2011 Playlist on Spotify

Some comments on the youtube version…

(Abridged version)

1517

Probably not even the best Whitest Boy Alive song I heard this year, but a great statement of intent on the latest LP.  Hideously funky rhodes riffs married to a deeply stoic cocktail of jazz and human house drumming (as in – house beats as they might be played by a real and rather talented percussionist).

Fun Powder Plot

Not just because they chose my birthplace as a hometown.  Not even because they are a rare moment of artistic merit in the world of British alternative music. With their sophomore album, the beasts made an essential contribution to our lives in 2009.  Rarely does music combine ambitious arrangement with fantastic musicianship, witty lyrics, and something deliciously odd… and this does all of the above.

Shutter Speed

Heard this first on KCRW (the ever-lovely radio station from Santa Monica).  Almost local (Houston) and combining a captivating grasp of shoe-gazer and breakbeats with something emotive.

Stop, Look & Listen (Henrik Schwarz Live)

Great work music… meditative and entrancing.  The balearic vibe reminds me of being on a Spanish beach as a teenager, watching the stars after a night at the local club.

Devout

One of the songs on the latest Islands record that reminded me why I fell in love with the Unicorns in the first place.  A brilliant tapestry of musical references… this one in particular takes me back to Leonard Cohen’s synth version of First We Take Manhattan.

London Girl

Soulful and elegantly cheesy.  For some reason it reminds me of the title-track on Bagdad Café.

Gront Lys I Alle Ledd

These Norwegian dudes made me choke up with love at SXSW because they are so adorably blissed-out.  Good cowbell action too.

The Darkest Side

Devastatingly beautiful, makes you wonder if Buckley actually drowned at all.  And no, I am not one of those obsessive JB fans.  If anything, this is an excellent update to the template, with captivating female vocals to counterpoint the frailty of the male.

Jailer

The sound of something from the heart of Africa polished with payola… and still endearingly heart-felt and self-assuredly pretty.

Jump In The Pool

Something of a disappointment as a live experience, there is still a lot to like about their twice-flogged debut album, and this is definitely one of the stand-out tracks… a fantastic pastiche with as much Krautrock as those toss-pots from Rio probably hid in the first place.

Jealous of roses

Slightly sickly but a lot more fun than Boards of Canada… one of those slow-burners that just got stuck on our ipods.

What About Us?

Kiss my liberal well-meaning arse but I do like a good rabble-rousing number.  I am probably the only person who actually liked that Black Eyed Peas single that was number 1 forever in the UK.

Memory Store

A handsome single… from an inscrutable fellow.  Pristine groove and drum programming.

The Key

Overplayed (by me) long before the Mercury nod, a sparkling slink of a song.

Too Many Dicks [On The Dancefloor]

A necessary reminder that for all the filler in the television show, you get a spectacular moment of Gondry magic like the video for this brilliant pop song.

No Time

Hypnotic motorik beats and a slight taint of NIN… got to like that.

Lucia

Part nostalgia for one of the long-neglected jewels of alt US rock, and part awe for one of the few bands who can throw out something as lithe as a Marquee Moon outtake in 2009.  Especially grand on the open-road.

Daniel

Kate Bush lite perhaps, but a sticky moment in 2009… well-crafted pop music is hard to find.

Modern Drummer

gonzo jazz metal… one of my favourite live gigs of the year.  Always preferred Beefheart to Zappa for the record.

Leave It All Behind feat. Rebirth & Aima The Dreamer

Another check in the PC box, but this got my feet moving.

Basic Space

A grudging addition because this lot are both infuriatingly over-hyped and deserving of adoration.  Another live highlight… very intimate.

Boat Behind

A jaunty number that reminded me how much I love this band… for all the complaints about blandness, they just do something lovely.

Onwards & Upwards

Energetic and articulate British indie … solid musicianship and vocal harmonies.  Another act that owes something to the re-claiming of intelligent indie rock music by the Futureheads.  I am still perplexed as to why we had to suffer all those years of foppish imbeciles with pretty hair and absolutely no musical inspiration… and people wonder why it never sold anywhere else….

July Flame

Kaki King without the bravura guitar playing, and slightly-bigger-coffee-table sized singing, but a serious grower.

Come On Feet

Smashing.  And if this lot come from Reading then this must be one of its best exports music-wise.   I am not sure how such shameless references can sound so fresh and downright fun, but they do.

Violent Sensation Descends

A breath-taking pastiche of something on the nasty-side of Love.  Normally I would dismiss such fanatical devotion to aping the past, but this has some great hooks.

In For The Kill

Top of the Pops circa 1989 at the Tyrrell household was always about moments like this… the one which we all watched silently, and secretly liked.

En Melody

My favourite re-issue of the year… essential for anyone who thought Portishead just appeared out of a vacuum.  I particularly like the drumming and meandering guitars….

Built by Snow setting up at Jovita's on 1st Street

Today was my first (and-quite-possibly only) attendance of South by South-West (SXSW) 2009 and this second year has confirmed to me that this a very special event. Only Sonar in Barcelona comes close to this mixture of music business types, liggers, fans, and best-of-all: music-makers.  Why so special? You may ask.  Well, it starts with the hundreds of venues, spread out all over Austin.  And thousands of bands.  This much diversity is a wonderful evocation of the gene-pool we share.  Far more so than the average rock festival – which seems to only offer the worst kind of performances by the bands we know and love.  Sure, there are always exceptions to that rule… I fell in love with the Cardigans at a festival once… but for the most part you miss out on the real magic of people making music and loving it.

We parked my Chevrolet monster truck on 12th, by the side of the Capitol building and it was a grueling nine blocks marching to the music. As we approached the rock-action, the cheap perfume of fast-food trailers and weed filled our lungs. So-far-so-festival right? Well, we started on Red River, home to Stubbs bbq which is a restaurant with an 1800-capacity outdoor ampitheatre in the back yard. After lining up to get into catch a glimpse of the Thermals at Club de Ville, we found ourselves seeking out Casiokids on 6th Street in the back garden of another restaurant called Habana. These venues hint at one thing I do like about Austinites… they like a good bit of tucker when the music plays…. So far so good: We danced through the crowds on Red River and 6th Street taking it in turns to queue for different venues no-doubt, and found ourselves in a lovely little courtyard listening to a very energetic performance by Ungdomskulen. They definitely rocked their socks off, and the sight of these bouncy Norwegians riffing it up over some frantic beats brought a smile to many faces.

Casiokids giving it some moog

Raquel had been urging me to check out Casiokids after she caught an earlier set by them on Wednesday night. They did not disappoint. They are fantastic. Their super-tight musicianship was overshadowed by an exuberance that choked me up a few times. There is something about people hitting cowbells with glee!!! Especially when the entire band took it in turns to trade instruments mid-song, and all enjoyed a good visit with the cowbell stand. Here is one band whose recorded output does no justice to their music. As a live performance it is a terrific marriage of rhythmic invention and soaring melodies, with a fellow playing an imaginary theramin part with his hands gesticulating in a way that would have worked just as well at my favourite trance night in Norwich, England circa 1995. I always find it reassuring to hear other men sing with high voices because it certainly captures a moment of androgynous beauty when it just becomes a musical instrument and not a weapon of sexual persuasion.

Floating out of Habana, we found ourselves surrounded by sweaty beasts and tattoos that people already regret. Yes, we were there to see Future of the Left but they had finished already, so we hung around to catch a bit of the freshly invigorated Trail of Dead. Another morning stoner (video) is a spectacular epitaph to grunge which I will always treasure dearly, but alas, its creators sucked the royal ass when it came to performing some rock and roll today. They certainly had a notion of rocking out… if rock-distilled is really just Beavis and Butthead with instruments, but someone really needs to school them about the better moments in rock. Yes, Fugazi have two drummers, but they have this thing called interplay, rather than ham-fisted thrashing on the crash cymbals and playing power-chords in the way people might drill holes in their walls – or better yet – in their heads. Of course, we had a great school band called neolithic, and even if that name was dreamt up a parent living vicariously through their precociously competent kids, it is fitting for this kind of mandom. It is a curiously male trait, bashing out some shit on guitars with massive amplifier stacks behind you to compensate for sexual ineptitude.

Nevertheless we stayed until the Trail had perspired off stage, and bumped into a lady we met last year watching Kaki King. She had some raves about various bands doing the rounds. No doubt you’ll hear some of them getting plugged-to-death on a cheese-radio soon, but I can’t be bothered to list-off random names here.
So we headed back to the car and drove down south, over the river and found ourselves at a splendid place called Jovita’s. We enjoyed some onion-rich guac, a spicy spinach salad and some enchiladas, but the main draw was a local band called Built by Snow. They were not terrible and we definitely enjoyed our synchronized mastications while they did their best weezer-by-numbers-with-keyboards. They certainly inspired my mind to wander into a random thoughts about the nature of metrosexuality and geekdom. Here were these guys geeking out with their wall of synthesizers and yelps, but there was something missing that the Casiokids had… maybe it was the Norwegian kids’ penchant for exposing their nylon y-fronts and hitting that cowbell and this hilarious little splash cymbal with camp abandon. I suspect that we are in the realms of a profound aspect of the American condition here: people who are bred like factory chickens find it hard to think for themselves… ideas tend to be begged, borrowed, or blagged with a six pack of factory-made lagerlagerlager. But I wonder if that is true… many of my favourite musicians are Americans who have flourished in the periphery: Could Black Francis have come from anywhere else? A question we don’t care to answer.

Built by snow had a tragic flaw: a terrible bass player. I have never given much thought to bass playing before… but let me attempt to break it down for you here. Firstly I am unconvinced by the need for Fender to make a Jaguar Bass and this was the second offender today. Casiokids also had one, although their fellow clearly appreciates the first rule of bass club: You are the basis for the music, the instrument that combines rhythm with melody. Even the best melodic bass players like Mike Mills in REM also keep the beat as much as the drummer. I read some bollocks a few years ago in a London fanzine written by an erstwhile humourer of tovarich about how real rock and roll did not need bass. What a crock… the white stripes are just moving bass playing to guitars… not exactly an innovation, and certainly not the essence of great rock music. Bass moves us. Ask anyone who liked house… 4-to-the-floor beats and big fat basslines. Or anyone who cared about the Smiths… Andy Rourke was just as good as the ones who took all the money. Anyway, I digress… the bass on Built by Snow songs was fuzzy… often literally by a nasty sounding distortion pedal… and by fumbled plucking of notes. I am increasingly convinced that bass has to be played with confidence… and it is probably more like making love to a beautiful woman than other stringed instruments. Confidence and purity of mind… because there is nothing worse than a bass player who really wants to play wanky guitar parts. Clearly some distorted bass works… especially big fat distortion like this.

At this point we had still not paid a cent to hear a performance today. Please don’t misunderstand me: Musicians should be paid for their contribution to the world. Last year Raquel and I bought wristbands for about $130 a wrist. We were frustrated to discover that they were practically useless when it came to avoiding queues for venues, and worse: the official concerts were often impossible to get into if you did not buy the badge at a cost of over $500… too much for a casual admirer of music. This year we found a brilliant website that provides a breakdown of all the shows in Austin during SXSW (and there are a lot). Here is my schedule. It is a wonderful experience to saunter around Austin on a sunny day taking in some of the hundreds of simultaneous concerts at a bewildering range of venues from full-blown arenas and festival stages to tiny backrooms in bars. To those of you who may have wondered if this was all about hyperbole and the worst aspects of the music industry – payola and the demonic pursuit of unit-shifting, it can be; this year I was reminded that music is a vital life-force for me, it brings me comfort in the face of adversity and angst, and euphoria on a sunny day without the need for other stimulus.

Heroes.  Even with the usual diminishing returns regarding repetitious plotting and a rather desperate desire to be revived for another season, Heroes has really impressed me.  I guess it is possible to make drama for television that combines humour, social commentary, pathos, bathos, and a cheer-leader who can almost act.

Queue csiny… the music has gotten rather loud.  What happened to the tastefully bland downtempo beatz?  Instead we get Gary playing bass with some major label singer-songwriter dude.  I say dude, because I’m not sure I can stomach any more well-meaning stubbly crooners… Elliott did us a huge disservice leaving us with this tsunami of bland.  So when the music gets louder, is that supposed to compensate for the vacuous dialogue?  Clearly their writers never returned from the strike and were replaced by 5th graders.  After Dexter brilliantly mashed-up csi (thankfully minus carrothead) and nip/tuck (before they went all lame-la-la), csiny seems extremely tame, and appears to have been made for the remaining supporters of a certain deposed texan – about as texan as me; that is to say, it was made for imbeciles who lack the capacity for real science, and are so overwhelmed by a-d-d that the NIN-for-morons soundtrack is essential to keep them awake and following the typically foolish investigations to their altogether-obvious conclusions.

So is a waldorf really a gone-off-walnut?  Our instant-thrills-on-demand-netflix has been serving up some delicious morsels of senor Fawlty.  I miss the old bean-pole.  Maybe it is just my less-than-secret perversive streak, but there is something curiously sexy about the romping and stomping at Flay Otters….  Why do people here insist on celebrating that funny gang show that also features the aforementioned lankard, rather than appreciating the pure excruciating brilliance of this classic?

Right, having fashioned a couple of feeble paragraphs I’m calling it a night… wonder when I started talking American.

http://www.myspace.com/lesdors – they could have been the best band on Charing Cross Road….

http://www.myspace.com/markofspain – the latest squeeze, with the intention of playing in some of those infamous Austin gin joints one of these days

http://www.myspace.com/patricktwentyone – outlet for the neverending-solo-recording-project

http://www.myspace.com/tovarichrocks – pre-college rock band, we liked to play to exclusive crowds in Camden dives.

http://www.pa-trick21.com – largely neglected home for some old 4-track recordings from those blurry college days.

http://www.markofspain.com – under development but growing in size by the day… now with streaming tunes

Over the coming months I will be flinging a few more mixes out into cyber.space.

Tada.

So here is another bowl of wrong for 2008. It is life-affirming to have lived with some of these songs all year. Paper Planes became the celebration of a foothold on foreign soil. Deerhunter enchanted me with their marriage of shoe-gazing and the righteous fretwork of polvo. Cut / Copy remained a constant source of joy and sugar. Los Campesinos failed to write an Obama song, but nicely summed up the real tone of this annual;

WE KID OURSELVES THERE’S FUTURE IN THE FUCKING,
BUT THERE IS NO FUCKING FUTURE

Of the bands-of-hyperbole, MGMT and Ting Tings were tragically underwhelming live acts, and I am still wondering if the Fleet Foxes album is that good… but they still made vital music. I never thought I would get to hear a new Husker Du record either… so we should thank our Canadian friends Fucked Up for that. Their smashing appearance on MTV certainly provided the most enjoyable segment from that broadcaster in a good decade. Elsewhere I hoped for more from Wild Beasts and got more than I expected from TV On the Radio (after that soft-porn Tom Waits tribute disaster).

A distilled downloadable version of the playlist can be obtained from iTunes here.

Since we settled into our suburban existence here there have been many reminders of the people we left behind. My grandmother died this year. Her departure marked a moment in the demise of a once-cohesive family. I mourn her and the distance between us… all of us.

So why are we here? Here on this page, another eruption of silently-mouthed revelations…

This is the word according to me, circa 2007. And rather than fight for your attention amongst the blingin’ banner-ads, and fiendish consumer-trend-tracking cookies of certain social networks, I present you with a single unmediated advertisement for myself.

In the future I hope that you will reach out to me here. This is a place for nostalgia and future-schemes. I think of you often… just ask my wife.

m.