Album of the Month: May 2007

The National - Boxer

There are a lot of weird and crazy bands out there, making weird noises on their crazy instruments. A lot of them are really good, and their output serves as a reminder that, no matter what you might hear on the radio, not all music sounds exactly the same.

The downside to these bands is that a lot of times their music sounds like they threw every instrument, vocal effect, friend, neighbor, pet, and/or article of clothing at the microphone just to see what would make noise. This often results in something like Avey Tare and Kria Brekkan’s woefully misguided Pullhair Rubeye, which, for those of you who don’t know, is a normal album that they then recorded backward for some reason, and released it that way.

It’s albums like that that make me, teenage American white kid that I am, long for a non-sucking rock album just to put all those “weirdos” in their place. When The Fiery Furnaces put out Rehearsing My Choir, The Hold Steady was there to kick them straight in the nads. This year it’s The National’s new album Boxer, reminding me why Joan Jett wrote that song that everybody covered.

But it’s unfair to call Boxer ‘rock n’ roll’ and leave it at that. Rock music gets a deservedly bad rap (which is different from bad rap music, which also exists) because there are very few rock bands out there that are doing anything different. Even worse than that, bands that everyone thought (or at least hoped) died 20 years ago are making comeback albums and touring and getting Rolling Stone to fellate them, causing mainstream rock music to all sound exactly the same.

Lyrics are often a problem, with bands like Green Day suddenly attempting to sound intelligent and informed after a decade of founding their career in gleeful stupidity. Rock bands often sound dumb, boring, or bored.

So, let’s just turn this right around then and look at why we here at Swim Through Frequencies love Boxer. Well, for one thing, Matt Berninger’s lyrics are fantastic. His characters revel in melancholy, trying to walk the line between white-collar businesspeople, soldiers, and slackers without being able to find a happy medium. Some of the best lines sound like he gave up halfway through, reflecting the mood of the character. Lines like “Sometimes you get up and bake a cake or something, sometimes you just lay in bed” from “Racing Like a Pro” is balanced tragically with the chorus’ “One time you were a glowing young ruffian. Oh my God it was a million years ago.” Even these revelations sound like characters realizing them are lying on their couch, unable to escape.

It is almost impossible to avoid cliché when discussing “love” in music, as sad as that is. Berninger manages to do it, however, with a few stellar lyrics on the subject. In “Slow Show,” the narrator is stuck at a party (given the rest of the album, I assume a business party) when all he wants to do is go home to his girl. The narrator’s desire to “hurry home to you, put on a slow, dumb show for you and crack you up” coupled with the bridge, “You know I dreamed about you for 29 years before I met you” is heart-wrenching as a plea for a lover to stay, an emotion that is rarely conveyed anymore in music.

To focus too much on Berninger, though he deserves every second of it, detracts from how truly excellent the rest of the band is. During their live sets, they switch instruments, harmonize, and seem to truly love what they do. On the album, the instruments and the vocals blend beautifully, setting an atmosphere that reflects and compliments the tone of Berninger’s lyrics.

To be completely blunt, Boxer is the best thing I’ve heard all year. Sonically, it creates a landscape that never falters without becoming tedious. Lyrically, Berninger is as literate as John Darnielle or Colin Meloy, but plays a whole different sport, one where he and Okkervil River’s Will Sheff are kings.

With that, The National’s Boxer becomes Swim Through Frequencies’ first Album Of The Month.

Please Go Away #2: Gym Class Heroes

"Ba ba da da!"


How could you not want to beat the shit out of that guy?

"Cupid's Chokehold" by Gym Class Heroes is one of the dumbest songs I've ever heard. Let's get one thing perfectly clear: It's not a "cover" of a Supertramp song. That implies that Supertramp wrote those God-awful lyrics and performed them originally. Not the case. It samples the song "Breakfast in America" by Supertramp, which is guess is another attempt by GCH to prove to the world they have ANY sort of hip-hop ability.

Cause they don't.

I hate on this song a lot around my friend Chris, who defends it with the words "It's Catchy!" which is the second-worst defense of a song ("It's Cute!") in the entire world. Anything can be catchy, you just need rhythm and the ability to play up to three power chords.

The thing about rap-rock is that it is almost exclusively made by "artists" with minimal skill or understanding of either genre. See Insane Clown Posse, Limp Bizkit, Kid Rock, etc. Gym Class Heroes is a bit of a different beast than those other artists, because instead of infusing some sort of shit-tastic Nu-Metal chug-a-chugs in their music, they meander toward softer, funkier, poppier instrumentation. And Travis McCoy, instead of resorting to shitty lyrics about kicking someone's ass or being super duper mad n' stuff, instead resorts to shitty Nu-Emo lyrics.

The song that got them "discovered!" by Patrick Stump was called "Taxi Driver," and it was a narrative of some sort incorporating the names of several terrible bands (and also Jets to Brazil).

Example:

"Not once not twice she was thrice times a lady
Mackin on brand new but I had to
Bounce over to the postal service to pick up these pills
To take care of my nervousness"

That just doesn't make any sense. Especially the random-ass Brand New line. On top of that, GZA has written at least two songs that do this same exact thing, only not lame.

Back to "Cupid's Chokehold," though. I guess if I had to choose, my biggest problem with GCH is that they pretend for even a SECOND that they're hip-hop. Guy barely raps in the first place, and his lyrics are sillier than a Shifty Shellshock song. I'll actually give him credit for the line "If I had to choose her or the sun, I'd be one nocturnal son of a gun," because that actually uses some imagination. Unfortunately for Travis, any line with a hint of style is destroyed by shit like, "I love it when she calls my phone, she's even got her very own ringtone. If that ain't love I don't know what love is."

No, fucker, apparently you don't.

The BEST Songs #1

As opposed to "Download This Song," where I'll be highlighting more current singles/songs that I happen to be, as the kids say, "bumpin," "The BEST Songs" will be a recurring department where I gush over slightly older/much older songs that make my life a little bit better.
That said, on to Number One!


I'm not even sure where to begin with this song. It is the opinion of Swim Through Frequencies that Ms. Carlton has penned three of the greatest pop singles of the decade: The universally-adored "A Thousand Miles," the less well-known (even, until recently, by me) "Ordinary Day," and, most importantly, the exquisite "White Houses."

Of her albums I know very little, because I'm sure that they will only disappoint. As is the problem with Sir Robert Kelly, it is very difficult to spread the glory of a perfect pop song over the span of an entire album. The thing is, girls like Vanessa never sell albums. Whereas Britney Spears and Beyoncé sell roughly a thousand million copies, for some reason, girls who write kick-ass piano riffs backed by full string arrangements and sing their little hearts out only get their songs played on Kay Jewelry commercials and rapped over by Raw D.I.

There is no justice, so Swim Through Frequencies is about to get all vigilante up in here.

"White Houses" begins with a single piano note, which plays five times before Vanessa floats in. The first few lines set everything up pleasantly enough: Girl gets some new roommates, has a lot of fun with new roommates, expects to be BFFL with new roommates. They start drinking, and playing co-ed games of spin the bottle, which is always fun, (as far as I know from that one episode of Full House.)

The best part about the beginning of this song is the way the instrumentation builds up. Carlton's voice bursts with emotion and volume one second and quietly rides the melody the next. After the first note is hit five times, vocals and piano carry the song for a few lines, before being joined by a steady high hat roll. Thus ends the first verse.

The second verse explodes as a full drum set and string section attack the melody, taking Vanessa along for the ride. The line "Jenny screams out, and its no pose," is so vocally dynamic it makes me fall in love a little. Carlton's vocals manage to reflect her lyrics wonderfully: She is loud when her characters are loud, but immediately reverts to something that sounds a lot like regret for the narrator, who is shy at the beginning of the song and ashamed near the end.

"White Houses" tackles a lot of shit, something that most contemporary pop songs don't. Yeah, every once in a while you stumble across an "Unpretty" or that fucking Ludacris and Mary J. Blige song. But, most of what pop artists consider "reflection" sounds like Brittney Spears' "Lucky," in which Brittney sings about how it's lame to be Brittney, even though everyone loves her and she's rich. And pretty.

"White Houses," on the other hand is about a shy and naive girl who somehow falls in with a group of people who are in to boozin' it up and steamy make-outs. She tries to take it all in at once, tries falling in love and partying and not getting hurt, but it all sorta backfires.

And like, goddamn she makes it work. It's not heavy-handed, it's not preachy. By focusing the perspective on the specific people in her memory, she avoids spouting some sort of "Wish I had stayed abstinent, kids!" diatribe while still expressing her regret for making herself so vulnerable so quickly.

In the end, the song just works on every level. Sonically, it forces the listener to go on the journey with Carlton, whose lyrics do the job of getting her point across while taking some HUGE emotional risks, especially for a pop singer.

We here at Swim Through Frequencies are honored to have Vanessa Carlton's vastly under appreciated "White Houses" be the first on our list of "The BEST Songs."

Download This Song #1

This song is like a sandwich. A delicious, triple-decker Dagwood sandwich, where Akon is the mustard and Danja is the toothpick. The meat in the middle, here represented by Rick Ross, Fat Joe, and Birdman, may not be entirely healthy for you, but you make sure to order it on whole-grain bread (T.I. and Lil’ Wayne) so you feel like you’re doing your body good. The waiter, whose nametag read “Khaled,” was very vocal about how delicious this sandwich was, and encouraged you to “Listennn” to his other recommendations, too.

You didn’t, but that’s okay.

The first thing you notice is how tasty the mustard is. In the past, mustard has disagreed with your stomach, made you a bit nauseous, and humped young girls onstage. In this sandwich, however, the mustard sings the hook nicely, without intruding. It’s tough to eat this sandwich without singing “Konvict music!” as you bite into it.

Here ends the metaphor, because I can’t talk about Rick Ross if I constantly have to refer to him as “meat.” Rick’s verse is easily the weakest in the song, but he doesn’t make a complete ass of himself. Plus, even if I harbored some secret loathing for him, he redeems himself by saying “Rappers get brain, stupid. I’m silly!” in one of his lines. Because, let’s face it, he IS silly.

I have pretended that Fat Joe is an unperson since I heard “Lean Back.” That song found him sounding out of breath at all times, as if instead of leaning back he was running forward to catch the microphone. In “We Takin’ Over,” his flow is at least competent and, like Ross, he doesn’t sound retarded. However, I found out by looking at some lyrics websites that he says “YSL” instead of “Wide as hell,” the latter of which would have caused immense amounts of props-giving from Swim Through Frequencies.

I don’t really know anything about Birdman except that Lil’ Wayne kissed him and he seems to have shitty taste in rapper aliases. Also, while we were watching this video, Jason said “Fuck Birdman.” I kinda like his verse in this song, though, possibly because it sets Wayne up to eat the other rappers alive. Also, the beat pretty much drops out while Birdman is going, so it gives his words a kind of holiness, which is emphasized by what appears to be a meditation on death, but could just be him bragging about killing somebody.

I’m gonna circle back to T.I. before I try to tackle all the things that are awesome about Lil’ Wayne’s verse. T.I. does something in this song that T.I. does very well, which is compile a list of places where people think T.I. is awesome. There’s nothing really special about this verse, except that T.I. executes it flawlessly as we have all come to expect (and respect). Then he leaves, which is cool. He probably has better things to do.

Speaking of expectations and respect, we arrive at Lil’ Wayne. At this point in the song the production, which has featured an epic, stair-climbing synth and a lot of pounding drums, moves out of the way and lets Wayne spit. Birdman finishes his verse by saying “Been a G in the game, now my son on the throne,” bowing down to Wayne and backing out of the way. Because, in all seriousness, what else is he going to do?

Lil’ Wayne begins his demolition of all that came before him by saying “I am the beast.” Notice he does not say “a” beast. To that end, here is a comprehensive list of beasts Wayne could be comparing himself to:

Beast from X-Men, a.k.a. Hank McCoy

Reasoning: The blue-haired mutant is a doctor, and enjoys using large, confusing words. On the other hand, he is also ferociously strong and will give enemies a beat-down.

“The Beast” roller coaster at Kings Island in Ohio

Reasoning: “The Beast has been constantly rated as one of the top roller coasters in the world since it first opened, having earned itself a cult-like following among some coaster enthusiasts. Even after nearly 30 years, it is still the main attraction at Kings Island, located at the rear of the park in Rivertown.” (Wikipedia.com). Replace the words “roller coasters” with “rappers” and understand that that last sentence is a metaphor for the rap game, and I think the parallels are clear.

The Beast from Beauty and the Beast

Reasoning: Chicks still love him, even though he’s a monster.

The Antichrist (as in: Mark of The Beast)

Reasoning: Shawn Carter calls himself Jay-HOVA, a sneaky reworking of Jehovah, a.k.a. Mr. Jesus Christ. If that is the case, then Wayne could easily be calling himself the Antichrist. He and Jay operate on two completely different levels. Jay is both a businessman and a business, man. He has more money than God, (but not more money than Diddy, apparently,) and his flow is deliberate and methodic, albeit brilliant. Wayne, on the other hand, has authored more mixtapes than albums, and spit half-insane stream-of-consciousness poetry where Jay would pen a sonnet. On top of that, Wayne has already destroyed HOVA over his own beat, (twice if you count Black Republicans,) effectively rendering one of the hip-hop greats irrelevant. A little far-fetched? Maybe.

“Feed me rappers or feed me beats,” is the next thing to come out of Weezy’s mouth. He has already eaten all the rappers on this song, swallowing them whole as he sets out to consume all of hip-hop. As for the beat, he devours it AGAIN on Da Drought 3, laughing, “It’s me! The rapper eater! Feed me, feed me!”

Later, when Wayne says, “I love brain, I need a leech,” I am both mildly grossed-out and utterly fascinated. I don’t know who the first rapper to call fellatio “brain” was, but it still doesn’t make any sense to me. It’s Wayne’s use of the word “leech” here that makes me love him, both demanding a girl to, for lack of a more politically correct way to put this, suck it, and simultaneously calling upon her to perform bloodletting on him, curing him of his diseases. I think that’s the first time in rap that a line has ever been at once ridiculously misogynistic and bizarrely heartfelt.

Other highlights include: “I’m on track like a box of Pumas,” which is both true and awesome, and when he calls himself “The little Big Kahuna.”

By this point, Danja’s production has once again swelled beneath Wayne, who makes it work with him like no one else can. When he’s done, there’s nothing left for anyone to say except for one last nail in the coffin from Akon: “We takin’ over one city at a time.”

Then: Silence.

I Wish That I Were Making Any of the Following Information Up

R. Kelly’s new album, Double Up, leaked to the Internet a few days ago, and I immediately snatched it up when I found out. I am of the belief that there will be no more enjoyable song released Anno Domini 2007 than Robert’s “I’m a Flirt,” (featuring his friends Clifford and Faheem,) so I was understandably excited to experience further musical genius from the man.

After the tragedy at Virginia Tech in April, R. Kelly decided to pen a song, “Rise Up,” which would be available for digital download. The proceeds would go to the Hokie Spirit Memorial Fund.

Now, I understand that the man has definitely made some, how should I put this… interesting decisions, but I have to give him props for that one. In addition to the song being released for download, Kelly included it as the final track on the U.S. release of Double Up. Here's where the trouble starts.

The song on the album IMMEDIATELY PRECEDING this song, written to honor the memories of the victims of one of the most terrible tragedies in recent United States history and to help the survivors cope with the pain and memories that they will always have to live with, is called “Sex Planet.”

“Sex Planet.”

There is no interlude. No skit called “Let’s Get Serious For a Second.” Not even just a filler track of silence to let you relax after R. Kelly’s sexual adventure through the galaxy. Just a seamless transition from one song to the other.

And, if you were wondering if “Sex Planet’s” lyrics were anything like the title suggests, let’s try some examples on for size:

“Gonna get you so excited once I taste your Milky Way”

“So don’t trip, I got a giant rocket.”

“I’m about to take over and touch your soul / once I enter into your black hole.”

“Girl I promise it’ll be painless / We’ll take a trip to planet Uranus.”

Toward the end of the song, Kelly begins a countdown, starting with “R-Minus” for no reason other than he could. I could not make something like this up.

Now, this would be funny, (or sad, depending on what your sense of humor is,) ONCE on this album. However, Kelly compares his lovemaking techniques to something that I, if I were a girl or hot for R. Kelly, would never want inflicted on my person.

In the song “The Zoo,” which Kelly seems to get confused with a jungle, (I’ll give you a hint, Robert: Look for a Sno-Cone stand,) he talks about turning his girl over and playing the bongos on her, and how they’ll be like banana trees, I guess. But at least that song’s in between “Freaky in the Club” and “I’m a Flirt” and not “Let’s Talk About Darfur” and “Don’t Get AIDS,” or something.

So I guess I’m trying to say that there’s something fucking wrong with R. Kelly. I mean, for the love of God, the man’s 40 years old. He has to stop bangin’ chicks at some point, doesn’t he? He may be the King of R&B, but maybe it’s time to relinquish the throne to a younger man and take care of his kids. I know I wouldn’t want my daughter, and he DOES have a daughter, listening to Daddy Fucks the Female Population of Chicago because she wanted to know what I did for a living.

But, as evidenced in this Chicago Sun-Times article, R. Kelly fancies himself to be a strong leader and role model, so maybe I just don’t have the right perspective.

Plus, I have to be honest with myself. I would be devastated if R. Kelly never put out another single.

I just love “I’m a Flirt” so much.

Please Go Away # 1: MIMS

“I can sell a mil sayin nothing on the track.”

I don’t know how “This Is Why I’m Hot” blew up like Raven Symone. The song’s written by a guy who goes, admirably, by his last name, (MIMS,) but called his album M.I.M.S. (Music Is My Savior) instead of just naming it after himself like any good egomaniacal rapper would do. The name of that album is ripped straight from a 12-year-old girl’s away message, and it’s not like his song titles or lyrics do anything to redeem that.

So, like it or not, (and I don’t,) “This Is Why I’m Hot” hit Number 1 on the Billboard Hot 100 a few months ago, sounding like a Rain Man rendition “What You Know.” And, just like when any shitty song makes it big, everyone seems to be OK with that.

Well, I believe it’s my business to get grumpy about things like this because if I don’t, who will?

I can’t say that the lyrics don’t make any sense. They do. The problem is they say nothing. The hook is literally: “I’m hot cause I’m fly / You ain’t cause you not / This is why / This is why / This is why I’m hot.”

MIMS would make a great debate team captain, spouting such memorable, opponent-destroying lines as: “You’re wrong because you are,” and “The U.N. benefits the global community because it does.”

Alright, fine. That’s just the hook, though. Hooks don’t really have to back up any argument; they just have to establish the song title. But the difference between MIMS saying nothing in his hook and any other rapper saying nothing in his hook is that MIMS CONTINUES to say nothing, and seems to be PROUD of it (see above quote).

So, now I guess this guy is putting out more singles. Rap 101 for the Brain Dead. The only way that “This Is Why I’m Hot” has ever given me pleasure is when Lil’ Wayne completely murders MIMS over his own beat, saying the title only once. At the end, when he’s finished and ready to leave, Wayne says, “And that’s why I’m hot,” and then he laughs.

At MIMS.

I smile just thinking about it.

ATTN: Music Critics/Hipsters

It doesn’t make you cool to pretend that you don’t like the Arcade Fire’s new album. Hand in hand with that, it doesn’t make you cool to pretend like you SHOULDN’T like it even though you admit that you do.

If you can come up with a structured argument against the album that in no way has to do with the fact that they play big, spatial music now, I’ll listen.

And, yes, I know they follow a “Don’t wanna” song with a “Don’t wanna” song, so you can just put that as the “given information” in your proof.

An Open Letter to Curtis Jackson

Dear Mr. Cent,

I would like to present you with an idea for your next album. I know you already have Curtis all revved up and ready to go, but I pray that it’s not too late to reconsider. You see, I have analyzed your recent singles and I see what you’re trying to do here. You really, really want girls to have sex with you, but you also want them to think you’ve got an I.Q. higher than that of a rock.

That’s your mistake.

See, girls are GOING to have sex with you. It’s just something that happens. There is a certain breed of female out there who sees a rapper, whether it be Slick Rick or Rick Ross, and decides to hop right on his pogo stick, (I think I just wrote your next song for you, Curt.) You don’t need to act smart for these girls, you just need to say “G-G-G-Unit!” while popping Cristal in your Bently. Plus, you got shot nine times. No one expects you to be a Rhodes scholar.

So can the thinly veiled sexual references. You’re not fooling anyone. “Candy Shop”? “Magic Stick”? What, have you been reading Harry Potter or something? No, you’re just impressed by your own dong. And I’m not one to judge a man impressed by his own dong, I just want to help you market it as best you can.

With the release of “Amusement Park,” you have crossed a line. You have written three songs about your loose change that are all creepily based around things little girls are into. You are not Herman Melville. Symbolism is not your strong suit, although a song called “The Great Black Whale” might be a step in the right direction.

So here it is. Scrap Curtis.

Call your new album My Penis. Thirteen songs and three skits about your G-Unit. I even have the tracklist all figured out:

1. Intro (Get On That)
2. Firehouse
3. Put Your Mouth on My Penis, Please ft. Ne-Yo
4. Mr. Jackson’s Balls (skit)
5. Big Ol’ Vein
6. Shot 9 Times But They Didn’t Hurt My Wang ft. Tony Yayo
7. Dick in Yo’ Face ft. Cam’ron
8. Allow Me to Slip Into Something More Comfortable (Your Vagina)
9. Growth Potential (skit)
10. It’s Not Really an Option at This Point ft. R. Kelly
11. The Discovery Channel
12. Return of the King Was Written About My Penis
13. Return of the King is Almost as Long as My Penis
14. My Penis (skit)
15. Circle Jerk
16. Let’s Fuck (Remix) ft. G-Unit
    

I’m just saying. Which would YOU rather listen to: An album named Curtis, or an album all about your penis?

I think we both know the answer to that question.

Sincerely,

Scott

Sound of Silver Makes James Murphy Want to Feel Like a Teenager

I’m having severe issues trying to decide what I think about LCD Soundsystem’s Sound of Silver. It’s gotten its fare share of good press, (Pitchfork apparently orgasms while listening to it,) and bad, (Cokemachineglow’s review is really spot-on, even if their score seems a bit low,) but I couldn’t quite decide where between the two of them I fell.

On first listen, it was clear to me that I liked it much more than the self-titled Soundsytem release from 2005, which suffered from being entirely too long, with several 5+ minute songs that, if a few extraneous minutes of synth loops had been extracted, could have made the album read like a how-to guide on pop/dance/frumpy white guy music.

As it is, LCD Soundsystem still has its choice of prime cuts, and is extremely danceable throughout. Sound of Silver loses some of that in favor of music with, (arguably,) a bit of depth, and manages to cut out a lot of the dead space that dragged its predecessor down. On the other hand, James Murphy, who always seems to be walking the line between “Ironic Aging Hipster” and “Kinda a Douchebag” seems to lean further and further into the second category.

Instead of reviewing the album, then, because Lord knows it’s beyond too late for that to matter, I’ll just compare the album’s best track with its worst track.

I’ll start with “North American Scum,” the album’s first single and, depending on which camp you fall into, either Murphy’s witty evaluation of how Europeans perceive North Americans (read: United States of Americans), or Murphy’s systematic alienation of himself from anyone not living in New York City. I see it both ways, but that’s not really what bothers me about it. My main problem stems from the simple fact that it’s not funny. Murphy’s humor comes under discussion a lot when reviewing his albums and, frankly, it’s only worked for him once. “Losing My Edge” was funny because it operated under this theory. Hipsters could all laugh together at the music references, and the sheer absurdity of the concept of the single was at least interesting and engaging. Not so for “North American Scum,” which instead makes me want to uncomfortably shift in my chair and look around the room to see what other people are thinking.

I guess before I even delve into the slimy mess that is the lyrics of the song, I should say that my most tangible dislike for the song comes from Murphy’s “I have a head cold today but I already paid for the studio time” delivery. Much like a pop-punker who sounds like he’s trying to be whiny, Murphy sounds like he’s trying to be reserved and cool. He just sounds congested.

But, ah. The lyrics.

As Conrad Armenta pointed out in his review on Cokemachineglow.com, the line “We’ve been on trains and on planes ‘till we think we might die / far from North America / where the buildings are old and you might have lots of mimes,” is inexcusable. “Lots of mimes?” And it’s not even like he says there WILL be “lots of mimes.” There “MIGHT” be. Beyond that, Murphy and a growing chorus of children chant “North America” once every 10 seconds, a term that seems ill-fitting considering the fact that he devotes an entire verse to New York City, (and a song at the end of the album.) He obviously does not represent all of North America, and clearly not even all of the United States. Maybe that’s supposed to be the point, or why it’s funny. But it’s not, and it just leaves Murphy sounding, as a friend of mine so delicately puts it, like a cock.

Switching gears entirely, “All My Friends” is one of the best songs I’ve heard all year, and its execution is something that I wish Murphy would try more often. Instead of being “funny,” Murphy takes some time to be sincerely nostalgic about hanging out with his friends, and I can get behind that. Simple, piano-driven production and a delivery by Murphy that sounds miles away from “North American Scum’s” tongue-applying-for-citizenship-in-cheek pompousness make “All My Friends” the kind of song that Murphy will probably never be able to pull off again, but damn if he didn’t do it well this time.

In the end, Sound of Silver isn’t a great album, but it’s not terrible either. It is consistently pretty good, with one huge pitfall and one Everest-ian high point. The other seven songs on the album are completely listenable, and often really enjoyable. I sorta see Sound of Silver as a step up from LCD Soundsystem, as Murphy plays around with what works and what doesn’t when he’s forced to restrain himself to one disc’s worth of material. And maybe, just maybe, the next time LCD Soundsytem releases an album, Murphy will have gotten over himself and the scene will have gotten over James Murphy.

A Formal Introduction

This whole shindig will be, fundamentally, about music so, before we really get into the swing of things, I thought I should give you an idea of what you're getting yourself into.


My Top Fifty Albums from the Years 2000-2005

50. King Geedorah – Take Me to Your Leader

49. Iron & Wine – Our Endless Numbered Days

48. The Strokes – Is This It?

47. The Shins – Chutes Too Narrow

46. M.I.A. - Arular

45. The Mountain Goats – We Shall All Be Healed

44. Aesop Rock – Labor Days

43. Radiohead - Amnesiac

42. Kanye West – The College Dropout

41. Viktor Vaughn – Vaudeville Villain

40. Wolf Parade – Apologies to the Queen Mary

39. The Avalanches – Since I Left You

38. The Go! Team – Thunder, Lightning, Strike!

37. Sufjan Stevens – Greetings from Michigan: The Great Lakes State

36. Devendra Banhart – Rejoicing in the Hands

35. The Rapture - Echoes

34. Godspeed You! Black Emperor – Lift Yr. Skinny Fists Like Antennas to Heaven

33. The Decemberists – Castaways & Cutouts

32. Every Time I Die – Hot Damn!

31. The Streets – A Grand Don’t Come For Free

30. The Mountain Goats – The Sunset Tree

29. Radiohead – Hail to the Thief

28. Interpol – Turn on the Bright Lights

27. Okkervil River – Black Sheep Boy

26. The Hold Steady – Separation Sunday

25. Kanye West – Late Registration

24. Outkast - Stankonia

23. The White Stripes – White Blood Cells

22. The Notwist – Neon Golden

21. Dizzee Rascal – Boy in Da Corner

20. Clipse – We Got it 4 Cheap Vol. 2

19. The Unicorns – Who Will Cut Our Hair When We’re Gone?

18. Animal Collective – Sung Tongs

17. Cannibal Ox – The Cold Vein

16. The Microphones – The Glow, Pt. 2

15. M83 – Dead Cities, Red Seas, & Lost Ghosts

14. The Streets – Original Pirate Material

13. Broken Social Scene – You Forgot It In People

12. The Weakerthans – Left & Leaving

11. Jay-Z – The Blueprint

10. Sufjan Stevens - Illinois

09. Joanna Newsom – The Milk-Eyed Mender

08. Spoon – Kill the Moonlight

07. The Wrens – The Meadowlands

06. Ghostface Killah – Supreme Clientele

05. Madvillain - Madvillainy

04. Wilco – Yankee Hotel Foxtrot

03. Modest Mouse – The Moon & Antarctica

02. The Arcade Fire - Funeral

01. Radiohead – Kid A