These Are the Things I Listened To This Year: Several Loved Albums of 2005 (The Cheaters Edition*) In No Particular Order

* I Mention This Only Because One Album is an Import, Another Was Possibly Released Last Year and then Re-released This Year, And I'm Also Counting Half of One Album, and the Appendix of Another

Okkervil River, Black Sheep Boy and Black Sheep Boy Appendix
Frontman Will Sheff takes a cover of Tim Harding "Black Sheep Boy" and makes it his own, a weary warble spinning new universes of characters and endless sorrow alike. Sheff claims territory that is rarely, if ever, expressed so eloquently, armed with nameless terrors, terrible secrets -- the imagery reflects back upon itself with blood, knives, killings, ghosts. With Black Sheep Boy, and its related Appendix EP, Okkervil River, under the masterful hand of producer Brian Beattie, arrives under the fanfare of stately trumpets, hypnotic female voices, careless tambourines. It's the murder ballads of yore, come back to horrible life, as the chugging, ominous basslines and sheer, ever-increasing terror, rise to the top of each song through layers of static and screaming voices. Okkervil River draws on a rich tradition of American folk songs and dusty, bound volumes of musky literature more than ever before. Just what has the ragged narrator in "For Real" done to with his murderous rage and what exactly is this unspoken secret in the room in "Black"? It's almost as if this music could be born, fully-formed, out of the listener's stereo, and grab someone by the lapel. Through the whiskey and dirty mattresses, nameless towns, traveling criss-crossing the country from the Rockies to the Eastern Seaboard, and back to Austin, Texas again, the lonely hearts of Okkervil River have doggedly been crafting their art, with the goal of memorable, elegant, devastating hand-sewn Americana-rock. It's been a long time coming for these guys: a band content to doggedly carve their own way through bedrock, Sheff and company make a path entirely their own, and the payoff is well worth the battle.

Okkervil River - Black
Okkervil River - The Latest Toughs
Okkervil River - Another Radio Song

The Mountain Goats, The Sunset Tree
Biography can go wrong so many ways, and autobiography doubly so, particularly if it includes tropes made familiar by too many bad TV movies: physical abuse, alcoholism, and adolescent angst. All of these things figure in The Sunset Tree, but John Darnielle isn't tugging at our heartstrings, but rather gently caressing scars from long ago, still sensitive to the touch. We are transported back to the a black hole of a broken household. His stepfather is screaming at his mother, the stereo's on too loud, his sister is crying in the back room, the police sirens are wailing, and the alcohol on your guilty breath is as vivid as today. Darnielle is backed by a steady, stalwart orchestra, supported by sidekick Peter Peter Hughes' solid bass work, and the addition of Erik Friedlander's versatile cellos, emotional and sincere playing which pierces even the most jaded listener's heart. The effort culminates in a work that is part exorcism, part trip down memory lane, and part survival story; it's a masterwork that accurately depicts just how complicated family can be. Even when the demons are gone, there's bound to be a ghost at the back of your closet, no matter where you live. But you are gonna make it out of there alive. You will live to tell your story. If anybody knows, it's John Darnielle.

The Mountain Goats - Love Love Love
The Mountain Goats - Up the Wolves

The Hold Steady, Separation Sunday
"They've made a Springsteen album." A fucking Springsteen album. That's how a friend described the new Hold Steady album to me earlier this year, and he was right on the money. The killer classic rock riffs are still there, as are Finn's unique vocal mannerisms and the memorable, thousand-allusion-a-minute lyrics, but this time around he's supported by what sounds like a cast of a thousand church ominous organs. Separation Sunday is the way it feels to be swept into an unholy alternative universe where everything's just a little bit off. But it's still a little evasive and sexy and totally fucked-up; the freaks from Almost Killed Me are all still bumming around, but this time they think they've found God. Everybody's a sleazy hoodrat or a shifty drug dealer or a born again Catholic school girl gone wrong, or something I'm not even sure how to describe. Craig Finn couldn't write a conventional song to save his life, but somewhere in his complex poetry, stuttering delivery style, and cast of misfits, this collection of songs contains dozens of hooks that stick around like soft, melting bubblegum. I could spend hours unpacking what Finn is really saying, but I'm too busy reveling in how tight and accomplished the band has become, the well-oiled machine they'd always threatened to become. I'm not sure how a resurrection really feels, but by the time our poor, lost Holly rolls around to the front of the congregation, broken and battered, my ears are ringing. But all I want to do is listen once more.

The Hold Steady - Cattle and the Creeping Things
The Hold Steady - Charlemagne in Sweatpants

John Vanderslice, Pixel Revolt
With top-notch songwriting, organic and unexpected effects, just-off-the-beaten-path song structures, and melodies that are never grounded in conventional ways, Pixel Revolt is perhaps the most complex and epic album Vanderslice has ever released. Vanderslice's songs never really bleed into experimental territory; they're always pop songs but done only as he can do them: filled with waves of fascinating sounds, concentrated on oddball subject matter, and melodies that are entirely mesmerizing. Listening to Pixel Revolt is like entering a fantastic, entirely man-made reality, but one made of unearthly sounds, eerie noises, scattered handclaps and chimes, yet completely deliberate and as polished as ever; his hand and the hand of engineering mastermind Scott Solter never falter. But it's not until the album's second half that things really get going. Vanderslice draws us into a mystery of suspected killers and detectives, worker drones toiling away in an office that floods every night, and a poor, lost bunny. The sparse "Dead Slate Pacific" is a showstopper. And the rest of the songs follow closely behind, as the beats swing, the piano really starts to sing, the rest of the band waltzes in and swaggers in time, and Vanderslice's heartfelt words glitter in the darkness.

John Vanderslice - Dear Sarah Shu
John Vanderslice - Dead Slate Pacific

The Most Serene Republic, Underwater Cinematographer
The best bands come from Canada nowadays, don't they? Standing in the shadows of label-mates Stars and Broken Social Scene, The Most Serene Republic have their own way of standing out with a glorious, happy but hazy racket. With a chorus of voices filled with a bright, youthful wonder, blended with swelling guitars, twinkling keyboards, electronic effects, and a madman drummer, Underwater Cinematographer creates wide-eyed, thickly layered, swirling pop soundscapes that sprawl across the landscape, full of prologues and movements and codas. Passion stands at the forefront for this band, coming to a head during "Proposition 61." Syncopated handclaps are at odds with a sad, languid melody, backed by soft beatboxing, and both are pushing and pulling at singer Adrian Jewett's vocals, speak-singing that approaches slam poetry at moments. Then an explosion of laughter and guitarist Emma Ditchburn joins in, and the song builds in intensity, pumping up higher and higher until explodes into a breathless full-band choral repetition that sends chills down my back.

The Most Serene Republic - Proposition 61
The Most Serene Republic - [oh] God

We Versus the Shark, Ruin Everything!
A band of young upstarts take dance-punk's toys and stomp all over them in Ruin Everything! We Versus the Shark are unafraid to bring out their full arsenal of frantic angular guitars, machine-gun drumming, free jazz jams, shout-a-longs, complicated time signatures, a little bit of noise, and an undeniable way of getting a crowd's feet moving. They to lay claim the space previously occupied by Q and Not U or Sweep the Leg Johnny. This album is sheer momentum, super-concentrated by some intricate scientific formula, and reconstituted in real time, as the band runs through hook after hook, catchy melody one after another, ideas running marathons in circles. We Versus the Shark are lead by the charismatic Samantha Paulsen, who in the right hands could become an indie rock queen; her foil is guitarist Luke Fields whose quieter moments are a deadringer for Travis Morrison. Although the album's energy falls off towards the second half, the ringing achievement of "You Don't Have to Kick It" solidified their place in my heart. If that's not a battle cry for some fresh blood, then perhaps we're all sunk. While We Versus the Shark are by no means perfect, they've got a good shot at inheriting the post-punk crown of the much missed Dismemberment Plan.

We Versus the Shark - You Don't Have to Kick It
We Versus the Shark - This Graceless Planet

We Are Scientists, With Love and Squalor
We Are Scientists are perhaps the worst kept secret of New York City. After making a splash on British airwaves, this Brooklyn trio has been spending more time overseas than in their home territory. With Love and Squalor has all the makings of a pop hit, stuffed with addictive hooks and catchy-as-all-get-out choruses, destined to spawn several beloved radio singles across the world. The fast-moving, energized songs sound like they are going to burst at the seams at any moment. We Are Scientists should be enjoyed guilt-free, and with toes tapping and hips moving, as rythmn section Chris Cain and Michael Tapper are always working overtime, and their gorgeous harmonies offset lead singer Keith Murray's stylings. How does a bashful, modest trio manage to rock so hard? I don't know but I suspect it has to do with a dash of power-pop and lots of high-hat. But We Are Scientists stand out from the pack of like-minded bands with their tireless humor, boundless energy, and fuzzed-out sensibilities. A simple formula, maybe, but it works.

We Are Scientists - Cash Cow
We Are Scientists - Inaction

Doveman, The Acrobat
Thomas Barlett has somehow transformed the essence of the New York City that exists only in classic black and white movies. When I listen to The Acrobat I hear the sound of the sound of girl fridays, private eyes, empty bars, steam rising from sidewalks, and rainfall, as a lone saxophone dances over the delicate pickings of guitars, banjos, and quiet drums. Songs like "Honey" sound surprisingly familiar yet original at the same time, as Doveman displays a lyrical complexity that only echoes the subtle shades of loneliness, nostalgia, and sorrow. The melancholy instrumentation produces a lush and comforting atmosphere, and the intimate songs are stately and graceful, gradually revealing their charms to the audience. Barlett's soft, fluttering voice draws many comparisons to Nick Drake, but still carries straight and clear across the room, wrapping listeners in a warm velvet blanket of sound. You could have told me this album was from another era, and I wouldn't have been surprised.

Doveman - Honey
Doveman - Dancing

The National, Alligator
The National make dark, thoughtful, brooding rock with Americana roots, tempered by a sneaking sense of just what a grand joke it all is in the end. And lead vocalist Matt Berninger, blessed with a beautiful, wounded croon, often draws comparisons to Johnny Cash and Leonard Cohen. Haunted by memories and dreams of other times, he tosses off one-liners, muted apologies, and private jokes to anybody who happens to be listening, perfectly complimenting the band's room-filling sound. Peeling back the layers of startingly intricate instrumentation, choruses stand out as instantly memorable, etched in stone, and lonesome guitar lines evoke wandering the country in the middle of a bitter winter night or getting tossed out of a Brooklyn bar after last call, at four in the morning. The sound of the National is the sound of resigned voices battling with a single, sweet violin above a moodily atmospheric background, sweeping across everything in the universe, building to a fever pitch, and swallowing cities whole. Their songs smolder with passion, tackling regret, longing, sorrow, and guilt, while swaying back and forth along with pedal steel and keyboards, and showing a remarkable range and depth. Depression, albeit suppressed with a wink and a smile, never sounded quite so admirable. It's the cathartic flicker of lights that will soon burn out and leave behind only faded memories. Alligator treads a fine line -- it is stately but freewheeling, intense without aggression, and poetic but never overwrought.

The National - Abel
The National - Mr. November

Akron/Family, Akron/Family & Angels of Light
Maybe listing this is cheating, again, but I've only listened to the first seven tracks of this album. Why? More than just a split, it was a collaboration between Michael Gira's Angels of Light with the Brooklyn-based upstarts but the first several songs are claimed as Akron/Family pieces. Unlike any other band I've encountered in the recent past, Akron/Family successfully combine folk, prog, jazz, noise, and a wealth of other musical traditions, genre-benders extraordinaire. Gently strumming guitars and buoyant choruses of four voices get interrupted by noise jams; prog melds into campfire songs and back again, without missing a beat, and the whole is greater than the sum of the parts. Akron/Family are equally likely to start a heavy metal jam as they are to do a soulful call-and-response piece, and have a blast doing it; they're the only band I know who can pulls stunts like that and get away with it. Their tour-de-force is "Raising the Sparks," which starts off with some classic rock guitar riffs, shifts into a psychedelic stomp, adds some shakers in, and then shoots off into the wild blue yonder, as some strange cross between Southern gospel and a guitar jam. And shockingly, it works. As soon as the song has finished my guilty fingers go back and start over again.

Akron/Family - Raising the Sparks

Jon-Rae and the River, Old Songs for the New Town
Jon-Rae Fletcher is the son of a preacher, but his soul is full of the devil's music--rock and roll. Fletcher's slightly cracked, nasal voice sounds weathered decades-old, and his songs are a modern take on gospel, tinged with alt-country, filled with a sloppy intensity, heart-felt wails, and good, old-fashioned love of music. Old Songs for the New Town is an old-fashioned church revival brought back to life, full of throaty voices and hands reaching up to God. His backup players, The River, are several members strong and play with fiery passion, and were chosen for their heartfelt qualities rather than technical proficiency, and the force of their efforts runs deep. Their fresh, sincere spirituals brim over the top with love and joy, seizing all bystanders.

Jon-Rae and the River - Goodbye
Jon-Rae and the River - Nickel + Dime/Waste Of Time

*

So these are the things I listened to this year, arrived at by an unscientific look at my most played songs in my iTunes music library. They may not have been the most popular, or the most artistically accomplished, or even the most ground-breaking, but they were loved by me. I hope you find something here that speaks to you. These mp3s are for evaluative purposes only and will be taken down shortly after New Year's. Enjoy and let the lovely music save your life.

Photographs on this site are © Kathryn Yu. Don't steal.