Time again for the obligatory year end list. However, ours is a bit different than others you may have seen. For example, this list is not enumerated. Empirically ranking albums rather trivializes the music, yes? Nor is the list in any particular order, save for the fact that we assembled it based loosely on aesthetics – meaning, we encourage you to mash on the little javascript media player in the bottom left-hand corner and enjoy our best-of picks as a mixtape or an uninterrupted block of music. Not only is this a fine collection of altered states laments, but each and every one of these albums is better than the Grizzly Bear borecore collection. Believe it!

>>>>> FAVORITE ALBUMS OF 2009
The full length jam hives that we found the most innovative, intriguing, enjoyable, or all of the above.

Outside Trish Keenan’s traditional channeling of Margo Guryan and The United States of America and Julian House’s spooky samples, it’s hard to distinguish where Broadcast ends and The Focus Group begins. The collaboration is seamless and ornate, and is a strong addition to the flawless curriculum vitae for both Broadcast and The Focus Group. The Be Colony | Review

Did you know ambient music can be funky? When White Rainbow drops the tablas on his bliss outs, it’s time to hit the floor. All the Boogies in the World [excerpt] | Review

A more optimistic and concise effort, yet still saturated with her signature melted synths, junky keyboards, cough syrup vocals, and general underwater timbre, Hors D’oeuvres finds Tickley Feather as the compromise between Movietone and Ariel Pink. Trashy Boys | Review

Explosive dream pop with a slight electro edge, A Sunny Day in Glasgow burn the best sounds of Flying Saucer Attack and Cocteau Twins together in the same white-washed celestial head stew. Failure

A west coast sludgy summoner of stoner rock, Nothing People’s Late Nite is a less spastic and noisy sophomore effort, straddling the median tremolo-saturated, syrupy acid rock and shoegaze – another definitive post-millennial primer for more ominous trips down the rabbit hole. It’s Not Your Speakers | Review

Songs of Shame is more extroverted and less antiquated than 08’s At Rear House, and is pushed out of the womb with such fervor that I can finally get behind the strained falsetto, Elliott Smith experiencing zipper-trouble vocals. Gypsy Hand | Review

More and more artists are paying homage to Thoreau lately and recording their music in the midst of a hermetic retreat. Many return with nothing more than a bruised ego and a full beard. Damon McMahon returned with Dia after his pilgrimage in 2006 to the Catskill Mountains. Both insular and cavernous, this debut LP is an uninhibited trek through McMahon’s psychedelic mindscapes. Patagonian Domes | Review

The aural equivalent of an Ektachrome dusk, Lockett Pundt proves himself as Deerhunter’s understated force and the the undeniable ying to Bradford Cox’s yang, pinpointing exactly where and how the band gets its balmy, sedated atmosphere. A gorgeous second-wave shoegaze statement. A Threaded Needle | Review

Reverberated fuzzy guitars, punchy rhythm, a shoegaze aesthetic, totally damaging heaviness, and a touch of retro chic on acid – Chicago’s Disappears are everything that’s great about rock and roll. They lit a fire under my ass so severe that I still keep the Solarcaine stocked. Hearing Things | Review

Phantom Family Halo’s sprawling 2LP post-apocalyptic lament is evil and would make you think Louisville is a scary place or something. While the entire body of work can be classified as psych garage rock or acid rock, the record’s all over the place within the parameters of brain melting. A bit of Boards of Canada style ambient explorations here, a bit of krautrock motorik rhythms by way of Faust there… and then insanely reverberated crunchy guitars ascend from the primordial ooze scary enough to make Fever Ray poo her trou. These dudes are sonic warriors. Child of Light | Review

Phased surf guitar working and a dejected tropical attitude operate in tandem with autumnal acoustic overtones and gossamer melodies to produce something along the lines of a slacker Yo La Tengo. Fake Blues | Review

City Center was probably recorded underwater. I’m not sure how Fred Thomas did this without shorting out his gear, but this record’s precise aquatic timbre and dark reverb could’ve only been achieved submerged. Another gold star for the sampsycore camp. Bleed Blood | Review

Ever since Scratch Perry lost his goddamn mind, we’ve needed someone to don the dub crown. We nominate Sun Araw. The Message | Review

New Zealander Annabelle Alpers’ debut for Drag City, and second proper album, has been described by a couple of writers as a sort of quirky “bedroom pop.” I wholeheartedly disagree. My Electric Family is expansive, radical, and ionospheric. Packed with reverb, sweeping moods, and surrealistic lyrical motifs, Bachelorette is way too large for any bedroom. It also has a hypnotic quality so acute and permeating that we can safely say that Alpers has invented “cult pop.” The National Grid | Review

The Columbus total damage trio makes Robert Pollard look like Phil Spector. Punk as fuck. And underneath all the shit – great pop songs. Hustler, Psycho, Son

If there’s anyone that can remove the fashion-conscious aspect of noise-pop that creates filler and polarizes bands like Wavves, it would probably be a bunch of kids in their basement playing to no audience. Recently championed by Psychedelic Horseshit as “the greatest band in the country,” Fungi Girls are these kids, and they’re surprisingly more nihilistic and creeping than most of the recent shitgaze bands who paved the way for them. Crystal Roads | Review

True-to-cannon heavy shoegaze with a cavernous and dramatic eastern flair, all focused through the ominous looking-glass of their native Detroit. Tiger Fighter | Review

Gentle fingerpicking, bright tonal sprays of analog synths, and an impeccable ear for vocal melody holds every song on Childish Prodigy. A disciple of both Neil Young and R. Stevie Moore, Vile’s amalgamation of influences is arresting in both its musical scope and bravado. All the while, Vile’s signature, a bourbon-soaked Avey Tare croon with a shot of impenetrable confidence, steers and unites this eclectic, cohesive work. Inside Lookin’ Out | Review

While the Bolt hasn’t exactly gone verse-chorus-verse on us just yet, the newfound tightness Earthly Delights is much more structured and, at times, almost hummable compositions. That is not to say that LB has lost any edge, but simply that Earthly Delights throws a little Occam’s Razor into the mix. The group’s opting to keep their disposition a bit simpler and less freeform. Transmissionary | Review

Dream folk like “Criminals” makes Logos a good album. Epic motorik anthems mixed in, a la Cox’s collaboration with Stereolab’s Laetitia Sadier on “Quick Canal,” make Logos a great album. Quick Canal | Review

While the subterranean groove and minor key construction evoke a more haunting, nighttime-appropriate flavor, there’s also a visceral optimism that runs underneath the LP like groundwater. Perhaps it’s the playfulness between genres and moods, or the freewheeling construction of the songs… or perhaps not all noise/freak psych kids like to make nihilistic records. Not to be confused with The Nuge. Two Hands | Review

While some of her recent work has adopted a more intimate and traditional folk approach, A Ways Away is lush, weird, and engrossing. Psych folk is the closest reference point, yet TJO is also entirely something else. In a way, A Ways Away is a return to form and a maturation. The crafty utilization of space and syrupy slow tempo is reminiscent of the Louisville scene in which she came, while at the same time, TJO is fully owning her sound. The result is a beautiful and accessible work that relishes in desolate sounds and bucolic late night wandering. Beast, Go Along | Review

Strongest effort from this definitive freak folk collective since Cathedral, and certainly the most ominous of his career and a textbook example of brilliant use of sonic space. Sometimes it’s the notes you don’t play. On Beginning

Scary-ass Bjork releases a spacious and minimal analog electronic creeper that’s better than The Knife, and comes equipped with the best/funniest lyrics penned in quite some time. Still can’t listen to this shit at night without getting all paranoid in my head tech. When I Grow Up

Closer in spirit to experimental figures of yesterday like Moondog and Bernard Herrmann than current artists, Marc Richter seems dead set on completely disorienting our frame of reference. Richter does manage to arrive at moments of extremely cinematic avant-garde music that’s unlike much we’ve ever heard before. Rauschen | Review

Even in an increasingly noise-tolerant music culture, this is an adventurous listen, and that alone should have your earbuds watering by now. Auto Dimmer | Review

Ducktails masterfully crafted an album with a lulled but not quite hypnotizing quality, similar to the nature documentary sound that Boards of Canada achieve, with occasional lo-fi tape tinkering like on “Backyard,” with its phased bucket-toms and Robert Fripp inspired distortion shifting. Beautiful. Dancing With the One You Love | Review

Bird-Brains is completely demented and angular, kinda like Xiu Xiu, but without treading the blurry line between “artistic vision” and “sonic bullshit” that Mr. Stewart always straddled firmly. Everything from dub to yoddeling finds itself on what I’d guess you could call a kitchen sink freak folk album. Whatever it is, this shit is gospel. Fiya | Review

We’re very pleased to hear that, seemingly, the band is taking acid again. Worm Mountain

Mind altering modulating jungle boogie bogged down on purple drank and tribal bangin’ replete with sinister ragas and general skulduggery, Mirror Eye is one of the more pleasantly evil releases reared in ‘09. Eyes Closed | Review

Dragon Turtle’s debut, Almanac, is an expansive 45-minute trek that explores an alternating fear and awe of the natural world, and everything in between. They didn’t pack lightly either, hoarding a curious mix of folk, kraut rock, post rock, and small touches of calypso. Belt of Venus | Review

The massive arsenal of antique analog equipment that defined BMSR’s first three albums remains in tact – the vocoder-saturated vocals of Tobacco, the thick and swirling novatrons and mellotrons that cultivated a general feeling of sunshine and old 8mm films about nature, etc. However, Eating Us showcases a more organic band, incorporating more acoustic instrumentation and mellow moods without disregarding the group’s traditional glitchy, Technicolor timbre. Iron Lemonade | Review

The original keyboardist from Broadcast peaks out from his lair to release another fantastic testament for Ghost Box who, like Motown and Creation, created a whole new aesthetic in music. Roj has distinguished himself as the tinty, rhythmic, retro-futuristic sci fi voice in hauntology. What I Saw

Super positive rural psychedelia best experienced with peace pipe in hand and vision quest in front. Made from warm tape excursions from them to you. Feels good to vibe this hard. All the Good Songs Have Been Written

The girls’ new album Fraushaus! has one foot in the shit-gaze movement and another recalling the gleaming-amateur looseness of the Shaggs, complimented by unexpected touches of found sounds and flea-market synths. Round Vox | Review

>>>>> FAVORITE EPs OF 2009
Though no longer than 20 minutes a piece, these nuggets of joy deserve some mention

There are certain sounds synonymous with the Summer of Love, but what about the winter that followed? Bronx trio Pigeons have a decent guess in mind. Their account of classic psychedelia is a much colder affair than most’. Stringing together a bizarrely addictive mix of paranoia, mystery, and seduction, their new tape-splintered 7? Lunettes is something I could only describe as psych-noir. Tendress | Review

No Age demonstrates here, moreso than Nouns, a mastering of their craft in profound ways. They’re no longer trying to capture the sound of My Bloody Valentine’s early EPs. They’re becoming completely their own thing – dream punk. Losing Feeling

The Philly subterranean brooding fuzz plus flute collective does no wrong, and their contribution to the Three Lobed subscription series is no exception. Do you know what a Bardo Pond is? Me neither, but it’s probably where God kills Republicans. The Path

We could tell the girls of Pocahaunted were getting antsy when they started injecting dub and dance hall elements into their trademark campfire drone sessions on last year’s Island Diamonds. To remedy this, they’ve teamed up with members of Sun Araw, Robedoor, Magic Lantern, and Fantastic Ego to ditch the delay pedals in favor of some wah-wah. Honeycomb | Review

Sloppy yet lush psychedelic punk that hits hard. Consider Atlanta’s The N.E.C. the southern response to No Age. Old Medicine

Lush arrangements, non-grating noise walls, and oceanic melodies, Banjo or Freakout is the tech-savvy, post-millennial incarnation of Slowdive. Looking forward for the full-length! Like You

Super retro, super cinematic crunchy garage stomp with interstellar overtones, dramatic turns, and harshed mellows. Blood on the Sand is exactly what is sounds like – beach times gone wrong, Weekend at Bernies style. Blood on the Sand

Ovals & Emeralds is full of disorienting growths of sublime field recordings, toy-chest noises, and coarse synths. Bibio’s signature creekside guitar is barely present, but here he has crafted his ambient work to equal perfection. The sun goes down on his usual idyllic pastoralism to bring out a bleaker landscape with a slightly menacing air to it like the meditations of Wolfgang Voigt. Carosello Ellitico | Review

Not to be cliche, but no other piece of music partied like it was 1879 harder than the vinyl-only issue Among the Gold. Silver Threads | Review

No, The Books didn’t take the bad pills. Lucky Dragons are the jovian trance music of the century after next. With woodwinds. Power Melody

>>>>> FAVORITE REISSUES/COMPILATIONS OF ‘09
Our ten favorite that needed to be heard again

Everything you all do is amazing. Great job! Keep ‘em coming. Fans of weird field recordings and anthropologists owe you a big batch of homemade cookies at the very least. Night Recordings From Bali – Peliatan Night Walk

Honest Jon’s compilation of 1920s Iraqi recordings is truly a gem, but it’s not for everyone. It isn’t the type of “world music” employed for NPR bumper music or in the living rooms of people who like to feel “cultured.” Documenting very otherworldly dance and, for lack of a better word, Middle Eastern blues music, these recordings were remastered from some of the earliest 78s ever pressed. This disc features ardent vocal performances over violin, hand percussion, an occasional lute, and not much else, relying more on raw performances that, at times, resemble a prophetic view of west coast folk and free jazz. Badria Anwar – Lega Taresh Habibi

While their timeline coincides with New York’s no wave movement, their Deutsche no wave is something else entirely. Amalgamating the dadaist cool and nervous energy of Suicide, their homeland’s motorik rhythm, the loud and detuned psychedelics of Spacemen 3 (whom 39 Clocks actually predate), the organ-as-diving-rod experimental pop ethos of Silver Apples, and a Nuggets-ready proto-punk punch, the mensch of 39 Clocks chew up kraut and psychedelic subsets and spit them out into a ball of drug-riddled prophecy and rock and roll shenanigans. Dom Electricity Elects the Rain | Review

A lot of people complain about Kraftwerk, saying “oh, I can do that.” Yeah, well, they did it first, and you didn’t. Everything between Autobahn and The Man Machine rules hard and sounds beautiful, so shut the fuck up. It’s worth mentioning, and perhaps is a bit ironic, that the sound of Kraftwerk is slightly more powerful with the analog recordings, if for no other reason than to provide a timeframe. How ’bout that? Regardless, it’s nice to have all their best work in one place and sounding awesome. Antenna

The landmark 1972 record that should’ve included them in the same sentence as Faust, Can, and Neu, but for some reason didn’t. Perhaps it was because they sounded too much like Blue Cheer? Either way, Kanguru’s reverence is long overdue. Oxymoron

You put Boards of Canada, Aphex Twin, and Broadcast on the same release, and it’ll end up on a best-of somewhere on this blog. Like the Movern Collar soundtrack, but without the shitty movie that accompanies it. Boards of Canada – Amo Bishop Rodan

Believe it or not, Califone was Tim Rutili’s calmer project compared with Red Red Meat’s shit-blues zenith Bunny Gets Paid. Rosewood, Stax, Volts, and Glitt

This band was awesome. You can talk about how rad [insert hawt buzzband here] is until you’re blue in the face. But guess the fuck what. The Beatles did it first. Thanks for playing. While the only difference I can tell between the Remasters and the original is the volume, MagiMystour always gets royal treatment on this blog. Flying

The Vaselines were one mighty contradiction – a massive sound crafted by only two people, double entendre lyrics sung with coyness, gritty production and sloppy instrumentation coupled with truly soaring, gorgeous melodies – this duo was a real gem. Lovecraft | Review

A combination of bad timing, arguments with the label over the band’s presentation (namely, well, their name), and a generally ill-prepared state of music allowed this missing-link of punk rock to fall through the cracks until Drag City intervened this year. A remarkably well-aged time capsule of hefty hooks and driving power, For the Whole World to See is a blistering proto-punk artifact. You’re a Prisoner | Review

Who could have ever imagined that three of the most buzzed about bands of the year – Ducktails, Washed Out, and Neon Indian – would sound like Ariel Pink? Pink, who has been a critical lightning rod ever since the release of his first official album, The Doldrums, on Animal Collective’s Paw Tracks label, was surely never any blogger’s idea of the “next big thing.” While his music shares the boombox fidelity and classical pop song craft of the now universally adored Daniel Johnston, it also often has a dry, ironic edge to it, thus making it impossible to project any ideas of childlike innocence onto it. Pink always seems determined to push things too far, often derailing perfectly written pop songs into a pileup of overdriven synths, random vocals noises, and drums playing off beat.

It’s this streak of  self-sabotage (or defiant genius, depending on who you ask) that has become the most contentious thing about Pink’s music, because the other things – the fetishization of 70s and 80s soft rock, the “cheesy” synths, the 8 track cassette recording fidelity – have suddenly become cool. Whether it’s the revival of Balearic dance music or the still lingering effects of Daft Punk’s Discovery or just the simple truth that lo-fi music full of synthesizers has never been cheaper or easier to make, the fact is that things long considered impossibly cheesy, like gated drums and “Euro” and “Trance” keyboard presets and keybasses, are now everywhere. So much of the critical discourse about Pink’s music, especially the idea that his music was a parody of the “shallow” and “self-absorbed” popular music of the 70s and 80s, doesn’t seem relevant anymore, because we’ve all stopped equating “overproduction” and synthesizers with inauthenticity. Whereas before Pink’s music was saddled with both an unpopular sound and a prickly, experimental attitude, now it’s just the latter.

Neon Indian, the Pitchfork-certified one man project of Austin, Texas’ Alan Palomo, sounds like Ariel Pink’s synth pop songs (see: Scared Famous’ “The Kitchen Club” or House Arrest’s “Flying Circles”) scrubbed mostly clean and with a more obvious “music for hip stoners” vibe. “Deadbeat Summer, ” “Terminally Chill,” and “Should Have Taken Acid With You” could all be Pink songs, except that his versions would be angrier and weirder. Palomo’s music views the 1980s as a memory playground for stoners, where old keyboard sounds trigger instant reveries, whereas Pink’s music sounds more like bad memories that can’t escape their milieu, sort of like how so many of my worst memories would be soundtracked by Rancid or NOFX because that’s what I was listening to around the time they happened.

Just like Neon Indian, Washed Out jack Pink’s synth pop steez (listen to the chorus of Scared Famous’ “Gopacapulco” and tell me that’s not a Washed Out song in the making), but instead of couching the sound in a druggy, easygoing nostalgia, Ernest Greene (the man behind Washed Out) has created the 2009 equivalent of yacht rock. The video to “Feel It All Around” is seriously just some twentysomethings with tattoos snorkeling, going down waterslides, taking cellphone pictures of each other, and eating in fancy, neon-lit restaurants. The fact that music once made exclusively by bedroom weirdos can now soundtrack a tropical vacation speaks volumes about how music and aesthetics have changed since 2004.

Matt Mondanile’s Ducktails – my personal favorite of the three – basically sounds like instrumental versions of Ariel Pink songs. From the cheap sounding drum machines to the hazy, 8 track tape production to the often brittle guitar sound, Pink’s and Mondanile’s aesthetics are almost identical, though once again Pink has never seemed interested in the kind of full-on blissout you’ll find on a Ducktails album.

It’s clear that Ariel Pink has had a far larger impact on indie rock than anyone could have ever imagined. But Pink’s statement around the release of this year’s “Can’t Hear My Eyes/Evolution’s a Lie” 7″ that “Everything you think you know [about his old music] is WRONG- DEAD WRONG. THIS is me, naked, without the buffer of awful tape noise drowning out any lack of vision..” and his recent signing to 4AD raise some interesting questions. Is Ariel Pink without the “awful tape noise” and campy falsetto and 8 track tapes really even Ariel Pink? Perhaps he’s seen so many artists gain success sounding like him that he’s tired of just being a cult hero, or maybe he wants to prove he’s a “good” musician. As excited as I am to see these questions answered, I’m also a little worried that all those things that made Pink such a distinctive artist are soon going to disappear.

POSSIBLY RELEVANT :::
Ariel Pink and Vivian Girls – Lexington, 4.6.09

MP3 :::
Ariel Pink – The Kitchen Club
Ariel Pink – Immune to Emotion
Ariel Pink – Helen
Ariel Pink – Flying Circles
Ducktails – Backyard

Oh good, glad to see you like my illustration.  Yeah, I had some downtime and wasn’t feelin’ too creative or too much in my graphic design game as far as doing something special for The Decibel Tolls year-end list.  So Lana and I started talking, and it came to us that it would be hysterical to do a collage with people like Bradford Cox eating that Ezra Comma dude from Frankenstein Weekday or whoever, and Franz Ferdinand… stuff like that.  I didn’t have time to add Lil’ Wayne.  And then I had to make, like, the fuckin’ universe as the backdrop.  That’s how we roll here at the Decibel Tolls – no fun, tasteful graphic to designate this article as the accumulative best-of list.  Nope, just crude images of artists I like with their heads detached eating shitty bands.  I’m additionally thrilled that I was able to describe the image even further despite the fact that it’s already annotated.  I rule.

I put some serious thought into this list, and did a bunch of narrowin’ down.  There were other jam hives I was rather infatuated with this year, such as releases from Magik Markers, Burning Star Core, and Vivian Girls.  But I wanted to do just the standard top ten this time around.  No reason to not do things standard every now and again…

10) KOUSHIK – Out My Window

From 7.29.08: Koushik’s Be With compilation was amazing, but a little brief (only one track made it over the three minute mark). That issue is fixed with Out My Window. Lead single “Lying in the Sun” is sunny psychedelia that comes correct and interpreted electronically – kinda like Caribou (Koushik even provided throat duty for some jams on Up in Flames, back in the pre-MySpace days when Danny S was known as Manitboa). However, Koushik remains very distinct, particularly by way of his clam, insanely reverberated vocals. All that was good about Be With is brought to the forefront – the sonically organic, lush, and hazy textures juxtaposed against crashing beats. However, you can tell, with this track alone, that Out My Window is going to showcase a lot more new ideas. Koushik is the latest heir to the Free Design’s throne, as long as that throne has room for some thumpin’ low end. This… this sweet psych slice is so sickeningly good. It’s an IV drip of technicolor beauty. This groove can heal most terminal illnesses.

MP3:::
Koushik – Lying in the Sun

09) THE BLACK ANGELS – Directions to See a Ghost

From 6.30.08 (The first Decibel Tolls post, actually): The Black Angels‘ latest, Directions to See a Ghost, a poignant title encapsulating their increasingly distinct desert-noir dusty psych grooves, picks up right where 2006’s Passover left off. Tom-heavy percussion intros, tremolo-saturated guitar meltdowns, nasty bass rumbles, and Alex Maas’ throat offerings (vocals that, to me, flutter somewhere between Jim James and Gregorian chant) are all still intact from the Passover days. However, Directions to See a Ghost does mature in two distinct ways. First, there’s a very fluid motion to the album, connecting each windswept canticle to the next. By structuring and composing most of the album in a similar vein with slightly altering moods, the Black Angels have created a whole, cohesive work as opposed to simply a collection of songs they dropped off at the studio on the way to the store. Of course, a good psych rock record should have a consistent ambiance as per the clientele since, you know, Beck albums are not the weapon of choice for the 420 LOL contingent. Secondly, the Black Angels have adopted a deeper sense of melody. Dare I say some catchiness abounds in the major-key call to arms “Doves,” the evil-Beatles sitar raga of “Dee-Ree-Shee,” and the funkadelic first movement of “Snake in the Grass.” This newmelodic slant pushes the Black Angels above some of their LSD theater contemporaries like Dead Meadow and Bardo Pond… Ultimately, If you’re going to emulate and lightly interpret bygone music, why not merge the music of the most triumphant groups ever and mold them into one totally epic behemoth? You know, originality often comes at a cost to the listener. Sometimes it works well and makes an urgent statement, but sometimes it doesn’t and is just overly challenging and annoying (Lou Reed and Tony Conrad anyone?). You know exactly what you’re getting with the Black Angels – no frills – just pop on, flip on the iTunes visualizer, take a bong rip, tune in, turn on, and drop out.

MP3 :::
The Black Angels – Vikings

08) SIC ALPS – U.S. Ez

From 10.21.08 This isn’t your father’s unwashable, filthy, no-fi psychedelic rock scuz – Sic Alps twist, creak, and thump, taking you on a cosmically damaged romp through west coast good vibes and future shock trepidation.  The latest, U.S. Ez, has a comfy place on the Siltbreeze roster with the likes of Charlambides, The Dead C, and U.S. Girls. Sic Alps certainly drink from the same goblets as the highest in psych rock royalty, but they also bring the goods to back up their seat at the table… I was casually listening to my iTunes on shuffle whilst engaging in some fast-track multitasking when “Clubbing For $$” came on and I thought “hmm, I don’t recognize this Alexander Skip Spence song.” Both Skip Spence and Alps vocalist Mike Donovan retain a subtle, gorgeous quality through raspy timbre and decimated, hissing melodies, suggesting that both gentlemen have seen the true face of God and didn’t like what they saw. “Gelly Roll Gum Drops” also provokes this same, insane electric folk feel, with a bit of 13th Floor Elevators style celestial boogie and some general Holy Modal Rounders headfuckery tossed in to give this exercise in tape reverb fortitude some serious lift.  I’m also reminded of my favorite work of Neil Michael Haggerty in U.S. Ez, so imagine my elation when I found out they play as his backup band every now and again. The blitzkrieg of fuzz on “Massive Place” might make Mudhoney feel retarded. But enough of comparisons. Comparisons are lame. I’m listening to this record right now as we speak, and all that needs to be said is that it’s so fucking good… I hope Sic Alps sell a billion records.

MP3 :::
Sic Alps – Bathman

07) HIGH PLACES – High Places

Beach House on uppers.  High Places take the hippie thing in a whole new direction.  Whereas Brightblack Morning Light are unabashedly hippie to the point of almost self-parody, High Places keep their love of nature and petuli more subtle.  Very similar to Panda Bear’s Person Pitch, High Places create a veritable tower of power of lush and bucolic sampled layers, all of which are sun-tinged, and some of which lean on that Raymond Scott-esque atomic age quality found in Broadcast’s latter stuff.  Less beat heavy than Panda, however, High Places tear down all walls and allow the fluid hippy trance melodies to flow like urban runoff, letting Mary Pearson’s vocals provide the ropes to keep everything together.  This is undoubtedly the summer jam.  Sometimes those marimba sounding beats come in a little too heavy and everything gets a little too “hey mon, no problem” for me.  No matter, “From Stardust to Sentience” is so grandiose and gorgeous that nothing else is relevant.  “From Stardust to Sentience” is some next level shit.  High Places also gets best album art of the year – what, with the giant pink ghostly baby and the illuminated agrocrag.  Get this album, or else the terrorists will win.

MP3 :::
High Places – From Stardust to Sentience

06) WOMEN – Women

From 10.20.08: I was introduced to Women (that sounds so odd) by a fellow Tiny Mix Tapes writer who proclaimed that Women is prefect for anyone who “gets their dick up to Animal Collective.” I was certainly intrigued after that statement, especially since he said the word “dick.” And while I would concur that the Calgary band sometimes evokes the more menacing material on Here Comes the Indian and Danse Manitee, Women are by no means a knock-off. Whereas Animal Collective has always exuded a playfulness and childlike veneer, here be dragons within Women. The crescendo of the excellently titled “Lawncare” wants to pillage your village and breed with your women (pun intended, motherfucker).  I would also be somewhat remiss to not recognize the pretty spot-on review courtesy of Jagjaguwar’s one sheet: “Sometimes light and spacious, at other times eerie and dense with an ominous weight, this self titled album touches upon Velvet Underground, Swell Maps or This Heat while not really having any obvious precursors – a lo-fi masterpiece cloaked in layers of vibrato and guitar wash.” That’s certainly true, as Women adopt the traditional instrumentation of gritty garage punk and stretch its potential across ’60s Nuggets-ready psychedelia, early ’80s no wave, and contemporary, slightly-askew pop peppered with noise flourishes. You also get a heavy-dose of the elusive hummable anthem with “Black Rice,” Fahey-esque guitar noodling on “Sag Harbor Blues,” and a nihilistic Madchester zeitgeist-meets Boredoms thirsty on bloodlust hodgepodge on “Shaking Hands.” The insanity and panning production on “January 8th” attacks your brain with holy water sprinklers. January 8th, as a fun fact, is David Bowie’s birthday. Women’s “January 8th” sounds nothing like David Bowie.

MP3 :::
Women – Lawncare

05) INDIAN JEWELRY – Free Gold

I had the pleasure of suffering moderate brain damage for a sustained period of time after seeing Indian Jewelry in October of 2005, a few months shy of their debut Inevasive Exotics dropping like hot magma.  They were playing a show with some friends of mine whom I came out to see.  I had never heard of them and offered no expectations.  Dudes started wrapping the stage in hundreds of feet of aluminum foil betwixt multiple strobe lights, animal skulls, fog machines, and a large Lone Star state flag backdrop (certainly a sinister symbol in the middle of W’s second term).  It was total brutality.  And while Inevasive Exotics was an excellent albeit very evil album, Free Gold furthers Indian Jewelry beyond shock and swells of noise, moving away from the mechanical squall of their influences like Suicide or Swans.  Free Gold is rich in hooks and melodies, and they’re not necessarily subtle either.  But Indian Jewelry does not completely abandon their destructive forces.  Just about every track is stacked high with sludge, fuzz, and squelches, and all songs remain unequivocally foreboding.  But the song structures are not freeform anymore, but rather, concise, crafty, and almost, gulp, electric folk.  Free Gold’s midsection is flawless and so cohesive that it almost comes across as a suite, starting with “Walking on the Water,” and ending abruptly with the quite, curveball all acoustic Erika Thrasher track “Everyday.”  Indian Jewelry is doing a rather new thing, as far as creating moods of almost-fright within songs that balance catchiness and chaos.  It’s rather unfortunate that Free Gold has not been more celebrated, but alas, that’s the inherent issue with being ahead of the curve, as it were.

MP3 :::
Indian Jewelry – Nonetheless

04) GROWING – All the Way

From 8.20.08: I’ve seen Growing twice. I witnessed them offer a very competitive opening set for Mogwai. Though there was nothing much to watch, per se, hearing their very warm and resonating drone assault, as suffocatingly prominent as their rapid-fire fractured guitar architecture, over a 8,000 watt PA felt like marching into Mordor. Shit was powerful. Growing has often been described as doom. I don’t really agree. Perhaps it’s because I saw them later at a party cracking wise and crushing Rolling Rock on top of a washer/dryer unit, but mostly because their harmonically complex jam hives sound almost hopeful – vast and assuring – like trying to look over the curve of the Earth. Growing seems to be taking a new direction now, offering a more shimmering, melodic approach, not too far removed from Cloudland Canyon [Bloggins note: see blow]. “Innit” is a big fuzzy bit-decimating tremolo defibrillator. “Green Flag” has a charming, delightful little breathing monster under its surface. This is profoundly good.  Growing likes to rip a big hole in the sky only a couple meters above your dome.

MP3 :::
Growing – Rave Pie Only

03) CLOUDLAND CANYON – Lie in Light

From 8.15.08: About 10 years ago, Art Bell, then host of late night alien and conspiracy theory-themed radio program Coast to Coast AM, aired the frightening urban legend recording “The Sounds From Hell.” It’s an unsettling clip, but also morbidly fun. It’s also completely a hoax (literally speaking, not theologically). The origin of this sound is as follows: Soviet scientists drilled a hole nine miles deep in the heart of Siberia to study plate tectonics. When they hit a heat pocket, their drilling equipment was destroyed, followed by the sound of millions of screaming souls. As any good scientist would do, they whipped out the mics and recorded it…  I tell this anecdote as it relates the feeling I get when I hear Cloudland Canyon, and subsequently, when I feel my face melt off my skull. I don’t believe in hell, but I believe in nine mile deep holes. And at the entrance of such a tremendous cave, portal, the dark and cavernous chasm reaching deep into foreboding stretches beyond our measly surface existence, is the sound of Cloudland Canyon. It’s huge, it’s beautiful, but it’s teeming with trepidation. If they ever make a film adaptation for Mark Z Danielewski’s House of Leaves, Cloudland Canyon should produce the sound of the ever-expanding house. This is the biggest thing on the planet. Cloudland Canyon, should their discography get too prolific, will knock our planet right off it’s fucking orbital plane.  Fans of Lichens would do well to take notice, as well as folks who like to go get some shit done.

MP3 :::
Cloudland Canyon – You and I

02) HUSH ARBORS – Hush Arbors

From 10.23.08: Hush Arbors, as far as the whole freak folk/New Weird America thing goes (I begrudgingly use this term), has always struck me as the obvious choice for ambassador of the aforementioned movement, as he offers the perfect median point for the disparate sounds found therein. Wood’s take on psychedelic folk demonstrates that it is not necessarily his intent to destroy strong structures, nor is it his intent to play it straightforward and traditional. However, Hush Arbors has gone above and beyond comparison to similar artists. It’s no longer fair to say “this is a great offering from the New Weird America camp,” it’s only befitting to describe this self-titled record as a monumental collection of music that stands up against any album, anywhere. I’m not trying to overhype this really, but Hush Arbors rules so hard. Hush Arbors’ adventurous, wide-ranging sonic paintbrush invokes the past whilst thrusting the very notion of folk rock into future territories. In short, Keith Wood just dropped the type of album that separates the men from the boys…  As a contributing member of Six Organs of Admittance (not to mention Current 93, Wooden Wand, Sunburned Hand of the Man), you certainly hear the familiar Fahey-esque, drone note heavy guitar noodling that defines the Organs’ catalog through each and every track on Hush Arbors. But the riff-heavy structures only accent the music, never existing as the sole focal point. These are well written, melodic, solid songs – simple enough to hum along, layered enough to overload your headphone technology and melt your brain. Also different than Six Organs is that Hush Arbors keeps his weirdness prominent and economical. Whereas contemporaries Ben Chasny and MV & EE like to break down into drone examinations and take lengthy journeys down sunken catacombs, Hush Arbors keeps his ideas contained within fairly concise, brightly colored, accessible songwriting. The album’s rollicking psychedelic folk, with vintage AM radio influences like classic Mayall-style R&B and Byrds-helmed feel good bucolic flourishes, is a shapeshifting exercise in sonically diverse, cosmically dense, warmly welcoming electric folk.  Fuck Chinese Democracy, this is Hush Arbors’ time, as far as I’m concerned.

MP3 :::
Hush Arbors – Gone

01) DEERHUNTER – Microcastle/Weird Era Cont.

From 8.27.08 and 8.29.08: What other album released this year has a real legend behind it?  The secret album, the accidental self-inflicted leak of the secret album, the ensuing drama, the strange tours, the countless articles always having to mention Bradford Cox’s physical appearance – not to mention lineup changes, ample shit-talkin’, and general boobish antics.  Trouble finds Deerhunter more than the visa versa, though.  Yet they emerged victorious with a massive, sprawling statement.

Deerhunter exists in this strange chasm between fuzzy sludge and krautrock. Though they don’t sound like Neu or Faust, per se (except for “Slow Swords” perhaps), “Calvary Scars II” and “Nothing Ever Happens” are fiercely motorik. If you were fighting in a medieval battle, but rode high on unicorns instead of steeds and bested your opponent with candycanes versus lances, 4:03 – 7:31 of “Calvary Scars II / Aux Out” is the best battle cry you could have. This track could also act as triumphant shag music (it is Deerhunter’s deontologial duty to please that booty). Shit is crucial.

I like Cryptograms a lot. I sorta like Flourescent Gray. But goddamn, I did not expect Deerhunter to slay me. Twice! I’ve been twice slain! Microcastle in conjunction with Weird Era Cont. is one of the most significant, important releases of this decade, hands down. Neither one is better than the other – they’re one sick unit.

And I now take umbrage with the idea that an album is either pop or experimental. Though I’d like to think that the Beatles’ last four albums debunked that myth, the label-happy world of the blogosphere has again segregated these term, shall we say, “terms” when reviewing music. It’s lazy journalism. Weird Era Cont. is a flawless example of toying with pop structures and creating a soundscape that’s both catchy and mind-melting. You can hum along or you can rip the bong. Each is equally appropriate, and Deerhunter does this with an increasingly recherche panache.

MP3 :::
Deerhunter – Calvary Scars II / Aux Out