MELLIPOP RETURNS TO TALK MUSIC

Ok, so I’m trying to make a comeback of sorts here. No excuses for my last 5 or 6 weeks absence, besides general lethargy and little of interest to report. I only have so many noteworthy lamb chop anecdotes to share.

So, being at my self-indulgent best, I’ve decided to post on my favourite albums of 2005. Exciting, huh? It’s kind of like dinner time when you were a kid. You’ve been tooling around the neighbourhood all afternoon like a right little bastard and you’re starving. You’ve got your fingers crossed for spaghetti bolognaise. Mum serves up lamb chops and vegies instead (there, I’ve managed to include another gratuitous lamb chop reference already). So the chops are great, but the boiled vegies are unwelcome filler on your plate. Overdone, soggy and decidely unsexy tea-time fare (sorry Mum, but your boiled vegies utterly SUCK!!! And don’t even start me on the whole “Deb” fake mashed potato experience. I thought I hated mashed potato for years. Until I tried mash made from REAL potatoes. DOCS should list the provision of “Deb” at meal times as a legitimate form of child abuse).

Anyway, as unappealing as your rapidly congealing vegie slop is, you have two options. Ignore the gnawing emptiness of your gut and stage your own miniature hunger-strike in protest. Or cave in to your Mum’s incessant nagging, and polish off your plate of limp vegies with a petulant grimace and a few pointed displays of dry retching for dramatic effect (my older brother was the KING of dinner-time dry retching – in between deviously transferring his vegies to my dinner plate or smuggling them out of the room to throw them out his bedroom window).

Essentially, this is the blogging equivalent of Mum forcing you to eat your greens. If you’re truly hungry, you’ll eat it. With any luck, you might at least get dessert a little later on.

2005: THE YEAR MELLIPOP WENT COUNTRY

So for me, 2005 was noteworthy for at least one reason: I found myself dabbling in a musical genre I could NEVER EVER conceivably see myself enjoying. Country music. This may mean nothing to you, fellow bloggers. But to illustrate the foundation-shaking-ness of such a turn of events, think of the resounding shockwaves if say, John Howard all of sudden decided that socialism sounded like a pretty good gig, and legislated accordingly (which he could pretty much do at the drop of a hat if he ever felt like it – there’s always hope, people).

I mean, Country Music is all achey-breakey, tractor-pulling, mullet-headed, cousin-kissin’, line-dancing in rhinestone jackets and cowboy boots, right? Hell yeah – yee haa!

Rest assured that I’ve not pulled out the Bedazzler to jazz up that old acid wash denim jacket just yet. I’m simply engaging in a spirited flirtation with that hoary old chestnut called alt.country, which is simply a term coined by unimaginative music critics and adopted by hipster indie-wannabe types to justify listening to anything featuring steel pedal, fiddle or harmonica. But not the naff stuff from Nashville.

It’s a slippery slope from my two all-time fave bands Pavement and Wilco to Emmylou Harris, Gram Parsons, Whiskeytown, Ryan Adams, Lucinda Williams, Son Volt, Uncle Tupelo, Richmond Fontaine and Bright Eyes, all of which have line danced their way into my collection this last year. Though I must insist on being shot the day I ever ponder the purchase of anything by Shania Twain, Garth Brooks or the Dixie frikkin’ Chicks.

So country music aside, 2005 has so far been defined for me by two key discoveries:

1) Dirt Cheap CDs – Aaahhh…. A dizzying surfeit of $10 back catalogue CDs (insert “kid in candy store” metaphor here). This retail outlet is directly responsible for much of my fiscal irresponsibility this year. Total acquisitions far too numerous (and far too terrifying) to be listed here individually. Just as an aside for interested punters – most of the Wilco back catalogue is currently available to buy for $10 a pop. They appeared just after I paid full retail price for all of them in the midst of a typical addict’s buying frenzy.

2) 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die – this hefty little volume is a recent purchase which has now resulted in my “Albums to Buy” list blowing out to an unprecendented deficit (as if the UK music press weren’t “helpful” enough in that respect). No doubt the annual sales projection figures for Dirt Cheap CDs have already been amended accordingly.

OK, so I’ll start with the albums that sucked this year, only as it makes for more entertaining reading. They certainly didn’t make for entertaining listening.

WORST OF 2005

X & Y – Coldplay
So I know it’s not in any way cool to like Coldplay, but I LOVE their first two albums. Now to the eagerly-awaited third album, released this year… Hey kids, remember algebra in school? Thrilling, wasn’t it?

Here’s an equation for you Coldplay, and an algebraic reminder to Mellipop readers.

X + Y = BORING

BORING = the new Coldplay album.

I only have one other question. What is the mathematical shorthand for SAVE YOUR FUCKING MONEY?

Get Behind Me, Satan – The White Stripes
The White Stripes are the Great White Shark of the music world. Greg Norman is infamous for his ability to inevitably disappoint his supporters by choking in major golf tournaments. Each purchase of a White Stripes CD leaves me with the same empty feeling. The dashed hopes, the disappointment, the nagging suspicion that these guys are just so damn overrated, with more style than substance, earning more money and attention than they deserve while there are much better but less-strikingly-attired bands potting a hole-in-one or two with little or no mainstream recognition. Get Behind Me, Satan – while having a few cool tunes – is just Greg Norman in a flash hat but flush last on the leaderboard. Fuck off back to your 40 ft yacht and retire disgracefully with a massive mound of pure Bolivian coke and a few fawning supermodels to remind you of your fleeting moment of commercial success. We’ll wait patiently for your branded line of hipster urbanwear if you promise never to record again.

BEST OF 2005

For every X & Y released in 2005, there was an album like The Magic Numbers to remind us that cool tunes never die – they’re just harder to find sometimes. So, in no particular order, here are the best of the bunch for 2005.

Illinois – Sufjan Stevens
Who’d ever thought that a quirky little concept album about a dinky little state in the US could be so much fun. A little wanky in parts (thank God for iTunes), but the bulk of the songs are truly sublime pop symphonies about subjects as off-kilter as serial killer John Wayne Gacy, killer wasps and local landmarks like the Seers Tower. Think Brian Wilson meets Belle and Sebastian for a few beers at Phil Spector’s house. Edit out the bridging tracks in between (the aforementioned “wanky” bits) and you’ve got a work of pure pop genius that somehow avoids pretension by lieu of it being so utterly brilliant.

Martha Wainright – Martha Wainwright
Now that PJ Harvey has disappeared up her own skinny ass, the world needs a new uber-kick ass singer-songwriter chick to pen kick-ass classics like “Bloody Mother Fucking Asshole”, just one highlight of Ms Wainright’s self-titled stunner. Martha is one of the least kick-ass names I can think of (besides “Britney”), but this album has been on serious rotation for me all year. Just get it. Great voice (a little bit PJ, a little bit Marianne Faithfull after all the drugs), great songs, and probably has a great set of tits too. Love ‘er!

I am a Bird Now – Antony & the Johnsons
Like nothing you’ve ever heard before – unless you’ve heard Nina Simone. Except this guy is a white New York transsexual. Swooning, soaring, bleak torch songs for the new millenium. Sublimely beautiful, profoundly sad, achingly vulnerable and deeply moving. About as far away as you can get from balls-out alpha male Bon Jovi on the musical spectrum. And that can only be a good thing. Plus, guest spots from Lou Reed, Devendra Banhardt and Rufus Wainright. I am a Bird Now is one to listen to at home. Alone. With a bumper box of tissues. This little number ain’t getting any party started. Unless you’re at a wake.

I’m Wide Awake it’s Morning – Bright Eyes
So he’s not the “New Dylan”. Not by a long shot. And anyway, Jeff Tweedy is the “New Dylan”, so no further candidates need apply. But this is a darn fine album. Neo-folk, alt-country, whatever you want to call it, the indie kids love it and as far as I know, it hasn’t yet been co-opted as the “new cool” by the producers of The OC. Nuff said.

Kicking Television: Live in Chicago – Wilco
Need I say anything? I hear that Wilco are already working on a new album for 2006, so we’ve got this double live CD to keep us amused until then. The only disappointment is that there was also a DVD version recorded, but bloody Tweedy has scrapped it because it "didn’t properly capture the atmosphere of the venue blah wank blah” or some such shit. Geez, Jeff. Like we care! Who gives a rat’s poo-shute about the freakin’ “atmosphere”? We only wanted the DVD version for the unmitigated perve-factor, you-who-don’t-make- music-videos. Ok, so we still love you anyway. Crotchedy old bugger….

The Alternative to Love – Brendan Benson
Good mates with Jack from the White Stripes, poor old bridesmaid Brendan is a fine example of someone who made a great album which was released to almost universal indifference this year. Flog your copy of Get Behind Me Satan to Cash Converters and buy this instead. A great pop record which is a bit Phil Spectorish in parts and just very groovy overall.

Alligator – The National
Crap album title. Fucking great album though. Q Magazine described them with the quote “Like REM when they were good”. Fairly accurate, but The National are even better than that. I think the comparison is somewhat unfair, because The National don’t actually sound like any other band. This is a rare compliment – especially since it is the stock-in-trade of most fans and critics to cite other artists as a standard point of reference when discussing music. Alligator is just a seriously good rock album. Great lyrics bordering on the morbid side of wit. All killer, no filler. Songs about fucked up losers and fucked up relationships for the most part – but oddly uplifting.

Discover a Lovelier You – The Pernice Brothers
These guys are a bit like a fatter, older, high school teacher version of Belle and Sebastian. The winsome lyrics about the minutiae of daily life and an ironic sense of self-deprecation, all backed by pert little pop symphonies and lots of catchy melodies that will damn well jam themselves into a small niche in your frontal lobe.

Funeral – Arcade Fire
OK, so this one got more than it’s fair share of frothy-mouthed five star reviews this year, and it’s quite good. But not THAT good (more Donut King than Krispy Crème). It’s not going to change the face of rock forever or anything. Quirky and eccentric, a bit gothic, a bit Motown, a bit lounge and in quite a few cases more than a little pretentious, so much so that it labours under the delusions of it’s own importance a bit too much. But all that tall-poppy stuff aside, a pretty good listen. Much better this than the solo album from Rob Thomas of Matchbox 20.

The Magic Numbers – The Magic Numbers
Like the new millenium Mamas and the Papas on Prozac. Loving this. Chock full of divine harmonies, sunny melodies and popstatic little odes to love and long legs. Believe the hype on this one. ‘Tis good.

The Sunset Tree – The Mountain Goats
I truly hated this album at first – so much so that I abandoned it in disgust halfway through for an old Joni Mitchell album. I was in the bathtub at the time, which was completely the wrong context to hear it. Essentially, it’s a concept album about a recently deceased step-father, detailing the physical and mental abuse the singer experienced at the hands of said dead step-father. So not exactly cheery listening. But for whatever reason I was drawn back to the album, and fell in love with it. The guys unique voice is quite grating at first (somewhat Jello Biafra-esque), and couple this with songs referencing his step-dad throwing his mother around downstairs while he listens to dance music upstairs and you’ve got some fairly uneasy listening. But by turns it becomes utterly compelling and rather absurdly, becomes morbidly catchy “singalong” fare.

You Could Have it So Much Better – Franz Ferdinand
Oh I know. It’s a bloody obvious one. I was expecting it to be utterly crap. It’s the rule. Great debut. Woeful, self-indulgent, rush-released follow up to capture the tail-end of the chart-topping zeitgeist. But it’s bloody great. Not breaking any barriers musically, but when you’re stealing from Bowie at his best, it’s hard to go too far wrong.

Oh, and honorable mentions go to Howl - Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, The Fitzgerald - Richmond Fontaine and reissues from obscure 70's folk singers Bill Fay (self-titled) and Judee Sill (Heart Food and Introducing...).

There you go. Too buggered to tie things up any more eloquently than that. But it doesn’t matter. Most of you won’t have made it this far anyway. Only the desperate music loonies like me.

More on Mellipop soon. Promise.