...but you have to name me as a co-founder.

A list of non-profit organizations that someone needs to start up.  And by "someone", I specifically mean, "someone else".  However, I would enthusiastically promote, with every mean I possess, any message produced by any one of the following agencies:

Partnership for a "Partnership for a Drug-Free America"-Free America

Mission Statement:  "To eradicate the flow of funding to, and middle-class American respect for, the most hypocritical, irrational, and draconian message machine still able to afford prime-time television advertising."

Seriously, someone needs to stop these fucking people.  See here:

"PDFA was the subject of criticism when it was revealed by Cynthia Cotts of the Village Voice that their federal tax returns showed that they had received several million dollars worth of funding from major pharmaceutical, tobacco and alcohol corporations including American Brands (Jim Beam whiskey), Philip Morris (Marlboro and Virginia Slims cigarettes, Miller beer), Anheuser Busch(Budweiser, Michelob, Busch beer), R.J. Reynolds (Camel, Salem, Winston cigarettes), as well as pharmaceutical firms Bristol Meyers-Squibb, Merck & Company and Procter & Gamble. From 1997 it has discontinued any direct fiscal association with tobacco and alcohol suppliers, although it still receives donations from pharmaceutical companies^[2]"

Sure, Wikipedia is full of errors.  Full of 'em.

Also, marijuana is gaining serious traction as a pharmaceutical and there are now dispensaries in goddamned Michigan, where even the hippies have NRA cards, so shut the fuck up already.

Progressives for Palin

Mission Statement:  "To help ensure the nomination of Sarah Palin to the 2012 Republican Presidential candidacy."

With an Obama re-election looking to be increasingly in the bag, the time is ripe to lay the foundation for a bit of unpopular, divisive, back-handed "insurance".  The nomination of Sarah Palin for the GOP Prez canididacy would seal an Obama victory in 2012.

Better yet, a failed attempt at said nomination could result in the most debilitating third-party spoiler in American history.

What seals the deal for me is the fact that, in relation to the the Democratic party I was raised to vote for, Obama is squarely a Republican.  If you actually want a balanced ballot, you have to put a charismatic, infantile, fascistic, wasp-y, soccer mom-type (because, it could just as easily be a man, you know) in the open spot. Go Sarah!

People for the Ethical Treatment of Spiders (PETS)

Mission Statement: "To stop the spread of vile and baseless slander aimed at the stealthy and majestic Arachnid, overlooked friend of Homo Habilis."

Okay, no; I too have no special wish to keep a spider as a pet.  However, my lovely squealers, they have been misunderstood most heinously.  Please do not step on, smash, or otherwise offend the next tiny janitor you see.  Give 'em a ride out the door, if you must.

Janitor, you ask?  Well:

Exhibit 'A': They motherfucking eat cockroaches.  'A(1)': And all the other ugly, sideways, oblique-wiggle bitches that like to run over your toes in bathroom and remind your half-awake ass of every nasty bug-based horror movie with a freaky shower scene in it your brother ever made you watch.  TOTALLY ruins the full-frontal female nudity.  Totally. Ruins. It.

Exhibit 'B': That shit your drunk cousin's drunk-ass wife told everyone else's drunk ass at the Thanksgiving table about how many spiders the average person eats while they're asleep is pure urban fucking myth.  The stealthy and majestic arachnid wishes nothing to do with your sticky, smelly volcano hole.  It's fully fucking aware that that shit is a putrid slime-slide straight to your intenstines, even if you've conveniently forgotten that little detail.

If you think I'm talking out of my ass, then you'd better sleep with a fucking clothespin on your flappers, mouth-breather.  Who the fuck BELIEVES they swallow spiders at night, and doesn't do a goddamn thing about it?  Seriously, seek professional assistance.

Exhibit 'C': The number of reported envenemation from dangerous spiders in the U.S. is already extremely low, but it turns out that EIGHTY PERCENT of the most common reports (those involving the Brown Recluse and some form of "necrosis") are probably misdiagnosed.

Spoiler!: these folks all maybe have eczema, or psoriasis.

But, you know.  If the majestic arachnid in YOUR house is a poisonous man-killer, then yeah, eliminate that motherfucker.

Fun With iWeb

iWeb is, you guessed it, a blog-designing app for Leopard users.  It comes with some pretty silly designs and/or stock photos.  I decided to have a little fun with it.  My favorite thing about this gag is the "Made on a Mac" logo on some of the pages.  An un-greeked sampling:

Why Do We Create?

As a straight, white, American male, I feel a strong obligation to consume as little as possible, for the rest of my life; to exert as minimal an influence on the world as I can. I’m not alone in this pursuit; my generation contains a modest but significant percentage of latter-day guilty liberals.  That is, we are all convinced that tens of thousands of years of male-dominated culture has sent humanity careening towards its demise.  And we don’t get together and talk about it, despite what you might have heard about the sudden prevalence of co-ed knitting circles.

The end of the world—yes, this we discuss—just not the fact that it’s our fault. That sentiment, spoken aloud in a group setting, would necessarily bring all other political conversation to a halt.

Humanity is predictable, destructive, and probably not deserving of salvation.  Of course, life isn’t about 'deserve', everybody knows that.  But but but.  If why we try so hard to save ourselves is nothing more than a (very strong) genetic impulse, how can there ever be any art in it?  People create art, but life is itself artless.  And don’t you cough up that dust-bunny of a cliché: “Living well is an art”.  Sounds nice, doesn’t it?  Too bad it isn’t true—at least, not as an axiom. It should be: “If you’re lucky, living well can be an art”.  'Living well' is a combination of good luck and brain chemistry.  If you strike the words “good” and “well” from that sentence, that’s life, in a nutshell, for every creature that has ever lived.

Given that one accepts some approximation of my statements as true—maybe you’re a little more hopeful, or confident than I am, but still not quite married to the idea that people have 100% control over their personal fortunes and failures—how are we to go on creating as artists?  If the art we create, at best, embellishes a neutral existence, why do we work so hard to nail it to the walls? How can we continue to hang the drapes when the house is crumbling around us?

In the words of Melvin Udall, “People who speak in metaphors oughta shampoo my crotch.”

Really, I don’t care.  I mean, I care that there's at least a bit of suck in everything, in as much as that knowledge doesn’t make things in my life suck any less.  And, I’d much rather that nothing sucked for anyone, ever.  But I try not to waste time caring (too much) about whether or not my art is having a positive impact on culture, or on the world.  The single most influential cultural artifact ever, if such a thing exists, will eventually crumble and be forgotten in the face of the quintessentially impersonal and infinite physics of the universe.  (I can hear Werner Herzog’s voice-over for this scene: “Ze greatest accomplishments of man vill be as meaningless as dust in ze cold dahkness of ze void.”)

I make art because making art gives me pleasure.  It’s an emotional bonus—and potentially a financial one, so I’m told—if the art I make pleases others, too.

Also, because I do possess a sense of ethics, I try really hard not to hurt anyone with my art—even though if I do, they probably deserve it, & esp. even though many famous writers have made their names by systematically dissecting other people and pinning up their entrails, in an artistic medium tantamount to public forum.

I bring all of this up because I am currently writing a torturous short piece about my family (with all of the names changed, including my own).  To clarify for my acquaintances: this is a story about the side of my family that I am deliberately out of contact with.  It is torturous for me to write this story because it deals with a personal psychology which I have been running away from ever since I figured out that running was the thing to do in the face of this beast—modern psychology be damned.   I am putting up with this torture because I realized that the details of a certain especially painful two weeks of my life could make for an interesting tale.  However, it will also be torturous for a member or two of my family (if it ever sees the light of day), since it was written specifically to create the artistic spectacle of a practiced writer skewering subjects he is unfairly familiar with.

You may notice the faint whiff of guilt emanating from that last sentence.  I am “skewering”, and it’s “unfair”.  Now, it’s true that I am remembering and writing these experiences through a biased, dark lens, and that I wince a little when I think of how upset one particular person would be if she ever read this story.  She wouldn’t care who else had read it, she would just be very hurt to find out what I really think of her.  Maybe.  But, I still might only find it to be unfair in the artistic sense; in other words, I did not create this story, this very engaging story, out of whole cloth—I have, for the most part, been cataloguing (rather accurately, I like to think) the past actions of myself and other people.

Well, and this isn’t entirely true, either.  My creativity, the fact that I am creating, is evident in the way I tell the story—not just the minor fictionalizations and embellishments, but the tone, the themes, the signature of my style all indicate that there is a unique, biased personality speaking.  It’s a tale—meant to amuse, to depress, to argue—to create emotion, if possible—rather than a mere document, meant only to inform.  So, it isn’t artistically unfair as a whole, unless I market it as fiction.  

I am, in fact, going to market the story as fiction.  One reason for this is that I would like to cause less damage.  Less, not 'as little as possible'; for that, I would have to publish under a pseudonym.  I have considered this option, and rejected it.  Bad for my writing career.  Besides, my full name has that great, stentorian, 'Writer' thing going for it.  Daniel Thomas Boucher.  See?

Despite my guilt, and despite the fact that I may indeed hurt a sort-of family member with this piece of art, I’m plowing ahead.  The story’s almost complete, and I’m going to try really, really, hard to get it published. 

What, did you think I’d relive one of the worst traumas of my adulthood just for kicks?

Here’s the thing: people may find that the filthy muck of your regrets is quite interesting, if you know how to write about it (and I’m still not sure that I do).  It is a rare gift—and I mean “gift” in the strictest sense: egoless, unearned—to be able to view your own past objectively enough to pick out the bits that are interesting to the average reader.  Great emotional turmoil can make for exceptional art; examples of this are so abounding that I didn’t even have to refer to them just then, because you already agree with me.  However, simply relating every aspect of a specific turmoil you’ve suffered through is not art—it’s whining.  If you can capture misery in an interesting way, without whining about it, you have the potential to entertain millions.

However, I don’t believe the genesis of our fascination with other’s problems is simply that “misery loves company”, or that it feels good to know others have it worse than you—except maybe when it comes to the way misery is filleted, grilled, and served on a paper plate to daytime talk show audiences.  I actually think it has a lot more to do with the fact that our difficulties highlight our differences; sometimes, yes, we see the kinds of differences that keep us lobbing (actual, and figurative) missiles at each other; at other times, we may see the differences we like, the ones that make us uniquely, quirkily human.  We like to re-assure ourselves that we matter, that we have an effect on the world. One (good?) way to accomplish this is to outline the boundaries that keep us separated.

Don’t get me wrong.  I am not writing this pained, humorlessly dysfunctional family story as a favor to my readers—not that I have readers to do favors for.  I am not implying that my short fiction will change your perspective on humanity.  In fact, I am not even claiming that my artistic contribution in any way excuses me from launching a very emotional, and potentially very public assault on certain members of my family, including one who isn’t even around to defend himself.

I freely admit my guilt.  Je regrette rien!.  If my primary concern was not to hurt anyone, I would take the story in progress as a healthy bit of therapy, give it a tidy ending, and leave it on my flash drive to read over from time to time.  Unfortunately, when it comes to creating, whom I might be hurting is not my primary concern.  Without putting too much thought into it, I feel like it comes fifth or sixth, after word-craft, thematic cohesion, believability, voice, and marketability.  I guess it would depend on who I thought might get hurt.

I have no problems sleeping at night after making art like this, as long as I’ve been writing for the sake of writing, rather than for revenge, or justice, or…you get the drift.  The jury's still out on whether I'll have problems sleeping if my careless, hurtful words ever result in a paycheck.

Notice that I am not making off with a valid moral point like a thief in the night by claiming that art doesn’t really hurt anybody.  'Sticks and stones'?  That childhood rhyme pisses me off, when I think about it now.  Was it our parents that brainwashed us with that hooey?  Helooooo, Gen X?  Did our parents’ parents say that to them, too?  It’s total crap, people.  Words can totally be used as weapons, especially when you know your target’s weak spots.

If you know that Melinda is sensitive about her weight, and you start addressing her as “fat-ass”, you don’t get to claim that she’s responsible for feeling hurt by your insensitivity.  It’s true that a person can, with training, learn to “ignore” negative speech directed at them, but that doesn’t change the fact that you struck, with intent to harm.  This would be roughly analogous to shooting someone in the chest and then blaming them for dying because they didn’t know enough to wear a Kevlar vest when standing near you.  Still—there will always be those who claim that you’ve spilled blood, when you’ve done nothing more than share your thoughts.

I’m also not making the argument that the end justifies the means; the one universal attribute every fictional villain seems to share is that they believe that ends justify means.  People tend to think of that as ‘evil’, and I am no exception.  I’m not saying that it’s okay to hurt people, because "Hey, you didn't mean to, and at least you’ve created art".  Even the most seemingly innocuous thing can hurt someone if you do it enough; and even if artfulness won’t necessarily guarantee that you live well, it can at least help you to be more deliberte--more aware of what effect you have on others.

In any case, if I worried about who I might be hurting every time I wrote a story, I would never be able to write a story again.  The same goes for you, if you replace “write a story” with the appropriate verb and noun for whatever artistic outlet you pursue.   This was Dave Chappelle’s stated reason for retiring prematurely.  He thought his art was propagating racial stereotypes.  He was worried about hurting people.  His audience, as you probably know already, disagreed.

And that, I think, is why they call it 'art'.  'Entertainment' is something you engage in when there’s extra time, but art is the seemingly frivolous thing you make time for, no matter what’s going on.  Even, sometimes, if it has a chance of hurting someone (and it almost always does).  Even if you think the world is ending.  A dying civilization has more need for art than any other.  

A vibrant society needs art, too, for those of you who are still not on board with the whole 'decay' thing.

Because, of course: art is not frivolous, in and of itself (it can be, if that’s what you’re aiming for).  Creating art connects you to the people around you, sometimes in ways that you didn’t want, or weren’t expecting it to.  It teaches you who you are, and how you see the world.  If you think you already know how you see the world, and that I’m being presumptuous, or that I’m pretentious to suggest otherwise, all I can say is that I hope that you will spend some years of your life creating.  If you do, you may find that your impressions of the only world you’ve ever known are decidedly more byzantine, more vibrant, and more nuanced than you had thought.  You may find that single-minded dedication to creating something you intend to share with others will deepen your insight, give your experiences more relevance, make life taste different.

I can’t promise it’s a taste you’ll enjoy. 

I hope you’ll do it anyway.  Make something.  Add something refreshingly human to the world, instead of (just) waiting to be carried away by the cultural and political crap-tornado that everyone seems to be perpetually bracing themselves for.  

I, for one, will be better off for your efforts—even if they hurt.

B.O.A.T. list

Well, here it is, my list of the Best albums Of All Time.  I narrowed it down to 75. I've re-done the whole thing since my iPod decided not to let me listen to my music temporarily, and I had to reset it. And yes, I ended up with 75 again.

When picking these albums out, I decided on a definition of "best" that bows to the subjectiveness of that idea: I could add anything to the list that I either thought was one of the "the best" or simply "my favorite".  A few albums that were "my favorite" but not necessarily "the best" were left off of the list, mostly because 75 is a nice number.

Also, for those who remember the previous list, I've chosen to follow some more stringent rules for this one in the name of eclecticism, namely:
1. only one album per artist
2. one "disc" per multi-"disc" album, and
3. as before, "best of" and "live" compilations are allowed in lieu of studio albums.

I am looking forward to your shocked claims of exclusion.

In "iTunes alphabetical" order by artist:

Andrew Bird, “The Mysterious Production of Eggs”

Animal Collective, “Feels”

Apostle of Hustle, “National Anthem of Nowhere”

Arcade Fire, “Funeral”

The Beastie Boys, “Paul’s Boutique”

The Beatles, “Revolver”

Beck, “Mutations”

Bjork, “Post”

Black Flag, “Damaged”

Blur, “Blur”

Bob Dylan, “Blood on the Tracks”

Broken Social Scene, “Broken Social Scene”

Cat Stevens, “Tea For The Tillerman”

Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, “Clap Your Hands Say Yeah”

The Clash, “London Calling”

The Cure, “Staring At The Sea”

Daft Punk, “Homework”

David Bowie, “Ziggy Stardust”

The Decemberists, “Her Majesty The Decemberists”

Dirty Projectors, “Bitte Orca”

The Fiery Furnaces, “Gallowsbird’s Bark”

The Flaming Lips, “The Soft Bulletin”

Grizzly Bear, “Veckatimest”

Guided by Voices, “Human Amusements at Hourly Rates”

Iron & Wine, “Our Endless Numbered Days”

The Jam, “The Sound of The Jam”

Joy Division, “Closer”

LCD Soundsystem, “Sound of Silver”

Les Savy Fav, “Inches”

Lou Reed, “Transformer”

The Magnetic Fields, “69 Love Songs” (Disc 1)

Mclusky, “Mclusky Do Dallas”

Michael Jackson, “Thriller”

Modest Mouse, “The Lonesome Crowded West”

Neko Case, “Middle Cyclone”

Neutral Milk Hotel, “In The Aeroplane Over The Sea”

Nirvana, “In Utero”

Of Montreal, “Hissing Fauna, Are You The Destroyer?”

Operation Ivy, “Energy”

Os Mutantes, “Everything Is Possible”

Paul Simon, “Graceland”

Pavement, “Wowee Zowee”

Pink Floyd, “Dark Side of the Moon”

Pixies, “Doolittle”

Police, “Greatest Hits”

The Postal Service, “Give Up”

Public Enemy, “Fear of a Black Planet”

Pulp, “Different Class”

R.E.M., “Reckoning”

Radiohead, “In Rainbows”

Robyn Hitchcock, “Storefront Hitchcock”

Silver Jews, “American Water”

Sonic Youth, “Dirty”

Spoon, “Girls Can Tell”

Squeeze, “Singles, 45s, and Under”

Stereolab, “Emperor Tomato Ketchup”

Stevie Wonder, “Innervisions”

The Strokes, “Is This It?”

Sufjan Stevens, “Illinoise”

Talking Heads, “The Name of This Band is Talking Heads”

Ted Leo & The Pharmacists, “Hearts of Oak”

Television, “Marquee Moon”

Tom Waits, “Mule Variations”

Tune-Yards, “Bird-Brains”

U2, “Achtung Baby”

Vampire Weekend, “Vampire Weekend”

Van Morrison, “Astral Weeks”

Velvet Underground, “VU & Nico”

Violent Femmes, “Violent Femmes”

Weezer, “Pinkerton”

The White Stripes, “Elephant”

Wilco, “Summerteeth”

The Wrens, “The Meadowlands”

XTC, “Drums and Wires”

Yo La Tengo, “I Can Hear The Heart Beating As One”

As a special "bonus" for anyone caring enough to read this far, here is another list.  This is a playlist I made to demonstrate how Blur owes a huge artistic debt to XTC.  It's organized in pairs of songs which sound alike to me.  In each case, the Blur song comes first, the better to notice the similarities when you hear the antecedent.

1. Blur, Stereotypes, from "The Great Escape"
2. XTC, Respectable Street, from "Black Sea"
3. Blur, Pressure on Julian, from "Modern Life is Rubbish"
4. XTC, Making Plans For Nigel, from "Drums and Wires"
5. Blur, Jubilee, from "Parklife"
6. XTC, Battery Brides (Andy Paints Brian), from "Go 2"
7. Blur, Theme From Retro, from "Blur"
8. XTC, Life is Good in the Greenhouse, from "Go 2"
9. Blur, Tracy Jacks, from "Parklife"
10. XTC, Love At First Sight, from "Black Sea"
11. Blur, Chinese Bombs, from "Blur"
12. XTC, Cross Wires, from "White Music"

The list only has 12 items right now because  I am still working on it. As I hear new connections during casual iPod listening, I will add them.  Suggestions are welcome, lol.

Another Rat Eulogy.

R.I.P. Lawrence, 2008-2010. We hoped he would live forever, but it was not to be. Lars was our dearest (and longest-lived) ratty, and we are both really, really bummed out right now. Incidentally, at more than 2 years old, Lawrence was an old man--rats rarely ever make it to age 3.  Here are some pictures, plus a video full of ridiculous cuteness. It's worth watching to the end of the video to see what begging for banana looks like. Also, check out my previous rat eulogy here for my general sentiment about why rats are great pets, plus some more ridiculously cute pictures.

Venn Diagram #3

America, take a hint from Thailand and stop trying to grill your tofu.

Click on my diagram to go and vote on it at graphjam.com!

DRIFT's Premature Top Ten Albums of the Year.

Well, it's about that time of year when, due to a certain holiday and it's traditions and "music", I like to put on a metaphorical blindfold and pretend that none of it is happening. As far as I'm concerned, 2010 is already here, so I might as well share with you what I feel have been the best albums of 2009.

Sure, you could just wade through Pitchfork's top 5 gazillion albums of the millenium, and my ten would probably be floating around in there somewhere, but here at DRIFT, I skip over all of the albums that are merely pretty damn good just to share with you the ones I felt were exceptional.  SPOILER ALERT! The top 4 blew my mind.

As a qualifier, I selected these albums from the 70 or so I have listened to this year and enjoyed enough to keep on my increasingly cramped iPod.

If you live in Chicago, and we're friends, and you ask nicely, I might just burn a copy of some of these albums for you, if you're in need of said copies. So, one could almost think of this seemingly pointless and psychologically predictable list as "useful", in a sense, if one were so inclined.

#10:
St. Vincent, "Actor"

Annie Clark, late of The Polyphonic Spree (unfortunately) and Sufjan Stevens' touring band (impressively), released this mostly solo album in May. In June, she performed a stunning set for Austin City Limits, the producers of which chose to air her set in the same hour as the notoriously awe-inspiring comfort food music of Andrew Bird and his newly formed "band".  This is arguably the best hour of ACL ever aired--I would even put it above the Arcade Fire's barn-burner taping from last year. St. Vincent's music ranges from breathing fresh life into the oft-strained cliche of violin-weeping-through-electronic-fuzz indie rock ballad to the simultaneously beautiful and nerve-wracking anxiety of rhythm-driven songs like "Marrow".

#9:
Dan Deacon, "Bromst"

It would have been easier just to dismiss Dan Deacon as a sonic nutcase back in 2007, when several years of toil in the Baltimore electronic music scene birthed "Spiderman of the Rings", a cacophony of synthesized instrumentation, beeps, warbles, and an endless stream of seemingly misplaced triplets, with the occasional confusing and unintelligible vocal track thrown in for good measure.  Sure, it would've been easier just to call it a noisy, confusing mess and have done with it.  But then I would've missed out on the artful tapestry which Deacon manages to fabricate from that mess--swirling, vibrating compositions that more than hold up to repeated plays and reward the patient listener with a new musical lexicon. I also would've missed "Bromst", the album which somehow manages to do "Spiderman" one better.

#8:
Future of the Left, "Travels With Myself and Another"

"I've been here once or twice before with better hair, and let me tell you/ Only the good die young, except for when they don't, it's not exactly fair."  So ends the highly amusing quasi-existentialist track "Stand By Your Manatee" from the new-ish project of former McLusky frontman Andy "Falco" Falkous. Those familiar with the punk-ish stylings of the now defunct Welsh outfit will recognize humorous existentialism as Falco's stock-in-trade.  He delivers maniacal faux-egotism with an expertise that would make Rasputin proud. The music on "Travels" is a welcome departure from the moody and under-fleshed compositions of FOTL's debut offering, "Curses".  It's okay to sound more like McLusky, Falco--don't forget, everyone loved McLusky. And by "everyone", of course, I mean "critics", since the American public wasn't really paying attention. And on the billion-to-one chance you end up reading this, you scare the living shit out of me, and I apologize for saying bad things about "Curses". Please don't hurt me.

#7:
Various Artists, "Dark Was The Night"

The latest offering from the folks at Red Hot (of "No Alternative" fame) contains 2 discs worth of brooding, drawn-out art rock, as the title implies. Proceeds from the sale of every Red Hot album go directly to help fund AIDS research, outreach, and awareness campaigns.  If that isn't enough to convince you to buy the album, you should know that this is a compilation which contains: collaboratory songs by The Dirty Projectors & David Byrne, Feist & Ben Gibbard (NOT the "Mushaboom" remix), Feist & Grizzly Bear, Cat Power & The Dirty Delta Blues, and Andrew Bird & The Handsome Family. You will also find:  The darkest Sufjan Stevens song ever ("You Are The Blood"), a hip-hop remake of the darkest Sufjan Stevens song ever (Blood, pt. 2), an upbeat Arcade Fire song ("Lenin"), a Nick Drake cover by The Books & Jose Gonzalez ("Cello Song"), and a song by Kevin Drew titled "Love vs. Porn". If you're anything like me, you reflexively purchased this album halfway through that list.  Congrats to you, it's the best compilation of the year.

#6:
The Flaming Lips, "Embryonic"

Even if you are familiar with the freak-psychedelia of The Flaming Lips, you may find this album (and it's cover art) somewhat unsettling.  The Lips played a fairly predictable set at this year's Pitchfork Festival, cramming their Carnival Cruise Lines-meets-Cirque Du Soliel stage show into the measly 60 minutes afforded to each and every act at the 3-day event.  Add in Wayne Coyne's lengthy paeans to brotherly love, repeated chants of "C'mon, motherfuckers!", and the 10 minutes it took him to climb triumphantly out of a giant LCD vagina, and the most packed Pitchfork concert ever was treated to about 7 songs, plus a lot of giant balloons.  Everyone seemed happy about the giant balloons. What I noticed most, however, were the two new songs the Lips played from their as-yet unreleased album.  "Convinced Of The Hex" was rattling around in my brain for weeks before "Embryonic" was even leaked online--I could only rub my hands together in devilish anticipation of an album that might preserve the Lips musical maturtity while bringing back the edgy, frayed, electronic stylings from days of yore.  I was not disappointed, and if you're as big of a fan of "Transmissions From The Satellite Heart" as you are of "Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots", you won't be disappointed, either.

#5
Animal Collective, "Merriweather Post Pavillion"

If you move your eyes back and forth across that album cover, you will see an effect that is roughly analogous to what I imagine Animal Collective is trying to do to your ears with their music. They're not for everyone--indeed, it took the passage of months and repeated listens of earlier albums "Feels" and "Sung Tongs" for me to even get a hold of AC's sonic thread.  The melodies are disjointed, the rhythms spastic at the best of times.  Like Dan Deacon, patience rewards the agile listener--"Feels" is easily one of the best albums of the decade.  "Merriweather" is a bit of a departure from form for the psuedonymed Baltimore trio (the members call themselves Panda Bear, Geologist, and Avery Tare), merging more easily accessible, pop-ier melodies with their trademark hyper-layered instrumentation.  It's an addictive formula, resulting in the undeniably catchy, snap-your-fingers-along track "My Girls", the didgeridoo-laced "Lion In A Coma", and the dream-like, lush ballad "Also Frightened".  It would be remiss for me not to mention that 2 of my close musical familiars (Hi Nate and Justin!) who introduced me to AC in the first place have roundly rejected this album as being either "frustrating" or "too pop-y".  Eh, what do they know?

#4:
Tune-Yards, "Bird-Brains"

Regular readers of this blog will not be surprised to see this album in my list--indeed perhaps you are right now stunned that I have not made it #1, as I have been ranting about it for weeks.  What's more inspiring than New England native Merrill Garbus recording these songs on a hand-held digital recorder over the course of two years, playing all of the instruments (drums, ukelele, keyboards) herself, mixing them on an open-source computer program, and then self-releasing, promoting, and booking the album before finally being signed by London indie-impresarios 4AD?  Well, how about the fantastic songs? Garbus loops her incredible, yodle-capable voice over itself to comprise the backing tracks for many of the songs, loops in an african rhythym-heavy drum track, and then plays equatorial/tropical melodies on her uke while belting out wise, knowing poetry ("What if my own skin makes my skin crawl?") with the enthusiasm of a child (she pulls all of this off live, too--quite a spectacle). The ebullient/funky track "Hatari" is the best example of this, injecting Swahili proverbs into an appropriately African-tinged, dance-'round-the-fire invocation to the indomitable human spirit.  As an added bonus, Garbus allows her emotion to carry her to melodic shouting at the song's climax of "Did you listen? Did you listen?" resulting in a level of visceral pleasure which this fan has not experienced since the Arcade Fire's "Funeral" (2004), which, as we all know, is tattooed on my freakin' forearm.

#3:
Grizzy Bear, "Veckatimest" 

Ah, Williamsburg.  Brooklyn, NYC, U.S.A.  Home of the American hispter, the art school snob, overpriced fad cuisine, and, for better or for worse, the creators of 2 of my top 3 albums of the year.  The boys of Grizzly Bear had already turned heads with their 2006 release "Yellow House", an album of dark, sparse indie-folk, squeezed through a filter of crumbling studio apartments and an aloof, ecstasy and alcohol-soaked aesthetic.  The internet word-of-mouth and possibly manufactured hype produced in the run-up to "Veckatimest" had most of the scenster prognosticators (Pitchfork, i'm looking at you!) surmising that it would never live up to the promise.  Oh boy, did they ever eat some crow.  Not only did "Veckatimest" manage to best it's predecessor, it did so by chucking out every hipster pretense of what great music is supposed to sound like--that is, by being compositionally meticulous, polished in production, and widely accessible.  I defy you to listen to "Two Weeks" and not be singing the wordless "ah-ah" refrain for the rest of the week--it simply can't be done.  Anyone approaching me to say that they did it gets a smack in the kisser.  See if I'm kidding.

#2:
Neko Case, "Middle Cyclone"

Who hasn't fallen completely head over heels for Neko Case in the last year?  Idiots, that's who. Her musical prowess is frankly too accomplished for me to comment on, and besides, it's very well documented.  Her lyrics slay anyone who hears them ("The next time you say 'forever'/ I will punch you in your face/ Just because you don't believe it/ Doesn't mean I didn't mean it." [!]), possibly with the aid of the frightening sword which she appears to be wielding so skillfully in that photo. And if you become enamored of her music and have the good fortune to see her perform in a venue seating no more than 1000 fans, you will melt, you will swoon, you may have a medical emergency.  Seriously, be careful. The storied and accomplished musicians who have hitched their wagons to her star have made a wise choice, indeed, and if you deny that she is anything less than a musical genius and benevolent enchantress of the first order, I will be forced to bash you over the head repeatedly with a copy of this album, like the drooling Neko zombie I have become.

#1:
Dirty Projectors, "Bitte Orca"

And, to no one's surprise, we find ourselves once again contemplating Williamsburg, where Dave Lonsgtreth and the myriad variations of his band Dirty Projectors have been toiling in semi-obscurity (which is to say, indie-rock superstardom) across 7 years, 6 studio albums, 5 labels, and 17 band members, past and present (the current incarnation involves 5 people other than Longstreth).  Call him hard to work with, call him a clinical perfectionist, call him stuck on difficult, experimental compositions--just don't call him boring, or he'll blast you with 4 bars of 5/4, each bar crammed with as many notes as can possibly be fit into the time signature.  Still, there is artfulness and beauty to be wrung out of these meticulously arranged rock acrobatics, and on "Bitte Orca", Longstreth et. al. have greased the wheels for popular enjoyment in a way that they never have before, and probably never will again. From the opening strains of the uber-catchy "Cannibal Resource", through the R&B-tinged "Stillness Is The Move", to the muzak-synth closing chords of "Flourescent Half-Dome",  and during the jaw-dropping vocal accomplishments of the female duo pictured on the album cover who round out everything in between, you will be entranced, tickled, and finally, amazed.  That is, if you ever manage to get over the initial cognitive impulse of "what the hell am I listening to?" which, unfortunately, may be your first response to a majority of the albums on this list.

Overused terms in this essay: "indie" (x4), "compostion" (x4), "accessible" (x3), "[genre] stylings of" (x2), "experimental" (x1).

Predictable concepts presented: "breathing fresh life into", "sonic tapestry", "hip-hop remake", "Williamsburg hipster".


UPDATE: I am proud to say that only 4 of my top ten fell in line with Pitchfork's.  Really? Bat For Lashes? Really? Whatevs, P4K.