Favorite Songs of the Year, Part II

So, I'm 31 now. Doesn't feel much different, except that I know this is going to be a big year for me. 31 is the year that I'll get married, graduate from law school, make a big move across the country, and start a possibly semi-permanent career. Anyway, mortality-schmortality. Here are another five songs I loved this year on albums that didn't make the top 10. Sorry for the delay.

Lil Wayne- "A Milli": The sexual posturing on what seems like Lil Wayne's 8th record of 2008 is so outlandishly off-putting and weird-sounding at times that you think you're hearing an alien attempting to synthesize a day spent in a specially-made Earthbound Misogyny Vortex. Trying to solve Weezy's thought process on Tha Carter III is an exercise in futility; the man is not like the rest of us, and what results from his attempt to make us "get it" is utterly fascinating. What we get here is a syrup-sick, all over the map manifesto of a real, live freak who literally spent his formative years in one of those rap videos. "A Milli" is my favorite track on the record, and one of the strangest-sounding massive pop hits I have ever heard. An orchestral flourish at the beginning gives way to a machine-gunning minimalist beat featuring a chopped-and-screwed vocal hook substituting for instrumental accompaniment. For the rest of your life, you will not hear a line in a million-selling hit quite like "I be the shit, now you got loose bowels."

Death Cab for Cutie- "I Will Possess Your Heart" : I don't know if it's the name or what, but I'm always surprised when I love the new Death Cab record. The first single from Narrow Stairs is about girls, sure, but it's not the semi-precious, wordy missive on love you'd expect. Like the motorik it emulates, "Possess" is a cold, moody exercise in repetition that does more with less than any Gibbard-affiliated song I've heard. Refreshingly simple lyrics and a memorable, tasteful piano line are a complement to the atmosphere and charging drums that you don't often hear from a band so often preoccupied with the stories its songs tell. A 9-minute meditation on obsession that builds without adding. It maintains. Fantastic.

The Slackers- "Happy Song": For over a decade, New York's ska heroes have hinted at breaking out of Genreville. Head man Vic Ruggiero's songwriting has always been grounded in decidedly un-Jamaican tradition- punk, doo-wop, and Dylan, to name a few. Self-Medication represents the farthest step out of familiarity for the band, with explorations in psych-rock and 50s rockabilly peppered among the expected ska and reggae. While the title track, the stunning "Don't Forget the Streets," and surprisingly strong contributions from trombonist Glen Pine offer a tantalizing look at what could happen if the Slackers continue to hone their ability to integrate seemingly disparate sounds and influences into their songs, the cut with the most replay value is the most straightforward "American ska" song on the record. "Happy Song" is a short, sweet reminder that there is something to be said for the mastery of a form.

Black Mountain- "Stormy High": An intriguing collision of metal, folk, and prog-rock that draws as much from coffee-house songwriters and murky ambient atmospherics as it does from Led Zeppelin and Queens of the Stone Age. While the 17-minute chant/dirge "Bright Lights" can get to be a bit much, "Stormy High" grooves the album into life with a witchy wail and a shit-hot 70s riff that would make the Woodersons of the world nod their heads in unison on the way to the nearest beer-bust. Alright, indeed.

Fucked Up- "No Epiphany": Wow. The Chemistry of Common Life is a beautiful, jolting, jarring addition to the canon of hardcore. In my old age, the screaming gets to me sometimes, but I have a sense that the more I listen to this album the more I'll get to loving it as much as I appreciate just what it does and how potentially important it is. On "No Epiphany," psych-rock, shoegaze, and East Indian elements meet shimmering production and a driving beat to form the only hardcore anthem I can think of that reminds me primarily of The Chemical Brothers. The guitar layering on the track is worthy of Kevin Shields, and I don't say that lightly. If you can handle abrasive, barking vocalists, do yourself a favor and look past this band's unfortunate name. This is a really, really good record.

Favorite Songs of the Year on Albums That Didn't Make the Top 10

What a boffo mood I've been in today. Not having to study for the first time in weeks has a lot to do with it, but I also ate Chipotle, got a Christmas tree, bought a Costa Rica travel guide for the honeymoon we're taking in a few months, and spent a lot of time with Pam and the animals. It was awesome.

Anyway, it's the end of December now, so here's a taste of my favorite music of the year. Look for the big post with my top albums as soon as I get around to it. Until then, these are some of the songs released in 2008 that moved me most but happen to be on albums that didn't quite make my top 10:

MGMT- "Time to Pretend": The best single of the year, and it isn't close. Impossibly, no, freakishly catchy glam-dance with snark-fest lyrics that only improve when you imagine thousands of club rats shouting along, joking a little but really with far-off hopes that their lives will someday, somehow take them to Paris, where they can "shoot some heroin, and f%*k with the stars." An instant classic that keeps getting better. From "Oracular Spectacular."

Spiritualized- "Soul on Fire": "Songs in A&E" is frustrating at times if you're like me and you prefer the droning psychedelia and obsessively perfect production and track sequencing of early Spiritualized. As has been the case with all of Jason Pierce's post-millenium output, though, specific moments manage to keep "A&E" compelling. The record's delirious high point comes with Brit-rock throwback "Soul on Fire," an homage to true love, heroin, and even Oasis that all adds up to the purest pop song Pierce has ever released, and one of the best.

M83- "Graveyard Girl": Trying something new seldom fits so well as M83's "Saturdays=Youth," which pastes the group's familiar woozy synthscapes onto an almost perversely straight-faced 80s pop album. "Graveyard Girl" is the album at its Hughes-iest. If the mid-song monologue doesn't make you sigh, then congratulations, you skipped being a teenager.

GZA- "0 Percent Finance": Every few years, GZA drops a coldly efficient reminder that the most consistent MC of the past 15 years remains one of hip-hop's best. "Pro Tools" doesn't break any new ground, but it's a grower and there just aren't many rappers anymore that can spit like this. Over a nervous beat that manages to remind us of Enter the Wu-Tang, The Police, and Rocky III at the same time, The Genius shows us that only he could turn a visit to a car dealership into an urgent, layered meditation on fast women and (I think) making records in the digital age. See also the scorching battle rap "Paper Plates."

Blitzen Trapper- "Furr": The title track on a record that came thisclose to making my top 10. On a sprawling exploration of what seems like every rock trend of the 70s, "Furr" is the stripped-down center. A nu-folk re-telling of the classic boy-raised-by-wolves tale, with a great melody that makes a pretty compelling argument that the verse can play a dual role as the hook. This one stays with you from the first listen, but doesn't overwhelm the other stuff - like a friend you can count on but who comes over just often enough. One of my favorite songs of the year, and I'm already regretting having some pretty suspect shit in my top 10 instead of Blitzen Trapper. You'll see.

Another five of these, and then my top ten albums at some point soon.

We Fear Change.

I'm currently up to my eyes in trademark law (right now, it's "secondary meaning"). In fact, I've been in full-on exam mode for the past week-plus, which explains the lack of activity here. Obviously, it's not too important. I have time to do this, drink protein shakes, pet the dog, watch television, and obsess over who the Cardinals non-tendered this week (Aaron Miles, Randy Flores, Tyler Johnson, because I know you all care). And, for the record, Sam Bradford can take his Heisman and, well, you know the rest.

So anyway, here's how it went down. I'm sitting in the living room with Pam, various animals, and THE Ricardo Williams. We're flipping through the channels shortly after Saturday Night Live when lo, a familiar mise en scene. A darkened room. On the wall, a strange device of some sort. Clap, clap! The lights come on, as if by magic, and the logo for the magnificently so-last-century Walgreen's gift-aisle staple The Clapper appears. Excitement wells up inside me. I love that song. Clap on! Clap off! You know the one:



Awesome. So the Clapper commercial re-enters my life for a fleeting moment, right? And I change the channel happy that I've relived a small but precious part of the collective consciousness of trash culture, right? Wrong. No. They changed the song. You can't believe it, can you? That snappy military-style melody that jerks you to attention, even in the stupor of late night channel-surfing? Don't tell me you haven't clapped along, because you have. That is not what I heard after the lights came on in the ad. Is it an *entirely* new song? No, it's one of those, gasp, "re-imaginings," the worst kind! The Nipples-On-Batsuit kind. They took an established property. Check. Realized that what they had was gold, so they kept the wonderfully cadenced rhythmic structure. Check. But alas, they're boneheads. And what do you do if you're an bonehead and you have a jingle that works? You f*&% with the melody. Never again will I pass through the aisle with the Clappers, Chia Heads, and fondue pots on my way to the pharmacy counter without feeling at least a little scandalized. This is the abomination I witnessed:



I know, right? I acknowledge that it's not at, like, Greedo-shoots-first levels of innocence-raping, but it's at least as bad as when they discontinued the Chilito. And it totally set me back on my Trademarks outline.

Speaking of trademarks, though, this whole episode did make me wonder: could the Clapper people have been sued by the army or some jingle writer or something, and had to change the melody? If so, I would feel bad if the new Clapper song didn't suck so hard. Discuss.

Lap Quilting With Georgia Bonesteel

My dark suspicions have proven true. OU, which still sucks, has vaulted ahead of Texas in the final regular-season BCS ranking, and will play in Kansas City for a tainted Big XII championship. For a few hours on Saturday, and for the first time in my life, I will be a rabid fan of the Missouri Tigers and their bloated pretty-boy of a quarterback. Er, handsome Heisman finalist of a quarterback.

So anyway, my fiancee and I spend a fair amount of time fighting over the remote control, despite our taste in television being somewhat similar. Our latest episode started as many do - I pretended to pause with mild interest on each channel as I gradually (and so casually) made my way up the dial to SportsCenter, whereupon I'd be able to: a.) present myself as having reached a fair result by carefully considering the other options before settling on channel 254; b.) receive important, live updates on the sports news of the day; and c.) laugh at advertisements featuring professional athletes and ESPN personalities in hilarious scenarios. This time, it was going to work. We had made our way past The Girls Next Door and Bizarre Foods, and even the usually must-see Anderson Cooper didn't have much going on. The only obstacles I saw to victory were a possible last-minute bathroom emergency or Hour 3 of the house-hunting marathon on the Home & Garden Network, which had already tempted both of us earlier in the evening.

The tension in the room was palpable. Our puppy is usually aroused, and for no good reason, but this time it felt like he knew something important was about to go down. His "lipstick" in full glory as he laid askew between my lap and the back of the sofa, he waited. The cat perched atop the record player stared intently at Mommy, and then Daddy, anticipating a major happening. The television seemed to get louder, and even our normally pathetic collection of IKEA cacti in the corner of the room seemed to stand taut. There was a feeling in the room. As if scripted, my fiancee alone was oblivious. It was electric.

I was seconds away when it happened. I paused, and then flipped past the HD version of the local PBS affiliate when Pam looked up from her laptop and said the words I dreaded most: "Hey, hold on a minute. Go back."

The game was up. Sure, I could kick the dog off of my lap and fire up the computer as usual, but then I'd risk a whole new (and entirely valid) line of attack: "You spend too much time on the computer. Pay attention to me or do the dishes or something." Point pre-emptively taken. Plus, watching SportsCenter is kind of like going to the movies instead of watching the DVD - it's just a feeling you get that can't be replicated.

The only word I could muster was a weak "Seriously?" I hoped for a second that I'd accidentally skipped something good, like a Ken Burns doc or Austin City Limits or something. No, it was "Lap Quilting with Georgia Bonesteel."

Epilogue: I was hooked. It was like watching one of those instructional videos from 1986, but with worse production values. You knew it was a fairly recent episode from newish-looking cars and a couple of passing references to "green" living. Soon we were locked in intense discussion over what city in Texas Georgia had chosen for her travel segment, and whether "Citrus Daydream (or something like that)," that week's featured quilt, was intentionally psychedelic. The show was half-over by the time we found it, but it only took a minute of lap-quilting for me to forget why I was so disappointed that we'd stopped on PBS.

Check her out:
http://www.georgiabonesteel.com