Week 6: The Future

16. LEONARD COHEN - The Future
Columbia, 1992

In which the illustrious Mr. Cohen all-too-readily inhabits the role of demonic soothsayer. This dark pop gem opens with the spooky title track, where ol' Leonard details some grim soon-to-be reality (or probably it's already happened) where "Things are gonna slide/ Slide in all directions;" or, more directly, "I've seen the future, brother/ It is murder." That ominous tone colors the entirety of the album, and one wonders for a fleeting instant what a happy album from Leonard Cohen might sound like, but then the thought reveals itself as idiotic and irrelevant: what would it sound like if Terry Riley wrote a pop song? Leonard Cohen is master of all things dark and depressing and gah, sometimes it's almost too much to take, like when he implores a lover to "Be For Real" in the song of the same name, 'cause he's "Been hurt so many times," and he sure "Don't want/ To be hurt by love again." All this beautiful borderline-kitsch is delivered with the glorious assistance of Cohen's ubiquitous female background singers, earnest beyond belief, somehow indispensable. Only on "Democracy" do we catch a glimmer of hope, but it's hard to tell if it isn't tinged with a little masked cynicism; then again, most things sound that way coming out of this man's mouth. Anyway, "Democracy is coming/ To the U.S.A." and it is what it is. Set to deep, foreboding synths and in a minor key, it would sound terrifying, but in its jaunty form it becomes almost hopeful. And this is precisely why Leonard Cohen was and is the best in his field; he is capable, with a flip of the tune or the tongue, of making the good sound horrific and the horrific sound downright beautiful. Don't be afraid of The Future, because, after all, it's already here.

WATCH: Leonard Cohen - "The Future" (Live)

Week 6: Clouds Taste Metallic

15. THE FLAMING LIPS - Clouds Taste Metallic
Warner Bros., 1995

It often isn't until a band releases their most overtly theatrical, symphonic, in-your-face album that the Pitchforks of the world begin paying close attention; in the case of Oklahoma stalwarts The Flaming Lips, it was 1999's The Soft Bulletin that catapulted them into the limelight. That album - with its larger-than-life production and gaudy lyrics that waxed metaphysical but actually came across a bit, well, silly - meant the start of endless editorial praise and countless offers to headline prominent summer festivals 'round the globe. Critics claimed that the album came out of nowhere, that these strange, psychedelic rednecks had finally arrived after a decade of aimless musical meandering. One listen to 1995's Clouds Taste Metallic, however, and one gets the sense that the band may very well have been doing its best work before NME caught serious wind - this is an Important record just as much, if not more so, than any one that followed. It is, after all, certainly a more grounded and listenable record than the Lips' later-period output: while Bulletin was admittedly enjoyable in its grandiosity, the middle-of-the-road atrocities that were Yoshimi Battles The Pink Robots and At War With The Mystics practially beg for the band's earlier (and seemingly lost) zany creativity. That sense of innovation is what guides Clouds Taste Metallic, from the expansive, shifting opener "The Abandoned Hospital Ship," to the rubberband melodies of "Psychiatric Explorations of the Fetus with Needles." The silly-but-consciously-so "This Here Giraffe" is childlike and wonderful, and so on. The Flaming Lips displayed here are the Flaming Lips who were not yet convinced they were or even could be the Biggest Thing in the World; they are bombastic and loose without betraying their egos. Rock and roll has a long and storied history of its most skillful and ambitious performers reaching farther and farther beyond to achieve a sort of immortality through song, which itself becomes more magniloquent and bloated (see: The Beatles, duh, perhaps the greatest example of this phenomenon). It's a horribly self-defeating M.O., yet we have seen it occur time after time amongst those most ardent of musicians. But thank God for the gigantic egos amongst this crowd, for it is their journey itself which accidentally yields the greatest rewards. If every tortured genius were to abandon this absurd pursuit of perfection, we would have a million more Nickelbacks and not a single Clouds Taste Metallic.

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.