:: RedHotHalos ::

Third time's a charm, as what began as a quaint alt-country takes a gigantic leap forward, after already having taken a first gigantic leap; "teenage symphonies to God," and that's it; from the basement to the...basement, a lesson in indie rock 101; the most eclectic, satisfying 41 minutes featuring 25 songs that you'll ever hear; a sprawling, fuzzy-rock masterpiece whose imagery and emotional weight has not and will never be matched

5) Wilco- Summer Teeth

The Jeff Tweedy/Jay Bennett musical marriage was the best thing to happen to music since the dissolution of the Jeff Tweedy/Jay Farrar musical marriage. After hinting at greatness on Being There, here Tweedy's world-weary lyrics (and, more importantly, vocal delivery) and Bennett's sometimes-48-tracks-just-aren't-enough production combine for a superior pop album whose shimmery surface belies the downcast nature of many of the lyrics. And the lyrics might just be the star here. "The ashtray said / you were up all night," is one of the finer images I've heard in a rock song, while the entirety of album opener (and last minute add-on, as Reprise "needed a single") "Can't Stand It" encapsulates what makes this record great: did you ever think you've find yourself singing, no screaming, along to lyrics as depressing as "Your prayers. Will never. Be answered again!"? In rock-critic parlance, "Via Chicago," a brooding, acoustic-guitar-and-a-pack-of-Marlboros ballad, would be considered the record's centerpiece, while the track that follows it, "E.L.T." is its hit. Summer Teeth, a record so layered with guitars and strings and harmony vocals and brass that I'm still discovering new facets four years later, carries the emotional weight to make the production not seem overwrought. Amazingly, it's necessary, and it works wonderfully.

4) The Beach Boys - Pet Sounds

I know it's probably out of place, this being a list that's seen me completely ignore the Beatles and all. But what makes Pet Sounds stand above just about everything ever produced is the emotional sincerity that's present; (excluding "Sloop John B,") everything here makes the listener feel precisely what Brian Wilson is trying to communicate, whether that be a teen's desire for an adult relationship ("Wouldn't It Be Nice?") or that person's emotional and tangible anxiety when moving out on his own ("That's Not Me") or a person pondering his place in the world ("I Just Wasn't Made for These Times"). The praise lapped upon this record is overwhelming, but it's mostly correct. Brian Wilson has said that he and his brothers would pray for guidance before performing vocal takes; their prayers were answered, as the sweetness of the harmonies is what propels this record. It's so lush and so beautiful, and the fadeout that closes "Caroline No," the onrushing trains and the howls of Brian Wilson's dogs...it fits really well. Quite a record, that's all.

3) Guided by Voices - Bee Thousand

An album that takes your breath away. Not because of it's so touching (that comes in bursts) but because, at 20 tracks and 36 minutes, Bee Thousand bounces from topic to topic and tempo to tempo and from lead vocalist to lead vocalist and from pure sincerity to utter fantasy and when it's over, you stare at the clock, stunned, and think How could all of this have possibly fit into just over a half-hour? Here GbV simply play the hits: If "Echos Myron" fails to stick in your head, I fear you've sold your soul, and if the harmony and recorder that close "Goldheart Mountaintop Queen Directory" don't make you tremble, I'm sure of it. I recently read that the best art is made when nobody else is meant to hear it, when it's just a creator (and, in this case, his cronies) expressing for the sake of expression. And I know "Kicker of Elves" wasn't written for mass consumption, and I know that while "I Am a Scientist" may have, we all knew that was an illusion; left to his own devices, a middle-aged man with a four-track, a case of beer, free weekends and a penchant for the Beatles and the Who can produce a classic.

2) Guided by Voices - Alien Lanes

Alien Lanes takes everything that made Bee Thousand an outstanding album and, ever-so-slightly, does it one better. The pacing is even more frenetic, the song structures are even more eclectic and, quite simply, the appeal of Alien Lanes is nothing if not magnetic. I use a lot of superlatives when describing Robert Pollard and his band of miscreants, and I mean every one of them. The melodies are undeniable, and I think most people can appreciate them. But Pollard doesn't get enough credit for his lyrics, which contain, particularly on Alien Lanes, an elegance that goes underappreciated. Prime examples abound, from "Watch Me Jumpstart" (the closing lyric: "Film finished, fade into black") to "As We Go Up We Go Down" ("I can't socialize / I'll be institutionalized.") to "Motor Away" ("You can belittle every little voice that told you so") to "Blimps Go 90" ("Senator sipping on Gentleman Jack"). But for all the should-have-been-a-hits (see the above four, plus "Game of Pricks," "My Valuable Hunting Knife," etc., etc., ad nauseum), it's the snippets that make Alien Lanes such a trip. A 45-second head-scratcher like "Big Chief Chinese Restaurant" doesn't just work here, it shines.

1) Neutral Milk Hotel - In the Aeroplane Over the Sea

There's a part of me that doesn't want to write about this record. I just want to write "Buy it" and guarantee its greatness and reimburse you if you somehow don't find it satisfying. In the Aeroplane Over the Sea is perfect, and that's all there is to it. If I'm using a numeric rating system, and Aeroplane earns a ten, nothing else scores better than an eight. It's just that good. The imagery, the delivery, the intricate interplay of the backing instruments and, of course, Jeff Mangum's stories. They don't make sense and they don't have to, because you understand not what he's talking about but how he's feeling. And, for the most part, he's feeling loss or despair or pain. And yes, it's a record about some twisted love affair with Anne Frank, and, yes, it's a record about two-headed boys and semen-stained mountaintops, but it's really about none of those things. It's about a visionary delving into the depths of his soul and finding whatever is inside and, without pretense, screaming his brains out about what he's found. To single out a few songs would be counter-productive; Aeroplane isn't, as the liner notes would indicate, an 11-song record, it's a 40-minute epic poem. I think the best way to explain the effect this record can have on a listener is in the final verse of the album, as the manic instrumental backing is stripped back down to an acoustic guitar and Jeff Mangum's wail:

Two-headed boy / she is all you could need. / She will feed you tomatoes and radio wires, / and retire to sheets safe and clean. / But don't hate her / when she gets up to leave.

It's wild and, ultimately, sad. But despite this, I smile when it ends. I smile because I know that In the Aeroplane Over the Sea is the ultimate in artistic expression. It's the sound of a person, (again) without pretense, saying exactly what's on his mind, and saying it in a way that's never been said before. And it's beautiful.

 

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