2009: The Perils of Introspection

Albums/Reissues/Compilations/Whatever Honorable Mentions -

Alva Noto - Xerrox Vol. 2
Animal Collective - Merriweather Post Pavilion
Atlas Sound - Logos
Camera Obscura - My Maudlin Career
CFCF - Continent
The Clientele - Bonfires on the Heath
Emeralds - Emeralds
Fever Ray - Fever Ray
Kronos Quartet - Floodplain
Moderat - Moderat
The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart - The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart
Themselves - CrownsDown
William Basinski - 92982
Yagya - Ringing
Yeah Yeah Yeahs - It's Blitz!

My Personal 10 Favorite Albums Of The Year -

10. Yo La Tengo - Popular Songs

Another end of the year list, another Yo La Tengo album. To give you the appropriate perspective: Ezra Koenig was still in utero when Yo La Tengo first formed. The three most consistently amazing bands of the decade: Spoon, The Clientele, and Yo La Tengo.





9. Fischerspooner - Entertainment

Do I objectively think this album is better than Merriweather Post Pavilion? Probably not. Would I rather listen to it than Merriweather Post Pavilion on any given day? Yes, yes. A hundred times yes. Please reference the New York Times on soft rock radio [don't worry about reading it now, I will reference it again at #4] and Malcolm Gladwell on The Perils of Introspection.



8. Hildur Gudnadóttir - Without Sinking

Never trust an artist to accurately explicate on her own work. In interviews, Hildur Gudnadóttir describes her intention of "creat[ing] a sky and cloud-like feeling in the compositions" of Without Sinking and crafting "an open space for single notes and let them breath, like single clouds in a clear sky." From these words you might envision a gossamer of an album, ethereal and cherubic. Nothing could be further from the truth. Like its cover art, Without Sinking is enveloped in a suffocating and ponderous fog. Paradoxically, Gudnadóttir's cello serves as the emotional ballast as the album charts a course through fathomless melancholy. Bleak and mournful, but also incredibly moving.

7. The XX - The XX

The album art tells you just about everything you need to know about this band. The focus on negative space. The minimalism which is both unapproachable and alluring, stark yet adumbrative. The way it looks like two lamps intersecting in a pitch black bedroom. The manner in which it evokes its own perfectly self-contained universe. A brilliant debut worthy of all the hype and laurels placed upon its shoulders. Who could have guessed that Chris Issak's "Wicked Game" would be an indie touchstone two decades later?

6. Animal Hospital - Memory

Affixing the "post-" prefix to any genre tag all but guarantees that only 1) people with Y chromosomes and 2) assholes listen to that particular subset of music. Upfront, Animal Hospital portrays all the eye-rolling trappings of the post-rock genre. The questionable band name. The high album concept. The epic 10+ minute tracks. And while the slow-building, chugging guitar of "His Belly Burst" plays to the Explosions in the Sky fans who had the tactlessness to play hackysack during Eluvium's opening set at MFNW, "And Ever..." is a complete prog-rock curveball full of squalling guitars and thudding bass lines sure to cause more than a few stroking of bears. Even the eponymous final track is more Tortoise and Stars of the Lid than GY!BE and Mogwai.

5. Clark - Totems Flare

Arch, impish, puckish. Completely unpredictable and gloriously unhinged. Clark shares all the same Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde qualities that made his Warp label mate Aphex Twin so delightful. Like if these gorgeous IDM melodies would just settle down and play nice, you might be able to take them home to meet your mum. But instead they are deranged Stravinskian barnburners married to offkilter drum machines and punishing breakcore beats, likely to alienate practically everybody that hears them. Highly recommended for the intrepid listener who stomached The Knife's icy arpeggios three years ago.

4. Junior Boys - Begone Dull Care

A recent New York Times article reported that men lie about what kind of music they listen to. Instead of coming clean about their secret soft-rock habits, they tend to "overstate listening to musical stations that they felt reflect better taste." To a certain extent, I believe this trend carries on to end of the year list making. Kid A felt like the de facto album of the decade, but I doubt many people ever feel the need to hear Thom Yorke drone on about sucking on lemons. So it comes as no surprise that Begone Dull Care would be so under-appreciated at the end of the year. The Junior Boys switch their musical coordinates and reference points to the '70s MOR soft rock of Toto and Chas Jankel and suddenly they are dismissed as "pleasant" and "inconsequential." "Hazel" might be the best pop single the Junior Boys have ever produced but I am sure it alienated much of the internet cognoscenti with its Michael McDonald falsetto and cheeky synth lines. Let's not forget that Last Exit ended with an almost cloying saxophone solo. Personally, I love Begone Dull Care because it perfectly conveys an emotion that I never thought I would hear from the Junior Boys: jittery cheerfulness.

3. Tim Hecker - An Imaginary Country

By some unspoken decree, it seems every review of an ambient album has to describe some fictional environment that the music conjures. One of the first reviews I read of Tortoise's TNT quite literally described the time and place each song evoked in the critic's imagination. Unintentionally, Hecker's album title reads like an indictment of the state of music criticism of the entire genre, although in interviews he seems perfectly ambivalent about the whole affair. And while there is a song entitled "Borderlands", what strikes me most about An Imaginary Country is not the liminality of its mythological territories, but of its musical sources. I have no idea where most of these sounds originate from: the synthesizers and instruments all bleed together in my ears. That might be the true meaning of the album title: not some fantastical frontier, but the imaginative power of the artist to bend and shape the currents of electrostasy to his whim.

2. Annie - Don't Stop

Annie's whirlwind tour of the states in 2005 was a bit of an awkward affair. It was her first series of live shows - quite possibly ever - and it showed. She looked terribly uncomfortable and had little stage presence to speak of. Which, to be perfectly honest, made her all the more endearing. Annie always seemed to be the accidental pop star, which makes her recent transformation all the more surprising. From the catty leadoff single "My Love Is Better" ("You know you'll never have my hips / I'm so much better / So eat this"), it is clear that Annie is now kicking ass and taking names. Just compare the two album covers: long gone is the Annie who coyly covered her face on Anniemal, replaced with an Annie who looks to have been quite stunningly made over by Weta. Even the tracklisting is teeming with newfound confidence: Annie had the chutzpah to leave two of the best singles off the album ("I Know Ur Girlfriend Hates Me" and "Anthonio" -- both of which might sound too much like Anniemal 2.0) and replace them with three electrifying cuts from Paul Epworth (potentially the best producer of the decade). Annie even ends the record on perhaps the best unintentional kiss-off to the Island Record label executive who stranded the album is release date purgatory: "Tell me, tell me what did I do wrong? / Oh baby, I am perfect.”

1. Mountains - Choral (+ Etching)

I made a goal to keep up with ambient music this year, which unfortunately was an impossibly tall order. There is no good way to keep tabs on the genre, no singular resource to trust to earmark the quality albums. Worse still, there is such a fine line between subgenera that it is easy to mistakenly download an hour of drone or get suckered into listening to something as discordant and unsettling as hauntology. And once you do manage to target an artist that tickles your fancy, there is an almost paralyzing vertiginous of how to dive in the band's discography. For whatever reason, this new crop of ambient artists are distressingly prolific. Emeralds, one of the better artists to come to my attention this year, released two albums, one 7'', a European Tour 2009 CD, and two cassettes tapes this year alone (the self-titled release is my personal favorite, for what it is worth). I have come to admire the genre's treatment of the studio artifact in the form of limited and personalized physical artifacts (each copy of Mountains's excellent Etching comes with a unique hand-stamped LP jacket), but it is a little irritating that by the time you hear about that amazing hand-painted one sided cassette tape from the band you adore, it is probably already sold-out. For the best, I guess for us hoarders. I don't have the musical vocabulary to discuss the warm textures and sonic details that make up this album (and after my discussion of Tim Hecker, I certainly can't device some metaphorical cartography to describe it), but I can tell you that all the days I wasted listening to illbient and psybient and lowercase and every other stupid subgenera you could possible imagine were worth just to serendipitously stumble upon this band.

Deal of the Decade

If you haven't taken my advice about the Avett Brothers yet, today is the day. The mp3 version of their 2007 album Emotionalism is on sale from amazon.com for only $1.99.

Emotionalism is, in my opinion, their best album, and well worth two bucks. I recommend you get it.

Urban blight

Florida football coach Urban Meyer, 45, has stepped down, deciding it is in his best interest to focus on his heath and his family.

But Meyer's health problems are not life threatening, a Florida source with knowledge of the situation told ESPN's Chris Mortensen.

And Meyer himself told the Times he has "no heart damage."

"But I didn't want there to be a bad day where there were three kids sitting around wondering what to do next. It was the pattern of what I was doing and how I was doing it. It was self-destructive."

WT the fuck F? A man at the top of his game who just signed a six year, $24 million contract extension quits because he's worried about his health, but there's actually nothing wrong with him.

Dr. Rick. You are probably the foremost expert on this in the league, as a physician and someone with a history of heart problems. What do you make of this decision? Is his fear that he's gonna drop dead of a heart attack if he keeps coaching legit, or are his sacred undergarments restricting blood flow to his brain?

I love Urban Meyer. I have said on the record that I wish he was my father. Perhaps, like all fathers, Urban was bound to disappoint his children, but I can't square this shit. What's the real reason he quit? Is he a sore looser? Is he taking a job in the NFL? Is he the next President of the Mormon Church? Governor of Utah? Did he fuck Tiger Woods? What's the deal?

“When your health flashes before your eyes, what’s before you means more than anything,” Urban said. “I have a strong faith that there’s a reason for everything, and God has a plan for us. I just don’t know what it is.”

That makes two of us.

A terrible decade

In 1999, everything was gravy. The country had money -- crazy money -- and tech stocks were making everyone rich. Hugo Chavez was elected president of Venezuela. Napster was launched. Apple released the first iBook and the Power Mac G4. Lance Armstrong won his first Tour de France. Sure, some bad things happened. There were several plane crashes, including one that killed John F. Kennedy Jr. There was a tornado in Salt Lake City and the Yankees won the World Series. But 1999 ended a decade of prosperity and there was hope that the first ten years of the new millennium would bring great things to the United States and to the rest of the world.

But then everything turned to shit. AOL merged with Time Warner. The Rams won the Super Bowl. And in what would become the defining moment in the worst decade ever, George W. Bush became president after successfully stealing the election from a man who actually received the most votes.

Perhaps at age 15 I was too young to understand how terrible the decade would be. Maybe others sensed on the cold December day when Bush v. Gore was decided that shit was gonna get ugly. But I don't think anyone predicted how awful things would be in December, 2009.

I can think of a few good things that came out of the decade. iPods and iPhones. Me finishing school and never having to go back again. Rocky Anderson. Ben and Taylor breaking up. But none of those things make up for 9/11, two ugly and unjust wars, Hurricane Katrina, an economic collapse, Darfur, climate change, steroid scandals and print media going down the shitter along with the American car and music industries.

It would be nice to say that just as George W. Bush ushered us in to a decade of tumult and mistakes, Barack Obama can see us through a decade of recovery. But I have a lot less hope today then I did last November, and I fear that in ten more years I will have no choice but to write about another terrible decade.

The other road to Shambhala

Don't believe what you read. Uncharted 2 is the 2012 of video games.

It's amazing to watch and a pretty thrilling ride. But, honestly, there's not that much there when you look back.

The story of the game is about as boring and cliche as you can get (despite being held up as an example of what games should do). It's Indiana Jones light, with fewer developed characters.


For example Chloe Frazier, the blatant Megan Fox rip off with an unsettlingly difficult to place (and apparently Australian) accent, has no purpose in the story except to double, triple or quadruple cross other characters and move the plot along. Likewise, Lazarevic, the villain, is bad and seeking the Cintamani Stone because he's evil and wants to do evil things.

The story is interesting, but there was never a point where I felt compelled to find out what happens next.

The gameplay is equally uninspired. It's a bricolage of game genres but mostly breaks into long sequences of cover-based 3rd person shooting. And exploration that is primarily a matter of finding the colored stones, climbing, jumping and trying to see despite the cameras complete indifference to your journey.

Yet, much like 2012, you will be entertained. Perhaps more than (almost) any game you'll play this year.

Grade: B-

Sex, Life

Note: With a little help from my friends I realized that the first version of this post was kind of worthless. (Thanks Em.) Hopefully I've done a better job expressing something this time. Please forgive this double post of sorts.

Sexual satisfaction is among the most basic and most elusive human pursuits. Many, probably most of us end up trying to achieve it with a single committed partner, the same person with whom we choose to share our lives and resources. Finding it, even knowing how to find it, seems to be something that is often (forgive my generalization) easier for men than it is for women. (Although it sure as hell isn't easy for this man (I use the term loosely) to write about. . . .)

I think much of the problem for women has to do with cultural and societal constructs that may not only impede sexual enjoyment, but prevent open communication both within and outside their sexual relationships. Of course, a woman's own perceived deviation from cultural and societal ideals might be part of the problem too. People want to be normal, especially when it comes to sex, and women face the additional pressure of having all kinds of conflicting norms to live up to. Whatever the causes of the hurdles women face, Lori Brotto is intent on helping surmount them.

Brotto is, according to Daniel Bergner's recent NYTimes Magazine article, "one of the world’s leading specialists in what is known as hypoactive sexual desire disorder in women." The article is quite good, and does a much better job describing Brotto's work than I will be able to, but in the interest of having a point I'll give it a shot.

Basically, a woman is diagnosed with hypoactive sexual desire disorder when she feels distressed by her absence of sexual desire. Brotto treats women who want to want. (Which happens to be the title of Bergner's piece.) Sex and sexual satisfaction are obviously very personal things, and the amount of desire that one woman feels satisfied with might leave another woman wanting. (Or . . . not.)

The women who seek Brotto's help don't appear to have a physical problem, that is, their bodies respond the same way to stimulus that others' do. Brotto describes a sort of disconnect between mind and body, where women are so distracted by daily stresses, body-image worries, or fears that their libidos are dead that they are "oblivious to their bodies’ excitement, their bodies’ messages." (Bergner) Part of Brotto's treatment includes exercises to increase mindfulness where patients experience a simple event but are tasked with maintaining hyper-awareness of the sensations that accompany it, such as placing a raisin in one's mouth and eating it (for example.)

As I read the article I found myself thinking that the increased self-awareness Brotto is trying to instill in women who are unhappy with their sex-drives is something I'm seeking in my own life. Now, I'm not concerned about my sex-drive specifically, but I do worry that I might not really be experiencing life to the extent that I would like. That maybe I'm numbing my own sensations, maybe I'm spreading my awareness too thin? I wonder, am I satisfied with my own lust for life?

At one point Brotto describes how she was trained to respond to a patient's concerns about sex, "Change the subject, change the subject, change the subject." Too frequently that has been my own response to feeling dissatisfied. Read a book, watch a movie. . . get distracted. Ironically too much of that response is a huge part of the problem.

I've realized many of the activities are most fulfilling to me are ones that force me to focus my body and mind. Climbing, cooking, playing sports. . . sex. Others require a focus of one or the other, or maybe both at different times. Reading, writing, biking, gardening, even watching a quality movie. Better focus, more self-awareness can only make me a better climber, a better cook, a better writer, etc. Better focus during sex, would probably have both the benefit of making me a better lover, and increasing my own enjoyment.

So, how do I get there? If Brotto's treatment can work for hypoactive sexual desire disorder, can I make it work for the times when I feel hypoactive ambition, or hypoactive desire to get off the couch disorder? I don't know, but I'll say this: I will try to examine and savor every flavor in my next bite of food. I will try to feel more exactly the wrinkles in her lips and their pressure against mine if I'm lucky enough to get another kiss. I will even try to pay more attention to how this cold, dry Utah air feels against my face next time I walk outside. We'll see if it works.

American Gomorrah

Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2
Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the nadir of the video game medium.

It might be technically competent, but I wouldn't pass an essay denying the Holocaust just because it was properly spell checked.

Grade: F

All that Jazz.

I'll admit I got a little misty eyed when I first heard that the Jazz had sold its broadcasting rights to FSN Utah. I can ascribe most of my enthusiasm for the Jazz to KJZZ-TV, which broadcast all of the games for free over local airwaves. I understand the financial incentive behind the decision, but I can't help but wonder if the 12-year agreement will have long-term consequences for the franchise. My parents couldn't afford to subscribe to cable when I was growing up and I worry that the Jazz organization will miss the opportunity to indoctrinate impressionable youth who may not have access to FSN Utah.

Although perhaps I am overplaying the importance of television in this day and age. I personally catch every Jazz game over NBA broadband. And with Comcast buying NBC, who knows for how much longer broadcast television will even exist.

Sam, as represented by an animated GIF

The road to Shambhala

Uncharted 2: Among Thieves
Spectacular. After a few middling sequences that unflatteringly recall all the flaws of Uncharted: Drake's Fortune, Among Thieves comes roaring to life in Nepal with a series of outrageously entertaining set-pieces that you are probably going to want to play through again -- immediately after your first run through. Even all the minor irritants (patchy controls, exploration that is either too linear or not linear enough, lackluster endgame) are quickly forgotten amidst the breathtaking visuals and keen attention to detail.

That being said, I do want to highlight another instance of game designers' continual neglect of harmonizing game mechanic and narrative. In a rather tedious opening chapter, Nate sneaks into a Turkish museum to steal one of Marco Polo's lamps (don't worry, it doesn't make much sense in the game either). The game uses Nate's ethical code of not wanting to hurt civilians as a convenient excuse to force the player to practice stealth technique and non-lethal take-downs. Yet not ten minutes into the sequence, the player is required to grab a guard by the ankles and throw him down a cliff to his untimely doom: a devilishly fun maneuver that is unfortunately irreconcilable with the narrative. While this is a minor event in the overall story, it is symptomatic of an unsettling disconnect between the lighthearted tone of the story and the heavy bodycount that Nate amasses over the course of the game. In the end, it is this architectural dissonance between game mechanic and narrative that prevents Uncharted 2 from being as meaningful as it is delightful.

Grade: A-

World In Motion

As Mark once eloquently put it, in case you missed it...


Incredible news for the USA team. Not only do they have one of the easiest groups of the 2010 FIFA World Cup, but a win against England puts in position to play a weak Group D runner-up in the Knockout round of 16. And, dare I dream, a Mexico or France matchup in the round of 8.

Speedy recovery Davies and Onyewu.

Just called to say Halo

Halo 3 is exactly what you'd expect. It's the look and feel of Halo 2 with better graphics, a few new weapons and improved enemy AI. It's the spectacle and the joy of being a superhuman, supercyborg and laying waste to entire armies of alien invaders or zombie-like members of the Flood.

But it's two years old, which is—surprisingly—a longer time in video games than you would imagine. And the best sections of the game are still intermixed with the lame, irritating-long Flood sequences. (The Flood have always ruined Halo. Even accepting that The Flood are what make the story of the Halo trilogy happen—I have never understood why you'd replace the intelligent, challenging Covenant with the cheap, brainless Flood.)

Ultimately, though, still fun.


Halo 3: ODST, on the other hand, takes the best advancements in gaming over the last few years (with nods to Bioshock and GTA) and produces something that is unique but still feels like Halo. Without the trappings of the "epic" story and superhuman Master Chief, ODST is a spare, focused game with a refreshingly intriguing narrative.

ODST is cohesive in a way that few video games are. I really loved how the game's riff-on-a-detective-novel story not only makes the limited open world feel full, but uses narrative flashbacks to add variety to the gameplay and move the plot along. Plus, I don't think any intelligent, rational or respectable person (no friend of mine for sure) can dislike a game that features not one or two, but three actors from Firefly.

Finally, and best of all, there's no Flood.

Halo 3, B
Halo 3: ODST, A+