The Best Albums of 2010
1. Odd Blood, Yeasayer - While the album as a whole is inconsistent, the high water mark set by the best of Odd Blood is within reach of few bands making music these days. The standout songs are the most emotionally evocative and resonant songs of the year. Even when gloriously enveloped in shiny barrages of synth, danceable backbeats, and intricately layered percussion, I never felt further than arms reach from Chris Keating and Anand Wilder’s whacked out pop sensibilities as they delivered some of the most haunting and/or brilliant vocal performances of recent memory. Giving away the scorching Live at Ancienne Belgique at the exact moment I decided to finally craft this list didn’t hurt either.
2. Cracked Maps and Blue Reports, Rotary Downs - It’s hard to find a single momentary misstep - let alone a low point - on Cracked Maps and Blue Reports, an album that evokes the early work of The Band (band) in the way it seems to exist in its own awesome vacuum, an environment unfettered by the passing fads momentarily sweeping through the musical universe. Rotary Downs eschew any de rigueur smoke and mirrors in favor of immaculate instrumental performance and good old fashioned songcraft. Calling Cracked Maps and Blue Reports “perfect” would be pretentious, so I will instead call it a remarkable collection of moody power pop and dazzling, spooky indie rock; a mind-blowing tour de force that makes you continuously wonder how “Rotary Downs” is not a household name.
3. The Brutalist Bricks, Ted Leo and the Pharmacists - The most common criticism I hear about Ted Leo and the Pharmacists seems to have something to do with the unprecedented consistency and overall quality of their catalog, spoken like an uninterrupted procession of albums replete with golden-throat vocals and shredding guitars is some sort of black mark against an artist or band. While I would certainly argue the merits of that general position, I will concede that Ted Leo has made few major tweaks to his approach to music making. It’s a good thing, then, that his approach to music making involves a preternatural knack for creating perfectly hook-y, high-energy, new wave punk. And his output has evolved, but subtle and considerate adaptation can be lost on a general public used to jarring and/or superfluous detours (see Congratulations, MGMT or Maya, M.I.A.). Ted Leo’s genius comes with a uncanny air of dependability, and after a listen to the laser-focused, stripped down powder keg that is The Brutalist Bricks, it should be clear that is far from a bad thing.
d.b.a.: One of the Marigny's True Treasures— GoNOLA.com
On Saturday, I saw Rotary Downs at d.b.a. and as is usual for both a) Rotary Downs performances and b) shows at d.b.a., I got my mind blow. So I wrote about it for GoNOLA.com. Here’s a clip:
A huge, rectangular bar in the middle of d.b.a. divides the interior into two halves: one that allows patrons to belly up and focus all their attention on the establishment’s massive beer, wine and whiskey offerings and another that is included on any list chronicling the best sounding music venues in the city. All four walls of the room that house the stage are wrapped in raw cypress wood, offering pristine acoustics that rival those of the crown jewel of sonic perfection in the Crescent City: the velvet-lined theater at One Eyed Jacks.
Enjoy.
The Real World: Back to New Orleans, Episode 06
“He’s a weird kid, and weird kids freak me out.” - Jemmye
This week’s episode contains footage from the only evening in which I crossed paths with the show’s cast or crew. It was March 13, 2010 and I was down on Frenchman Street covering the inaugural Foburg Music Festival. Just as The Revivalists were about to take the stage for their headlining spot at Blue Nile, the roommates stormed into the club followed by a production team fully-equipped with cameras, boom mics and light sticks. The whole lot of them posted up in the area of the venue that serves as the main thoroughfare to both the bar and the bathroom, and the roomies spent the better part of the first set with their backs to the stage, yelling in the ears of fame-balling strangers as a killer rock show raged behind them.
My interactions with the gang were thankfully sparse and mostly unspectacular: I let a PA know exactly where he could stick his request to “share” my barstool when he was looking to get a better shot, and when Sahar asked me what I was doing when I grabbed a plastic cup from behind the bar and filled it with the remainder of my bottled beer as I headed to d.b.a. to catch Rotary Downs, I let her know I was aware of how long she had been in New Orleans and found it hard to believe she was unfamiliar with the concept of a “geaux cup.” Maybe I shouldn’t have been so curt with Sahar, but you have to appreciate exactly how ridiculous she looked in that neon green cowboy hat.
