mess of life via fiction, poetry, and reinvention of character. You don’t really have to pick one or the other, but I’m pretty sure I only really have use for the latter version.

Oh yeah, and doesn’t Stephen Malkmus sound like he’s on his very best behavior on this version of “Ballad of a Thin Man”? When I first heard his three cuts on the I’m Not There soundtrack, I was kinda shocked by the reverence in his voice. I mean, I wasn’t expecting him to goof off or rewrite the lyrics, but after seeing the film, the straight, somewhat mannered vocal take makes a bit more sense — he’s providing the singing voice of Cate Blanchett, and he has to bend to her performance. Well, that, and he’s a Dylan fanboy, and I imagine he was just trying hard not to fuck it up. (Click here to buy it from Amazon.)

Girls Aloud “Black Jacks” – The intensity is dialed down a bit, but there’s no mistaking this for anything other than a Girls Aloud song. That said, there’s a few melodic turns in “Black Jacks” that remind me a little bit of Oasis, but I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised. After all, though there’s some pretty obvious differences between the two, they both specialize in producing unstoppable hook machines that scramble sentimental cliches and total nonsense into inscrutable lyrics that somehow make sense in the context of a gigantic chorus. (Click here to buy it from Amazon UK.)

DRI “Inspiration” – Life moves forward as it always does, but suddenly we’re in the Christmas zone. The lights go up, the same old songs are in rotation, and the sky always seems to be either black or gray. All the mundane drama in your life gets mixed up into the Christmas aesthetic somehow, and it’s hard to avoid. Songs that aren’t about Christmas start to sound a bit like it, whether it’s an accident of the arrangement, or the way it just feels like time slowing to a crawl in a crowded mall parking lot after an afternoon of gift shopping, or some sad moment from an office holiday party stretched out until it becomes nearly abstract. (Click here to buy it from Range Life Records.)

Electric Six @ Bowery Ballroom 11/16/2007
It’s Showtime! / Dance Commander / Rock n Roll Evacuation / Down At McDonnellzz / Infected Girls / White Train / Electric Demons In Love / Randy’s Hot Tonight! / Dance Pattern / Improper Dancing / Danger! High Voltage / Future Is In The Future / Feed My Fuckin’ Habit / I Buy The Drugs // When I Get To The Green Building / Dance Epidemic / Gay Bar / Germans In Mexico (with a tiny bit of Everything Counts by Depeche Mode)

1. This is probably just an irrational phase, but lately, I think I’m starting to kinda hate people who are openly dismissive of the Electric Six. I know this makes me sound awful and condescending, but when people write them off as a joke band, it makes my blood boil and I just can’t stop myself from assuming that they just aren’t very smart, even though I should know better. I mean, if it’s not your type of thing, fine, but c’mon, is it that hard to recognize quality satire? Is it that hard to realize that music can be ironic and funny and exciting and dead serious at the same time? Quite simply, the Electric Six make music that reflects (and reflects upon) this era of American pop culture more effectively than any other rock and roll band working today. It’s a mess of contradictions; an orgy of depraved excesses and base impulses. The characters in Dick Valentine’s songs are obsessed with sex, but confused by sexuality, and terrified of love and responsibility. They are nihilistic hedonists, and dogmatic narcissists. They live and die by junk. It’s absurd, extreme music for an extremely absurd era.

2. This show wasn’t as insane, rowdy, or unforgettable as their concert on the boat a few months ago, but that’s understandable, since few things can be that transcendentally awesome. The audience was still pretty crazy, and more or less entirely comprised of people who either danced or moshed for the entire duration of the gig.

3. You should see the Electric Six in concert if just to hear Dick Valentine’s banter, which is as ridiculous, funny, and clever as the music itself. My favorite bit from this show was when he was berating his drummer for being a privileged rich asshole from Westchester County in the middle of “Future Is In The Future.” It probably doesn’t sound all that amusing in print, especially since I can’t remember what he was saying well enough to quote it, but believe me, it was great.

Electric Six “It’s Showtime!” – You become an artist because you want to be validated. You want to leave your mark on the world, and to make people come around to appreciating your style and vision, and you want their adulation and approval. And then you get it, and you start to notice that people treat artists like a commodity, or like a service. The way some people act, you begin to wonder if there’s any real qualitative difference in their mind between yourself and a cheeseburger. You begin to resent your audience, but you still want and need their love, so the show must go on. You become more aware of their motivations, and you get cynical: Hey, give ’em what they want! You put on a cape, you give them a little dance, and you embrace everything about you that is a cheeseburger. You’re going to be the best cheeseburger ever! (Click here to buy it from Metropolis Records.)

Tender Forever “Well I Can Take It” – The song starts out with a bit of relationship angst — she’s with someone who backs away from expressing themself for fear of freaking her out, but she needs that person to know that she can handle it. It’s a fairly normal sentiment, but Tender Forever pull it off without making it seem dull or hackneyed. Even better, she moves on from that talking point rather quickly, and the song shifts into more concrete details of their day together, reminding us that these emotional flashpoints almost always happen in the context of otherwise normal days. (Click here to pre-order it from K Records.)

Sons & Daughters “Gilt Complex” – “Gilt Complex” sounds as though it’s been around for decades, but Sons & Daughters stand too firm in the present tense for it feel particularly retro. They play the song with such urgency and determination that it just sort of plows towards you like a freight train, and you’re like a damsel tied to the tracks. (Click here to buy it from Bleep — provided that you live in Europe.)

Elsewhere: The Ten Video Games That Should Be Movies (and the Directors Who Should Make Them) — I co-wrote this list with Lane Brown, and I’m pretty happy with how it came out.

Plumtree “Scott Pilgrim” – Today is a very special day, you guys. Not to get too hyperbolic, but in my little world, the release of Scott Pilgrim Gets It Together is undoubtedly the biggest cultural event of 2007. Since I started with the series around the time volume 3 was released last year, this is the first SP book that I had to wait a year for, and the anticipation has been very refreshing in the sense that aside from maybe a few tv shows, I don’t have much of an opportunity to get into the mindset of an excited fan impatiently waiting for a release date anymore.

Unfortunately, I reallllllly don’t have the time today to do this post as I’d originally planned (I’ve got to get through a lot of paid work if I have any hope to get out of the house and actually buy the book), but to catch up on things, I recommend reading my interview with Scott Pilgrim creator Bryan Lee O’Malley from last year, checking out the full-color preview of Gets It Together on the Vulture, or the excerpts from all four volumes on the official Scott Pilgrim site.

Sonic Youth “I’m Not There” – Most of the selections on the I’m Not There soundtrack find the artists either going out of their way to do an impression of Bob Dylan as they sing his songs (resulting in atrocities like that goddamn Hold Steady track, which manages to make Craig Finn come across as being more punchable and unlistenable than usual), or performing his music on their best behavior, as if they could be struck down by a bolt of lightning if they approached his material with even a touch of playfulness. Both strategies yield strong results on the compilation, but the single best cut is most certainly Sonic Youth’s take on the long-unreleased title track. The band edit and tighten up Dylan’s rambling original, giving the piece a slightly more urgent pace and a more linear progression from verse to chorus.

I’m fairly convinced that this is one of Thurston Moore’s greatest performances as a vocalist, mainly because the song’s lyrics allow him to play up this thing that’s always been in his voice; this sound of a totally cynical guy getting stunned not just by some amazing thing, but also by the fact that he’s so amazed in the first place. The crucial moment here is when Moore sings the words “her smile is contagious, I was born to love her” with this beautiful, confused sincerity that is totally heart-breaking every time I hear it. It hardly matters at all what he felt when he actually sang it, but it sounds like pure sonic truth to me. (Click here to buy it from Amazon.)

Elsewhere: Teenage Girls (And Their Mothers) Line Up To Meet, Potentially Defile Pete Wentz

Katy Rose “Rosemary” – Katy Rose put out her first album when she was 17. It had a pretty good single, and it became a minor hit, though it wasn’t enough to keep her album from being a commercial disappointment. As is usually the case in the harsh world of teen pop, her label ditched her when it became clear that the record buying public wasn’t actually looking for a darker, weirder, more authentic version of Avril Lavigne who primarily wrote about mental illness, sex, and drugs. Whereas a lot of people would feel crushed by this scenario, it seems that Rose was liberated by getting derailed from her career track. She self-released her second album earlier this year, and left to her own devices, her music has become a strange, somewhat unmarketable mix of slick ’00s teen pop and warped ’90s alt-rock. Aside from a gentle, cautiously romantic tune based upon the chords for “Sweet Jane,” the songs on Candy Eyed feel sick and delirious, and mostly come off like fun-house mirror versions of familiar pop forms. “Rosemary,” the album’s best track, sounds like a 4AD-ized version of Britney Spears’ “Toxic,” with Rose’s deadened voice floating through layers of guitar fuzz and synthetic noise, propelled by a jagged, violent electronic rhythm. The chorus hits a gorgeous crest, but its beauty is distorted, creepy, and uncomfortable, especially when Rose’s ghostly moans are contrasted with her own girlish whispers. (Click here to buy it from Katy Rose.)

Cam’ron “Calm Down” – Cam’ron’s new double cd mixtape is inevitably diluted by its sprawl, but at least half of it is comprised of some truly inspired work. At first it’s like “wait, why is he wasting so many of these fantastic songs on a semi-official release?” but then it becomes clear that like a lot of the best mixtapes of the past few years, this relaxed, confident music is the direct result of the freedom that comes when you don’t have to cater to the mass market or worry about the high cost of securing hot producers or clearing top-drawer samples. The best songs on Public Enemy #1 build on the strengths of previous successes like “Oh Boy,” “Get Down,” “I.B.S.,” and his verse on Kayne West’s “Gone,” but move into a looser, more soulful zone that emphasizes the pride, humanity, and playful wit in Cam’s raps. (Click here to get it from Mixtapemonster.)

Elsewhere: I kinda love this post on Carrie Brownstein’s new blog in which she all but says “I FUCKING HATE THE DECEMBERISTS!”

Also: Which albums would you like to see covered in the next wave of 33 1/3 books?

Hank “You Are The Child Of Betrayal” – Though the new EP by Hank may lack the lo-fi “wait, was this recorded live at some crazy party in a basement someplace?” quality of their How To Prosper In The Coming Bad Years album, the songs remain spare, concise, and catchy, with an emphasis on contrasting Cab Williamson’s deep, droll monotone with the expressive voices of his female bandmates. “You Are The Child Of Betrayal” is a grim title, but the song itself is rather optimistic. The singer seems a bit surprised by her own happiness and good fortune, and though she’s calling up her friends to let them know, she’s obviously a bit worried that she’s about to jinx herself. I especially love the way her voice pitches up slightly each time she sings the word “up” (as in “things are looking up!”), conveying an excitement and enthusiasm tempered by doubt and cynicism. (Click here for the Hank MySpace page.)

Elsewhere: I’ve been a bit busy and so I’m coming to this a tiny bit late, but I highly recommend Amanda Petrusich’s interview with PJ Harvey. It’s a really great example of how good the interview format can be when the writer steps out of the standard talking points, has some interesting ideas of her own, and engages with the subject as something more than a celebrity promoting a new product. It’s always so much better when the interviewer is asking the subject questions and they genuinely want to know the answers, you know? At certain points in this piece, it seems like Amanda is searching for some good advice on the topic of writing in general, and she totally gets it.

Also: Joel Turnipseed interviews Jennifer Love Hewitt and “noted information liberator” Cory Doctorow.

ESG “Six Pack (Original Version)” – Pretty much every ESG song is dominated by a stark bass groove and nimble percussion, but “Six Pack” is one of the few to fill its abundant negative space with a bit of guitar. The track still feels extremely loose, and there’s no mistaking the fact that the rhythm section is the main attraction in the piece, but the tingling, distant notes seem to drizzle down like trebly raindrops, and serve to echo the restlessness and subdued melancholy expressed in the song’s lyrics. (Click here to buy it from Soul Jazz.)

Michael Showalter “The Apartment” – High school poetry is pretty much always good for a laugh, especially when the writer is attempting to make the reader believe that their work is Serious and Mature, largely by way of aping the tone of Important Writing without much understanding of its subtleties, flaws, or its context in either the past or the present. There’s always humor to be found in clueless pomposity, but there’s a special, unmistakable innocence to terrible high school poetry, mainly because its writers are so earnest and eager that they fail to notice that they are totally inept at conning anyone besides themselves. In this clip from his first comedy album, Michael Showalter revisits an extremely pretentious poem that he wrote for his high school literary magazine. The gritty observations in “The Apartment Building” may be laughably inauthentic, but there’s nothing phony about the blend of bemusement, self-deprecation, and outright shame in his voice when he reads the poem’s most cringe-inducing lines. (Click here to pre-order it from JDub.)

Spektrum “Cedar (Yamwho Mix)” – The original version of “Cedar” is a slow-burning banger that delays but does not deny the full intensity of the pleasure in its chorus. It’s all a piece with its lyrics, which connect and conflate physical/sexual exertion and spiritual communion. The Yamwho remix from the newly released Death at the Gymkhana Club downplays the stark contrast and rhythmic tension in the original in favor of a track that pushes a sound of luxury and sensual overload to such an exaggerated extreme that I occasionally feel like I’m far too dumpy and poor to be listening to something like this. (Click here to buy it from Bleep.)

Elsewhere: Starting today, I will be filling for Dan Kois on New York Magazine’s Vulture blog for the rest of this month. This blog will continue along with it, but forgive me if my brain starts to liquify sometime around the middle of November.

Also: Fluxblog was nominated for Best Music Blog in the 2007 Weblog Awards.

The Fiery Furnaces @ Hiro Ballroom 11/3/2007
The Philadelphia Grand Jury / Navy Nurse / My Egyptian Grammar / Evergreen / Duplexes of the Dead / Automatic Husband / Ex-Guru / Black-Hearted Boy / Bitter Tea / Right By Conquest / A Candy Maker’s Knife In My Handbag /48-23 22nd Street / Seven Silver Curses / Slavin’ Away / Japanese Slippers / Widow City / Restorative Beer / Clear Signal To Cairo / Inca Rag (incomplete, Eleanor can’t recall the words) / Whistle Rhapsody / Blueberry Boat / My Dog Was Lost But Now He’s Found / Single Again (with a bit of Smelling Cigarettes) / Don’t Dance Her Down

The Fiery Furnaces “Duplexes of the Dead / Automatic Husband / Ex-Guru (Live on KCRW)” – Remember a couple months ago when I was really let down by that terrible Fiery Furnaces concert in Astoria where they basically spent an hour or so ruthlessly butchering their own material? You know how I was all “man, they really need to get back to actually playing the songs instead of trying to shoehorn them into entirely different pieces of music”? Well, I got my wish.

The current incarnation of the band is mostly the same (Eleanor on vocals, Matthew on keyboards, Jason Loewenstein on bass, and Bob D’Amico on drums), but this tour marks the first time since around Gallowsbird’s Bark that the group has performed in a relatively conventional manner, i.e., adapting the songs from the new album to streamlined live arrangements (keyboard/bass/drums) without warping their structure or melodies. For the first time since the final stages of the hard rock tour for Bitter Tea, it seemed as though the Friedbergers actually enjoyed performing their own songs, and weren’t trying to turn them into something else. Next to the Blueberry Boat medley show at Webster Hall in early 2005, this was the best set I’ve ever seen the Furnaces play, and a lot of that had to do with the fact that the band opted to play up its strengths — Matthew’s skill with keyboards, the subtleties of Eleanor’s voice, the fluid melodies of the Widow City songs — rather than indulge in a passive-aggressive game with the audience. They definitely took liberties with the older material, but it was never at the expense of the tunes. The medley of Rehearsing My Choir songs in the middle of the set was a revelation, with the band slipping into Dave Brubeck-ish jazzy versions that highlighted an elegance in the material that was buried beneath the deliberate ramshackle quality of the original studio recordings.

If you’d like to actually hear this concert, the lovely man who runs the NYCtaper site recorded it and has it up on his site right now in flac format. It’s kind of a hassle to decode those flac files, but it’s totally worth it. If you would like to hear the remainder of that KCRW studio session in the always delightful and convenient mp3 format, I refer you to The Smudge of Ashen Fluff.

Pit er Pat “Skeletons” – Though a majority of my taste in music is fairly well documented on this site over the years, there’s certain things that fall through the cracks, either because I feel that it’d be boring for you if I were to start writing at length about finally grasping the greatness of Led Zeppelin at the age of 26, or I simply don’t have much to say about it, which is the case for pretty much any of the vintage Studio One and Trojan reggae compilations that I have on my shelf. When I put that music on, I’m not thinking about it, and that’s kinda the point. It’s all feeling — most often a cozy, warm feeling — and though it’s lovely to hear while reading or falling asleep, it’d be torturous for me if I tried to write about it at length.

Before having seen this show on Saturday night, I’d never really heard Pit er Pat, so I had no idea what to expect from them. I mean, I knew they were on Thrill Jockey, and that’s something of a hint, but I wasn’t quite ready to be blown away by this ridiculously talented trio who picked up elements from reggae, jazz, indie rock, and Middle Eastern and Mediterranean music and transformed into something that was simultaneously comfortable and a bit alien. I was especially knocked out by their second song, a longish instrumental that married a elaborate, winding guitar melody to a dubby, in-the-womb bass line straight out of classic Studio One. (Seriously, it sounded VERY familiar.)

Unfortunately, it seems as though a majority of the songs that the band played are new, and that their available studio recordings are not quite on the level of this show. This isn’t to say that they aren’t good — the tracks on their 2006 record Pyramids lean heavier on jazz and indie, and have a different sort of charm for the most part — but believe me, I’m extremely eager to hear how their next record will turn out, and I’m hopeful that it will turn up sometime in 2008. (Click here to buy it from Thrill Jockey.)