Boy that big list threw me off my schedule. Focusing on the last decade really prevented me from listening to anything new (or at least listening to it properly). I missed my first Quarterly Report and I’m two months late on the second one, so here’s a deluxe edition, which covers everything up until the end of June. Now it’s time for a big breath and getting back to regular, non-list writing.
As good as I believe the albums on my Top 100 list are there’s really no such thing as a “perfect” album. There’s always at least a moment that just doesn’t seem “right.” In the case of these 10 tracks, there are complete songs that set the album back. Suffice to say, had these songs not sullied their respective albums, the albums would have placed a bit higher on my list. No one is safe.
A special shout out to all pointless intro tracks. You make me mad and you rarely serve a purpose. Go away.
Finishing your album on a strong note is an oft-overlooked skill, especially in an age where albums seem to be increasingly front-loaded to appease shortened attention spans. It would almost seem that the back half of even some of the greatest albums are meant for filler and the last song is usually meant for forgettable tracks or painful extended jams that needlessly extend an album’s running length.
These 10 tracks, however, are different. They emphasize the concept of an album as a united whole, something to be viewed as a single entity. The provide the lingering resonance that makes an album truly something to cherish. You could say that these songs are the last of a dying breed.
We’re not done just yet! A lot of what made some of the albums from my Top 100 so effective for me was their ability to suck me in almost immediately. A good start can do wonders for an album and occasionally even provide more goodwill than an album actually deserves. A strong opening track can really provide some smoke and mirrors for lesser albums. Fortunately, none the albums on my list are lesser releases, thereby making these opening tracks all that much more powerful. This is truly the best of the best.
*Note: I could probably do a list of 25 great opening tracks from my Top 100 list, but that may be diluting things a bit too much. I wanted to, however, point out that unnecessary intro tracks prevented some truly wonderful songs from making the list. So apologies to “Shakey Dog,” “Cashout” and especially “Nutmeg.”
Two more supplementary lists to follow.
10. The Hold Steady Boys And Girls In America (2006)
As great as The Hold Steady Almost Killed Me and Separation Sunday were (and they were great – Separation Sunday landed in at No. 101 on this list), the Hold Steady could occasionally be accused of putting the story ahead of the song. Singer Craig Finn’s stories are so fascinating and quotable that it seemed at times that the songs weren’t required to be at the same level. However, when you’re doing the whole barstool scribe schtick, it’s probably best if you project to the cheap seats. That’s what the Hold Steady do on Boys And Girls In America, their apex and one of the most thrilling straight up rock records ever. Instead of furthering the narratives of popular Finn characters like Holly and Charlemagne, the Hold Steady let the story slack, focusing more on a short story approach that allows the group to explore new territory lyrically and even musically. You still get fascinating stories in songs like the John Berryman and Jack Kerouac referencing “Stuck Between Stations” or the dry out duet “Chillout Tent,” but those songs are bolstered by some of the biggest and most infectious classic rock swipes around, courtesy guitarist Tad Kubler and moustachioed pianist Franz Nicolay. These songs are as quotable and smartly hilarious as anything Finn has ever penned, but never before and never since have the songs themselves been so absolutely stacked with goodies. You could probably write a book about Finn’s lyrics, but chances are with Boys And Girls In America, you’ll be too busy playing air guitar.
“Southtown Girls”
20. Raekwon Only Built For Cuban Linx…Pt II (2009)
“Fuck saving hip hop, we’re bringing the streets back,” says Jadakiss on “Broken Safety.” In spite of all the immensely quotable lines on this highly anticipated sequel, this would have to be the most telling. Miles from hip hop’s mainstream and totally sonically removed from anyone with a fighting chance to crossover lies Only Built For Cuban Linx…Pt II, an album that many didn’t think would exist and many feared would tarnish its predecessor’s name. Raekwon clearly has no intention of playing ball with the big boys (unlike his Wu-Tang partner-in-crime Ghostface’s solo albums, there is nary an attempt at crossover success to be found here), instead he is just doing what he does better than anyone else has ever done: crafting gritty, gripping crime narratives and shining a harsh light on the dope game. Listening to OB4CL2 would be the sonic equivalent of watching the entire series of The Wire if Ghostface didn’t refute that on “Mean Streets.” OB4CL2 captures every detailed facet of the game, from the devastating (“Cold Outside”) to the hilarious (Ghostface’s nasty sexcapades on “Gihad,” the “You want some of these donuts?” from “Penitentiary”). Raekwon is totally on top of his game, but the guest spots more than step up as well. Wu affiliates Masta Killa, Cappadonna, GZA, RZA and especially Inspectah Deck all spit amazingly hard rhymes all over the album, but it’s Method Man and Ghostface who steal the show. Method Man’s performances are so powerful that it’s easy to overestimate his presence on the album (he only appears twice, but the two appearances stand as the album’s best moments), while Ghostface, ying to Rae’s yang, sounds more amped and unstoppable than ever. At 22 tracks, it’s not surprising that the album gets a bit long (those Dre tracks must have been so expensive Rae couldn’t afford not to use them), but OB4CL2 proves that there is still plenty of life left in the Wu-Tang world. Hip hop may never be saved, but the streets haven’t sounded this riveting since…well, Cuban Linx I, I guess.
“New Wu”
30. The Constantines The Constantines (2001)
At one point in The Constantines’ spirited self-titled debut, singer Bryan Webb summons the spirit of Rod Stewart, relaying the chorus of “Young Turks.” Hearing the refrain causes a bit of a jolt, but when filtered through Guelph, ON’s finest, it takes a weight that Stewart’s admittedly pretty great song doesn’t. I’m not saying the Constantines are better than Stewart, but when soundtracking the pitfalls of youth, no one sounds as impassioned and wisened as Webb. His gruff, throaty croon recalls the likes of Bruce Springsteen, Leatherface’s Frankie Stubbs or even a solo Robbie Robertson, except Webb’s voice exudes more soul and his band hits with the fierce and calculated precision of a military-trained punk band. While the band’s chunky, stomping post-punk sets the tone, Webb’s voice gives everything more weight – adding a gruff, defiant, blue-collar exterior to a worn down and nearly tender interior. On bigger tracks like the clap-along “Some Party” and the swinging “No Ecstasy” Webb and his bandmates create an apocalyptic rage and some of the most dynamic punk rock this side of a Mackaye-Piccioto split, but it’s on the slow-burning “Hyacinth Blues” (“O-V-E-R-D-O-S-E”) and the wonderfully wistful, all-for-one, one-for-all anthem “Little Instruments” that the band, and Webb inparticular, truly shine. These songs show a band that has the tricks of the trade to make quality rock, but can also make waves in stirring hearts. The Constantines play a style of music that I’m admittedly already biased towards, but on this debut they prove they can find universal truth and emotional resonance in their edgy anthems.
“Hyacinth Blues”
40. Wilco Yankee Hotel Foxtrot (2002)
We all know the story behind Yankee Hotel Foxtrot: the interband strife (mainly between the late Jay Bennett and the rest of the band), the label ignorance and, finally, the ascension of the underdog (and double pay day!). It’s a wonderful story, but it’s a little too perfect. At times it seems that the YHF fable is more intelligent marketing than anything. With YHF, Wilco’s reputation jumped from “really good alt-country band featuring the other guy from Uncle Tupelo” to “the greatest American band of the 21st century.” The hyperbole was excessive and the urge to backlash is understandable, but dammit, YHF really is a terrific album. Sure, it’s reputation as a difficult album is overstated (“Reservations” is schmaltzy pap and “I’m The Man That Loves,” for as much as I love it, is just a really straightforward pop song with some skronky Crazy Horse guitar shoehorned in for effect) and the legitimately difficult moments can go overboard (the final third of “I Am Trying To Break Your Heart” is not a lot of fun to listen to), but YHF still remains the best album by a truly great band. YHF is a fairly fascinating snapshot of post-9/11 America, which is deeply ironic considering the album had been completed well before the World Trade Centre attacks. But since the album didn’t see the light of day until 2002, it’s hard to hear cryptic songs like “I Am Trying To Break Your Heart, ”“War On War,” “Ashes Of American Flags” and “Jesus, Etc.” in any other context. But maybe that’s the way it was meant to be. Thanks to all the headaches leading up to this album’s delayed release, the album grew into something meaningful and Wilco became the band of their generation.
“Poor Places”
50. The Evens Get Evens (2006)
Let’s just face it, Fugazi aren’t getting back together. It sucks, I know, but the sooner we can accept that sad fact, the sooner we can open up to The Evens, Ian Mackaye’s pared down post-Fugazi venture along with Warmers’ drummer Amy Farina. Fugazi were always revered for their economic approach to music and performance, but The Evens make Fugazi look positively indulgent. With Mackaye on baritone guitar (essentially a two-in-one for bass and guitar) and Farina on drums, The Evens created a model for where the overhead couldn’t possibly be any lower for a hard-rocking band. Sure, there are few sonic sacrifices that come with a more intimate and economic model - Farina’s drumming is skittery where Brendan Canty’s was bold and pronounced and Mackaye’s guitar and voice don’t roar like they once did - but The Evens are no less powerful. In fact, Get Evens may be Mackaye’s most seething record since he was X-ing his wrists. Get Evens is fiercely politically and pointed, far more overtly than anything Fugazi did. True, songs like “Everybody Knows” and “Dinner With The President” are as subtle as a brick to the face (they might as well be titled “George W. Bush Is A Big, Stinky Turd, Parts I and II”), but they’re effective and it’s a ton of fun to sing “You’re fiiiiiiiiiirrrred!” followed by “Let the door hit you on the ass.” The quieter model also allows for some tremendous harmonies between the two (especially on the moody “All You Find You Keep”) and some winsomely tender moments for the normally bulldoggish Mackaye (“Cache Is Empty”). So yes, it’s not Fugazi – nothing is. But even a reserved Mackaye is not a neutered Mackaye. The Evens are more than a consolation prize. Farina and Mackaye make an enchanting pair. As Farina puts it at the onset of the album: “It’s just electricity.”
“Cache Is Empty”
60. Godspeed You Black Emperor! Lift Your Skinny Fists Like Antennas To Heaven (2000)
No one knows how to work a crescendo like Montreal’s Godspeed You Black Emperor! The band’s screeching strings, bubbling drums and winding guitars build and build past a point you would have thought even possible. Sure, at some point, after more than one Godspeed album, you start to get the idea, but taken in a singular setting, their isn’t much that manages to be as transcendental (the build to the 16-minute mark of “Static” is insane). Lift Your Skinny Fists, a double album comprised of four songs with no track titles, is their finest work. It also might be the high point of post-rock. Pairing raging dissonance with moments of hushed grandeur, chilling drones and heart-wrenching (“Sleep”) and discombobulating (“Storm”) spoken word samples, GSYBE! created an album that is huge, terrifying and emotionally wrenching. Plowing through these two discs in one setting could result in your demise. The notoriously media-unfriendly collective would fragment into smaller factions soon after the release of this, their magnum opus, thereby slightly diminishing their prominence in the soon-to-be-huge Montreal music scene. Without this multi-member, chamber rock collective, the Arcade Fire probably wouldn’t exist. Listening to Lift Your Skinny Fists, you can hear the dramatic sensibility that remained in that scene, although the Arcade Fire would condense these stretched out compositions into bite-size chunks and add a distinctly emo element to it. But even without its influence, even though post-rock had no room to go after GSYBE! charred the landscape, Lift Your Skinny Fists remains one of the most emotional and emotionally draining experiences ever put to tape. And notice how I didn’t use the word “Apocalyptic” even once?