2007 Rerun: For Emma Forever Ago - Bon Iver

I have had so much difficulty in motivating myself to write about my 2008 rerun album this particular season, so I have decided to skip right to the album I chose for 2007 instead. Along with Radiohead's In Rainbows (which I gave the top spot in my top 12 albums of the '00's and wrote about here), there is no question in my mind that the album of 2007 I'm most likely to 're-run' is Bon Iver's debut For Emma, Forever Ago. 

Not only did For Emma shape what we would expect from Justin Vernon and the rest of the Bon Iver crew, it also seemed to speak directly to our hearts (especially of the broken variety) through barely-comprehensible lyrics and sparsely produced acoustic guitar.  The truth is, we tend to love an album with a story, and this album has a particularly good one.  Vernon had hit rock bottom with both his romantic relationship, and his band at the time.  Carrying his grief and pain into solitude, he decided to process by moving to a secluded cabin to write, play, and record some songs.  The result: an album of intimately expressed and beautifully written tracks full of atmospheric tension.

The record begins with Flume, a song covered by none other than Peter Gabriel himself.  See what you think of that, here. I'm not sure what I think about understanding all the words in this song, since part of what draws me into the raw emotionalism of Bon Iver's music is the way his Vernon's voice makes it hard to make out the english words. There is a sense that the only language that is clearly being spoken is that of music, and when a word or phrase does break in to my consciousness, it becomes especially meaningful.  One of the clearest sounds in Flume is a muffled echo, reminding me that when grief is most poignant, sometimes nothing else sounds clear. 

Although Lump Sum begins with monkish motet-like harmonies, the song picks up with a faster pace, without losing the sadness that permeates the entire album.  The echoey sounds continue in the harmonies, and the song fades perfectly into Skinny Love, arguably the most popular song from For Emma..., and for good reason, since few break-up songs are able to so honestly hold in tension such raw emotion with thoughtful reflection.

The Wolves (Act I and II) slows down and emphasizes harmonies that remind me of Fleet Foxes.  It moves from being nearly the sparsest track on the album, to being the most dense, complete with a horn section and chaotic drum set solo, and finally returning to the sparse voice and guitar feel it began with.  I feel as though if I took a bit more time with this song, I would find all five stages of grief represented.  Someone else can do that though.  I'm moving on to my first love of this album: Blindsided.

Just this listen through, I realized was how clear Vernon's vocals are on Blindsided.  It seems as though the only thing he can make sense of verbally is his feelings from being blindsided, and his continual reeling from the shock.

Creature Fear and Team are two songs that carry the most volume and energy on For Emma, but instead of coming across as angry, they sound confused and desperate.  Team is also the one lyric-less track on the album (though Vernon's voice and whistle can still be heard), but I hardly notice this because of how Vernon treats his voice already like one of the instruments.

For Emma seems as though he has moved to a point of considering closure.  Don't get me wrong; he's still fairly bitter, ("Go find another lover... to string along") but the relationship feels "forever ago".  My favourite part of this song are the horns.  The strumming pattern gets old, but it does carry this sense of moving forward, one step at a time.  If the album ended here, I think it would sound like a fabricated happy(ish) ending, but luckily it does not.

Vernon ends with an "excavation" - Re:Stacks is a reflection that questions the entirety of his lost relationship.  He plays with the metaphor of gambling in a way that is full of both sadness and hope.  Hope, because there is a hint in the last line that the album itself is a part of the process towards moving on.  He may have hit rock bottom, but he knew exactly where to channel that painful, chaotic energy: into an album that wrestles with his fears and griefs vulnerably and honestly.  This is an album that I will return to, not only when I am at my worst, but perhaps especially when I am.

2009 Rerun: Sigh No More - Mumford & Sons

The 2009 Re-Run was a no-brainer for me.  I allowed one other album to keep a foot in my list of options for a while, but there is no evading the fact that Mumford & Sons' debut album will be most often and likely returned to.  I've found a lot of reviewers have been extraordinarily hard on Sigh No More, perhaps because of its rather quickly spread success; something so loved by the mainstream couldn't possibly be brilliant!  But it is.  Sigh No More is brilliant, not for its musical experimentation nor deep insights, but for its simple ability to speak of and to the human experience, with hope and stomping of feet.

The first song and title track of Sigh No More acts as almost an overture does to an opera, but instead of foreshadowing melodies, it hints at the dynamics and stylistics that make up Mumford & Sons' flavour.  It begins with emotional harmonies over a quiet plucked guitar, and slowly but surely, the bluegrassy folk band builds up to what they love most: full band at full volume, driven by a kick drum on every beat.  Ironically enough, if we listen to this album before knowing anything about this new English group, the first song invites us into the middle of a story - a relationship - in which the singer, Marcus Mumford, cries, "you know me!"  Now I feel as if I do, and that is one of the reasons I will always go to this record when I need a pick me up.

I've been listening to this album quite a bit this week, and I find it's most effective when I happen to be feeling a lot of feelings.  Marcus Mumford becomes the thoughtful and encouraging voice in my head, attempting to out-yell the negative ones.  "The Cave" is one of those songs that is so good to yell out loud to yourself, whether it's you who needs to hear it, or someone else.  No wonder it's their second biggest single and the most listened-to song from the album on my personal iTunes.  

I mostly appreciate "Winter Winds" for the horns it profiles, but also the way it appropriately references speaking to one's self.  It leads up to one of my favourite tracks, "Roll Away Your Stone", which uses its religious references to explore the vulnerability and courage of friendship.

I recently watched Taylor Swift do a cover of the next track on the album, "White Blank Page".  Unsurprisingly, she doesn't do it justice at all.  This is because the beauty of this song lies not in the cuteness of love, but in the "swelling rage" of it being unrequited.  I especially like the violin lines, and singing along to the "ahh's".  "I Gave You All" continues a rant - perhaps on the same relationship lost - and is equally fun to sing to.  We end up with the longest break from full instrumentation since the start of the album, and it's kind of nice break.  Don't worry, it builds back before too long, and even brings the horns back as well.

"Little Lion Man" is one of the most justified uses of profanity in a chorus - there's just something about an apology that authentically recognizes how much the apologizer has messed up, and there's something really unsatisfactory about the verb "mess".  This music video was my very first introduction to Mumford & Sons:

 

I listened to this album while trying to plough through a large pile of paperwork-errands in one of my borrowed offices today, and though much of the album is full of tension and pressure, the one song that I found incredibly weighty and stressful was "Thistle and Weeds".  Soon enough I was calmed by Sigh No More's most-like-a-hymn, "Awake My Soul".  Sitting in my office with the weight of my two-page-long to-do list, this song felt like a prayer.  Other times it may seem a bit trite.  A friend recently asked me how many of Mumford's lyrics come straight from one of his father's sermons.  Well, either way, the result is sing-along-able tracks that, even if cliche'd, work great.

"Dust Bowl Dance" kicks it back into pressure mode, but at least the two songs are broken up long enough so that my shoulders don't explode from tension.  The final track, "After the Storm" is appropriately titled after this rush of an album.  We leave the album with some stark images of death, fear, and loneliness, but also some words of comfort ("love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears") in this lullaby.  It's a song I can sleep on, or, as I have often done, return back to the beginning of Sigh No More.

Barton Hollow - The Civil Wars, 2011

I am so happy that after last night's Grammy Awards, most of America is now aware of the force that is The Civil Wars.  The first time I ever paid this duo (John Paul White and Joy Williams) any attention was while watching So You Think You Can Dance last summer, when a group routine was choreographed to their beautiful "Poison & Wine".  Now, I love this show with a passion, and it was a lovely, well-danced routine, but I remember trying to focus on what was happening visually, while being completely wrapped up in what was happening audibly.  And actually, looking back I don't think the choreography does the song justice, but you can decide that for yourself, and watch it here:

"Poison & Wine" became their first widely received track, having also had play during a Grey's Anatomy episode - I should really start watching that show just for the exposure to emotion-packed songs by new artists.  Soon enough however, I was listening to their whole album, Barton Hollow, and most thankfully, my roommate Beth bought it on vinyl when we got to see them live at The Vogue in November.  So, here I am, on my day off on the morning after the Grammys, fully expecting to do a Whitney tribute blog, or maybe finish off the Billy Joel one that's been sitting in my drafts for a week, and all I can think about is The Civil Wars.  And apparently I'm not the only one, with Barton Hollow climbing back up to the #5 download on iTunes this morning!

So I slip Side 1 over the post and settle onto my couch, with ears perked up.  "20 Years" introduces us to Barton Hollow - a place full of stories - and to what The Civil Wars do best: soft and subtle harmonies over a lullaby-esque picked acoustic guitar.  The story is simple yet compelling, speaking of a 20-year-old note on "yellow paper" waiting to be read and responded to.  Although this record was made in 2011, I sometimes feel as though Barton Hollow is that old letter slid under my door, and I am unfolding it to discover old secrets and truths of a stranger.    

Next is one of the album's few more perky tracks, "I've Got This Friend", which was on regular rotation on my summer playlists this past July and August.  Probably my favorite matchmaking song... not that I can think of any others (without including "Matchmaker" from Fiddler on the Roof).  Since seeing The Civil Wars perform live, I can't help but picture Joy bouncing along to this song like she does in her heels and knee-length dress.  

As I've listened to "C'est La Mort" and "To Whom It May Concern" today, they keep reminding me of two other songs of similar content: Respectively, Bruno Mars' "Grenade" and John Mayer's "Love Song for No One".  (If you are unfamiliar with either, the names will link you to youtube vids.)  Of course there are several differences in both cases, but I think what truly sets The Civil Wars songs apart is their earnestness, and ability to sound convincing, whether on the subject of a love worth dying for or a non-existent, but yearned for love.   

I would say this quality is suspended into their concert performances.  Although Joy and John are not a couple, but married to different people, they are able to hold such beauty and tension in their relationship to one another.  Their partnership allows them to be so honest in their music, letting them be each other's voices for pain and love in that way.  They mean the words they sing, just not about one another.  Amazing. 

Next comes the enchanting "Poison & Wine", which still causes me to stop nearly any activity in order to digest more fully.  The song comes across as a bottle of wine that I want to guzzle, and often once I've listened intently with eyes closed, I feel drunk by the end of it.  I kind of wish Side 1 of the vinyl version ended there, but instead "My Father's Father" brings the first half of the record to a close with a sparse and simple song.  I feel as though this is the best kind of country music, because all though it is all about telling stories, they never spell it out too much for the listener, leaving plenty of room for us to fill in the blanks with our imagination.  How literal or metaphorical is the grandfather's blood on the tracks?  It's left for us to decide.  

I turn the record over and get picked back up with the album's title track, "Barton Hollow"; the bluesy number that was performed at the Grammy awards.  Continuing the trend of subtle stories, Barton Hollow becomes a home that can never be returned to, and is marked by the final line of the chorus: "Can't no preacher man save my soul".  This is followed by instrumental "The Violet Hour" on piano, guitar and a little bit of cello, that ends with the piano mimicking a bell tolling.  "The Violet Hour" reminds me how instrumentally sparse the whole album really is - the instruments are there to support the vocals, and the default attitude is that less is more.  Sometimes a violin will highlight melody or add something a little extra, or a cello will give a foundation for the guitar lick, but for the most part, listening to The Civil Wars is all about lyrics, vocal harmony, and whatever may lend itself to these.  

As an example, "The Girl with the Red Balloon" has a very light amount of violin in it; other than in the moments that swell with tension and timbre, the song is sung over guitar chords and the odd cymbal roll.  This is also what has the next song, "Falling", always remind me of the music from Marketa Iglova and Glen Hansard from the movie Once.   It probably also helps that they have a song with nearly the same title, "Falling Slowly".  Joy and John Paul's voices once again are so believably full of experience and desire and pain.  

Although I am starting to feel bad about how much I am comparing the songs on this album to other artists and work, I have not mentioned the most obvious, which is Alison Krauss and Robert Plant's collaboration on Raising Sand.  There are many comparisons one could draw, but "Forget Me Not" seems like the one song that feels as though it could have been a B Side to "Please Read the Letter".  If someone had played me this song a year ago and told me it would be on my stereo on the regular, I would have laughed and made a hostile comment towards country music in general.  Alas and alack, I have given in.  If this is Country, I am a fan.  Lower case f-fan only.

"Birds of a Feather" closes off the vinyl version of Barton Hollow, and continues the theme of channelling Krauss and Plant... can channelling happen to living beings?  Oh well.  It's fun, though minor, and leaves me wanting more.  Altogether, I am amazed that such a sad sounding album could feel so alive and well.  It is mostly in minor keys and either whispery-quiet, or desperately-loud, but it is honest and beautiful, and will long live on my future iPods.  

Although officially that's the end of the album, the bonus tracks that come with the iTunes download are very worth a mention.  The first is a song that nearly knocked me off my seat in concert: a cover of Jackson 5's "I Want You Back".  Now, I am the opposite of a fan of covering anything by Michael Jackson, but this is phenomenal, as they recreate it to the point of being nearly unrecognizable.  Next is a Leonard Cohen cover (of which I am nearly always a fan) of the song "Dance Me to the End of Love".  All this to say, I am a pacifist, but I support keeping The Civil Wars in the top download category by getting their album on iTunes.  If you haven't already.  And if you still need convincing, you can pick a free download of one of their shows, "Live at Eddie's Attic" right here:  http://noisetrade.com/thecivilwars

Congrats Joy and John Paul, on your Grammys and many new fans!  

Joni Mitchell: Hejira, 1976

I'm back!  And although I haven't been at this blogging thing for very long, I think it's safe to say that this is a rather uncommon entry.  My reasons for writing on Hejira, (an album that will mark both my first blog on something recorded before my own birth, as well as my first blog on an album I haven't already become acquainted with) require a bit of back-story:

You see, Mondays are my sabbath.  I began practicing sabbath on Mondays when I was on staff at church, making it very impossible to rest on a work day, and I guess I've kept it because rest for me means sleeping in, and Sunday morning service doesn't let me do that.  However, this semester I have a class with enough reading to occupy my far more than 7 days a week, and this week in particular I have been asked to finish George Eliot's Middlemarch, a 621 page novel.  Being fiction, I decided I would afford to let it make up a large part of Monday.

All of this to say that I went to my favorite coffee spot with my favorite person to read and caffeinate, but was unable to make it there without stopping at my favorite shop on the Drive: Audiopile.  I flipped through the Joni Mitchel section, looking for Blue and picking up Clouds immediately, when Beth suggested we buy Hejira too ("it's only $5!"). 

As I mentioned earlier, I've never written a blog about an album I haven't previously listened to.  Usually I have to spend a little more time with it, get to know it intimately, take it out on a few dates on my iPod.  Not this time.  I resolved to blog this album as I realized how cohesive it is.  The instruments are nearly limited to soft reverb-ed guitar, a bass, and barely noticeable percussion.  The few times that any shift occurs, it stands out and begs to be asked regarding its intentions.

Also, this is no album of extremes.  You won't find anything as emotionally saturated as Both Sides Now or as cheerful as Chelsea Morning.  This is not the album on which Joni teaches cold English housewives how to feel (thanks Emma Thompson in Love Actually).  Instead it will tell us stories, paint us pictures, and generally allow me to relax (even reading victorian lit) on my sabbath. 

Hejira opens with Coyote, the reason Beth decided to purchase the record, which drives us straight into the action of the sound of road-tripping across America.  Appropriate, since it's the setting for Joni's inspiration for this collection: "Hejira" references an Arabic word meaning journey, and all the songs being written on a solitary drive from Maine to L.A.  It's a theme that we're introduced to as soon as we pick up the cardboard record sleeve picturing an open highway stretching further than the eye can see (set within Joni's too thick torso... that's just weird).

I try to pick up my novel, but instead Beth and I launch into a conversation about the relationship between Joni's lyrics and chord structures.  We decide that comparisons can be made to a recitative section in opera, where the point is really the dialogue and not the melody.  Joni often sounds as if she's half-consciously telling us a story without worry for matching the climax with any kind of "chorus".  And the music seems to wait for her, only moving on when she seems to have finished a thought.  I think this has a lot to do with the interaction between her and one of the most influential bassists of all time, but I'll talk about that soon enough.

Amelia settles into the more continuous tone of the record, which is slowly reflective, and connects her themes of womanhood and journeying with one of the most famous female adventurers: Amelia Earhart.  Her life and death inspires Joni to imagine possible destinations and tragedies, both worth the risk of journey: "till you get there yourself you never really know, where some have found their paradise, others just come to harm..." and draws in the inevitable and linked themes of escape and anonymity. 

Furry Sings the Blues is apparently a reference to a ultra-popular country blues guitarist, Furry Lewis, of whom I know nothing about.  But if you're talking about the blues, why not feature harmonica?  And if you're going to feature harmonica, why not get Neil Young to make an album cameo?  I don't know what he's playing, because it certainly doesn't sound like cross harp.  It's almost as if an entirely different song is playing in the background - probably only Young was confident enough to play something so mis-matched.  I think it works, and certainly shows off what a crisp harp soloist he is.  Hooray for a collaboration between Canada's two best folkers.  Is that a word?  oh well...

Finally the album's title track, Hejira, the only song I recognize much.  I almost want to copy out her entire first verse, but instead I'll tell you to check it out yourself.  Which reminds me.  Mitchell is a freaking poet.  I mean, I suppose it's fairly common to say this of a folk singer-songwriter, but really, the same thing that causes me to say things like, "where the heck is the melody?" give me the feeling like it's story time, and I'm cuddled up in a blanket hanging on every word.  Here we also get the one other highly notable instrumental change.  With a reference to Benny Goodman, subtle clarinet lines emerge.  (Yeah, a clarinet can be subtle.  It was news to me too!)

It was also during Hejira that I finally picked up the sleeve wondering who the heck was playing those bass lines.  No, "bass line" doesn't even describe them.  "Counter-melodies on the electric bass" is a much better description, although I didn't seem to notice this beauty except for during Coyote.  Soon enough it all makes sense.  Jaco Pastorius, who changed bass playing for the world, apparently collaborated with Mitchell a few times, and this is one of them.  Each song he's featured on pops out of the texture of the record like one of those high-def scenes of a flower blossoming on Planet Earth.  He shows off the range of the bass, even throwing his famous harmonics into the mix without any virtuoso show-offy-ness.  I can't understand why he's not used on every track of Hejira.  Maybe Mitchell believes in too much of a good thing?  Seriously though, where Joni lacks melody, I find myself more likely to sing a long to Jaco in this song and later on Black Crow.

Song for Sharon, I'm sorry to say, has me thinking about George Eliot's Middlemarch.  As Joni reflects on a dichotomy between marriage and independence, I reflect on what a different sort of question that is in the 1830's setting of the characters of my book.  I even pick it up and read a little further, though it's rather obvious that I am far more interested in listening and writing this by now.

Black Crow might be my favorite track on the album.  The song has a destination like the bird of subject, and plans to arrive by grooving out.  It retains a certain amount of the blues that shows up everywhere else on Hejira, but like some of my more conscientious lecturers who will let us take stretch breaks, Mitchell recognizes that in order to keep from falling asleep we need to move along with the vehicle.  I can't help it, here is my favorite bit:

In search of love and music my whole life has been, Illumination, corruption, and diving, diving, diving, diving, diving down to pick up on every shiny thing...

And yes, I did count the number of divings.

Blue Room Motel dwells on a lover who is waiting for her back home.  Why?  I'm done with her feeling sorry for herself.  She can reflect all she wants on life, but to be pining away for some guy who isn't even apart of this grand journey?  Really?  Nearing the end of the album, I suppose we're nearing LA with Joni, but I am bored by these whiney blues.  Thank the Lord that she ends with another collaboration with Jaco instead of this tripe.

Refuge of the Road doesn't arrive anywhere, but leaves us in the journey; the hejira.  Continually displacing us in the progression and resolving back into the comfortable and familiar, just like the highway clearly is refuge to her.  Now I'm going to have to download this album so I can experience it on the open road as it was conceived and probably meant to be heard, though Joni's voice cuts through cleaner on vinyl than anywhere.  Well, probably it's even better live.  But that's just conjecture.

Back to Middlemarch for me.  Please forgive my gaps between albums - I doubt this semester will be very blog friendly.

#3) Sufjan Stevens: Come On! Feel the Illinoise!, 2005

I have to at least wonder how my experience of Come on! Feel the Illinoise! would change if I had ever stepped foot into the state of Illinois. As Sufjan’s second installment of albums inspired by/dedicated to each of America’s 50 states (which is a project he’ll doubtfully complete), he references many specific locations, personalities, and events particularly relevant to Illinois, such as Chicago, Decator, Jacksonville, serial killer John Wayne Gacy Jr., Superman (he’s from Metropolis, duh!), and those are just examples taken from the song titles. Not to mention, those are just ones that I actually recognize.

But I don’t find the album’s American prairie setting excludes me completely as a west coast Canadian, because ultimately the album’s true concept is a collection of short stories of human life meshed with Stevens’ touching personal reflections. Just as a good movie can do, specific setting is used to create a fairly universal story. And story is one of the many things Illinoise does incredibly well; it is folk music at its absolute highest caliber.

Although it is somewhat ambiguous from the first two tracks, Illinoise quickly shows itself to be the happiest sound on my list, and arguably the entire decade! Even tackling heavy subjects of war and murder, there is a lightness in the exquisitely eclectic instrumentation, and a sense of humor that comes with ridiculously long song titles. (For the purpose of time and space, I’ll use abbreviated names unless absolutely necessary).

And so we are introduced to Illinois/Illinoise with reflective piano not constrained by any time signature used in pop music prior (65/16. And no, I don’t want to admit how long I spent on that), preparing us for a collection of songs that refuse to fit into any box. Flutes trill above the texture freely, until they go crazy in The Black Hawk War, a march complete with snare shots doubled by trumpets.

Both tracks to me feel like a slow approach to the listener, before full out inviting us to indeed “Feel the Illinoise” with the title track, which is broken into two parts: The World’s Columbian Exposition, and Carl Sandburg Visits Me in a Dream equally portray some of the most joyful energy, even as both parts question the meaning of progress in light of the world fair and transitioning to a more personal inquisition inspired by the poet Carl Sandburg: “Are you writing from the heart?”

While this album creates an atmosphere easy to play in any background, it can additionally be appreciated musically and lyrically for hours. For months I didn’t pay attention to what John Wayne Gacy Jr. was about, and when a friend pointed out that he was a famous serial killer I was eager to listen to the lyrics more closely. Sufjan has a way of empathizing with both victim and victimizer, turning the final line into an introspection: “and in my best behavior, I am really just like him, look beneath the floorboard for the secrets I have hid”.

Jacksonville through Decatur (the first song I know of positively dedicated to step-mothers!) have a great southern banjo flavor that is only briefly interrupted by A Short Reprise of strings (which tie the entire album together, without sounding too formal) that flow straight into the best-known and loved track on the album, Chicago. Oh how I need to go to Chicago. In the past, I’ve mostly wanted to go so I could have my picture taken with the bronze Michael Jordan outside of the United Center. I still want to do that, but now I just want to duplicate an experience of a van road tripping and sleeping in parking lots like described in this song.

More sensitive story telling with Casmir Pulaski Day, showing what has been consistently true of Illinoise; Sufjan’s beautiful sense of both melody and harmony. Having a brief instrumental break before The Man of Metropolis jars us back into interest with a few beats of an electric guitar that doesn’t find its way back into the track for a full two minutes. The variety in instrumentation is noted yet again, as The Prairie Fires return to a Sufjan-favoured combination of oboes and muted trumpets that finds itself displayed in all of its glory throughout the Predatory Wasp as well. And for the sake of trivia and awe, Sufjan himself plays nearly every instrument in the recording of this album.

As Sufjan continues to sing his simple and deeply honest lyrics, it occurs to me that there is something about his voice that doesn’t quite fit in with the other artists on my top 12. Thus far it has seemed that one of the most consistent themes of Listmas has been men making use of their falsetto range. Think about it: Falsetto is practically a trademark for Justin Timberlake, Thom Yorke, Chris Martin, and Jonsi Birgusson. Yet Sufjan’s voice is under-produced, softly calling us to pay attention to his insights. Not that he never hits a high note, but there really is something quite noteworthy how unremarkable his voice really is. Yet we love him for it, and the way it seems to welcome us all to sing along with him.

This album also plays rather like a movie. It’s certainly long enough to be a feature film, and as we near the end, tracks like Night Zombies and The Seer’s Tower turn dark, seemingly more at home on the earlier album Seven Swans, which is a musical interpretation of the Biblical Revelation. The ghostly part of the album doesn’t last long however, and we return to another 2 part-ed song full of energy and joy as though we really haven’t departed to far from the title track. Even the transitions between the two parts finds itself made up primarily of falling trumpet lines, while Illinoise transitioned by rising ones.

In noticing similarities between Illinoise and The Tallest Man, I begin to wonder if the whole record is set up in a chiastic structure, since they match also as the third and third from last song on the album. This would make The Man of Metropolis Steals our Hearts the most important track through which to hear the rest of the songs. Interesting, but I’ll have to leave that analysis for another day, and instead try to remember whether Sufjan Stevens was in my Orchestration class as we also had to write an exercise of riffs using a single note. Either way, he cheats a bit.

And so beautifully, Out of Egypt concludes the experience in a wonderfully Steve Reich influenced instrumental repetition that fluctuates slowly and covertly. It allows me to put the whole experience down for a while and reflect before I decide to pick this album up again. Sounds take their turns emerging and re-submerging into the texture as all that makes up Illinoise seems to be waving wide-eyed goodbyes.

In a decade of emo and self-pity, Sufjan asks his questions of meaning not with naivety, but with refreshing hopefulness. Easily one of my favorite things created this decade, and absolutely my favorite new creative genius from these past 10 years.

#5) Fleet Foxes: Fleet Foxes, 2008

Hands down the best album of 2008.  Hands way down.  It's an album with a unique mood and timbre that makes my living room smell like the woods when I listen to it on vinyl.  The folky guitar lines and full, high male harmonies make me want to put on flannel and eat spinach at the same time.  If you have not yet listened to the Fleet Foxes on a proper vinyl record, please consider this your invitation to join me on a foggy day at Chalet de Brie (this is the name of my house).  Something about this record sounds simultaneously old-fashioned and like nothing I've ever heard before.  And I swear the crackles of dust enhance the entire experience.

I must admit, this listmas thing has become more of a challenge than I ever expected.  And although I am fully enjoying the listening and writing that is the process of blogging, I know that I cannot do the Fleet Foxes justice.  Also, as contradictory as this sounds, though Fleet Foxes are best heard on vinyl, they are also best listened to in a moving vehicle.  Yes, I do know turntables are rather stationary, and that this makes no sense, but just go with me for a second.  If you can't give all your attention to the album, in a setting that would ideally include blankets, hot beverages, and a well-stoked fire, one must have the album be the soundtrack to beautiful British Columbia, in all of it's big green splendor passing by your window.  Seriously, you should try both sometime.

What I am trying to say here, is that I am not going to blog this album song by song, but instead make these two suggestions: play it on your way home from somewhere in daylight (at least a 40 minute drive), or come over.  I promise one day I will blog about this album in a more in-depth way - hopefully from the point of view of a road-trip passenger - but until then, it must make a brief appearance to accept the honor of receiving my personal award of the fifth best album released between 2000 and 2009.

#6) Sigur Ros: Takk..., 2005

It's true that Takk...'s lyrics are mostly translatable, having been written primarily in Icelandic as opposed to the band’s made up language of Vonlenska favored on the earlier album, ().  (There are several moments when Birgisson breaks into the scatted combination of English, Icelandic, and Gibberish, but I personally can’t tell the difference anyway.)  However, I'd rather not bother with  translation because apart of the beauty for me listening to Sigur Ros is in not understanding their words.  I experience the vocals far more like a breathy solo instrument.  In fact, it’s not even always as the primary soloing instrument, but one of many adding to the texture of the piece.  And so, the only word that needs translation from this album is the title itself:  Takk means thank you. 

And what a thank-you it is, whether this album is meant to be directed to life itself, or god, or loved ones, the entire album is packed with beauty and a magical sense of thankfulness for all that is around us.  At least that’s what I feel when I hear it. 

Today I needed to experience the great outdoors.  It was an absolutely beautiful, clear, cold day in Vancouver, and I had only been out to buy groceries and empty to compost bucket.  I knew I would be listening to Takk... this afternoon, and that it’s not a terribly productivity inducing collection of songs, so I put my headphones on and journeyed out into my neighborhood before darkness would inevitably take over.  It was a good plan.  I’m sure that it didn’t hurt that I headed out during magic hour – just as the sun was beginning to set and bathe our icy streets in warm orangey light – but it also is true that noticing and imagining beautiful things is not an uncommon activity when Sigur Ros is in ear-range. 

I took my camera, and even thought about making this one a photo blog, but alas my batteries died, and Beth took the card-reader on her Christmas vacation to Saskatoon.  Perhaps another time with one of Sigur Ros's many fabulous records. 

Takk… like the majority of Sigur Ros’s music is extraodinarily ethereal.  I knew right away that they would have to make my listmas, and simply chose my favorite album.  I’m sure my going out near dusk must have persuaded my mind to consider that this album expresses a kind of threshold experience.  It can’t just be me either, since the cover art pictures a stencil of a person walking under an archway of tall plants.  The songs themselves effortlessly bleed into one another, and as transitions are made within pieces, sometimes I’m not sure whether or not a new track has begun.  The music on this album creates a mystery that reminds me of Narnia’s wardrobe.  "Glosoli" in particular has me wonder if the air around me is an illusion, and if I look close enough I might find a hatch into some magical kingdom.  I feel like a little kid. 

As I zig-zag through the streets just east of my house I’m full of wonder for the world around me.  I'm terribly aware of my inner-child whenever a xylophone or the higher octave on the piano is played during the first several tracks.  "Hoppipolla" makes me want to dance in the rain, as does the next track, "Med Blodnasir"; "Se Lest" makes me want to run through a park with a kite or maybe a dog; "Saeglopur" makes me want to climb a tree and yell at the top of my lungs; all of them make me wish I were listening to this CD in a giant sandbox or cushion-made fort.  If A Rush of Blood to the Head was black and white, Takk… is the opposite, full of life and colour and magic.  It’s really only a matter of time before a feature film decides to use Sigur Ros alone for their soundtrack.  I’d watch it, no matter the premise or plot. 

"Milano" strikes me as slightly more reflective than the other tracks, and though I can’t understand the lyrics I find myself thinking of Christmas Day in all of its chaos, remembering the beauty and love that I have experienced through my nephews and niece.  (My, they are working their way into this blog more than I expected!).  "Gong" changes pace and mood, adding to the dream-state a sense of threat, as all great fantasies must have. 

There is a certain amount of energy that is kept up throughout the album until "Advari", which plays more like a lullaby, and Takk… retains this mellower sound through to the end (even when "Svo Hljott" gets huge with sound it feels rather sleepy).  That’s ok by me though, as I’ve returned home to warm my circulation-challenged fingers and toes.  I watch the world fade to darkness from the heated side of the window, curled up in blankets.  It’s as though my Takk… experience was only a dream, and it has coaxed me back to sleep only to wake up to a more familiar reality.  All this time we have been searching the backs of our closets for secret entrances, when all we needed to do was put Takk... on the stereo.