Top 50 of '13

Listed from 1-50, though Clams Casino's "Lvl" isn't included at #47 because Spotify doesn't have it.  Enjoy!

1. Vampire Weekend - "Step."  The best song Vampire Weekend has ever released.  With its icy synths and descriptions of snow and cold bodies, "Step" captures the frigidity of winter, yet its intimate vocals exude an incredible warmth.  It's a puzzling dynamic--to be so cold yet so comforting--and I'm not totally sure how these guys achieve it.  But what an achievement it is.
2. Kanye West - "Blood on the Leaves."  My most memorable musical moment of 2013 is hearing Kanye unleash the booming, brassy beat of "Blood" for the first time. And the fact that he pairs this beat with a distorted sample of Nina Simone's "Strange Fruit" is, much like the rest of Yeezus, shocking and stunning and provocative.  
3. Wavves - "Beat Me Up."  The chorus on this is like grunge visits the beach -- Seattle meets SoCal.  The handclaps recall early Beach Boys but the drawling, echoing vocals and fuzzy guitars are much more rooted in 90s alternative rocks.  Surprisingly, Wavves blends these seemingly disparate genres in one up-tempo, self-deprecating summer jam.
4. Kanye West - "Hold My Liquor."  The architecture of this song is absolutely stunning and transcends any generic limitations. For instance, after Kanye's long verse, he interpolates some robotic vocal on the bridge, which blends with Justin Vernon's auto-tuned falsetto and baritone.  Vernon's vocal arrangement ultimately leads to the song's purely instrumental crescendo, which features layers of synths and guitars that sound more fitting on Pink Floyd's Animals or Wish You Were Here than on a rap album. 
5. Deafheaven - "Dreamhouse." I don't ever really listen to metal, yet I'm completely fascinated by this unbelievable hybrid of a song.  From the opening minute of "Dreamhouse," Deafheaven reveal their genre-fusing intentions, as a surge of shoegazey guitars meet black metal vocals and relentlessly heavy drums.  The two genres complement each other in surprisingly successful ways: the textures and vibrant colors of post-rock harmonize beautifully with black metal's frigid, curdling vocals, and P-R's ruminative elements make the generally epic metal feel uncannily introspective and brooding. 
6. Earl Sweatshirt (feat. Frank Ocean) - "Sunday."  Earl Sweatshirt and Frank Ocean always produce together, and here they drop some of the most memorable moments of the truly excellent Doris.  Frank Ocean, in particular, steals the show-- perhaps as payback for Earl doing the same on Frank's "Super Rich Kids."  Listen to his triumphant attack against Chris Brown, and enjoy the charm of a line like, "I empty every canteen just to wear that straightedge varsity."  After he says that, there's a quick kick of a tinny drum -- a small detail, but there's something so joyous and carefree about it that I can't help but smile.  Because the subject matter of "Sunday" focuses on dependency, emotional disconnects, and violence, this light moment offers a brief respite from the sadness, and it also serves to highlight, by contrast, the deep darkness pervading the song.
7. Arcade Fire - "Afterlife."  I don't love Reflektor.  I might not even like it.  But hell, this song is amazing.  Here Arcade Fire aims for and achieves the cathartic music for which the group is acclaimed (see also "Wake Up," "No Cars Go," "Neighborhood #1").  Not coincidentally, the band unleashes some strong emotions on this song; when Win Butler pleads "I want to know, can we work it out?", that urgent cry makes me want to know (the after-)life's great mysteries, too.  Simply put, Win makes me care here because it sounds like he does, too.  Arcade Fire is also wise enough to know when to let this song end, which is a nice break on an album that, like The Suburbs, is woefully over-inflated.
8. Vampire Weekend - "Ya Hey."   I had no idea what to do with this song when I first heard it; sure, it starts off brilliantly, with Koenig's clear vocals echoing over a lightly foggy backdrop, but that chorus seemed like a buzzkill, interrupting the flow of an otherwise crisp and catchy song.  And the spoken interlude seemed like a deliberate attempt to withhold the song's most gratifying elements: the funky bass, ghostly chants, and Koenig's perfect delivery.  Yet the gratifying elements kept me returning, and eventually the things I didn't like became strangely addicting.  Maybe this is the way to keep ephemeral pop fresh and interesting, as the song ages for the listener with time.  So far, so good.
9. Phoenix - "Drakkar Noir."  With its bouncing synth, massively catchy chorus, and no-frills introduction, "Drakkar" is the takeaway from Phoenix's Bankrupt!.  Mars's vocals sound as pristine as always, and he particularly shines on the chorus when he sadly confesses, "I'm just too glad to say 'no.'" The song speaks to a notoriously dissolute person ("Light a cigarette for two / You're too close to get to / How come everyone knows you before they meet you?"), yet Mars's radio-friendly voice and "Drakkar's" dance-worthy tempo belie the song's gloomy lyrics.  Nevertheless, it is these contradicting sounds and emotions make the climax so powerful: the swelling synths, amplified guitars, and splattering drums simultaneously produce happiness and discomfort, since Mars's despair seems to rise with the euphonic instruments' volume.  The listener ultimately finds solace during the track's final seconds, as piano keys flutter through the climactic noise, ending an unsettling pop song reassuringly (which is not always the case with these guys).
10. James Blake - "Retrograde." When James Blake announces "Suddenly I'm hit!" and that eerie synth plays, you'd think he was about to release the best album of the year.  It's such a powerful moment that the rest of the album almost inevitably had to fall short of it.
11. Daft Punk (Feat. Panda Bear) - "Doin' It Right."  From first listen, the gargled, robotic vocals of "Doin' It Right" immediately had me hooked--even as I struggled to register the unlikely pairing of Panda Bear and Daft Punk.  The combo does work, though, producing tremendous results, as PB's breezy vocals float over the track's looped noise and tiptoeing keys.  The chorus is brilliant and timeless, and probably speaks to the transcendent experience of DP's live show: "If you lose your way tonight that's how you know the magic's right." Yet the song is also tinged with sadness, as the robot occasionally sputters "You're not doing it right," perhaps critiquing the current state of EDM or, even, lamenting music's inability to consistently conjure the "right" magic for its listeners.

September Mixtape

1. Grouper - "Being Her Shadow." I was disappointed by Grouper's newest album, especially since it had such a cool title, The Man Who Died in His Boat, and backstory.  Mark Richardson nicely summarizes both in his glowing review of the album: "The title [alludes...] to a scene from Harris' childhood where she and her father came upon an empty boat that drifted to shore after the person in it disappeared. It's one of those flashes from long ago that stays with you, an early brush with the idea of mortality at a time when you're not capable of understanding exactly what it means."  It's about time Liz Harris is getting the recognition she deserves!  Her album Dragging a Dead Deer Up a Hill is so underrated; I just wish I had a similar connection with The Man Who Died.  "Vital" is the best cut from Man and a close-relative to Dragging's "Heavy Water/I'd Rather Be Sleeping," as both find surprisingly catchy melodies in their unsettling instrumentals.  But the song that suddenly struck me this month comes two tracks after "Vital": "Being Her Shadow."  As with many of Grouper's tracks, there's a palpable emotional weight to "Being."  I found its foggy haze and wind-like feedback immediately disorienting, and felt its loud, haunting vocals pulling me to a dark and discomforting place. Because "Shadow" lacks any discernible chorus or verses, or even any lyrics, it lingers, slowly surfacing the listener's/my anxieties and self-doubts.  After all, everyone occasionally feels like a mere shadow of somebody else, and "Being" transports us to the moment when we experience that reality.  Whether listening is painful or cathartic is up for debate, though as of late it seems like more people are catching on to Grouper's aesthetic.

2. Washed Out - "Feel It All Around."  Washed Out offers a different kind of ambient experience than Grouper.  Its more sensual, and optimistic, capturing the pleasures of "feeling" [it all around] rather than the anxieties of "being" [her shadow].  But they're both mood music, and on "Feel" we hear the passionate sounds of, well, passion.  The sunny waves of synths, raunchy bassline, "washed out" vocals, and tinny drums make for one very erotic song, which Annie described as 80's porn music. I think that shows how evocative "Feel" is, but I'd argue it's not nearly as cheesy!

3. Washed Out - "All I Know."   Comparing album covers between Washed Out albums hints at the differences between "Feel It All Around" and "All I Know."  While "Feel" has a narcotic, sunset-on-the-beach vibe, "All I Know" is more florid, colored by twinkling and sliding synths.  And whereas the sensual "Feel" captures and itself creates passion, "All I Know" has less of a visceral effect; it's easier just to get lost in the pretty sounds that WO beautifully weave together.  Maybe that's a superficial listen, but, for at least one month, it endured.

August Mixtape

Highlighting the songs I've discovered, rediscovered, or repeatedly played each month. The order reflects an attempt to create a cohesive mixtape, not to rank the songs in any way.

1. Guided By Voices - "Gold Star for Robot Boy."  Until this month, I had never listened to Guided By Voices, which seems like heresy given their huge reputation in lo-fi and indie circles.  After giving Bee Thousand a Spotify spin, I quickly saw why these guys are so hyped.  "Gold Star" especially stood out, a song that epitomizes lo-fi with its staticky guitars and barely audible bass. The track's poor quality brings an earnest urgency to the song -- the feeling that the music could cut out at any second and all the fun will be over.  Fittingly, "Gold Star" doesn't waste any time, though it doesn't linger either, clocking in at a mere minute and 39 seconds.  This seems surprisingly quick for a song that seems so full, but therein lies the band's brilliance: like their descendants The Strokes and Tokyo Police Club, GBV know how to pack big hooks into short pieces, making songs feel complete despite their brief run-time.

2. Kendrick Lamar - "m.A.A.d city."  This might be the most shockingly evocative rap song I've ever heard. Right away, Lamar warns his listeners "Brace yourself, I'll take you on a trip down memory lane" and then describes the horrors of living in one of America's most violent cities: "Seen a light-skinned nigga with his brains blown out / At the same burger stand where Crips hang out. / Now this is not a tape recorded saying that [his friend] did it, / But ever since that day, I was looking at him different."  Lamar continues with his brutal anecdotes until the violence seems too much to compute for the listener; the first verse is an emotional assault, heightened by the swelling, chaotic synths and jabbing drums, which evoke the "madness" he's describing.  For Lamar, Compton is like "Pakistan on every porch": there's "a wall of bullets coming from AK's, AR's"; gangs "pack[ing] a van with four guns at a time"; and kids as young as nine "packing nines."  Like his unrelenting city, Lamar offers no respite from the violence; once he concludes the first verse, he imagines, in a woeful combination of futility and fatalism, that "if Pirus [Bloods] and Crips all got along / They'd probably gun me down by the end of this song. / Seems like the whole city go against me: / Every time I'm in the street I hear *imitation of gun noises*."

For a second, Lamar creates the hope that this first verse was just a horrible nightmare, as static cuts off the violent hook and a new speaker commands Kendrick to "Wake yo punk ass up!"  But as the hook declares, there's no escaping Compton's horrors, so Lamar--now, incredibly, sounding like a different rapper--then tells a new story over an even more hellish beat (sampling Ice Cube's "A Bird in the Hand").  Here Lamar discusses smoking laced marijuana and staging a robbery at his job.  Later he asks, "If I told you I killed a nigga at 16, would you believe me?"  After this verse, I'm at a loss for answers.

The song culminates with Lamar poignantly describing the youths who've shared, and share, his plight:

[Kids] with dreams of being a lawyer or doctor
Instead of boy with a chopper that hold the cul-de-sac hostage
Kill them all if they gossip, the Children of the Corn
They vandalizing, the option of living a lie, drown their body with toxins
Constantly drinking and drive, hit the powder then watch this flame
That arrive in his eye; this a coward, the concept is aim and
They bang it and slide out that bitch with deposits
And the price on his head, the tithes probably go to the projects
I live inside the belly of the rough
Compton, U.S.A. made Me an Angel on Angel Dust.

Thank God this album ends with a message of hope because this song is absolutely crushing.

3. Beach Fossils (feat. Wild Nothing) - "Out in the Way."  Just a bit of a 180 from Kendrick: shoegazey gauze combined with twangy guitar plucking and ethereal vocals.  Sounds right up my alley.  Can it get better?  Yes, when you have a line as beautifully wistful as "In the darkness passing through / Tell me is it really you? / You don't look the same as when I was dreaming." Beach Fossils do shoegaze so well on this EP that they're almost their own worst enemies, as the pretty and ambient noises lull me into some blissful, semi-conscious state where I'm unable to concentrate on the song itself.  The music is a means towards an altered state, not exactly an end in itself.  That's why such powerful lyrics are so essential: they keep the listener grounded--focused on unpacking the singer's brooding thoughts and discovering the emotional impetus behind the track's lush soundscapes.

 

4. Built to Spill - "Out of Site."  When it comes to structuring a multidimensional rock song, I really believe that few bands could ever outdo what Built to Spill did on Perfect from Now On and Keep It Like a Secret.  I've written about this several times before, but I'm constantly amazed and inspired by the technical skill of these guys.  And they strike such an incredible balance between craftsmanship and raw emotion.  Just listen to the buildup of this song, how it climaxes to Martsch's nasally outburst: "Who gave you the right?  Who took mine away?"  This song might mark the climax of an aurally incredible album, though the gorgeous "Velvet Waltz" could also take that title.  Regardless, this is an intense listen, replete with billowing strings and various guitar noises (wails, watery echoes, screeches).  And Martsch's final vocals, where he repeats "on and on," sound like Nirvana gone orchestral, which sounds horrible--I know--but seriously, it works.  Just listen.

Pet Sounds-era Wilson

5. The Beach Boys - "Surf's Up."  I got a chance to read Catch a Wave: The Rise, Fall, and Redemption of the Beach Boys' Brian Wilson this summer, and it offered fascinating insights into Brian Wilson's troubled life and, especially, his infamous Smile! project.  Who knows what the album would've been like if he finished it in the late 60's (Wilson eventually returned to and produced the album in 2004), but if it were released with songs anywhere near "Good Vibrations" and "Surf's Up," then, man, I don't know if the Beatles would still be the conventional pick as the gods of 60's rock-n-roll.  "Surf's Up" is such a stunningly complex song, where Wilson somehow blends disparate movements into a cohesive, transcendent whole.  It begins with pianos, which are eventually embellished with strings, twangy guitars, and other studio eccentricities. Then there's a pause at about 2:15, after which Brian begins his next piano movement featuring, amongst Van Dyke Parks notoriously esoteric lyrics, the revealing lines: "A choke of grief heart hardened, I, / Beyond belief, a broken man too tough to cry."  From a man who's had to cope with the bitter pangs of rejection (from his father, brothers, cousins, record companies, and so on), this is an incredibly poignant admission. Even more powerful,  though, are the earthshattering lyrics that follow: "Surf's up, / Aboard a tidal wave," Wilson declares. In this revolutionary line, Wilson marks the end of the Beach Boys's extremely popular (and lucrative) odes to surfing and the California beach life, announcing a more complex approach.  Unfortunately Wilson cracked under the pressure of reinventing the Beach Boys's sound.  But whereas Wilson could never complete Smile!, he did finish "Surf's Up," which carries on after this bold proclamation.  We get to hear what Brian calls "a children's song," which sounds like a euphonic mini-choir of angelic voices.  On a song where Brian hits almost inconceivable high notes, this gorgeous melody is the appropriate conclusion to an incredible song.

6. Joni Mitchell - "My Old Man." I've been obsessed with Joni Mitchell's Blue: its devastating, heart-on-sleeve emotionalism, frigid album cover, diverse arrangements, beautiful and historically illuminating poetry... I could go on.  But I don't have the time.  So I'll leave a lyric for each; hopefully they'll stun someone else like they have me: "But when he's gone, me and them lonesome blues collide. / The bed's too big, the frying pan's too wide."

7. Joni Mitchell - "Little Green."  "Just a little green, like the nights when the Northern lights perform. /
There'll be icicles and birthday clothes, and sometimes there'll be sorrow."

July Mixtape

Highlighting the songs I've discovered, rediscovered, or repeatedly played each month. The order reflects an attempt to create a cohesive mixtape, not to rank the songs in any way.

The Summer of Yeezus continues.

Well, this is embarrassing.  Between vacation and catching up on all the things I haven't been able to do during the fall, spring, and summer semesters, I've apparently stopped documenting my music listening habits.  So this is the shortest mix I've offered yet, but I've been listening to a lot more than two artists this month: for instance, I discovered and immensely enjoyed Yo La Tengo's Painful, which makes the closing of Maxwell's sting even more (YLT regularly played there).  I also finally got my hands on the new My Bloody Valentine, which I'm not hating, and I revisited some of the excellent music of ...And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead before seeing them.  Trail of Dead marked my final show at Maxwell's, and I'm still reeling from the loss of the best venue North Jersey -- or all of New Jersey, even New York for that matter! -- will likely ever see again.  Sigh.  Anyway, here are some brief and scattered thoughts on the two songs that really caught my ear this month.

1. The Wonder Years - "Came Out Swinging."  I've confessed my penchant for pop-punk several times here, and I'm not going to defend it anymore.  It's definitely a take-it-or-leave-it genre, and I understand why people are turned off by the heart-on-sleeve vocals (which often dangerously verge on melodrama) and conventional instrumentals. But I can't deny a song as catchy and well-executed as The Wonder Years's "Came Out Swinging."  Sure, I've heard the fuzzy guitars, punky chants, and fast-paced drums time and time again, but the sheer energy of the song -- kicking off by announcing "Moved all my shit into my parent's basement!" -- outshines tracks with similar components.  And it isn't all just full-throttle noise, either; "Swinging" rises and falls tactfully, not to exploit dynamics for a big payoff but instead to capture the unstable emotions of the narrative: the band collectively takes a breather when Dan Campbell admits, "I'm running on empty / The late nights and the long drives start to get to me / I'm just so tired."  The song then speeds through a chorus that's both catchy and poignant (the best qualities of pop-punk, for sure), capped off by the poignant confession, "I'm not sure where home is anymore."  It's a relatable feeling for any mid-20er, not just for a guy perpetually on the road, and it makes the lyrics all the more endearing.  After the second chorus, the song reaches its climax with a glorious bridge that sounds like a heavier version of the Ataris's most gripping music: "I came out swinging from a South Philly basement, / Caked in stale beer and sweat under half-lit flourescents. / I spent the winter writing songs about getting better, / And, if I'm being honest, I'm getting there."  After taking listeners through the volatile instrumentals and pessimistic narrative of "Came Out Swinging," the hopeful, triumphant-sounding conclusion really just feels good.  Maybe it's not the most profound stuff I've ever listened to, but "Swinging" tells a compelling story and leaves me feeling happy, even refreshed by its end.  Who would ask for more?

  

2. Kanye West - "I'm in It."  Let's get this out of the way first: lyrically, this is Kanye's shoddiest solo album to date.  One can argue that that's the point: this album is supposed to be provocative and thus needs to sound, act, and feel unrefined.  I get that, and I appreciate it, but naysayers can rightfully point out that West wrote and recorded the vocals to the majority of these songs only days before the album was scheduled to be released.  This may have resulted in some serious clunkers appearing on the album that normally would've been eliminated by the smart and articulate rapper.  So I'm ambivalent towards a stupid and racist line like "Eating Asian pussy all I need is sweet and sour sauce."  It's unnecessary, especially from someone who bemoans white privilege in what he views as an inherently racist America.  I understand that Kanye may be willingly contradicting himself, and that makes this album both frustrating and intriguing lyrically.  But I can't say it doesn't diminish the quality of the songs (particularly when juxtaposed with diatribes like "Black Skinhead" and "New Slaves") and conflict the album's overall message.  I'm very much on the fence about these lyrics, as you can tell, but that's also part of the appeal of Yeezus: I want to keep listening to formulate an opinion.

Now, to the unbelievable architecture of this song.  It begins with a trance-like beat and various moaning voices, as Kanye half-talks and half-raps while the instrumentals swell behind him.  Finally, the drums burst, introducing Jamaican rapper Assassin's absolutely rabid rap, which steals the show.  Then, naturally, Justin Vernon and Kanye West weave in and out of the hook, with Vernon's high falsetto contrasting with Kanye's more monotone rap.  It's shocking to hear these disparate elements blend so seamlessly.  And the song carries on like this for nearly four minutes, capriciously switching personalities and genres.  Sandwiched between "Hold My Liquor" and "Blood on the Leaves," "I'm in It" stands at the center of some of Kanye's most experimental, genre-bending music to date, affirming Yeezus as the album to beat in 2013.  So far, nobody's even come close.

June Mixtape

Highlighting the songs I've discovered, rediscovered, or repeatedly played each month. The order reflects an attempt to create a cohesive mixtape, not to rank the songs in any way.

1. Wavves - "Post-Acid." I really like Wavves' second album, but there are some moments where he needed to drop the Animal Collective impression and embrace a punkier aesthetic.  He does that brilliantly on "Post-Acid," a raucous anthem that demands headbanging, steering-wheel-drumming, and sing/shoutalongs. (I'm guilty of all three.)  Unlike the vulnerable "Beat Me Up" (see song #2), Williams sounds cold and even cruelly calloused here, as he confesses, "I'm just having fun with you."  But while Williams doesn't sound like the ideal friend (see here for evidence) or lover, he also refuses to sugarcoat or wallow in his flaws.  I find that commendable.  When evaluating Wavves, and also Kanye (see below), moral and aesthetic judgments do not necessarily hold equal weight, and I think it's a testament to the power of art when we, as listeners, suspend or reconsider our values.

2. Wavves -  "Beat Me Up."  Woah, the chorus on this.  It's like grunge visits the beach -- Seattle meets SoCal.  The handclaps recall early Beach Boys but the drawling, echoey vocals and fuzzy guitars are much more rooted in 90s alternative rocks.  Surprisingly, Wavves blends these seemingly disparate genres in one up-tempo, self-deprecating summer jam.  Lyrically, it's simplistic, sincere, and morbidly funny: "Do you really think I easily bruise? / Or do you have a smoke that I could borrow? / I just wanna spend some time with you... / Or you could beat me up." For such a short song, "Beat Me Up" surprisingly hasn't lost it's staying power after a month of nonstop listens.  I feel confident labeling it one of the best songs of 2013.

3. Wavves - "Green Eyes."  The summer of Wavves continues!  I have distinct memories with each of these songs: I played "Post-Acid" while driving to and from Topps' diner, screaming "I'm juuuust having fun... with you-ou-ou-ooouuu"; "Beat Me Up" repeatedly on a vomit-filled NJ transit bus, eagerly awaiting my arrival to Corey/Ryan/James/Tori's house; and "Green Eyes" while driving to Annie's, navigating through traffic on 95 (what a surprise).  On "Green Eyes," Williams layers on the self-deprecation: "I try running away / I'm just not fast enough"; "My own friends hate me"; "I try staying awake / I'm just not man enough"; and "I would try and understand / That I'm to blame / 'Cause I'm so lame."  Despite all this, though, he never lets his miseries detract from the summery instrumentals.  With layers of guitars, catchy percussion, and xylophones, I guess it's hard to wallow -- much easier to sing along, shouting your own failures with Williams, or just being happy knowing you're in a much better place.

4. The Menzingers - "Mexican Guitars."  I gotta say, when I started listening to the Menzingers, I did not expect heartbreaking, beautiful, nostalgic poetry.  I was happy just to find a band that could pull off a more mature version of pop-punk than the stuff I listened to 8-9 years ago.  But wow, this song is stunning.  The singer (I'm unsure of his name) recollects his memories with an "old friend," from their drinking on porch steps to learning songs on Mexican guitars.  We never learn what ruined this relationship, but even as the singer describes leaving town "to wander around the world for a little bit," he cannot escape "the memory in the back of [his] head": "I'm on cruise control and the radio was on / Yeah, they were playing that song / That we both learned on our Mexican guitars . . . / You were my old friend." The song devastatingly ends the way it begins, only changing the indefinite article "you were an old friend" to the more intimate possessive pronoun "you were my old friend."  As the song comes full-circle lyrically, we're reminded that there is no transcendence here, only a heightened feeling of despair and loss punctuated by mournful guitars and throat-shredding vocals.

5. Deafheaven - "Dream House."  I don't ever really listen to metal, but I was lucky enough to find this on Spin's top 40 songs of 2013.  I used the playlist as jogging music, but found it mostly filled with sucky rap and hip-hop.  Just when I was about to write it off for good, a surge of shoegazey guitars flooded my headphones; finally, I thought, something to run to!  But I was quickly in awe when the curdling black metal vocals and relentlessly heavy drums emerged.  I've never heard anything so colorful and textured yet also so incredibly heavy and frigid.  And the song kept going and going: sunny guitars glimmering and rising to explosive levels while icy vocals angrily crackle.   Six minutes in, the song finally seemed to come to a close, but it was only the band manipulating loud/soft dynamics -- insisting that metal does not need to be incessantly heavy to be effective.  The song re-emerged with a blistering crescendo, as winding guitars seared through fuzzy feedback and drums escalated in a slow but commanding breakdown.  I'm still completely fascinated and inspired by this unbelievable hybrid of a song, and I'm glad to see it's getting the hype it deserves.

6. The Drums - "Days."  Sorry to the Drums, but they're totally the outlier on this mix.  Their Real Estate-sque brand of chimey guitars and breezy vocals were a nice addition to my summer commutes/workouts, but they don't gel with the rest of these songs.  Oh well.  I think that the band sounds like a sunnier version of the XX's nocturnal melodies, though their lyrics are actually much bleaker: "Days go by, and I never needed you."

7. Kanye West - "Hold My Liquor."  In stark contrast to the visceral, minimalistic diatribes that open Kanye's Yeezus, "Hold My Liquor" begins subdued and introspectively, with an auto-tuned Bon Iver somberly gurgling "I can hold my liquor."  This just gets things started on what proves to be a volatile and ornately crafted song.  Keys begin to tap quietly over cloudy ambient noise, as an autotuned Chief Keef admits, after inhaling what sounds like weed, "I can't handle no liquor."  Then Kanye emerges, rapping with conviction over two beats: one brake-screeching and the other effervescent electronics.  Despite his seriousness, he still finds room for comedy--"Slightly scratched your Corolla / Okay, I smashed your Corolla"-- though overall the subject matter is digressive [the lyrics overall on this album are often more provocative than profound].  The architecture of this song, however, is absolutely stunning, totally unlike anything I've ever heard before on a rap album (though that genre now seems too restrictive for what Kanye's creating here). For instance, after Kanye's long verse, he interpolates some robotic vocal on the bridge, which blends with Justin Vernon's auto-tuned falsetto and baritone.  This incredibly moody moment lasts only for a few seconds, as we're brought to Chief Keef's heavier hook again, which seems to direct us towards the climax -- only instead the volume completely fades.  Next on this musical rollercoaster, Bon Iver again delivers an emotionally potent mix of auto-tuned falsetto and baritone with nearly no instrumental accompaniment.  This finally leads to the song's purely instrumental climax, featuring layers of synths and guitars that sound more fitting on Pink Floyd's Animals or Wish You Were Here than on a rap album, no matter how experimental.  And exhale!  "Hold My Liquor" is such a genre-bender of a song, and Kanye makes it seem so effortless. [Note to Kanye: you need to create an LP with Bon Iver. Every song you've released with him thus far has been phenomenal ("Monster," "Lost in the World," "Hold My Liquor," "I'm In It").]

8. Kanye West - "Blood on the Leaves."  When I saw Yeezus was streaming, I decided to give it my undivided attention.  So I went in my room, put on headphones, and laid on my bed listening. [Note to self: please do this more often; this is how you learned to love music; why'd you stop?]  I was a little afraid of the album after opener "On Sight," which basks in its hideousness, but became more and more enamored as I soared through songs like "New Slaves" and "Hold My Liquor."  But "Blood on the Leaves" left me completely stunned.  When that massive, brassy beat finally drops, a smile ran across my face.  I couldn't take it off.  In fact, I'm still in awe of this.  Kanye sounds absolutely incensed, tearing through the fourth verse with furious conviction.  And the sample of Nina Simone's "Strange Fruit" is stunning.  I don't think Kanye for a second equates his relationship issues with the lynchings of slaves, but I do think  Kanye feels like a "new slave" to materialism ("single black female / addicted to retail," he sung years ago on "All Falls Down"), women, drugs, and corporate execs.  He also certainly enjoys the provocation of the sample.  There's so much more to say about this, but I'll save it for another time.  I think it easily cracks the top 3 songs of the year.

May Mixtape

Highlighting the songs I've discovered, rediscovered, or repeatedly played each month. The order reflects an attempt to create a cohesive mixtape, not to rank the songs in any way.

1. Daft Punk feat. Panda Bear - "Doin' It Right."  After a month of listens, I'm still unsure if Daft Punk's newest album is as great as everyone makes it out to be.  I definitely don't think Random Access Memories matches the brilliance of Discovery; there's no "One More Time" or "Digital Love" on here, not even an "Aerodynamic."  There are, however, some true standouts, especially the sensual "The Game of Love" and the funky, endlessly catchy "Get Lucky," which is rightfully claiming its spot as the 2013's go-to summer anthem.  But the first song I heard after "Get Lucky" was "Doin' It Right," whose gargled, robotic vocals immediately had me hooked--even as I struggled to register the unlikely pairing of Panda Bear and Daft Punk.  The combo does work, though, producing tremendous results, as PB's breezy vocals float over the track's looped noise and tiptoeing keys.  The chorus is brilliant and timeless, and probably speaks to the transcendent experience of DP's live show: "If you lose your way tonight that's how you know the magic's right." Yet the song is also tinged with sadness, as the robot occasionally sputters "You're not doing it right," perhaps critiquing the current state of EDM or, even, lamenting music's inability to consistently conjure the "right" magic for its listeners.

2. James Blake - "I Am Sold." I was so excited for James Blake's new album, and I feel like my expectations were half-met: "Retrograde" is Overgrown's centerpiece and one of JB's best songs to date, "Overgrown" begins the album with a powerful slow-burner, and "I Am Sold" has the most wonderfully sinister bass line Blake's produced yet.  But man, is "Take A Fall for Me" horrible, or what?  I don't know how Blake allowed such a cheesy song on his album, or why the album slumbers on the second half, but it's a shame to see him experiment so successfully and disastrously on the same album.  Talk about risk/reward.  I do keep returning to "I Am Sold" for its fragile vocals, hazy, smokey-room atmosphere, and that amazing bass line, though.  Hopefully Blake will select tracks more wisely on his third album.

3. The Menzingers - "Burn After Writing."  I have this very untested theory about pop-punk and emo: while emo bands often exaggerate drama and exploit their fan's fragile emotions, pop-punk bands are more direct and sincere.  Pop-punk is also not as whiny and narcissistic as emo generally is, even though pop-punk's lead-singers often sound like pre-pubescent boys.  The Menzingers certainly don't sound like that (the vocals are deeper), but everything else (the multiple guitars, speedy drums, bouncy chorus) epitomizes pop-punk.  And you know what?  It's a great genre.  It brings me back to the happy times of my adolescence and still sounds fresh enough that I want to make new memories to it.  Thanks for the recommendation, Nick Parco.

4. Bright Eyes - "Beginner's Mind."  I was  skeptical of any new Conor Oberst material after some very insipid side-projects (Mystic Valley Band, Monsters of Folk) and the alarmingly uneven Cassadaga, so The People's Key came as a wonderful surprise.  I think "Beginner's Mind" is my favorite track from the album because Oberst sounds so damn interested, unlike some of his detached narratives from Cassadaga ([don't] see the god-awful "Classic Cars," whose title should be enough evidence of Oberst's indifference).  It's been awhile since Oberst has sounded this sincere and has sung with such urgency, and the result is a more mature--or less whiny--version of Oberst's Fevers and Mirrors material, when he would gasp through each note as if it would be his last.  Here he pleads to a "beginner's mind" to remain innocent and not conform to "all those tangled hypocrites," which may be Oberst revisiting his past mistakes as he returns to his former singing style.  Maybe.  But anyway, this song is one of Oberst's most contagious (and that's saying something); I hear it once and then need to listen to it for a few weeks until it finally leaves my mind.

5. Vampire Weekend - "Ya Hey."  I did not love Modern Vampires of the City when I first heard it, and I think that's the point: VW's third album challenges its listeners by defamiliarizing conventional pop structures, offering, for instance, squirrelish vocals in place of the chorus on "Ya Hey."  I had no idea what to do with this song when I first heard it; sure, it starts off brilliantly, with Koenig's clear vocals echoing over a lightly foggy backdrop, but that chorus seemed like a buzzkill, interrupting the flow of an otherwise crisp and catchy song.  And the spoken interlude seemed like a deliberate attempt to withhold the song's most gratifying elements: the funky bass, ghostly chants, and Koenig's perfect delivery.  Yet the gratifying elements kept me returning, and eventually the things I didn't like became strangely addicting.  Maybe this is the way to keep ephemeral pop fresh and interesting, as the song ages for the listener with time?  I'm not sure.  I am sure, however, that I'm reluctant to play this song in front of friends because they might 1) not like it and 2) ask questions that I really can't answer: "What the hell is this squirrel doing?"  "Why is the singer talking?"  So I'll enjoy this one by myself, searching for answers while also enjoying the unexpected pleasures of this hunt.

6. The National - "Fireproof."  Woah, this was a treat.  I was first struck by this song during one of my commutes from a rainy Lincoln Center; as I was exiting my subway station, I felt immediately taken in by Matt Berninger's haunting vocals and that heavily ominous bassoon, which drops like an earthquake when Berninger sings "you're fireproof." The finger plucking guitar recalls the pianos from Boxer's "Abel," but the dark mood of this song--heightened by an allusion to Elliott Smith's devastating "Needle in the Hay"--raises comparisons to "Mistaken for Strangers" and "Afraid of Everyone."  Only here the drums are subdued, tempered like the passions of the mysteriously "fireproof" subject.

7. The National - "Sea of Love."  Bryan Devendorf's brilliant drumming is more prominent on "Sea of Love," possibly my favorite song from this excellent album.  (What a great month for music!)  I first heard "Sea" when I watched its charming video, which interestingly captures both the intensity and claustrophobia of the National's music.  Yet "Sea of Love" is, as its title suggests, free-roaming, an expansive anthem that reminds us, especially when juxtaposed with "Fireproof," of the incredible emotional range of this incredibly emotional band.

Halfway through 2013-- best songs thus far

One song per artist, starting with my favorite and working down in somewhat of an order.   I'll post May's mixtape once I make substantial progress on this final paper...

April Mixtape

Highlighting the songs I've discovered, rediscovered, or repeatedly played each month. The order reflects an attempt to create a cohesive mixtape, not to rank the songs in any way.

1. The Decemberists - "Don't Carry It All."  I love The Crane Wife, but I thought The Hazards of Love was kind of blah -- too epic, too bloated.  I love this quote from Colin Meloy about the critical reception of Hazards:

"It's like the girlfriend that you bring to your family and they all say that they really like her, but then when you break up with her, and they're like, "Oh God, I hated her the whole time. You're so much better off.  Even I'm starting to believe it, like, 'I guess The Hazards of Love did kind of suck, didn't it?'" 

Meloy says Hazards is still his favorite Decemberists' record, but it left me not wanting to check out the group's newest work until recently, when I took up Norah's advice (thanks, Norah!) and finally gave The King Is Dead a spin.  It couldn't have started any better: "Don't Carry It All" is the loosest I've ever heard the Decemberists on record, freed from the conceptual strictures of Hazards. No longer "carrying" that burden, the Decemberists meld their catchy, summery folk with the bouncy percussion, layers of instrumentation, and palpable energy of Arcade Fire's "Wake Up."  The result is one of the group's best songs in years.

2. Phoenix - "Drakkar Noir."  Ah, Phoenix.   I don't know what to do with you.  I've played songs from this album an astounding 128 times (according to my last.fm), yet I'm still struggling to formulate an opinion.  My initial responses were lukewarm: I thought, and still think, "Entertainment" is a bombastic and surprisingly safe opener, a louder and less subtle version of the band's catchiest singles; "Bankrupt!" sounds way too similar to Animal Collective's "My Girls" when it meanders for three or four minutes; and "Oblique City" is all noise--huge synths and dissonant drums--but little substance.  Yet many of the other songs are growing on me, like "S.O.S. in Bel Air" and "The Real Thing."  "Drakkar Noir," though, was the first song that really caught my attention, with its bouncing synth, massively catchy chorus, and no-bullshit introduction.  Mars's vocals sound as pristine as always, and he particularly shines on the chorus when he sadly confesses, "I'm just too glad to say 'no.'" The song speaks to a notoriously dissolute person ("Light a cigarette for two / You're too close to get to / How come everyone knows you before they meet you?"), yet Mars's radio-friendly voice and "Drakkar's" dance-worthy tempo mask the song's gloomy lyrics.  But for the careful listener, these contradicting sounds and emotions make the climax so powerful, as the swelling synths, amplified guitars, and splattering drums simultaneously produce happiness and discomfort, since Mars's despair seems to rise with the volume of the euphonic instruments.  The listener ultimately finds solace during the track's final seconds, as piano keys flutter through the climactic noise, ending an unsettling pop song calmly and reassuringly.  These brief notes prove how Phoenix thrives on subtle nuances, not massive noises.  I just wish the band cleaned up more of the clutter before releasing Bankrupt!

                       

3. Phoenix - "Chloroform."  The transition between "Drakkar Noir" and "Chloroform" is the best moment on the album and will probably be some of the best seconds of music this year.  The synths of "Drakkar" sputter and then loop until fuzzy keys abruptly burst, introducing "Chloroform's" slow dubstep beat and brassy keys. Try not to move along to this; go ahead, I dare you.  It's a really beautiful, even sensual, moment that I wish could linger longer, especially when Mars interrupts with a ridiculous line like, "Anyway, you want the truth is / I will marry you on Tuesdays."  Yuck.  Similar to "Drakkar," the lyrics are bleak and unsettling, but here the band wisely chooses not to conceal its anxieties under layers of poppy sounds.

4. Daft Punk - "Digital Love."  Damn, can diplomats play "Digital Love" to warring leaders?  Maybe there'd be hope.  This song injects happiness into a room, and it helped me get through a long month of lonely grading.  Discovery begins with such an unbelievable trio of songs that it's almost unfair to any other techno/EDM group: the incomparable "One More Time" bleeds into the frenetic, otherworldly instrumentals of "Aerodynamic," which then fade into the mesmerizing ambiance of "Digital

Love."  I love the robotic vocals here, and the horns are a perfect touch to an electronic-based album.  And then there's the oh-my-God vocal moment of "why won't you play the gaAaAAAaaame?"  It's a subtle yet addictive climax that could've made the ensuing robotic guitar solo seem superfluous, but the song is so damn fun that I'd welcome anything to keep it going.  As DP themselves sing:

"It looked like everyone was having fun
The kind of feeling I've waited so long
Don't stop, come a little closer
As we jam, the reason gets stronger
There's nothing wrong with just a little, little fun;
We were dancing all night long."

Can they please tour now?

5. Minus the Bear - "Lies and Eyes."  I used to think Minus the Bear was one of the best bands I've ever heard.  I don't think this anymore, but it's encouraging to hear these guys still pulling off a song as catchy, bold, and technical as "Lies and Eyes."  I've always enjoyed Jack Snider's rather monotonous vocals, but there's no doubt they're limiting, especially live.  But here they really work, especially at the end of each verse, where he sings in iambs.  This captures so much of what I love about indie rock: it's pop-oriented and catchy, but there's also an immediately perceptible earnestness to it.  I love a song that can strike me as something serious right away yet still have the loose and infectious qualities that make me want to keep returning to it.

6. The Big Pink - "Velvet."  This might be the sexiest song I've ever heard.  Sensual, passionate, chilling; it'll raise the hairs on your arms if you listen closely enough.  The instruments are beautifully layered to sound rich and all-enveloping, and right from the beginning TBP's offer a diverse combination of atmospheric vocals, fuzzy guitars, and sprawling percussion that almost sounds like a computer gargling.  These disparate elements make for a unique opening where the dissonant percussion struggles to protrude the hazey layers of euphonic guitars.  Then more fuzzy guitars wash over the sounds, building to the second verse, until the song crescendos in a long climax of screeching distortion and warm, enveloping feedback.  When the guitars pause, it's like a long exhale, but then a single trickling guitar initiates more waves of noise.  The song is a totally immersing experience that culls the best effects from its instruments: the reverberating vocals beckon for a sing-along while the shoegazey guitars elicit brooding introspection.  When combined,  listeners feel like they're screaming heartfelt words from their souls, though the lyrics are so wonderfully composed that they might as well be:

"These arms are mine
Don't matter who they hold.
So should I maybe just leave love alone?
You call out my name, for the love you need,
Which you won't find in me."

Ugh, this album is so criminally underrated.  I don't know why TBP embraced hip-hop more on their sophomore album after displaying such skill in creating rich textures.  This is one of my all-time listened to songs, and it shows no signs of losing its effects.

7. Wavves - "Demon to Lean On." Although the guitars vaguely recall Weezer's "Pork and Beans," Wavves's "Demon to Lean On" is catchier, not lazy, and actually sounds like it's motivated by something other than a cheap laugh or quick check.  You can definitely hear the Nirvana influences here, but there's also a serious surfer-y, West Coast feel that adds a new take on the grungy punk aesthetic.  Along with Bankrupt!, Wavves's Afraid of Heights has been on repeat for much of this month, mixing just the right amount of melody with futility.

8. Cloud Nothings - "Understand at All."  Before Cloud Nothings embraced screaming, they made some outstanding pop-punk songs.  "Understand" might be their best: a supremely catchy, fast-paced, loud, and lo-fi jam.  You can hear how this band already gestures towards what will be their greatest song to date, "Stay Useless." But "Understand" can also stand on its own for its complexity, turning a depressing realization--"I don't understand at all"--into a fun and frenetic anthem.  Like Phoenix, CN can masterfully conceal sadness under a poppy veneer.

9. Cloud Nothings - "Forget You All the Time."  Yet Cloud Nothings's self-titled is not all jittery pop-punk; "Forget" is a song worth getting bummed out to, and the melancholy guitar immediately drags the listener into despair.  But the song is more cathartic than wallowing: its music is contagious, not the misery that inspired it.

10. We Were Promised Jetpacks - "Circles and Squares."  I found these guys on Spotify's radio service, and they're loud and fun and great driving music.  "Circles" floods the listener with massive guitars and builds to a dramatic climax, where Adam Thompson's vocals melodically bounce off the walls of electronic noise.  I had the ending's melody stuck in my head for days and couldn't figure out where it came from.  Once I did, I began listening to these guys regularly.

11. We Were Promised Jetpacks - "Quiet Little Voices."  In my attempt to listen to WWPJ more often, I discovered this incredibly catchy rock song.  It's not super complicated--its chorus combines loud/soft dynamics and punky "oh oh oh"s--but it kept me awake and animated during several traffic-ridden drives home from Moshe's seemingly never-ending (but unbelievably amazing) theory course.  That's gotta count for something, right?

March Mixtape

Highlighting the songs I've discovered, rediscovered, or repeatedly played each month. The order reflects an attempt to create a cohesive mixtape, not to rank the songs in any way.

1. The Velvet Underground - "I'm Sticking with You." I've been on a Velvet Underground kick lately, and though I've heard this song before from Juno, it caught my ear this month.  In retrospect, it's the perfect track for that film, not only because it sounds super indie but also because Moe Tucker's off-kilter and unadorned vocals recall the film's eccentric and forthright heroine.  Moreover, as unconventional as "Sticking" begins, with Tucker's voice flatlining over circus-y pianos, it transforms itself into both a nostalgic and modern sounding love song: the stacatto guitar and "oh ohs" recall the hooks of the Beatles at the tail end of their career, while the fluid, chimey guitar plays like contemporary alt/indie-rock.  Yet there's one disturbing ambiguity that darkens an ostensibly straightforward song: after a few innocuous lines, Tucker sings, "Saw you hanging from a tree / And I made believe it was me."  As childlike as the language seems ("I made believe"), this potentially violent imagery--hanging by his feet or neck?--disturbs the simplicity of "Sticking" and calls larger issues into question:  is this a song about love or loss?  A lover's unconditional affection or a stalker's unwavering obsession?

2. Vampire Weekend - "Diane Young."  When I first heard "Diane Young," I didn't know what to think.  I was confused and consequently disappointed; the song sounded convoluted and frenetic, like the tape to "California English" was chopped and haphazardly reassembled.  But then I listened again, and again, using it first as jogging music, then as homework music, and then as everywhere and nowhere music.  I played it and started dancing around the house like a madman, demanding that my mom dance with me during one of its many breakdowns.  (She did, sort of).  Lyrically, Diane Young (the person) represents a voice of reason to an obstinate and reckless Saab burner who's living life "too fast." Naturally, then, "Diane Young" shouldn't sound composed, neatly structured, or even immediately coherent; we're moving headlong with whoever's risking "dying young," speeding past flickering synths only to break abruptly and then start back up again.  The song's frantic pace feels like a drag race, and while that's fun to experience vicariously, we're admonished not to live so carelessly.

3. Vampire Weekend - "Step."  Wow.  This song is dazzling.  Its icy synths recall the best moments of Contra, playing like the gentler cousin of the flawless "Giving Up the Gun."  Only whereas Ezra Koenig sung over the drums on "Gun," here his voice bounces with the song's hip-hoppy beat, his delivery paced to stress "Step"'s obscure, witty, and often comical lyrics.  "I just ignored all the tales of a past life / Stale conversation deserves but a bread knife," Koenig deadpans.  Between the thumping verses is a gorgeous chorus, featuring twinkling keys and echoing vocals, the highlight of the song and, frankly, 2013 thus far. For such a magical musical moment, though, the chorus offers unexpectedly, if not disappointingly, quotidian lyrics, "The gloves are off / The wisdom teeth are out / What you on about?"  But any disappointment fades in the chorus' last line, when Koenig repeats in an almost childlike plea, "I can't do it alone."  This universal statement imbues the song's minutia with charm and mystique, providing a subtle payoff where the listener feels him/herself reshaping and enriching the meaning of the obscure words.  This is key for a song that sonically doesn't build up so much as it does gracefully wind down, and it keeps me returning for another listen.

4. Phosphorescent - "Song for Zula."  Combine Kurt Vile-esque vocals with drum beats and strings and you have a recipe for success -- or complete disaster.  Here it works really, really well. The shaky, fragile vocals are gradually propped up by swelling synths, culminating with the speaker's indignant proclamation:

All that I know is love as a caging thing,
Just a killer come to call from some awful dream.
And all you folks, you come to see;
You just to stand there in the glass looking at me.
But my heart is wild, and my bones are steel,
And I could kill you with my bare hands if I was free.

5. The Cure - "Pictures of You." In mixing Robert Smith's emotive vocals over dreamlike soundscapes and shimmering chimes, "Pictures" fixes itself between the material and supernatural and worlds, inviting its listener on a 7+ minute escapist journey.  This thrilling, even transcendent, listen momentarily pauses midway through, but the drums reawaken the guitars and vocals with a one-two strike.  It's a brief moment in a long song, yet it's my favorite, something I eagerly await each time.  I find myself begging for bigger reverb--the cheesiest, Phil Collins-y kind of stuff possible (I hate myself for wishing this, let alone admitting it)--and often pretend that I'm hearing it as I jam on my steering wheel.  "Pictures" is such an engrossing listen that it makes this bizarre, maybe uncharacteristic transformation possible; it's so easy to get lost in its undulating guitars and Smith's commanding vocals that no one should be allowed to drive while listening to this album.  Example #1: I knew I had to take the exit for Rt 17 because the Turnpike was closed one Friday afternoon, but, because of "Pictures," I happily drove right past it while screaming some of the song's wonderful lyrics:

I've been looking so long at these pictures of you
That I almost believe that they're real.
I've been living so long with my pictures of you
That I almost believe that the pictures are all I can feel.

6. Built to Spill - "Reasons."  I love listening to the early works of great bands, hearing their inchoate (often juvenile) style and paying close attention for glimpses of brilliance.  I think that's why I like Brand New's Your Favorite Weapon so much-- though "The No Seatbelt Song" is a whole lot more than a glimpse of brilliance.  BTS's "Reasons" is from the group's second album There's Nothing Wrong with Love, which is excellent in its own right, but a very different record than the more experimental Perfect from Now On and Keep It Like a Secret.  Midway through, the group's masterful guitar skills shine, as the guitars wind down into near silence until gentle pluckings delicately build them back up.  It reminds me of early Smashing Pumpkins, actually, which wouldn't be a stretch since the Pumpkins had come out with Gish only three years earlier.  It's an epic yet somehow still subtle moment that embodies the style of the group's two masterworks: technical and swift guitarwork without any showmanship.  I also really like the way "Reasons" starts; it's endearing how the vocals sound a little flat and out of place.  This isn't overly refined sugar pop, but something, for all its catchiness, that sounds sincere and deeply important.  By the end of the song, Martsch's throaty vocals are jagged and raw, but this just adds to the charm for me: "Reasons" is perfected by its imperfections.

7. Grouper - "We've All Gone to Sleep."  There are some nights of late-night writing where I only want to listen to this song, which washes away external noises (listen as the police sirens fade in the opening seconds) for ghostlike whispers and Liz Harris's prominent guitar strums.  As its title and calming description suggests, "Sleep" can prepare its listeners for rest, but the song also has an unsettling heaviness to it that can fill listeners with dread.  As such, "Sleep" elicits powerful feelings that prove difficult to reconcile; on the one hand, it's a soothing lullaby, yet on the other it's an acceptance, even a welcoming, of death.  As a listener, you're dangling uneasily between rest and relaxation and a heavy sense of foreboding, but ultimately the song teeters more towards the latter, as the album ends with a cassette reel spinning erratically.  If "Sleep" begins to console listeners about death and the end of all things (including its own album), it ultimately finds a limit in its consolation as it confronts its own mortality.

February Mixtape

Highlighting the songs I've discovered, rediscovered, or repeatedly played each month. The order reflects an attempt to create a cohesive mixtape, not to rank the songs in any way.

This is unfortunately half-assed because there are too many songs this month and, surprise, surprise, I'm overloaded with work.

1. Elliott Smith - "Between the Bars."   For some reason, I always imagined prison bars when Elliott sings "I'll kiss you again / between the bars," but I recently discovered the more obvious image of the song: drunken kissing while walking from bar(/tavern) to bar.  Yet, unsurprising for an Elliott song, there are several layers to this line, like the musical pun: a kiss between the bars of the music.  Elliott's music is often about himself, and I suppose all three of these images (self-entrapment, like the awesome Arcade Fire song; alcohol-induced romance; and singing/songwriting) can be read self-referentially. I also forgot how wonderful this song is, how Elliott can sound both angelic and damned at the same time.

January Mixtape

 

It's a new year, but why not keep up with these mixtapes?  As I mentioned before, I've been obsessed with Almost Famous, a movie that was actually first released on the day of my birthday (9/8/2000).  It tells a story of a high school journalist who gets an assignment with Rolling Stone to cover the up-and-coming (fictional) band Stillwater.  Set in 1973, the film captures the excitement and eclecticism of American rock-n-roll, hosting over 50+ songs from the era (according to IMDB, the film's music budget was $3.5 million, about $2 million more than the average music budget).  As its bloated budget indicates, the soundtrack is absolutely vital to the film.  Here are some of the songs that moved me during the film and retained their charm well after the final credits rolled.

**Extra note: As I had this blog post open, I was watching the making of Almost Famous, where director Cameron Crowe admitted that for years he's been making monthly mixtapes of his favorite songs from each particular month. The coincidence is eerie and awesome and has inspired me to keep this project going for as long as possible.

1. Simon and Garfunkel - "America."  Honey... they're on pot. As she jabs at Simon and Garfunkel's dark, wide-eyes, Elaine Miller warns her rebellious daughter, Anita (Zooey Deschanel), about immoral rock bands like S&G, who write songs about "drugs and promiscuous sex."  The pleas fail to deter Anita, and shortly after we find her in the living room, announcing, "This song explains why I'm leaving home to become a stewardess."  The gorgeous humming from Simon and Garfunkel's "America" then plays from the phonograph, while Elaine asks, "We can't talk? We have to listen to rock music?"  These short scenes reveal the differences between mother and daughter: Elaine strives for white-collar success in herself and her children, reviles drugs and "immoral" art (preferring the high theory of Carl Jung or the literature of Goethe and Harper Lee), and practices radical, anti-commercial beliefs.  Anita, on the other hand, embodies more bohemian, Kerouacian philosophies, believing in the virtues of personal hardship (what she calls "living"), the transcendence of rock-n-roll, and the freedom of the road.  As Simon and Garfunkel sing, Anita is off "to look for America," leaving the tight reins of her mother's home to travel the nation.

These initial scenes already convey the intense emotional and spiritual connections a listener can have with music.  "America" defines Anita, telling her life story and even prophesizing her future.  They also speak for her when words fail; when Elaine asks, "Can't we talk?", neither Elaine nor Anita speak until Anita leaves the confines of their house.  Their relationship has deteriorated to the point where communication is no longer possible: Anita needs the medium of music to express her thoughts and emotions.  "America," thus, first indicates the tremendous impact music had on American culture, acting as a poetic inspiration and motivation as well as a voice to a dissatisfied youth.

"One day...  you'll be cool."

The song itself, too, is beautiful, and is the best track on Simon and Garfunkel's renowned Bookends.  It captures the excitement of hitchhiking through American yet also shows the paranoia ("she said the man in the gabardine suit was a spy / I said be careful his bowtie is really a camera") and despair ("'Cathy, I'm lost,' I said, though I knew she was sleeping / 'I'm empty and aching and I don't know why'") endemic to the drug-laden 70s.  My favorite part comes near the conclusion, after echoey drums that sound so Beach Boys-y and twangy guitars build to heavy strumming and clattery cymbals.  When the song and vocals climax, the disillusioned speaker sits "counting the cars on the New Jersey Turnpike -- they've all come to look for America."  It's a powerful moment not only of empathy but also of sadness and loneliness; he identifies with others as they whirl down the Turnpike, but this connection is fleeting.  Just as the speaker's heartfelt confessions to his sleeping companion suggest, these lyrics capture his inability to have a substantial empathetic connection with another.  It's a great example of how "America" is the perfect selection for this particular scene, evoking isolation and failed empathy during a mother and daughter's emotional impasse.