January 29, 2010

100 Songs. 100 Words. First 10.

Eisley – Golly Sandra

I know it’s clichéd, yet I say it all the time: “This song breaks my heart.” But this song, Jesus, it shatters that vessel, stopping my pulse and stealing my breath and grabbing and gripping and wringing me dead, shivers and toe taps and sighs and oh God. Something in the way the girls themselves sigh, the slide guitar cries, the drum is a heartbeat. Something in the lyrics, ineffable yet tangible, real and true and… mysterious? Magical? This is the reason I listen to music. This is the meaning I’ve always been seeking. This is it. I simply know.

Neko Case – This Tornado Loves You

The music swirls. The voice is a gale. The lyrics are a broadcast, a storm chaser’s dream – trailer parks, train tracks, motherless souls – told from a lovesick tornado’s perspective. She wants you, she loves you, she’ll show you how much, running and crashing and watching you sleep. A force of nature, a siren, a fury, the perfect storm of form and function – the perfect song, period, perfection itself – personifying love and destruction and storminess, the shelter I’m chasing, the brokenness I’ve found. Lost in its eye, my walls overturned, I haven’t come down since the first time I heard it.

Jeff Buckley – Last Goodbye

I’ll never forget the first time I heard it: the starry-eyed sunrise, her scent on my skin, wanting to whistle but not knowing how, so cinematic it might not have happened, but isn’t it pretty to think so? It’s gorgeous. Savor the sweetness of every goodbye, the bitterness of every kiss, the taste and smell of every new hope: hi, hello, how are you, I love you. Another cliché: his angelic voice, winged and haloed and coated in gold. My own voice: earthy, torn and choked, but isn’t it pretty to sing along anyway? I believe it’s what God wants.

Nada Surf – Popular

1) Without this song, I’m not a musician. Senior year. Talent show. My first-ever band. I stood at the microphone, blinded by the spotlights, speaking or yelling the lyrics we’d rewritten, terror giving way to elation. We rocked!

2) Without this song, I’m not a failed novelist. Years out of high school, seeking inspiration, I tried to steal the themes of this wonderful hit – jocks and nerds and their guide to popularity – and almost got away with it, until I started meddling. I’m still in search of my one big hit, the thing I’ll be remembered for, that similar elation.

Nirvana – Come As You Are

I could and probably should write an essay about it: the song, the album, the band, the sound; my ears, my brain, my heart, my life. Everything I’ve ever heard and known and felt and lived. My generation, my cliché. Shredded eardrums, shredded throats. It’s all been said, it’s all been read, I’ll have to sing or scream it: Memoria. Memoria. Memoria. Memoria. This song is mine, it belongs to me, as much as any monster hit can ever belong to anyone. It won’t burn out, or fade away. A hundred times a hundred words would still not be enough.

Stone Temple Pilots – Interstate Love Song

“Leaving,” they sing. I hear it too often. Yesterday, Sunday, full steam ahead. Train rides, train wrecks, blazing horizons. Lies, promises, no reply. Left behind, I watch and wave. Exhausted, derailed, departed. Terminal. Seldom my fault, because I’m the hero. (An odyssey through my music collection.) It’s also true I’m seldom the leaver, watching them shrink, then finally disappear. (This narrator is seldom unreliable.) This song helps me lose that map, bound for opportunity, possibly glory. Vicariously, I travel south, wanting, like always, to whistle along. Wherever I am when I hear it, I’ve arrived. Whenever that happens, I’m happy.

Tori Amos – God

“God, sometimes You just don’t come through.” I didn’t write that, but I’ve sung it and believed it. I’ve questioned and doubted and possibly blasphemed, shunning Your mercy and grace and love, seeking my redemption in humanity instead. I’ve idolized artists. In them, I’ve put my faith. In music, blessed music, I’ve found the sublime, by far my favorite gift from You, except for life itself. A song like this, a sound like this – pounding piano, impassioned cries, wisdom, understanding, transcendence, soul – it proves You sometimes answer prayers. Sometimes You do come through, loud and clear. Forgive me for forgetting.

Billy Joel – Scenes From An Italian Restaurant

In just eight minutes, a lifetime unfolds: Brenda and Eddie, “the popular steadies,” from dating to divorce, from hope to nostalgia, from everyday acquaintances to old friends forgotten. A story to be told over bottles of wine, a cautionary tale for everyone listening, a requiem for innocence, a singalong concerto… A work of flash fiction posing as a pop tune, there’s even a narrator, a frame tale, a saxophone... Even as a kid, I cared about these characters. Now I want a sequel, or some gossip of my own. Consider these reviews my story so far, a melody I’ve memorized.

Young MC – Bust a Move

Dances, weddings, karaoke. Plus, my cover, acoustically arranged, sung and strummed so sweetly, unironically, often introduced as the best song, like, ever, the dopest in the history of dopeness, or history. Just because it’s laughable doesn’t mean it’s false. Revisionist personal history? True. Apologizing always, ardently, apoplectically: “He raps way faster than anyone remembers. The beat is influential. He taught me ‘libido…’” No one doubts my dumb devotion; everyone knows how deeply it’s felt: “I heard ‘Bust a Move’ and thought of you.” “I made ‘Bust a Move’ your ringtone.” “Your ‘Bust a Move’ cover is the greatest thing ever…”

Vanilla Ice – Ice Ice Baby

Alright stop, collaborate, and listen
I am back with an age-old affection
This song grabs a hold of me tightly
Memorized lyrics daily and nightly
Will I ever stop? Yo, I don’t know
Turn off the song? I say no!
To the extreme I’m rocking out like a vandal
Liking the song in perpetual scandal
Dance, blush, my speakers still boom
Killing my brain like a poisonous pop tune
Deadly? Well, it’s got a dope melody
No, not the best, but my favoritest felony
Love it or leave it, you better not wait
Better hit four-eyes before I press play

January 13, 2010

My Favorite 10 Albums of 2009

Here it is, the groove, slightly transformed, just a bit of a break from the norm, just a little something to break the monotony... of all those lists with Animal Collective at number one. These are the albums I felt the most fervently, adored the most ardently, and redundantly verbed the most alliteratively adverbally. They had me at "hello," they completed me, etc. (They were not a dress, they were an Audrey Hepburn movie. Like dogs and bees, these albums could smell fear.) They caused the most shivers and singalongs and arguments; they made me quote artworks which were years, or decades, old. Perhaps not the best but indubitably my favorites, these are the albums I couldn't stop playing. These are the albums I'm sure I never will. Stop, that is. Like this neverending paragraph. These are the albums which inspired sound and fury, and caused me to signify nothing but love.

1) Neko Case - Middle Cyclone
2) The Decemberists - The Hazards of Love
3) Jay-Z - The Blueprint 3
4) Miranda Lambert - Revolution
5) Green Day - 21st Century Breakdown
6) Regina Spektor - Far
7) Florence & The Machine - Lungs
8) Lily Allen - It's Not Me, It's You
9) Weezer - Raditude
10) Tori Amos - Abnormally Attracted to Sin

In 2009, in short, in summation, what kind of music does Matthew Webber like? Sirens, concept albums, token rappers and country singers, bands I liked when I was a kid, Tori Amos, and artists who have been inspired by Tori Amos.

The Year in Tweets: Music

Since none of you (approximately) are on Twitter, here are my 140-character reviews of all the music I listened to this year.

Lily Allen: Songbird grows up, gets poppier, sells out? The sass remains the same, so no. Topics: Boys, surreal life, Dubya.

Neko Case: Personified tornadoes, animals, heartbreak. Torch songs as enveloping as burnt electric blankets. Favorite for 2009's No. 1.

U2: Typically massive, but newly, bravely intimate. They sound like bands that sound like U2. Bono still makes Jesus weep.

Decemberists: Huzzah! Old-timey folk-rock by lit geeks for lit geeks. Best concept disc since Mechanical Animals. Murder ballads slay.

Adele: Another white Brit chick appropriates soul. Sweeter than Wino, better than Duffy.

Ray LaMontagne: Gritty yet smooth, warm & inviting, the sound of the last of ur favorite cup of coffee. Plus, u can actually hear the wood.

Fleet Foxes: Backwoods beards sing songs of beauty. Perfect background for computer-based job.

Taylor Swift: Sugary sweet & adorable, sure. But also insightful beyond her years. I'll proselytize for her to all u country haters.

Vampire Weekend: Sounds like stuff that white ppl like: sweaters, libraries, boarding school singalongs. Neither as good nor as bad as…

…you’ve read.

Baseball Project: Anyone heard this? Indie all-stars dream of Mays, curse T. Williams & thank Curt Flood. Humming fastballs. Catchy. Jangly.

Ditty Bops: 3 albums in, they're cute as ever. 2 pretty voices, prettier songs, a barnful of pretty old-timey instruments. Sweetness.

Eminem: Dope beats, dope rhymes, but somewhat disappointing. I'm almost as sick of Shady as he is.

Ben Folds acappella: Strictly for diehards & acappella enablers. Do I love it? Duh.

Green Day: Same ambition & pop/punk hooks. American Idiot II pretty much. Rawk!

Tori Amos: Crystalline, magical, sounds like the 90s. A record w/ grooves (but few standout songs). The muse is back, if she ever left.

Pearl Jam: Legendary up to & including No Code. Snooze-inducing afterwards. What happened to the riffs? To the reverb on Eddie's vox?

Thriller: As amazing as ever. R.I.P.

Regina Spektor: Cute, quirky - but not too much. She's too good for marginalization, at least for guys (me!) in luv w/ chick pianists.

Kings of Leon: Kings of classic-sounding rock. Not yet classic, but on the road to same. Arena ambitions - what's wrong w/ that?

Wilco: Good, but great? Consistently consistent.

Early Neko Case albums: They keep getting older, but her amazing voice stays the same. A lil bit country-er, but u know what? That's fine.

Mos Def: Call it a comeback. Bob your head in bangin' contemplation.

Q-Tip: Call it a comeback. Hearkens back to late-Tribe spirit.

Meth & Red: Blah-ckout 2. Is misogyny still funny?

Abbey Road: Still my favorite album, artistic creation, human achievement ever.

Per every music mag ever, (old artist's new album) is their best since (old artist's last good album).

Having said that, Blueprint 3 is clearly Jay-Z's best since The Black Album.

Bjork live album: Makes me wish I was rich enough to see her. Makes me wish I lived in Iceland. Makes me wish she still wrote pop tunes.

Marilyn Manson albums: He keeps making em, I keep buying em. Songs sound relevant (scary, good), even if he's not.

And by "buying em," of course, I mean, "checking em out of the library and burning em."

Brandi Carlile: As raw & heartfelt as always, but... melodies aren't as head-sticking yet.

Miranda Lambert: Country spitfire cleans up nicely, remains authentic, gun-toting, crazy. Country for ppl for who don't think they like it.

A Fine Frenzy: Too adult-contempo for most of my friends, but perfectly poppy for me. Chick, piano, melody, etc.

Monsters of Folk: Pro: Monsters of harmony. Con: Monsters of writing better tunes on their own than in a supergroup.

Swell Season: Real-life loss of chemistry hurts. After few listens, songs start to grow. Sadly, not as majestic as Once.

Nellie McKay sings Doris Day: New chanteuse sings old one's tunes. Funny, jazzy, loungey, smooth. Hopefully more new Nellie tunes soon.

Florence + the Machine: Big-voiced Brit makes epic pop. Lungs indeed. Debut of the year. (Again, I'm the target audience tho.)

Muse: Pretentious. Over the top. But kinda awesome.

Weezer: Far from Pinkerton, but pure pop pleasure.

John Mayer: Some would call his blues/pop bland, but this guy calls it bloody good. Guy's got chops & songcraft skillz.

Norah Jones: Lil bit funky & not just for her. New songs swing where old ones smoldered.

Paramore: Pop songs packaged as teenage angst? I am totally cool w/ this.

Jill Sobule: No less quirky in her old age. No less melodic or deserving of audience. Rustic sound is new for her. Tunes are fun as usual.

St Vincent, The Bird & The Bee, Bat for Lashes: The kind of CDs I always buy & love. Songs that burrow in2 my brain. Written by women 4 me?