This is not necessarily the top 5 I’ve been reading everywhere, and as much as I enjoy Animal Collective and the Antlers, I can’t say I was blown away by their records. I have listened to them throughout with no distraction, and then I put them back in their cases. I admired the craft displayed in those albums more than I found a visceral connection to them. In fact, I realise I’ve only listened to most of last year’s releases only a couple times each, only to move on to the next one.
Except for the following.

They may not be the blogosphere’s best albums of the year, but they are the ones I enjoyed the most, each for a different reason.
No ranking here, if not alphabetical.

1. Andrew Bird, Noble Beast / Useless creatures

Here is the perfect example of a late discovery. I have literally missed the first 10 years of Andrew Bird’s career, and what a revelation this has been. I am very particular about voices (and this is why I don’t listen to Anthony Hegarty or Patrick Wolf among others) but there is something immediately comforting and endearing about Bird’s tone. Almost timeless. Each song on the album sounds so effortless and the arrangements are always ornate without becoming precious. Useless creatures, the other instrumental half, is one of the most daring things I’ve heard last year. 10-minute loop experiments? check. Weird violin miked through a Leslie? check.
In a way, this is what Smile could have sounded like if Brian Wilson had been sane enough to complete the damn record 40 years ago. Quaint yet elegant, odd yet refined.

2. Mono, Hymn to the Immortal wind.

A few months back I wrote about Mono in relation to Beethoven. And though I still prefer “you are there” and their collection of EP’s, the affinity to classical music, and Beethoven and Schubert in particular, is most apparent in their latest effort.
With Hymn to the Immortal Wind, Mono don’t overuse the typical soft/loud pattern of post-rock or merely rely on an ever-growing barrage of sound. Instead they create some of the most beautiful and terrifying music of the decade, a universe where the glockenspiel is as important as a white-hot jazzmaster. The balance between the classical influences and the metal leaning never feels contrived or forced, and their understanding of melody and harmony is most welcome in a genre that sometimes relies more on layering and repetition than genuine musical (re)invention.
Romantic music for the new Century.

3. Russian Circles, Geneva

Another late discovery. And not unlike Mono, the Chicagoan trio has expanded its sound to include a string section, and even some horns to create some of the most harrowing sounds of 2009.
Though there are only 7 tracks here, the album takes the listener to many different places within its 45 minutes confines. From the chugging metal riffs of Geneva to the ethereal beauty of Melee, Russian Circles demonstrate that you don’t have to sacrifice variety for the sake of cohesion in an instrumental record.
There is nothing groundbreaking here, but the execution and sequencing are flawless. Special mention must be given to the rhythm section too, for churning out some of the most inspired fills and breaks in a post-rock album.
My favourite loud music of the year.

4. St Vincent, Actor

I remember being really excited about Bjork around the Debut/Post period. You could say I was a fan, obsessing over all the details of each song, finding out as much as I could about the singer’s musical tastes and personal preferences. Her universe was so completely idosyncratic: oddball comedy meets sensual femme fatale.
I suppose I feel the same way about Annie Clark now. How she manages to marry the delicate with the abrasive is a mystery, the dangerous balancing act of dancing a waltz to a Nine Inch Nails song. And she does this, and so much more, in only 40 minutes. The time it takes you to be completely won over by her delightfully bizarre showtunes.
Total schoolboy crush.

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5. Them crooked vultures, Them crooked vultures

I realise that I’ve almost stopped listening to mainstream rock, the exception being Kings of Leon, anything by Jack White (you stop being indie once you score a James Bond song) and Queens of the Stone Age. And in a way, those bands share a secret ingredient in common: sex.
More often than not, a lot of rock music (and yes, I’m also looking at you, hipster indie-rock) is a lifeless, self-important affair. Which is a shame, because the great hours of Rock ‘n’ roll were founded on the very axiom that getting laid was all there was to it.
And admit it: Josh Homme is a master at singing about sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll. His guitar riffs are not the most technical stuff around, but they sure make you want to get it on. Dave Grohl on the drums and the living god John Paul Jones on the bass and mellotron can’t really hurt either.
This is a record that makes you fall in love with rock all over again.

If I had to choose, if I really were forced to, I would choose Beethoven. And I wouldn’t even have to think too hard about it.

Beethoven comes at this crucial point in history where two influential periods have passed and one is yet to come, and somehow everything that ever was or ever will be has been distilled in Beethoven’s music. He owes as much to the baroque mathematical precision of Bach as he does to Mozart’s knack for the killer tune, the little music that gets stuck in your head and won’t let go. And of course, there wouldn’t be Romantic music without Beethoven.

By that, I mean the German notion of romanticism found right at the beginning of the XIXth Century, that of the artist as the most miserable, misunderstood being on the face of the planet, able to relate to us mere mortals only through his/her singular vision of the world. And in Beethoven’s case, what a sight it is: groundbreaking textural inventions, orchestral outbursts that either terrified or entranced his audiences, and always, always, the most absolutely gorgeous use of notes and counterpoint. Whether it is a symphony or a cello sonata, you are faced with something that transcends you when you listen to Beethoven.

Which brings me to Mono. I know, I wrote about them last week, and I promise that next week I won’t even mention them at all. But if I had to think of a post-rock outfit that really tries to compose in a classical sense of the word, Mono just fits. What they share with countless bands in the post-rock canon (and again, that should not be the only thing people think of when they think of post-rock, but it’s almost always there) is that affinity for dynamic surges and walls of sounds. What sets them apart in my opinion is their obsession with melody.

I love you are there. Maybe more than their latest album, and it’s in you are there that Mono encapsulate that German notion of romanticism: a universe in which beauty, despair, quiet and terror exist at the same time. What really ties the album together is the importance of melody, set against the white noise washes they are famous for. Those of you who have seen them live know just how loud they can get, but to me there isn’t much difference between the way they play loud and the way I like to listen to Beethoven.

The second movement of the seventh symphony was welcomed as an instant success in 1812, when Beethoven started conducting the work. Audiences would typically ask for an encore at the end of the performance, and you can see why: in one simple melodic phrase, Beethoven is able to conjure up elation, expectation and hope, only to crush them and push them away in a constant major/minor contrast. And by the time the whole orchestra takes on the theme, there is nothing else that needs to be said.

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The recording is taken from Carlos Kleiber’s superb rendition with the Vienna Philharmonic. I like the fact that he doesn’t shy away from the fact the movement is ‘allegretto’, and doesn’t slow down the tempo too much.

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“Yearning” is similar in mood, as is “Moonlight”. How Mono manage to weave these simple, pure melodies into the terrifying sonic outbursts they are famous for is unbelievable.

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As usual, pieces here are for illustrative purposes only. If you like what you hear, buy the composer’s records, or go to their gigs and get a t-shirt!

“Don’t you think this theme has an insistent quality? I’m going to try and repeat it a number of times without any development, gradually increasing the orchestra as best I can.”

Maurice Ravel wrote this to one of his friends in reference to his landmark piece, the Bolero. Composed in 1928, it clearly wasn’t groundbreaking in terms of tonal explorations, and it wasn’t breaking away from the traditional importance of melodic lines found in Western music before the 1900’s. Instead, Ravel used a very simple idea to a very effective end: let’s see how loud an orchestra can go. And what you hear is what you get: an uninterrupted 15-minute crescendo, a constant increase in volume, texture and sound layers, built on the repetition of the same melodic pattern, on a 3-beat rhythm.
And this is where you realise the beauty of Bolero: nothing ever stays the same, as much as surface listening would suggest. A single flute opens the piece, followed by a bassoon in an unusually high register, then a clarinet, and this chain only gets thicker as more instruments are added, even though they may all play the same thing. There is never any stasis in the repetition of the theme, the music can only get louder and more layered. And in truth, the only instrument (and I really admire the performers for that) that shows a constant throughout the piece would be the snare drum, and even there the execution goes from i-need-to-turn-that-up soft to he’s-going-to-break-the-skins loud.
And of course, stick around until the end, and the inevitable climax is even more of a payoff, hearing what (and how long) it took the orchestra (and the listener) to get there.

Similarly, dynamics play such an important part in post-rock that the genre itself has dangerously become close to cliche, when abused and overused. And yet, you listen to Mogwai’s Young Team, you listen to Godspeed’s F#A# and you can’t help but being lifted by this inexorable force, a force that carries the music and the listener through its most subtle nuances and up, all the way to a resolution that threatens the life of your speakers, or a good relationship with your neighbours. Because, let’s face it: you can’t really play post-rock at low volume, can you? The first time I heard “Like Herod” I was terrified by that sudden outburst of sound. And that only got worse after each listen!
(Slight aside: this aspect got a bit lost in the latest Mogwai offerings, and their dynamic range has reduced, which makes you miss those sweeping contrasts found in Young Team or CODY…)

Of course, post-rock is not just about the contrast in dynamics and texture, but that’s the thing that first attracted me to the genre. And I still don’t tire of the good old ’soft/loud’ pattern, when done well.

So, do not adjust your volume controls. For best results, you should stick to the volume you are at while listening to the snare drum intro. And it will get loud. Hope your neighbours are ok with that.

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There is a fantastic short documentary about a rehearsal of Bolero, featuring a young Zubin Mehta conducting the LA Philarmonic. In the following clip you can see the end, the final payoff, and the way it is shot would sit quite nicely in a Kubrick flick, or a David Lynch dream sequence.

The Los Angeles Philarmonic, dir. Zubin Mehta

For their latest album, Mono played a few ‘orchestral’ concerts to celebrate their 10-year anniversary. Reviewers have often noted how Mono are one of the most ‘classical’ bands in the post-rock circuit, and the album closer is reminiscent of the same rhythm pattern used by Ravel (barring the change from 3/4 to 4/4)

Mono, Everlasting Light. Live in NYC

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As usual, pieces here are for illustrative purposes only. If you like what you hear, buy the composer’s records, or go to their gigs and get a t-shirt!