PT Bruiser

1. Middle Brother by Middle Brother

My big brother Jim (the middle sibling in our family) started telling me (the middle brother) about this album much earlier this year—February or March. He seemed so taken with the album that I knew I had to give it a listen, but I waited until it was available for cheap on Amazon MP3 (it’s only $5 there right now).

I first listened to it on a tour bus driving around the Scottish highlands, and I enjoyed it, but was not instantly sold. The songs are variously sung by Deer Tick’s John J. McCauley, Dawes’s Taylor Goldsmith, and Delta Spirit’s Matt Vasquez. Sometimes their voices are grating or harsh: not like Josh Garrels or Fleet Foxes. They don’t amaze you at first listen, and I don’t know about you, but lyrics often don’t sink in with me the first time I play an album.

But I kept listening, and one day I realized that “Million Dollar Bill” was one of the most poignant and sad songs I’d ever heard. Then I noticed that “Blue Eyes” was rockin’, fun, and touching in a startling, rough-around-the-edges kind of way. Then I started to sympathize with the drunken, screw-up son narrating “Mom and Dad.” Then the resentful passive-aggression of “Blood and Guts” resonated with me. Then the bitter, resigned devastation of “Theater.” Then the accusatory gloom of “Thanks for Nothing.”

As you’ve probably gathered, it’s not the most cheerful album. The narrators of the songs tend to alcoholism, helpless misery, and loneliness that seems deserved and yet sympathetic. But the folkiness and alt-country rock sounds are so good and fitting and the stories are so compelling that listening to Middle Brother is not an exercise in depression. I’ve enjoyed this album when things with women were good, bad, and neutral—it’s just an exceptional piece of art.

I’ve probably listened to this album on every road trip I’ve taken this year—in between home, college, summer camp, and elsewhere. It’s good all the way through, with the jams and dirges neatly interspersed to keep things from ever getting too glum. I’ve heard that Middle Brother may not release an album, due to tensions amongst the original bands that lent their frontmen to form this super group. That’s a cryin’ shame—maybe if enough of us buy this album, they’ll keep releasing to support their growing fan base.

And if not, at least it will take a great long time yet for me to wear out this album. 

2. Love & War & The Sea In Between by Josh Garrels

What if Homer had been a Christian and had written The Odyssey as the Pilgrim’s Progress of classical antiquity? What if the story had been sung by a golden-throated tenor with beautiful harmonies and acoustic brilliance?

If you had told me back in January that Christianity Today’s album of the year would make it on my top ten list, I would’ve been skeptical. Definitely wouldn’t have guessed it would take the #2 spot—not in a year with Okkervil River, The Mountain Goats, Iron & Wine, and The Decemberists releasing. But what a boring year it would’ve been in music without a few surprises, and Josh Garrels was just that for me.

Before we go any farther, you should know: this album is still available free as a “year of jubilee” giveaway—you could be listening to it even as you read this review. My brother David introduced me to Josh Garrels, but it wasn’t until I heard about the free album that I actually gave him a try. I was won over quickly and completely one weekend in early October, immediately proselytizing all my friends (the free album was a major selling point).

See, Love & War & The Sea In Between, as I alluded to earlier, is the life of Ulysses as an allegory of our quest to return home to Jesus. Josh Garrels sings the tunes with a rich and gentle voice that would make you kill yourself out of jealously if you weren’t enjoying the sound so much. And the melodies and instrumentation underlying it all are world-class—the album is acoustic, but expansively so. It has hopeful organ chords and a grim and jaw-set rap song and joyous mandolins.

There are songs that you can sing from the depths—like “Ulysses,” a desperate search for hope amidst tribulation. There are songs so happy that you can almost see the new heaven descending to join the new earth at the end of all things—like “Beyond the Blue,” a celebration of the topsy-turvy ways of Christ’s kingdom. And there’s “Farther Along,” which promises the backwards-working magic of heaven that will make sense of every seeming tragedy in our world. I’d be hard-pressed to name a song more hopeful, or a song that has comforted me more in hard times (I guess “Never Quite Free” and “Vito’s Ordination Song” could contend for the title).

How can I get you to listen to this album if you haven’t yet? It’s free free free, it’s good good good, and it’s true true true. Don’t miss it.

3. Bon Iver by Bon Iver

I could not have been introduced to this album under more favorable circumstances. I was parked in the woods on the east edge of camp, chatting with a pretty girl who served as my Sacagawea in the new world Justin Vernon made. Between the banjo, saxophone, and electric guitar of “Minnesota, WI” and the 80s synth piano of “Beth/Rest,” it felt like uncharted territory for the Bon Iver that I mostly associated with sparse acoustic sorrows (For Emma, Forever Ago) and the occasional minimalist experiment (Blood Bank). I loved it—it was all I wanted to listen to.

Now, as I stop and think about it, I can’t tell you any lyrics from this album—not a single phrase or chorus is coming to mind, and that’s not from lack of listening. I’m sure the words matter, I’m sure they mean something, and I’m willing to believe that one could get as emotionally invested in them as in For Emma, Forever Ago. But on Bon Iver, the sounds of the words—the phonemes themselves—become part of the music. Whatever words Justin Vernon is mumbling aren’t random, but there is so much aural delight to be had that it takes a long while for the content of the lyrics to become any sort of concern.

I said of Helplessness Blues that it was one of a couple albums this year that I could listen to start to finish without the thought of skipping a song even crossing my mind. Bon Iver is the other. There’s no bitterness in the aftertaste, foretaste, or any taste in between—it’s smooth all the way down.

4. Helplessness Blues by Fleet Foxes

I forget about this album sometimes. It’s not often that I think, “Hmmm, I’m in a mood for Helplessness Blues” (although occasionally I’m in the mood for “Helplessness Blues,” the song), but when I start playing it, I’m immediately glad that I did. Of all the albums this year, there are only a couple that I can listen to start to finish without once getting the urge to skip a song. This is a rich, rich soundscape and it this product of both musical talent and classical training—the harmonies and intricate instrumentation prove that.

Once or twice I’ve even forgotten that I saw Fleet Foxes play just about every song on this album and Fleet Foxes at a live show. I had a lot on my mind that night, but when I stop and remember I realize just how magnificent that concert was. Until the show, I never realized just how much Fleet Foxes put the “rock” in “folk rock”—the Cain’s Ballroom floor undulated with all the stomping and dancing of the audience’s feet as Robin Pecknold somehow merged his voice into a simultaneous roar and croon.

I wish I could pick out songs for you and praise their particular merits, but I barely can, and that’s a testimony to how little mining of this album’s precious minerals I’ve actually done. Of course “Helplessness Blues” is fantastic, being a little piece of our Zeitgeist with its disillusionment with individualism and self-determination, with the American Dream itself, perhaps. And I’ve yet to meet a person who doesn’t love that line, “Gold hair in the sunlight, my light in the dawn / If I had an orchard, I’d work till I’m sore / Someday I’ll be like the man on the screen.”

I also find it easy to get the musings of “Blue Spotted Tail” stuck in my head: “Why in the night sky are the lights hung? / Why is the earth moving round the sun, / Floating in the vacuum with no purpose, not a one? / Why in the night sky are the lights hung?” Maybe it’s a lullaby melody, but those lyrics won’t let you go to sleep easily.

I shouldn’t forget about this album—I won’t do it again. It’s the kind of work that you should spend time with. I doubt there’s a song on it that would disappoint you if you seriously delved into it; that’s no small accomplishment in the Age of the Single.

5. The People’s Key by Bright Eyes

I really didn’t think we would ever see another Bright Eyes record. I figured between the solo album, the Mystic Valley Band, and Monsters of Folk, Conor had moved on for good. Instead, on February 15th (his birthday) we got another Bright Eyes release and another re-interpretation of the Bright Eyes sound, which has gone from lo-fi emo rock (Fevers and Mirrors) to folkier Americana sounds (Lifted; I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning) to still dismal-sounding electronic (Digital Ash in a Digital Urn). The People’s Key marshals the musical heritage of previous Bright Eyes releases while bringing in synths and subtle reggae influences to produce something new and distinctive altogether.

This album flows. While the songs don’t all sound the same, they belong together, explore the same thematic content (fun fact: Hitler is mentioned in no less than three songs), and deserve to be played next to each other. Sure, I play favorites—the synth jamming on “Shell Games” warms the cockles of my heart, and back in June  ”A Machine Spiritual (In the People’s Key)” got stuck in my head for a very memorable few days in New York and Israel. But even though there are exceptional tracks, I’m just has happy to put the album on while doing the dishes and let my ears soak in it.

One thing that makes this an exceptional Bright Eyes album for me—silly though it may seem—is the random talking by what sounds like a conspiracy theorist mystic/motivational speaker at the beginning and end of various songs. Having a spoken intro is the norm for Bright Eyes, but most of the time it’s annoying and I just skip forward to the song. But the avuncular warmth and paranoia of this cat, who kindly explains the descriptions of aliens in Genesis and on Sumerian tablets, is touching in some way, and it gels perfectly with the music. I especially love the concluding remarks to the last song about how “the transcendent is to love” and “We say, ‘Look, I’m not gonna go kick that guy’s ass, that happened ten years ago. I wish him all the best in the world.’ That’s love, or compassion, or uh…what do you call it? (Audience member: Mercy) Mercy.”

I’ve listened to this album plenty this year and I don’t regret it one bit. It’s been good to me, especially in my Scotland days. But if I were to re-rank in a year, it would probably drop a few spots. It’s a 2011 album for me, I think, not a timeless one.

6. All Eternals Deck by the Mountain Goats

Let me brag real quick for a second. According to my last.fm account, I’ve listened to Mountain Goats songs about 3,000 times on my computer and iPod. If last.fm could’ve counted the spins on my copy of The Sunset Tree in my car over senior year of high school, we’d be talking even more plays. I’m in love with this band and with John Darnielle’s twitter feed, and I sort of unconsciously style my musical sound after tMG.

But you’re here for an album review, not a fanboy’s life story. All Eternals Deck is a fine piece of craftsmanship. It’s got fantastic musical variety: the blisteringly angry rock ‘n roll of “Estate Sale Sign”; the fast-paced, bass-driven anthem that is “Prowl Great Cain” (my number one running song of 2011); even a barbershop quartet undergirding the ominous Lovecraftianism of “High Hawk Season.” There are some tracks that are really pretty magnificent, and that rightly belonged on my Top 25 list when I think about it. “For Charles Bronson” made the cut, sure, but why not “Damn These Vampires?” It’s a magical blend of vampire story, Western, hopelessness, and rage, with a lovely melody to boot! I owe a debt of gratitude to “Never Quite Free” for being my go-to antidepressant about every night before I went to bed in March 2011.

And JD didn’t mail it on lyrics, either. Most powerful are the glimpses into intriguing stories of protagonists desperately clawing for hope (“Damn These Vampires,” “For Charles Bronson”). In some ways, I feel like listening to All Eternals Deck is like being a witness to the raft of the Medusa mixed with just a glimmer of Odyssean survivalism. There’s a horror story theme that hovers over All Eternals Deck and gives the album chilling cohesion. I just wish that that cohesion were more like The Sunset Tree (2005) or Tallahassee (2002), which both tell one overarching story. The various songs on All Eternals Deck are bound together only by their feel, not by their content.

7. Nothing Is Wrong by Dawes

Before I started writing this review, I didn’t know much about Dawes other than that I like their album and that one of their members—Taylor Goldsmith—is in Middle Brother. So I read their Wikipedia page and learned that they used to be a punk-rock band called Simon Dawes, that they were jamming with Conor Oberst before they even released an album, and that there’s a pair of brothers in the band (gotta love brother bands).

But here’s what you really need to know: Taylor Goldsmith is a devastating lyricist. I’m not saying every song on this album is sad (although let’s be real: that’s pretty much the case), but even the happy images he paints are just so emotionally rich as to be intoxicating. Take, for instance, “A Little Bit of Everything” (no really, take it—free download here), my #4 track of the year. There are three verses, three stories: an attempted suicide off the Golden Gate Bridge, a lonely old man eating at a buffet, and a conversation about love between a fiancé and his stressed-out bride-to-be. That third verse describes marriage, giving yourself to someone, in all its tiny joys and struggles:

It’s a little bit of everything: the way you choke, the way you ache. It is getting up before you so I can watch you as you wake. So on that day in late September it’s not some stupid little ring; I’m getting a little bit of everything.

That’s not unhappy or fanciful or optimistic or pessimistic: it’s a view of marriage rooted in the idea that love is an action, not a feeling. There’s hurt and heartfelt tenderness and every tiny nuance that adds up to a real-life love story.

But that’s just one verse off one song. There’s also “Million Dollar Bill,” which might be one of the saddest songs I know. There’s the dogged independence of “Coming Back to a Man” and the “sadder but wiser” determination of “The Way You Laugh.” I don’t know how bad Taylor Goldsmith’s break-ups have been, but he’s milked them dry for songwriting eloquence.

Oh, and I haven’t even said anything about the music! It’s much folkier than I’d expect from a Los Angeles band, but I’m not complaining. This is a tight album with a good variety of sounds on it. The music has been slower to grab me than I Am Very Far or Kiss Each Other Clean, but it lacks no grace as a handmaiden to the lyrics, which are truly superb.

I’m excited to keep listening to Nothing Is Wrong. I feel like I’m just now starting to appreciate it and if I were writing this list six months from now, it could easily jump even higher in the rankings.

8. I Am Very Far by Okkervil River

And the theme continues of bands that I historically love releasing albums that are good, but a little disappointing.

I’ll be honest, my standards for Okkervil River are unreasonably high. I still tend to think that Black Sheep Boy (2005) is one of the finest albums recorded by human beings so far in history. I breezed through their five albums in a series of whirlwind romances from fall 2007 to fall 2008, ending up helplessly in love with each of their subtle charms like some great-hearted polygynists with five wives on his arm. It’s entirely credible that I Am Very Far, if it had wooed me as a swooning high school junior, could take its rightful place in esteem beside the other albums. Never underestimate the power of those bleary-eyed drives to school in the morning and the coffee-fueled returns from work after dark: emotional effervescence and too-loud music spilling out the windows rolled unseasonably down.

How do you compete with that? I Am Very Far has a few tricks up its sleeve: the infectious driving rhythm is one. From the dark opening beats of “The Valley” to the soaring choruses of “Rider” to the ivory-pounding intro of “White Shadow Waltz” to the hollering fury of “Wake and Be Fine,” I Am Very Far is percussively eloquent—it would make a great live show. The music is as strong as ever, so I love putting it on when I’m going for a long drive, but the compelling storytelling that Okkervil usually delivers is somewhat lacking on this album. But I hold out hope that the more I listen, the more the themes will become clear to me and work their way into my melting heart.

I do easily get the words to “Your Past Life as a Blast” stuck in my head. “No one, no one is going to stop me from loving my brother—not even my brother.” I’m a nostalgic soul, and this song hits folks like me right in the sentimentalist gut.

9. Kiss Each Other Clean by Iron & Wine

I saw Iron & Wine on the tour for Kiss Each Other Clean—not when they came to the University of Central Arkansas (though I heard it was a great show), but when they passed through Edinburgh back in March. Typically, seeing a band’s live show usually gives them a “bump” in my year-end rankings: I saw concerts for The Age of Adz and The Hazards of Love, my number one albums of 2010 and 2009. So it’s a bit surprising that Iron & Wine—one of my favorite bands since Katie gave me Our Endless Numbered Days for Christmas in 2004—didn’t manage to climb past spot #9 given how much I enjoyed their show.

Here’s the problem: I love the hot jazzy turn that Sam Beam has taken with this new album, but hearing him play his old songs in the new style made me appreciate how much I love The Shepherd’s Dog (2007) even more than it made me appreciate how fresh the new Iron & Wine sound is. Kiss Each Other Clean is not a step back, but I think it’s much stronger musically than it is lyrically, and I fell in love with Sam Beam the lyricist first and foremost.

That said, this is a strong album. It has a much fuller sound than The Creek Drank the Cradle (2002), Our Endless Numbered Days (2004), and Around the Well (2009). The stories are still compelling—see “Tree by the River” and “Me and Lazarus.” I’m especially a sucker for the expansive closing track, “Your Fake Name Is Good Enough For Me.” Don’t let the low ranking fool you: much like The King Is Dead, this album may have been a mild disappointment, but that in no way means that it is not a great album.

10. Pickin’ Up The Pieces by Fitz and the Tantrums

I initially purchased this album on a whim, but my suspicions that I would like its soulful stylings were confirmed quickly, and Pickin’ Up The Pieces got heavy rotation from early October on.

I’ll admit that I don’t love every track. “Dear Mr. President” departs from the band’s typical emphasis on love and break-up for a little crusade against economic inequality, and in my mind it doesn’t quite work. The catchy refrain of “L.O.V.” that “Love is a feeling” seems quite wrongheaded to me, but of course, Fitz and the Tantrums’ relationship advice is probably incompatible with my worldview for a number of reasons.

They still deliver a fresh mess of indie soul jams that are fun, catchy, and easy to sympathize with. Fitz and the Tantrums started a musical kick for me that led me to Mayer Hawthorne, Otis Redding, Curtis Mayfield, and others. I won’t be shelving this album for some time. Don’t miss “Breakin’ the Chains of Love,” “MoneyGrabber” (their first single), and “Don’t Gotta Work It Out” (available free on their website).

They also have a free Christmas song (“Santa Stole My Lady”) available here.