Tunage

Despite the relentless negativity and uncertainty that surrounds the current state of the music business the artists and the art that emerged in 2007 were nothing less exceptional. More and better records seemed to ooze from every pore of the digital underbelly. The long tail is officially alive and well, and thanks to the success of iTunes, and the even better, eMusic service, it is now possible to deliver instant gratification to music lovers and readers of this list. In addition to that there is a wonderful real time environment for discovery and taste matching through sites like imeem, Mog, and metacritic.com. All of this makes finding and distilling a list down to even twenty must-haves near impossible. Alas, here are the records that made 2007 that much better for me. I hope you take in this list and then trust your own ears. 

1.            Midlake - “The Trials of Van Occupanther” (Bella Union)

Technically this is a 2006 record, but I didn’t find it until this year, and it was far and away the one record that meant the most to me this year. I didn’t like the name. I was suspicious about all the references to 70’s Americana. But 30 seconds into the “The Trials”, I was swept away. This is one of those rare albums that require no work whatsoever to fall hard and fast for. The breezy summer day sound is both bright and thoughtful, and does, I suppose, seem somewhat reminiscent of a genuinely American sound from some ambiguous time and place. Not so much rock like The Band, but more like only the best parts of Fleetwood Mac “Rumors”; cool and silky without any of the distinctive quirks that sometimes get tired after a while. But to suggest that the record is merely  A straight forward guitar, bass, and drums idea, is to overlook the robust instrumentation (flute, strings, brass) along the way. Somehow this record went overlooked last year, so thank goodness it is so timeless.

2.            Okkervil River “The Stage Names” (Jagjaguwar)

Far too few people will ever hear this record, I know it. This is rock balladry in its most modern finery, sung with the earnestness of a Springsteen or Tweedy, but thinner and slightly more warbling like Bright Eyes, with music as authentic and warm as “The Last Waltz.” On “The Stage Names,” the Texas band’s third album, the band has peppered their onetime sparse flavor of alt-country with billowing strings and piano such as on the epic “A Girl In Port,” or more upbeat and danceable tracks like “A Hand to Take Hold of the Scene”, and precious orchestral ditties like “Savannah Smiles.” Don’t get me wrong, this record isn’t so much a derivative of something else as it is conscious of all of the great under-appreciated music that has informed it. This is a major minor masterpiece, accessible yet specific enough to charm indie zealots and Coldplay posers alike. If not for the tragically overlooked Midlake at #1, “The Stage Names” made the first and most potent impact on me in 2007 featuring some of the finest songwriting of the year. Don’t live without it.

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In the event that you ever spent time sitting in your suburban bedroom all jacked up on adolescent angst, trying to convince yourself that you actually liked the nihlistic raving of the American hardcore bands of the early 80’s, this film is for you. The film is a gritty kind homage to regional flavors and characters that littered this short lived but prolific period of musical history.

Filled primarily with what must have been incredibly rare clips of early Black Flag, Circle Jerks, Minor Threat, Bad Brains and contemporary interviews with all these personalilites 20 years later, “American Hardcore” is the video accompaniment of the classic punk non-fiction classic “This band Could be Your Life.” I’m not sure I still have the stomach for much of this stuff anymore, but it sure is cool to revisit the dirty, brutal zeitgeist from the comfort of my cozy living room couch.

Last night I indulged my wife and took her to see some music. I was a bit peaved that tickets at the Fillmore could possibly cost $65 and that she spent another $35 on a tee shirt, but as I stood there, not quite sober, I couldn’t help but flash back to an earlier time. So much earlier in fact that as I ran the numbers it occurred to me that the last time that I had seen this guy was 23 years ago at the Agora Theater somewhere in Cleveland. Ohio. 23 years, ughhh. Back then I remember the singer being much younger, more brooding and affected, but in 1986 his songs were as familiar as anything, except perhaps the English Beat, given their aggressive overplay throughout the dorm rooms of my small private boarding school in Northeast Ohio. I also remember being absolutely bleary-eyed on Goebel or some premium 24 pack weekender, but can’t remember who else I was with. I still have the tattered stub for the show that I keep with all the other remnants of my musical past.

In any event if any of you do get the chance to see the slightly less fit and graying, still youthful 48 year old who at one point removed his sweaty black button down and launched in into the crowd, you should. His voice is still warm and distinctive and to hear him bust out a more psychedelic version of “How Soon Is Now” or “The Boy With the Thorn in His Side” or “Everyday is Like Sunday” is a real treat. This was not a Smiths reunion tour, Morrissey was backed by a cadre of young, buff dudes wearing tight back t-shirts and matching yellow slacks, but the man is still a myth, and one probably more capable as a live performer and more intested in entertaining than he was back in the day. Oh well, it was nice to step back in 80’s again, you all should too, if not to just shock yourself back into your youth for a few hours. I’m sure he’ll be playing in a town near you very soon.

A band like the Shins, hailing from New Mexico and focused on music that is more steeped in fragile melodies and clever vocals, doesn’t have a huge likelihood of success in today’s ClearChannel and MTV dominated world. But every once in the bluest moon, a band bubbles up through the zines, blogs and clubs of the indie underground and is carried into a special spotlight. One where your records sell a few hundred thousand copies and where you can tour big clubs and fill them even on weeknights, like the Shins sold out Tuesday night show at the Warfield in San Francisco.

Remember - these are a bunch of thrift shop hipsters who play intelligent graduate school pop-rock, not dolled-up teenagers in a non-descript boy band packaged up and shipped off to host Total Request Live. To some degree their recorded music rips pages from the mid-60’s Beatles which was never really performed live, onstage before thousands of steadily head-bobbing fans, the band proved that they can really play. From the string of endless hits on their first two full length records - infused with more creativity than most much older more rock oriented bands, to the rawkus improvisational jams that seemed crafted specifically for a post-hippie San Francisco audience, The Shins were simply on.

In a world where much of the music you hear is pre-programmed and many of the films that you see are filled with computer generated images, it is refreshing to see music played by musicians who are still having fun. There is a kind of satisfaction that you feel to see a band like this - music zealots, and reluctant rock stars, who have earned the chance to make a decent living as musicians on their own terms. I hope they can mainatin this trajectory for many many years.

There are will be moments, in the life of a music lover, where you will witness pure and simple performance greatness. Standing before a crowded stage of musicians who call themselves Olivia Tremor Control, you will often feel this greatness. Aside from the attention-getting weirdness that you often witness with OTC live (a life-sized metronome, two large white gloved wooden hands that clap whenever the drummer hits the base drum, and a variety of other strange instruments and approaches) what you get at a show like this one is performance that is about something completely from different their studio work.

At the top of their game the OTC creates the purest, most inventive pop songs and sounds since the Beach Boys did circa “Pet Sounds,” and the mid-60s Beatles during “Revolver” and “Rubber Soul.” It may sound simple, reinterpretting music invented by others, but why then has it taken over thirty years for anyone to even come close? One of the most amazing things about the Tremor Control is that, not only can they approximate the genius of Paul and John, and Brian Wilson, they also do something with that sound the masters never did: play it live. By the time the Beatles stumbled into their studio dreamworld, they had all but stopped touring. By the time “Pet Sounds” was released Brian Wilson had become a recluse and the touring band mostly stuck to the poppier surfing songs rather than to the hard-to-reproduce studio work. OTC, on the other hand, takes that studio experimentation to the stage, and creates a kind of surreal pop adventure and then adds to it all the spontaneity of the live jam.

Underneath the surface of the sometimes-intentional sloppiness of the OTC, the band attempts to blanket a room with sound, slowly building a tremendous wall out of a symphony of oddly juxtaposed instruments. Singers William Cullen Hart and Bill Doss, trade harmonies a bit like Paul and John, lolling around on stage clutching their guitars and bouncing their heads to the sound of undiluted pop.

If there is anything with indie rock these days, it is the demise of the strength of the live performance. But thanks to Olivia Tremor Control, and many of their brethren in the Elephant 6, the play a full spectrum of rock music, both with a rock band enthusiasm and with the legitimate musical skill to mesmerize a crowd. These guys are the real thing, in a world of MTV hyped one hit wonders.

We caught the last few songs from the first opener, Clem Snide. Their upright bass and cello rounded out otherwise straight-forward Gretch/Vox indie country hits.

Saturnine delivered the rings: those sad chords at a spinning pace- infected with those spacey instrumentals that make you forget when they stopped singing. The girl/guy guitars/vocals duo was definitely happening for me. The guy does this kind of raised eye-brows look when he shifts trajectory- meanwhile a well polished rythym section keeps us all in orbit. Bringing out a trumpeter and keyboardist added red and blue to the spectrum.

Saturnine’s set made me want to pick up their new album (”The long, long trail”-?- I couldn’t tell what the guy said), but you might want to try to request one off the radio before committing. As a die-hard sad hits fan, I’m all about the re-working of one form- you know, if the hyper-drive ain’t broke… Remember when they thought the planet only had 9 rings? or am I making that up?

By Bedhead, our group was wishing they’d roll out the Lazy-Boys. Or maybe turn on the anti-gravitional floor. Of course, I’ll stand during most of a Low show, so Bedhead was no problem. The bearded Kadane brothers and co. were in tip-top shape for their start-out-slouching-so-you-end-up-slouching-loudly songs (you can’t beat 3 guitars when you need to get loud- plus more layers for your money). The guitars traded solos of the bright-sad tone the 90’s have taught me to love. The show featured mostly new material- from their latest, and so far most inspired: “Transaction de Novo.”

Bedhead closed a 30 minute encore with Joy Division’s “Spirit / Feeling” - which was pretty nice of them since people had been yelling out for it all night, and M. Kadane had told the crowd they wanted 5 bucks each to play it, but we were too cheap to fork it over.