Interpol-Our Love to Admire
Okay, this is the album of 2007 that will successfully span the generation gaps. For those of us who are gracefully aging retro rock revivalists and for those of you who are in your salad days of post-postmodernity rock, Interpol has built us a bridge where we can meet and embrace. Our Love to Admire proves the old adage that music is the universal language—a great liberator in the depreciating world of Bushian tyranny caught in the hopeful prospect of Obaman liberation.
This recording will cleanse the soul of all the pent up frustrations we currently suffer from at the hands of our friendly fascist administration, as well as shine some light on the deep-seated roots germinating in the soft underbelly of utopian utilitarianism. A testament to the minimalism of great bands like Television and Joy Division and with enough glam and glitter of David Bowie to make this a highly palatable aural pleasure for the 40+ crowd and a document to the lush orchestrations of later bands such as Catherine Wheel and Coldplay. With a dash of Arcade Fire, the album is emotionally accessible for the 20+ crowd. Coming from the music critic who only wishes his grass was “emo” so that it would cut itself, this is one damn good rocking album.
Cowboy
Junkies-At the End of Paths Taken
What a treat 2007 was for those of us who were reared on the haunting melodies of Rickie Lee Jones and the angelic inflections of Emmylou Harris, for the band that encapsulated the extreme highlights of both of these influential artists is the Cowboy Junkies, and they were kind enough to release two very fine recordings this past year—one, a rediscovery of their earth shatteringTrinity Sessions and this release of wonderful wanderlust, At the End of Paths Taken. Yes, this is not a very positive album title for us diehard fans, but I am going to approach this with a positive attitude and not read into the fact that the title hints at a subtle message that the Cowboy Junkies are finally calling an end to their inspirational career: this album just opens up a brand new Pandora’s Box of prolific sources of goodness to overcome the evil thoughts that this may be their last recording.
At first listen, the word “atypical” comes to mind. Lyrically, the Cowboy Junkies have always been profoundly personal but never critical or brooding, and this time out Michael Timmins has explored some of the darkest crevices of his personality and its role in a genealogy where matrilineal myopia is overshadowed by patriarchal progeny and the role of motherhood is objectified, while the role of fatherhood is pontificated. This is quite the departure from previous lyrical endeavors, for the entire album is focused and conceptual; each song a prelude to the next, so that by album’s end the whole truth and nothing but the truth about family values are revealed. Musically, the Cowboy Junkies have always relied on their Xanax-influenced instrumentation guided by the Valium-voiced vocalizations of Margo Timmins, and for you old traditionalists, they do not veer too far from this as their oeuvre—and that is a beautiful thing. The canons may be controversially complex, but the modulations are mystically melodic.
Black Rebel
Motorcycle Club-Baby 81
If you are a sucker for alternative country
with a harder edge than the more popular bands who took the post-Uncle
A deliberate departure from their more Americana-influenced release, Howl, this album takes B.R.M.C. back to their noisy roots to replant the demon seed they were attempting to spawn in their halcyon days. Relying more on over-amplified guitars reminiscent of My Bloody Valentine and the frontal nudity found in drum productions of Jack Endino or Steve Albini, this CD kicks safety and security out the door and dares to veer off the beaten path of their beloved success found from their last recording. This is a rock and roll record. Yes, buried deep are the roots of their past, but when it comes down to it, this is a band with a mission of perpetual progress and the search for new ideas for themselves and their listeners.
Dinosaur
Jr.-Beyond
I am still trying to figure out if it is a good thing or a bad thing to write that Beyond would have been a fabulous follow up to Dinosaur Jr.’s 1988’s recording Bug, because, to be honest, that is where I parted ways with J Mascis’s future endeavors and Lou Barlow’s Sebadoh years. From 1985 to 1991 J, Lou and Murph sonically rocked my world with their first three albums…and then came the major label signing to Sire Records and the departure of Lou Barlow: all of a sudden, what I thought was my own little secret was exposed to the world, and I was devastated. Devastated? Yes, because that soul connection that I’d made with Dinosaur Jr. was severed when a “dude” came into the record store that I worked at in 1991, told me that the Fugazi CD I was playing “wouldn’t last on the job site,” and proceeded to purchase Green Mind. From that day on, Dinosaur Jr. was no longer a part of my “reclusive rock” subculture where playing second fiddle was good enough for me.