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Top 50 Albums of the Decade, Part One (Revisited)

January 4, 2011 By Leave a Comment

Facebook friends, Bloggers, Strangers, lend me your ears; I come to bury the last decade, not to praise it.

Actually, I do want to praise it, but I first must contend with almost every other critic, pundit and poser who decrees this past decade –the Aughts, or better yet, the Aught-Nots– dead on departure. That is entirely too pessimistic, and evinces a hysteria all-too-typical of our age of instant insight. Nevertheless, I would not argue that the Aughts ought to have been a bit kinder on our hearts, wallets and souls. In other words, the last ten years were a lot like the decade that preceded them, and so on and so on.

But before we set this Viking ship ablaze and steer it toward Valhalla, let’s consider how much astonishing (and occasionally miraculous) art got made these last 120 months. In fact, without this generous bit of genius, contemplate how truly unsettling it all could have been. And before I put my cards on the table, I’d admonish anyone who is interested that this is intended as an interactive endeavor. I’m counting on feedback, debate, and even disbelief at how blind I was to omit (insert name of album or movie). And some of you (you know who you are) I hope will set me straight wherever I strayed. But be forewarned, I feel OK about the way the lists turned out. Of course, there’s no point in putting it out there if you can’t discuss and defend the choices that ultimately made the final cut, right?

Enough. It’s been over a month since I threatened to bring it, so consider it brung. (The celebration already began –and will conclude– with a selection of songs; in between are the albums.)

50. Beach House, Devotion (2008)

When a band sounds this confident, so fully-formed and natural right out of the gate, it is easy to assume it’s easy, or the result of an extraordinary gift. Who knows, it may well be, but however they’ve done it, Beach House has crafted a distinctive style that perfectly blends melancholy and exultation. Victoria Legrand has such an enchanting, intoxicating voice, that alone would make her music worthwhile. (Sound lazy or perhaps over the top? See if I’m overstating the case: here, here and here!) But along with Alex Scally, she has created a sonic dreamscape that the listener can –and should– just succumb to, and disappear for a while.

Someone stumbling upon this release might understandably mistake it as a lost treasure from the ’70s; it has that vinyl classic vibe that conjures up rainy days and half-remembered evenings. That it came out during the tail-end of a decade so many people have had so few nice things to say about proves that great art finds us when we need it most.

 

49. Les Claypool, Live Frogs, Set One (2001)

Official title: Colonel Les Claypool’s Fearless Flying Frog Brigade: Live Frogs, Set One. To be certain, set two (a ballsy –and brilliant– cover of Pink Floyd’s uncoverable masterpiece Animals) is also enthusiastically recommended. As impressive as Claypool and crew’s deconstruction of Floyd is, the most satisfying cover on either set is their spirited take on King Crimson’s (uncoverable!) “Thela Hun Ginjeet” (Critters Buggin saxophonist and guest genius Skerik is typically en fuego throughout these proceedings). You have to bring more than a little to the table to keep up with Claypool, but if you’ve got game, and are ready to follow him down the rabbit hole, the subsequent delights are considerable.

Claypool has been nothing if not productive and boundary-pushing in his admirable career, but the turn of the century found him as inspired and engaged as he’s ever been: between the Flying Frog gigs and his short-lived stint with semi-supergroup Oysterhead, Les was living large. This music does not appeal to any superficial demographic, but it’s also not weird for weird’s sake; it’s intense, ebullient and a window into the restless mind of one our true contemporary trailblazers.

 

48. Hope Sandoval, Bavarian Fruit Bread (2001)

Mazzy Star released their third album Among My Swan in 1996 (which, at the time, seemed a bit too long of a wait after their breakthrough sophomore effort, 1993′s So Tonight That I Might See), and it looked, for a while, as though the enigmatic, supremely reticent (and unbelievably gorgeous) Hope Sandoval may have been done. The millennium came and went, the world did not end, and still there was no word from the spotlight-shirking siren.

Finally, in 2001, she came up for air and released her first “solo” album (along with new band The Warm Inventions): it signalled a return to form and, ostensibly, the demise of Mazzy Star. Bavarian Fruit Bread is not a great album, but it sounds like it wasn’t intended to be. It is, to be certain, a very good album, and some of the songs (like the irrepressible “On The Low” which is hands-down one of the sexiest songs of the new century) are indelible. On the album’s penultimate track “Around My Smile” she coos “I’ve got it going on.” Yeah she does.

47. Fantomas, The Director’s Cut (2001)

Earlier last summer I had the opportunity to celebrate the 10 year anniversary of Mike Patton’s miraculous end-of-century double play, in which he helped produce Mr. Bungle’s masterpiece as well as the first flowering of his (ongoing) evolution. In ’99 he formed Fantomas and recruited likeminded iconoclasts (bassist Trevor Dunn, guitarist Buzz “King Buzzo” Osbourne and thrash drummer god Dave Lombardo) who were willing –and capable– of helping realize the sounds and images inside his head. The band’s debut (click on embedded link above for a more sustained analysis) was an uncategorizable sonic boom: no words or lyrics but plenty of human noises, supported by the best backing band Patton could ever hope to assemble. It remains an uneasy, ambitious tour de force.

So, two years later, of course it made all the sense in the world for the boys to tackle…movie soundtracks. Some of the selections are well-known (Theme from “The Godfather”, “Charade”), others wonderfully obscure (“Spider Baby”, “Der Golem”–see below). The proceedings are inspired and almost unbelievably effective. This is deeply intelligent, complicated music that manages to be ear candy and ideal background music for any activity other than relaxing. Like the aforementioned Les Claypool, the turn of the century found Patton as proficient and productive as he’s ever been (and he’d been plenty of both the previous decade), and looking back almost ten years later, it is difficult to debate that he wasn’t doing some of his most important and impressive work.

46. Kid Koala, Carpal Tunnel Syndrome (2000)

The scratching and sampling come a mile a minute. Kid Koala kicked off the decade by staking his claim as supreme mixologist on the scene. In early 2000, the sample/scratch mania was close to sailing over the shark (you know any artistic advancement has gone past the point of no return when pop acts are incorporating it into their weak and watered-down work), but the tank wasn’t running on fumes just yet. Carpal Tunnel Syndrome (the title alone amply illustrates how quirky and clever Kid Koala is) had more than enough gas to keep the genre charging forward for a little while longer. An examination of any individual track announces, immediately, a master at work (old movie dialogue along with a Winnie The Pooh sample? Sold!)

This joint is teeming with energy and enthusiasm, but never approaches sensory overload: Koala packs in more material in twenty seconds than any DJ has done but his samples are so astutely chosen and his incorporation of each nugget into a larger, logical whole is consistently awe-inspiring. Listening to it (then) was an experience and an education; listening to it (now) is somewhat nostalgic, in all the right ways. For instance, when we hear hair metal we shake our heads; we listen to the more clever and accomplished DJs from yesteryear and recall how the world sounded before, and after, they deconstructed any available sound and turned it into a very sweet science.


45. Fleet Foxes, Fleet Foxes (2008)

On paper, it shouldn’t work. A bunch of young dudes milking the best elements of old-school rock and folk, full of ambition and self-consciously reverential toward the icons they are emulating (Neil Young, The Byrds, The Beach Boys, etc.). Sounds like a recipe for a strained, pretentious abomination. And the fact is, many other acts who don’t have the heart, talent or integrity to pull it off fail spectacularly. But few acts (aside from My Morning Jacket) are as obvious with what they are after, and who they have been inspired by, so the stakes are not inconsiderable.

In the case of Fleet Foxes, everyone knows how this one turned out. Their debut was one of the critical darlings of 2008 and they were one of the more discussed acts on the scene. And, kind of like Grizzly Bear in 2009, the hype was warranted and appropriate. More to the point, an album like this one epitomizes the inexorable conundrum of writing about sounds: ultimately, one just has to use their ears to understand. This fully successful debut promises bountiful riches we can expect from Fleet Foxes, but even if they never play another note, they’ve already made a magnificent, lasting document.

44. Tom Waits, Real Gone (2004)

Remember 2004? Seriously. No matter what side of the political fence you were on, that was a year when America (inevitably, belatedly) realized it could not impose its will with impunity, that oil was not going to cost less (indeed it was going to cost a hell of a lot more in a hurry–go figure), and that lots of lives were being lost because of our idiotic overseas adventure. Flashback to the year before: we had surrender monkeys, Liberal Traitors, With-Us-Or-Against-Us and Mission Accomplished. Things changed in a hurry, as they tend to do. The fact that it was predictable (and predicted) only exacerbated the pain.

What does any of this claptrap have to do with Tom Waits, the fine wine of modern music, who becomes deeper and more indispensable as he (and we) gets older? Well, for my money, no album inhabited the tenor of that time as indelibly as Real Gone (the title was both a barometer and a judgment). Of course, the critic associates the sounds of a particular time with the time he heard those sounds, because he was hearing those sounds during that particular time. That is natural, but in the instance of Real Gone, it’s much more than that. Yes, I am transported to how I felt and what I was thinking when this album came out, but one listen brings it all back. Of course, I would do this great artist a serious disservice to imply that this album is merely an anti-war screed or a sociopolitical statement (although it is, at times, both of those and quite convincingly so): it is, like most Tom Waits albums (and all great pieces of music) bigger and deeper than the here-and-now, or even what the artist intended. The transmission of feeling into sound elevates the artifice and the audience: then something significant happens. The true magic is that, with every listen, it continues to happen.

43. Bjork, Medulla (2004)

By the time 2000 rolled around, Bjork didn’t have to prove anything to anyone (and anyone who was not convinced by her first two albums was never going to get it anyway). As always, you have to love and admire an artist who continues to push herself and creates work that is challenging (for herself, for her listeners) as it is, inevitably, rewarding.

Considering the myriad joys Bjork serves up (her cherubic face, her refreshingly eccentric aesthetic, her astonishing songwriting), it is, ultimately, all about her voice. That voice! And on Medulla the voice is the thing. There are other sounds, voices and instruments, but Bjork’s vox are front and center (and on the side and in the corner and above you and beneath you), and it’s a beautiful thing. Bjork singing in Icelandic? You had me at Halló.

42. Vernon Reid, Other True Self (2006)

A recollection: when word broke that Living Colour, the band poised to be the best and most important collective of the ’90s, had called it quits, the only thing that softened the pain was the promise of some solo work.

A confession: Vernon Reid’s Mistaken Identity (’96) was so mind-bogglingly brilliant it made me grateful that Living Colour –one of my favorite bands– had broken up. If they had not, I thought, we may never have gotten this album.

A promise: if I ever get around to assessing the best albums of that decade, there is absolutely no question that Mistaken Identity would be in the top five. It’s that good.

An assumption: You’ve never even heard of that album.

An admonishment: Get it.

A declaration: Vernon Reid is one of the most crucial and consistently rewarding musicians of the last 20 years.

When he dropped Known Unknown in 2004, it was cause for celebration (coming on the heels of an uneven, but welcome Living Colour album in 2003 –their first in a decade), and his ongoing work collaboration with DJ Logic in Yohimbe Brothers made it abundantly clear that Reid was keeping busy. So even as he’d delivered more than anyone could have asked for by 2006, it turns out his best work of the decade was still ahead of him. 2009′s Living Colour album has been discussed elsewhere and will be mentioned again before this exercise is complete. Other True Self certainly represents a new benchmark by which his past and future work can be measured: there are several moments on this album that easily rank with the best work he’s ever done, and that is saying a great deal. From the scalding (and timely–then, now) opening track “Game Is Rigged” to the tasty cover of Depeche Mode’s “Enjoy The Silence” to the shred-tacular “White Face”, Reid is an engine of creation and inspiration. Special kudos are warranted for “Oxossi”, a thorough reimagining of a traditional, if obscure, Brazilian composition. This song illustrates everything that makes Reid such an incomparable technician: he truly paints colors with sound, and is capable of creating a mood that you can’t quite describe, but remain –after countless listens– utterly enraptured by. If you are even the least bit adventurous and anxious to hear sounds you’ve never imagined, don’t sleep on Other True Self.

*note: this is the first (and hopefully last) album being discussed that does not have a single song available on YouTube. No worries, it just provides a welcome opportunity to share the incendiary title track from VR’s masterpiece.

41. Dan Auerbach, Keep It Hid (2009)

Fortunately, it’s impossible for me to get tired of talking about Dan Auerbach (or The Black Keys), because I’ve talked about him (and them) a lot this past year and a half. Keep It Hid was runner-up for my personal best album of 2009 and I think it will hold up quite nicely over time. Auerbach is the real deal and his first solo album is the genuine article. If he can only (somehow) remain as focused, productive and inspired he will dominate next decade’s list as well. Here’s to hoping we see and hear plenty from him going forward.

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2000-2009: Let’s Break it Down (Epilogue)

February 21, 2010 By Leave a Comment

 

So, the recent discussion of the Top 50 albums of the last decade was supposed to end, as it began, with a sampling of songs. The introductory entry covered 2000-2004; this one will tackle 2005-2009.

(Incidentally, back in December while wisely avoiding shopping malls and ordering my Xmas gifts from the North Pole also known as amazon.com, I spent entirely too much time on this list. Unbelievably, and idiotically, I also compiled a list of the best jazz albums of the decade as well as the best movies –a list that started at twenty, grew to thirty, and ended at forty. My idea was to roll them all out in the early weeks of the new year, but I was quickly disabused of that fantasy by the rather humbling acknowledgment that the day job, sleep, meals and some semblance of a social life would make that impossible. More on that later, possibly even sooner.)

The list will end (as it began) with a bunch of songs –in no particular order, other than somewhat chronological– that rose above the fray and made life a whole lot more worth living.

Sufjan Stevens, “The World’s Columbian Exposition/Carl Sandburg Visits Me In A Dream” (2005):

 

Sleater-Kinney, “Everything” (2005):

 

Tool, “Vicarious” (2006):

Easy Star All-Stars, “The Tourist” (2006):

The Black Keys, “My Mind Is Rambling” (2006):

Iron and Wine, “Pagan Angel and a Borrowed Car” (2007):

Amy Winehouse, “Me and Mr. Jones” (2007):

The Breeders, “Night of Joy” (2008):

Fleet Foxes, “Tiger Mountain Peasant Song” (2008):

Mastodon, “Oblivion” (2009):

Steven Wilson, “Harmony Korine” (2009):

Dan Auerbach, “When The Night Comes” (2009):

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Top 50 Albums of the Decade, Part One

January 16, 2010 By 2 Comments

Facebook friends, Bloggers, Strangers, lend me your ears; I come to bury the last decade, not to praise it.

Actually, I do want to praise it, but I first must contend with almost every other critic, pundit and poser who decrees this past decade –the Aughts, or better yet, the Aught-Nots– dead on departure. That is entirely too pessimistic, and evinces a hysteria all-too-typical of our age of instant insight. Nevertheless, I would not argue that the Aughts ought to have been a bit kinder on our hearts, wallets and souls. In other words, the last ten years were a lot like the decade that preceded them, and so on and so on.

But before we set this Viking ship ablaze and steer it toward Valhalla, let’s consider how much astonishing (and occasionally miraculous) art got made these last 120 months. In fact, without this generous bit of genius, contemplate how truly unsettling it all could have been. And before I put my cards on the table, I’d admonish anyone who is interested that this is intended as an interactive endeavor. I’m counting on feedback, debate, and even disbelief at how blind I was to omit (insert name of album or movie). And some of you (you know who you are) I hope will set me straight wherever I strayed. But be forewarned, I feel OK about the way the lists turned out. Of course, there’s no point in putting it out there if you can’t discuss and defend the choices that ultimately made the final cut, right?

Enough. It’s been over a month since I threatened to bring it, so consider it brung. (The celebration already began –and will conclude– with a selection of songs; in between are the albums.)

50. Beach House, Devotion (2008)

When a band sounds this confident, so fully-formed and natural right out of the gate, it is easy to assume it’s easy, or the result of an extraordinary gift. Who knows, it may well be, but however they’ve done it, Beach House has crafted a distinctive style that perfectly blends melancholy and exultation. Victoria Legrand has such an enchanting, intoxicating voice, that alone would make her music worthwhile. (Sound lazy or perhaps over the top? See if I’m overstating the case: here, here and here!) But along with Alex Scally, she has created a sonic dreamscape that the listener can –and should– just succumb to, and disappear for a while.

Someone stumbling upon this release might understandably mistake it as a lost treasure from the ’70s; it has that vinyl classic vibe that conjures up rainy days and half-remembered evenings. That it came out during the tail-end of a decade so many people have had so few nice things to say about proves that great art finds us when we need it most.

 

49. Les Claypool, Live Frogs, Set One (2001)

Official title: Colonel Les Claypool’s Fearless Flying Frog Brigade: Live Frogs, Set One. To be certain, set two (a ballsy –and brilliant– cover of Pink Floyd’s uncoverable masterpiece Animals) is also enthusiastically recommended. As impressive as Claypool and crew’s deconstruction of Floyd is, the most satisfying cover on either set is their spirited take on King Crimson’s (uncoverable!) “Thela Hun Ginjeet” (Critters Buggin saxophonist and guest genius Skerik is typically en fuego throughout these proceedings). You have to bring more than a little to the table to keep up with Claypool, but if you’ve got game, and are ready to follow him down the rabbit hole, the subsequent delights are considerable.

Claypool has been nothing if not productive and boundary-pushing in his admirable career, but the turn of the century found him as inspired and engaged as he’s ever been: between the Flying Frog gigs and his short-lived stint with semi-supergroup Oysterhead, Les was living large. This music does not appeal to any superficial demographic, but it’s also not weird for weird’s sake; it’s intense, ebullient and a window into the restless mind of one our true contemporary trailblazers.

 

48. Hope Sandoval, Bavarian Fruit Bread (2001)

Mazzy Star released their third album Among My Swan in 1996 (which, at the time, seemed a bit too long of a wait after their breakthrough sophomore effort, 1993′s So Tonight That I Might See), and it looked, for a while, as though the enigmatic, supremely reticent (and unbelievably gorgeous) Hope Sandoval may have been done. The millennium came and went, the world did not end, and still there was no word from the spotlight-shirking siren.

Finally, in 2001, she came up for air and released her first “solo” album (along with new band The Warm Inventions): it signalled a return to form and, ostensibly, the demise of Mazzy Star. Bavarian Fruit Bread is not a great album, but it sounds like it wasn’t intended to be. It is, to be certain, a very good album, and some of the songs (like the irrepressible “On The Low” which is hands-down one of the sexiest songs of the new century) are indelible. On the album’s penultimate track “Around My Smile” she coos “I’ve got it going on.” Yeah she does.

47. Fantomas, The Director’s Cut (2001)

Earlier last summer I had the opportunity to celebrate the 10 year anniversary of Mike Patton’s miraculous end-of-century double play, in which he helped produce Mr. Bungle’s masterpiece as well as the first flowering of his (ongoing) evolution. In ’99 he formed Fantomas and recruited likeminded iconoclasts (bassist Trevor Dunn, guitarist Buzz “King Buzzo” Osbourne and thrash drummer god Dave Lombardo) who were willing –and capable– of helping realize the sounds and images inside his head. The band’s debut (click on embedded link above for a more sustained analysis) was an uncategorizable sonic boom: no words or lyrics but plenty of human noises, supported by the best backing band Patton could ever hope to assemble. It remains an uneasy, ambitious tour de force.

So, two years later, of course it made all the sense in the world for the boys to tackle…movie soundtracks. Some of the selections are well-known (Theme from “The Godfather”, “Charade”), others wonderfully obscure (“Spider Baby”, “Der Golem”–see below). The proceedings are inspired and almost unbelievably effective. This is deeply intelligent, complicated music that manages to be ear candy and ideal background music for any activity other than relaxing. Like the aforementioned Les Claypool, the turn of the century found Patton as proficient and productive as he’s ever been (and he’d been plenty of both the previous decade), and looking back almost ten years later, it is difficult to debate that he wasn’t doing some of his most important and impressive work.

46. Kid Koala, Carpal Tunnel Syndrome (2000)

The scratching and sampling come a mile a minute. Kid Koala kicked off the decade by staking his claim as supreme mixologist on the scene. In early 2000, the sample/scratch mania was close to sailing over the shark (you know any artistic advancement has gone past the point of no return when pop acts are incorporating it into their weak and watered-down work), but the tank wasn’t running on fumes just yet. Carpal Tunnel Syndrome (the title alone amply illustrates how quirky and clever Kid Koala is) had more than enough gas to keep the genre charging forward for a little while longer. An examination of any individual track announces, immediately, a master at work (old movie dialogue along with a Winnie The Pooh sample? Sold!)

This joint is teeming with energy and enthusiasm, but never approaches sensory overload: Koala packs in more material in twenty seconds than any DJ has done but his samples are so astutely chosen and his incorporation of each nugget into a larger, logical whole is consistently awe-inspiring. Listening to it (then) was an experience and an education; listening to it (now) is somewhat nostalgic, in all the right ways. For instance, when we hear hair metal we shake our heads; we listen to the more clever and accomplished DJs from yesteryear and recall how the world sounded before, and after, they deconstructed any available sound and turned it into a very sweet science.

45. Fleet Foxes, Fleet Foxes (2008)

On paper, it shouldn’t work. A bunch of young dudes milking the best elements of old-school rock and folk, full of ambition and self-consciously reverential toward the icons they are emulating (Neil Young, The Byrds, The Beach Boys, etc.). Sounds like a recipe for a strained, pretentious abomination. And the fact is, many other acts who don’t have the heart, talent or integrity to pull it off fail spectacularly. But few acts (aside from My Morning Jacket) are as obvious with what they are after, and who they have been inspired by, so the stakes are not inconsiderable.

In the case of Fleet Foxes, everyone knows how this one turned out. Their debut was one of the critical darlings of 2008 and they were one of the more discussed acts on the scene. And, kind of like Grizzly Bear in 2009, the hype was warranted and appropriate. More to the point, an album like this one epitomizes the inexorable conundrum of writing about sounds: ultimately, one just has to use their ears to understand. This fully successful debut promises bountiful riches we can expect from Fleet Foxes, but even if they never play another note, they’ve already made a magnificent, lasting document.

44. Tom Waits, Real Gone (2004)

Remember 2004? Seriously. No matter what side of the political fence you were on, that was a year when America (inevitably, belatedly) realized it could not impose its will with impunity, that oil was not going to cost less (indeed it was going to cost a hell of a lot more in a hurry–go figure), and that lots of lives were being lost because of our idiotic overseas adventure. Flashback to the  year before: we had surrender monkeys, Liberal Traitors, With-Us-Or-Against-Us and Mission Accomplished. Things changed in a hurry, as they tend to do. The fact that it was predictable (and predicted) only exacerbated the pain.

What does any of this claptrap have to do with Tom Waits, the fine wine of modern music, who becomes deeper and more indispensable as he (and we) gets older? Well, for my money, no album inhabited the tenor of that time as indelibly as Real Gone (the title was both a barometer and a judgment). Of course, the critic associates the sounds of a particular time with the time he heard those sounds, because he was hearing those sounds during that particular time. That is natural, but in the instance of Real Gone, it’s much more than that. Yes, I am transported to how I felt and what I was thinking when this album came out, but one listen brings it all back. Of course, I would do this great artist a serious disservice to imply that this album is merely an anti-war screed or a sociopolitical statement (although it is, at times, both of those and quite convincingly so): it is, like most Tom Waits albums (and all great pieces of music) bigger and deeper than the here-and-now, or even what the artist intended. The transmission of feeling into sound elevates the artifice and the audience: then something significant happens. The true magic is that, with every listen, it continues to happen.

43. Bjork, Medulla (2004)

By the time 2000 rolled around, Bjork didn’t have to prove anything to anyone (and anyone who was not convinced by her first two albums was never going to get it anyway). As always, you have to love and admire an artist who continues to push herself and creates work that is challenging (for herself, for her listeners) as it is, inevitably, rewarding.

Considering the myriad joys Bjork serves up (her cherubic face, her refreshingly eccentric aesthetic, her astonishing songwriting), it is, ultimately, all about her voice. That voice! And on Medulla the voice is the thing. There are other sounds, voices and instruments, but Bjork’s vox are front and center (and on the side and in the corner and above you and beneath you), and it’s a beautiful thing. Bjork singing in Icelandic? You had me at Halló.

42. Vernon Reid, Other True Self (2006)

A recollection: when word broke that Living Colour, the band poised to be the best and most important collective of the ’90s, had called it quits, the only thing that softened the pain was the promise of some solo work.

A confession: Vernon Reid’s Mistaken Identity (’96) was so mind-bogglingly brilliant it made me grateful that Living Colour –one of my favorite bands– had broken up. If they had not, I thought, we may never have gotten this album.

A promise: if I ever get around to assessing the best albums of that decade, there is absolutely no question that Mistaken Identity would be in the top five. It’s that good.

An assumption: You’ve never even heard of that album.

An admonishment: Get it.

A declaration: Vernon Reid is one of the most crucial and consistently rewarding musicians of the last 20 years.

When he dropped Known Unknown in 2004, it was cause for celebration (coming on the heels of an uneven, but welcome Living Colour album in 2003 –their first in a decade), and his ongoing work collaboration with DJ Logic in Yohimbe Brothers made it abundantly clear that Reid was keeping busy. So even as he’d delivered more than anyone could have asked for by 2006, it turns out his best work of the decade was still ahead of him. 2009′s Living Colour album has been discussed elsewhere and will be mentioned again before this exercise is complete. Other True Self certainly represents a new benchmark by which his past and future work can be measured: there are several moments on this album that easily rank with the best work he’s ever done, and that is saying a great deal. From the scalding (and timely–then, now) opening track “Game Is Rigged” to the tasty cover of  Depeche Mode’s “Enjoy The Silence” to the shred-tacular “White Face”, Reid is an engine of creation and inspiration. Special kudos are warranted for “Oxossi”, a thorough reimagining of a traditional, if obscure, Brazilian composition. This song illustrates everything that makes Reid such an incomparable technician: he truly paints colors with sound, and is capable of creating a mood that you can’t quite describe, but remain –after countless listens– utterly enraptured by. If you are even the least bit adventurous and anxious to hear sounds you’ve never imagined, don’t sleep on Other True Self.

*note: this is the first (and hopefully last) album being discussed that does not have a single song available on YouTube. No worries, it just provides a welcome opportunity to share the incendiary title track from VR’s masterpiece.

41. Dan Auerbach, Keep It Hid (2009)

Fortunately, it’s impossible for me to get tired of talking about Dan Auerbach (or The Black Keys), because I’ve talked about him (and them) a lot this past year and a half. Keep It Hid was runner-up for my personal best album of 2009 and I think it will hold up quite nicely over time. Auerbach is the real deal and his first solo album is the genuine article. If he can only (somehow) remain as focused, productive and inspired he will dominate next decade’s list as well. Here’s to hoping we see and hear plenty from him going forward.

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The Verdict Is In: Top 10 of 2009

December 22, 2009 By 3 Comments

elvo

Let’s do this.

1o. Mastodon: Crack The Skye

mastodon 

Some men let their freak flags fly. Some men get tatted up and sport full arm sleeves. Other men get tattoos on their fucking foreheads. You only do shit like that if you are in this for the duration, which means that half-stepping is simply not an option. Either that or you’ve done a lot of drugs. Looking at the cats in this band, you know it is all of the above. And then you listen to them. These guys somehow balance a full-on testosterone assault with brilliant writing and playing (and singing, as most of the members share the vocals at times), and deliver a product that is both thoughtful and bruising. Like many bands that eventually become excellent, Mastodon has spent some time working on their sound and style and 2009 is the mainstream coming-out party. It’s been fantastic to see these guys on several best-of lists this year. Unlike too many of their compatriots, they actually deserve it.

 

9. Hope Sandoval & The Warm Inventions: Through The Devil Softly

hopesan 

To quote myself from a few months back: I’d love to take credit for prompting the return of Hope Sandoval after an eight year absence — a circumstance I lamented earlier this year. Little did heartsick homeboys like me know she was already wrapping up work on her second album, the recently-released (and highly recommended) Through The Devil Softly. She is touring now, so catch her if you can. I was delighted to discover that she was appearing in D.C. at the historic 6th and I Synagogue: I finally had the opportunity to see Hope Sandoval sing (!) in an intimate venue (!!) performing new music (!!!). She did not disappoint. And, as has been well documented over the years, her shyness is not an act. Or, it’s a very successful act: the only words she uttered for the entirety of her performance were “Thank you” once the concert ended. No encore, no fanfare, no problem. We weren’t there to hear her speak; we were there to hear her sing. And just see her, in person. And, for the record, she is as beautiful as ever. So…this album would get sentimental points toward Top 10 inclusion just by virtue of being made, but as it turns out, it’s a pretty fantastic record. So there.

 

8. James Blackshaw: The Glass Bead Game

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It is lamentable (if typical) that a young musician this good is still flying under the radar. With the release of The Glass Bead Game, it seems somewhat safer to predict that more people will begin to hear what they’ve been missing. Blackshaw is making music that is necessarily “out of time” (unless solo acoustic workouts suddenly become all the rage) but the upside here –and it’s crucial to stress that this is quite clearly not a commercially-driven calculation– is that this type of music is intrinsically timeless, in its way. Blackshaw’s compositions certainly articulate a contemporary vision, but (like John Fahey, with whom his work inevitably draws favorable comparison) one imagines something deeper and more distant; not the past per se but the way we think when we are prompted to think about the past.

Although he is quite capable, when playing solo, of arresting and beautiful work, his recent inclusion of other instruments (on this effort the violin and cello accompaniment is augmented by Blackshaw’s own, not unimpressive, piano playing) is a shrewd move: the sound is, obviously, bigger, but it’s also deeper and reaches closer to the clear profundity his earlier work attained in more stark (but never austere) terms. While his initial releases (again, inexorably) drew comparisons to everyone from the aforementioned John Fahey to Robbie Basho and Leo Kottke, Blackshaw has already developed a discernible style and he brings a rustic, British sensibility to his compositions. This guy should be around for a very long time.

 

7. Sunn O))): Monoliths & Dimensions

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Scary. Serious. Sludge. Sadistic. Slow. Silly. Sonic boom. Soul. Sick. Sunn O))).

6. Grizzly Bear: Veckatimest

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There’s not much I can say here that several dozen critics won’t be saying (albeit more breathlessly and unanimously) in the days ahead. The bottom line is –and there is no getting around it– this is one of the best albums of the year, and these young men are almost offensively talented. You don’t just write songs like this and sing like that. Unless…you write songs like this and sing like that. There are more than a handful of flavors-of-the-year topping all the cool lists this year that everyone knows will be stale next year and forgotten the year after. This one, it seems quite easy to predict, will be around for the long haul, for all the right reasons.

5. Neko Case: Middle Cyclone

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There was no way she could top Fox Confessor Brings The Flood and no one was asking her to. I wasn’t anyway. She is getting to Ella Fitzgerald territory (to invoke the cliche that I believe was first used in Ella’s honor: she could sing names out of the phonebook with a broken jaw and it would still sound sweeter than anyone else), and there is little she can do at this point to disappoint. Long may she sound her siren song(s). I remain smitten and unashamed to celebrate it.

4. Vieux Farka Touré: Fondo

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About half-way through the year I wrote about Fondo, Vieux Farka Touré’s follow-up to his remarkable self-titled debut. Half a year later, it has not lost even a little of its luster; indeed, it has accrued additional value, and this is one to cherish –now and for the future. Here is a quick summation of what I said in June:

Word to the wise: get on board the Vieux Farka Touré bandwagon now. Not so you can be hip or prepared to drop his name at a cocktail party (for one thing, no one would listen to this music at a cocktail party, and more importantly, who goes to cocktail parties?) or for any reason that would behoove Starbucks to put this disc in their stores. No, the best reason to acquaint yourself with Vieux Farka Touré is because he is a surpassingly brilliant young musician who, if we are fortunate, has a long and productive career ahead of him. Nobody seems to agree on what “world music” actually means, which is probably not such a bad thing. It might suffice to suggest that “world music” is the sort made outside the States, likely sung in a different language and unlikely to yield traditional hit singles. In other words, music that involves actual instruments played with some degree of proficiency by sentient beings. Anyone with a moderately open mind might find Fondo, the followup to Touré’s eponymous (and astounding) debut, a very welcome antidote for the myriad of overproduced and underwhelming product being pumped out for mass consumption.

3. Living Colour: The Chair In The Doorway

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I’m going to take the liberty of quoting my recent PopMatters review, because I can (and should):

The rumors of Living Colour’s demise have been greatly exaggerated. They are back, but perhaps more to the point, they were never really gone. The good news is that The Chair in the Doorway is exquisite enough to make casual fans lament the ostensibly lost time. Something about contemporary cataclysms seem to serve as a call to action for this band: Collideoscope (2003) was very much a post-9/11 statement, and many of the songs on The Chair in the Doorway sound like a wrathful response to last year’s Wall Street fiasco. It is immediately apparent (and reinforced after subsequent listens) that the band put considerable thought into this album. Everything from the order of the songs to the production sounds like the result of a shared vision and a near-perfect plan. The finished product is fresh and clean, but retains an abrasiveness that gives it a most welcome edge. As ever, Living Colour’s cauldron bubbles over with rock, soul, hip-hop, metal, blues and their own idiosyncratic expression, a heart full of soul. It is right, then, to celebrate the return of a beloved band. It is also appropriate to acknowledge that, five albums in, Living Colour has solidified their standing as one of the most consistent, original and important bands America has produced. There’s little left to say: kick the chair out of the doorway and get this essential album into your life, immediately.

2. Dan Auerbach: Keep It Hid

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2009 had barely begun when I signed up to review this release, and expectations were, shall we say, somewhat stratospheric, considering that the album Dan dropped (along with the tag-team partner in his “day job” as The Black Keys), Attack & Release, was arguably the best of 2008. This was followed by a top-notch DVD documenting the subsequent A&R tour (which killed). So when word spread that the indefatigable Auerbach had already recorded a solo album, well, it was difficult to expect too much. Incredibly, it turns out that Keep It Hid was pretty close to an out-and-out masterpiece. Go figure. Here is what I had to say about the matter about ten months ago. If you’re not trying to read the whole rapturous review, here are some highlights:

What’s the story behind all this superhuman productivity? Auerbach has stated that, quite simply, he never stops working. Equal parts driven and inspired, it made all the sense in the world for him to build his own studio. Akron Analog, named after his hometown and preferred method of recording, is where he began assembling the rough cuts, mostly written during recent tours, into the songs that came together as Keep It Hid. This is not a retreat from the sonic explorations Auerbach undertook on Attack and Release, it is an expansion of them. The songs stretch out with that familiar multi-tracked guitar base, augmented throughout with the often subtle employment of organ, banjo and bass. This work unquestionably signals a step forward in Auerbach’s rapidly evolving style. Auerbach never seems to be straining himself or merely appropriating other, signature sounds just for the sake of doing so. The music he has so obviously, and voraciously, absorbed makes him who he is, pure and simple. In sum, Dan Auerbach was responsible for helping make one of the better albums of 2008, and Keep It Hid is already a contender in 2009. Should we go ahead and call him the current King of the Hill? Based on all available evidence, he’s that guy, and the competition for his crown is not particularly close at this time.

Anyone in need of further convincing needs to check out the album (or check their head) and is definitely advised to peruse this revealing interview wherein Auerbach talks about his process, his influences and his ambitions.

1. Rashanim: The Gathering

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Picking a jazz album for best of the year might seem like a stretch. Picking a jazz album that few people have heard of may seem pretentious bordering on recalcitrant. Except for one thing: Rashanim’s The Gathering remains the most convincing and exceptional album I’ve heard—in any genre—all year long. And to be perfectly frank, it’s not even really that close: this is not only the best album of 2009, it is without a doubt (at least in my mind) going to rank as one of the great albums of the decade, and for the ages. So, to paraphrase Don Vincenzo Coccotti (Christopher Walken) in True Romance before he whacks Dennis Hopper: “Hopefully that will clear up the how-full-of-shit-am-I question you’ve been asking yourself.”

I wrote at length about the band, and their latest release, back in August and even then I had a fairly solid idea that this one would be at or near the top of my list once the dust settled. The title of the post (and featured blog for PopMatters) was Rashanim: Healing Music For Unrighteous Times. That seemed accurate, then, and it seems even more appropriate, now.

So…who are Rashanim? They are a jazz trio operating out of New York City who record for John Zorn’s label Tzadik and are categorized in its “Radical Jewish Culture” series. (Being neither Jewish nor radical, I still find this concept rather rad, and to be certain, some of the very best music in the world is being created on Zorn’s middle-finger-to-the-industry label.) So…what does Rashanim sound like? The music is impossible to isolate or explain simply, in part because it incorporates so many disparate influences, using them all as a point of departure. Rashanim invokes other places and times yet remain very rooted in a modern sensibility. Klezmer? Ancient Jewish music? Jam-band? Surf guitar? All of the above: it’s definitely jazz and it is certainly imbued with a distinctively Jewish sensibility. Above all, it rocks. Like Zorn’s Masada albums, many of the songs have biblical or Hebrew titles (sometimes both), and for the most devout or scholarly (particularly the scholarly devout) these songs may accrue added levels of significance; but like much of Zorn’s catalog, the individual tunes can–and should–be appreciated simply for their superior craftsmanship and the almost inexpressible joy they provide. Like Zorn, and like many of the best composers, the melodies are effusive: instantly identifiable after only a few listens yet strikingly distinctive. This music challenges but rewards abundantly.

Let’s cut to the chase: call me Santa Claus and consider this recommendation the best holiday gift I could give you.

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Dan Auerbach, In Search of the Authentic Sound

July 24, 2009 By Leave a Comment

dana

During my recent discussion with Dan Auerbach, there was heavy construction underway in the unit above mine: the refrain of hammering, drill work, and boot steps were like a Greek chorus constantly trying to get a word in. Annoying as this was, it was also quite appropriate. After all, it would be difficult to name a more workmanlike artist in today’s music scene than Auerbach. In less than one calendar year, he has delivered the latest Black Keys album Attack and Release, a concert DVD Live at the Crystal Ballroom, and his first solo album, Keep It Hid. In addition, and in keeping with the manufacturing metaphor, he recently completed his own studio, Akron Analog.

“The great moments in music always seem to revolve around a certain scene; there were a handful of studios where musicians would create together,” he remarks, when asked to elaborate on what drove him to construct a studio in his hometown. Clearly, he is intrigued by the idea of establishing an environment that encourages the sort of inspiration that commonly accompanies like-minded musicians coming together. Auerbach is consciously invoking the impetus behind some of the more fruitful collaborations, what might be called happy accidents, in rock history. Virtually all the stories involving Abbey Road, or Electric Lady Studios and, of course, Muscle Shoals, involve interaction amongst the assembled musicians. Sometimes the solidarity was a simple matter of proximity: one thinks of Led Zeppelin IV being recorded in the same building while Jethro Tull were assembling Aqualung, or the baby-faced members of Pink Floyd (working on their debut The Piper at the Gates of Dawn) sneaking peaks at the fab four as they concocted Sgt. Pepper, or, of course, Steve Winwood and Jack Casady (among many others) getting involved during the marathon late-night sessions that led to Jimi Hendrix’s masterpiece Electric Ladyland.

“Too often, it seems that in today’s scene, people can use computers and multiple studios, and we kind of lose the human connection,” Auerbach says. “I wanted that human element to be part of Keep It Hid.” He is not bemoaning the positive aspects of technology that have democratized the process—even, in some cases the basic ability—of recording; rather, he is interested (some might say obsessed) with the idea of authenticity. Working live in the studio, without the safety net of overdubs and production tricks, is one of the hallmarks of the distinct niche he’s carved out, along with Patrick Carney, in the Black Keys.

 

“This originality is the aspect of older music I like the best: it’s timeless and pure. Just musicians in a room, interacting.” Indeed, his first solo album is very much a collaboration (for more details about the various artists involved and the process of recording, a review of Keep It Hid can be found here). “Listen, I love The Black Keys, and this album is not a step away from that band. I just feel it’s necessary for Patrick and I to explore, and learn, and grow as much as we can.” (For any fans understandably concerned that, in accordance with one of rock music’s more unfortunate clichés, just after the band released what is arguably their best album in Attack and Release, Auerbach is now breaking off to do his own thing, be comforted by Dan’s insistence that a new Keys album is already in the works.)

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Asked to expound upon his quest to learn and grow, Auerbach is quick to praise the individuals he has worked with lately. “I’ve learned a whole lot. Working with Danger Mouse (who produced Attack and Release) was great. Really, I learn something new each time I work with anyone.” He has particular praise for the band he discovered and whose album he produced, Hacienda. “Watching them working out harmonies in the studio helped me realize there is a sort of science to it. It was like watching someone who had the code: I tapped into it, and I learned as I went, incorporating that into my own songwriting.” Hacienda is currently backing Auerbach on his American tour, proof positive that the association has been mutually beneficial, and rewarding.

Another epiphany that was a crucial component of Auerbach’s ongoing evolution as a songwriter was the experience of making Attack and Release. The somewhat mythical story is that this album was written for Ike Turner and, after his abrupt death, it became, by default, a Black Keys album. The reality is at once simpler and more complicated. Dan was indeed asked to write songs for Turner, but only a handful of those tracks were actually recorded. The process was taking longer than Auerbach (and Carney) were accustomed to, so they let the Turner project simmer on the back burner while they continued to create and record new songs. It was those subsequent tunes that comprise the bulk of Attack and Release.

Nevertheless, the process of writing songs for another individual was an illuminating experience. “I was writing in the third person, for the first time; it was more like writing stories than songs in a way.” He found this challenging, but ultimately liberating. “I felt like I was unlocking a door, and it was a whole new way to approach the idea of how a song is crafted.” Some of those songs, like “Oceans and Streams”, “So He Won’t Break”, and “All You Ever Wanted” wound up being particularly strong cuts on Attack and Release. The concept of storytelling within a song carried over to the Keep It Hid sessions. Songs like “The Prowl” and “Keep It Hid” were approached in a similar fashion. “I feel better about the songs,” he says. “When I first started out, I had no idea, really, how to write a song. We were just having fun!” The process of figuring it out is the history of The Black Keys, and the growth is measurable, in terms of craftsmanship and scope, with each successive effort. Progress, of course, is positive. “I’m not a kid in a basement anymore,” he says, laughing.

Discussion eventually and inevitably turns to the late Junior Kimbrough. It certainly makes all the sense in the world, with Auerbach’s proclivity for genuine sound, stripped-down recording and honest approach to songcraft, that Kimbrough has loomed large as a role model and inspiration. “He embodied so many parts of music, but only ever sounded like himself. I never like when people call his music “blues”; that is lazy, because he is so much more than that.” To say that Junior Kimbrough is his own paradigm, while accurate, does not account for what he represents—and what we are losing, as the older (mostly obscure and already forgotten) generation of southern Delta musicians pass on. Kimbrough, as much as any late-20th century musician (many of whom are lovingly represented by the heroic efforts of Matthew Johnson and his cohorts at Fat Possum Records, operating out of Oxford, Mississippi), represents a history of American music, but also something deeper and less definable. “It’s like hypnotic dance music,” Auerbach says. “You hear soul, rock ‘n’ roll, blues, even rockabilly, but also a kind of weird African thing.” That weird African thing is, of course, the undercurrent informing the earliest American blues. Filtered through acoustic, primitive folk and, later, amplified blues-rock, this is the type of “dark Americana” featured on Fat Possum. “Matthew is right in the middle of it; if it wasn’t for him no one would be listening to Junior, or R.L. Burnside and T-Model Ford.”

Asked to assess how he feels about the present and, more importantly, the future, Auerbach is typically humble, but positive. “I’m in a good place,” he says. “I feel better about songs and how to write them.” Days later, I caught Dan’s gig in D.C, which happened to be the opening show for his solo tour: he was in fine form; full of energy and enthusiasm. Not surprisingly, he uncorked a brand new tune (the not-quite-believably brilliant “Money and Trouble”) which bodes well for that forthcoming material. Hopefully, he’ll remain locked into a zone where nothing can slow him down. In addition to the aforementioned next Black Keys project, there is a steady stream of touring and recording already planned. “I’ve got my shows coming up, and then playing some festivals, solo and with Patrick. It’s going to be another busy year, and we’ll see if I end up taking a vacation.” The word vacation does not seem to be in Auerbach’s vocabulary, but then, it is abundantly clear his day job provides him more joy than most folks can conceive.

“The music is more about who I am than about what I’m trying to do,” he explains. In other words, the experimentation, the confluence of disparate source material, the superhuman productivity are all part of what makes him tick. “No matter how the work was received, I’d still be playing this music.” Not that he is indifferent to acclaim and acceptance. “Of course I want my albums to be successful, but ultimately I don’t care too much what anyone thinks. I mean, I’m going to sound this way, no matter what.” That is the essence of Auerbach’s sensibility, which combines a restless quest to grow with an eye (and ear) keenly attuned to tradition and the best music that’s already been made. An important distinction Auerbach himself is at pains to point out is that while the old music speaks to him in a special way, he is not attempting to be “retro”; he is looking to tap into that organic vibe that is too easily, if correctly, called timeless. This simultaneous invocation of the masters with the cultivation of a distinctive style is one way to describe the trajectory of Auerbach’s career: the relentless search for authentic sounds.

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Dan Auerbach: Keep It Hid (Popmatters.com review)

February 11, 2009 By Leave a Comment

Dan is the Man

Is anybody not yet on board? The conductor is certainly making it difficult to ignore him. In early 2008 he, along with his co-conspirator in the Black Keys Patrick Carney, released Attack and Release, another gem in their growing catalog. Later last year they dropped a concert DVD Live at the Crystal Ballroom, a document that further cements their status as a band to be reckoned with. And now, only three months down the road, Auerbach rolls out his first solo venture. Keep It Hid could hardly be a less appropriate title considering that the peripatetic singer/songwriter has done anything but hide this past year.

What’s the story behind all this superhuman productivity? Auerbach has stated that, quite simply, he never stops working. Equal parts driven and inspired, it made all the sense in the world for him to build his own studio. Akron Analog, named after his hometown and preferred method of recording, is where he began assembling the rough cuts, mostly written during recent tours, into the songs that came together as Keep It Hid.

In addition to singing, guitar playing and his role as producer, Auerbach tackled drums, percussion and other instruments including glockenspiel. To further flesh out the sound, he recruited friends and family. Bob Cesare, also a multi-instrumentalist, handles the additional drum duties, and guitarist James Quine (Auerbach’s uncle, and first cousin of late underground guitar hero Robert Quine) chimes in. This all hands on deck approach results in an aggressive yet nuanced recording, which manages to take the greasy edge off the Black Keys’ signature sound without sacrificing any of its bluster.

Keep It Hid is not a retreat from the sonic explorations Auerbach undertook on Attack and Release, it is an expansion of them. The songs stretch out with that familiar multi-tracked guitar base, augmented throughout with the often subtle employment of organ, banjo and bass. This work unquestionably signals a step forward in Auerbach’s rapidly evolving style. Listening to Keep It Hid, it is easier to understand why (and how) Auerbach was allegedly writing songs with (and for) Ike Turner in 2007 (when Turner abruptly died, Attack and Release turned into a proper Black Keys album).

There is familiar territory covered here: the Delta drones of Junior Kimbrough (from Chulahoma), the electrified country blues stomp from Thickfreakness, and the more experimental harmonic departures from Rubber Factory, Magic Potion and, of course, Attack and Release. But Keep It Hid takes a deeper dive into a variety of source material, ranging from Motown to bluegrass. Seriously. And lest that sound a tad too facile or all-encompassing a description, it might help to expound upon Auerbach’s astonishing versatility. With many musicians, it’s too often an overly generous bit of grasping to discuss the manner in which they infuse a variety of disparate elements into their work—particularly when those elements serve more as superficial window dressing to signify unearned street cred, or actual facility. Listening to Keep It Hid, it is impossible to ignore the myriad touches (sometimes sneaky, mostly masterful) Auerbach employs to embellish his songs: there are snatches of psychedelic guitar (think Nuggets era garage rock), elemental—and bastardized—British blues (itself initially an homage to the ‘50s Chicago scene), and the sing-a-long-hair mini anthems of the ‘70s.

Auerbach never seems to be straining himself or merely appropriating other, signature sounds just for the sake of doing so. The music he has so obviously, and voraciously, absorbed makes him who he is, pure and simple. For instance, on “Mean Monsoon” his voice is a chemical snarl that seems a bit like Peter Green filtered through early, dirty Junior Wells. The music is reminiscent of vintage Yardbirds, complete with tambourine tapping and chorus-crashing bongo flourishes. “When I Left the Room” features his now patented paranoid snarl, propelled by guitars that seethe behind a banjo (!) march. It is not unlike the best Black Keys material, with all the obvious and not-so-obvious influences on the surface, unfolding into something startling original. His voice, which at times is able to convey a pained vulnerability offset by a gruff, even defiant resolve, has improved with each album. On “Whispered Words”, possibly the best thing Auerbach has achieved to this point, all of his skills are on display: the opening build-up is Motown without the horns, with subdued guitar weaving around his plaintive vocals. As the song gathers steam, suddenly it takes a detour from Detroit and heads south into Stax territory, sans the crackerjack studio musicians. It is astounding that these very unique and even sacrosanct sounds are being incorporated in a fashion that manages to feel unforced and even organic.

This last observation warrants repeating: Auerbach is not aping classic riffs so much as they seem to sweat out of his pores. It’s all up there, in his head, and he is channeling it into his own vision in a manner that is consistent and convincing. A few other highlights include the gorgeous “When the Night Comes”, which features Jessica Lea Mayfield—who also appeared on the last track from Catch and Release. On “Real Desire” and “My Last Mistake”, Auerbach offers up future Karaoke material, while “On the Prowl” and “Heartbroken, in Disrepair”, he delivers the goods in a way that few people would want to tackle, even in the privacy of their own car. Finally, keeping with his tradition of ending albums on the right note, he leaves us with a sublime acoustic coda, fittingly entitled “Goin’ Home”. Auerbach, of course, is already home, and has never really left: he remains loyal to Akron but has long since staked claim on more extensive territory.

In sum, Dan Auerbach was responsible for helping make one of the better albums of 2008, and Keep It Hid is already a contender in 2009. Should we go ahead and call him the current King of the Hill? Based on all available evidence, he’s that guy, and the competition for his crown is not particularly close at this time.

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