…although this was released in 2006, is MONO & world’s end girlfriend’s gorgeous Palmless Prayer / Mass Murder Refrain, a five-part chamber music suite, as it were, for string quartet and post-rock band. A collaboration between Japanese composer Katsuhiko Maeda and the thunderous Tokyo trio that is MONO, the album is surely going to be one of my favorites of the year (and it’s only January!).

Doubtless a lot of music fans more knowledgeable than I would point to music from a different tradition — say, Shostakovich, Pärt, or Gorecki — as more complex, more profoundly moving. But the difference is that MONO rocks: the moment in “Part Three” when MONO’s Mogwai-influenced wall of guitar comes crashing down on the orchestra is a cathartic sonic event, only made more poignant by the calm resignation of the finale.

It’s hard to describe the widescreen sorrow at the core of this music. It’s something as mundane as the inherent loneliness of automobiles stranded on the freeway at sunset. But the ineffable grandeur it evokes is not just exit music for a film, it’s Exit Music for real: ruined cities, a threnody for the broken earth, the dying sun’s last defiant flare before the beginning of a cold, dead universe. Or as C.K. Williams puts it in his poem “Light,” “…everything ends, / world, after-world, even their memory, steamed away / like the film of uncertain vapor of the last of the luscious rain.”

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An old blog post that never saw the light of day until now:

So two things happened earlier this evening that may never happen again: 1. I saw J-Lu dance. 2. J-Lu saw me dance. In recent years I’ve expressed my distaste for the activity, and almost got into a useless argument with Smoothie and Big G. Al about the whole thing. J-Lu has asserted many times that she doesn’t dance; clearly she was lying, and so was I. (But see an affirmation of my dislike here.)

The occasion was, of all things, a trio of tribute bands at Slim’s. I had never dipped my toe into the entire tribute-band experience; there seemed something rather cheesy about the whole thing. Which may indeed be the whole point — but I was proven wrong because I ate all the cheese up anyway.

First up was the very good This Charming Band, obviously a Smiths tribute band. The lead singer looked nothing like Morrissey, and didn’t sound exactly like him, but had great stage presence regardless. (Their secret weapon was the guitarist, who simply nailed Johnny Marr’s parts down.) For the Masses was up next — a Depeche Mode tribute band — and was even better: that cold ’80s synth, and a vocalist who not only sounded like Dave Gahan, but whose lack of shame fortunately made him copy Gahan’s moves as well (apparently pretty accurately).

So anyhow, I look to my left during “Just Can’t Get Enough” and sure enough, J-Lu was dancing. (And not just doing the indie rawk shuffle either, which requires no use of the hips.) And she was singing, too, which she apparently doesn’t do either. (Though I wasn’t exactly dancing — just flailing my arms and jumping up and down and spilling my beer on J-Lu.)

Stung was the best band of all — a set that wasn’t just Every Breath You Take: The Singles, but one that dipped into the tracks that lesser fans fast-forwarded through back in the day. And no, they didn’t exactly look like the Police, and neither did the vocalist really sound like Sting (I blame Slim’s acoustics, because he sounds fantastic here, including the break in Sting’s voice after “I loved ya since I knew ya”), but they played incredibly well.

One side effect of all of this was that it made feel rather old — well, okay, I am old: Stung started its set with an excellent “Walking in Your Footsteps,” which reminded me that I was all of 12 when the song came out. But the point was that there I was, with a huge grin on my face, in a small club, surrounded by people yelling out the lyrics to “When The World Is Running Down, You Make The Best Of What’s Still Around” — a song I would otherwise never see or hear performed in such circumstances — and the point of the tribute band became happily, cheesily clear.

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Again, in alphabetical order:

Current 93, Black Ships Ate The Sky (2006)

David Tibet has recorded two undisputed masterpieces — at least in my opinion, Dogs Blood Rising and All the Pretty Little Horses, though Thunder Perfect Mind and Sleep Has His House are close — and this is his third. Representing, perhaps, the feverish, apocalyptic culmination of over 25 years of death-haunted meditations, Current 93 — here augmented by an all-star cast — weaves a stunning album, what Tibet calls “a Hallucinatory Patripassianist Dream.” (Okay, the fact that my name is listed as one of the album’s “subscribers” on the last page of the booklet is cool too.)

Dengue Fever, Escape from Dragon House (2005)

I’ve written about the coolest band in America many times on my blog, so this should be no surprise. Working off the same template that made their debut album one of my favorites of 2002 — covers of Cambodian rock tracks — Dengue Fever’s second album makes a huge leap to original songs, albeit throwing in psychedelia, spy-movie chase scenes, surf guitar, and Cambodian lyrics into the mix. But you folks really have to catch them live.

Easy Star All-Stars, Radiodread (2006)

In which they follow up their song-by-song reggae cover of Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon with an equally impressive reggae version of Radiohead’s OK Computer. It’s nowhere near as immediate as the former — basically because Radiohead just isn’t Pink Floyd — but both Thom Yorke fans and reggae fans should enjoy this in equal measure. The highlight: an impossibly happy version of “Let Down,” sung by Toots & The Maytals.)

Linus’ Blanket, Labor in Vain (2005)

Delicate Korean twee pop, sounding much like a Siesta Records release from the late ’90s but without the archness. Fifteen-minute EPs should be as perfect as this.

Mclusky, Mcluskyism (2006)

There’s a ragged, furious, nasty joy to this compilation by the recently-disbanded (alas) Welsh band Mclusky, appealing to that ragged, furious, nasty part of you that would sing along to refrains like “Our old singer is a sex criminal.” (Hunt down the three-disc set, as it comes with rarities and live versions, including some of the most withering put-downs of a heckler in the audience — “You tape Sex and the City, you fuck?” — I’ve heard on record.)

Spangle call Lilli line, or (2003)

It’s not easy to describe this album: delicate vocals, guitar filigree, electronic crackle, the virtue of repetition and stretched-out instrumentals. Just gorgeous.

Bruce Springsteen, We Shall Overcome: The Seeger Sessions (2006)

Springsteen hardly does studio recordings of songs he didn’t write — maybe a cover like “Deportee” on a couple of tribute albums here and there, “Jersey Girl” from the live box set, so that doesn’t even count — so this new album was either going to be extra-special or evidence of a creative drought. Thankfully, it’s the former; it’s the most exuberantly angry and joyful music I’ve heard all year. Music to want the wide American earth by.

Up dharma Down, Fragmented (2006)

What I wrote earlier, on my favorite album of 2006, hands down:

It’s only April, and I think I already have one of my favorite albums of the year. Up dharma Down’s Fragmented is an urban soul chronicle from the streets of Manila, both tense and laid back, full of nervous energy one moment and suffused with post-club comedown the next.

I still remember the first time I saw the video for the fantastic first single, “Maybe.” I was idly flipping channels one December night in Los Banos last year when the video came on, and I was transfixed by its evocation of claustrophobia, as the camera followed a near-hysterical woman pacing inside a hotel room, then down a narrow stairwell, tear-smeared mascara on her face.

But it was, of course, the music which kept me glued to the TV: an insistent, propulsive reverbed guitar riff; a skittering, distorted “Amen” break; a bass line turned up way high in the mix; and that voice which stretched “Maybe” into 27 different syllables. (I had to grab paper and pen to scribble down the name of the band; alas, their album wasn’t coming out until a few months later, as the kind women at Odyssey and Tower Records had absolutely no idea what I was talking about.)

The rest of the album doesn’t quite approach the succinct drama of “Maybe,” but it’s quite strong nevertheless, and I suspect more songs will float their way to the top as the year proceeds… I can’t wait to see them live.

Yo La Tengo, I Am Not Afraid Of You And I Will Beat Your Ass (2006)

Scattered, undisciplined, almost self-indulgent, uncontained, all over the place: my second-favorite band ever (after the Beatles) returns to the heights of I Can Hear The Heart Beating As One. And it has the best album title too.

Plus some more YouTube fun:

- Dengue Fever, “Sni Bong”
- Easy Star All-Stars, “Let Down”
- Mclusky, “She Will Only Bring You Happiness” (though I rather like the Flash animation for “Lightsabre Cocksucking Blues” more)
- Spangle call Lilli line, “nano”
- Bruce Springsteen, “John Henry”
- Up dharma Down, “Maybe”
- Yo La Tengo, “Mr. Tough” (Live)

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Regular readers of my now-irregular blog would know that I usually include music from previous years, so not everything will be from last year.

And here we go, in alphabetical order:

The Backyardigans, The Backyardigans (2005)

What I wrote in a previous blog entry:

The real draw of the show of the same name is the music (and the excellent voice acting), which is just superb for a kiddie TV show. They’re incredibly catchy and witty children’s ditties that are the functional equivalent of Broadway showtunes—each song within the show is totally choreographed, with dancing. The songs are thematically coherent for each episode, though they’re not necessarily tailored to the plot; Irish music, for instance, accompanies the Backyardigans on their quest for the perfect cup of tea to Borneo and China (to ask the grumpy emperor for a cup). Across the series, however, the music runs the range from reggae to rockabilly to country to Dixieland to James Brown funk.

Anyhow, I finally got to see the scrolling credits by pausing the DVD (they get reduced to a tiny window when being broadcast), and discovered to my surprise that the list of musicians reads like a Tzadik session roster: Evan Lurie, Doug Weiselman, Greg Cohen, Smokey Hormel, Tony Scherr, Ben Perowsky, Steven Bernstein, Kenny Wollesen… Totally cool. (It’s practically Sex Mob doing the soundtrack!)

Alex Chilton, 1970 (1970)

Early Chilton, coming off of the Box Tops and just before the jangle pop glory of Big Star: ramshackle rock and roll.

Shirley Collins and Davy Graham, Folk Roots, New Routes (1964)

The psychic connections between jazz, blues, ragas, and traditional British folk, explored by a spellbinding singer and guitarist.

Herbert, Scale (2006)

Experimental dance pop of extremely high quality — at least for the first half of the album, anyway.

Junior Kilat, Party Pipol Ur On Dub TV (2005)

Dubbed-out reggae from Cebu City — not touristy Bob Marley stuff either, but cave-like bass and reverb set to sky-cracking levels. Their secret weapon is Budoy Marabiles, the rasta-tammed lead singer who exhorts the audience like a manic street preacher.

Jim Noir, Tower of Love (2006)

I’m scrambling for references here: early ’70s AM radio, early ’70s A&M, mid-’90s Elephant 6. How about that?

Corinne Bailey Rae, Corinne Bailey Rae (2006)

Regina Spektor, Begin To Hope (2006)

Susie Suh, Susie Suh (2005)

It’s an odd coincidence that three female singer-songwriters follow one another here, but there you go. Rae and Spektor could hardly be different from each other — one’s intimate and confessional, the other’s, um, intimate and confessional (I’m getting lazy here) — but both work in very different idioms: Rae in cozy R&B, Spektor in a delightful, but sometimes too clever, combination of Joni Mitchell / Tori Amos / Tin Pan Alley / Russian folk songs.

And here’s what I wrote earlier about Suh:

I’m only really a casual fan of the women-with-acoustic-guitars genre, but there was something compelling about her 2005 self-titled album that made me take notice. There is nothing necessarily groundbreaking about it — nothing you won’t hear on a Lilith Fair compilation, perhaps, with self-confessional lyrics like “Oh I’m missing you / Or maybe I’m missing who I was when I was with you,” and an urban-glossy production — but there is an autumnal chill that runs through Suh’s songs that gives the album an edge. Most important, Suh is gifted with an incredible voice, all husky and soulful, which breaks at perfect moments (hear the chorus of “Light on My Shoulder”).

In concert that amazing voice is, unbelievably, even better, now embellished with a slight rawness that fits the emotional intensity of her lyrics. Indeed, the concert was completely stripped down: with her on guitar and vocals and another guy on drums. (You also get the chance to see how fine a guitar player she is.)

To my initial worry, Suh began the short set with four of my favorite songs on the album (“Won’t You Come Again,” “Your Battlefield,” “Harmony,” and “Lucille,” if I remember correctly). But this anxiety was dispelled with a couple of terrific new songs (“Canopy,” probably about her mother, and “Sweet Love,” which began with lines like “Clap your hands if you love someone in this room,” or words to that effect), and a few well-placed surprise covers (“Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right,” “Since I Fell For You,” “Is This Love”). All together a most excellent experience; I highly recommend catching her in concert if she comes by your town.

Matthew Sweet and Susanna Hoffs, Under the Covers Vol. 1 (2006)

My only disappointment is that some of the cover versions are somewhat safe and superfluous — do we really another version of “It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue?” — but Sweet and Hoffs revel in harmony-filled power-pop goodness here.

Francois Tetaz, Wolf Creek (2005)

This isn’t exactly your traditional movie soundtrack, as there isn’t a traditional “score;” it’s a series of dreadful (in the good, literal sense) scrapings, bass rumbles, string quartet and prepared piano passages, and samples from Alan Lamb’s wires in the Australian desert.

And some other albums that didn’t quite make the cut, but were excellent anyway:

- The Little Willies, The Little Willies
- OM, Conference of the Birds
- PUFFY, Splurge
- Michael Shelley, Goodbye Cheater
- Various Artists, ’80s Hits Stripped
- Windy and Carl, Antarctica
- John Zorn, Filmworks Vol. XVI: Workingman’s Death

And some YouTube fun (if you had checked my page out earlier you would have seen my attempt at embedding the videos — 12 open shockwave applications sure slows Firefox down though):

- The Backyardigans, “The Backyardigans Theme”
- Junior Kilat, “Original Sigbin”
- Jim Noir, “Eanie Meany”
- Corinne Bailey Rae, “Put Your Records On”
- Regina Spektor, “Fidelity”
- Matthew Sweet and Susanna Hoffs, “Rain” (Live)

And some Amazon links:

- The Backyardigans
- Alex Chilton
- Shirley Collins and Davy Graham
- Herbert
- Jim Noir
- Corinne Bailey Rae
- Regina Spektor
- Susie Suh
- Matthew Sweet and Susanna Hoffs
- Francois Tetaz

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Posted this on last.fm a little while back:

My ears are still ringing from what is surely one of the best concerts I’ve been to this year — I knew it would be good, but not so got-damn good as this was.

Some random notes:

First up was Mammatus. I’m at a loss describing this group and their music: heavy-ass riffs, psych guitar noodling. I can’t even begin to write about what they looked like: one guitarist and the drummer looked like they stepped off the back cover of Trout Mask Replica, and the two vocalists were dressed in what looked like, I swear, tablecloths. Or curtains. One of the vocalists — more like the guy whose vocals were permanently on reverb — who I’ll call The Shaman, reminded me of a cross between Brother Theodore and Screamin’ Jay Hawkins. Except that he actually looked like an organic grocery store employee. Wearing a tablecloth. And waving a knobbly wizard stick, right out of the back cover of Led Zeppelin IV at the audience. Probably the best surprise of the night. (No insult meant by my descriptions, by the way — these guys were fantastic.)

Up next: Grey Daturas, a trio from Australia. My description won’t do their awesome one-song set justice, so I offer key phrases instead: layered feedback, jetliner roar, amplifier worship.

And then came Pearls and Brass, which I’ll describe as “stoner boogie,” anchored by long, sinuous guitar riffs and some amazing shirtless drumming.

And finally, Om. I’ve written about this band previously, so there’s not much more to add, except that that sky-cracking-open moment when Al Cisneros steps on the effects pedal about 9 minutes into “At Giza” happened here too. I’ve since realized that perhaps a more fruitful comparison to Om’s Conference of the Birds isn’t really Sleep’s Jerusalem, but Nurse With Wound’s Soliloquy for Lilith or Coil’s Time Machines; guitar and drum prowess aside, Om in concert is meant to be transportive. You close your eyes in the middle of the maelstrom and you see pyramids and ancient gods frolicking to cosmic ragas.

I think the ringing in my ears has subsided. But my neck will sure as hell hurt tomorrow morning.

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