The Lumineers, Music Hall of Williamsburg, April 21st 2012

                                    (All photos by Ryan C. Zerfas. More at the bottom of the post.)

The Lumineers story could easily be a folk song—a tale about loss of brother and a friend, therapy in the name of porch stomp acoustic balladry, drinking from the chalice of hard knock realities of New York City living (technically Newww Jerrrrseeeey) and a resettling rediscovery in Denver. Followed by a grassroots uprising.

Riding high off the success of their single “Ho Hey,” the Lumineers would earn their self given champagne celebration during the encore. Before exclaiming to the audience how much Brooklyn felt like home, prior to playing the Talking Heads “This Must be the Place,” and passing their own celebratory bottle into the audience, the three-piece band charmed the sold out Music Hall of Williamsburg audience all night.

Life for the Lumineers hasn’t always been so easy.

In 2002, Wesley Shultz and Jeremiah Fraites lost Jeremiah’s brother and Wesley’s best friend, Josh, to a drug overdose at 19. Then ensues two friends cathartic tale of writing songs, playing gigs, causing trouble and eventually wearing themselves thin on the NYC cutthroat culture. They moved to Denver, and immediately put out an ad for a cellist, so, Neyla Pekarek, a classically trained local joined the band. The uprising began from there.

Their single “Hey Ho” caught the attention of many, most notably KEXP’s single of the day, Paste Magazine’s “What’s Next” and an illuminating placement on Hart of Dixie. Combining the screaming stomp of the Pixies “Hey” with the sentimental sap and brooding rasp of Ryan Bingham, the magical mixture has been able to uniquely meld what others in the root ripping stripped down Americana genre (Avett Brothers, Motel Motel, The Low Anthem, Justin Townes Earl) haven’t.

“I belong to you, you belong to me, you’re my sweetheart,” croons Shultz at a precariously welcome mid-set placement of “Hey Ho.” I love when bands do that,ride against the grain, and show the confidence in their other material, like similar foot to crooked porch percussion sing-a-longs “Big Parade” and “Stubborn Love.” You must feed the insatiable urge to clap along singing “oh-my-my, oh-hey-hey…” With such lovingly lavish lyrics, melodies that are easy to pick up, it’s hard to NOT hold a clinched fist over your heart and be slightly giddy, with thoughts of swirling hearts and puppy dog crushes.

The whole album (self titled debut) is chock full of “real boy” sentiment, continually delivered the way “real music” should—from within. It’s the kind sensibility you can close your eyes to, while the headache of life slips into the sweet sunset of soul deliverance. The feeling is exponentially expounded live, even if you didn’t know the music, like I didn’t. I have a feeling that for me, and for others, that’s about it change.

I’m glad I haven’t lived the life of the Lumineers. I haven’t experienced much loss or heartbreak. I live in a little box in NYC and pretty much do whatever I want. It’s a beautiful thing. I am, however, eternally grateful for the simplistic ease of pushing play and the musicians who’ve lived the life that make the music sound this way.

I can only hope to illuminate this fantastic notion to others…GET INTO THIS BAND.

Setlist: (I didn’t know all the songs and the band kept theirs electronically. This one from Philly looks right from my best educated guess of what happened.)

Submarines

I Ain’t Nobody’s Problem (Sawmill Joe cover)

Big Parade

Flowers in Your Hair

Ho Hey

Subterranean Homesick Blues (Bob Dylan cover)

Classy Girls

Dead Sea

Charlie Boy

Slow It Down

Stubborn Love

Morning Song

Darlene

Flapper Girls

This Must be the Place (Talking Heads cover)

This starts a series of pictures in which I was trying to use
concert goers phone screens as objects/variables, etc.
This one was SO CLOSE to what I wanted. 

Symmetry of Wes Shultz's junk. 

Credit for the wonderful hand model with the orange ring not obtained. 

Taken when getting an encore beer
from the tv screen downstairs

The Kopecky Family Band opened. A six-piece orchestra
of do-it-all fun having melodies, for the whole family. 

Say Anything, Best Buy Theater, Friday, April 13th, 2012

At the top of the majestic dune, you can see some of the so called "dudes" 
who rocked Say Anything on theroad trip home.
Photo: Owen Weber (www.owenweberlive.com)

After one of the best camping trips of my life, I was treated to a musical epiphany…Say Anything rocks!

It was a car ride. After a week camping in the beautiful sands of Ludington, MI, a bunch of dudes threw on In Defense of the Genre, a bombastic double album from Los Angeles’ Say Anything. It was one of those moments when all the stars align and the sonic landscape, matches perfectly with the outer landscape. Swirling trees and whizzing Detroit born automobiles; feelings, surroundings and genuine affinity for the “soundtrack of life” compounded together into the unfathomable movie script ending to a cathartic outdoor weekend. 

My buddy Kevin, one of life’s favorite spin-doctors, threw it in and said something along the lines of “CHECK OUT THIS TASTY LICK!?!?!” My life will never be the same. For some reason all the chord changes, silly song endings, insanely honest-sounding song writing, ridiculous combinations of musical styles from track to track resonated perfectly with how the weekend I never wanted to end, came to an end. But, we had the roadtrip back, and we were going to eat that shit up.

From that day forward (circa “that day-present”, Say Anything became my most listened to band in my catalog, absolutely destroying even the Foo Fighters and Taylor Hawkins in my Top Plays list on I-Tunes. Max Bemis and company aren’t the most remarkable song makers in the world, but there are a wide variety of idiosyncrasies for the senses, and it just happens to cleanse the pallet with ease, time and time again. He has a knack for finding a hook, blowing it up, twisting a bunch of knobs and finding that perfect piece of art within the creation—taking what’s given to him and using everything in his power, expanding internal expenditure without breaking the bank.

The sharks aren’t jumped, but they are beaten with hand whittled spears and who wouldn’t want to see that?

In March, Say Anything released Anarchy, My Dear their fourth studio album. Overall, I don’t like it as much as their other releases, branding it as kind of a Say Anything light beer offering, lacking some of the rawk I’ve come to crave from them, but recognizing sometimes that’s a good change of pace. It compliments their catalog well and is delicious, but not something I’ll crave for years to come.  

So, many years later, I find myself in a position where I haven’t seen my most listened to band live. Unacceptable.

The scene was much like when I was a kid and went to the Warped Tour. I, at 30, was seemingly the oldest person at Best Buy Theater by a good half decade. That’s all right, I’ve accepted my new concert role as toe-tapping beer drinker in the back, who listens to the music and remembers the day when concerts were more of a workout than a therapeutic disturbance from the grind.

I was eternally impressed with the energy Max Bemis brings to the stage, delivered with mental patient overzealousness, which was returned to him like white lightning from the youthful exuberance of the audience. It was like a tennis pro slinging serves and having them returned by Andre Agassi circa 1997—NYC was kicking in the township rebellion. Yeah, what about that sucker?

It seemed to make Bemis taken aback, causing him to gush several times about how, “this was the best audience of the tour,” but did so in a way that seemed genuine and spontaneous. I actually believed the most played cliché in the book. He did it so many times I actually started to feel bad for the guy, like he almost crossed the line of overthanking, like that of a grassroots soup kitchen rewarding their volunteers. Thankyou-thankyou-thankyou-thankyou…come again. At one point he even said, “we don’t deserve fans like you.”  

Their catalog features many sing-a-long “Woahs” and screaming backing chants. Many opportunities to let your voice heard as an audience, as many as there can possibly be at a rock concert, with kids up front on many occasions finding Bemis in their grill with the microphone awaiting your moment to immortalize yourself on tape. You know, where you hog the intellectual spotlight holding dominion over the whole, pointless concert? Yup. You had your moment kids up front.

Lucky enough, these guys are just as fun from the back. Right five-foot, 100-pound girl who insisted I hold her on my shoulders because “So Good” is “like totally her favorite song and she just HAAAAS to be able to see it!?” Her friends got enough pictures that, somewhere, I’m immortalized in film.

Setlist:

Spidersong

Burn a Miracle

Shiksa (Girlfriend)

Hate Everyone

Belt

In Defense of the Genre

Wow, I Can Get Sexual Too

Say Anything

Eloise

Slumming it With Johnny

So Good

Every Man Has A Molly

The Church Channel

Property

A Walk Through Hell

Alive With the Glory of Love

Ahhh…Men

Admit It!!!

Admit It Again

Alabama Shakes, Music Hall of Williamsburg, April 12th, 2012

Alabama Shakes press photo. I'd personally love to hear more from the doggy. 

Brooklyn Vegan, Zales, Starbucks' CD aisle, MTV, David Letterman’s birthday episode and my friend Sarah have all been tirelessly lending hands, with attempt to pull me up and into, the Alabama Shakes bandwagon. I’ve always thought as pompous as Pitchfork is, if they rate something above a 7.11 (Boys & Girls 7.8) I have a patriotic duty to scope it. After seeing the much-heralded band at the Music Hall of Williamsburg the other night, I too, am a believer.

Not since Hall & Oates has “Rock and Soul” rocked me…with...so much…soul.

Once known as only The Shakes, this Alabamian sensation is lead by thick and fro’d lead singer Brittany Howard, who is as saucy as a trip to Big Bob Gibson’s Bar-B-Q, without a napkin. Her sassiness ensued early into the set, before introducing “Boys & Girls,” a song about boys and girls being friends, she claimed the fallacy that this couldn’t happen was some, and I quote, “that'ssomebullllllllshiiiiiit.”

The voluptuous songstress is grounded, in an electrical context, by bassist Zac Crockrell, who proves all guys named Zach, with a “c,” have big beards; guitarist Heath Fogg who didn’t do anything overly noteworthy; and, the most intently focused drummer I’ve seen, Steve Johnson.

There is much for the senses at an Alabama Shakes show. The sold out crowd of a couple hundred was loud and raucous, and could easily have passed for a mid-sized arena to hipsters passing by. The band seemingly can do no wrong up there, and it would be easy to take a naysayers outlet here, but the aura of soul and passion for music is conveyed with honest-to-goodness ease without awe-shucks shoulder shrugging. Like if Peyton and Eli Manning had an African American sister.

With all the hype, the furry and budding momentum the Shakes have going for them right now, I’d think it would be easy to placate the audience with grandstanding gesticulations and disingenuous discourse. It doesn’t seem to be the case. The four members feed off each other well, and when Howard picks her spots, she brings the house down, but doesn’t overuse it as if Staples gave her an easy button. That’d be too easy, and there’s no soul in simplicity.

      I think she best described her mentality on their concerts in an interview with music blog The South Rail:

1.           Wear your dancing shoes
2.           Bring a sweat rag
3.           Leave your fear
4.           It’s going to be a different kind of night

It really was, is and will be again, a different kind of night. They are special. At their best, they sound like a rockin’ version of Amy Winehouse. At their worst, they sound much better than what that image conjures.

When they come back to town, you’d better clear your schedule, grab a cold one and make it to the show. The good news is sweat rags (simply) make the best napkins.

Setlist:

Party

Hold On

Hang Loose

I Found You

Always Alright

Boys & Girls

Be Mine

Worryin’ Blues

Mama

Making Me Itch

Rise to the Sun

You Ain’t Alone

Heavy Chevy

On Your Way

I Ain’t the Same

Heat Lightning

Our Lady Peace, Bowery Ballroom, April 5th 2012

(Photo: Stolen from Wikipedia, 2010)

For some strange reason, for most of my life I’ve grouped Our Lady Peace with other multi-hit bands on the radio that weren’t “huge” but garnered similar radio play (and therefore listened to, because I really only listened to the radio during that time) from WGRD in Grand Rapids, MI circa 1997 like Seven Mary Three, Local H, Toad the Wet Sprocket, Lit, Splender etc, etc. But, if you look at the consistency of the catalog, OLP should break away from that grouping and be with the so-called “big dogs” of the era.

Using a ’95 to ’05 window, I’d be hard pressed to quickly name five bands better than Our Lady Peace. Throughout their first five albums, every song on each album has a place for me. I can listen to them all…all-the-way-through. They are certainly an underrated commodity I will try not to ignore any further.

Consistency being the key that unlocks this door, OLP never became universally huge, yet remained relevant with a couple hits on each remarkably dependable album. My friends didn’t all go to OLP concerts and wear the t-shirt, to school, the next day like a doggy bringing a dead bird to the doorstep with self-aggrandizing pride in the same vein as Dave Matthews Band or Smashing Pumpkins. And, perhaps it’s only because hindsight is 20-20, but if you could go back in time, what corner would you rather stand in?

Canadian bacon is rarely trumped.

So, when I heard OLP was “returning” to tour in 2012, and playing my favorite venue in the city, Bowery Ballroom, I knew I had to check it out. Nostalgia and legacy alike were floating around in my head like bubbly balloons filled with Labatt Blue. Now, I started this paragraph using the word, return, sarcastically. I did this to highlight the fact that the band never left (well, there was a hiatus or two). They somehow eluded MY playlist, but have been around keeping a somewhat low profile consistent and patient throughout the last few years.

My falling out with OLP took place around Gravity. I remember blasting that album all throughout the summer of 2002, but subconsciously the plays dwindled out of my massive rotation. You can’t listen to it all, right?

I also remember seeing the band in 2001 at the Orbit Room in Grand Rapids and being impressed with the cult fan base they had. I seemed to be the only person (in the orbiting room?) who didn’t know every lyric to every song and feel the need to scream it along with the band vehemently. Especially, when lead singer Raine Maida turns the microphone towards the audience, flipping the vocal script of the show (most notably on “4am”). Many bands pull similar moves, but are rarely executed with such charming confidence. I can dig it.

Cut to 2012. The band is promoting their eighth studio album Curve and hopes to shed the perceived cookie cutter mediocrity of 2009’s Burn Burn and 2005’s Healthy in Paranoid Times. Even 2002’s Gravity marked a distinct fork in direction from the psychedelic surreal aura their early music created, in favor of a safer rock aesthetic, which for me is forgiven due to Gravity’s ability to remain rock-steady all the way through. Like a medium well sirloin steak, it might not be as juicy as the medium rare you ordered—it’s still better than chuck.

The show I saw at Bowery was an extraordinary effort from a veteran band that’s too good to fade into the sunset. With a cult fan base, and a continued desire to find what made OLP so unique in the first place, they should be able to retain a mid-size venue profile throughout the foreseeable future. The sold out Bowery Ballroom was eating out of the Birdman’s (Raine Maida is no closer to looking like the Birdman than he was in 2000. He hasn’t aged at all!) hand throughout the 17-song, double encore set. You can’t hear a song like “Starseed” live and not want to jump around and lose your shit.

I was surprised not to see “Somewhere Out There” or “Life” and especially live gem “Julia” to which I perceived to “un-missable” numbers in their repertoire, but I guess you can’t have it all.

Other highlights included:

• A delectable backdrop and projector unit that was set up near the back-side bar at Bowery. It must have taken up 6-7 people’s spots at the show. I wonder if they accounted for that when doling out tickets. It was remarkable packed in there, even for a sold out show.
• After a couple newer songs, the hit parade of (in consecutive order): Clumsy, One Man Army, Superman’s Dead, All My Friends, The Birdman, Is Anyone Home?, left me extremely nostalgic for the days of cruising the Lake Michigan coast in my ’87 Mustang.
• Raine Maida ventured to the balcony of Bowery Ballroom to sing, while hanging from the top railing like a crazy person about to jump. Part of me really thought he was going to jump!?
• The opening band, The Pack A.D., was a two-woman band on a mission. A drummer and a guitarist. The guitarist had long black hair, a big red guitar and was wearing a white shirt. The drumming was mechanical and the guitar licks were thrashy. Yes, it was hard not to think “White Stripes,” but even so, I thought it was a worthwhile rip-roaring rock experience when complimented with enough Red Stripes to make whitey’s like me dance.
• Seeing a lead singer passionately man a mega-phone into their vocal prowess never ceases to thrill me. I’ve seen many do it, none as proficient as Raine Maida.
• One of my favorites “One Man Army” was performed with a great deal of said mega-phone, ending with Maida wailing falsetto into the microphone from his knees. The zeal was chilling, as the vocals were the last thing to ring out of the song.

Setlist:
Allowance (1st song on new album)
Fire in the Henhouse (2nd song on new album)
Clumsy
One Man Army
Superman’s Dead
All My Friends
The Birdman ("we haven't played this in a long time")
Is Anyone Home?
Thief (acoustic)
Find Our Way
Angels/Losing/Sleep
Innocent
Heavyweight (new single)

As Fast as You Can
Paper Moon
4am

Starseed

2012 NCAA Bracket Predictions: Pick by Pick Analysis

The Madness is here! You know I wait ALL YEAR for this. Next year is only 366 short days away, but for now, I'll focus on the breakdown of this here 2012 bracket.

Games start around noon this Thursday!!! Yessssssssss.....

Analysis by Region:

South

West

East

Midwest

Final Four:

North Carolina over Vanderbilt

Kentucky over Michigan State

Championship:

Kentucky 79, North Carolina 75

Thank you for reading! I hope this enhanced your enjoyment of the best event in sports....

Young the Giant: Terminal 5, March 9th, 2012

Young the Giant Live. The band name alone promotes two obstacles this show was going to have to overcome. 1) Young – An all ages show for a band a vast majority of the population (actually, including myself) discovered during the MTV Music Awards. Yes, that still happens. 2) Giant – Out of all the venues in NYC, there must be 1,000 places to play, Terminal 5 in Hell’s Kitchen is one of the airiest, echo bearing, dysfunctional places imaginable. You might as well hand squeeze orange juice and mix it with Tropicana.

The space is chock full of obstructed view places to stand (obviously you don’t have to stand behind pillars, but why build it like that or have rock shows there?) and the bathrooms insist on creating awkward situations by employing a bathroom concierge. Really!? At a rock show? A bathroom concierge? I pretty much live my life by the credence that if there’s a bathroom concierge, I should not be there.

Needless to say, there was skepticism and a two-touchdown deficit to start the show. Let me backtrack a tad to profess my excitement for the band. I can complain about young people at the show, but I too, discovered the band by watching the MTV Music Awards for the first time in over a decade. The last band I discovered through MTV was probably Pearl Jam. But I digress, Young the Giant did make my Best of 2011 albums list. They seem to have fused the accessible energy of Coldplay’s newer albums with the arty, Peter Gabriel loving, intelligent upper class melodies of Vampire Weekend.

Grouplove did a fantastic job opening the show. I didn’t particularly enjoy the band, nor would I consider purchasing any of their gear, but “the kids” went insane for their upbeat pop sensationalism. I can’t blame them, it looked like fun, but it’s not really my thing. Like people playing Operation in the park. Fun game, I just don’t have steady hands, so I’ll just watch and drink some fine Abitia Beers in the distance. Credit Terminal 5 for having affordable GOOD beer. That’s about the last possible decision you’d expect them to get right, but they did, and it did me right to have a couple of cold ones during the opening set. And possibly a few more during the closing set.

Young the Giant came out around 9:22pm, which seemed about right, since the wonderful (last sarcastic comment about the venue) Terminal 5 has an 11pm curfew. That seemed about right. I only have the one album, although I know they’ve been around awhile and have compiled, and whittled down a somewhat underground catalog. For me, the right opening number sonically for YTG would have to be, “My Body”, but I know they wouldn’t have the balls to do that. That's like eating all the marshmallows in your Lucky Charms before the mushy wheat bits.

Instead, I was delighted that “I Got” was the opener choice, which made me feel silly trying to imagine the band coming right out with their biggest hit, albeit their only really definable red-line rock number. Lead singer and gregarious front man Sameer Gadhia, took the stage dressed exactly like everyone in the audience (not a slight to the venue, slight-slight to the audience?) in blue jeans and a freshly pressed light color button up. He reminds me a tad of Aziz Anzari, but I realize full and well, that’s probably pretty racist. I said it anyway.

The tone, however, was not holier than thou in the least bit. The man came to WORK! He danced back and forth throughout the stage, shaking tambourines feverishly, and confusing the shit out of me by switching microphones every five seconds. There was a brief moment in which Gadhia was shaking two differently weighted tamborines, seemingly at different rhythms, while singing one of the band’s complicated harmonies. I’ve never actually seen anyone do that. The task seems similar to juggling eggs and bowling balls while reciting state capitals.

With the microphones, he typically had one normal microphone in his hand, while having a 50’s style radio DJ looking microphone, glistening in metallic delight, while he’d switch from one to the other, depending on location, sometimes even mid sentence. He did this throughout the set. The glistening metal microphone seemed to have a slightly cleaner sound, but I never did figure out the how’s and why’s on that one. I chalk it up to a kid having fun.

It’s hard not to have fun at a show like this. The music is fun and engaging, giving various groups of people, young and old; rockers and gawkers; beer drinkers in the back and thrashers up front; what they want from a show. You could put their album on with your parents at a BBQ or find it played at a 20-year old’s birthday party with illegal substances. That kind of communal music appreciation is harder to find than you might think. In my family you basically have Johnny Cash, Jack Johnson and CCR, if you truly want something that everyone can agree upon. And I can’t even always sneak Jack in there.

They closed their set with the impressive save your energy for the finale explosion, “God Made Man” which brought Gadhia into a screaming fit. Epic. And lastly, YTG had no choice but to give the kids what they were craving. The encore featured “My Apartment” and closed with a ferocious everybody jump and screaaaaaaam final scene. Everybody leaves happy. There was even an obscure (to me) Gorrilaz cover and multi-piece orchestra ensemble lending determination to diversification.

At some point I decided when I got older I was going to attend every concert I wanted to, because I love to be at the show. There is nothing better than a good energetic set to give memories, time and place to the music. Young the Giant has seemed to approach the tipping point of becoming the next big band. I hope they too, will remember this moment of youthful exuberance, and relish the opportunity, put it into the new music sharing it with the masses, because I want more.

I won’t quit. I want more.

Setlist:
I Got
Guns Out
Shake My Hand
What You Get
12 Fingers
Cough Syrup
Empire Ants (Gorillaz cover)
I Wanna
Strings
Camera
St. Walker
God Made Man

Apartment
Islands
My Body

MuteMath: Best Buy Theater, March 8th, 2012

With songs like “Clipping”, “Cavalries”, and “Allies” on the setlist, it’s no wonder New Orleans own MuteMath chose to open Thursday night’s show at the Best Buy Theater in Times Square by flanking the audience from behind. Drummer Darren King led the way manning a snare, weaving through the audience with military rhythm, while the remaining members of the band followed suit with a caravan crashing symbols, a thumping bass drum and a traveling entourage of security. All traveling under some sort of telephone line sculpted, Christmas lit concoction, shining a pathway of pandemonium to the stage. Marti Gras apparently went into overtime. Bonus southern spirit for everyone!?

Magic air mattress rides. Confetti. Jam sessions consumed with the ideology of “everyone pitches in” percussion. Sting sounding sing-a-longs. Homemade instruments thrown into the audience. Scissor kick pool jumps off the center stage organ. Keytar dance endeavors. All things well documented during MuteMath’s new video for “Allies.”

But first, Darren King, beast of a man, needs to electrical tape studio sized headphones to his dome.

And away we go...

The opening 500 notes of the show (from stage) took place in King’s four-second animalistic drum introduction to “Odd Soul”, the first cut off the new album of the same name. Lead singer Paul Meany proceeded to scream, “TRIALS and tribulations always seem to track me down…” giving added soul to a line just about any soul can relate to. Meany, whose voice is usually silky smooth, never sounded so inspired. It was the sound of a band on a mission.

Typically when a concertgoer pontificates, “they played everything off their new album,” it’s seen as a real downer. Wah-wah. Not this time around. Early in the show intention to play every song on Odd Soul as well as other favorites was declared. It’s ballsy to come out with that kind of confidence about your new material, but the execution was brilliant and time flew like confetti.

Add this up: 27 songs and almost 2.25 hours of MuteMath madness.

It’s rare for me this day in age to leave a concert feeling like the band did EVERYTHING in their power give the fans what they want. There’s usually a “What if…” I can point to in order to not deem what I just saw as perfect. I’m always seeking quantifiable justice. I never feel that way after a MuteMath concert. Every show seems better than the last show, which was previously the best show I’d ever seen.

In the early days, nights wound down with the band drenched in sweat, reveling in a path of destruction that seemed to include most of their instruments and equipment, all the while, taking time to shake hands with audience members and thank them for “taking time out of their schedule to see us play.”

Though they’re not as destructive, circa 2012, the keen sense of how to put on a show, and keep things fresh remains true. Little antics throughout the show exponentially pile themselves up, towering a tally of rock moments beyond our vividly constructed imaginations. Especially for a $25 buy-in. It’s absolutely SILLY that more people don’t know about this band.

I’ll never get sick of seeing DK Beast fill his drumhead with water and thrash like a little boy in the rain during “Reset.” The quintessential “Break the Same” jam has been replaced by a seamless merger into epic seven minute opus “Quarantine” in which Meany crowd surfs on an air mattress strung with bright lights without missing any of the quick hitting lines or notes. It makes me wonder what “Magic Carpet Ride” would sound like with air mattress technology.

If you were sad not to see King solo on top of Meany’s keyboard (another “Break the Same” jam trademark), you were quickly restored to percussion fulfillment when he rode into the audience on a moving piece of catwalk—to complete a brief, but angry, bad ass snare solo. Retribution reloaded. It’s the same piece of moving stage Meany crooned con confetti during “Equals”, yet another majestic memory from a show full of innovative imagery.

It’s good to see new guitarist Todd Gummerman has bought into the system, periodically mimicking Meany’s scissor kicks off the organ. It’ll be interesting to see his impact on the guitar playing for the next album.

The greatest victory for me is a deeper appreciation for the Odd Soul catalog. Somehow, even though I tasted the flavor, I never picked up on exactly how much Southern Baptist church clapping organ ingredients the album has. You listen to a song like “One More” and you’re practically transported into the congregation. If Odd Soul is your bible, affirmation just became one big drum ladled jamboree. Your concert ticket is your tithe, brother.

The show’s closing song “Typical” has been typically known an opener, with flashing lights and Meany armed with a keytar on top of his keyboard Para trooping to stage level in time to sing, dance and give thanks to another rocking day. A signature signal has come full circle for a band that continues to push themselves into new territories of showmanship—backwards, forwards and all-around.

Every new end comes from some other endings beginning.

Setlist
Odd Soul
Prytania
Blood Pressure
Spotlight
Tell Your Heart Heads Up
Sun Ray
Allies
Clipping
Backfire
Plan B
Cavalries
Obsolete
Walking Paranoia
One More
Odds
In No Time
Noticed
Chaos
Equals
All Or Nothing
Control
Break the Same
Quarantine

You Are Mine
Reset
Collapse
Typical

The Best Albums of 2011

Thank you to anyone who has participated in these over the years. I realize I’m getting wordier and preposterously dense with some of these…but it’s fun. Let the little blonde boy play in the colorful rubber balls a few minutes longer.

And if you’d like to…jump on in the fun…

1. Foo Fighters – Wasting Light

One small family garage converted into a rock studio. Two of the best drummers in rock. Three guitars plugged in. Four half-decades since Nevermind producer Butch Vig produced a Dave Grohl LP (bonus points for re-enlisting Nirvana/Former Foo Fighter Pat Smear, and a cameo from Nirvana bassist Krist Noveslic on “I Should Have Known”). Five minutes is never eclipsed on a track. The sixth song on the album, “One of These Days,” was proclaimed by Grohl himself to be “my favorite song I’ve ever written in my life.” Seven albums into a hall of fame career, we approach a band that continues to defy odds, find new life, and maintain the Zen expectations of being the worlds best rock band (this is really no longer just my opinion).

Perhaps, I took the counting intro too far, but I believe this to be the best collection of songs for 2011. There are eleven of them for anyone still counting.

Technology was invented for a reason. The overuse of digitalization, layering techniques, Protools, and other unnecessary enhancements is frustrating for music purists who care enough to remember when people could actually perform their recordings. For me, it’s all about hearing the soul of a scream rather than a pitch bar set by a Macbook. Click.

The Studio 606 (state of the art studio Grohl & company usually use) TO THE family garage TO THE art of synchronizing rock music without a safety net TO THE I-Tunes TO THE device you carry with you these days for music TO THE headphones of varying performance…seems like an insane plotline—most likely to be tackled in next Tenacious D movie. Although, I’m sure at times it was painstaking, the music flows conscientiously raw, yet seared for your juicy consumption.

According to Grohl’s Biography This is a Call: the Life and the Times of Dave Grohl by Paul Branningan there was a moment in the process that went approximately (I’m paraphrasing) like this...

*they start rewinding the tape and it starts shedding oxide…

Butch Vig: We should back everything up to digital

Grohl: If I see one fucking computer hooked up to a piece of gear, you’re fucking FIRED!! We’re making the record the way we want to make it, and if you can’t do it, then fuck you!!!

Vig: What if something happens to the tape?

Grohl: WE’LL PLAY IT AGAIN!?!?!? God forbid we have to play a song one more time…

It’s a punk rock album from a bunch of guys who are in their 40’s, married, and have been in the business a long time now (scary) fighting the gravity of becoming a non-relevant classic rock hits-parade spectacle.

I’m quite confident with Wasting Light the Foo Fighters covered the spread of my bias. Apparently they’re ALREADY working on a follow up. Care to parlay for album eight?

Key tracks: “Bridge Burning”, “White Limo”, “Arlandria”

2. Fleet Foxes – Helplessness Blues

This handy-dandy list is a celebration of passion and pizzazz about things we love. My Best Albums of 2008 review of the Fleet Foxes (their first album) is my favorite review (I’ve ever done), of an album, ever. In the spirit of favorites, indulge me by reading (perhaps RE-reading?) what I said back then as it remains true pertaining to my feelings on the earthy jamming of Fleet Foxes.

“From the first time I heard this collection of heart anthems I wanted to trace back to my Native American ancestry, live in the wilderness with only enough power to play this album. It will move you. It will sooth you. It'll make you want to wait for a rainy day, jet over to Cedar Springs, MI and dig for worms. Once you get the worms you will then sell them for a penny a piece to fisherman on Lime Lake like my father used to make me do when he was at Steelcase pawning filing cabinets. Once you sell about 1,500 worms – which will take you a few days – you have earned the right to listen to this…

--Ryan C. Zerfas (from www.sportsnwhine.blogspot.com 1.28.09)

Non-sequitur – I MUST mention they have a song called “Sim Sala Bim”, which reminds me of one of my favorite all-time cartoon characters Hadji from The Adventures of Jonny Quest.

Lead singer and the windmill generator powering Fleet Foxes, Robin Pecknold almost killed himself making this album. From everything I’ve read he poured all he had (money, relationship, sanity, etc) into making a masterpiece. And if you’re lucky enough to have snatched it, you’re reaping the benefits. Lucky you.

He paired bluesy-Earth folk that sounds like Simon & Garfunkel rented a cabin and actually got along for a few years and added Pet Sounds percussion (I want this to be a quantifiable music term? Is that ok?), with instruments that I’m not sure what I’m hearing, but it doesn’t sound like a dude with a guitar and an acapella rhythm section anymore. It sounds like a continent travel video. Come to (the country of…) Fleet Foxes where we will plant your heart in the soil and give you a basket full of mouth watering bosc pears until you learn how to function on only OUR ridiculously enchanting music. The Helplessness Blues.

I thought blues music was supposed to make one sad?

Key Tracks: “Sim Sala Bim”, “Lorelai”, “Blue Spotted Tail”

3. Halos – Living Like Kings in Confined Spaces

“Meet me in the Atmosphere
Don’t worry I’ll take you there…”

This is the first line you hear on 2011’s most complete album. It’s an intro for the catapult ride you’re about to take from a band that’s been a long time in the making. EP’s of most of these songs have been floating around the greater Long Island area for years and finally, a break, finds the band residing out in California with a chance to create some buzz nationwide.

The blood, the sweat, the sinking stench of possibly living life in a van down by the river is not lost in the slicker, finalized, yet ready to consume production of Living Like Kings. Song after song burrows into the depths of your soul’s soul, finding your inner core at the intersection of inspiration and rock-a-bility. You’ll find yourself overwhelmed by the sheer amount of memorable fist pumping, borderline cult-like chants like, “Without faith it’ll bring you down” and “This is where I go to clear my head, this is where I go, this is where I goooooo.”

Big hooks, clean guitars, rip-roaring drum fills and near-irritatingly catchy melodies make you wonder how long Halo’s living space will be so confined.

When I say this is the year’s most “complete” album, I mean it plays like a lost art. Like an LP. I’m not saying the sound is retro, but the concept that songs light each other up like a chain cigarette has been lost in the digital generation. The introduction of “Hekla” weighs in like a polar bear, enough to break the ice, and the ballad finish of “Land Mine” tucks you in at night, leaving a gift basket with enough fruit for breakfast. Halos reach out their hand, sit you down, ask you to buckle up, be safe and give you a working man’s multi-hit, rock-band version of That Thing You Do.

Only THIS is something you seriously should do. Buy this now.

Key tracks: “Breaking Windows”, “A Rowboat in a Perfect Storm”, “Never Never Land”

4. Feist – Metals

All hail the return of Feist!? The Canadian singer-songwriter returns after a four year hiatus (seemed more like seven) with a collection of songs ponderous enough to make you wonder if she’s been working on Metals tirelessly since 2007’s breakout The Reminder.

Layered like a crafty poutine the arrangements of Metals weave quiet dripping shower ballad melodies, in the same bluesy breeze of Cat Power, seamlessly with many songs progressing into full choir chamber (perhaps a full choir of Feists? Yummy.) Earth-thumping pandemonium howls. The percussion is fantastically tribal. The lyrics and tone are drenched celestial moonshine. It’s the work of a writer who’s found her progressive swagger. Each song individually leaves me emotionally exhausted by the time the build is conceived and executed with feisty (zing!) grandeur.

The hooks don’t need horns, xylophones, marimbas, harpsichords, etc, but I’ve never been one to turn down a camp fire jamboree.

Apparently, neither is Feist, eh?

Key tracks: “Graveyard”, Pine Moon”, “Comfort Me”

5. Mute Math – Odd Soul

Towards the end of a typical George Thorogood blues-rock set you’ll often hear him say something along the lines of “we’re going to get DIRRRTY on this OOoonnnnnnne!?” I was never quite sure what to make of that. Though not the most linear way to make a point, the point is made, because you know EXACTLY what he’s talking about.

Bearing almost no resemblance to their Police-sounding first two albums, Mute Math perched down in New Orleans for six months shaving themselves down to a three-piece (after guitarist Greg Hill left the band). The result features more emphasis on the Keith Moon chaotic sweat slathered drumming of Darren King (holy SHIT!), blues-rock arrangements that find singer Paul Meany resembling the Black Keys rather than Sting and a collection of BBQ laced beats and grooves that make you kink your damn neck. Tell the waitress to bring you some wet naps and a list of chiropractor practitioners.

The synchronization of “Odd Soul”, “Prytania”, and “Blood Pressure” to open the album seems ubiquitous, leaving nowhere to go but down, only to be upended mid-album by the uphill bayonet charge of “Allies”, “Cavalries”, and “Walking Paranoia!?” It’s enough to make you enlist in McHale’s Navy as long they stay anchored off the Louisiana coast.

Key tracks: “Allies”, “Calvaries”, “Walking Paranoia”

6. The Civil Wars – Barton Hollow

2011 found me pining after a gaping White Stripes/Jack White void. I did enjoy Jack White’s production on 73-year old rock-a-billy legend Wanda Jackson’s The Party Ain’t Over. Coincidentally, this singer-songwriter duo features a man with the same last name, John Paul White with a shared female vocalist, Joy Williams. The irony doesn’t end there as the band hails from Nashville and John Paul White looks exactly like what you’d expect if Johnny Depp put on the red pants and white shirt for a White Stripes biography. And, really, who could do Jack White better?

Oh, and there’s music. The setting is as quiet as an abandoned den with a cracking fireplace and enough space for a male and female with guitars on the couch. Some of the harmonies can be found on sappy love soundtracks such as Grey’s Anatomy, but my favorite moments come from whiskey rock-a-rolla’s like “Barton Hollow” and winding finger twittering sonnets in the vein of “20 Years.”

The accessibility and urgency of these scintillating symphonies are as simple as running into a friend, colleague, and/or enemy who plugs you into their I-Pod with a “listen to this chief…” and the next thing you know you’ve made a purchase you certainly won’t regret. You think I’m bullshitting you? That’s EXACTLY what happened to me. It could happen to you?

Special thanks to The Chad for this one.

Key tracks: “Barton Hollow”, “20 Years”, “Birds of a Feather”

7. The Goat Rodeo Sessions – Self Titled

If I were a more refined soul this album would be higher on the list for its musicianship, song craft and all-world dexterity. I, however, don’t find enough use for (mostly) instrumental music no matter how uplifting, sensitive and/or beaming it may be. It’s like books I force myself to read (unfortunately, this is most books) as I find myself locked in momentarily, only to crave something with words—even if I don’t know/remember/understand what they are. I don’t know why. I don’t know why I don’t read more books rather than plopping down and zoning out to ESPN. I know it’s wrong, but I continue on. It is what it is.

What is a “Goat Rodeo?” According to Urban Dictionary is about the most polite term used by aviation people (and others in higher risk situations) to describe a scenario that requires about 100 things to go right at once if you intend to walk away from it. This is certainly a title in reference to the chaotic, uber creative deliverances between THIS lineup:

The Goat Rodeo
· Yo-Yo Ma – cello
· Stuart Duncan – violin, banjo, mandolin
· Edgar Meyer – bass, piano, gamba
· Chris Thile – mandolin, guitar, gamba, vocals (on two tracks)
· Aoife O’Donovan – vocals (on two tracks)

In other news, what the fuck is a gamba?

If you’ve seen Chris Thile live, you have some idea what you’re in for when you mix his ridiculousness in with other virtuosos of the sport. It makes the perfect soundtrack to a wine/cocktail party where you want the music to spectacular and memorable without being overbearing. Like Matt Damon’s assignment in Ocean’s Eleven.

Random thought: How cool would it be to have a mandolin Olympic event? Can you see Chris Thile in a dress vest with the American flag television name plaque? I’d watch that. Somebody get the summer Olympics on the phone!

I can tell you they didn’t mail this in. Well, figuratively anyway.

Key tracks: “Where’s My Bow?”, “Here and Heaven”, “Less is Moi”

8. Young the Giant – Self Titled

I don’t think I’ve watched the MTV Video Music Awards since Kurt Loder was a regular part of my day and cranking one out to The Grind was an after school routine (dial-up porn was actually an inconvenience). However, for some strange reason, I tuned into the latest offering of the show this fall. Amongst the sea of boringness that ensued they featured a “little band” in the show giving them the “big stage” for an uplifting ditty titled “My Body,” because for some reason they deserved it. I don’t remember the specifics and don’t care to do the research to come correct, but the point is it moved me. And, apparently, it moved others as well. Those little spots are effective after all. Imagine that. If only there were a place that played videos of bands like this all day?

Throughout the last few months, I’ve had this conversation with a number of people and a handful of others had the exact same experience. In fact, the exposure propelled them onto the Billboard 200, and sales of “My Body” on I-Tunes skyrocketed 220 percent after the show. It’s a high energy song that belongs in any gym mix and deserves to be seen live by the masses. They’ll be in NYC this March!?

They’ve been around since 2004, but haven’t made an impact until now. This is very surprising, because EVERY song on the album is good. They have the accessible urgency of Coldplay, yet the complex melodies of a more rockin’ version of Vampire Weekend. Songs like “I Got” channel the mid-tempo balladry of Peter Gabriel, “Cough Syrup” sounds like what I’d like rock radio to sound like if it were still a profitable genre and “God Made Man” starts like an hippie Oregonian coffee shop time filler and builds into a pent up shaken champagne explosion.

The fizz here doesn’t need to be sealed and kept cool. There will be plenty of celebrating to go around when these pop giants return with a follow up. I can’t wait!

Key tracks: “Cough Syrup”, “My Body”, “I Got”, “Granada”

9. Polar Bear Club – Clash Battle Guilt Pride

Polar Bear Club is considered a post-hardcore/punk rock band, but to me they sound like Gaslight Anthem with the vocals of the Dropkick Murphy’s. The title of this album could easily be exchanged for a Dropkick Murphy’s placard and nobody would flinch, however, the music could not. When I think of this brand of music, many times I just think of blending guitars crunching together and screaming I can’t understand—leading me into a world of discombobulating confusion.

Clash Battle Guilt Pride may not be as strong all the way through as their earlier album I’ve been obsessed with (Sometimes Things Just Disappear), but there are moments of absolute brilliance in “Killin It”, “Kneed On Nails”, “My Best Days”, and “Bottled Wind.” It’s a straight forward rock album, but the hooks are legit. The end of the album has couple acoustic cuts and I was impressed at how the stripped down version of the songs held up, without the thrash and scream that dominates my ears on typical hard-edge music.

At its best Polar Bear Club resembles, scarily close, the smooth voice/scream voice seamless transition I love some much on my favorite all-time Foo Fighters album The Color and the Shape. At worst, you get a great band to follow up “Shipping Up to Boston” for those of you that still make mixes.

10. Ryan Adams – Ashes & Fire

I thought Ryan Adams was dead, well, as a musician that is. I honestly had blocked him out of my mind as I was so crushed he departed the scene and stopped releasing 2.5 albums, a girlfriend and a dog, annually. I was one of the few people that enjoyed (critically) the drug fueled days when he’d post 100 new songs a night with varying album titles like my personal favorite Hillbilly Joel under the band name Werewolph (yes, spelled like that). Every song on those Werewolph albums seemed to end with a crowing rooster. Classic stuff. I want it back. Good times, great oldies.

I’m not saying I want Ryan to do drugs again, but, let’s be honest, it was entertaining. So, anyway, when I heard he was making a triumphant return I was quite curious. Could this be good? I even discovered the double-disc Cardinals album III/IV I missed after his announced hiatus from music and apparently my life. I will note that particular Cardinals album is actually my favorite album of this year, though it wasn’t released in 2011, therefore it’s not eligible for this list. The “plays” tab in my I-Tunes knows the real truth.

Ashes & Fire is a welcomed return to the intimate style of Heartbreaker. Now that time has passed, the press shenanigans are no longer relevant, and Ryan Adams can become an artist, rather than a spectacle, he should/could/would be judged as so. This time around he received fairy high praise critically. Norah Jones, whose contributions in the past have been at the very worst, a highlight, joined quietly (not joking) for some piano and backing vocals, albeit somewhat non-memorable. Even Pitchforkmedia sautéed a poignant review, “…rather than equal Heartbreaker, here he might have accomplished something more difficult: making it somehow seem underrated,” before giving it a favorable 6.5.

I love the style of the album, but I have to kind of parallel myself with Pitchfork, which always makes me cringe a tad. I just don’t identify with it like I have in the past. It’s very close to being as masterful as his early work, but it just seems to be missing something. Perhaps…drugs, depression, alcoholism, sorrow, dark corners of bars, New York City, etc, etc, to name a few. I’ll keep my finger on the pulse, so I don’t miss out on the next wave, because inevitably, something interesting will happen, and for a songwriter with this much talent—that’ll be all it takes.

Key tracks: “Kindness (feat. Norah Jones)”, “Chains of Love”, “Invisible Riverside”

The Next 10:

11. Man Man, “Life Fantastic” – A continued maturity from a band that suffers from a silly shadow, gulping the spotlight from their musical, and more specifically percussion virtuosity. Stunning songcraft finds this as Man Man’s finest moment. A song like “Piranhas Club” belongs as a theme song to an Adult Swim version of Sponge Bob Square Pants. Key track: “Life Fantastic”
12. The Strokes, “Angles” – Don’t listen to critics, your friends, other Strokes fans or even the band itself that dismissed this album. There are enough driving beats to warrant playing it on infinite repeat. It sounds like the Knack, high on crack, celebrating New Years in pink jumpsuits at Max Fish in the Lower East Side. Key track: “Taken For A Fool”
13. Gillian Welch, “The Harrow & the Harvest” – Beautiful, drawn out, slow folk songs for kids that like boring music. If you can’t find Mark Kozelek in an empty dive bar juke box, Gilllian Welch will certainly clear out the remaining tumbleweeds. More for me I guess. Key track: “Dark Turn of Mind”
14. Wilco, “The Whole Love” – Everyone’s favorite living classic rock band tribute’s itself with a non-sequitur greatest hits collection of new songs for their 184^th album. It’s already been three albums with jazz super guitarist Nels Cline and I find myself pining for the 185^th. There are a few clunkers, but these Chicago studs have enough wax to make antique sandpaper shine with luster, gloss and shredding folky-jazz solos. They can do no wrong with this lineup. Key track: “One Sunday”
15. Coldplay, “Mylo Xyloto” – There are very few moments in their new music that remind me of what made me fall in love with this band during the Parachutes and Rush of Blood era, but I find myself carrying on. Most of the new music is upbeat and sounds good played loud, and although this album doesn’t have the scenic time changes Viva La Vida pleasantly surprised me with, it does build purposely off its uncovered ground, which still contains vast green pastures. Key track: “Charlie Brown”
16. Mister Heavenly, “Out of Love” – An unveiled supergroup that actually sounds like the sum of its parts. Man Man + Unicorns/Islands + Modest Mouse = Mr. Larson (giant guy with nail in his head from Happy Gilmore) stomping on pigeons, filmed in black and white with added projector sounds. It mixes retro ballroom dance rock n’ roll (Nicholas Thorburn) with raspy piano thrashing melody (Ryan Kattner aka Honus Honus) over punchy (Joe Plummer) palpitations. Key track: “Bronx Sniper”
17. Old Wives, “Tidal Tales” – Jason Gleason has the best voice in rock music (think Jeff Buckley meets Roger Daultry) today and belongs in a rock band. End of story. Key track: “Rip Van Winkle”
18. The Decemberists, “The King is Dead” – A perfect mix of what the Decemberists have done so well throughout their career with the added rock backbeat their major label albums have sprinkled in. It’s almost as if Colin Meloy had a maudlin reminiscent desire to bring back Tarkio and return to Montanan form with this title for a self-aggrandizing finale. Fair enough. Key track: “Down By the Water”
19. The Lonely Island, “Turtleneck & Chain” – Guest appearances by Snoop Dogg, Rihanna, Akon, Michael Bolton, Beck, Nicki Minaj and of course JT doesn’t totally define this album. The fact that these seemingly not serious spoof songs are actually legit is the biggest surprise and that’s no joke Mr. Big Nose. Key track: “Threw it on the Ground”
20. Wanda Jackson, “The Party Ain’t Over” – Wanda Jackson bids to be the Clint Eastwood of the industry producing some of her best work in her mid-70’s, quips coincidently fitting, because much of Jack White’s production sounds like spaghetti western Ennio Morricone horn arrangements. Although, I would argue her cover of Amy Winehouse’s “You Know I’m No Good,” is nothing less than chilling, if not the damn best song of the year. And I typically resent covers. Rasp away Grandma Wanda. Key track: “You Know I’m No Good (Amy Winehouse Cover)”

The Disappointments

I don’t necessarily think these were bad albums. In fact, I could make a case for putting them up, and onto the “top shelf” list, but I just can’t due to the depression they inflicted on my gentle heart. Everything is about expectations, and I hate to be let down, especially by some of my favorite bands.

Adele – 21

I honestly don’t know what happened here. I loved 19 and I don’t want to hop on the “hate Adele” bandwagon, because with her popularity, it won’t be long before THAT gets old. But, seriously?

I HATE this album. I honestly don’t like it at all. It just screams look at me, I’m sad, but I’m very talented (this is undeniable) and showing off my sadness for piles of your money. Then, I’m laughing all the way to the bank, because you’re crying, vulnerable and holy shit how easy is this?

I think it boils down to this interview I read when she made two points that turned me off. 1) She said she’s “never had a problem with the way she looks.” 2) She said she “smokes 30 cigarettes a day.” Ok, (1) you kind of should…and…(2) yuuuuuuuuuqqqck. Jesus. So disgusting.

These things aren’t an issue by themselves, but when I start hearing tear inducing balladry, marketed at my heartstrings, and think of an overweight singer who “claims” to not care about her body with pompous confidence in an interview that reeks of cigarettes stench—I just can’t get into it.

I can’t imagine why a guy wouldn’t want to deal with that? Right? Let’s hear 11 more songs about THAT!?I don't feel sorry for you at all, Adele, by the time you release 23, let's all hope the flash in the pan we hear is broccoli and the fresh scent of an open window.

Come on!!?

Red Hot Chili Peppers – I’m with You

In preparation for the release of this album I read Anthony Keidis’ biography Scar Tissue which, for me, turned out to be a huge mistake. The book makes him sound like the biggest douchebag I’ve ever heard. For those of you that love the Keidis, the Chili’s and want it to stay that way, don’t read this book.

Scar Tissue by Anthony Keidis summary:

1. I’m really fucking cool because I did a lot of drugs
2. I’m still really fucking cool because I relapsed so many times and lived to tell the tale
3. I write lyrics like “the day my best friend died I could not get my carpet cleaned.”
4. Grand Rapids, Michigan…SUUUUUCKS.

The needle and the damage is done. I don’t hate Keidis, but that was a tough pill for me to swallow for 300+ pages. John Frusciante, my favorite member of the band, departed, again, after the last album. Flea and Chad Smith still rock, perhaps harder than ever. The new guitarist, touring backing guitarist John Klinghofer, continues to do really neat, backing guitar effects—only he’s the lead guitarist. So, there really isn’t any lead guitar, which is a blessing and a sin throughout the album.

With that said, there are still some classic stand out tracks like the Pure Funk worthy “Look Around”, disco-dance hall throw down (once you get through the fuzzy noise intro, bridge and versus) “Monarchy of Roses” and the grinding relatable tale of age, “Annie Wants a Baby.”

It was cool to hear some piano rock from the Chili Peppers, and read about Flea expanding his musical means, but this should be an EP and the band should quit A) while they’re still ahead B) until John Fruciante rejoins the band.

That harshness aside, I still value this album and continue to enjoy to its catawampus sonic fortitude.

My Morning Jacket – Circuital

Three amazing songs. Three bad/ok songs. Two good songs. One shitty song. And one of the worst songs I’ve ever heard make up the long-awaited, highly-disappointing Circuital.

“Victory Dance”, “Circuital”, and “Holdin’ on to Black Metal” are simply BOSS songs. Phenominal. Yes. There are a couple of other good songs, but mostly everything else makes me wish I didn’t have ears.

Especially “Wonderful (the Way I Feel)!?!?!” If that’s not bad enough, they play it LIVE!? It’s a live staple!?!? They could just say, “yeah…probably should have listened to that one closer,” but they insist on pressing on and playing that shit live!!?!?! I don’t get it. I don’t get it one bit. You have to trace back to 1999’s Tennessee Fire to find such haphazard, psychedelic painfully-slow folk slop. Believe you me; if you put this in the pig’s trough, they’re not going to eat it.

Death Cab for Cutie – Codes and Keys

There are a couple of classics like “Portable Television”, “Doors Unlocked and Open”, “Underneath the Sycamore” and “Unobstructed Views,” but other than that, everything sounds like a bad Postal Service cover band. What happened to the rock band that wrote “We Laugh Indoors?”

This is a solid album; don’t get me wrong, it’s still very listenable, but well short of my lofty expectations. I feel like one of the few people that genuinely enjoyed Plans and Narrow Stairs with the later rivaling Transatlantism for Zerfas market share.

Sounds like a distracted, unfocused, and notably happier, lead singer. Hmmmmmm…what could lead to something like that!?

Yeah, I would be too.

Black Keys – El Camino

Too. Fucking. Fuzzy.

WHAT THE FUCK!?!?!?!?!

I honestly want to go on a ridiculous rage, much like crazy black mercenary guy in The Rock when General Hummel changes the rocket’s coordinates, dumping the weapon into the ocean.