Week 5: Time (The Revelator)

14. GILLIAN WELCH - Time (The Revelator)
Acony, 2001

Up to this point, Gillian Welch was primarily known for her debut, Revival, an able exercise in traditional bluegrass ably produced by T-Bone Burnett - it was good, see, but a little too safe, a little underwhelming in its steadfast adherence to what it thought it should be. A second LP, Hell Among the Yearlings, followed in similar fashion, but it wasn't until 2001 when Welch would solidify her position as a true innovator with Time (The Revelator). Shimmering and expansive yet quiet and introverted, this is the type of record you might listen to ten times before you can even begin to be able to really take it all in. The opening track, "Revelator," is six-and-a-half minutes long and feels every bit of it. Not, y'see, because it drags, but because it is lithe and slow to reveal itself; beautifully paced, the guitars curl over one another sensually while Welch and longtime musical partner David Rawlings' notoriously, impossibly perfect harmonies melt like butter into 'blivion. "My First Lover" cannily tells the tale of a troubled, sepia-toned teenage relationship ("I do not remember any fights or fits/ Just a shaky morning after callin' it quits"), while the dexterous harmonies and major-sevenths of "Dear Someone" conjure up images of some empty Oahu beach at dusk. True to its name, Time (The Revelator) is infinitely concerned with the passage of time and especially the curse of the past. The tragic, untimely deaths of both Elvis Presley and Abraham Lincoln are chronicled here in song; the former more directly in "Elvis Presley Blues," the latter in the two-part saga "April the 14th Part I" and "Ruination Day Part II." Elsewhere, Welch laments the crushing uncertainty of the future in songs like "Everything is Free," a moving (and, one gathers, autobiographical) ode to the poor working musician, and in the beautiful, slow-burning closer, "I Dream a Highway," where the trials and errors of all time - past, present and future - are compressed into one gentle but harrowing 15-minute song. It's a perfect ending to a fine record, one which seems more familiar, yet somehow more frightening, with each rewarding listen.

WATCH: Gillian Welch - "Revelator" video

Week 5: Daydream Nation

13. SONIC YOUTH - Daydream Nation
Enigma, 1988/DGC, 1993

What separates this album from Thurston, Kim and co.'s prior attempts to blend noize and pop (Evol, the irreproachable Sister, etc.) is that on Daydream Nation, even the noise jams are kinda catchy. Of those albums to come, Goo and Dirty are all shine and no grime, those other few '90s ones really aren't worth mentioning save for a few standout tracks, and beyond that dudes ('n' dudette) mellowed way out - and, despite releasing a couple old-folk-type gems into the aughts, Daydream Nation really stands as this band's last purely successful foray into that brand of damaged art-pop they so notoriously ushered into existence (except they didn't actually, but at least they were really good at it). The leadoff track, "Teen Age Riot," was the very first Yoof song I ever heard, and what an introduction; as an album's (nay, a band's) thesis statement, it don't get much more concise. Lee's songs are among his best-ever (see perennial live favorite "Eric's Trip" and call me in the morning), and Kim's are not only palatable but good - "Kissability" remains one of my favorite SY songs of all time. And for an album with such a perfect opener, the closer is no slouch either: the mind-melting "Trilogy" burns barns and brains alike. Not much to be said about this one that hain't already been seared into your indie rock noggin, so I'll just leave it at that. But seriously, can you believe how good this record still sounds? Ain't no joke.

WATCH: Sonic Youth - "Silver Rocket", live on Night Music, 1989

Week 4: Journey in Satchidananda

12. ALICE COLTRANE - Journey in Satchidananda
Impulse!, 1970

Alice Coltrane certainly wasn't the first jazz musician to reject the philosophical and religious status quo of America and the wider Western world in favor of a more esoteric (to most of us, that is) Eastern-based worldview, nor the last. Whether or not this conversion was just the thing to do amongst jazz players in the late '60s and early '70s, Alice saw it as the only thing to do - the music on Journey in Satchidananda tells, if not the whole story, at least a very important part. For this gnarled, quiet beast of a record, Coltrane recruited Tulsi to play the tamboura, which drones beautifully on and on behind nearly all of the album, providing a unifying theme which serves as not only that but also as about as strong a musical statement I've ever seen. Alice herself alternates between her harp and the piano, playing both with a sort of delicate chaos - like Monk, maybe, but more concerned with the whole picture than each individual note. Pharaoh Sanders squawks and squeals throughout, and it's as effulgent as you'd think. This is a record much better experienced than explained, however, and of course it would be in all our best interests to really just listen.

STREAM: Alice Coltrane - "Journey in Satchidananda"

Week 4: Meat Puppets II

11. MEAT PUPPETS - Meat Puppets II
SST, 1984

The Meat Puppets are from Arizona, and they sound like it. I don't know if you've ever spent any time there, but the desert can be one oppressive summabitch. The overwhelming lack of those things which give life - trees, plants, water - could make even the sanest man lose his marbles on the wrong kind of day. The Puppets, on II, sound a whole lot like that man, and perhaps they were: given the addiction issues and other personal struggles that followed their rise to success, a reasonable observer might surmise that these types of things are very easily precipitated by that angry, red Arizona desert and its harsh, unpitying dry heat (I've got no hard evidence to support this possibly absurd statement, but let's just go with it for these purposes). Meat Puppets II found the band experimenting for the first time with swirling psychedelia, as well as noodly, Western-style instrumentation; alongside their more familiar SST hardcore roots, it makes for one hell of a weirdo record, albeit a damn fine one for sure. Much has been made of this album's influence on alt-rock bands to come - Kurt Cobain famously invited Curt and Cris Kirkwood to perform alongside Nirvana for their 1994 Unplugged concert (the three songs played there are all featured on II). Likewise, the Puppets would go on to further explore the expansive, psychedelic side of their music, but what makes II such a bona fide classic is that it seems so conflicted as to what it is: too punk to be country, too twangy to be punk - too goddamn good, truly, to be forgotten.

Week 4: Pockets

10. KARATE - Pockets
Southern, 2004

Prior to this outing, Boston-based Karate had released a handful of OK-but-none-too-inspired (or inspiring) records which ranged from pedestrian emo blather to pseudo-jazz rock meandering, and a few in between which blended the two to decidedly mixed results. The songs on Pockets contain all the familiar Karate accoutrements with none of the fringe elements - the noodly jazz guitarin' going on here (and it is, indeed, plentiful) comes across not as excessive or unnecessary but fits all glovelike with the appropriately emotional songwriting, which itself, in turn, is not maudlin but rather truly poignant and smart. It's not easy to put a finger on what changed with this album, but dang it, these are some of them good kinda songs, ones that manage a startling duality between being introverted but anthemic, emotionally affecting on some gut level but musically inventive as all get-out. What's so initially striking about Karate's records is the absence of any and all studio frills - it's all one guitar (and one guitar only - when the lead starts, the rhythm ends), bass, drums and clean-ass vocals here. One gets the impression that this band doesn't do overdubs; after all, they're all Berklee trained and total music nerds, which usually makes for terrible songwriting, but somehow in their case they actually found the line between Chicago-style 'perfection' and Cap'n Jazz-like chaos (Jeezus, even as I write that it sounds horrible, but trust me, it ain't), and they straddle it well. Pockets almost isn't fit to be writ about, 'cause it defies most musical logic, but I'll stand by this record, most definitely.