Fresh Cherries from Yakima

so, that time of year is upon us once again: the month where hip-hop heads send me hateful e-mails, telling me i should stick to indie-rock/pop/folk and that i don’t know anything about the genre because lil’ wayne’s never high enough on my lists; the month where fans of fresh cherries from yakima chastise me about waiting ANOTHER year to release my album [“it would be on my year-end list, IF YOU ACTUALLY RELEASED IT THIS YEAR!”– stop whining and put it on your list for 2008]; the month where yuletide joy and whatnot is drowned out by the sound of a bunch of fucking geeks arguing over the best records of the year. well, here’s my submission to the argument: douglas martin’s top twenty favorite records of 2007.

twenty: bloc party- a weekend in the city.
i know, i know; how the mighty have fallen. i bet some of you are still wondering how a record i proclaimed to be the first great record of 2007 even made my top twenty at all. well, it’s because despite the missteps and lulling moments, bloc party’s supposed “sophomore slump” has more interesting musical ideas in its first half than a lot of artists can muster up over their entire careers. and the lyrics may sound a little overreaching and histrionic at times, but what twenty-something DOESN’T think they’re the center of the universe? although i miss the cryptic lyrics of their debut, i thought kele did a great job at making realistic character studies this time around.

nineteen: liars- liars.

eighteen: black lips- good bad not evil.

seventeen: celebration- the modern tribe.

sixteen: feist- the reminder.

fifteen: the cave singers- invitation songs.

fourteen: castanets- in the vines.
the feel-good hit of the year [i kid].

thirteen: arcade fire- neon bible.

twelve: rio en medio- the bride of dynamite.
with not much more than an ethereal voice, a baritone ukulele, and some electronic flourishes, danielle stech homsy created the sonic equivalent of a sublimely weird, yet totally comforting dream, and the most original debut record of the year.

eleven: el-p- i’ll sleep when you’re dead.
another day in the office for mr. producto: bitterly acrimonious and unfailingly literary lyrics; cacophonous, dark beats; a mixture of innovative and timeless song concepts; el-p has released what is inarguably the most disjointed, jarring, and unsettling rap album since… well… his solo debut, 2002’s fantastic damage.

ten: bill callahan- woke on a whaleheart.
when callahan, one of the pillars in what i refer to as “the holy trinity of indie-rock lyricists” [a trio which also includes david berman and, naturally, john darnielle] dropped the legendary smog alias, fans [present company included] didn’t know what to expect, and it’s safe to say that he confounded all of our expectations by delivering an album full of classic country, gospel, and even stax-era funk. the fact that he did this all without sacrificing his near-superhuman lyrical talent suggests that, twenty-some-odd years into his career, his best work may still be AHEAD of him.

nine: sunset rubdown- random spirit lover.
“thaddeus says the crowd’s too young, and amber says she hates guitars.“ “all a diamond is, is risky timing.“ “do you close your eyes while you’re dancing the same way you close your eyes in your lover’s clutches?“ “she said, ‘my sails are flapping in the wind,‘ i said, ‘can i use that in a song?’“ although not as immediate and ultimately satisfying as sunset rubdown’s breakthrough, shut up i am dreaming, spencer krug’s third solo-ish album still has enough great songs and quote-worthy lyrics to be better than most of the albums released in 2007. where there is a will, there is a way; so, way to go, spencer.

eight: kanye west- graduation.
just when you thought hip-hop’s biggest star wouldn’t be able to make a third-straight great hip-hop record [something that, other than outkast, noone in mainstream hip-hop has ever done], he does so by doing the one thing rappers don’t do: he pandered to the music nerds. by mixing obvious samples [micheal jackson, elton john] with hipster-dance favorites [daft punk, as if you didn’t know], quasi-ironic yacht rock [steely dan, really?] and record-collector curveballs [can, laura nyro], throwing his usual highbrow-meets-lowbrow wit on top of each track, and keeping it lean at thirteen songs [damn near EP length, as far as hip-hop releases go], kanye not only outdid every other album to top the billboard charts this year, he outdid himself.

seven: phosphorescent- pride.
this record is so good, it leaves me speechless. if you hadn’t noticed, “speechless” is something i don’t do often.

six: royce the 5’9”- the bar exam mixtape.
helmed by the legendary DJ premier [hands down, the best hip-hop producer in history], nickel nine stomps all over a mixture of original, classic and modern beats, thus stomping all over hip-hop in the process. with his laser-sharp-focused wordplay, carter-like wit [both shawn and wayne], and unbelievable swagger for a man who got of jail shortly before the release of this mixtape, royce silenced all the doubters who thought he peaked with his classic death is certain [yes, present company included]. with the talent that royce possesses, he could easily put hip-hop on his back and steal the “best rapper alive” accolades from the previously-mentioned jay-z and lil wayne.

five: sleeping states- there the open spaces.
in the modern age of irony, sarcasm, and cynicism, it’s refreshing that such an earnest album could sneak under the radar and become one of the best releases of the year. markland starkie combines heart-on-sleeve lyrics that eschew emo whining with guitar parts that seem like they were arranged for a string quartet, and throws a little white noise, field recordings, and masturbatory guitar noodling on top for good measure. and he does this without the high quality sound of a professional studio, which puts a tally mark in the win column for all of us lo-fi diehards.

four: panda bear- person pitch.
for someone who can only stomach animal collective in small, bite-sized chunks, imagine my surprise when one of its members puts out one of the most refreshing and immediate pop records of the year. imagine my even deeper surprise when i realized that this album was my favorite album of 2007 for more than half of the entire year. in another instance of earnest lyrics over experimental sounds, noah lennox combines both to make a record so enjoyable and– dare i say it– life-affirming, that it’s hard to ignore it’s greatness. as an added superlative of this album’s reach: my mom liked person pitch so much, that she had me burn a copy of the album for her. something tells me if i told lennox that my mom loves his album, he’ll take it as one of the biggest compliments he’s ever gotten.

three: the twilight sad- fourteen autumns and fifteen winters.
ah, the forgotten genre of shoegaze. all the hazy guitars and bits of white noise, it’s no wonder the genre didn’t really stand a chance to make a dent in the charts. however, it’s also the genre that has aged the best since its inception and imminent dissolution. case in point: a quartet of scottish guys take their effects pedals and mash out a bunch of noise, scream about painful childhood memories [combined with an array of unsettling surreal images: “a knife in your chest,“ “the kids are on fire in the bedroom;“ somebody put james graham on suicide watch, please] with a childlike level of histrionics, ultimately coming out with the best rock record of the year, and a promising foundation upon which to build the rest of their career.

two: tiny vipers- hands across the void.
certain records, like springsteen’s nebraska, work so well because they take a certain mood and run all the way through with it. although the stellar debut solo record from seattle native jesy fortino does have its bright spots [“shipwreck,” “on this side”], hands across the void stands out because of its lingering despair. heartbreaking, heartbroken, and resigned lyrics sit very well with the sparse instrumentation throughout the seven songs on the album. along with subtle variations [the not-really-subtle blaring noise at the end of “forest on fire,” the hammered low-E string during the beginning of “swastika”], the songs often suit fortino’s oft-talked-about voice [which is, in my opinion, a hybrid of joanna newsom and jesse sykes], which convey sadness in a way that hasn’t really been shown since chan marshall started bumming out indie kids all over the world. sometimes, you need that one album that comforts you on those sleepless nights; not necessarily one that tells you that everything’s going to be okay, but one that seems to understand why you’re not getting any sleep. it’s been a while since a female voice has struck such a nerve with me, so now you understand why i wrote her a love letter earlier in the year.

one: beirut- the flying club cup.
after the balkan/gypsy novelty of beirut’s debut album, gulag orkestar, wore off, most of us saw the record for what it is: a promising, talented songwriter puts out a decent record with four or five good songs. so, what happened? zach condon went to france, fell in love with its culture and music, hooked up with owen pallett, and made a great record. from start to finish, the flying club cup has all of the highs, lows, and overall drama of a great pop record. instead of racing off the starting line with trumpets blazing, condon utilizes the dynamics of songwriting, and comes up with a collection of songs that takes a promising songwriter and justifies all of the hype that he received when he released his debut. if you would have told me that someone younger than me would create the best record of the year, i would have been furiously envious. i still am.

This entry was posted on Saturday, December 1st, 2007 at 12:00 am and is filed under lists. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.