2. OK Computer - Radiohead, 1997 (Best of the 90s)

OK Computer

Radiohead
EMI Records.

And the whole world gasps in unison: "no fucking way".

1. Agaetis Byrjun - Sigur Ros, 1999 (Best of the 90s)

Agaetis Byrjun

Sigur Ros
Fat-Cat Records.

I had spent the winter of 2002 with ( ), holed up in my student bedroom and embracing its sterile stillness compounded by some of the worst London icestorms in recent memory. When April exams finished up, my roommates and I all emigrated back to our hometowns where manual labour and the hopeless claws of high school clung true and tight. That’s where I first heard Agaetis Byrjun; in my buddy’s parent’s car, weaving under the humid streetlights of our childhood streets at 3am, and the impression - that I’d heard one of the finest albums ever – is resoundingly confirmed today.

What seemed ultimately shocking about Agaetis Byrjun was how full of life it sounded in contrast to ( ), as if the Icelandic four-piece had blossomed into Spring after what could only be felt as an emotional ice-age. When they aren’t laying down their cinematic, slow-core framework with the warm organs of ‘Flugufrelsarinn’ or classical piano ambitions of ‘Vidrar Vel Til Loftarasa’, Sigur Ros startle with the mounting tension and full-brass attack of ‘Ny Batteri’. With the benefit of hindsight, one can hear in Agaetis Byrjun the foreshadowing of every Sigur full-length that followed; the muted shifts of ( ) in ‘Avalon’, the parading orchestral enthusiasm of Takk… in ‘Staralfur’ and the acoustic trepidation of the title track which flourished on Með suð í eyrum við spilum endalaust. Speaking from the time period, however, each of these compositions seemed woven from but one finely stitched imagination, completely alien from any musical sphere known to man.

Often I’ve wondered whether the inverted (and thusly chronological) shock of hearing Agaetis Byrjun first would’ve bested the course I stumbled upon, but it hardly matters. Funny thing is, there’s nothing about my love for Agaetis Byrjun that boils down to sweet nostalgia. While I might look back upon that summer of discovery with a slight smirk, I remember – between my awful 4am workdays and general restlessness - how unpleasant those months were. This record hardly needs a memory-crutch as it remains a document of uncompromised beauty, wonder and originality; one capable of casting a positive light on just about everything and anyone. Yes, this is a technicality since the record was only available domestically in Iceland until 2001, but if there was one record ready to take us into the new millennium, it’s Agaetis Byrjun.

Moth/Wolf Cub 12" - Burial + Four Tet

Moth/Wolf Cub

Four Tet & Burial
Text Records.

SCQ Rating: 86%

Like many electronica fans, I digested the curious news two weeks ago of a super-limited twelve-inch release that sported rare collaborations between Four Tet and Burial. No details, no confirmation from either camp responsible, and above all else, copies of this release had sold out before most major online-publications caught word of its existence! So I ravenously searched for proof of life, finding the same scraps as everyone else, before accidentally discovering it (and by “it”, yes, I mean the actual vinyl) several days ago. Forgive any bragging that ensues…

There’s a mystic rustling at the commencement of ‘Moth’; a masala of test-tones and dull taps that provide one’s first audio accompaniment to the many questions of this mystery release. The most common and probably necessary query to coattail this release boils down to who is responsible for what, given there are no liner notes amid the black-clad cover-art. Did each artist produce a side to this twelve-inch or were both tracks written and recorded together? Both bloggers and professional critics have embraced this lack of information with a zest best remembered from the days of print magazines and anticipated release dates, but it’s a question easily answered if, of course, you actually own the record. Each side of this limited vinyl is inscribed with the song and artist responsible, and on both sides, it reads: “Burial + Four Tet”. Case closed. If that doesn’t satiate your doubt, however, you can always just listen and discover the obvious collison of these two artists yourself.

Anyway, enough mystic rustling: we’ve traded enough mysteries when, really, the music proves to be the real story. As soon as ‘Moth’ flickers into its divine techno-trance of deep bass stabs and dancefloor stutter, you’ll think you’ve found the best club track of the year. Then it’ll wiggle out of its strict bassline and bounce from a softer lens, maintaining its momentum but increasingly dewier, out of focus, and upon Burial’s inclusion of perfectly-pitched vocal samples, you might just realize it’s the best electronic track of 2009. Moving from direct, spontaneous and white-knuckled to a nearly muted, nostalgic reflection of its first half, ‘Moth’ is artful in a way few dance tracks of recent years have been capable of. It’s a result could only arrive from not one, but two of our finest electronic producers, as both sets of fingerprints are all over these tracks. Imagine the frenetic melodies of Four Tet’s Ringer EP that endlessly cycled its own footsteps, yet instead of being stabilized by that EP’s dependence on 4/4 techno beats, now imagine Hebden’s loops hitched to Burial’s ever-accomplished percussive clatter - those wood-block thuds and concrete-wet smacks – which, combined, gives spirited new direction for both artists in the heart-pounding ‘Wolf Cub’. If ‘Moth’ is poised to steal the best dancefloors in Britain this summer, than ‘Wolf Cub’ might soundtrack the footrace that ensues out the back of the club and into the jungle night. Although Four Tet’s cut-up codas lay the track’s foundation, this is inevitably Burial’s high-point; each subtle tap or pounding grime-step beat deviating between sympathetic rain-on-window or irresistible, elastic, hammerhead euphoria. As these two compositions shift between speeds and emotions, Moth/Wolf Cub warrants the tease/argument of being both Four Tet and Burial’s finest work to date.

Artistic collaborations between solo artists are commonly akin to B-movies, not because the musicians involved are subpar but because with collaboration comes varied ideas, with varied ideas comes ego or disagreement, and with ego or disagreement comes polarity or - the evil enemy of art itself - consensus. It’s an extremely unpolished thesis but the proof is everywhere; it’s the reason Lindstrom albums are infinitely more anticipated than Lindstrom & Prins Thomas albums and, dare I say, Four Tet albums take precedence over Fridge albums. It’s also why remix albums are virtual footnotes to an artist’s body of work. How Burial and Four Tet sidestepped the usual homogenization inherent to collaboration is unbeknownst to me, but it’s a strategy as coveted and important as the resulting document itself. Now I’m no fool; the hype surrounding this release can only bolster the blogosphere’s blind delight. Yet if either of these tracks showed trace of a recycled or substandard idea, this underhanded press-approach would come off as little more than a hollow gimmick. Truth is, the whole package is so damned fresh, you’ll forget the piece of vinyl was hyped in the first place. Sure, these two producers may’ve first crossed paths on The Eraser RMXS but after Moth/Wolf Cub, their future collaborations (rumoured to be in the process) look to be deservedly higher in profile.

Choral - Mountains

Choral

Mountains
Thrill Jockey Records.
Myspace

SCQ Rating: 64%

I make the mistake of expecting too much from albums, many of which seemingly belonging to the ambient tag. Maybe it’s because I own several ambient albums that I adore to the point of envy, while the other 40% of them stare longingly with pristine spines; easily listenable, easily neglected. If you’d like to know the true, unedited theory on ambient records loitering the corners of my mind, I’d have to admit that an ambient record is only as potent as your mood. Flung headfirst into an anxiety-ridden or sexually exhausting relationship, you could grab any well-conceived ambient record and make it your personal therapy/sex-romp-aftermath soundtrack and chances are, you’ll grow to love it. Dropped from your fantasy job or dream girl, you could blindly choose any ambient piece from a respected label and likely find solace. Because listening to this genre requires an understanding far less tangible than your average litmus test of relatable lyrics and six-degrees-of-band-separation. When you decide to throw on an ambient record, you’re really choosing to explore the innermost recesses of your mind. In other words, you’re choosing to zone the fuck out… and what you hear might reflect what you innately feel.

So for those uninterested in my self-absorbed theory and those who simply want to know about Choral, the latest album by duo Brendon Anderegg and Koen Holtkamp: yes, it’s a soothing, quaint album, one that carves its own niche by incorporating so many analogue instruments, it’s arguably post-rock. As moody guitar-piece ‘Map Table’ cautiously branches into softly descending arpeggios, ‘Telescope’ takes standard strumming and drowns it in fuzzy atmospherics. The twelve-minute title track bodes well by accomplishing some mighty classy tempo switches but similar long-form techniques are wasted with ‘Add Infinity’, a track whose title arguably gives away their songwriting playbook. Their choice of which tracks to run toward infinity with is also a shame, since ‘Sheets Two’ is a tenth of the length but deserves the real fleshing-out.

The majority of Choral would be thrilling if listened to while an approaching storm blew in, but I’m stuck with it on my morning underground-commutes. Now far be it from me to lambast a record for requiring conditional listening; that’s partly an issue with my given listening environment. This is a fine album and Mountains prove themselves quite able to execute affecting ambient-drone. Yet is Choral’s relatively minor impact on my life, here and now, a reaction to my considerably settled lifestyle (no firings, breakups or new relationships present) or does my ho-hum reaction stem from the whole album’s contentment with settling? I mean, these six songs could be natural, individual craters of one endless plateau; never peaking, never arching in any exciting manner. There’s a difference between being happily settled and plain bored; zone out with Choral for an hour and you might experience both.

Life and Times - Bob Mould

Life and Times

Bob Mould
Anti- Records.
Myspace

SCQ Rating: 62%

District Line, Mould’s 2008 effort, fared better on SCQ than it probably should have. Here’s a songwriter who, fronting Husker Du, helped bring American hardcore to the public eye, formed the successful pop band Sugar and intermittently released fine solo records, but I only know this because of Wikipedia. That’s the truth when it comes to a subject as broad and multifaceted as music; you can’t be aware of everything and Mould was a case in point. As such, the man’s brilliance hit me like a twenty-year-strong freight train, making District Line one of SCQ’s most beloved records of the year. Fourteen months later, Mould is back with his second Anti- release, Life and Times; an apparent bookend to his first solo album, Workbook, as well as a precursor to his currently in-the-works memoirs. Such build-up and decades-old press references seem unfounded, as this latest collection acts as neither sequel nor supplementary package to Mould’s life story. In fact, Life and Times thematically picks up right where District Line left off, dealing with straining connections and aging hearts.

While Mould still offers reflective narratives accompanied by hard-hitting melodies, the true distinction here is Mould’s return to direct rock dynamics and foregoing his electronic trappings. Sure, the decision is at least aesthetically similar to his rustic Workbook but Mould is now twenty years older and by subtracting his protooled atmospherics, Mould is inadvertently showcasing how stationary his compositions have become. The snarl remains on rockers like ‘Spiraling Down’ and ‘Argos’ but both lack bite; as committed and consistent as Mould’s vocals are, these are paint-by-number examples of radio-rock, brash and harmless. ‘City Lights (Days Go By)’ would’ve been forgivable had Mould written it for, I don’t know, Sting, but it sounds too middle-aged for a man who, despite his own middle-age, keeps an authentic conviction half his age. Worse yet is lead single ‘I’m Sorry, Baby, But You Can’t Stand in my Light Anymore’, which clashes its awkward title against some of the most familiar chord progressions you’ve ever heard.

Despite Life and Times being a frequently shrug-worthy struggle, Mould manages a few key tracks to keep the album afloat. The opening title track is almost too good, as a vocoder-less vocal ruminates about the return of an ex while patient snare-hits usher a full-band blast as Mould asks aloud:

“What the fuck, what kicked up all this dust?/
You’re taking me back to the places I left behind/
the old life and times.”

It’s a blistering start and, as detailed in the last paragraph, a tragic tease of promise. Likewise, ‘The Breach’ displays Mould’s unique delivery next to muscular rock arrangements and ‘Bad Blood Better’ is the latest in his tradition of including one super-morose ‘relationship = death’ song; both tracks are great. The best is saved for last, however, as ‘Lifetime’ (not to be confused with ‘Life and Times’… sensing a theme here?) kinda-well-sorta breaks Mould’s promise by imbedding heaps of digital noise, treated keys and xylophone to a beautifully nostalgic song of love’s failures. ‘Lifetime’ doesn’t sonically fit into this album and it’s all the better for it, proving (right after ‘I’m Sorry, Baby…’ ‘s lowpoint) that Mould can still write embarrassingly great songs.

Had I heard the majority of Mould’s solo discography, I’d have a better idea of where Life and Times fits qualitatively (chances are, it would probably land square in the middle of the spectrum). A year after I first celebrated District Line, however, this release seems purposefully undercooked and bewilderingly rushed. Perhaps it’s all part of Life and Times’ would-be statement, that Mould, after years of lite-electronic tinkering, remains an impressive rock musician. It’s an assertion he only needed to prove to himself, I think, and here’s hoping the Husker Du alumni’s next project is burden-free, finding him looking forward instead of backward.

wow.