Sultans of Sentiment is one of my newer discoveries—a criss cross of an album lyrically, with allusions to Buddhism, general spirituality and the concept of enlightenment (the song Nanzen Kills a Cat is an allusion to this koan). It's a curious listen if you're familiar with Chris Leo's earlier work in Native Nod, and although it may not hold the same kind of emotional impact, it definitely has more of an experimental edge to it—as if Leo had finally reached enlightenment in his own life and was willing to help influence others to do the same. It was a huge step forward compared to their previous album, Stealing From our Favorite Thieves, and the perfect place to start this list.
19. A Perfect Circle — Thirteenth Step
One of the first I bought in my collection, Thirteenth Step has been kind of a companion of mine throughout the years. I was already a fan of Maynard James Keenan's work in Tool, so I thought this would be a nice buy. Sure enough it was, even though it sounded nothing like Tool at all—it's a much more satisfying experience than any of Tool's albums (and the rest of APC's catalog for sure). Its themes are much more developed too, with the lyrics dictating internal struggles in a narrative form while simultaneously being abstract as well as straightforward—a tricky combination. But that all goes without saying.
Here's something a bit different—a prepared piano. A prepared piano is a piano with an assortment of objects (usually screws and other metallic things) placed in-between its strings, giving various notes completely different tones and sounds than that of a normal piano. I was first introduced to this concept through Aphex Twin's album, Drukqs, and have been interested in it ever since. Once I heard that John Cage had created the technique, I decided to give Sonatas and Interludes (performed by Boris Berman) a try. It might not be conventional (almost none of Cage's works are), but it is a fascinating listen. It's like hearing a Rube Goldberg machine playing a piano in a clock museum.
As a huge Jawbreaker fan, I was curious to see what Jets to Brazil—more specifically Blake Schwarzenbach—would be like. The first few listens to JTB's first album Orange Rhyming Dictionary were hit and miss at first, a kind of good-song-bad-song game. Some tracks are always a good listen (Sea Anemone, Conrad, I Typed For Miles, Sweet Avenue—basically the whole second side), others I really had to listen to them for a while before they became memorable. Usually I don't like albums that are constructed like this, but as always, Blake's lyrics seem to really be the deal-breaker—every song is lyrically dense (and at times much more cryptic than Jawbreaker's material), making ORD one of the more challenging albums in my collection. And that's jut fine by me.
16. Duster — Stratosphere / Contemporary Movement
Call it space rock, shoegaze, sadcore, slowcore, or indie, these ex-Mohinder musicians knew how to both forget their hardcore past and move forward in a totally different direction.
Stratosphere is Duster's first full-length LP, and can be seen as the mid-way point between their earlier, less-refined material and their more-produced work in Contemporary Movement. They're both great, they're just great in different ways. Where Stratosphere is a shadowy, distant kind of record, CM is a closer and more personal one.
Both of these albums put me in a state of wonder and exploration, but even for their mysterious ways, the lyrics leave me baffled. On Stratosphere, words are definitely trying to say something, but what that might be is anyone's guess. Maybe they were only present to create an atmosphere? Nope, that's not it, because they're pretty easy—or at least easier—to discern in CM, though meaning is certainly up for debate on both records. But they're not a total mystery. If one thing's for sure, it's the fact that they never over-stayed their welcome—possibly because they were afraid to. That's nothing to be ashamed of, but come on, would a second verse really have killed these guys in Me and the Birds?
15. Jack Kerouac — Poetry for the Beat Generation / Blues and Haikus
Jack Kerouac, internationally renowned for his famous book, On The Road, went to record these two gems of spoken word in 1958 with musicians Steve Allen, Al Cohn and Zoot Sims. All the while knowing that his work was one-of-a-kind (even by today's standards), he flawlessly recorded snippets, sections, fragments and various vignettes on Poetry with Steve Allen accompanying him with his legendary jazz-skill. Jack would show his equally jazz-like prowess of imagery through words that only make sense in context of reading aloud. While Allen's piano paints landscapes, Kerouac's words give the images meaning—sometimes dark and sorrowful (October in the Railroad Earth), other times wondrous (The Sounds of the Universe Coming In my Window), and even humorous (I'd Rather be Thin than Famous). (He even laments the legendary Bird Parker.) But it's not until Blues that you hear Kerouac in all his battered, raw greatness. Most of the clips on here are unedited and showcase short conversations between Jack and producer Bob Thiele through the mic. sets in the recording studio. Jack is unabashedly drunk but still standing and understandable (alcohol would later be the culprit of his demise in 1969, coupled with cirrhosis), making his writing that much more harrowing and somehow more stirring than in Poetry. The recording of American Haikus is absolutely brilliant. These two albums were compiled with a third album, Readings on the Beat Generation, in the three-disc collection entitled The Jack Kerouac Collection—complete with must-have bonus tracks.
14. Sunny Day Real Estate — Diary / LP2 / How It Feels to be Something On
Rising from the ashes of Empty Set and Chewbacca Kaboom, Sunny Day Real Estate went through many different incarnations before they settled on their signature sound. Their debut, Diary, was released to critical acclaim and has been considered one of the cornerstones of emo and indie rock in the mid 90s. Their sophomore attempt, Sunny Day Real Estate (a.k.a. LP2 and The Pink Album) showed them at their most fragile and mysterious with lyrics only half-completed and incredibly minimal artwork. After breaking up in 1995, Sunny Day reformed again in 1997 (minus bassist Nate Mendel, who went on to be in the Foo Fighters) and released How It Feels to be Something On in 1998.
Diary is very important to me because it was the first emo album I ever bought / listened to. Its artwork is simultaneously symbolic and cryptic—combining early childhood nostalgia with Little People-esque figures engaging in rather "adult" things (such as trying to extinguish a burning building, operating on a patient, and surveying a car crash). However, its poetic lyrics, though artful and promising, are vague and not very easy to connect to—which is one of the most important aspects of emo. LP2's lyrics are almost non-existent and muddled, but Jeremy Enigk's voice is always powerful—on 5/4 it almost sounds like he's crying, and while not necessarily manly, it's certainly powerful. Nearly every song is mysterious and enthralling. It's such a shame they had to break up before it really came together. How It Feels definitely has the best lyrics in my opinion; they're strong, tangible and soul-searching. Maybe that has to do with Jeremy and how he went through a religious rebirth. Or maybe it doesn't. The artwork is pretty nice too, ranging from abstract to strange and surreal.
Each of these albums strikes me in a different way, which of course is to be expected since they were all released at different times in their career. (Sunny Day is back together since breaking up in 2000; I just hope their next album is better than The Rising Tide.)
Enter Guy Picciotto: The man who single-handedly turned hardcore on its heels by trying something totally different and succeeding at it. Yes, this is the same man who started the entire emo movement—for better or worse—but is probably better known for being in Fugazi. Yes, this Minor Threat fan had more to do with the D.C. underground than some people care to know or admit, but in the end everything has been said and done and we can all go home happy knowing that Rites of Spring's self-titled album was the culprit, and not some other half-baked wannabe album. Oh yeah, and Ian MacKaye produced it. That alone should make this album transcendent. But if not there's always the lyrics.
12. Mineral — The Power of Failing / February/M.D. 7''
Probably some of the saddest albums I've ever laid ears on, Mineral's The Power of Failing (even the title's sad!) and February are treasures not to be taken lightly. Both pack a surprising amount of ethereal beauty that somehow seems to extract the deepest and most personal childhood memories while giving a stark sense of hope. Some might go so far as to say that The Power of Failing is perfect in every way—I used to feel the same about it—but I disagree; Power's production is quite rough and at times the music becomes maudlin, and (admittedly) Chris Simpson's vocals are that of an acquired taste; if you're not already accustomed to the "whiny emo wail" than this is the best place to start, but if you've heard as many emo bands as I have and haven't checked this album out then don't bother. I guess this is more of a starting place than anything else of you're into the Midwest/indie scene. Everything will sound like this record—for better or worse. But then there's the February seven-inch; what it may lack in development (it only has two songs: February and M.D.), it makes up for in quality. It combines all of the strong points of Power and seems to press it onto a smaller scale. But again, it's an acquired taste. (Both albums have been combined into one on CD1 of The Complete Collection, but it's a Japan-only release so unless you're willing to fork up $50 for your next eBay purchase (that is, if you can find it), I recommend you Mediafire these, but you didn't hear it from me.)
Another recent discovery of mine, New Directions (Nude Erections) is an eclectic mix of the bizarre and the strange. Formed from three-fourths of Vitreous Humor, The Regrets features vocalist/guitarist/lyricist Danny Pound at his oddest, but also at his most modest. With lyrics that seem more thought-out, riffs that go in circles and much less distortion, it's an odd listen after being so familiar with Vitreous Humor's material, but it's not necessarily a bad thing. I mean, who wouldn't enjoy a song about masturbation (perhaps it's just general self-indulgence?) or occasional self-reference? Maybe it's not modesty that Danny Pound was going after, but honesty instead. Well, however you look at it, it's still a great album.
This is an odd little CD I discovered a while back when I used to explore the iTunes catalog. It's not a perfect CD by any means, but it has a strange sense of nostalgia to it. Also worthy of note is that this is one of the first electronica albums I bought. Unfortunately this little bugger is now long out of print and can only be found on obscure message boards, or (if you're lucky) eBay, where I happened to snag a copy for about eight dollars—and that's with shipping. Not a bad deal, and not a bad listen either.
With a play-time of a little over an hour and a staggering forty-five tracks (many around the one-minute mark), Pistachio Island is an album resembling something like a sampler plate—though it isn't a main course or an appetizer, it's still oddly satisfying. But as much as I enjoy this album, I can't shake the feeling that there's something more to it. Perhaps that was Aaron Munson's and Krystian Lubiszewski's ideal goal—to only tease the taste-buds (ear-buds?) of the taster (listener?) and not to focus on one particular idea for too long. Maybe this is the ideal electronica for the ADD/ADHD-prone customer, and maybe they're both geniuses for creating something that works as efficiently in the background as it does in the foreground (any of these songs work as a flawless loop). But if they're so ingenious, why did they limit the CD to a pressing of one thousand? That sounds really stupid to me. But then again, maybe that was their plan all along and that's just what they want us to think.
8. Neutral Milk Hotel — On Avery Island / In The Aeroplane Over The Sea
Where do I begin with these guys? In The Aeroplane Over The Sea has been renowned as one of the all-time greatest indie releases, while On Avery Island seems to be under-appreciated in hindsight. Since I listened to Avery Island before Aeroplane, I can't say that I agree completely; they're both fantastic discs in my opinion. While Avery does seem more formulaic, to me it's a more balanced, calmer album compared to Aeroplane, which is more anthemic and brave. Due to Aeroplane being very popular, many of my friends caught on and loved it as much as I did. In fact, I can remember when we would sometimes break out sporadically into song and sing the openings to Holland, 1945 and King of Carrot Flowers Part 2 & 3 ("THE ONLY GIRL I EVER LOOOOOVED WAS BORN WITH ROSES IN HER EEEEYYYYYEEEESSSS" and "I LOVE YOU JESUS CHRIIIIIIIIIIST"). Any album that can effectively infuse its way into the hearts of so many people while simultaneously keeping its dignity (for the most part) and freshness is wonderful by my standards. Having said this I now realize that maybe the reason Avery Island didn't catch on as well was because it didn't focus on one theme but rather more abstract thoughts, while Aeroplane was kinda-sorta centered around Anne Frank and the Holocaust. I guess the media likes old things seen differently from time to time. I'm not complaining, I just think Avery is just as good, that's all. And it should get more attention. And it should be remembered more often. Oh wait, that's complaining, isn't it?
As far as folk albums are concerned, Moon Pix is like a sheep—it's meek, soft and at times can be warm. It also tends to wander off from time to time. Some would go so far as to say that it's a black sheep, but I'd have to disagree. I mean sure the lyrics can be cryptic, and sure at times it seems distant, but I think Chan Marshall's vocals are strong enough to sell the album for all of its faults. Not to mention the atmosphere is as simple as it is calming, which is surprising considering the inspiration for this album comes from having a hallucinogenic nightmare. What was she thinking doing all those drugs? Well, regardless of its origins, it's a wonderful album to fall asleep to—it certainly beats counting sheep.
If there was ever an album that flawlessly combined classical music with electronica and occasional spoken word, this would be it. Don't let the cliché cover-art fool you—Max Richter's compositions are both minimal and elegant, with the atmosphere ranging from melancholy to nostalgia. Perhaps the most fascinating aspect of The Blue Notebooks is the use of voice—and not just vocal work. Actress Tilda Swinton takes passages from Franz Kafka (the title comes from his collection of notebooks entitled The Blue Octavo Notebooks) to create a center for the album—a focal point, if you will—which some would argue steals Richter's spotlight. But it's hard to draw the line at times because even though the focus changes, without Swinton's passages there wouldn't be a sense of depth or universal wonder that usually coincides with Kafka's writing. Maybe if Richter read the lines instead of Swinton this all could have been avoided. No, because then it would be an odd third-person monologue. (Wasn't it that already?) And if the dialogue was excised entirely, the album's focus would undoubtedly go to Richter's compositions—you know, where they should be in the first place. But what would be their purpose without the depth of Kafka's writing? I mean, it's not like Richter created the album around his work or anything . . . oh wait. Well, at least he outgrew his initial inspiration of Philip Glass and his infamous, monotonous "harmony," and never overstayed his welcome. That's always a plus in my (note)book.
Pinkerton is an album of singles. I say that because every song on it is strong enough to stand on its own without the need of context from other songs. And even though they don't bleed or fade into each other, they're pretty damn cohesive. Even though it's only ten songs and a measly thirty-five minutes in length, it's striking, bold, and satisfying in nearly every way—it's pop rock at one of its most abrasive moments. Maybe that's the reason it was universally rejected at the time of its original release—despite its hooks and gleam, it's an immensely dark and personal album. Still great nonetheless.
4. Boards of Canada — In a Beautiful Place Out in the Country / Geogaddi
From the musicians who brought you Music Has the Right to Children, this Scottish duo widens their sonic aperture to immeasurable sizes on these discs. In a Beautiful Place Out in the Country might not be their first EP, but it's definitely their most distinct. Opening with the brilliant Kid for Today, it becomes apparent that this is not your every-day musical release, but instead an escape. It sounds so flawless it's almost organic. But BOC's sound is far from organic—it's labored over, edited, revised and layered so much that it only appears natural. Such skill can be heard in greater detail on Geogaddi. Where Beautiful Place might have already seemed perfect, Geogaddi seems like a godsend in comparison with its much longer play-time and denser, more layered songs. Not to mention the samples become infinitely more varied and strange—passages and instruments are backmasked and manipulated in so many ways it's like listening to a labyrinth or a kaleidoscope. (By the way, the kaleidoscopic artwork is gorgeous.) Arguably there is some filler—some smaller songs that don't mesh up too well with their surroundings, but that's probably because when they pressed it on vinyl they had to allow for time when switching sides. In a way, the small gaps also allow for a mental break, which is a good thing considering it's about an hour long—and that's counting the one minute and forty-six seconds of silence at the very end via the song Magic Window. (Could that be a reference to John Cage's 4'33''? Or are they just trying to make the run-time mystical with exactly sixty-six minutes and six seconds of rotation?)
Imagine an album that's as serious as it is silly, and is as much of a drive in the country as it is a walk in the city. That's what Pavement's Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain has to offer—a mess of contradictions, but a great time as well. As impossible as it sounds, the lyrics make as much sense when they don't as when they do. Vocalist/guitarist/lyricist Stephen Malkmus sounds half-asleep half of the time but still carries an odd sense of urgency with his presentation. It also ventures toward a calmer, more jazz-influenced sound on songs like Stop Breathin (it's not supposed to have an apostrophe), Newark Wilder and 5-4=Unity, but with nods to their previous album, Slanted and Enchanted, on Hit the Plane Down they don't forget or reject their energetic past. It's one of those rare albums that takes an impossible setup and turns it into something wonderfully beautiful and unique, even at the strangest of times. The only thing I'd ask for is a lyric sheet, and preferably one that's more legible than the fragments that are presented in the artwork. But then again, maybe that's their crooked sense of humor simply shining through.
While not exactly the most renowned or even remembered band, Vitreous Humor was kind of like the band that time forgot. They had everything going for them during their brief time together, but their musical proficiency was something that would only be adored in hindsight. No release would exemplify their abilities better than Posthumous. It was supposed to be a complete collection of recordings that weren't on their self-titled EP, and while it gathers most of them, there are gaping holes (such as all the songs off of their first release Harbor, the compilation song The Whisper Twins, and the b-side to the My Midget single New Victoria Theater). But where completion fails, quality thrives—each song is both arresting and emotional, even when the lyrics are enigmatic or simply odd. (Seriously though, what the hell is Danny saying in the chorus to Sharin' Stone?) But who's to blame for all this musical perfection? Could it be vocalist/guitarist/lyricist Danny Pound and his energetic charisma? Or perhaps the booming bass of Brooks Rice? Maybe it's the busy drumming of Dan Benson? And what about the bassist-gone-guitarist Brad Allen and his wall of distortion? At this point does it even matter who's to blame when the music is this good? I mean, it's not like people will remember them or anything, even if they were good, or even great. Which is a shame because they really do deserve it.
1. Jawbreaker — 24 Hour Revenge Therapy / Dear You
When choosing albums for my Top 20, it was a no-brainer who would be at the top. Jawbreaker's 24 Hour Revenge Therapy and Dear You have always been in my favorites—24 more so until recently. I was first introduced to Jawbreaker through their song Chesterfield King (off of the Chesterfield King EP and the Bivouac LP/CD), and while immediately falling head-over-heals for it, I found the rest of their material more difficult to get into—specifically Dear You. At the time of my discovery I was listening to bands in the screamo moniker (Pg.99, City of Caterpillar, et al.) and just discovering Diary. I tried listening to Dear You, but couldn't muster the strength to get through it due to its luster and sheen, as well as my absent-minded belief that anything that was polished or "popular" was bad. 24 was more accessible in my eyes, what with its evident grit, guts and machismo, and while Dear You was still lukewarm to me, I couldn't ignore its astonishing lyrics. Okay, they both have astonishing lyrics—which is something that Jawbreaker has been known for. What really got me hooked was one particular song on 24 simply known as Condition Oakland. To me, this was what broke the ice on not just Jawbreaker being a great band, but one of the best bands. It utilizes an unpredictable song structure, emotionally gripping lyrics and a sample from the late great Jack Kerouac (October in the Railroad Earth). This single recording is what propelled me to discover (as well as explore) a higher calling both musically and academically. It was my first real introduction to Kerouac's work as well as the entire Beat Generation (which could be argued is shown throughout Jawbreaker's entire catalog). Recordings that have the power to change one's life like that are incredibly rare and become impossibly difficult to describe in full. My only suggestion would be to listen and find out for yourself. If you're already familiar with Jawbreaker's earlier work and enjoy it, check out 24, and if you don't know who Jawbreaker is, all I can suggest is to get these two albums first. You will not be disappointed.
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Other albums worthy of note that didn't make the list:
Battle of Mice — A Day of Nights
Braid — Frame & Canvas / Age of Octeen
Deep Puddle Dynamics — The Taste of Rain . . . Why Kneel
Korn — Korn
Late! — Pocketwatch
Meat Puppets — II
Unwound — Fake Train
Various Artists — (Don't Forget to) Breathe
