#8 Wake Up by Arcade Fire
After its marching, choral buoyed intro, Win Butler sings that "Something filled up his heart with nothing." What he refers to is unidentifiable, something symptomatic of the times but entirely free of condemnation. Well, in part, it's about full-growed adults acting like blubbering babies and how this poisons everything and how people should slaughter the charade of preservation and politeness and say what they fucking feel for once, but there's other things there, too! The song is not about placing blame, but recognizing the ways things is. In the first verse, "Wake Up" brings examination from Win's perspective, segueing into the second verses almost didactic collective "you" POV, and by the time these perspectives converge on the dementedly incredible lyric of "We're just a million little gods causing rainstorms, turning every good thing to rust," you can't tell if that just is meant to signify limitation, or if you're meant to hang on that just, because to be flawed and childish is to be a human being, and that's something outside justification.#9 Good Girl/Carrots by Panda Bear
For not-brief stretch of Best Summer Ever 09, Carmen was convinced that this song was the sonic approximation of his soul. With its hybrid structure, engrossingly enveloping ethereality, and lyrics that are at turns incomprehensible and poignant, the song never strives to be understood, only enjoyed. It presents itself as convoluted cochlear assault for headphonaphiles, but at its core, it's a song about simplicity hidden within the folds of words and relationships and Mitch Hedberg's death and negativity and lameness. At the climax of "Carrots," a section that tiptoes into the outer ear, plays like harps on your wedding day played with the feathers of some great prehistoric birds, Panda Bear joyfully chucks artifice into the bleachers, with audacious abandon, and identifies more than presents the ways things is, crooning:
In the wake of releasing arguably the most influential album of all time, Radiohead toured and toured and abated the world's rabid anticipation to OK Computer's follow-up, finally delivering Kid A, an abstract monolith of blips and reverb mountains and modulation and pure, unfiltered genius. EIIRP's opening mellotron chords play like an exhalation of Sisyphean relief, a thousand sonic breezes blanketing a body fevered by expectation and unwarranted distress. It plays like the funeral song for what rock bands were capable of, up until that point, set to diminished ivory tickles and Thom Yorke's interstellar echolalia. If anything the song is an assurance, a reiteration that life will provide you neither what you expect or entirely desire, how things are the way they are because they have to be, not because they choose to be, and how that isn't necessarily that awful.
For not-brief stretch of Best Summer Ever 09, Carmen was convinced that this song was the sonic approximation of his soul. With its hybrid structure, engrossingly enveloping ethereality, and lyrics that are at turns incomprehensible and poignant, the song never strives to be understood, only enjoyed. It presents itself as convoluted cochlear assault for headphonaphiles, but at its core, it's a song about simplicity hidden within the folds of words and relationships and Mitch Hedberg's death and negativity and lameness. At the climax of "Carrots," a section that tiptoes into the outer ear, plays like harps on your wedding day played with the feathers of some great prehistoric birds, Panda Bear joyfully chucks artifice into the bleachers, with audacious abandon, and identifies more than presents the ways things is, crooning:Get your head out of those mags,
and websites that try to shape your style.
Take a risk just for yourself,
and wade into the deep end of the ocean.
#10 Everything in Its Right Place by Radiohead
In the wake of releasing arguably the most influential album of all time, Radiohead toured and toured and abated the world's rabid anticipation to OK Computer's follow-up, finally delivering Kid A, an abstract monolith of blips and reverb mountains and modulation and pure, unfiltered genius. EIIRP's opening mellotron chords play like an exhalation of Sisyphean relief, a thousand sonic breezes blanketing a body fevered by expectation and unwarranted distress. It plays like the funeral song for what rock bands were capable of, up until that point, set to diminished ivory tickles and Thom Yorke's interstellar echolalia. If anything the song is an assurance, a reiteration that life will provide you neither what you expect or entirely desire, how things are the way they are because they have to be, not because they choose to be, and how that isn't necessarily that awful. 
1 comment:
7-1 ?
McG
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