Best Music of 2006
by Steven Rybicki
The Ys Spectacular
Ys, from the transfixing Joanna Newsom, is a record that inspires nothing less than aesthetic exhaustion. And you can’t begin to believe how sublime that exhaustion feels when working through the dense lyrics and wonderful arrangements (courtesy of one of the great minds behind Pet Sounds, Van Dyke Parks). The first reviews that dropped on this release were laden with the overall criticism that Ys is “overwritten.” This allegation was enough to convince me to Amazon this puppy. I mean, come one, this was the year of banal and desolate offerings that explained, “you’re beautiful,” “we fly high,” “it’s goin’ down,” “let your shoulder lean,” and (how can we forget), “eight seconds left in overtime…” producing utter aural numbness. So, good lord, please give me “overwritten.”
I will never complain when confronted with lyrics that are hard to parse and situations and suggestions that are difficult to digest, so this was a treat. In the case of Ys, we have words that are sung, pitch to pronunciation, with a literariness and sense of being lived-in that is simply lacking in the writing exercises of our best current writers, like Colin Melloy (and that’s not to denigrate The Decemberists, at all). To understand my point, a comparison: Newsom’s “Monkey and Bear” with The Decemberists’ “The Crane Wife.” Melloy’s epic feels like another impressive research paper from a graduate student in the English department and demonstrates, again, his talent for embedding self-contained EPs within The Decemberists’ larger pop catalogue (for further evidence, just remember, Picaresque had its “Mariner’s Song” and the record was written concurrently with The Tain). “Monkey and Bear” is, on the other hand, an expressive tale of a scheming monkey and an amiable bear. Instead of telling the story directly and chronologically, like Melloy’s Tain, “Mariner,” “Island,” and “Crane,” Newsom appeals to the listener’s imagination to explain the history between Money and Bear and their life (during and after captivity) by only explicitly describing their escape from their trainer and a couple stories of their new life.
But we’ve yet to get to the showstopper: “Only Skin.” This agile, potent reflection is a behemoth, in terms of length, and baroque, in terms of Newsom’s words and phrasing. Her harp refuses to drive the melody (Van Dyke takes care of that). Instead, the rhythm of strings-and-pluck is inextricably entangled with her vocalization of the lyrics: she sings with both voice and harp. I won’t touch the content of “Only Skin” because it’s simple, and yet, so ripe for your interpretation: it’s written around the daily life of two lovers (perhaps living in a cottage with a thatched roof near the forest where Money hides and the ocean where Bear loses himself in his primal frolic among the waves), but is infused with only indirect forms of address to, and elliptical descriptions of, its characters. It builds to a climax (the climax of Ys, itself, actually) that features a drowsy, waltzing tempo and Newsom’s intonation complimented by Bill Callahan’s dry but urgent, Tom Waits-by-way-of-Leonard Cohen voice that echoes and responds to the calls of Joanna’s character. The climax is overwhelming in it’s melody, lyrics, and mood. It’s a stirring, but nevertheless exhausting, listen: unparalleled by any other work this year.
Ys is, by far, the best record I’ve heard recently, and I have confidence that it will continue to amaze as the decade progresses (along with other classics of the Zeros: Lucinda Williams’ World Without Tears, Interpol’s Turn On the Bright Lights, and The Wrens’ Meadowlands).
Rest of the Best:
Boys and Girls in America by The Hold Steady
(Even if you don’t believe it) The Hold Steady radically altered their approach to writing this record: eschewing the intricate short story/concept album form of Separation Sunday, they switched to meta-rock. What’s meta? Well, an example of it is when you start a record with the rousing truism, “Sal Paradise was right/boys and girls in America they have such a sad time together,” then inventing an almost laughable assertion that they’re all at a “demonstration.” Ha! I certainly hope Finn doesn’t really mean “ALL the boys and girls in America,” because we’re consumers who exist on such a repellent plane of low intelligence that when the media got around to marketing voting to our generation it was in the form of the “Vote or Die” test. And we still failed (so let’s send some desperate and fervent prayers to god that boys and girls in America aren’t at demonstrations and don’t have any opinions on, say, Iraq… just keep them driving their Jettas and Z71s and watching The Hills and Britney’s crotch). So, we’ll just have to conclude that The Hold Steady have a specific type of youth demographic in mind, and if you actually bought the record, my guess is that you’re a member of that group.
But back to The Hold Steady’s “meta” record. Boys and Girls in America is all about the art of writing a smattering of songs about all sorts of those awkward, ecstatic, and formidable experiences that happen during, and in between, the quests for relationships, sex, drugs, stability, parties, (etc.,) that we’re all consumed with doing before the inevitable happens: getting old and hating yourself by idolizing and resenting the young. The Hold Steady know they’re writing and jamming about easy targets, the love and loss of the young, but they infuse it with their literary and cynical sense of self-awareness. Additionally, the lyrics themselves are involuted mini-clinics on how rock lyrics are written and the characters that the songs follow on various jaunts are all in on gag. This is the difference between making a brilliant record, as The Hold Steady did, and producing an embarrassing collection that was The Killers’ mess, Sam’s Town. The Hold Steady don’t pretend that their work is going to “save” you (that’s for Jesus and John Berryman), they just want you to rock-n-roll with it (and, if you party too hard, there will always be sex, saline, and cherry Coke in the chill out tent).
#3-#13
Shearwater, the refigured double of the adventurous Austin band Okkervil River, released the incredible LP, Palo Santo. Unfortunately, no one really noticed. As always with the Sheff clan, the instrumentation is paranoid and groovy and transitions to strong, spacious melodies. Upping the ante on melody, however, was Sub Pop’s Band of Horses. Their strong, second quarter offering, Everything All the Time was the best epic pop/rock record that Built to Spill never released (never mind that they’re fronted by a voice more lyrically focused than My Morning Jacket). The hooks on “The Funeral,” “The Great Salt Lake,” and “Monsters” are compelling and the record glides so effortlessly that time melts around this little gem.
On the more avant-garde end of the mainstream music world, TV on the Radio delivered the blistering and intricate Return to Cookie Mountain and Xiu Xiu continued to shine in his convulsive, transgressive squalor. Cookie Mountain’s dark and surreal lyrics, ornate samples, and programming are only surpassed by that feature of TV on the Radio that no other act can touch: percussion. The beats and rhythms conjured by whatever the hell those guys bang on are worth the price of admission, alone: particularly on “I Was A Lover,” “Wolf Like Me,” “Blues From Down Here,” and “Wash the Day Away.” On the other end of the avant is Xiu Xiu’s new seething tantrum of lascivious anxiety and self-loathing. This guy’s always had a brilliant pop album in him and, to his chagrin, he knows it (in fact, his awareness of his own faculty with verse/chorus/verse and his ability to experiment with instrumentation until he finds undeniably catchy hooks probably stokes his confusion and anger). His usual minimalist programming and percussion persists in The Air Force but, as he admitted to me when I interviewed him last December, the strains of pop songwriting and arrangements have become dominant (read: more “I Love the Valley” and “Bog People” and less “Support Our Troops Oh!”). The Air Force isn’t his masterpiece, but it’s a virulent and fascinating document. If he succumbs to his urges and gets that great pop record done, he’ll be heralded as a visionary able to harness the darkness of Scott Walker, Pharrell’s occasional claustrophobic minimalist loops, and Brian Wilson’s melancholy wrapped in discreet, catchy, three minute bursts.
Innovative programming wasn’t just happening in Brooklyn and Berkeley: from CSS, to LCD’s Nike foray, or the new Herbert, and even two DFA compilations, there was plenty available. For my money the best of the bunch was The Knife’s Silent Shout, Hot Chip’s pop miracle, The Warning, and the Timbaland/Timberlake October surprise, FutureSex/LoveSounds. Silent Shout is the universally hailed dance record that has crisp beats in combination with the satanic atmospheric chops of an electronic Joy Division fronted by Kate Bush. The Warning, in stark contrast, is a warm, sentimental record from those congenial smart-asses, Hot Chip. It’s enveloped by a nostalgic haze of lyrics that work through adolescent isolation, puppy love, and flat-out dance anthems, and grounded by clean rhythms interlaced with synths and samples of sparse guitars. Finally, there’s the one-two punch of Justin Timberlake and Timbaland. FutureSex spots the audience a couple excellent singles (“SexyBack” and “My Love”), but that’s just a flirt. When you make it to the centerpiece of the album it expands its disco/disco-punk to the point it collapses into an infectious lovelorn ballad set against a “beat vs. bollywood” sample. Those songs, “LoveStoned/I Think She Knows” and “What Goes Around… Comes Around” respectively, each clock in past the seven-minute mark. Those monsters are nestled between the initial aggressive and innovative medley, “FutureSex/LoveSound” through “My Love,” and the, comparatively, rote and disappointing threesome of “Chop Me Up,” “Damn Girl,” and “Summer Love.” It all ends with three tepid ballads. But the outstanding first half of the record is exciting enough to warrant heated accolades.
And Nas is back to remind us that hip-hop is dead. You mean “The Whisper Song” wasn’t what Chuck D, KRS-One, and Mr. Illmatic himself had in mind for the genre? What a shocker. Now, don’t get me wrong: I love and respect Nas. In terms of hip-hop, he’s absolutely God’s son: the an MC, second only to Biggie (but don’t be fooled into thinking that he’s some sort of worthy public intellectual). Yet I can’t let this “hip-hop is dead” advert slogan go by without comment: the statement is rank with hypocrisy. Regardless of whether Nas’ work (every once in a while) has pointed to class distinctions, systems of power in the context of the urban poor, and can detail the psychological stress of poverty, and how it affects the maturation of the young male mind, his work has refused to get lost in developing the complexities of that web of cause and effect. Instead, he, decided to glamorize the laissez faire market system of dealing, the lavish lifestyle of the wealthy, and beef with Jay-Z.
Which leads me to best hip-hop records of the year: Ghostface Killah’s Fishscale and Clipse’s return, Hell Hath No Fury. They are the incarnation of why Nas is 1) wrong to think “hip-hop is dead” is anything more profound than a simple marketing maneuver and 2) even if one was to grant that premise, it shows what an artistically limited statement it is. In the past three years Ghostface has produced both this year’s stellar Fishscale and 2004’s The Pretty Toney Album. And he, like Nas, is on Def Jam. We’re not talking about some elitist or small market indie hip-hopper. This man has dropped singles like “Run” and is still as energetic, vicious, and, in fact, much more lyrically/socially incisive than when he was Wu-banging on the 36 Chambers.
On the other hand, we have Clipse. I get the feeling that this is more the type of record that Nas has in mind when knocking the current state of hip-hop. Hell Hath No Fury is produced by the Neptunes and demonstrates their prowess for crafting hipbreakers (“Mr. Me Too”), crackling beats (“The New World”), and lavish crunk parodies (“Trill”). Yet, the Norfolk rappers themselves don’t quite live up to the promise of the music under girding their voices. Despite writing the best pun of the year (“The news called it crack/I call it diet coke”), their Miami Vice allusions are lifeless and the descriptions of women (whether they’re strippers, college co-eds, or merely “fly” in “Dirty Money) are rote and tired. And it’s this weakness of a solid record that allows me, in moments of weakness/elitism, to agree with Nas. I’ll countenance his “hip-hop is dead” decree because the problem with describing Hell Hath No Fury is whether one should count it a “plus” that the stories are more developed and the beats just plain hotter than Akon, Dem Franchise Boyz, or Yung Joc?
Finally, and always most importantly, it comes down to the ladies. Of course, Joanna gave us the best record of the year, but during the rest of the “6” there were two more lyricists who wrote impressive additions to their respective catalogues. Cat Power (Chan Marshall) did her Dusty in Memphis and kicked it all off with a *perfect* single, “The Greatest.” Neko finally released her follow-up to Boiler Room Lullaby (we all know that as great as The Tigers Have Spoken. was, it was merely a stop-gap measure). Fox Confessor Brings the Flood is an unrelenting voyage through, what should be the familiar, Country&Western tropes: lost and jealous lovers, violence, and religion. Lacking the naturalism of Lucinda Williams, Neko Case’s record doesn’t so much describe these traumas in harrowing detail and with an acute perceptiveness, but, rather, her hypnotic vocal intonations interpret these scenarios as a part of a larger, mysterious psychological dreamscape. A purgatory of tragedy, love, and religious symbols, mediated and possessed by our only soothsayer and guide: Neko Case.
And now for the ubiquitous lists…
Best Records of 2006
1) Ys by Joanna Newsom
2) Boys and Girls in America by The Hold Steady
3) Palo Santo by Shearwater
4) Silent Shout by The Knife
5) Fox Confessor Brings the Flood by Neko Case
6) Fishscale by Ghostface Killah
7) Everything All the Time by Band of Horses
8) Return to Cookie Mountain by TV on the Radio
9) The Warning by Hot Chip
10) The Greatest by Cat Power
11) Hell Hath No Fury by Clipse
12) FutureSex/LoveSounds by Justin Timberlake
13) The Air Force by Xiu Xiu
14) So This Is Goodbye by Junior Boys
15) Return to Sea by Islands
16) The Crane Wife by The Decemberists
17) Gulag Orkestar by Beirut
18) Let Me Go Let Me Go Let Me Go by Jason Molina
19) The Avalanche by Sufjan Stevens
20) Passover by The Black Angels
21) Précis by Benoit Pioulard
22) The Life Pursuit by Belle and Sebastian
23) Shut Up I Am Dreaming by Sunset Rubdown
24) Beach House by Beach House
25) The Loon by Tapes ‘n Tapes
26) Destroyer’s Rubies by Destroyer
27) You In Reverse by Built to Spill
28) Drums Not Dead by Liars
29) Carnavas by the Silversun Pickups
30) The Last Romance by Arab Strap
31) Night Ripper by Girl Talk
32) He Poos Clouds by Final Fantasy
33) The World is Gone by Various
34) The Information by Beck
35) Veneer by Jose Gonzalez
36) Up In Rags/With Our Wallets Full by the Cold War Kids
37) Bitter Tea by The Fiery Furnaces
38) Show Your Bones by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs
39) Meds by Placebo
40) The Eraser by Thom Yorke
Best Songs of 2006
“The Greatest,” Cat Power
“Mother, Sisters, Daughters & Wives,” Voxtrot
“Young Folks,” Peter, Bjorn, and John
“That’s Life,” Killer Mike
“Only Skin,” Joanna Newsom
“And I Was A Boy From School,” Hot Chip
“Yankee Bayonet (I Will Be Home),” The Decemberists
“My Love,” Justin Timberlake (ft. Timbaland and T.I.)
“The Other Side of Mt. Heart Attack,” Liars
“Hello New World,” Clipse
“SexyBack,” Justin Timberlake
“Stuck Between Stations,” The Hold Steady
“Marble House,” The Knife
“Dudley,” Yeah Yeah Yeahs
“Promiscuous,” Nelly Furtado (ft. Timbaland)
“Star Witness,” Neko Case
“What You Know,” T.I.
“Springfield, Or Bobby Got a Shadfly Caught in His Hair,” Sufjan Stevens
“Black Republican,” Nas and Jay-Z
“The Champ,” Ghostface Killah
“Love is Stronger than Witchcraft,” Robert Pollard
“Ask About Me,” Girl Talk
“Palimend,” Benoit Pioulard
“Stink,” Arab Strap
“Saint John,” Cold War Kids
“Save Me Save Me,” Xiu Xiu
“Us Ones In Between,” Sunset Rubdown
“Whoo! Alright-Yeah… Uh Huh,” The Rapture
“Infra-Red,” Placebo
“Lazy Eye,” Silversun Pickups
“The Funeral,” Band of Horses
“Roscoe,” Midlake
“Lovestain,” Jose Gonzalez
“Gettin’ Some,” Shawnna (ft. Ludacris)
“Ms. New Booty,” Bubba Sparxxx (ft. The Ying Yang Twins)
“The Warning,” Hot Chip
“Dirty Business,” The Dresden Dolls
“Hospital Beds,” Cold War Kids
“Mr. Me Too,” Clipse (ft. Pharrell)
“Thunnk,” Various
“Postcards from Italy,” Beirut
“Goin’ Against Your Mind,” Built to Spill
“All Fires,” Swan Lake
“Bossy,” Kelis
“So This Is Goodbye,” Junior Boys
“Wolf Like Me,” TV On the Radio
“White Waves,” Shearwater
“Get Out Get Out Get Out,” Jason Molina
“Your Blood,” Destroyer
“10 Gallon Ascots,” Tapes ‘n Tapes
“Funny Little Frog,” Belle and Sebastian
“Rough Gem,” Islands
“Black Swan,” Thom Yorke
“Je Ne Te Connais Pas,” Prototypes
“Maneater,” Nellie Furtado
“Apple Orchard,” Beach House
“This Lamb Sells Condos,” Final Fantasy
“Strange Apparition,” Beck
“Bloodhounds On My Trail,” The Black Angels
“When You Were Young,” The Killers
“Chasing Cars,” Snow Patrol
The Ys Spectacular
Ys, from the transfixing Joanna Newsom, is a record that inspires nothing less than aesthetic exhaustion. And you can’t begin to believe how sublime that exhaustion feels when working through the dense lyrics and wonderful arrangements (courtesy of one of the great minds behind Pet Sounds, Van Dyke Parks). The first reviews that dropped on this release were laden with the overall criticism that Ys is “overwritten.” This allegation was enough to convince me to Amazon this puppy. I mean, come one, this was the year of banal and desolate offerings that explained, “you’re beautiful,” “we fly high,” “it’s goin’ down,” “let your shoulder lean,” and (how can we forget), “eight seconds left in overtime…” producing utter aural numbness. So, good lord, please give me “overwritten.”
I will never complain when confronted with lyrics that are hard to parse and situations and suggestions that are difficult to digest, so this was a treat. In the case of Ys, we have words that are sung, pitch to pronunciation, with a literariness and sense of being lived-in that is simply lacking in the writing exercises of our best current writers, like Colin Melloy (and that’s not to denigrate The Decemberists, at all). To understand my point, a comparison: Newsom’s “Monkey and Bear” with The Decemberists’ “The Crane Wife.” Melloy’s epic feels like another impressive research paper from a graduate student in the English department and demonstrates, again, his talent for embedding self-contained EPs within The Decemberists’ larger pop catalogue (for further evidence, just remember, Picaresque had its “Mariner’s Song” and the record was written concurrently with The Tain). “Monkey and Bear” is, on the other hand, an expressive tale of a scheming monkey and an amiable bear. Instead of telling the story directly and chronologically, like Melloy’s Tain, “Mariner,” “Island,” and “Crane,” Newsom appeals to the listener’s imagination to explain the history between Money and Bear and their life (during and after captivity) by only explicitly describing their escape from their trainer and a couple stories of their new life.
But we’ve yet to get to the showstopper: “Only Skin.” This agile, potent reflection is a behemoth, in terms of length, and baroque, in terms of Newsom’s words and phrasing. Her harp refuses to drive the melody (Van Dyke takes care of that). Instead, the rhythm of strings-and-pluck is inextricably entangled with her vocalization of the lyrics: she sings with both voice and harp. I won’t touch the content of “Only Skin” because it’s simple, and yet, so ripe for your interpretation: it’s written around the daily life of two lovers (perhaps living in a cottage with a thatched roof near the forest where Money hides and the ocean where Bear loses himself in his primal frolic among the waves), but is infused with only indirect forms of address to, and elliptical descriptions of, its characters. It builds to a climax (the climax of Ys, itself, actually) that features a drowsy, waltzing tempo and Newsom’s intonation complimented by Bill Callahan’s dry but urgent, Tom Waits-by-way-of-Leonard Cohen voice that echoes and responds to the calls of Joanna’s character. The climax is overwhelming in it’s melody, lyrics, and mood. It’s a stirring, but nevertheless exhausting, listen: unparalleled by any other work this year.
Ys is, by far, the best record I’ve heard recently, and I have confidence that it will continue to amaze as the decade progresses (along with other classics of the Zeros: Lucinda Williams’ World Without Tears, Interpol’s Turn On the Bright Lights, and The Wrens’ Meadowlands).
Rest of the Best:
Boys and Girls in America by The Hold Steady
(Even if you don’t believe it) The Hold Steady radically altered their approach to writing this record: eschewing the intricate short story/concept album form of Separation Sunday, they switched to meta-rock. What’s meta? Well, an example of it is when you start a record with the rousing truism, “Sal Paradise was right/boys and girls in America they have such a sad time together,” then inventing an almost laughable assertion that they’re all at a “demonstration.” Ha! I certainly hope Finn doesn’t really mean “ALL the boys and girls in America,” because we’re consumers who exist on such a repellent plane of low intelligence that when the media got around to marketing voting to our generation it was in the form of the “Vote or Die” test. And we still failed (so let’s send some desperate and fervent prayers to god that boys and girls in America aren’t at demonstrations and don’t have any opinions on, say, Iraq… just keep them driving their Jettas and Z71s and watching The Hills and Britney’s crotch). So, we’ll just have to conclude that The Hold Steady have a specific type of youth demographic in mind, and if you actually bought the record, my guess is that you’re a member of that group.
But back to The Hold Steady’s “meta” record. Boys and Girls in America is all about the art of writing a smattering of songs about all sorts of those awkward, ecstatic, and formidable experiences that happen during, and in between, the quests for relationships, sex, drugs, stability, parties, (etc.,) that we’re all consumed with doing before the inevitable happens: getting old and hating yourself by idolizing and resenting the young. The Hold Steady know they’re writing and jamming about easy targets, the love and loss of the young, but they infuse it with their literary and cynical sense of self-awareness. Additionally, the lyrics themselves are involuted mini-clinics on how rock lyrics are written and the characters that the songs follow on various jaunts are all in on gag. This is the difference between making a brilliant record, as The Hold Steady did, and producing an embarrassing collection that was The Killers’ mess, Sam’s Town. The Hold Steady don’t pretend that their work is going to “save” you (that’s for Jesus and John Berryman), they just want you to rock-n-roll with it (and, if you party too hard, there will always be sex, saline, and cherry Coke in the chill out tent).
#3-#13
Shearwater, the refigured double of the adventurous Austin band Okkervil River, released the incredible LP, Palo Santo. Unfortunately, no one really noticed. As always with the Sheff clan, the instrumentation is paranoid and groovy and transitions to strong, spacious melodies. Upping the ante on melody, however, was Sub Pop’s Band of Horses. Their strong, second quarter offering, Everything All the Time was the best epic pop/rock record that Built to Spill never released (never mind that they’re fronted by a voice more lyrically focused than My Morning Jacket). The hooks on “The Funeral,” “The Great Salt Lake,” and “Monsters” are compelling and the record glides so effortlessly that time melts around this little gem.
On the more avant-garde end of the mainstream music world, TV on the Radio delivered the blistering and intricate Return to Cookie Mountain and Xiu Xiu continued to shine in his convulsive, transgressive squalor. Cookie Mountain’s dark and surreal lyrics, ornate samples, and programming are only surpassed by that feature of TV on the Radio that no other act can touch: percussion. The beats and rhythms conjured by whatever the hell those guys bang on are worth the price of admission, alone: particularly on “I Was A Lover,” “Wolf Like Me,” “Blues From Down Here,” and “Wash the Day Away.” On the other end of the avant is Xiu Xiu’s new seething tantrum of lascivious anxiety and self-loathing. This guy’s always had a brilliant pop album in him and, to his chagrin, he knows it (in fact, his awareness of his own faculty with verse/chorus/verse and his ability to experiment with instrumentation until he finds undeniably catchy hooks probably stokes his confusion and anger). His usual minimalist programming and percussion persists in The Air Force but, as he admitted to me when I interviewed him last December, the strains of pop songwriting and arrangements have become dominant (read: more “I Love the Valley” and “Bog People” and less “Support Our Troops Oh!”). The Air Force isn’t his masterpiece, but it’s a virulent and fascinating document. If he succumbs to his urges and gets that great pop record done, he’ll be heralded as a visionary able to harness the darkness of Scott Walker, Pharrell’s occasional claustrophobic minimalist loops, and Brian Wilson’s melancholy wrapped in discreet, catchy, three minute bursts.
Innovative programming wasn’t just happening in Brooklyn and Berkeley: from CSS, to LCD’s Nike foray, or the new Herbert, and even two DFA compilations, there was plenty available. For my money the best of the bunch was The Knife’s Silent Shout, Hot Chip’s pop miracle, The Warning, and the Timbaland/Timberlake October surprise, FutureSex/LoveSounds. Silent Shout is the universally hailed dance record that has crisp beats in combination with the satanic atmospheric chops of an electronic Joy Division fronted by Kate Bush. The Warning, in stark contrast, is a warm, sentimental record from those congenial smart-asses, Hot Chip. It’s enveloped by a nostalgic haze of lyrics that work through adolescent isolation, puppy love, and flat-out dance anthems, and grounded by clean rhythms interlaced with synths and samples of sparse guitars. Finally, there’s the one-two punch of Justin Timberlake and Timbaland. FutureSex spots the audience a couple excellent singles (“SexyBack” and “My Love”), but that’s just a flirt. When you make it to the centerpiece of the album it expands its disco/disco-punk to the point it collapses into an infectious lovelorn ballad set against a “beat vs. bollywood” sample. Those songs, “LoveStoned/I Think She Knows” and “What Goes Around… Comes Around” respectively, each clock in past the seven-minute mark. Those monsters are nestled between the initial aggressive and innovative medley, “FutureSex/LoveSound” through “My Love,” and the, comparatively, rote and disappointing threesome of “Chop Me Up,” “Damn Girl,” and “Summer Love.” It all ends with three tepid ballads. But the outstanding first half of the record is exciting enough to warrant heated accolades.
And Nas is back to remind us that hip-hop is dead. You mean “The Whisper Song” wasn’t what Chuck D, KRS-One, and Mr. Illmatic himself had in mind for the genre? What a shocker. Now, don’t get me wrong: I love and respect Nas. In terms of hip-hop, he’s absolutely God’s son: the an MC, second only to Biggie (but don’t be fooled into thinking that he’s some sort of worthy public intellectual). Yet I can’t let this “hip-hop is dead” advert slogan go by without comment: the statement is rank with hypocrisy. Regardless of whether Nas’ work (every once in a while) has pointed to class distinctions, systems of power in the context of the urban poor, and can detail the psychological stress of poverty, and how it affects the maturation of the young male mind, his work has refused to get lost in developing the complexities of that web of cause and effect. Instead, he, decided to glamorize the laissez faire market system of dealing, the lavish lifestyle of the wealthy, and beef with Jay-Z.
Which leads me to best hip-hop records of the year: Ghostface Killah’s Fishscale and Clipse’s return, Hell Hath No Fury. They are the incarnation of why Nas is 1) wrong to think “hip-hop is dead” is anything more profound than a simple marketing maneuver and 2) even if one was to grant that premise, it shows what an artistically limited statement it is. In the past three years Ghostface has produced both this year’s stellar Fishscale and 2004’s The Pretty Toney Album. And he, like Nas, is on Def Jam. We’re not talking about some elitist or small market indie hip-hopper. This man has dropped singles like “Run” and is still as energetic, vicious, and, in fact, much more lyrically/socially incisive than when he was Wu-banging on the 36 Chambers.
On the other hand, we have Clipse. I get the feeling that this is more the type of record that Nas has in mind when knocking the current state of hip-hop. Hell Hath No Fury is produced by the Neptunes and demonstrates their prowess for crafting hipbreakers (“Mr. Me Too”), crackling beats (“The New World”), and lavish crunk parodies (“Trill”). Yet, the Norfolk rappers themselves don’t quite live up to the promise of the music under girding their voices. Despite writing the best pun of the year (“The news called it crack/I call it diet coke”), their Miami Vice allusions are lifeless and the descriptions of women (whether they’re strippers, college co-eds, or merely “fly” in “Dirty Money) are rote and tired. And it’s this weakness of a solid record that allows me, in moments of weakness/elitism, to agree with Nas. I’ll countenance his “hip-hop is dead” decree because the problem with describing Hell Hath No Fury is whether one should count it a “plus” that the stories are more developed and the beats just plain hotter than Akon, Dem Franchise Boyz, or Yung Joc?
Finally, and always most importantly, it comes down to the ladies. Of course, Joanna gave us the best record of the year, but during the rest of the “6” there were two more lyricists who wrote impressive additions to their respective catalogues. Cat Power (Chan Marshall) did her Dusty in Memphis and kicked it all off with a *perfect* single, “The Greatest.” Neko finally released her follow-up to Boiler Room Lullaby (we all know that as great as The Tigers Have Spoken. was, it was merely a stop-gap measure). Fox Confessor Brings the Flood is an unrelenting voyage through, what should be the familiar, Country&Western tropes: lost and jealous lovers, violence, and religion. Lacking the naturalism of Lucinda Williams, Neko Case’s record doesn’t so much describe these traumas in harrowing detail and with an acute perceptiveness, but, rather, her hypnotic vocal intonations interpret these scenarios as a part of a larger, mysterious psychological dreamscape. A purgatory of tragedy, love, and religious symbols, mediated and possessed by our only soothsayer and guide: Neko Case.
And now for the ubiquitous lists…
Best Records of 2006
1) Ys by Joanna Newsom
2) Boys and Girls in America by The Hold Steady
3) Palo Santo by Shearwater
4) Silent Shout by The Knife
5) Fox Confessor Brings the Flood by Neko Case
6) Fishscale by Ghostface Killah
7) Everything All the Time by Band of Horses
8) Return to Cookie Mountain by TV on the Radio
9) The Warning by Hot Chip
10) The Greatest by Cat Power
11) Hell Hath No Fury by Clipse
12) FutureSex/LoveSounds by Justin Timberlake
13) The Air Force by Xiu Xiu
14) So This Is Goodbye by Junior Boys
15) Return to Sea by Islands
16) The Crane Wife by The Decemberists
17) Gulag Orkestar by Beirut
18) Let Me Go Let Me Go Let Me Go by Jason Molina
19) The Avalanche by Sufjan Stevens
20) Passover by The Black Angels
21) Précis by Benoit Pioulard
22) The Life Pursuit by Belle and Sebastian
23) Shut Up I Am Dreaming by Sunset Rubdown
24) Beach House by Beach House
25) The Loon by Tapes ‘n Tapes
26) Destroyer’s Rubies by Destroyer
27) You In Reverse by Built to Spill
28) Drums Not Dead by Liars
29) Carnavas by the Silversun Pickups
30) The Last Romance by Arab Strap
31) Night Ripper by Girl Talk
32) He Poos Clouds by Final Fantasy
33) The World is Gone by Various
34) The Information by Beck
35) Veneer by Jose Gonzalez
36) Up In Rags/With Our Wallets Full by the Cold War Kids
37) Bitter Tea by The Fiery Furnaces
38) Show Your Bones by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs
39) Meds by Placebo
40) The Eraser by Thom Yorke
Best Songs of 2006
“The Greatest,” Cat Power
“Mother, Sisters, Daughters & Wives,” Voxtrot
“Young Folks,” Peter, Bjorn, and John
“That’s Life,” Killer Mike
“Only Skin,” Joanna Newsom
“And I Was A Boy From School,” Hot Chip
“Yankee Bayonet (I Will Be Home),” The Decemberists
“My Love,” Justin Timberlake (ft. Timbaland and T.I.)
“The Other Side of Mt. Heart Attack,” Liars
“Hello New World,” Clipse
“SexyBack,” Justin Timberlake
“Stuck Between Stations,” The Hold Steady
“Marble House,” The Knife
“Dudley,” Yeah Yeah Yeahs
“Promiscuous,” Nelly Furtado (ft. Timbaland)
“Star Witness,” Neko Case
“What You Know,” T.I.
“Springfield, Or Bobby Got a Shadfly Caught in His Hair,” Sufjan Stevens
“Black Republican,” Nas and Jay-Z
“The Champ,” Ghostface Killah
“Love is Stronger than Witchcraft,” Robert Pollard
“Ask About Me,” Girl Talk
“Palimend,” Benoit Pioulard
“Stink,” Arab Strap
“Saint John,” Cold War Kids
“Save Me Save Me,” Xiu Xiu
“Us Ones In Between,” Sunset Rubdown
“Whoo! Alright-Yeah… Uh Huh,” The Rapture
“Infra-Red,” Placebo
“Lazy Eye,” Silversun Pickups
“The Funeral,” Band of Horses
“Roscoe,” Midlake
“Lovestain,” Jose Gonzalez
“Gettin’ Some,” Shawnna (ft. Ludacris)
“Ms. New Booty,” Bubba Sparxxx (ft. The Ying Yang Twins)
“The Warning,” Hot Chip
“Dirty Business,” The Dresden Dolls
“Hospital Beds,” Cold War Kids
“Mr. Me Too,” Clipse (ft. Pharrell)
“Thunnk,” Various
“Postcards from Italy,” Beirut
“Goin’ Against Your Mind,” Built to Spill
“All Fires,” Swan Lake
“Bossy,” Kelis
“So This Is Goodbye,” Junior Boys
“Wolf Like Me,” TV On the Radio
“White Waves,” Shearwater
“Get Out Get Out Get Out,” Jason Molina
“Your Blood,” Destroyer
“10 Gallon Ascots,” Tapes ‘n Tapes
“Funny Little Frog,” Belle and Sebastian
“Rough Gem,” Islands
“Black Swan,” Thom Yorke
“Je Ne Te Connais Pas,” Prototypes
“Maneater,” Nellie Furtado
“Apple Orchard,” Beach House
“This Lamb Sells Condos,” Final Fantasy
“Strange Apparition,” Beck
“Bloodhounds On My Trail,” The Black Angels
“When You Were Young,” The Killers
“Chasing Cars,” Snow Patrol
posted by steven rybicki at 9:13 AM
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