Crib Notes: Al Green — Burial
I’m lucky enough to be the Official Music Programmer for the restaurant where I work. I beat out Pandora and her box of adult-contempo evils for the job. When he comes in for dinner, my boss’s husband gets down on the jams so hard that he recently offered me a deal: I burn him a pile of data CDs with all my favorite tunes packed onto them, he buys me a round-trip plane ticket anywhere in the country I might care to go. A hand shake ensued. Two weeks from now I’ll land in New Orleans.
For his generosity – and because it’s hard to know where to start when someone just hands you nearly 7,000 songs – I wrote my benefactor these Crib Notes, a glossary to guide him through his new library. Not everything in the collection is covered; I just scrawled out a little explanation or appreciation or quoted a snippet of lyric as I added this and that to the playlist. Just whatever captured my interest (which turned out to be a whole hell of a lot). So if you like music, or opinions, this here’s for you.
A NOTE ON ALPHABETIZATION: Evidence in the following posts to the contrary, I do know how to alphabetize things. iTunes, however, alphabetizes according to the first letter of the first word even if it’s a first name, hence Bo Diddly next to Blur and David Bowie in the D section. I followed Apple’s template to keep things on an even keel. Not stupid!
NOW LET’S GET TO IT.
Al Green Greatest Hits – I’m normally not predisposed toward Best-of compilations, but sometimes the hits truly are where it’s at, while even the best deep tracks simply don’t cut the mustard (by comparison). Case in point, Al Green, the Silk Merchant. Rarely has anything so luxuriously mid-tempo been so undeniably dance-able. And make-lovable. Let’s not forget the love-making.
alt-J – Winner of the fabled Mercury Music Prize a couple years ago and a Next Big Thing amongst regular white people for a little while there. I’m not including the whole album ‘cause I think they’re a bit overrated. We’ll see if the follow-up is above and beyond, but in the meantime the gems scattered over this debut are pretty shiny.
Amy Winehouse – Some interviewer to Tony Bennett: “How did you enjoy recording those duets with Lady Gaga or whatever?” Tony Bennett: “Oh, well… fine, I guess. You ask me, though, Amy Winehouse – now THAT’S an artist.” [Paraphrased, but true.]
Animal Collective “My Girls” – One of the most overwhelmingly joyful tracks of the new century, and absolutely one of the best. The lyrics celebrate the singular contentment of domesticity, while the music – all triumphant bass, call-and-response melody and waterfall synths – launches that bliss skyward. The unrestrained “WHOOO!”s that highlight the choruses were belted out by the entire crowd when I caught these guys at the Roseland. Full album included. Worth every penny. See also: Panda Bear
Arcade Fire – Well known to most at this point, and deservedly so. Only my favorites from the patchy Neon Bible, nothing from Reflektor, which I’m not sure I like yet, but all of the immense, amazing Suburbs and the immortal Funeral, which opens with a track that seems to contain the sorrow and redemption of a thousand lifetimes, as well as one of my favorite snatches of lyric: “Purify the colors / Purify my mind / And spread the ashes of the colors across this heart of mine.”
Aretha Franklin I Never Loved a Man the Way I Love You – A certified Unimpeachable. The soul gold standard. Track for track, start to back, the pinnacle both of Aretha’s career and that of the Muscle Shoals crew. Full Lady Soul included along with the oft-overlooked Spirit in the Dark, her bluest and sexiest.
The Association “Never My Love” – The kind of unpretentious, transporting love song that only the ‘60s could produce. That playful organ, those heartstring lyrics, a nice little bounce that seems to grow bouncier as these three lovely minutes roll out. And the harmonies! Why doesn’t anybody do that anymore? Oh, wait… Fleet Foxes.
The Avalanches Since I Left You – Along with “…Endtroducing” [See: DJ Shadow], the high water mark of people creating astonishing music entirely from bits and pieces of other peoples’ music. The moods shift fluidly from hypnotic lows to effervescent highs syncopated throughout with surprises. Crowned, beautifully, with “Extra Kings,” as perfect a final track as ever there was, strange and beguiling as southern stars.
The Band The Band – If the article which opens their name was always capitalized, it’d be more appropriate. THE Band. The obvious choice is this second album, the Brown One with the flawless cover art. Executed with such graceful subtlety that it feels uncomplicated, and yet the careful listener, the attentive listener, is most generously rewarded. Authentically, timelessly American – or, at least, Canadian. Either way, Levon Helm forever.
The Bats Daddy’s Highway – Too short at seventeen tracks, this cheery chestnut dropped from Wherever, New Zealand in 1987. Terrific driving music, terrific morning music, and best enjoyed in sequence, first to last. Like the Byrds if they’d sounded, ya know, more homespun. Highlights: “Had to Be You” and the burbling bass underneath “Trouble in This Town.” Smiles times.
The Beach Boys “I Know There’s an Answer” – Booming drums, a banjo breakdown, plaintive optimism, and is that a saxophone? The muddiest sax ever? Hard to tell, but at least this question has an answer: How do you follow up “God Only Knows,” a pop song so glorious it deserves to be sanctified? This is how.
Beach House – No one figured they could achieve a more serene crystallization of their starlit sound than Teen Dream. We stood corrected when Bloom came out. It’s not that Beach House do anything particularly new with each release, they just get better at what they do best. Keystones: “Myth,” “Walk in the Park,” “Lover of Mine,” “Norway,” and – good God – “Wild.”
Beastie Boys Ill Communication – Paul’s Boutique is the sampled-up groundbreaker and the richest entry in their catalog. Check Your Head proved they could function – scratch that, EXCEL – as a band on real instruments. But Ill Communication will always be my choice. “Sabotage.” “Flute Loop.” “Sabrosa.” And “Get it Together,” the lyrics to which I’ve scrawled in permanent ink on the walls of my brain.
Beck – Odelay: A users’ manual for the aspiring hipster. Even 18 years later. Sea Change: Sad = beautiful. Here, at least. Mutations: Space folk. Special props to Nigel Godrich, yet still so fundamentally BECK. Midnite Vultures: My die-hard fave. Beck as a band. Beck as Prince. Beck as nerd lothario. Everlasting lyric, though, comes from Mutations. “When the moon is a counterfeit / Better find the one that fits / Better find the one that lights the way for you.”
Beirut The Flying Cup Club – An excursion to Marseilles via the sweeping song-craft and memorable vibrato of Zack Condon, all of 21 when this was released. Some serious grandeur going on here, buttressed by opulent horns and strings and a total absence of irony. If it seems a little pretentious, well, so is France.
Belle and Sebastian “Seeing Other People” – I’ve often considered learning just enough piano to be able to play and sing this song. Off the extraordinary If You’re Feeling Sinister.
Bessie Smith “I Ain’t Gonna Play No Second Fiddle” – The blues as power stance, as mission statement, as forthright confidence. Not really, though, ‘cause with Bessie it’s always a set-up. This is the kind of confidence you fake in the wake of a broken heart. Even red-hot Bessie is blue through and through.
The Beta Band “Dry the Rain” – This one has the intoxicating feel of being a carefree accident, as if a guy with an acoustic guitar and another with a rudimentary drum kit sat down in the basement and started spinning something out. Then they’re joined by another dude on slide until an electric guitarist creeps in, only to have a bassist suddenly take charge, followed by a couple horn players. And then the chorus just occurs to them – all of them – at once, and swells like a sunrise. Indispensable.
Big Star – Ignored in the early ‘70s, presumably because everybody was so sick of the world and Big Star were so in love with it. This chiming, good-natured music became a touchstone for any number of shy-guy bands that would emerge over the ensuing decades. Teenage Fanclub, R.E.M. and Elliot Smith all owe them back rent, and the Replacements went so far as to name a song for Big Star’s lead singer, Alex Chilton, which contains the lyric, “I never travel far without a little Big Star.”
Bill Callahan – Eyes that still sparkle in an old, weary face. “If / If you / If you could / If you could only / If you could only stop / If you could only stop your / If you could only stop your heart / If you could only stop your heartbeat / If you could only stop your heartbeat for / If you could only stop your heartbeat for one heart / If you could only stop your heartbeat for one heartbeat.” See also: Smog
Björk “Hunter” – It’s the bridge, when she turns it loose. Every vowel, every consonant. Every breath. The immensity, the majesty of her tones, washing all the tension out of those slow-burn strings and that skittering rhythm. And then, delicately, charmingly, a concertina. Like a whispered secret. I’m weak. Off of Homogenic, a masterwork.
Black Star – Me, at the counter: “I’ll take this one.” Guy working at the record store: “You just bought my favorite hip-hop album of all time.”
Bloc Party – The hook’s in the urgency. As if they had one hour to bang out a classic album before being dragged away from their instruments forever.
Blood Orange Cupid Deluxe – Pastel-tinged R&B in the rarefied tradition of Prince. If it lacks the Purple One’s overpowering self-confidence, the breathy bashfulness of a track like “You’re Not Good Enough” is just as scintillating. ‘80s all over the place plus a little tropicalia. Easy to fall for.
Bob Dylan – Where I started, where I’ve stayed, where I’ll end up. I’d take Dylan over anyone, and I’d never give him up. Never. Not for anything. When he leaves this world, I’ll mourn. Until then, I’ll continue to be like some raven at his window with a broken wing.
Bob Dylan and the Band The Basement Tapes – What turned out to be, after years of devotion, the Dylan album I love best (though, who are we kidding – it depends on the day). The Band’s in great form here, too, at their loosest, funniest and slyest. Bob himself is at his most casual, which only makes his lyrics more appealing. It’s like meeting a great poet, looking him in the face, and he says no word, but winks at you and grins. “I looked at my watch / I looked at my wrist / I PUNCHED myself in the FACE with my FIST / I took my potatoes down to be mashed / And I made it on over to that million dollar bash!”
Bon Iver For Emma, Forever Ago – It’s unfortunate that “Skinny Love”’s been played to death, but it’s still drop-dead gorgeous. This is a wintry album that brings you in from the cold instead of leaving you out in the snow. Still, it’s never too chilly when downy flakes are falling, and Bon Iver’s sound recalls the hushed music they make. Side note: I went to school with this guy. Did I know him? No. Did we hang out in the same bar? Yes. So do I tell people that I probably met him a few times even though it’s a big fat lie? Goddamn right, I do.
Booker T. & the MG’s “Green Onions” – My Power Song.
Brian Eno “St. Elmo’s Fire” – Featuring a Frippertronic guitar solo that unfolds like a thrilling, fantastical story, this numbers among my most treasured tracks. Bowie may have saved rock n’ roll in the ‘70s by remodeling it, but Eno drew up the blueprints. His influence is impossible to overstate. Two seminal solo albums included here. See also: Talking Heads’ “Remain in Light”; U2’s “The Joshua Tree”
Broken Social Scene You Forgot It In People – Perhaps the most universally appealing of the ‘00s’ best records, thanks in no small part to the lush, romantic “Lover’s Spit,” a song that leaves even the least poetically inclined listeners stammering to come up with fresh synonyms for “beautiful.” Lovingly rendered at their live shows back in the day by sometime band member Feist. Also included, the moody, wordless Feel Good Lost. See also: the Sea and Cake, Tortoise
Bruce Springsteen – Not, like, ‘cool’ in any sense of the word. Overblown, occasionally schmaltzy, groaning under the weight of piano and sax solos, but if you can get past all that, the songs are splendid and the lyrics are even better. Me? I’ll take the subdued Boss, caustic and naked on Nebraska, fevered and thirsty in “I’m on Fire,” his best two minutes and forty-two seconds. See also: the Hold Steady
Burial – Ghostly and stark, but propulsive. Enveloping yet distant, somehow. A snatch of conversation, light from a high window, the rhythm of rain against an upturned collar, feet that beat the nighttime streets. Included: the mesmerizing Untrue and two follow-up EPs, each best enjoyed in sequence, without interruption, through headphones.
