St Vincent - Strange Mercy

St Vincent, aka Annie Clark, has returned to us with an overdriven battalion of twitching guitars, leading the charge from the front with her haunting vocal dives and unpredictable lyrics.  Strange Mercy plays on the gaps between retro ambiance and guitar crunch, the synergy of the catchy and the complex, the meeting of vintage jazz style and modern electronica and the contrast of playfulness and sincerity.  It’s an album that is worth spending time on because it just might surprise you.

The Weeknd - House of Balloons Review

So this is music to seduce with. This is pulsating and palm-moistening. This is atmospheric R&B that revels in the nocturnal. An assured depiction of those infernal, uncontrollable city nights that wells with a smoothly calculated sensuality, leaking into the room as you listen. The vocals are suave and sexy, writhing playfully and the instrumentation is laced with a reverb that gives the synths, samples and drums a languishingly dark tone - the songs moan into life, swaying like the tide at twilight, and you can almost feel yourself swaying too.

          This gloomy, drug-fuelled, hedonistic undertone certainly suited what, at the time of release, many people had called a mysterious band. The Weeknd, with their painfully absent ‘e’, are now known as singer Abel Tesfaye and producers Doc McKinney and Illangelo. It’s true that, perhaps, to begin with, mystery added to the appeal of House of Balloons, but we shouldn’t lose interest just because they’ve been unmasked. This music stands up for itself.
          The songs are hook-laden and vocal-heavy, but there’s no saccharine poppy infectiousness to be found. It’s the tone - the ambience - of these tracks that captures you and makes House of Balloons more than your average album (let alone any free mixtape). The overblown Tesfaye vocals soar, rising and falling, elongating and quivering over the simpler backing vocals, the production never leaves the instrumentation anything other than smooth and seductive, and, in terms of tempo, the songs rarely breach the borders of relaxed. The unashamedly x-rated lyrical content may be off-putting for some, but it is an integral part of The Weeknd’s package - along with the Beach House sampling, and the introduction of that now oh-so-familiar bass wobble.
          The atmosphere created, pregnant with ideas and possibilities - with its disregard of consequences, with its self-loathing self-indulgence - is almost impressive enough to distract you from the main weakness of the album - the lyrics. But not quite. The lyrical content, unfortunately, is often clumsy: “In that two floor loft in the middle of the city / after rolling through the city”, or falls into cliché: “get you dancing with the devil” and this can be very frustrating. Especially when some songs, such as ‘The Morning’, paint such vivid pictures of the nocturnal lifestyle: “Got the walls kickin’ like they six months pregnant / Drinkin’ Alize with our cereal for breakfast” and songs like ‘House of Balloons/ Glass Table Girls’ are, instrumentally, so perfectly poised - switching seamlessly between two contrasting halves and making perfect use of Siouxsie and the Banshees’ ‘Happy House‘. Especially when songs like ‘Wicked Games’ bring a new dimension of martyrdom and remorse to classic urban egotistical lyricism.
          I don’t believe that The Weeknd necessarily want to openly pinpoint the self-loathing inherent in the lifestyle they are depicting, however when Tesfaye sings: “I left my girl back home / I don’t love her no more” there is definitely an underlying sense of shame. They may not be trying too hard to broaden the scope of their R&B - sex, drugs and money still reign - but as you listen you can sense that self-destruction inherent in every lyric and every beat. It reminds you to be wary, sure, but the night has never sounded so alluring.

The Antlers - Burst Apart

Imagine that your long-term lover has just broken up with you - that it was messy and painful (and probably via Facebook) and that you’re ‘Help me I’m drowning in a sea of Petrarchan love sonnets’ heartbroken.  Now imagine that, the poetry failing to quell that aching in your chest, you decide to drown your sorrows in that old companion of yours - the friendly bottle of Baileys.  Of course, kids, drowning sorrows in alcohol never works and, having lost all control of that lovesickness due to the wanton consumption of the now not-so-appealing liquor (as well as heading towards the well-explored realms of alcohol-induced sickness) you decide to watch a film to cheer you up.  You choose Bambi.  Of course, Disney will cheer me up, you say to yourself, this will make me feel much better - this is a children’s film, it’s meant to be blissful and euphoric.  You sing along to ‘Drip drip drop little April showers’, slurring the lyrics and straining pitifully to reach the high notes, and then disaster strikes.  The winter.  Bambi’s mother is shot by a hunter.  You’re distraught.  You can’t understand why anyone would do that.  You’re almost in tears when that gammy VCR you were using conks out and the film stops.  It pushes you into fully-fledged weeping.  You’ll never know what happens to Bambi without his mother - he’s alone just like you.  You cry yourself into a sleep in which you are assailed by grim hunters with loud, angry guns…
          Ok, so maybe I got carried away with the overly long, ridiculously contrived metaphor, but that was the only way I could get you to understand the sheer power of Hospice.  Yes, I realise I’m supposed to be reviewing Burst Apart, but the previous release is of great significance when we’re assessing The Antlers’ fourth album. The coma-inducing heartbreak that defined Hospice stemmed from the story that Silberman wove so delicately into the lyrics - and this is where the problem of progression lay for The Antlers .  Hospice was a concept-album so perfectly moulded by its writer that once the story was exhausted, he was always going to struggle in ever matching its searing brilliance.  But clearly The Antlers aren’t a band that shy away from a challenge - they opened the song writing responsibilities up to the entire band and didn’t even try to make an album that could be compared to the debut.  Burst Apart is a new album.  It’s not the follow up to Hospice.  It’s not a continuation of Hospice.   It is Burst Apart - en entirely separate entity, where we see The Antlers growing into a new band free from the defining brush strokes that Hospice swept across their image.
          Before you start to panic, though, we are still graced with the operatic beauty of Silberman’s falsetto - the defining sound of The Antlers.  It soars in opener I Don’t Want Love, both delicate and cutting as he croons ‘You wanna climb up the stairs, I wanna push you back down’.  However, in terms of sound, they have progressed quite considerably.  There is less of the apathetic urgency that we heard in Hospice and the instrumentation is more ambient - a variety of echo-laden synths swelling in the tracks.  The album, in this sense, feels far less burdened with the need to tell a story - the whole band knows that there is no need for the songs to follow on or to fit, and so they seem far more relaxed in their composition.  There is no Sylvia in this record, crashing through the album in a deluge of unclean energy - neither the vocals nor the instrumentation ever seem stretched.  Yet, even though this album doesn’t have some of that raw energy, it is less of a ‘depressing’ (for want of a better word) album.
          This may well be due to the lyrical content of Burst Apart.  The lyrics are more abstract, and though each song tells its own story they are not defined by that story.  These lyrics don’t force the listener into understanding any pattern behind the album - you can comfortably project your own ideas onto the songs of Burst Apart.  Something that was restricted significantly by the debut’s back-story.  However the lyrics aren’t as good as Hospice’s.  It’s understandable really, as it’s generally easier to develop lyrics around a series of events and ideas that make up a sequence.  While the lyrics of Burst Apart are by no means poor, they lack the devoted attention to detail that made Hospice one of the greatest albums, lyrically, that I’ve ever heard.  I suppose, though, you can’t blame them.  After being trapped with the narrative lyricism of Hospice it must have been a joy for the band to try out some more experimental, simpler and more figurative angles.
          Album opener I Don’t Want Love is based around a plain concept, yet retains some quite earnestly evocative lyrics and is propelled by the simple instrumentation and the contrast between falsetto-fettered verses and lower choruses.  Hounds builds slowly into a cascading waterfall of echoing sounds, washing over your body as you listen, and Putting The Dog To Sleep’s conceit is a metaphor as shallow as the Abercrombie and Fitch employment team, yet it still retains emotional credibility thanks to the perfect punctuation of the drumming, and Silberman’s once again magnificent vocals.  Burst Apart is the kind of album that you put on your mp3 player when you’re out on a midnight walk and you need something to keep you company.  It is warming in its melodies, and soothing in its vocals.  Though the lyrics might not be as substantial and the emotion not so bared, it is another brilliant album.  They didn’t try and make another Hospice - instead The Antlers produced the lilting, lonesome, nightcap-lullabies of Burst Apart. 

Braids - Native Speaker Review

There are two types of songs on Native Speaker, Canadian quartet Braids’ debut album.  Both types manage to shimmer, delicate in their retina-searing brilliance, and yet, there is a marked difference between the two.
          This difference is a peculiarity in itself.  It’s a difference that you don’t usually find within a selection of songs meant to be sold together.  It’s not shallow - say, just in the style of vocals or the instruments used - and it’s not even in the song-writing or the layering of sounds or the tone of the songs. 
          What separates Braids’ 'great' songs from their 'good' is their unsuppressed - and, arguably, unsurpassed - sexuality.  Seriously.  This is no joke.  Braids bring a whole new meaning to the term ‘aural stimulation’.  
          In fact, at moments, their music is so awash in a tide of sensuality - so fulsome and flirtatious - that it's near impossible to keep your cool as you listen.
          This, at first, seems just like a difference in the composition and tone of the music, but the smouldering atmosphere that Braids create on these tracks is mesmerising.  The raw tension that builds in these songs - in Native Speaker and Lammicken- seems to flood the remainder of the album in latent sexuality.  It’s these songs, humming with desire, that create a foundation for the rest of the album to be built upon.
          This sexuality, however, is not that NIN 'Closer' sexuality we are all so… fond of.  I can assure you there's no 'I want to fuck you like an animal' here.  
          Well ok - so there may be a hint of 'I wanna feel you from the inside' but Braids’ style of music is somewhat more refined than NIN.  Though you may catch Raphaelle Standell-Preston singing 'Have you fucked all the stray kids yet?' or 'Of having you inside me', she lives up her name - her voice soaring with the purity of an angel both in tone and innocence.  Even when unashamedly exploring sex, the band maintains what is almost a pure promiscuity (a saintly smuttiness, perhaps?).  
          What I'm trying to say is that there is nothing dirty about Braids music (though I can't vouch for Braids themselves) and you just can't help but feel that the tone of the album comes not from sexual debauchery, but from their total honesty in handling emotions and desires.
          On a more basic level, though, Braids' sound is all about rolling, tidal, undulation - whether in obvious vocal and instrumental patterns or in the slow climax and anti-climax of their song structures - and they use soft, subterranean instrumentation to produce the hazy twilight of desirous tones that perpetuates their music.  Though some songs are more upbeat and self-propelling, you can always feel that undercurrent of motion - the rhythmic, rapturous progression of their love.
          Don’t get me wrong - the entire album isn't just one sexual fantasy.  I don’t even want to get into the difficulties of sexualising Same Mum.  But, regardless, there is a perceivably amorous atmosphere.  I might be coming across as some kind of hormonal teenage boy right about now, but before you judge me listen to the album.  Just listen.
          Lammicken is bone-tingling; passionately moaning into life; shuddering with inevitability as the song’s single lyric 'I can't stop it.' is transformed - Preston playfully experimenting with her heady vocals.  This stuff is porn for your damn ears - building slowly and subtly into a shrieking climax, then subsiding, leaving you, emotionally spent, to reflect upon its ecstasy.
          The title track, Native Speaker, is also titillating in every way - from its lurching, velvet backing, to its sensual lyrics - and once again the vocals writhe with delight.  When Raphaelle croons ‘But my my my my my... it feels good.’ it’s as if she is pouring her sweat-inducing fantasies into your eager ears and you‘re trapped - unable to do anything but lap up her rapturous secrets with the insatiable appetite of an illicit lover.  

Fleet Foxes - Helplessness Blues Review

Confronting head-on the onset of second-album syndrome, the critically acclaimed Seattle sextet have returned to once again woo us with their luscious vocal harmonies, gentle guitar and lyrical eloquence.  Helplessness Blues is unquestionably a Fleet Foxes album - their base sound has changed only in the use of more layered instrumentation - however it develops the simplistic joy of their debut into something marvellous - a mature, multifaceted ecstasy that unstoppably wells up inside you as you listen.  The title track and debut single is a simplistic celebration of ’serving something beyond me’ and is compellingly, unashamedly earnest in its values.  Grown Ocean is a self-propelling four-and-a-half minutes of euphoria, Pecknold’s voice rising purer than ever over the background layers.   ‘I’ll be so happy just to have spoken’ he sings, and it is this which defines the album - the record seems to hum with the band’s happiness; their joy seems to permeate every song.  Even when the lyrics are pensive, sad or self-depreciating the tone remains upbeat.    It’s this kind of music that stays with you for life.

Cocoon - Where The Oceans End

The video for Comet, the first single off Cocoon’s UK debut Where The Oceans End, contains what is essentially a white, fluffy, flying, clockwork whale.  Uh huh.  Yep.  A whale.  A white and fluffy whale.  Stuff of fairytales, huh?  Well that, it seems, is the point.  Oceans End is a concept album based around the idea of a whale joining the band, with each song designed to be representative of another part of their journey.  This may sound slightly baffling but, of course, I’m not here to judge the band’s (admittedly bizarre) creative sources - only the resulting production.
               The thing is, though, that the band’s source of inspiration is rife in their music.  Oceans End, I should warn you, is an unapologetically youthful record - with song titles like Mother, Yum Yum, In My Boat, Baby Seal and Baby Tiger it would be obvious even to that rare creature, the deaf music aficionado, that Cocoon are perfectly satisfied with their innocently juvenile approach to making music.
               Don’t, however, let this put you off of listening to the record.  Oceans End is a beautiful album, perfectly poised around the harmony between Daumail and Imbeau’s delicate vocals.  The guitar and piano intertwine effortlessly, presenting us with an uplifting progression of fairytale fanfare.  There is a subtle counterpoint between the merrily rollicking tunes like Dee Doo and Dolphins, and the softer, pensive likes of In My Boat and Cathedral.  However, there is undoubtedly a consistently magical atmosphere pervading every song - it’s crafted by the slight accent of the singers, the effortless harmony, the gentle chime of piano and the patter of the drums.  This is an album of mysticism and momentum - a monumental journey has been recorded in these fourteen songs, and there is something wonderful about listening with that knowledge in your mind.
               Music, if anything, is a fine example of an art where juvenile productions are slated without reservation - immaturity seems to be considered synonymous with lack of sophistication - and there is an inherent snobbishness with which critics address albums that exhibit any sign of even reminiscently childish tendencies.  Maybe, though, it’s time to leave such preconceptions behind when you listen to Cocoon.  Some may argue with me, and maybe Where The Oceans End is fantastical, ecstatic and emphatic.  Maybe it is childish and chimerical.  But I can tell you the child in you will love it.

Album Review: Smoke Ring For My Halo - Kurt Vile

Even us mixed-race music geeks love a bit of skinny, white indie trash - and it doesn't get much more skinny and white than Kurt Vile.  Just seeing him hunched over his guitar with his fingerless gloves and long, face-obscuring hair is enough to misguide the inattentive listener.  Don't get me wrong, though, I wouldn't chuck Kurt into the 'trash' category - in fact, Smoke Ring For My Halo is the best album I've heard this year.

Vile, who was guitarist for indie rockers The War on Drugs, has been producing solo music since 2008, but Smoke Ring has seen him shoot into the limelight with unusual velocity.  Receiving an 8.4 and the coveted 'Best New Music' label from Pitchfork, as well as (almost) entirely unanimous positive reviews elsewhere can't have hindered his rise, but it's more than that.  Smoke Ring has a depth of character that far surpasses any album I have heard in recent times - Vile creates and inhabits a new persona for each song, adding emotional credibility to his American drawl.

In Baby's Arms he is a naive, love-forsaken soul trying to convince himself he'll 'never ever be alone'; in Peeping Tomboy, Vile sculpts his character contrarily: 'I don't want to change, but I don't want to stay the same.', 'Now I want to go but it's a one way street with me.'.  What links all his characters is an underlying sense of innocence and inexperience - Vile's music is undoubtedly endearing and heartfelt.  The pinnacle of his songcraft is On Tour, a green-fuelled haze of guitar and vocals.  Vile sings out 'I got it made... most of the time.' not with anguish or joy, but with deadpan accuracy.  What makes the song so effective is that the rise and fall of the melody matches with the lyrical content.

This is not an album that you listen to when you want to wallow in your despair.  It's not an album you listen to when you need a pick-me-up.  It's an album you listen to in carefree admiration - an album you devote attention to.  It's an album that will no doubt be a stoner favourite, but it's also an album that everyone (including Pitchfork) has seriously underrated.

Check out Vile on Pitchfork TV here.

Ghost Town isn't mentioned in the review but is another stand-out track from the album:

Kurt Vile - Ghost Town by maybemayest

A Portrait of the Audiophile as a Young Man

An ironic exploration of the character of a modern day internet music-geek.

I’m unique because I’m not afraid to speak out, because I’m different from the crowd and maybe just a little proud, because I’m not another one of those sheep following each other around, because I find clichés make me doubt my sanity, because I’ve let go of my vanity, because I judge you by your music taste and never waste a second of my life, I go online with music on my mind.  Because I visit Pitchfork, YouTube, Last Fm, Hipster Runoff, /mu/, Hype Machine and Gorilla vs. Bear, I’m unique because I am an alt-dude, backpacker, bro, emo in all but hair, hipster, indie-kid, metalhead, music-geek, skater and stoner all in one, because my band is called Mavericks and I play guitar and piano and ukelele and drums and I sing and write music and produce dubstep all just for fun.  I am cultured, classy and intellectual.  I am rarely ineffectual.

I am an art critic, music critic and literary critic but not a self-critic, a nameless judge, an anonymous jury neither of whom are sympathetic, I listen to rapegaze, shoegaze, chillwave, witch house, dubstep, deathstep, hip hop, trip hop, math rock, noise pop, stadium rock, sadcore, slowcore and probably some more, I listen to lo-fi and hi-fis, I like vinyl and CDs more than mp3s, I hold obscurity over quality and fantasy over reality, I am unique and my tastes are indefinable, I am unlike anyone you’ve met or ever will meet - unreadable, unprecedented, unparalleled, unmatched and unique.

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Subject:  URGENT: PLEASE READ IMMEDIATELY FOR YOUR OWN BENEFIT
From: oneofakind@hotmail.org
To: tylergrishamphotography@pitchfork.org

Hey Tyler

I’ve got some great photos to submit to you from a gig I went to a couple of weeks ago that you should definitely feature on Pitchfork.  This band that were playing are the biggest thing in my neighbourhood’s music scene and they create a really unique sound even when they play live.  The band playing was my band, actually,  We’re called Mavericks - mainly because were so trailblazing - and we’re an avant-garde, experimental dub-folk (a mixture of dubstep and folk) band and we play our instruments using only paperclips and teeth (admittedly, we recently branched out into using tongues too).  I’ve attached a link to our myspace, so check it out.

All this music talk has actually reminded me that the other day I wrote some great album reviews.  At the time I thought to myself, ‘You know what?  Pitchfork should see this writing, because it is damn fine.’ but I’d forgotten until now.  I don’t want you guys to miss out on the chance of grabbing a great up and coming writer, you know?  I realise that you usually take photos and nothing else, but you can pass them on to the editor.  I’ve attached two of the reviews - try not to be intimidated by the complex vocabulary, I can always dumb it down if you’d prefer.
Cheers Tyler, I’m sure I’ll be hearing a lot more from you guys in the next week.

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As for you, well, you’re a lost cause.  I saw that song you covered, I don’t know why I bothered.  Your guitar playing is average at best and your vocals should come from the chest, but you’re voice isn’t good enough for you to ever make it.  Of course, if you told me that I wouldn’t take it, but I‘m telling you so accept it.  I don’t mean to be rude - well, ok maybe I do - but you’re certainly not gifted, nor even talented.  Your fingers are too far off the frets of the guitar when you’re playing, you’re actually paying for music, I liked your favourite band before they were famous, I didn‘t just join the bandwagon, I have a higher musical IQ than you, my taste is much more shrewd, if you argued with me you wouldn’t have a clue, in real life I’d never go near you.  Unless you’re female.  In which case, can I have your number?

Anyway…

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Subject: URGENT: LACK OF RESPONSE
From: oneofakind@hotmail.org
To: tylergrishamphotography@pitchfork.org

Tyler

You haven’t responded to me yet and it’s been almost a day.  I realise that you have a website to run and I’m sure you’re very busy taking photos and tinkering with cameras, but I do expect better treatment from you.

My good friend, I’m not a fan of ultimatums at all, but if you can’t give me the time I deserve then I will have to move my offer on to a different (rival) company who will undoubtedly snatch me up.  I will give you a few more hours to come back to me, and if you don’t then Pitchfork will be punished most severely by your sedentary ways.  Remember, Tyler, you don’t want to end up like one of those twelve publishers that rejected J K Rowling.

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I hate what some people will say and do to be ‘cool’. I hate people who like Blink 182 and confuse My Bloody Valentine and Bullet for my Valentine, I hate Tool because Pitchfork says I should, I hate anyone who comes ’from the hood’, I hate anyone who likes Lady Gaga, JLS or Westlife, I hate social stereotypes, I hate people who listen to that show with Zane Lowe, I hate people who get music from Pitchfork, I hate hipsters trying to be hipper by asking other hipsters what’s hip enough, I hate music that’s in any chart, I hate anyone claiming music isn’t art, I hate music that is critically acclaimed, I hate your music, I hate songs about love, I hate sad songs and bad songs and ballads, I hate rap about money and bitches.  I love money and bitches, I love Zoey Deschanel, Hayley Williams, Amber Coffman and Victoria Legrand, I love the radio and Radiohead and Portishead and Pendulum and Delirium and Deerhunter, I love Animal Collective and Alexisonfire and Arcade Fire and Athlete, I love anonymity and profanity and individuality and insanity and obscenity.

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Subject: URGENT: MAKE YOUR REPARATIONS OR SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES
From: oneofakind@hotmail.org
To: tylergrishamphotography@pitchfork.org

I admit I haven’t given you your full quota of a few more hours, Tyler, but I seriously expected you to reply immediately.  It has been forty-five minutes since I last emailed and you still haven’t replied.  I’m moving on to Rolling Stone now, so remember you have only yourselves to blame for this terrible mistake.  You may have a chance of stealing me from Rolling Stone’s clutches (because, I admit, I prefer you) if you reply swiftly and humbly make up for your distinct lack of respect.  If not, Tyler, I’ll see you on the battlefield of music criticism.

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I lie about my musical talent, I boast about how powerful my subwoofer is, the only French I know is ‘avant garde’, the only German I know is ‘schadenfreude‘, the only Italian I know is ’café latte’, I rarely find people that get me because my emotions are so intense, sometimes I feel so alone, but I know I’m not to blame because no-one understands my pain, I fight with my parents because they always complain and always take my sister‘s side, I swear they stifle my individuality - I’ll probably need therapy when I’m older.

I go on to Pitchfork every day to see what they have to say and agree with it no matter what, I wait for their album ratings and I listen to whatever they tell me to and I only look at the score and I never read the review and I buy all the albums that get over 8.2.  When I’m on Pitchfork my favourite band is Animal Collective, on /mu/ it’s Caribou, on Hipster Runoff it’s Salem, on Last FM it’s Delorean, on Hype Machine it’s Seasick Steve, on Gorilla vs. Bear it’s Bon Iver, on YouTube it’s Erykah Badu and when I’m at home on my own it’s the Monotones.  When I’m online my girlfriend is beautiful and blonde and Swedish but when I’m at home she’s English and brunette and non-existent.  When I’m online I make myself heard and I  voice my opinion on the state of modern society - on teenage girls, on pop music, on piety, on religion.  On capitalism, on altruism and the democratic system.  You should know what I mean, although you might not see past the propaganda and lies - you with your willingly blindfolded eyes.

Thirty Days of Music Day 30 - Your Favourite Song This Time Last Year

I was a latecomer to the Fleet Foxes bandwagon, but I'm still riding it today.  Their first album was a serious contender for my favourite album of all time - it is one of the most consistently brilliant albums I have ever heard and it pretty much defined the boundaries of indie-folk.  Blue Ridge Mountains is my favourite song of theirs.

Starting off with the characteristic Foxes harmonies, it soon moves onto guitar and wonderfully crafted melody.  Pecknold's vocals are, as usual, understated and upright - the song exploring family relationships and the imagery of nature.  It is at 2:03 when the song hits top gear - breaking into a faster tempo and unleashing the soaring vocals that make the song.  'In the quivering forest/ Where the shivering dog rests' is belted out with great heart.

You need to get their album if you haven't yet.  Because, although this song was my favourite this time last year, it's still right up there on my list this year.

Thirty Days of Music Day 29 - A Song From Your Childhood

Ten years ago it would not have a been a rare sight to see me in back room with my mini toy guitar rocking out to Born in the USA.  Having always had great taste in music...ahem... I was a big Springsteen fan when I was younger - mainly due to my parents' influences.  Born is the kind of song that you can go properly crazy to - a song for the air guitarists among us.

Nowadays it's not my favourite song by Bruce - in fact, I don't even like it that much - but it's still a classic both in my eyes and in terms of recent musical history.  If you want to try out some Springsteen, check out Magic for a really great, polished rock album. 

Thirty Days of Music Day 28 - A Song That Makes You Feel Guilty

Justin Timberlake is most certainly a guilty pleasure of mine, and I really love What Goes Around.  It's probably the best song that he has ever made - the heartfelt retaliation of a spurned lover that actually tells a great story.  When combined with the video - which features Scarlett Johansson - the narrative is really effective and quite moving in an odd way.  The video is extremely polished and the modern-Venetian stylisation is beautiful.

I don't really need to describe the song for you, because I'm sure you all know it well.  It's a guilty pleasure because Timberlake has made some absolutely terrible songs as well as some classics, but I still have great respect for the guy because, unlike a large amount of modern popstars, he is actually a very talented multi-instrumentalist.

Thirty Days of Music Day 27 - A Song You WIsh You Could Play

In 2000 American Beauty won 5 Academy Awards , including Best Picture, Best Director and Best Actor but it was the soundtrack that really stood out for me - specifically the Original Score composed by Thomas Newman.  Any Other Name is quite possibly one of the most easily recognisable and iconic pieces to be produced for a film.  It has been copied and recycled repeatedly over the last ten years, and there's rarely a good drama without a similar piece of music.

It's so perfect because it lays a perfectly melancholy emotional base for the scene going on on top of it - the piano is gentle and unobtrusive but at the same time beautifully sad and emotional.  This is the kind of music that I'd love to be able to play - it can hold your attention for hours, demanding all your focus, or it can remain quiet, unnoticed and elegant.

It's not about the difficulty or the technical skill required to play the song - that's not important - it's all about what the song itself offers to the listener, and the beauty of the composition.

Thirty Days of Music Day 26 - A Song That You Can Play On An Instrument

Laura Marling's second album, released in January last year, was a costume drama-reminiscent meditation on women's responsibilities, love and loss.  Receiving great critical acclaim across the board, it also reached number three on my list of the top albums of 2010. 

Blackberry Stone, the fourth track off I Speak Because I Can, was the first song that Emma and I did a cover of.  The guitar is rolling, trickling and gentle but maintains a steady tempo and the melody is beautiful, Marling repeating some beautiful lyrics: 'But I couldn't turn my back on the world for what I like wouldn't let me.'.

When we did our cover - me on guitar and Emma singing - I think that we really captured the kind of atmosphere that Marling wrote into the song.  Our recording equipment  wasn't great but when you have such a great song to work with anyway, it's hard to go too wrong.  Hopefully we didn't go too wrong. 

Thiry Days of Music Day 25 - A Song That Makes You Laugh

Ben Folds is clearly a witty guy with lots to say - Army demonstrates this in full effect - and he deserves great respect for the style of his lyricism and songwriting.  He's been in the music industry for about 15 years in various forms and Army, released in 1999, is from his spell in Ben Folds Five.

The melody is catchy and upbeat and, although somewhat whiny, Folds' vocals suit the style of song he is singing.  The instrumentation is similarly upbeat, and varied - employing his classic jazz piano style and horns for the bridge.  However, the lyrics are what the song is all about.  Almost entirely biographical, the song recounts Folds' college breakdown and attempt at joining the army.  Even the line: 'Dad said "Son, you're fucking high"' is historically accurate.

This lyrical mastery, along with the piano, is Folds' calling card and Army is the perfect example of this.  The lyrics are damn fine, and when sung they just get better and better:

well i thought about the army

dad said, son you're fucking high

and i thought, yeah there's a first for everything

so i took my old man's advice

three sad semesters

it was only fifteen grand spent in bed

i thought about the army

i dropped out and joined a band instead

grew a moustache and a mullet

got a job at chic-fil-a

citing artistic differences

the band broke up in may

and in june reformed without me

and they'd got a different name

i nuked another grandma's apple pie

and hung my head in shame

i've been thinking a lot today

i've been thinking a lot today

oh, i think i'll write a screenplay

oh, i think i'll take it to LA

oh, i think i'll get it done yesterday

in this time of introspection

on the eve of my election

i say to my reflection

god, please spare me more rejection

'cause my peers, they criticize me

and my ex-wives all despise me

try to put it all behind me

but my redneck past is nipping at my heels

i've been thinking a lot today

i've been thinking a lot today

i've been thinking a lot today

i thought about the army...



Thirty Days of Music Day 24 - A Song You Want To Play At Your Funeral

Coldplay tend to get a lot of stick compared to most bands and, although this is probably a natural reaction to the massive success they've had, it seems to be unwarranted and unnemcessary.  They are extremely gifted band and have produced a number of consistantly polished albums.

A Rush of Blood to the Head, probably the most highly acclaimed of their albums, is a collection of stunning songs and Amsterdam is one of the best.  It's a gentle, passionate tune based all around the interplay between Martin's vocals and piano-playing - and his heady falsetto combines beautifully with the sparse instrumentation.

It's music for a funeral because it's solemn and emotional but uplifting and positive.  Martin's lyrics are a similar mix of the positive and negative: 'And time is on your side, it's on your side now', 'oh my star is fading'.  This is the kind of music that can envoke mixed emotions with ease, and this is what makes it so perfectly poised.  Not many artists can so easily straddle the line between joy and sorrow.

Thirty Days of Music Day 23 - A Song You Want To Play At Your Wedding

Soul Meets Body is the kind of exploration of love, joy and purity that you would expect to be played at a wedding.  It would be one of the songs I would choose to dance to because it has got a reasonably quick tempo and an accessible beat, but it is also appropriate for the kind of occasion that a marriage is.

The whole song revolves around the unity of two people and the lyrics are touching and romantic:

I cannot guess what we'll discover

When we turn the dirt

With our palms cupped like shovels,
But I know our filthy hands

Can wash one another's
And not one speck will remain

 

The key to the lyrics are the survival of the two characters when they are together; they 'wash one another' and the the narrator describes his partner as 'A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere'.

Such Great Heights, another stunning love song written by Ben Gibbard, is also a perfect choice for a wedding song.  Although not as perfect to dance to as Soul Meets Body, it excels lyrically to an even greater extent than my first choice. 

I am thinking it's a sign

That the freckles in our eyes
Are mirror images and when we kiss

They're perfectly aligned

And I have to speculate

That God himself did make us

Into corresponding shapes

Like puzzle pieces from the clay

It's really such a stunning song both lyrically and melodically - it's clear that Gibbard knows exactly how to write a perfect love song and I haven't even talked about I Will Follow You Into the Dark.

Thirty Days Of Music Day 22 - A Song You Listen To When You're Sad

Bon Iver mesmerised us all when he released his 2008 debut album For Emma, Forever Ago.  The whole record is one heartfelt outpouring of emotion, and Vernon's log-cabin lamentation is absolutely stunning.

Re: Stacks is the best song on the album and sees Vernon at the height of his tearjerking beauty.  The guitar is simple and unobtrusive, putting all the emphasis on the vocals.  Vernon's delicate falsetto is pure and emotive, and the world-weary lyrics are a delight to the ears.  His lyrics are so evocative and the song plys you with images: 'pouring rain', 'black crow', 'wiry legs are crossed', 'the fountain in the front yard is rusted out'.  

When you are sad this is a song to wallow in.  It's not a song to cheer you up, or to make everything feel ok; it's not a song to show you the bright side of life or warm your heart or lift your spirits.  It's a song you listen to when you wan't to embrace sorrow; when you don't want to be cheered up and 7 minutes of sadness is all that you need.