#1
Radiohead
In Rainbows
No artist had a bigger impact in 2007 than Radiohead with the release of their seventh studio album, In Rainbows. Of course, the attention had mostly to do with the fact that, after a long association with Capitol, the group once dubbed “the best rock band in the world” let their contract lapse and released In Rainbows directly to the Internet as MP3 files—free of any digital rights management and, with its pay-whatever-you-want scheme, optionally free of price. The approach was part viral marketing, part brilliant social experiment and part music industry revolution.
But the big story here is that In Rainbows isn’t the odds-and-sods collection or half-hearted retread you might expect of a band dipping its toes into independent online distribution for the first time. Instead, it is a stunningly conceived, full-fledged release that is, without a doubt, the finest album of 2007, if not the new millennium. And a recording that stands firmly alongside Radiohead’s best.
One of the primary reasons for this is the departure In Rainbows takes from previous releases—a radical shift the likes of which hasn’t been heard since the electronica-inspired left turn of 2000’s Kid A. Since that time, Radiohead has generally held course, straddling the line between nervy techno and dystopian electro-rock. And to listen only to the first couple of tracks on In Rainbows might suggest more of the same, with the agitated drum machine and trademark sweet/snarling Thom Yorke vocals of “15 Step,” and the grungy angst-rock of “Bodysnatchers.” While both are enjoyable in their own right, they bely the deeper and more unexpected pleasures to follow.
It truly begins with the third track, “Nude,” which emerges faint and fragile, then gradually grows in yearning intensity before, all at once, vanishing into memory. It’s a terrifically relaxed composition, a slow waltz comprising gently strummed guitars, light drums and bass and a tender delivery from Yorke. What a revelation to hear Radiohead sounding so pure, unadorned and heartfelt—so much so that one can forgive its bordering-on-saccharine final bars.
The song that follows, “Weird Fishes/Arpeggi” is similarly pure, pairing a bewitching vocal melody with circular guitar patterns and a skittish beat, before dissolving into a big watercolor smear. This leads into “All I Need,” which starts with a spare blend of ominous electronics, drums and voice, and builds to an almost unbearably cathartic burst of piano and orchestra. Next up is “Faust Arp,” a trio of acoustic guitar, strings and vocals vaguely reminiscent of The Beatles’ “Blackbird,” dripping with a lovely, pastoral beauty—yet with a distinct hint of menace that could come from no one else but Radiohead. And the stripped-down brilliance continues all the way through the album’s gorgeously mournful closer, “Videotape.”
So what makes the minimalist sound of In Rainbows so satisfying? Perhaps it’s the fact that it so effectively peels back the ever-denser clouds of electronic augmentation that have been gathering around Radiohead for years (witness their previous release, Hail to the Thief, and Yorke’s recent solo outing The Eraser). But more than that, it’s proof that the members of Radiohead are, above all, brilliant songwriters and performers, with the ability to capture a wide spectrum of human emotion—and not just the unease with which they are so famously associated.
Above all, with In Rainbows, Radiohead demonstrates that, even in this age of MP3 singles and iTunes playlists, there is still nothing so powerful and affecting as a superbly crafted album. If ever there was a recording that deserved to be listened to from start to finish, this is it.
#2
Caribou
Andorra
With hard drives having long ago replaced analog tape and point-and-click having superseded power chords as the driving force behind rock music, it’s no wonder that a growing legion of musicians are looking back to the halcyon days of the late 60s and early 70s for inspiration.
So the fact that the music of Caribou (the moniker of Canadian songwriter and performer Dan Snaith) bears a striking resemblance to that of such period luminaries as Syd Barrett, Brian Wilson and Sergeant Pepper-era Beatles doesn’t come as much of a surprise. What is surprising, though, is that he captures all the organic feel and human imperfections of that classic music alone, in a studio, mostly using computers. And that he creates such a distinctive, exuberant sound that is not so much a pastiche as a re-imagining.
On Andorra, Snaith has crafted a near-perfect psychedelic pop album, and with the very first track, “Melody Day,” you immediately sense his recipe for success: hook-laden melodies, breathy, beautifully harmonized, high-register vocals, countless layers of (possibly sampled) guitars, vintage keyboards, flutes and percussion, and—most importantly—live drums. This last aspect plays a huge role throughout the album, taking instrumentation that tends toward the lush and baroque and anchoring it with a supple and propulsive rhythmic drive. Nowhere is this more apparent than on standout track “Sandy,” with a groove that perches precariously between the steady snap of “Tomorrow Never Knows” and a hyperactive break-beat worthy of The Chemical Brothers.
And while Caribou milks plenty of stellar moments out of this consistent approach, it’s this very consistency that makes the few deviations from the formula on Andorra so effective. For example, “She’s the One,” which trades the up-tempo, four-square rhythms for a slow shuffle, or “Desiree,” which dispenses with drums altogether, and swells from wistful reflection to heart-on-your-sleeve pleading. But nothing illustrates Snaith’s range quite so effectively as the closing track on Andorra, the superb “Niobe,” with a slowly growing sense of urgency and impressively spare use of burbling electronics and throbbing synth bass lines.
Clearly, Snaith possesses a deep appreciation for and understanding of popular music traditions, both new and old. Which makes the fact that, on Andorra, he is able to synthesize all these disparate influences into an album that’s singular, life-affirming and thoroughly human an impressive accomplishment indeed.
#3
Black Moth Super Rainbow
Dandelion Gum
Most attempts to find points of reference for the sound of Pennsylvania collective Black Moth Super Rainbow have met with little success. One typical comparison is to Boards of Canada, but aside from some surface similarities (an affinity for warbly vintage keyboards and a vague sense of foreboding), there’s not really much in common. Air? Sure, they both use vocoder effects and the aforementioned old-school synths, but BMSR eschews that French duo’s sense of cool continental detachment in favor of something far more immediate and earthy.
In fact, Black Moth Super Rainbow’s sound is more a curious amalgam of late-60s folk-pop-psychedelia, infectiously hip-hoppy beats and electronic minimalism—all bathed in the sickly-sweet glow of childhood. Imagine drowsing off in a friend’s wood-paneled basement after one too many Pixy Stix while 1983-era PBS kids’ television shows play in the background.
That being said, it’s interesting to hear just how far the songwriting on their latest album, Dandelion Gum, has progressed from that of previous efforts, like the recently reissued Start a People and their phenomenally bizarre 2006 co-release with The Octopus Project, The House of Apples and Eyeballs. Whereas those records showcased a mastery of infectious grooves and jarring oddity, Black Moth Super Rainbow’s latest demonstrates far greater attention to texture and continuity. Furthermore, Dandelion Gum sounds a lot more alive than the previous albums, as though the band was jamming on stage rather than punching in to Pro Tools at someone’s bedroom studio.
And while band members Tobacco, Power Pill Fist, The Seven Fields of Aphelion, Father Hummingbird and Iffernaut (no joke) certainly cultivate a deep vibe on Dandelion Gum, they have also crafted songs that stand on their own merits. For instance, the delightful “Sun Lips” builds around head-bobbing drums, seedy-sounding vocoder vocals and a Mellotron flute chord progression straight out of “Strawberry Fields Forever.” Meanwhile, the instrumental “Drippy Eye” is a textbook example of tension and release, moving between a spare, ominous groove and a full-on analog synth onslaught. But what’s most unexpected is the lo-fi acoustic guitar on tracks like “Neon Syrup for the Cemetery Sisters,” which adds a spectral, woodsy backbone to their otherwise electronic sound.
For all of these reasons, Dandelion Gum stands as a truly breakthrough recording for Black Moth Super Rainbow—proving that they deserve a place alongside The Flaming Lips and Animal Collective as flag-bearers of a masterful and quintessentially American brand of musical weirdness.
#4
Deerhoof
Friend Opportunity
The San Francisco Bay area has long been a haven for free thinkers, unconventional artists and out-there musicians of every stripe. So the fact that the Golden Gate City is home to Deerhoof, a group with art rock chops, post-punk attitude and a female lead singer with a heavy Japanese accent, shouldn’t come as much of a surprise. What is surprising, however, is how incredibly well the group balances their affinity for complex textures, singsong melodies and flat-out zaniness.
And while, with Friend Opportunity, Deerhoof has officially become a trio, you wouldn’t know it from their richly layered sound. Much of the credit has to go to drummer/keyboardist Greg Saunier, who unleashes an impressive battery of percussion on nearly every track. Saunier cultivates a smirkingly off-kilter sense of rhythm, with drum fills that seem on the verge of collapse, and yet somehow find their way back without missing a beat. Still, the most distinctive element of Deerhoof’s sound has to be vocalist/bassist Satomi Matsuzaki, with a voice that’s impossibly sweet, totally unaffected and unmistakably Japanese in its inflection.
Deerhoof has made effective use of this unusual combination on Friend Opportunity, concocting a sound so distinct that it’s difficult to draw direct comparisons. At times, like on the standout track “+81” they sound peppy and bubbly, like an Elephant 6 group fronted by Yoko Ono. At other times, as on the Saunier-sung “Cast Off Crown,” they recall the unusual chord changes and meandering vocal melodies of classic Canterbury groups like National Health and The Soft Machine. Then there’s the unsettling, nearly 12-minute-long “Look Away” which brings to mind the 70s Rock-in-Opposition sound of Henry Cow. Finally, on the beautiful “Matchbook Seeks Maniac” and “Whither the Invisible Birds?” they conjure up an ethereal symphonic rock sound that wouldn’t seem out of place on a Flaming Lips record.
This might all sound like a schizophrenic, hard-to-digest mess, but miraculously, Deerhoof not only manage to make it all hang together—they even make it reasonably accessible. As a result, Friend Opportunity is like a box of sugary bonbons with a dark, dense center hidden within: easy to get into, but yielding increasingly sophisticated riches the deeper you go. In other words, one of the most addictively arty pop/rock albums in recent memory.
#5
Modest Mouse
We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank
Modest Mouse has spent well over a decade refining a sound built on extreme contrasts. On the one hand, you have the raw, redneck-gone-punk intensity of front-man Isaac Brock, with a voice that veers between a David Byrne warble, an early-XTC Andy Partridge bark and a wild growl reminiscent of Tom Waits or Captain Beefheart. But take this rusty-barbed-wire vocal style and lash it to music that, while sneering and herky-jerky, still has a certain approachable post-punk danciness to it and even, at times, a sense of tender contemplation.
This is the conflicted stew that led to Modest Mouse’s 2004 commercial breakthrough, Good News for People Who Love Bad News. And three years later, they’ve followed with an album that preserves all the things that made their last so fascinating and likable, but with an even more assured and muscular sound.
The success of We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank is thanks, in part, to the unlikely addition of Smiths guitarist Johnny Marr, who provides a subtle but effective complement to Brock’s own fretwork. Another factor is the guest backing vocals of Shins singer James Mercer, whose clean, pure style elevates tracks like “Florida” and, most impressively, “We’ve Got Everything,” to powerful and memorable heights.
But for all that is new, the trademark Modest Mouse sound has largely remained intact. In particular, “Dashboard” plays like a pumped-up, more lushly-orchestrated sequel to their last album’s hit single, “Float On,” while “Education” recalls the alternating tortured vocal lines and blaring guitar responses of “Bury Me with It.” Similarly, the disco-tinged, angtsy funk of “Fly Trapped in a Jar” brings “The View” to mind.
And while We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank may play like a direct sequel to or reinterpretation of Good News for People Who Love Bad News, that’s not a bad thing. In many ways, this latest offering actually improves on its predecessor—an impressive accomplishment, to be sure. So while it may be modest (no pun intended) in its exploration of new musical ground, this is quite simply a terrific release that stands as one the best of the group’s career.
