Crib Notes: Candi Staton — Dusty Springfield

Let’s dive back in.

[For an intro to Crib Notes, its genesis and its nature, see Crib Notes: A-B]

Candi Staton – Long-forgotten soul goddess of the 1970s, and the go-to girl at Muscle Shoals for a while there. She got lost on the gospel train eventually, but we’ve still got these sweet, frank, R&B classics. And when the hell is somebody gonna sample the opening few horn-blasted bars of “Best Thing You Ever Had?” They’re begging for it.

Caribou Swim – Heady, fractured, almost paranoid dance music from the brilliant Dan Snaith. Nervy and endlessly fascinating – this is body music for brainy people. Also of note: the luminescent “Sandy” from Andorra, another jewel.

Chromatics Kill for Love – Like a Hitchcockian blonde: chilly but ever so sexy. Epic in scope, dreamy in texture, and glamorous even when the mascara runs. Hands down the best album of 2012. Key tracks: the one-two punch of “Lady” and “These Streets Will Never Look the Same.”

CHVRCHES – Bless little chicks with huge voices. Bless ‘80s impulses. Bless cues from Cocteau Twins. Most of all, though, bless Glaswegians.

The Clash – Fans of these Londoners during their heyday knew them as “the only band that matters.” Three decades on, when bands who can pen a decent lyric are so few and far between, that statement feels truer than ever. Favorite track: “Guns of Brixton,” a reggae call to arms. “When they kick at your front door / How you gonna come? / With your hands on your head / Or on the trigger of your gun?”

Common Resurrection – The insightful Talib Kweli name-checks this album as a formative influence, and while he veers toward rap’s intellectual side, even a devotee of the hardest, meanest gangsta shit would be hard-pressed not to fall for Resurrection. Common has a way of making even the most philosophical musings, extended metaphors, and intricate interplay between consonance and assonance sound easy on the ears. Effortless, even. Cool beats abound, as does a sly sense of humor. Idyllic hip-hop.

The Crystals “Then He Kissed Me” – Pitchfork calls this “two and a half of the sweetest minutes in pop history.” Right on the button. So innocent, you know? Like prom when it was pure, before it became all about rookie-season drunkenness and heavy petting. Unless that’s what it’s always been about. If so, you’d never know it from this angelic song.

The Cure – “Pictures of You” is great and so is “Lovesong,” and “Plainsong” is flat-out gorgeous, but that’s all I’m giving out from the high-art gloom of Disintegration. Maybe I’d enjoy it more if I was a fifteen-year-old girl for whom life is, like, totally unbearable. Give me the simple, snappy pleasures of “Close to Me.”

Cut Copy In Ghost Colours – A jubilant marriage of the dance kids and the rock kids. Lyrically… meh. Hard to care, though, with so much fun to be had. Highlight: “Far Away”

D’Angelo Voodoo – Maybe the hottest R&B ever produced, with Prince’s finest as a possible exception. Behind all the heat, however, we’ve got a consummate musician at work. An insane vocalist, capable of multi-tracking every coo and come-on. Brown Sugar’s the warm-up round; Voodoo’s the fucking masterpiece.

The Darkness – Okay, so I debated whether or not to include this, but I just couldn’t resist. Hysterically funny without being a Tenacious D-esque comedy routine [shudder], it’s faux hair metal played by musicians with actual chops and voiced by a falsetto wunderkind, aided and abetted by some truly excellent swearing. Side-splittingly impressive. Crowning glory: “Love On the Rocks With No Ice.”

Darkside – Start with the EP. Blast the first track, but be patient. Give it a minute or two to find that strut, that steely strut. Get used to the EP, then dive into Psychic. Be even MORE patient, but get an even bigger payoff. Sleek as a black suit.

Daryl Hall & John Oates – No band from the dreaded yacht rock sub-genre of late ‘70s / early ‘80s music has reclaimed a place in the hearts of the cool kids like Hall & Oates. “Rich Girl,” “Private Eyes,” career highlight “I Can’t Go For That,” even “Maneater” – hipsters eat that shit up (me included). Request “You Make My Dreams” from the DJ at a wedding reception and watch ‘em go ballistic.

David Bowie “Sound and Vision” – Man, I guess if I had to pick just a single track from his brilliant behemoth of a back catalog, it’d be this one. The ultimate encapsulation of everything that makes Bowie essential: the swagger, the goosed-up groove, the headlong rush into fresh sonic territory. Off Bowie’s personal favorite, Low, included here in its entirety, along with four more.

De La Soul Three Feet High and Rising – Hip-hop at its warmest and happiest, its most unabashedly optimistic, notably on “Eye Know,” the most delightful love song the genre ever produced. This is Library of Congress rap.

The Decemberists – Only two songs included, “On the Bus Mall” and “The Engine Driver,” and while they're pretty great, they're also the only two left in the Decembrists’ catalog that haven’t become annoying. SO OVER THEM.

Deerhoof “Cast off Crown” – Like three different songs in less than three minutes, each of them juggernaut. A blistering exercise with some killer drumming.

Deerhunter Halcyon Digest – Tied with Woods’ At Echo Lake for my pick of 2010’s litter. Plenty of style changes, but the pace never slackens and flawless execution abounds. Moody, carefully measured modern rock from an immensely talented ensemble. No skippable tracks in this lineup, so it’s difficult to select a true stand-out. Okay, “Helicopter.” Stunning. See also: Lotus Plaza, Atlas Sound

Derek & the Dominos – I’m not big on Clapton. He’s a technical master or whatever, but you just want to slap him awake. “Let it Rain,” “Let it Grow”… so much apathy. Get involved, Eric, you turd. Still, with Derek & the Dominos you get an engaged-for-once (if only for self-pity’s sake) Clapton battling the superior Gregg Allman to see who can play the most like Jimi Hendrix. Could be worse.

Destroyer Kaputt – Lounge-y, slinky, blue-eyed soul from the unpredictable Dan Bejar [See: the New Pornographers]. Hits you right in the pleasure center even as the lyrics and their decadently lethargic delivery furrow your brow ever so slightly. Give “Suicide Demo for Kara Walker” its full, rapturous running time. A contender for the best album of the past five years.

Digable Planets – The hippiest hip-hop hipsters ever, complete with nickel bags of grass, song-long pro-choice rhetoric, props to Dizzy and Bird and beatnik poetry. Reachin’ is rap at its most adorable, I suppose, which doesn’t diminish its quality (for the most part), but if you like flows over which the words “Doodlebug” and “Butterfly” don’t regularly crop up, you should listen elsewhere. Things are less tie-dyed on Blowout Comb, and I dig ‘em both. See also: Shabazz Palaces

Dirty Projectors – Swing Lo Magellan’s a less demanding listen, and it’s superb, but Bitte Orca is the main attraction. Wildly ambitious and without a single pulled punch, it’s at its best when the ladies grab the mike, particularly on the jaw-dropping “Stillness is the Move.” Anybody who can’t get next to this one… well, I’ll just never know what to do for them.

Disclosure – Perched at the top of my 2013 list, this is an irresistible hour and change of vintage-y house music by a pair of college-aged brothers from Britain. Blessed with a strong sense of melody, an emphasis on song-craft and a crucial appreciation for dynamics. A club you’d actually enjoy going to. Key track: “Help Me Lose My Mind.”

DJ Shadow Endtroducing…. – The title of the eleventh track says it all: “Midnight in a Perfect World.”

DJ Shadow & Cut Chemist – A rollicking amusement park of a DJ battle with funk to burn, these two 25-minute games of one-upmanship shoot straight from, and for, the hip. Not to be missed.

Django Reinhardt – For rainy afternoons with great books. For chillaxed dinner parties. For a cigar and a nightcap.

Dum Dum Girls I Will Be – Fuzzy, whiplash garage pop from an all-female outfit, this is perfect t-shirt music. Special props to the title track and to “Oh Mein Me,” sung, for some reason, in German. Also included, two EPs over which the Girls’ sound progressively matures even as it sacrifices a bit of the long player’s sweaty charm.

Dusty Springfield “Son of a Preacher Man” – Aretha, bereft of her senses, passed on this one, and thank sweet Jesus she did so. It’s unthinkable that anybody could’ve sold this track the way Dusty and those Memphis session players did. Short of deafness, there exists no circumstance under which a person could be immune to the pleasures of “Preacher Man,” and while it’s kind of a bitch that one of the greatest R&B performances in history would be the work of a British white lady, it stands as proof that soul is a product of nature, not nurture.