then we saw the stars again

I’ve debated for a while whether to write the traditional end-of-the-year round-up.
While we’ve all been making lists even before High Fidelity was published, the ubiquity of social media and comment threads has been steadily turning them into self-important web-feuds, pointless exercises of relatives vs. Absolutes. Not that I have any illusion that the ten albums i chose should in fact represent what the year did best in music, but seeing so many online readers whine about the specific ranking at which band should be, or how the omission of a particular act renders said list meaningless is enough for me to get weary of the whole Top 10 endeavor.

I think this column in the New Yorker brilliantly sums up the way I feel about lists and the simple fact that it has become impossible to listen to all the music the year has to offer. Do we go for the obvious choices? Do we follow the trends? Do we stick to our favourites or jump onto the new sensation bandwagons?
I’m not here to give any answer to any of these questions.
There’s a lot of music I’ve disliked this year, and there’s quite a bit of music I’ve really, really liked, too.
The following are the 10 albums that have made me the happiest about taking my bike and hitting the record stores.

——–

Battles – Gloss Drop

Superbands are, by definition, a sum of their parts, for better or for worse. What makes a superband work is the concentration of its individual voices into a cohesive whole, when you stop thinking about the different players but rather focus on their concerted effort as their new means of expression. And when you talk about Battles, the result is distinctively idiosyncratic: a little Helmet, a little Don Caballero, a little Bartok, a lot of Tom and Jerry. At least, that was Mirrored, and Tyondai Braxton’s playful use of samples, vocal lines, vocoders and warped autotune presets.
With Braxton gone, Williams, Konopka and Stanier had to come up with a new formula. With a debut album like Mirrored, there is no obvious next step: reproducing its sound would be out of the question, and going back to the EP templates would feel like a step back. And, miraculously, Gloss Drop is its own thing, a Braxton-less Battles that doesn’t feel like something is missing. Williams clearly steps forward in the record, as the live performances suggest, but the rhythm section feels also more present, more instinctual, and definitely more dance-oriented. The interplay between the core members feels more organic on tracks like “futura” or “wall street”, and when they let guests fill in as vocalists, the result is closer to a straight bona-fide Battles pop song than ever before (if you have not seen the Gary Numan cameo in My Machines, you’re missing out on one of the great videos of the year, too.)
With Gloss Drop Battles find a new breath and prove that they are as relevant and vital as ever.

——–

Elbow – Build A Rocket Boys!

I’ve learnt to lower my expectations this year. Bands that I’ve loved came out of hiding with diminishing returns, more often than not. But that’s the thing about relationships: sometimes you just drift apart, and there’s nothing you can do about it. And that’s the thing about expectations, too: never place them too high, or let anyone place them too high for you.
Fortunately for Elbow, the press never seemed to want to mythologize them more than they needed, at least outside of England. In fact, at this point they are becoming almost criminally underrated.
None of their releases are hailed as “events”, they don’t come with elaborate multimedia adventures. They come with great songs, though. I’m not sure Elbow ever felt the need to radically reinvent themselves, and I don’t think they would have to anyway. Their formula might not be groundbreaking, but their honesty as songwriters and musicians sets them apart from many of their peers, younger or not. Their music feels lived in, and sometimes that’s all you need.
Because I’ve always felt more comfortable in my worn-out shirt than in the emperor’s new clothes.

——–

Feist – Metals

I don’t mean to praise a record by criticizing another, but in a year marked by a certain disappointment with comeback albums, listening to Metals comes as a relief. While it is a departure from her breakthrough hit The Reminder, Feist’s new record still largely focuses on her most marketable gift. As far as I’m concerned, Feist has no rivals as a vocalist: honey-tinged rather than crystal clear, powerful but not owerpowering. It’s like Brandy Alexander in a song.
The arrangements, the production, and the careful mixing highlight the singer’s voice in ways that are reminiscent of Joni Mitchell’s 1970s period: she is not above the rest, but every other instrument complements her singing.
The recording itself is remarkable: dynamic, sparse yet spacious, and more restrained than its predecessor. This truly is an album to savour at night, on a good stereo with adequate speakers.
Not as obviously iPod-friendly, Metals ultimately rewards the listener for its cohesion and its subtle arrangements, and its overall darker tone doesn’t diminish its staying power. Quite the contrary.
Let’s hope we won’t have to wait another 4 years next time.

——–

Ben Frost/Daniel Bjarnason – Solaris

Readers of this blog will already know about my obsession with Ben Frost, and with Bedroom Community in general. As a label the Iceland-based collective has been delivering one stellar release after another, from neo-classical compositions to intriguing explorations of American Folk music to, well, Ben Frost.
Few artists in recent years have had such a powerful impact on how I feel about music, and what makes music. His visceral approach to sound manipulation, guitar textures and restrained instrumentation have an enormous visual potential without being overtly cinematic. and this is why Solaris works so well.
Of course it’s not just Frost’s doing. The orchestral arrangements and prepared piano parts are the unmistakable touches of Bjarnason, and both artists meet at the crossroad as it were, to re-create a soundtrack to one of the most enigmatic science fiction movies ever directed. But, as is the case for all great soundtracks, they exist on their own right. Sure, they are enhanced by the visual medium, but listening to them separately creates its own particular experience. Here, everything moves at a glacial pace, but the subtle changes and repetitions and inner motifs hint at the inner drama unfolding: drops of treated piano, plaintive strings, distant hums and sheets of white noise. And by the time the last chords ebb away, you realize how affecting the process has been without resorting to cheaper, Hollywood-style tricks.
If you ever wondered how lonely interstellar space travel can be, this record would be an accurate description. It would sound like this, and it would feel like winter.

——–

Mastodon – The Hunter

I’m not a metal purist. I’m not even that much into metal. But I love every single Mastodon album, from the early growling releases to the ambitious prog-driven Magnum Opus Crack The Skye. There is just so much raw energy, so much inventiveness in the rhythm structures of their songs. Of course, there’s enough riffage to choke a horse, but the way I see it, Mastodon truly shines thanks to Brann Dailor.
Too many mainstream bands play it straight to the point of boredom, or, to the opposite end of the spectrum, their use of odd time signatures feels so forced and contrived that you can’t help noticing they’re just trying too hard. But Dailor’s drumming is so effective that all his efforts seem effortless, and this has always been the strength and the backbone of Mastodon.
Of course, you can’t have a great album without great songs, and even though I can’t say The Hunter is the band at the height of their powers, as a mainstream heavy rock album it is the best of 2011. Never mind what the purists say: it isn’t metal, it isn’t pop, it isn’t crossover. It is bloody good fun, though. And in a musical decade that is distinguishing itself by the abysmal quality of its mainstream releases, The Hunter feels like a miracle.
Now, Josh Homme, hurry up and top this soon, yes?

——–

Mogwai – Hardcore Will Never Die But You Will

Ah, faith. Just when you think it’s over for good, the musical gods send you a reminder of their all-power.
I have to admit, I was disappointed by Mr Beast and the Hawk is Howling. The records seemed almost too loud for no real purpose and lost a lot of the dynamic outbursts that had cemented Mogwai among the luminaries of post-rock. Or maybe post-rock could only go so far without some game-changing retooling? And what is still considered post-rock, anyway?
Hardcore doesn’t try to answer the question. Instead, it takes the better elements of the previous recent albums and crystallizes them with more precise songwriting, more effective instrumentation and a heightened sense of purpose. The result is a very strong collection of tunes, instrumental or otherwise. “Rano Pano” and “You’re Lionel Richie” probably deserve spots in an all-career high, which is not a small feat considering the band’s longevity at this point. And if I have to sit through autotuned vocals, at least let Mogwai completely mess them up to show me how ridiculous a human can sound with excessive tweaking.
I wasn’t hoping for much, and I was thankfully proven wrong. Expectations, once again…

——–

Russian Circles – Empros

I was wondering where Russian Circles would go after Geneva: the songs had taken an expansive, mellower turn, and the inclusion of strings and horns gave the album its poised elegance. In short, Geneva had opened up new possibilities for the trio. Where they would decide to go could be anybody’s guess.
I guess I didn’t see Empros coming then. Not that it departs radically from the Russian Circles trademark sound (layered bass-heavy riffs, ingenious guitar looping, relentlessly inventive drumming), but it distills all these elements into perfect concoctions. Not a note is wasted, not a moment is lost. Every track is perfectly composed and nuanced, melodic but never too obvious. The heaviness of the record doesn’t come out as forced, but is actually necessary to reveal its inherent beauty.
Russian Circles have matured so much as a band that the interplay between them borders on the telepathic, something that becomes even more apparent when you see them live. Empros has a sense of direction and purpose that surpasses its predecessors, and sets the trio apart in their field.
I’ve probably listened to Empros more often than any other record since it came out, and every time my only complaint is that it almost feels too short.
But then I hit repeat, and the problem is solved.

——–

Colin Stetson – New History Warfare Volume II: Judges

I think there has been a “before/after” type of paradigm shift about Colin Stetson. And I’m not sure what else I can add to what I previously wrote here.
Except that I had written that blog before seeing him live, and nothing prepares you to that experience.
This is what music should be all about: total dedication to an idea, an instrument, a singular approach to making new forms with old things.
Without a doubt my favourite record of the year.

——–

Tom Waits – Bad As Me

Sometimes I wonder how to write about Tom Waits without resorting to the same old cliches: the bourbon-soaked voice, the bric-a-brac arrangements, the Brecht-meets-Bauhaus aesthetic… and then I realise that writing about Tom Waits is pointless. Because the cliches write themselves, the imagery is so idiosyncratic that it creates its own legend. And each release adds a facet to Tom Waits’s mythology.
In Bad as Me, it’s Elvis, for example, in “get lost”. Try not to shake your hips like it’s still 1957.
The first collection of originals since 2004’s Real Gone, Bad as Me is also an ideal entry point to discover Waits’s wonderful world: beautifully recorded, the album has more variety and dynamics than his work in the past decade, and even sounds as instantly accessible as any Tom Waits album could ever be since Rain Dogs .
Some artists should know when to call it quits before they dilute their work with unnecessary diversions. Others only get better, and more relevant. Tom Waits only becomes more Tom Waits. And I will always be thankful for having him.
This is a cliche, but it’s the only thing that’s true.

——–

Wilco – The Whole Love

Expectations, once again. I don’t think Wilco ever disappointed me as a music lover. I might not like all their albums as much, but there isn’t a single record in their discography that I never listen to. And The Whole Love seems to be getting really close to Yankee Foxtrot Hotel and Summerteeth in my personal favourites.
The new album finds the band in superlative form: from Glenn Kotche’s peerless drumming to Nels Cline’s spidery guitar lines, each song is beautifully crafted, wonderfully recorded, and always genuinely heartfelt. Jeff Tweedy has always had a way with the poetry of simple images, and The Whole Love is no exception: listen to “Rising red lung” or “one Sunday morning” for an example of honest-to-goodness songwriting.
At this point in their career, Wilco could do anything. They have been experimental, they have delved deeply into Americana, and they have done all this with a sense of wonder and excitement that has always prevented them from becoming too pretentious or self-indulgent. And as a listener, it is immensely rewarding to listen to an album of such levels of musicianship.
The Whole Love is not the best album in this list, but it is the most accomplished.
Then again, I would expect nothing less from Wilco…

——–
Bring it on, 2012!

And as we entered into the third week of November, it started getting colder, and darker. It always strikes me how sudden the change is.
You’re just trudging along, minding your autumnal business, and next thing you know all the trees have lost their leaves, your hoodie won’t cut it anymore for that morning bike commute, the kids have started wearing their puffy down jackets, and – wait for it – people are putting their Christmas decorations up.

Christmas. Yes, with more than a month to go still.

To me, the unconscious marker between the end of Autumn and the beginning of Winter is a record, and a time of day. Have you listened to By The Throat on a cold clear night, walking alone on deserted streets? The Annex is a perfect neighbourhood for this experience: old detached houses, no traffic after 7PM, and very sparse street lighting. Add to this a temperature approaching freezing point and you have your first winter night, ladies and gentlemen. And its most fitting soundtrack. No matter how many times you listen to Ben Frost’s music, it still hits you the same way.

Anyway, Movember… this is the week when the moustache finally came out. And suddenly I look like I’m about 13 again…
More seriously though, if you feel like contributing, this is where you can donate
Thank you!

Day 15

Day 16

Day 17

Day 18

Day 19

Day 20

Day 21

I’ve meant to write more regularly, and not necessarily about music matters. Where to begin? The beauty of the city in the early Autumn mornings? Bike advocacy? The long-awaited (and possibly final) fall of Berlusconi?
Or I suppose there’s a lot of music I could also write about…
Current favourites: Tom Waits, Mastodon, Russian Circles.
Latest disappointments: M83, St Vincent, Bjork.

Or I could start a weekly photo diary of my first Movember.

Maybe it was the tumor they took out over the summer. Sure, it’s the most benign form of tumor I could possibly have, but it just plants the possibility in your thoughts that one day it might not be.

Cancer seems to be more present in our conversations, too. People we know, or friends of people we know are currently going through the ordeal I remember all too well, when my grandfather fought for years against thyroid and lung cancers. He had never smoked a cigarette in all his life, just happened to work in a coal mine.

So yes, Movember. Probably the only month of the year when it’s ok to look like a 1970s weather forecast announcer.

You can visit my Movember page, and make donations, right here: mobro.co/pepecrudo

Here’s what Week One has yielded so far. And one important lesson: my facial hair does not grow very fast.

Day 1

Day 2

Day 3

Day 4

Day 5

Day 6

Day 7

Week 2 is already showing improvement. Currently i’m enjoying the Walter White, or Heisenberg, as I like to call it. But it won’t stop there…

We have been here for a year now.
this is what some of it sounded and looked like.

To be continued soon

——————–

For better audio quality:
One Year (September is coming soon) by amberhaze

I wanted to make something that was specific to the medium of recording. I want to make albums that are like a Murakami novel or a Terrence Malick film– something that explicitly states its own world.
Colin Stetson, Pitchfork Interview, 03/02/11
—————–

When is the last time you listened to something truly new, something that bears no resemblance to anything you’ve heard before, something that invites, requires a vocabulary you never used for music? An experience like this is a rare and precious thing. It is also a frightening one, when you are faced with an object that both fascinates and eludes you, like the dream you keep trying to remember.

I often dream in music. In my dreams, the songs always develop into strange themes, held together by this gossamer logic of things oneiric. They make sense as they are, sound like nothing I have ever recorded before, and yet they sound so familiar. They sound as though they had always been there, as though they had always belonged to my subconscious. Or everybody’s, maybe.
These dream pieces don’t really exist within a specific time-frame, devoid of clear spatial references, and yet they are fully formed and self-contained. They get to the essence of music without the cumbersome baggage of conscious thought and excessive rationalisation.
But then I wake up, and they are gone forever.

Listening to Colin Stetson’s new album, New History Warfare Vol.II: Judges, reminds me of this dream state I often find myself in, and it is an encounter hard to describe if you haven’t already felt it for yourself. I’m consciously using the verb feel rather than hear or listen, because the record works on more sensory levels.
As an artistic statement, few albums have matched its cogency and sense of purpose in recent memory, and as a musical journey it brings you as close to this unattainable source of pure music as possible without ever losing its immediacy and accessibility. As uncompromising as Stetson’s aesthetic principles may seem, they are made of the simplest, most elemental components of music in its essence: sound, pulse, vibration, tension, release.

Judges

Stetson describes the process involved in the recording of the album in his Pitchfork interview, and the review does an admirable job describing to what extent the resulting sound deeply affects the listener. This atavistic return to an organic form feels even more miraculous as it takes place in a period over-reliant on electronics, which has made looping and overdubbing almost too easy to use, and abuse. How well do you know yourself, your instrument, if you don’t push it to its (un)natural limits?
The Silent Ballet, usually shy about undeserved superlatives, makes a case for the record’s importance in its groundbreaking approach and dedication to a single instrument, and watching Stetson play Judges makes it abundantly clear. This goes beyond mere performance: there is a visceral response to what he does that transcends styles, genres and musical boundaries. Is this jazz, contemporary, avant-garde? Does it even matter?

red horse (Judges II)

Of course, Stetson did not make Judges in a complete vacuum, and the roster of collaborators speaks volumes about the place this particular record should keep in your personal pantheon if you have been following the Montreal instrumental scene. Or Ben Frost.
As the man in charge of mixing 24 different tracks of the same take, I can only imagine the insanity of the task. Then again, it’s Ben Frost we’re talking about. There is not a sound or vibration wasted: clicks and pads become percussive patterns, breathing pauses take a life of their own, and the entire range of the bass saxophone overtones is emphasized in the same nocturnal way wolves and otherworldly textures were used to fill the space between fear and familiarity in By The Throat.

Listen to Red Horse for example. This is the music you’ve always had in the back of your head: deceptively simple, organic and visceral. It could have been conjured up centuries ago, and our descendants will feel it with the same primal intensity. It comes without artifice, without pretense. It just is what it is, pure music, not unlike ancient chants, or Bach’s Goldberg Aria.

Colin Stetson – Fear of the unknown and The Blazing Sun by Inc4estimation

In the end, and most importantly, this is what makes the strength of New History Warfare, Volume II. It can be as experimental and leftfield as you want it to be, but there is no denying its immediacy. The experience is so engrossing that I surprised myself craving for it once
fear of the unknown and the blazing sun gave way to in love and justice and its ominously enigmatic ending. And at the same time, I was relieved that music of this caliber would, and should, retain a spirit of genuine humility.
I was showing those videos to the kids this morning, and watching them intently studying the monstrous size of the instrument, instinctively keeping the natural beat of the songs, unable to avert their curious gaze, I knew Stetson had reached what few have: a sense of wonder.

———–
Colin Stetson is playing at the Drake on Friday, 26th of August. Tickets are sold at the usual outlets. I really can’t wait.