Songs for a Snowfall

We New Jerseyans and New Yorkers might get a foot of snow tomorrow, so what better time for a wintry playlist?  Let these excellent tunes accompany your shovelling, snowball fights, and/or (spiked?) hot chocolate drinking.  The snowy soundscapes presented here range sonically and emotionally, capturing the many paradoxes--stillness and movement, warmth and frigidity, renewal and death, love and despair, youth and experience--that winter embodies.  Enjoy, and stay warm!

1. Bon Iver - "Blood Bank." A song about falling in love in winter: And the snow started falling; we were stuck out in your car.  You were rubbing both my hands, chewing on a candy bar.

2. Bright Eyes - "Gold Mine Gutted." Beginning as a love story, this song ends by describing a lover's possibly fatal drug addiction: Only smoke came out our mouths on all those hooded-sweatshirt walks. ... All those white lines that sped us up; we hurry to our death.  Well, I lagged behind, so you got ahead.

3. Kanye West - "Street Lights." Whereas the other two of Kanye's "lights" songs ("All of the Lights," "Flashing Lights") are celebrations of his fame and success, "Street Lights" captures an isolated and despondent West, who turns a cab ride (in what feels to me like a snowy New York) into an existential journey: I know my destination, but I'm just not there.

4. LCD Soundsystem - "Someone Great." The song's cold, brooding, mechanical sounds epitomize not only LCD's album title, Sound of Silver, but also the numbness one feels after losing "someone great": There shouldn't be this ring of silence, but what are the options when someone great is gone?

5. Explosions in the Sky - "Snow and Lights." Moving from heavy snowstorms to light flurries back to a climactic blizzard, "Snow and Lights" lives up to evocative its title without saying a word.

6. Vampire Weekend - "Step."  (See the post below): They didn't know how to dress for the weather.  I can still see them there huddle on Astor: snow falling slow to the sound of the master.

7. Minus the Bear - "Hooray."  Describing a snowball fight and "warming on alcohol" in bars, "Hooray" celebrates youth--or acting youthfully--and the weather that brings out our joyful qualities: It's cold, and snow's actually on the ground of this no-snow town.  And instead of cars, streets [are] trafficking in sleds.  Men become boys again.

8. Crystal Castles (feat. Robert Smith) - "Not In Love."  Synths are ideal for capturing frigid sounds, but the sleety waves of synthesizers here are especially effective--and appropriate for Smith's unfeeling exclamation, "I'm not in love." 'Cause it's cold outside; when you coming home?  'Cause it's hot inside; isn't that enough?

9. Arcade Fire - "Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)."  The imaginative opening lines from Arcade Fire's debut remain among the group's best poetry: And if the snow buries my neighborhood ... Climb out the chimney and meet me in the middle of the town.  And since there's no one else around, we let our hair grown long and forget all we used to know.  Then our skin gets thicker from living out in the snow.

10. The XX - "Shelter."  "Shelter" reminds me of watching snow fall from behind a pane of glass: the separation between coldness and warmth is thin.  This song's warm guitars and Croft's shaking, almost insecure voice shatter that barrier, allowing these conflicting feelings to coexist in an unsettling love song: I find shelter in this way: undercover, hideaway.

11. Bright Eyes - "Something Vague."  Conor Oberst epitomized so many of my adolescent winters that he gets to make two appearances here.  On what may be his angstiest, but also one of his finest, albums, a young Oberst quivers as he paints a sad portrait of an alcoholic: You see your breath in the air as you climb up the stairs to the coffin you call your apartment. And you sink in your chair, brushing snow from you hair, and drink the cold away.  And you're not really sure what you're doing this for, but you need something to fill up the days.

12. The Good Life - "A Golden Exit." The final song from The Good Life's Novena on a Nocturn represents both bitter ends (of relationships, even of life) and cathartic renewals: I can feel the chill in the air between us.  I can feel a winter coming; we're frozen in our stares.  ... I woke up this morning to the silence of falling snow.  These graces of beauty have left me so cold.

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...

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.