Hey Listen World, I've Had Enough!

I thought that I would give up on my project, particularly because of the months I have taken off because I didn't (or sometimes couldn't) listen to any music. But as I was writing a statement explaining my decision to change it from a project to simply a wishlist of albums I will eventually listen to and cross off my list, I felt incredibly sad. Maybe I have a habit of starting more projects than I can finish, and I may not have the commitment to see many of those projects through, but the 365 project was one of the few things that I really looked forward to for the first quarter of the year. The last two months I have not even thought about music, but now that I finally find myself wanting to hear music again, I suddenly feel like it would be such a waste to give up now. I have five more months ahead of me, or more specifically, 188 albums to review in 176 days.

So, I might as well get started.

Nine Times That Same Song by Love is All

Insound

I started falling in love with music because of the freedom it gave me. My family is incredibly tight-knit; growing up, my mom tried to force my sister and I to be as close as conjoined twins. As a whole our family acts like a collection of reclusive people, so desperately alone that we cling to each other for dear life. I grew up sitting on an old orange couch, listening to old school hip hop and pop music from the 90s my sister liked on the radio. And that music simply never moved me.

I started listening to rock music by happenstance, and it was amazing the personal space bands like Smashing Pumpkins and Nirvana afforded me. For the next several years, music was an active assault on the limits of my life, and had a very physical presence in my rebellion against my parents. If I lied, had "attitude", or fought with them in any way, their immediate and swift punishment was to take my music privileges away. They believed that music would play only a small part in my life, a stage I'd eventually grow out of.

Unfortunately for my parents, the passion for music never really went away. When I turned to indie music in 2006, I immediately gravitated towards loud, forceful music that would drive my family away. I started listening to Love is All precisely for that reason: Josephine Olausson's half-shouting, Markus Görsh's driving drums, and even (sometimes especially) Fredrick Eriksson's frenetic saxophone. Between "Talk Talk Talk Talk" and "Trying Too Hard", Nine Times That Same Song is fast-paced, frustration-fused songs about love, watching too much television, aging, and trying too hard. For people like me that may or may not rely too heavily on lyrics to derive meanings, it may be frustrating to find that Love is All sometimes buries its lyrics through a fog of reverb and accented vocals (made worse when compounded by the fact that I can't even find lyrics online for half of the songs on the album).

After a while, that frustration with my parents and my lack of privacy eventually died away, and my music tastes became a bit more reasonable. I still seek space when listening to music, because I simply don't want to be accessible to people. A lot of bands have fallen by the wayside due to this shift, particularly Love is All. When I had finally realized I didn't need noise to build walls from the people that cared about me (my rotten disposition is good enough to accomplish that), I turned to twee and pop music. It took me a long time to find my way back to anything remotely "noisy", beginning with Animal Collective and burgeoning from there. It took a long time to find my way back to Love is All, which I needed yesterday morning to drown out the sound of my parents yelling.

I never really appreciated Nine Times That Same Song when I first listened to it, namely because I heard it for the sound. Of course, the sometimes angry-as-hornets sound is important in defining the album, as it expresses general frustration but also wound-up anticipation for life to get started. The album is, to a degree, rooted in real life events in the band members' lives, but it largely conveys sentiments: particularly, the album explores themes of love, apathy towards life vs. a hunger for something bigger, and generally trying too hard and still doing things that you realize probably weren't the best idea. There is an impressive presence of balance on the album, balancing frantic noise with melodies and pop hooks, as well as balancing all that energetic sound with lulls (just listen to the difference between "Spinning & Scratching" and "Turn the TV Off").

And luckily enough, if you happen to like Nine Times That Same Song, Love is All manages to keep from disappointing in A Hundred Things Keep Me Up At Night and Two Thousand And Ten Injuries (they kinda seem to have a thing for numbers, don't you think?).

have a heart, have a heart, have a heart

I store my life in the oddest of places. I kept my 9th grade in two cabinets at the bottom of the dresser in my room. 11th grade is directly on top of 8th, though it's mostly dust and ungifted scented candles. 10th grade I left behind in the corner classroom with my favorite teacher. 18 I think I left in the passenger seat of your car, along with my green plaid scarf and the camera you said was mine.


The day you called, I left that day on the Burke-Gilman trail at the University. I left last summer on the 520, spending so many hours stalled in traffic. I left the holiday season in Cafe Habits, where I worked for free because I thought you needed me (I left in a hurry when I realized you didn't). Freshman year is stretched between the Henry Art Gallery and McMahon.


The trouble is, I'm running out of places to go in this city. The reality is, I'll never go back to those days. The buildings of Bellevue and Seattle stand like the ruined temples of Chichen Itza. This is a city of dead memories and people I used to know. Let's just get out of the country.

please please please put me out

You make me tired of apologies. I'm tired of saying them, you're tired of hearing them. I'm tired of forgiving people who won't forgive me. I'm tired of keeping everyone at arm's length, of trying to convince everyone to keep their dead mouths from accosting me.


I look at everyone around me, and I wonder why we ever allowed each other to grow up. Why did I ever let you stop telling me stories, why did we start worrying about the shape of our bodies and the types of clothes we wore? Why did we ever allow ourselves to repeat our parents' mistakes?


If there was ever a place and a time when we could just stop, I'd peel away your scars like old bandages. We'd build a fort between our beds, we'd lay our legs under your mattress, we'd take the dollhouse out of the closet and invent stories again.


But we are grown up. And I am sorry for that.

Triangle Walks

I remembered you yesterday, in the backseat of the car as the 550 passed us by. I remembered there's still evidence of you, buried under the unfinished game of Battleship, which I took down from the closet for us to play. I remembered the letters I tossed out of the old wooden box, nondescript details of some nondescript day when you were still here. I remembered the perfectly curled downy feather from your uncle's funeral, the one that means goodbye (why were we always practicing how to say goodbye?).


I threw out the bottle of vanilla extract yesterday. The wheat flour is still in the cupboard, but it will be gone soon, too. The game of Battleship will eventually find its way back to the closet, the letters will disappear in some dark corner I won't bother trying to reach. The feather will just be a feather.


You might not answer my calls because you might not care anymore. I might still find myself saying "I hate you" with less and less conviction and more habit. I might forget your smile lines and the exact shade of your eyes. I might forget what your hair felt like, or the whiskers on your chin. I won't remember the crook of your elbow as it hit me across the chest that night I realized you'd rather go out of the country than stay by my side. The evidence will be gone, and this house will be buried, these bones will break, and in the end all I can think is, were you ever really here?

Friday I'm In Love

These are the days when I am supposed to smile. You take my hand and lead me out to the sun, you cup my chin and turn my eyes to the clouds. And these are the moments when I no longer can cry. These are the days when there is no dark, no corners, no covers. Bare legs, short sleeves, hair tied up.


I should try to climb that rock wall. I should try to take care of flowers like tender, thirsty children. This is when I should cup bumblebees in my hand, chase crane flies. I should be examining the asparagus patch, tasting the sweet tang of the strawberries and eying the blackberries.


Instead I am waiting for the guillotine to finally fall.

Setbacks

Yesterday I was perusing my music folder, when I realized all of my music after L has disappeared. Half of my music library has completely disappeared, and cannot be recovered. Which is unfortunate, considering the fact that I have finally gotten to the point where I want to listen to music again.


Anyways, the likelihood that I will be able to finish my project this year is extremely small.

Oh Raquel

Not to be kind of terrible, but last weekend I somehow got it into my head that it would be a wonderful idea to switch computers. So I disconnected everything and ended up lugging three computers all over the house. And then there were the million little technical hiccups (getting the wireless set up alone was an absolute horror). I'm still getting used to this new computer, but suffice it to say I am both parts pleased and frustrated with the outcome. And, as I still have to look through 23,000+ files under the folder titled "Music" (because seriously, that folder needs a little bit of organizing), I hesitate to even think about what that means for my 365 project.


But, if I go one more day without writing anything whatsoever, I will probably go insane. So, I have gratuitously replaced a hard to find album with something that I have been listening to lately. Call it cheating if you will, I call it an attempt to get back on the horse.

Has A Good Home by Final Fantasy

Insound

This may seem like an odd choice to anyone but me. Granted, Has A Good Home is pleasant and has its "moments", but of Pallett's three albums, this is undeniably his weakest. But I can't help my choice when this is the only good thing to happen to me musically since dancing to The Contours "Do You Love Me" over a week ago. In fact, many of the albums I enjoyed just a month ago I suddenly can't stand at all, so there really was no choice whatsoever.

Frustratingly enough, this album has generally been reduced simply to its quirks. The music in most reviews has been largely ignored or brushed aside, instead replaced with details about Owen Pallett and the making of the album. Because we all know that the defining characteristics of Has a Good Home has absolutely no basis on the music itself, which we will inattentively dismiss as "good, but not groundbreaking", but in the name-dropping of past projects Pallett was involved with.

If in an interview, Pallett describes himself as a misanthrope, or pointedly states "Musicians are humans", it's absolutely no wonder. Of course, background information may give some illumination towards understanding an album, but it shouldn't overshadow or define the album itself. Getting hung up on the concept of an album rather than hearing the music itself is just plain shameful.

As for the album itself, there are sixteen tracks and lasts about 45 minutes. The album opens with "None of You Will Ever See A Penny", depicting a man on his deathbed regretting his "ill-begotten wealth", singing to his heir, "I wish, I wish for you a lifetime of labor / Hard days make peaceful nights". The most famous track on the album is, of course, "(This Is) The Dream of Win and Regine", though it is not the only highlight of the album. As a whole, the album makes genial pop songs about love, among other things. 

Personally, I can't help but enjoy Has A Good Home. It's relaxing, and there are few things more pleasant than listening to this album really loud while walking around campus. I'd much rather listen to Pallett sing "Hey yo yo yo yo yo / I need an empire to overthrow / You make me wish for a more dangerous life / So I can show you 'bout self sacrifice" than hear anything anyone else is saying around me into their iPhones.

Though to anyone else, this album is somewhat lackluster and ordinary, in the words of Owen Pallett himself: "I don’t want people listening that are going to be that unwilling to engage in the music. In the same way, I feel like listeners, because there’s so much music out there, have stopped considering that the people who make music are living, working human beings, and as a result people ascribe a hierarchy to their music collections, and if somebody makes an album that’s worse or doesn’t sound the way somebody else’s sounds, they call it a mistake. That’s wrong, you know. Every artist listens to an album hundreds of times before they release it. I hope that people start realizing that musicians are actually groups of people who are making incredibly well-thought-out decisions."

Happy June!

So here is my obligatory, once-a-month apology for being a slacker. But today I mean this more than I have for other months.

If an explanation must be had, it may be as simple as this: I was exhausted. I couldn't listen to music without thinking, Do I have to write about this later?. I couldn't think about typing anything that would be meaningful at all, because I felt as if I had lost all meaning. By the tail end of the month, I was bedridden with a frustratingly persistant cold, spending four full days just lounging about trying to breathe.

As the days passed, I seriously began to question the point of this 365. It suddenly occurred to me that I am tired of keeping track of my days. I honestly don't want to feel them passing by, or adding up. My days became lined with anxiety.

As for music itself, it took a long time to make listening to music stop feeling like a chore. My listening habits were slowly devolving; I kept going back to the same albums, which eventually degenerated to single songs. And then, because I couldn't even handle that complexity, I turned to 1960s music. I went back to a time when songwriters didn't care about being cheesy, and there was a general good-feeling emanating from the majority of songs. And, because of the times, there was also anxiety-ridden, angry songs, like Creedence Clearwater Revival's "Fortunate Son". Eventually, I just didn't listen to music at all.

Though I hate being sick, I can't help but feel thankful for being forced to not doing anything. I could stay off the computer, and not remind myself about all the albums I was supposed to write about that day. I didn't have to go out of the house, where my iPod's headphone cord would bother me like a thick black noose, daring me to be alone with my own thoughts, knowing I would never manage that.

I have come out of the cold and out of my funk, and am ready to write about albums yet again. But, I hope to change the way that I write about them. I want to consciously stop trying to describe what the albums sound like, and focus on meanings and focus on why I connect to the albums, because that interests me infinitely more than looking up synonyms for "enjoyable".

Shelia

At night, fingers wrapped around that fragile cord, I whispered lyrics laced with my secrets into your ear. The night you came home, I couldn't find any other way to say it. "We will grow old", I sung, "and when we die, we'll bury ourselves, 'cause no one wants to die alone". And then I hung my head in my hands and cried.


I loved "Shelia". I promised to grow old, to share my life, to die alone together. What could be better than having that "familiar kind of love, like when married couples stop having sex or something"?


When you came home that night, I cried, because if you had died, I would have been alone. I sit on the park bench, watching the rain pattern the pages of my book, and I know that I'm going to die alone.

I'm Not The Dark Center of the Universe, Like You Thought

This "Rumble in the Jungle" has finally finished. We've gone our eight rounds. I've been stuck on the ropes, I've been doing the rope-a-dope. I'm walking away tonight, but it hardly feels like a victory.

I tally up the punches we've exchanged, and neither of us are innocent.

I'm not the dark center of the universe like you thought. But, I have to admit, neither are you.

I would say, I only ever wanted good things for you, but you wouldn't believe me. I would say, I tried to bury pennies underneath your window frame, but you wouldn't look. I would say, please forgive me, but you won't.

After all this, I'm still hoping we'll stay friends. But you're no Foreman, and I'm no Ali. We've only walked away from this injured.

Pull Up The People

Arular by M.I.A.

Insound

Odds are, everyone reading this has heard of M.I.A., and they likely have a very strong opinion of her. Because she blends so many different genres in her music, and her voice is very unique, M.I.A. tends to have very ardent supporters and very ardent critics. I have very little qualms in admitting I am not a fan of M.I.A. I'm not a critic, either, however. Hearing the occasional M.I.A. track on the radio, I really felt very passive towards her music. This passivity has persisted to this day, primarily because I was never truly interested in learning much more about her music.

It seems that it is necessary to know a few things before digging into any music by M.I.A. First, a lot of her music is autobiographical. Therefore, knowing about her is a necessity to understand some of the lyrical brilliance behind her seemingly innocuous dance songs.The album name is actually M.I.A.'s father's revolutionary name, who was part of a Tamil military group in Sri Lanka.


The album starts off with "Banana Skit", a short 30 second clip brought about by M.I.A.'s experience learning English. From there the album launches into "Pull Up The People" and "Bucky Done Gun", in which M.I.A. asserts that she has "got the bombs to make you blow/[she] got the beats to make you bang bang bang". Throughout the album, there is a liberal use of political subtext to all of the songs, ranging from prostitution, terrorism and Stockholm Syndrome.


Though I still don't listen to M.I.A. very much, I do recommend the album. There is enough substance to the album that it is enjoyable to think about, and it is danceable enough that if you become tired of thinking, you can just dance along to it.

Passive Neurotic Aggression

Haunt Me, Haunt Me, Do It Again by Tim Hecker

Insound

I originally chose this album because I was in the mood for some artsy music. Or at least, when I was sitting outside in the sun, listening to "Romeo" by Basement Jaxx, the thought struck me that I've been dipping too far into the more accessible stuff from my 365 list, and it's been a while since I stretched the limits of my musical tolerance.

Starting out, I'd never heard of Tim Hecker before, and actually chose his albums to put on the list based on this album's title (it brought a smile to my lips, and I figured it couldn't be that bad) as stuff to fill it out. So I won't hesitate at all to admit that when it comes to ambient drone, or abstract electronic music (or whatever you want to classify this as), I am absolutely no expert.

Haunt Me, Haunt Me, Do It Again can be described as almost cinematic, and indeed some of the track titles (like "Music For Tundra") seem to lend to this idea. The album spans 20 tracks (with actually 9 central songs that are stretched over multiple tracks) and lasts for nearly an hour, and from the beginning it is clear that this is an album meant to be heard in its entirety.

The album opens with "Music For Tundra", which is stretched over three tracks, in which we are introduced to the style throughout the album: that of rolling undercurrents of drone and buzz, with unpredictable cuts of noise. The album seems almost to grab onto an emotional current and is pulled along through those 20 tracks, exploring the depths of that emotion almost like one would explore a conceptual idea.

"The Work of Art In The Age of Cultural Overproduction" is by far the standout track. The title itself is a reference to an essay titled "The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction" written by Walter Benjamin in 1935. Whereas most other tracks are either a practice of distance, alienation and loneliness, or a practice of depth, invitation and warmth (as much as it can be applied to ambient drone), "The Work of Art In The Age of Cultural Overproduction" is neither; 7 minutes long, the song is surprisingly tense and forceful. When the song gives way to "October", it is almost a welcome reprieve from the stirring yet sparse noises (and strangely, even though the song is seven minutes long, it almost manages to feel as if it is over too soon). From there, the second half of the album lends itself over less to static and more to synths, and almost seems to transcend into some kind of starry romanticism (even the song titles suggest this, with "Boreal Kiss" and "Night Flight To Your Heart").

Though the album presents itself as almost alien and strange, Haunt Me, Haunt Me, Do It Again manages to be beautiful and patient. The album is highly rewarding, and though it is to some extent haunting, the album invites you in to be haunted again and again.

Help!

"When I was young, so much younger than today / I never needed anybody's help in any way / But now these days are gone, I'm not so self assured / Now I find I've changed my mind, I've opened up the doors" — "Help" by The Beatles, Help!

I've been silent lately. Every word has failed me thus far.

Everyday I live with the stigma of being myself.


"You are sad."
"You are too negative."
"You are thinking wrong."
"You are pure evil inside."


In my life, there is no discussion. There is no understanding, forgiveness, patience. I am Amanda, I am sad, negative, wrong, evil. My throat reluctantly swallows this bitterness, then resigns itself to never open again.

I don't have to defend myself. To love someone is to be vulnerable, and I am utterly defenseless. The only words I ever use is a plaintive, "I love you", and it is truly amusing how this supposedly meaningful phrase becomes so absolutely meaningless in your ears.


I stand here, the unnamed sister in The Twelve Brothers, on the pyre, unable to defend myself. I am Faithful John, whose good deeds are misinterpreted, incapable of explanation lest I be turned to stone. The Brothers Grimm understood this kind of defenselessness.


I've never known how to ask for help. Help me if you can, I'm feeling down, and I do appreciate you being around. Help me get my feet back on the ground. Won't you please, please help me?

Didn't Want To Be Your Ghost

I Am A Bird Now by Antony and the Johnsons

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I've been listening to this album for the past couple of weeks now, and was puzzling over how exactly I should start it. When I first listened to Antony and the Johnsons, I had somehow stumbled on "Fistful of Love" on some random blog in 2005, and one night laying awake with my CD player (I didn't get my first iPod until 2007), I fell asleep mistakenly believing "Fistful of Love" was some sentimental love song, and no deeper than that. When I attempted to listen to I Am A Bird Now, I found the subject of gender confusion something I was incapable of understanding or even wanting to spend time to understand. And so for many years, Antony and the Johnson was only "Fistful of Love", and that song by itself was misunderstood.

The album opens with "Hope There's Someone", opening the album on a note of loneliness, in which the singer finds himself incapable of going to sleep at night for fear of dying in his sleep. This fear of "the middle place/between light and nowhere" could be assuaged if only there was "someone who'll take care of [him]". "My Lady Story", on the other hand, describes a body devastated by cancer, singing, "My lady story/Is one of annihilation". Here, the singer feels as if their body is broken, singing, "My womb's an ocean full/of grief, then rage/And still you're coaxing me/To come on out and live/Well, I'm a crippled dog/I've got nothing to give/I'm so broken, babe". "For Today I Am a Boy" has surprisingly simple lyrics, and poses as a song from the perspective of a hermaphroditic child, who sings "One day I'll grow up, I'll be a beautiful woman", later elaborating to "One day I'll grow up, I'll feel the power in me", but sadly sings "But for today I am a child, for today I am a boy". "You Are My Sister" is truly touching, opening with the lines "You are my sister, we were born/So innocent, so full of need". The singer describes their relationship, in which he "was so afraid of the night/You seemed to move through the places that I feared", and expresses a feeling of living inside their own world ("You lived inside my world so softly" and "But there's nothing left to gain from remembering/Faces and worlds that no one else will ever know"). The song ends with the sincere lines, "You are my sister/And I love you/May all your dreams come true/I want this for you". "Fistful of Love", which presents itself as a very innocuous love song, describes the relationship burdened by domestic violence, in which the person sings, "I tell you I love you/And I always will/And I know that you can't tell me/So I'm left to pick up/The hints, the little symbols of your devotion", finally singing "I accept and I collect upon my body/The memories of your devotion". The album ends with "Bird Gerhl", in which the singer has resolved all of their troubles, singing "I've got my heart here in my hands now/I've been searching for my wings some time", and feels that everything will be fine "'Cause I'm a bird girl, and bird girls go to heaven".

Though the album explores many themes (mostly that of gender ambiguity), the album is tied together with an overarching expression of trying to find love, even in the hardest moments. The album expresses a desire for someone to be there when you are at your weakest, when your body, your identity, or your situation is not what you might have wished for. If, when listening to the album, you focus on only the gender confusion aspect of the album, you are sadly oversimplifying it. Though Antony chooses a different aspect of struggling to explore the themes of identity, loneliness, death and love, the themes itself and the outcome of the album is accessible to everyone.

Better Sell It While You Can

Fever to Tell by Yeah Yeah Yeahs

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It was on some night, probably near 11:11 PM when I first heard "Maps" playing on the radio. It wasn't just "Maps", though, it was an acoustic version that bled immediately into an extremely subdued "Y Control". With Karen O's beautifully emotive voice (cracking at times as if the emotion was more than her voice could handle), it was hard for a 13 year old girl who was convinced she was in love to resist.

When I finally got on a computer and really learned how to use the internet, I tried listening to Fever to Tell, believing it to sound like "Maps". In fact, the first half of the album was so noisy I couldn't even get through it, and I didn't listen to the album ever again. Songs like "Tick" seemed almost juvenile, and through the years I brushed off Yeah Yeah Yeahs as mostly a rock 'n' roll band only young girls could love.

Sitting through it again, the "noise" doesn't seem to bother me quite so much. It isn't even that noisy, and though it lasts for about half of the album, it passes by so quickly that it's almost over before you're aware of anything. Of course, the entire album is almost eclipsed by "Maps", which is so beautiful that it by itself makes the album.

As for being "juvenile", there are surprising moments (when they're not trying to imply incest like in "Cold Light" or making little yelps in "Black Tongue") when it feels truly honest, particularly in "Maps", "Y Control" and "Modern Romance".  There are moments of lyrical brilliance, like on "No No No" in which Karen sings, "He'll always come back as the man you dropped/He'll never come back as the man you loved". "Y Control" also has a few moments of brilliance, when she sings "I wish I could buy back/The woman you stole", lamenting how she "believed them all". In "Modern Romance" is truly touching, never relying heavily on repetition of words or any yelping. Here Karen testifies that "there is no modern romance", and that time "stops who it wants" (eventually this line changes to time being able to "stop who he was").

Fever to Tell manages to be good not in any in depth sort of way, but it is enjoyable in the sense that it feels very carefree. The album passes by in a rush, lingering for a moment with "Maps", "Y Control" and "Modern Romance" before it breezily says good bye with "Yeah! New York"

There Isn't Much That I Feel I Need, A Solid Soul and the Blood I Bleed

Ahhh, sorry folks!


I haven't been posting anything lately, but I promise to work harder this month! Summer is just around the corner, and there is a newer and happier me. But, just like Washington's weather, my moods seem to fluctuate erratically — one moment, I am beaming with excitement over the success of a tasty batch of cookies, the next minute I am grouchy and biting everyone's heads off, and then I start crying and fall into a depression, only to bounce right out of it happy and chipper again! No one knows what to expect anymore.


So I definitely felt as if I was in some type of music funk for the last month, but it's a brand new month and a new chance to work harder and get through this albums!


Happy May, everybody! 

I'll Fall in Love With Anybody Once

I found him under the slides, conspiring with his friend. I sat down, criss-cross applesauce, next to him on the carpet, waiting for story time to start. I was crying underneath the overhang when he walked past, he followed me home flipping me the bird, I was pushing him down in the playground, I was running into him on the bus, I was sitting across from him on the grass.


I knew once that if we both had the same M written in the lines of our palms, it was meant to be. I knew once that I could make anyone fall in love with me if only I could blow a dandelion puff out with just one breath. I knew once that you were in love with me.


Love you once, shame on you. Love you twice, shame on me.


When can I stop hating my own heart?

Gravity Rides Everything

The Moon & Antarctica by Modest Mouse

Insound

Because it is my friend Cindy's birthday today, and her favorite band is Modest Mouse, I decided to review The Moon & Antarctica. I distinctly remember first hearing this album sitting on a lunch table out in the courtyard of our high school (my friends and I looking a lot like a collection of misfits). 


I've never truly listened to this album; not that day in the courtyard and not when I was trying to force myself to review another album. In truth, I never really heard it at all until last night, sitting with the lyrics and nothing on my mind. The lovely guitar strumming opening of "3rd Planet" caught me wildly off guard, and the lyrics completely snapped me straight out of my musical funk.


The album is truly significant because of its beautiful lyrics, at once deep and introspective, but cloaked in what can now be called classic Isaac Brockisms (that is, wonderfully cryptic but poetic and mind-blowing). In fact, if I were to attempt to call attention to all of my favorite lines and all of my favorite songs, this review would become so long that it would look is if I only copied and pasted the lyrics here. If any generalizations can be used at all, the lyrics generally manage to be existential and deep, yet painfully personal.


If there is an overlying concept being explored in the album, it could easily be what they shout in "Tiny Cities Made of Ashes": "Does anybody know a way that a body could get away?" The album opens with "3rd Planet" and the feeling that "the universe is shaped exactly like the earth/If you go straight long enough you'll end up where you were". This feeling of being trapped is expounded in "Gravity Rides Everything", in which everything feels inescapable. The album explores the themes of feeling trapped and wanting to find a way of escaping that feeling. Even so, there is the problem of feeling alone; in "The Cold Part", Brock sings "I stepped down as the president of Antarctica/Can't blame me, don't blame me, don't/So long to this sad, sad part of this world".


For me, I have never had much of an opinion on what the "best" Modest Mouse sound has been; whether it is raw and powerful, like their earlier albums, introspective and moving like The Moon & Antarctica, or glossy pop like We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank, I have never really felt either way about their sound. Singularly, The Moon & Antarctica stands by itself as a very beautiful album, and one of my favorites out of this project.

My Mom Puts Raisins In My Captain Crunch

Today, I poured out my Captain Crunch and there were about twenty raisins from my sister's Raisin Bran in my bowl. Yuck.


In an attempt to rekindle whatever gusto I had when beginning this project, I watched Julie and Julia once again. I was reminded of the movie after reading about thirty pages of A Piece of Cake, a 500 page book on just cakes (there are over 380 recipes and entire chapters dedicated to real knowledge behind baking).


Even though it's been a very tough few months, I think it's important to remind myself that part of the reason I did this project was simply for the joy of discovering new music. I want to be more respectful in my future reviews, and to invest more time trying to understand them. There will be quite a few albums I will be reviewing again towards the end of the year, primarily those that I feel simply did not do enough. I always tell people that albums are meant to be understood, not brushed off, and here I am doing exactly what I chastise others for doing.


A third of my year has gone by, and I'm still struggling to find my voice. It almost feels as if I am starting all over again as a new writer, and so I am fairly certain that many of the next few reviews will be bumbling and cringe-worthy. But I am really going to try, and that makes all the difference to me.


And, a special happy birthday to Clemente, who turned 20 years old today!

No Excuses

Girls Can Tell by Spoon

Insound

I started listening to Spoon in 2007, following the release of Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga. Despite three years of exposure, I never really got into them. After a healthy dose of Hissing Fauna, Are You The Destroyer?, I was simply tired of everything I'd ever heard before. As 2007 drew to a close, I stopped listening to music altogether (and two computer crashes did not help at all). By the time I started listening to music again in 2009, I had already forgotten all about Spoon. It wasn't until I decided to listen to Spoon again late in the night (in order to get them off my list) did I begin to fall in love with Spoon again.

Aside from nodding your head along to the song (or singing, if you are daring), smiling, or grabbing your friends by their shirt collar and saying "Listen to this!", there's something incommunicable about Spoon's music. I could say they sound clean, I could say they sound simultaneously angry and refined, but it would fall short of what Girls Can Tell really sounds like. I could attribute the aggression in the album from their being dumped by their major label, but that would be shortchanging the emotional artistry in the album.

Rather than analyze lyrics song by song, I will briefly mention some of my favorite tracks. Few albums open as tensely as "Everything Hits at Once", and "Believing is Art" is a lovely follow up to this track. "Me and the Bean" is one of my favorites, particularly for the lines "Do you remember when you were small/How everybody would seemed so tall/I am your shadow in the dark/I have your blood inside my heart". "Fitted Shirt" is enjoyable simply because how many bands will dedicate an entire song to spelling out the grievances of one-size-fits-all shirts? The entire album is so full of hooks that it's hard to pick just a single favorite.

I feel like I've done a pretty bad job on this one, but considering I'm very out of practice, I'll stop here and call it good. At least I didn't redirect you to Pitchfork, right?