2013: The Year in (Music) Review

The top 12 albums of 2013, according to me. (Sorry. Couldn't stop at 10.)

12. Joanna Gruesome, "Weird Sister." While their name is a riff on the very different Joanna Newsom, their music has nothing to do with her, and though the name's jokey, the music's not.  What I love about them is the way they seamlessly alternate between super catchy melody lines sung in ear-pleasing octaves and cacophonous guitar shredfests. Favorite tracks include "Sugarcrush" and "Secret Surprise."

11. Vampire Weekend,  "Modern Vampires of the City." Hooky (without being trite) melodies, clever lyrics and thoughtful instrumentation makes this album instantly accessible yet something you'll keep with you for the long haul. Favorite tracks are "Step" and "Ya Hey."

10. Run The Jewels, "Run The Jewels." This is Killer Mike and El-P, putting their heads (and rap styles) together to great effect. The rhyme schemes are ambitious, their individual voices are powerful and memorable, but the thing that really makes it are the backing tracks by El-P. In a year full of solid hip-hop releases—notably Danny Brown and Pusha T—this one still manages to stand alone. Favorite track: "Sea Legs."

9. Fuck Buttons, "Slow Focus." This duo out of Bristol, England creates instrumental, electronic music that burns slowly but hotly. Repeated phrases with gradually building layers make for a meditative experience, though that's not to say it's relaxing by any means. I personally like to listen to this album while running, because you can really lose yourself in it. Favorite track: "The Red Wing."

8.  Savages, "Silence Yourself." This band's instrumental tightness is apparent from the get-go—they lock in on the opening track of this album and never relent. Singer Jehnny Beth, in contrast, sounds like her massive vibrato could easily throw her off the rails at any moment. Favorite track: "She Will."

7. Janelle Monae, "The Electric Lady." To me, this album has the cohesiveness, the emotional power, the range and the next-level funkiness of Stevie Wonder's "Innervisions." What it has that "Innervisions" doesn't is an over-arching conceptual hook—this album is the third in her "Metropolis" series in which she plays the role of fugitive android Cindi Mayweather. Favorite tracks are "Giving Em What They Love" and "Dance Apocalyptic."

6. M.I.A., "Matangi." A guilty pleasure, I realize. This album was way delayed because of label concerns over its overt positivity (which, I guess, feels "off-brand" for M.I.A.), but the final result felt no less bad-assy. Favorite tracks are "Bad Girls" (which was released well in advance of the album) and "Bring the Noise."

5. My Bloody Valentine, "mbv." After a lengthy (22-year!) hiatus, My Bloody Valentine pulled a Beyoncé (or, rather, Beyoncé pulled a them) by (a) releasing a surprise album, (b) limiting where you can find it (their website, yes, but iTunes and Spotify, no), and (c) charging an unheard-of-in-2013 price of $16 for it. It's every penny and more: gorgeous, expansive and wonderfully fuzzed-out. Favorite track: "only tomorrow."

4. Radiator Hospital, "Something Wild." Man, this guy's voice. It's exciting to hear a male-fronted band with a singer (Sam Cook-Parrott) who's actually concerned with the business of singing well. The songs on "Something Wild" range from power pop to pared-down ballad. In Sam's words, "I spend a lot of my time trying to escape. Into comics, records, movies. New worlds full of magic and wonder. The record is a tribute to those worlds. Favorite track: "Our Song."

3. Mutual Benefit, "Love's Crushing Diamond." Just plain lovely. While mostly centered around the efforts of songwriter/lead singer Jordan Lee, it's also about who else he brings to the table. The string section. Back-up singers. Guitarists. Hand drums. Random wind chimes. It feels very DIY, but in the best possible way. And refreshingly enough, it's so dang hopeful, in an authentic way. Favorite track: "Advanced Falconry."

2. Swearin', "Surfing Strange." After their first LP, I thought I had Swearin's number. Turns out, they had much more up their sleeves, including another singer. They alluded to some propensity for down-tempo, moodier stuff on their first album, but here, they embrace it. Doesn't mean there aren't rockers, though. Favorite tracks are "Dust In The Gold Sack" and "Echo Locate."

1. Speedy Ortiz, "Major Arcana." This album hits on all levels. Musically, it's amazingly not-straightforward—its guitar work surprises at every turn. Lyrically, it's full of just the right specifics, and in this department, it's certainly all killer/no filler. Vocally, it's got massive range—Sadie Dupuis can sound shaky and vulnerable or belty and self-assured. And overall, it's got the confidence of a much more well-established band. My favorite track is "No Below"—an ode for troubled middle-schoolers if there ever was one. As a Pavement fan, I've always enjoyed that band's more earnest numbers—sure, the clever stuff's dynamite, but in the rare instance when Malkmus' tongue wasn't so firmly planted in his cheek, he created some truly poignant stuff. And now Speedy Ortiz—who, incidentally, are also Pavement obsessed—bring the best of that tradition of 90s slacker rock to bear in the 2010s. And aren't we lucky that they do.

Thanks for reading and listening along in 2013.
*Cat

Church, sin, deals with the devil.

New favorite band alert: Hop Along is from Philly. Their sound is, jeez, indie-folk-rock-ish? (Like everything else I tend to love.) But listen, guys: this woman's voice. It is unreal. It shouldn't exist. It is definitely made-up by some magician somewhere, because there's no reverb bolstering it and no auto-tune in sight. And it also has a massively-unhealthy-sounding growl in it that seems unsustainable, vocally speaking. Which means: listen to her now. I really don't know how long her deal with the no-vocal-chord-nodes devil will last, but I'm not taking any chances.



Before you get annoyed by the spelling of "Chvrches," think of the internet search annoyance caused by searching for a band spelled "Churches." Now that that's out of the way, Chvrches is a trio from Glasgow that boasts a hugely 80s-derivative vibe and a lead singer with an effortless soprano school-girl sound, singing lyrics that are nowhere near juvenile. Hers is a hard sound to pull off live, and yet, clips from their late-night talk show rounds show that she's up to the task. And there are synths—not as part of a larger band, but exclusively, which makes this an album 80s babies will relate to on almost a cellular level, without even knowing why.

So Beyoncé basically just owned the world last week. She released a surprise album last Thursday, and even though the Billboard Top 200 tallies sales from Monday to Sunday, she topped that shiz easily by selling in excess of 600,000 copies in THREE DAYS. Disclaimer: it's way explicit. So if you're not into that, move along, but realize that in doing so you're missing an album that's epic in the for-real definition of the word. And honestly, seeing her go as far as she does is kind of awesome. Why shouldn't she be allowed to own that? What's not getting as much press: how impressive her lower vocal range is, and how vulnerable some of the lyrics are. It's massively hyped, for a reason. Just listen.

Run the Jewels is Killer Mike plus El P, two great hip hop artists in their own right. Bring them together and you unlock a next-level flow, as they themselves acknowledge on the first (and title) track: "Oh shit, what the hell have we done? /It's alive and it's hungry as fuck/Better hide all the snacks and the dough/It is out of my control, you are shit out of luck." And this pretty much sets the tone: you've got some standard-issue MC braggery, but because it's Killer Mike and El P, it's smart as hell and the rhyme schemes are intense. And thanks for El P, the beats bang and the bass booms.

Screaming, whispering, heavy breathing.

You may remember Death Grips from this video, which admittedly, is kind of funny. I mean, why is he in a car? What-goes-what-goes-what-goes-what-goes-what-goes-what-goes-what? These guys are like no one else, and their latest effort, "Government Plates," continues the mayhem with a higher level of production quality.  There are drum machines, way-distorted basslines, breaking glass, laser-beam-like synths, with some screaming mixed in. There are also f-bombs aplenty. It's jarring and unsettling, and that's the point. (And PS, it's a free download, available through the Third Worlds label.)

If you read my last post, you heard all about the awesome fury of Titus Andronicus. Discovering those dudes led me down a rabbit hole, which led directly to Andrew Cedermark, their former guitarist. His brand of lo-fi confessional indie rock is a whole lot more mellow than Titus Andronicus but equally emotionally charged. On "Heaps of Trash," one of my favorite tracks from this album, his songwriting takes surprising turns, at times sounding a little like southern rock and, at others, like something much more pared-down and quiet, all the while moving through unexpected chord progressions and somehow making it all make sense.

"Feast of Love" from Pity Sex is a fantastic album that is, in most ways, kind of a bummer. The vocals, which switch off between male and female (Brennan Greaves and Bitty Drake) are way down in the mix, competing with fuzzed-out guitars and 90s-cliche drum fills. The lyrics, when you can make them out, tell of love made and lost, and get their point across in a surprisingly succinct yet visceral way. It's a little like listening to the retelling of a one-night-stand, from meet-up to hook-up to walk of shame.

Slacker rock, contrary to its name, is hard to pull off, because sounding effortless actually takes effort. (I know. Weird.) The artists that have succeeded in this arena—Beck and Pavement, most notably—are not, how you say, frontin'. They legitimately  have actual chops. And likewise, Parquet Courts might sound kind of lo-fi and de-tuned, and their lyrics might be kind of silly, but behind the silliness is smarts and a strong pop sensibility. One of the highlights here, "Stoned and Starving," feels almost like we have Velvet Underground back in our mist, putting you in a very particular places and state of mind the way Lou could always do.

Nihilistic, harmonic, apocalyptic.

The new Swearin' album is out. (Insert bleepity bleepin' joke here.) "Surfing Strange" is less speed, more shoe-gaze splendor than their last album. Plus, they've added a new voice for a grand total of three vocalists (what are they, Fleetwood Mac?). Bassist Keith Spencer takes the mic for the first time, with admittedly mixed results. ("Glare of the Sun": awesome. "Melanoma": meh.) Swearin' seems to be garnering some criticism for taking their sound in a more down-tempo direction. To me, it seems like solid growth and evolution for a band who was great to begin with.

We must discuss Janelle Monae. First, she's originally from Kansas City, Kansas. (Affectionately known as KCK out in these parts.) Secondly, her trademark suits are an homage to the uniforms worn by the blue-collar family members who raised her. Third, girl can DANCE. This probably shouldn't come into play on a music blog, but having just seen her live, I feel the need to mention it. And we haven't even discussed her droid obsession. Lastly, have you heard her sing? Because hot damn! (In retrospect, this really should be firstly.) This here is a living legend—on par with Prince (a personal champion of hers) and Stevie Wonder ("Electric Lady" is very reminiscent of "Inner Visions" in its range and its downright funkiness). If you miss her, you will regret it.

"OK, I think by now we've established/ that everything is inherently worthless/ then there's nothing in the universe/ with any kind of objective purpose..." So begins "Local Business" from Jersey-based Titus Andronicus, an album of raw emotion with lyrics that are intensely confessional and, at times, hard to hear. Lead singer Patrick Stickles suffers from an eating disorder, a theme he candidly discusses here. As shades of Joe Strummer fade into nods to Black Flag, you'll get the sense that you're listening to a band who, while lyrically confessing to not believing in anything, is obviously of a mind that music can change the world. At least on a local level.

Dale Earnhardt Jr Jr has a name that might make you want to throw something, either because it looks like a typo or because, you know...hipsters. And perhaps you've avoided them up till now solely based upon the "double jr." (I did, until I received a recommendation.) But people: please listen to "The Speed of Things." It's a bit Beach-Boys-ish in its sweet Hubba-Bubba-esque melodies, while the synths remind me of the Postal Service. Yet the whole arrangement, while incredibly accessible, is also pretty complex upon closer inspection. And the harmonies are something I think even crazy old Brian Wilson would smile about.

DIY, dissonance, danger.

As of this week, "B-Room" by Dr. Dog sits atop the CMJ top 20. CMJ stands for College Music Journal, and this is important to mention because "B-Room" sounds like it could have been the college soundtrack of any of the past four decades. Reminiscent of Bob Dylan and Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, it's an album that at times feels like listening to a series of cross-stitch sentiments. "Follow the distant light." "The truth don't stop." "A long way down means a long way up." "You can laugh about it if you just let go." You can clearly picture your college-aged self saying, "Yeah, man, so TRUE, dude!" between sips of cheap beer. Or, maybe you'll do that nowadays. I'm not here to judge.

November 5th has been burned in my brain for a while now because it was the scheduled release date for "Matangi," the latest from M.I.A. After her last album, which was a bit more experimental and industrial than her previous releases, it was hard to know what to expect. "Matangi," as it turns out, has the most pop sensibility of any of her albums—the songs are relentlessly hook-y, hyper-sexy and crazy danceable, but in a distinctly M.I.A. way, utilizing samples and synths and infusing it all with Middle Eastern musical influence. It's pure adrenaline, and let's be honest, listening to it might make you feel like a bit of a bad-ass yourself.

Have you ever listened to music so dissonant that after a while it starts to sound melodic relative only to itself? It's something you might experience while listening to an avant garde piece like Alvin Lucier's "I Am Sitting In a Room" (where words distort and degrade over time until they change into notes). While it requires a lot of the listener, it rewards the listener, too, because the listener ultimately finds him or herself in the work. New-York-based Yvette, a two-piece industrial band, produces such music. Their debut, "Process," is aggressive instrumentally—making order out of the chaos of effects and synthesizers with the help of steady, insistent drumming—while remaining cold and indifferent vocally. It's a juxtaposition that works well for them.

Black Milk (real name: Curtis Cross) is the embodiment of DIY, having started out in his Detroit basement with a cheap drum machine and a karaoke system. Perhaps this ability to make due with limited resources is what makes the samples and beats on "No Poison No Paradise" so ingenious. It's a semi-autobiographical concept album, dealing with growing up in Detroit in the 80s and 90s. Tracks like "Sunday's Best" have the imagery (both lyrically and aurally) to put you front row center for that moment in time. Hearkening back to 90s era rap acts like Tribe Called Quest and De La Soul, this is hip hop that's catchy without sacrificing the message.

Headbanging, warbling, meaning it.

There's always that guy, the one who doesn't say much, but when he does, the room stops and records scratch and all ceases in order to hear what's being said. Matt Kivel is probably that guy to his friends. His quiet, beautiful brand of singer/acoustic-guitarness sucks you in and demands that you listen...at which point, you notice the wicked-depressing and sometimes graphic lyrics. Many of these allude to death, and while he certainly comes off as a bit Elliott-Smith-ish in the final analysis, let's hope he chooses to live and to keep making pretty music. His voice, unlike Mr. Smith or really most singer-songwriters, seems equally at home in a high tenor (almost counter-tenor) range as well as a baritone range. That in itself is worth a listen.

Oozing Wound had me at their name. Then, they had me at their gloriously creepy cover art. And, upon listening, they just straight-up have me. It's thrash metal that's, in their words, "by and for people with a desire to slay." And the riffage is undeniable. As someone who's listened to metal somewhat sporadically over the years, my general beef with the stuff I didn't like was that it didn't rock hard enough, plain and simple. And when something did rock hard enough, the subconscious headbanging that ensued confirmed it. Oozing Wound's debut "Retrash" is such an album, as my head and neck region will attest.

My first encounter with Nine Inch Nails was likely similar to that of most other fans: I fell in love with the loudness, the violence, the despair. Lyrics like "I'm the one without a soul/I'm the one with this big fucking hole" made me say, "Yeah, that totally describes me!" (It didn't, remotely.) And then, admittedly, I didn't keep up with Trent and Nine Inch Nails as well as I could have, and the next thing I know, "The Hand That Feeds You" is coming out of my radio and I'm all, "What HAPPENED to you, Trent? When did you stop singing like you mean it?" But with his latest, "Hesitation Marks," there's some of the Nine Inch Nails we fans loved: his amazingly tidy production value, and how much better his voice sounds when he doesn't try so hard. And there's something new: nuance and maturity. And best of all, it sounds like he means it.

Haley Fohr is the imposing alto behind Circuit des Yeux. And, at a young age and in a vastly different decade, she's managed to channel some of the greats of 20th Century avant garde music, bringing to mind Diamanda Galas and, instrumentally, the repetitive minimalism of Phillip Glass. But her take is much more informed by a succinct singer/songwriter's approach. Still, these pieces aren't movements in a performance art piece, they aren't art songs, but to call them merely songs doesn't seem like enough. The emotional intensity brings them to another level—it can be a lot to handle, but you'll be glad you took the time. This is unlike most music you're likely to hear today.

Epic, excessive, yucky.

I can't decide: does "Love's Crushing Diamond" by Mutual Benefit sound like entering the gates of heaven? Or does it sound like falling in love? Maybe rapture is the word I'm looking for. With a string section that calls to mind the romanticism of Nick Drake and the ingenuity of Andrew Bird, a vocalist with the fragility of Mark Linkous (Sparklehorse), plus lush back-up harmonies, an out-of-tune piano, a banjo (which becomes a charming rhythmic element) and wind chimes (wind chimes, for goodness sakes), it's almost like friends playing around a campfire, if those friends were all Berklee College of Music graduates. And it's about the most unabashedly joyous music I've heard in a long time.

"If you fly, do it to death." That lyric could be a message about rising above, or one that promotes excess, at a cost. Give the rest of the content of the latest Pusha T album, "My Name Is My Name," it's easy to see it either way. As the label head and producer, Kanye's influence is evident (think "All of the Lights"), but the snarling intensity is all King Push. There are many guest spots on here (Rick Ross, Kendrick Lamar), but all add dimension without overshadowing the main event. What I especially love: the simplicity of the beats and samples on "Numbers on the Boards" and "Suicide." Feels kind of old school, and it sets off Pusha T's voice perfectly.

Funny, they don't sound like they should be named Yuck. What they do sound like: the soundtrack to a Sunday morning that turns into a Sunday afternoon wherein you're maybe still wearing pajamas and it's cool, y'all, just go with it. Their latest "Glow and Behold" does seem to glow, from the glimmering guitars to the reverbed wavering baritone of Max Bloom to the horn section. It should be noted, though, that the last track contains a nearly-exact rip-off of the ending of the Beatles' "Dear Prudence." So close that I'm thinking it must be an homage. That aside: it's lovely, dreamy, a bit 80s, pop in the best possible sense, and miles away from yuck.

Kelela is an R&B singer who brings with her an arsenal of talented producers on her debut "Cut 4 Me." This is not your mom's R&B: it draws inspiration from more recent acts like Little Dragon, layering Kelela's voice on itself and complementing it with crystal-clear futuristic synths. Part of the beauty of this mixtape is the artificiality of the instrumental and the un-autotuned, au-natural-ness of Kelela's voice. In past interviews, Kelela has mentioned how, as a child of Ethiopian immigrants, she often felt like an "other" in America, even though she herself was born and raised here. It's no wonder she's created a sound all her own, and what a sound it is.

 

"Forever Becoming" by instrumental rock (metal?) outfit Pelican is dramatic and cinematic, using textures to great effect. You'll still get your recommended dose of wicked precise guitar work and impressively fast drumming, but not at the expense of gorgeous, expansive melodies, heightened by the perfect counterpoint among the guitars and bass. No lyrics here, either, so the instruments do all the work. And they more than get it done, in a less-than-straightforward way. Unlike the overall orchestral effect of someone like Godspeed You! Black Emperor, these guys are writing songs with distinct melodies. It's just that those melodies are being played, not sung.

F-bombs, riot grrls, slam dunks.

I am just the messenger here, and as such I need to tell you about a band with the name Fuck Buttons. (I'm sorry, OK? But this is urgent! You need to know!) *Ahem.* Fuck Buttons are an experimental electronic outfit from Bristol, England, and they kind of sound like the future. Not, like, future rock music, just The Future. Like maybe the music our future robot overlords will use to get pumped up for things—not like jogging or anything, because they won't jog (doy, they're robots), but maybe the robot equivalent of jogging? Back to the Fuck Buttons (I said sorry): their latest "Slow Focus" came out over the summer, in all its synth-y, bleepy, sample-y wonder. Many of the tracks slowly expand into a gnarl of sound, where the separate parts are hard to distinguish anymore but are all essential. In the end, it's music that redefines what majestic can be. (Look out, John Williams.)

And since we've already dropped the bomb, Fucked Up (apologies) is a band that put out an amazing album two years ago, and yet I'm going to talk about it now because dang it, it's new to me, and it might be new to you. "David Comes to Life" is pretty darn long at more than 80 minutes of music, but that run time seems warranted to me because (a) it's a rock opera and operas take time, and (b) it's triumphant and weird and worth your eighty minutes. A bit about the band: they're a hardcore punk group that likes to mess with convention—hence a hardcore punk band doing a rock opera, and one that's melodic at that. What I especially love: the growl of their lead singer, Pink Eyes (and his name, duh); the high drama of the lyrics ("All we need is for something to give, the dam bursts open, we suddenly live..."); and the fact that a good 80% of the songs are in the key of E (who does that?) and yet they sound like fully-formed, distinctive ideas (how does one do that?).

It comes and goes in about twenty minutes, but while it lasts, "sorry" by White Lung has both fury and chops. This is ass-kicking music in a minor-effing-key, owing much to the relentless, rapid-fire drumming of Anne-Marie Vassiliou and to Mish Way's voice, which easily alternates between punk rock yell and tough girl purr. But the thing that makes it is Kenneth William's guitar work—it's manic and unexpected, and it'll compel you to back up and re-listen while you think, "How the heck'd he do that?" (And, at only twenty minutes total, it's easy to do). They're from Vancouver (Canada again FTW) and though they have two LPs and three 7-inch's under their belts, they feel like they're just getting started. I sure hope there's a lot more to come.

Recently, I had the great joy of seeing Built To Spill perform at the Bottleneck in Lawrence, KS, and Slam Dunk was one of the openers. While their sound is pretty consistent across their set (in a totally good way, to be clear—they have their sound well figured out), their songwriting is entertainingly multi-faceted: at times, their melodies and chord progressions that sound akin to something that would've made kids in the 50's scream and shout (see track two, "Dying Breed" and the sax, man, the SAX). Wait five minutes, and it's the Clash coming through. Five more, and it's Frank Black. Bolstering all of it is energy—a lot of it—and yelling, and unison sing-along-style choruses, and a good sense of humor. It's a bit unhinged, in the best possible way.

Savages, droids, emperors.

Savages. The description that comes to mind doesn't make sense, but here goes: they're a super tight band, and yet there's space—every individual instrument stands out.  So they're together, but separate. Clear as mud, I know. OK, think U2, specifically War-era U2—reverbed and spacious, but each instrument pulling its weight equally, and all of them locked in to each other perfectly. It's haunting and atmospheric but without sacrificing musicality. And over it all, this monster of a voice that can be best described as PJ Harvey meets Siouxie Sioux meets Geddy Lee. Really. Listen to "She Will" and tell me you're not hooked.

Throw your fist in the damn air, man, because Japandroids demand it. It's one thing to successfully pull off garage rock with only a guitarist and a drummer. It's another to pull off arena rock. Not saying these guys could play Giant Stadium or anything, but from the comfort of your headphones, you'll find that these dudes stir up those anthemic music emotions that make you want to run up the steps of the Philly Art Museum. (Incidentally, they're from Vancouver. I've lost count of how many great bands I've listened to recently that are from Canada. Take home message: if you're in a band, be from Canada.)

Godspeed You! Black Emperor makes spooky orchestral rock that builds on loops, layers and effects. Their "Allelujah! Don't Bend! Ascend!" has four tracks—two of them 20-minuters. But those four tracks are an intense, experimental journey. Track 1 doesn't change chords for a whole six minutes and forty-five seconds. Who does that? And yet you feel pulled along, as a willing participant, because wow, those guitars, and geez, that drama.  (Wanna guess where they're from? Seriously, dudes. Canada. Move there.)

Local plug: OK, y'all, Cowboy Indian Bear is a band from the beautiful metropolis known as Lawrence, Kansas. And yes, they're local, so perhaps some bias is coming into play. But they're honest-to-goodness good, not just relative to Lawrence. (Which would still be pretty good, because our music scene is kind of a big deal. I don't know if you've heard.) Their second full-length album, "Live Old, Die Young," has so much delightful about it. It's indie rock that's alternately intimate and other-worldly, all while being consistently beautiful. Favorite track: "I Want a Stranger's Heart." (Though it's really hard to pick just one.)

Sex, swearing, ukeleles.

I'm obsessed with Swearin'. (The band, not actual cussing.) They're a post-punk band with a dual singer thing going on—one male (Kyle Gilbride) who's part J Mascis and part Doug Martsch, and one female (Allison Crutchfield) who's got a Sleater-Kinney timbre to her voice.  It's grungey and scuzzy punk, but with a sweet, succinct pop sensibility. Their new album "Surfing Strange" comes out on November 5th and I can't wait. Favorite track on their eponymous album from last year: "Kenosha." I love their lyrics, too. They get right to the heart of 20-something uncertainty and second-guessiness.

If you're looking for good, clean, family-friendly rap, Danny Brown is not for you. If you are faint of heart, also skip this, because fainting. But if you're looking for rap that reveals the character of a city (Detroit, in this case), that gives you a glimpse into a lifestyle that's (most likely) completely foreign to your existence, and that's at times lewd and comedic but at others completely complex, give Mr. Brown a try. He's changed things up between his last album, "XXX" (more sex, more humor) and the just-released "Old"(more social commentary, still pretty dang dirty), but both are great for different reasons. His off-air antics are pretty scandalous, so if that matters to you, move along.

Eddie Vedder is someone I'd completely lost track of—I heard tell of the wonderful soundtrack work he'd done, but not of his amazing album of ukelele music. Then recently, my friend Carolina sent me this and I had to look up this song to see if there were other versions, and voila: Eddie and Cat Power? Seriously, Universe? What'd I do to deserve that? But even beyond that, the rest of the album showcases Eddie's voice (we're on a first name basis, see) in a way that Pearl Jam rarely does. Not like it's possible to bury this guy in the mix, but it's nice to hear him so clearly. His voice is more nuanced that I ever realized.

The first thing that got me about Metz were the drums. Those drums, man. They're BOOMING. Next thing that got me: all the note-bending guitars. It's noisy, y'all, but these guys have a way of making atonality and angularity sound pretty catchy. Many of their songs top out at two minutes and change, and though they get categorized as post-punk, saying that they're only post-punk doesn't give them enough credit. I'd be interested to see them perform live, both because I love the music but also to see how they pull off their carefully-produced sound (like those aforementioned drums) in a live setting.

Northampton, MA is a lovely, artsy town that has produced a lovely art rock band named Speedy Ortiz. Sadie Dupuis, the lead singer/guitarist, was once in a Pavement cover band, and it shows, the way each song on their latest album, "Major Arcana," meanders without conforming to any one-four-five progression or any sixteen-bar-anything. Sadie's voice has a vulnerability that makes it sound almost like it's about to break, yet she can stand out when things get loud, too. And the track "No Below" will hit you in right the gut if you had a difficult adolescence. (Did anyone not?)

Why I must.

As a kid, it always frustrated me that despite listening to music for many of my waking hours—on the home turntable, on the radio in the car, on my Walkman on the long bus ride home—there were still bands of whom I'd never heard. In the 80s and 90s, of course, this was understandable. There wasn't always good radio reception or a free ride to the record store to satisfy one's need for new music.

But nowadays, there's no damn excuse. And yet I still find myself frustrated by having so much great music pass me by. So lately, I started listening to what some might deem to be an excessive amount of music, instead of watching late-night TV or, you know, going to bed. And while I listen, I scramble around the web for ideas on the next thing I should listen to, reading a whole lot of reviews and trying to decipher the hype from the stuff that's actually good.

I need to hear all the music. It's a compulsion. But on the plus side, I figure it's one of the least bad ones I could have.

There's no defined genre or chronology here. I listen to both new music and to the stuff I've missed. And at some point, I thought, "Maybe I should keep track of all this somewheres." Hence, this. My hope is that you, esteemed visitor, will come here for ideas on what to listen to, and that in writing this, I might hear all the music, or some reasonable approximation.

Some disclaimers: I'm not a professional music critic. I unabashedly love the 90s. I use made-up words. I don't listen to country, unless it's old country. You might (quite often) hear me talk about a band like they're new, when they're in fact not new. Some music recommended might not be suitable for kids or for those who don't like cussin'. And: I don't know what I'm doing and don't have a plan for where this will go. Sorry in advance.

But! If I ever make my way through all the music, I'll let you know how that feels. I'm betting on awesome.