17 December 2009

2009: The Year in Music

2009: The Year in Music


Those of you that have known me for over a year know that I'm a serious amateur music geek, and my eventual goal is to work as a professional music critic. I try to hone my skills in criticism by cataloging and keeping vigorous notes on every piece of music I hear in a calendar year, and summarizing my discoveries with a year-end best-and-worst list. In 2009, I collected 104 albums, starting with Reel Big Fish's
Fame, Fortune, and Fornication (released on January 20) and ending with Eminem's Relapse: Refill (released December 21). Here, I have compiled what I think is a pretty decent list of the highlights and lowlights (in my humble opinion). Here, you'll find picks as diverse as Tom Waits, Lady Gaga, Dirty Projectors, and Jay-Z. My hope is that you find something here that sounds interesting to you, and might try something new and interesting. These choices are obviously my opinion alone; let me know what your favorite (and least-favorite) songs, artists, and albums of 2009 were.

The 25 Best Albums

ALBUM OF THE YEAR

1.
Hospice - The Antlers [FRENCHKISS]
The best record of 2009 is a concept album about an unnamed protagonist working in the Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center, falling in love with a belligerently cruel terminal bone cancer patient named Sylvia, and watching her slow, painful descent into madness and death -- no, it's not exactly a party-starter. If you can get past the gloomy plot, though, and completely submerge yourself into Peter Silberman's epic journey of memory, grief, regret, and passion, you'll find a gloriously sad but ultimately uplifting journey into the darkest and most beautiful parts of the human condition. The songs build slowly and deliberately, layering a dense orchestration of guitars, keys, harps, trumpets, and finally, Silberman's beautifully delicate, echoey voice, crafting a hypnotic atmosphere that's more unique than anything in music since Arcade Fire broke. After several listens, you'll find yourself choking back tears while singing along to The Antlers' gorgeous, transportive melodies.
Hospice is the painful but familiar sound of innocence lost, simultaneously as important as any coming-of-age-memoir you'll ever read and as innovative any indie-rock breakthrough you'll ever hear.
Video: "Two (or, I Would Have Saved Her If I Could)"


2.
It's Blitz! - Yeah Yeah Yeahs [INTERSCOPE]
As the decade winds to a close, I nominate Yeah Yeah Yeahs as one of the most important artists of the '00s, if simply for the way they have continually evolved their unique sound. Building from the brilliant garage-punk of 2003's Fever to Tell and the radio-ready rock of 2006's Show Your Bones, YYYs once again chose to re-write the alternative music landscape in 2009 by adding drum machines, a touring keyboardist, and making the best art-dance album in recent memory.
Underneath the glitter and glam, though, it's easy to make out Nick Zinner's brilliant snake-like guitar riffs, Brian Chase's rock-steady cadences, and Karen O's trademark sex-kitten growl. It's Blitz! is a carnival of sonic surprises, from synthy New Wave ("Soft Shock") to relentless post-punk ("Dull Life") to the album's centerpieces, the haunting ballads "Skeletons" and "Runaway," both of which come close to reaching the emotional heights of the band's tender '03 masterpiece "Maps."
Video: "Heads Will Roll"




3. The '59 Sound - The Gaslight Anthem [SIDEONEDUMMY]
New Jersey's The Gaslight Anthem sound like the perfect middle-ground between Bad Religion and Bruce Springsteen, but a close look at the lyrics sheet for The '59 Sound reveals a deep understanding of the mythology of pop music, an understanding that brilliantly informs the band's sophomore effort. Brian Fallon's songs are full of scenester kids who light cigarettes on parking meters like Dylan, twist the night away like Sam Cooke, and pray to the ghost of Miles Davis to bless them with his "cool." These lyrical tributes strike just the right chord with Fallon's Elvis-meets-Joey Ramone croon and the band's Americana-punk aesthetic. The '59 Sound is the young person's album of 2009, universally nostalgic with an ironic wink, a perfect soundtrack for those long summer nights of an everlasting youth.
Video: "Old White Lincoln"


4. Troubadour - K'naan [A&M/OCTONE]
K'naan isn't a millionaire, he's not
a gangsta, and he openly rejects receiving production from industry staples like Kanye -- yet the 31-year-old Somali-Canadian's second album is far and away the best hip-hop album of the year. K'naan has a quiet, unassuming flow that references hardships 50 Cent can only imagine, like growing up in the midst of the Somali Civil War and living in a land where "pirates terrorize the ocean." What K'naan lacks in verbal dexterity he makes up for with a sleek pop-soul sensibility and a cautiously optimistic social consciousness on tracks like "Take a Minute" and "Wavin' Flag." Troubadour is filled with guest appearances that range from predictable (Damien Marley and Adam Levine) to inspired (Metallica's Kirk Hammett shreds and sings in "If Rap Gets Jealous"), but K'naan's most gifted accomplices are producers Track and Field (Gerald Eaton and Brian West), who give the MC a diverse sonic landscape upon which to play.
Audio: "Take a Minute"



5.
Now We Can See - The Thermals [KILL ROCK STARS]
Concept albums about death don't have to be as depressing as Hospice; just ask Portland's
Hutch Harris and Kathy Foster, aka The Thermals. In "When I Died," Now We Can See's opening track, an unnamed narrator sings that "the earth was too hot, the air was too thin," and so decides he'll remedy it by crawling into the ocean and turning into a fish. His plans go awry, however, and he... well, he drowns. The remaining 10 songs examine the idiosyncrasies of life from the suddenly-clear perspective of the recently deceased, or, as Harris puts it, "songs from when we were alive." The Thermals touch on mostly intangible themes like fear ("I Let it Go"), desire ("I Called Out Your Name"), and over-consumption ("Liquid In, Liquid Out"); the end result is like the catchiest Zen-Buddhist meditation ever, full of post-punk power chords, singalong choruses, and existential wisdom.
Video: "Now We Can See"


6.
Sainthood - Tegan and Sara [SIRE]
The magnificent Quin twins
continued their domination of indie-pop, taking on the difficult challenge of following their 2007 masterpiece The Con by embracing the lush electronic production that steeped that album in darkness. The themes of Sainthood appear to be, appropriately, secular devotion and adoration, two things Tegan and Sara have practically written the book on in the last few years, and the overall mood of this album is notably lighter than their last. The girls still wear their hearts on their sleeves; "I sing to find my other," Sara says in the stunning "Don't Rush," which, along with the excellent "Hell" and "The Cure," marks the duo's first foray into co-writing. Sainthood contains hints of the great pop-rock songstresses that have come before them (Saints Cyndi, Madge, and Sinead are all over the place), but with their third straight artistic triumph, Tegan and Sara have successfully carved a permanent spot for themselves in that very canon.
Audio: "The Cure"


7.
By the Throat - Eyedea & Abilities [RHYMESAYERS]
The misguided "emo rap" label is a terrifying thing; the tag has been applied both to artists brilliant (Atmosphere, Aesop Rock) and boorish (3OH!3), as well as to E&A. MC Eyedea (Michael Larsen) and DJ Abilities (Gregory Keltgen) hit the ground running with their third LP; a dark half-hour of indie hip-hop manifestos that tackle a wide range of issues, from taking a loved one off life support ("Hay Fever") to gun control ("Time Flies When You Have a Gun"), and sex as a drug ("Burn Fetish"). Eyedea's cracked rapid-fire flow sounds like Atmosphere's Slug after chain-smoking an entire pack of cloves, and Abilities' delayed-climax beats surge with swirling surf-rock guitars, fuzzy distorted bass, and stuttering hi-hats.
By the Throat grabs you with its casual punchlines and clever, catchy hooks, but it's the dark social commentary and self-confessional storytelling that will twist its way into the back of your brain and refuse to leave.
Audio: "Burn Fetish"



8.
Mama, I'm Swollen - Cursive [SADDLE CREEK]
While many of his Saddle Creek contemporaries
have become focused on the alt-country jam-band circuit (Conor Oberst) or have found major-label stardom (Rilo Kiley), Cursive's genius frontman Tim Kasher keeps his feet firmly planted in the Omaha indie scene, and keeps his music teeming with the despair and discontent that defined his extraordinary 2003 breakthrough The Ugly Organ. "I'm at my best when I'm at my worst" Kasher explains over a quiet crescendo of noise-rock in "From the Hips" before blasting a clumsy, full-throated shout. The band still sorely misses cellist Gretta Cohn, whose work on Organ would be a perfect fit for Mama, I'm Swollen's dense minor-key orchestrations, which range from jangly, breakneck rockers like "In the Now" to creepy slow-burners like "We're Going to Hell." Kasher is still the king of lyrical introspection; the album-closer "What Have I Done?" might be his best song ever -- "I spent the best years of my life / waiting on the best years of my life / So what's there to write about? / What have I done?" Here's hoping that for Tim Kasher, that internal artistic struggle never ends.
Audio: "In the Now"



9. Daisy - Brand New [INTERSCOPE/DGC/PROCRASTINATE! MUSIC TRAITORS]
Brand New may be the lone survivor of the 2002-2003 "screamo" boom, as witnessed by the tiresome 2009 releases by their once-contemporaries Thursday and Taking Back Sunday
(the subpar Common Existence and the awful New Again, respectively), and they've done it by being unafraid to evolve their sound with each album. What was once bratty pop-punk on 2001's Your Favorite Weapon eventually developed into the challenging, oblique complexity of 2006's The Devil and God Are Raging Inside Me, and now spirals into a fascinating new direction for Daisy. Tortured-genius frontman Jesse Lacey shares songwriting duties with lead guitarist Vin Accadri this time around, leading to even further genre experimentation; the band's sound here ranges from Accardi's straight-up thrash-punk ("Vices") to Lacey's acidic slow-burn balladry ("Bed," "You Stole") to the weirdly brilliant Modest Mouse-on-uppers single "At the Bottom." Daisy's best moments are also its riskiest, though, as in the haunting gospel-hymn sound experimentation of the title track, below.
Audio: "Daisy"



10.
The Blueprint 3 - Jay-Z [ROC NATION/ATLANTIC]
Shawn Carter has released a new album every year
since 1996, with two notable exceptions; his three-year "retirement" following 2003's The Black Album, and last year, which Hov spent perfecting the third part of his Blueprint trilogy, leaking tantalizing non-album tracks like "Jockin' Jay-Z" along the way. The Blueprint 3 was well worth the wait, boasting the very best beats from hip-hop's very best producers (Timbaland, No I.D., Swizz Beatz), a cavalcade of A-list guest stars (Rihanna, Alicia Keys, Young Jeezy) and the most consistent, focused, and thoughtful flow Jay has spit in a half-decade. Jay-Z is one of the few rappers alive who can successfully stay on subject to develop a concept over the course of an entire song, such as in the playful "Venus vs. Mars" or the uplifting, Alphaville-sampling "Young Forever," and it's that ability that justifies him swiping the title "Best Rapper Alive" back from Lil Wayne. I'd be remiss not to mention Kanye West, the mastermind producer behind the original Blueprint, who co-wrote and produced roughly half the tracks here. The Blueprint 3 is an equal triumph for West, who, despite an uneven couple of years, re-establishes himself as the greatest hip-hop producer of the decade.
Audio: "Young Forever"



The Rest:

11.
21st Century Breakdown - Green Day
12.
No Ceilings (Mixtape) - Lil Wayne
13.
No One's First, and You're Next (EP) - Modest Mouse
14.
Horehound - The Dead Weather
15.
It's Not Me, It's You - Lily Allen
16.
Say Anything - Say Anything
17.
Where the Wild Things Are: Motion Picture Soundtrack - Karen O and The Kids
18. Coaster - NOFX
19.
Hombre Lobo: 12 Songs of Desire - Eels
20. Wilco (The Album) - Wilco
21. (tie)
Outer South - Conor Oberst and The Mystic Valley Band / Monsters of Folk - Monsters of Folk
22.
No Line on the Horizon - U2
23.
Songs About Time - The Rentals
24.
Them Crooked Vultures - Them Crooked Vultures
25.
Sleigh Bells (EP) - Sleigh Bells



The 25 Best Singles

SONG OF THE YEAR

1.
"Kids" - MGMT (from the album Oracular Spectacular)
Released as Oracular Spectacular's third single in the final months of 2008, "Kids" a
ctually dates back all the way to 2004, when it first appeared on MGMT's We (Don't) Care EP, but the track didn't reach a high-water mark until cracking the Billboard Modern Rock Top 10, getting a brilliantly disturbing music video (see below), and finally receiving a Grammy nomination for Best Pop Performance by a Duo or Group With Vocals in 2009. One of the reasons for this slow-building success may be that irresistibly-catchy 10-note synth riff, or perhaps the enigmatic lyrics, full of bizarre imagery and sad-but-hopeful longing. "Kids" has it all, the sexy shimmy of New Order, the nostalgic introspection of Arcade Fire, and the oddball sensibilities of The Flaming Lips. It's two weird little boys, throwing the '80s dance party at the end of the world; you're invited, but please, control yourself. Take only what you need from it.
Video: "Kids"


2.
"Great Expectations" - The Gaslight Anthem (from the album The '59 Sound)
As previously mentioned, The Gaslight Anthem takes musical and lyrical cues from a wide range of sources; in this, the third single from The '59 Sound, they borrow equally from Bob Seger's "Night Moves" and Charles Dickens' classic novel evoked in the title.
The sound, though, is straight-up Alkaline Trio with a dash of The Boss. "Great Expectations" achieves a rare feat: it's a legitimately emotional punk-rock song that avoids resorting to the tired traps of "emo."
Video: "Great Expectations"



3. (tie)
"Brooklyn Go Hard" / "D.O.A. (Death of Auto-Tune)" / "Run This Town" / Empire State of Mind" - Jay-Z featuring Santigold, Rihanna, Kanye West, & Alicia Keys (from the albums Notorious: Music Inspired by the Motion Picture and The Blueprint 3)
No one in 2009 had a better Top-40 track record than Jay-Z, starting way back in late-'08 with the Santigold-sampling "Brooklyn," and continuing with three extraordinary hits from his smash Blueprint 3. At age 39, Hov is teaching a hip-hop master class on how to age gracefully, whether by denouncing industry gimmicks, honing his expert braggadocio, or reciting a love letter to his dear NYC. Rihanna and Alicia Keys bring the killer hooks, No I.D. and Al Shux supply the massive beats, and Kanye steals the spotlight in "Run This Town," providing the best production of the year, as well as one of the most striking guest-verses in recent memory. "D.O.A." and "Run This Town" sound so fresh that Lil Wayne hijacked the beats for his fantastic No Ceilings mixtape, proving once and for all that the rap game belongs to Jay-Z, everyone else just plays in it.

Video: "Run This Town"



4.
"Uprising" - Muse (from the album The Resistance)
Muse finally found a way to truly distinguish their sound from Bends-era Radiohead, by incorporating Brian May guitar flourishes, a massive Garry Glitter drum cadence, and just the right amount of David Bowie to make their revolution sound sexy, dangerous, and essential. The lyrics are cleverly vague, utilizing a generic "us vs. them" theme that makes "Uprising" the perfect soundtrack for whichever raging against whatever machine you preferred in 2009.

Video: "Uprising"


5.
"Paparazzi" - Lady Gaga (from the album The Fame)
I'll admit that it took me the better part of 2009 to really "get" Lady Gaga, and this, the darkly subversive fifth (!) single from The Fame, was the track that did it. "Paparazzi" is the best song written about celebrity since Eminem's "Stan," and its chilling effect is only enhanced by the fantastic Jonas Akerlund-directed video (below), as well as Gaga's brilliant, blood-drenched performance at the MTV Video Music Awards. Beneath the club-ready beats and the catchy pop hook, there's an air of genuine self-reflective tragedy; witness the subtle effect of Gaga's stuttered "papa-paparazzi" in the chorus, slyly linking Freudian psychology with gossip-mag culture. The overall effect confirms Lady Gaga as the smartest, most daring pop star of her generation.

Video: "Paparazzi"



6.
"All for the Best" - Thom Yorke (from the album Ciao My Morning Star: The Songs of Mark Mulcahy)
No "best-of" list is complete without a little Radiohead, and in 2009, a little Radiohead was all we got, as the band experimented with its new-found freedom from major-label distribution methods. Instead of a new album, Thom Yorke & Co. released a slew of online and compilation singles, ranging from Radiohead's gorgeous ballad "Harry Patch (In Memory Of)" to Yorke's head-scratching New Moon contribution "Hearing Damage." The best of the bunch is Yorke's moving Miracle Legion cover, released on the Mark Mulcahy tribute/benefit comp Ciao My Morning Star. Originally, the song was a great pop-rock jam, but Yorke takes it to dizzying new heights, juxtaposing heart-monitor drum programming with sharp live rim-shots, and ambient synth waves with clanging distorted guitar, creating one of the most interesting rhythmic and sonic experiments of the year.

Video: "All for the Best"



7. "Stillness is the Move" - Dirty Projectors (from the album Bitte Orca)
To the song's credit, the first time I heard "Stillness is the Move," I thought it was a brilliant sequel to Rihanna's "Umbrella," with its ginormous, skittering drum loop, shimmering Eastern guitar line, and gorgeously lilting female vocals. Turns out it's just Brooklyn-based experimental-rock group Dirty Projectors, refusing to be subjected to the boundaries of genre by crafting 2009's best love song and best R&B jam. It may take a few listens to fully comprehend the greatness of "Stillness," but once you're hooked, you'll wonder why this wasn't the commitment-jam of the year.

Video: "Stillness is the Move"


8.
"Oh My God" - Ida Maria (from the album Fortress 'Round My Heart)
Ida Maria "suffers" from synesthesia, the neurological disorder that causes her to see colors when she hears music. Luckily for us, she utilizes her gift to write killer pop-punk tunes like this one, as well as her second single, "I Like You So Much Better When You're Naked." Maria's smokey, husky voice goes from kitten-purr to tiger-yowl in mere seconds, chanting the line "Find a cure for my life" until it becomes a mantra for her unique brand of feminist rock, equal parts Lily Allen and Joan Jett.

Video: "Oh My God"



9.
"Bruises" - Chairlift (from the album Does You Inspire You)
Chairlift is the latest in the ongoing line of graduates from the iPod-commercial school of hitmaking, like Apple's "discoveries" The Fratellis, Feist, CSS, and The Ting Tings before them. "Bruises" is the sound of an indie band with huge pop aspirations; all it takes is a breezy, simple bassline, ethereal '80s synths,
and lyrics about headstands, hot summer afternoons, and frozen strawberries.
Video: "Bruises"



10.
"New Fang" - Them Crooked Vultures (from the album Them Crooked Vultures)
Them Crooked Vultures literally embodies three generations of hard-rock royalty; Josh Homme (Queens of the Stone Age), Dave Grohl (Nirvana, Foo Fighters), and John Paul Jones (Led Zeppelin) get together and bang out a killer blues-rock riff that sounds as fresh and innovative as it does classic. Despite the supergroup's lengthy resumes, it's clear from the onset that "New Fang" is almost too easy for them, the sound of three great musicians at the top of their game just having fun in the studio. Nevertheless, nothing released in 2009 rocks harder and with more hard-earned swagger.
Audio
: "New Fang"


The Rest:

11. "(If You're Wondering If I Want You To) I Want You To" - Weezer
(from Raditude)
12. "Heads Will Roll" - Yeah Yeah Yeahs (from It's Blitz!)
13. "Two" - The Antlers (from Hospice)
14. (tie) "Satellite Skin" / "King Rat" - Modest Mouse
(from No One's First, and You're Next)
15. "Hell" - Tegan and Sara
(from Sainthood)
16. "Love Story" - Taylor Swift
(from Fearless)
17. "Nikorette" - Conor Oberst and The Mystic Valley Band
(from Outer South)
18. "Make Her Say" - Kid Cudi featuring Kanye West & Common
(from Man on the Moon: The End of Day)
19. "All is Love" - Karen O and The Kids
(from Where the Wild Things Are: Motion Picture Soundtrack)
20. "3" - Britney Spears (from The Singles Collection)
21. "I'm on a Boat" - The Lonely Island featuring T-Pain
(from Incredibad)
22. "The Warning" - Eminem
(non-album track; intentionally leaked online)
23. "Crying Lightning" - Arctic Monkeys
(from Humbug)
24. "Fly Farm Blues" - Jack White
(single only; from the film It Might Get Loud)
25. "Fireflies" - Owl City
(from Ocean Eyes)


Other Notables:


Artist of the Year:
Karen O (for her work on It's Blitz! and Where the Wild Things Are, as well as guest work on The Flaming Lips' Embryonic and N.A.S.A.'s The Spirit of Apollo)

Best Reissue:

The Beatles Stereo Box Set
/ The Beatles in Mono - The Beatles

Best Live Album:
(tie)
Not Alone: Rivers Cuomo and Friends Live at Fingerprints
- Rivers Cuomo
Glitter and Doom: Live - Tom Waits

Best Original Soundtrack:

Where the Wild Things Are: Motion Picture Soundtrack - Karen O and The Kids

Best Compilation:
500 Days of Summer: Music from the Motion Picture - Various Artists

Best EP:
No One's First, and You're Next - Modest Mouse

Best Mixtape:
No Ceilings - Lil Wayne

Best Local Album: (tie)
Headphone Music for Nowhere People - Cultured Animal
Snake Oil Salesman - The-Front

Best Kids Album:
Here Comes Science - They Might Be Giants

Best Cover Song:
(tie)
"All for the Best" - Thom Yorke (originally performed by Miracle Legion)
"Here Comes Your Man" - Meaghan Smith (originally performed by Pixies)
"Authority Song" - Reel Big Fish (originally performed by John Cougar Mellencamp)

Best Sample: (tie)
"So Human" - Lady Sovereign (samples "Close to Me" by The Cure)
"Make Her Say" - Kid Cudi (samples an acoustic version of "Poker Face" by Lady Gaga)

Best Music Video:
"Paparazzi" (Long Version) - Lady Gaga

Best Live Act:
The Hold Steady

Best Guitar Riff:
"Crying Lightning" - Arctic Monkeys

Best Beat:
"Run This Town" - Jay-Z (Produced by Kanye West)

Best Lyric:
"Bear (or, Children Become Their Parents Become Their Children)" - The Antlers
("There's a bear inside your stomach / a cub's been kicking you for weeks / and if this isn't all a dream / well then, we'll cut him from beneath / Well, we're not scared of making caves / or finding food for him to eat / We're terrified of one another / and terrified of what that means / But we'll make only quick decisions / and you'll just keep me in the waiting room / and all the while, I'll know we're fucked / and not getting un-fucked soon / When we get home, we're bigger strangers / than we've ever been before / You sit in front of snowy television / suitcase on the floor / "We're too old." / "We're not old at all." / "Just too old." / "We're not old at all.")

Best Rhyme:
"On to the Next One" - Jay-Z
(Used to rock a throwback / ballin' on the corner / Now I rock a tailored suit / looking like a owner / No I'm not a Jonas / Brother, I’m a grown-up / No I’m not a virgin / I use my cojones.") The 10 Worst in Music

1. Chris Brown
Admittedly, I didn't listen to one thing Chris Brown released in 2009, and if you did, then you might be part of the problem. Bad enough that the teen-beat poster boy became the year's worst role model by assaulting ex-girlfriend Rihanna, but then he proved himself not only an asshole, but an idiot as well, responding to Oprah Winfrey's criticism by calling it a "slap in the face." Nice choice of words, douchebag. I'm not big on judging musical artists by their offstage behavior; I don't care what kind of jerk you think Kanye is, his artistry proves his worth and justifies his oversized ego. Chris Brown, on the other hand, will be remembered in history merely as a bad Michael Jackson impersonator who turned into a second-rate Ike Turner. He's not even worth an illegal download.

2. "My Wena" - Bowling for Soup
You might have seen the music video for this song, posted on Facebook by that annoying guy from high school who still lives with his mom and works at the local Kum-N-Go. It features the culturally irrelevant pop-punk band running around with a human-sized penis. Even discounting bad taste, there's no way anyone with a brain has been able to make it through more than a minute of this song. It's time to un-friend that guy.

3. Johnny Cash Remixed - Johnny Cash and Various Artists
I love Johnny Cash, and I like Snoop Dogg, but halfway through the god-awful "Walk the Line (ODT Muzic Remix)," my ears started bleeding. Between Everlast's ridiculous "Folsom Prison Blues" cover and this disastrous DJ project, it's pretty clear that hip-hop needs to leave Cash's legacy alone. The Man in Black has been deceased for almost seven years now. It's time to let him rest in peace.

4. "Prom Queen" / "On Fire" - Lil Wayne
Extraordinarily gifted people sometimes tend to believe that they will be good at anything; Michael Jordan wanted to play baseball, and Shaq still thinks he can rap. Lil Wayne is the greatest rapper of his generation, so he obviously thinks it qualifies him to record a rock album with a third-rate nu-metal band. These horrendous singles from his oft-delayed Rebirth prove that Weezy should stick to hip-hop; let's just hope he forgets this abortion of an album and finds time to wrap up Tha Carter IV before his prison sentence begins in February.

5. "Kings and Queens" - 30 Seconds to Mars
Hey, Jared Leto -- I'm not sure what your rabid cult of fans hears when they listen to "Kings and Queens," but you're not Bono; you were much better at ripping off AFI than you are U2. Or, even better yet, how about this... go back to acting.

6. Crash Love - AFI
It's official: AFI circa 2009 are so culturally irrelevant that they resemble cheap imitation of 30 Seconds to Mars circa 2006, who were ripping off My Chemical Romance circa 2004, who were, in turn, trying to be AFI circa 2003. Leave it to Davey Havok to destroy what remains of the Hot Topic/black eyeliner scene that he helped create.

7. Relapse - Eminem
Suffering and recovering from addiction can be a harrowing experience, but in Eminem's case, it's nearly as painful for his fans. Em repeats essentially the same story over and over again on almost every one of these 20 tracks -- he takes too much, passes out, and has serial-killer fantasies -- but almost never lets the listener in much further, as he might have a decade ago. This, combined with the ridiculously over-the-top nonsensical accent that he's adopted since 2004's Encore, makes for the worst album ever from the man formerly known as The Best Rapper Alive.

8
. "Desolation Row" - My Chemical Romance
I generally love a good Dylan cover, especially when it brings to light intricate melodies that Bob's creaky voice can't quite wrap itself around. This version, though, takes Dylan's epic masterpiece eleven-minute Highway 61 Revisited closer and tries to condense it to three minutes of dull cock-rock for the Watchmen closing credits. It feels like trying to write a term paper about Paradise Lost by reading the Wikipedia page; you get the idea, but you ain't gonna get an 'A.'

9
. Light - Matisyahu
The Hasidic-reggae schtick was really cool for about a year, producing the killer singles "King Without a Crown" and "Jerusalem (Out of Darkness Comes Light)," but on his third album, even Matisyahu sounds bored of himself.

10
. New Again - Taking Back Sunday / Alter the Ending - Dashboard Confessional
2009 may be the year that emo finally gave up the ghost, and these two forgettable albums by former innovators of the genre serve as its generic, over-commercialized death-rattle.

08 December 2009

The Morning News

Final imitation project for Short Story class. It might not make any sense unless you were to read the piece I'm imitating, but suffice to say that it's basically a surrealist work of fiction that plays on the themes of media desensitization and the over-stimulated American culture. It's not really something I'm planning on taking any further than this class, but I hope you enjoy it regardless.


"The Morning News"
by Cameron L. Maris
an imitation of “Reading the Paper” by Ron Carlson

All I want to do is watch the morning news, but right now, I’ve got a wolf to shoot. The damn thing killed my dog last week, and before that a domestic goat, as well as several guard dogs before that. The state has authorized us to kill the entire wolf pack, and killing wolves is not an easy or a pleasant thing to do. I’m a pretty decent shot, though, as my father took me hunting when I was a kid, so I don’t fret about it too much. The wolves are always coming around the yard, looking for squirrels and rabbits, so it’s easy to get a bead on him and take him out. Then Mollie’s alarm clock goes off, so I throw a bagel in the toaster and brew us a pot of coffee before work. She drinks two cups with me, and as her car pulls out of the driveway, before I can even pick up the remote to turn on the TV, I hear the squeal of tires and the gnashing of metal and glass. Some kid has been huffing Dust-Off like we used to do in the basement of the old house, and the kid’s so high that he can’t pay attention to the road, and he’s t-boned Mollie’s car and killed her. There are two cans of Dust-Off on the floor of his passenger seat, and one of them has his DNA all over the fucking thing. So, I’ve finally got the news on and I’m halfway through the leadoff story, and there’s a loud crash from the backyard. It’s so loud and so early that I know it’s got to be something big, and I’m right. It’s a huge branch that’s fallen off the tree in the backyard, the tree that’s being destroyed by the beetle epidemic from the news, the beetles that’ve been killing trees all over the Rocky Mountain region. The critters have been slowly migrating from Yellowstone to other parts of the state, and sure enough, here they are, in my backyard, tearing my tree apart, grain by grain. After surveying the damage, my bagel’s cold, so I pop it in the microwave and am about to sit down when I see Gabriel, my friend from Casper, walking up the sidewalk in his dark grey peacoat, so I pour another cup of coffee. Gabe’s cough seems to be getting worse. She started coughing about a year before the EPA started regulating emissions of greenhouse gases from cars and factories and whatnot. Our senators and congressmen have been working to prevent the legislation, bless their souls, or somebody might have done something sooner. But now, Gabe’s purchased a handkerchief to cover his mouth to catch the phlegm and spittle, so that makes it a little more tolerable. He says he heard about the wolf thing, and he asks “What color was that wolf, anyway?” I barely pay attention to him, because I see through the window two Muslim guys down the block, hanging out at the courthouse with bulges under their robes. If the explosion’s too big, it’s going to get debris all over my yard, which I just raked yesterday. The bombs go off, and most of the shrapnel lands in the street; that courthouse had such nice big white pillars out front. I turn back to Gabriel and the morning news, and I notice the coffee-ring stain on the kitchen table is still there. Gabe’s cough is worse than usual, a little deeper and wetter these days. God damn it, as much as I scrub and scrub this lousy stain, it never really seems to come out.

11 November 2009

Window

Another attempt at micro-fiction for next week's class. Only three paragraphs this time, and I think this one's less.... um... tacky. Please enjoy.


"Window"
by Cameron L. Maris

Three young girls dressed in sweatpants and nightshirts creep across a front yard in a nice middle-class neighborhood. There is a boy inside the house, a boy the girls know from school, and it is two-o-clock in the morning. The girls had thrown a slumber party, and have snuck out of the house, scurrying and giggling down the block in socked feet, clutching their chests in the cold November night. Tina is the bravest of the three, and the most in love with the boy. Her hand is moving slowly and cautiously merely inches from his window. Colleen stands just yards behind her, holding her hands out awkwardly in the air to maintain her balance in case she suddenly needs to run. Amy stands further back, on the sidewalk, nearly in tears. She had not wanted to sneak out; the others had teased her and she did not want to seem like a scared child.

This is how I see them as I turn the corner on the dark street -- posed in the yard like a plaster nativity set, and lit in the halo of the streetlight. I recognize their poses, and am struck with an odd sense of clarity and kinship. I, too, was once someone who believed that true love was something that involved throwing pebbles at a window in the middle of the night.

Amy glances at me with terrified, watery eyes as I pass. Her future is something that she has been trying to imagine, without much success. As she gazes down the street after me, all she sees is darkness.

The Number-Four Fade

We've been studying the art of micro-fiction (also known as "flash fiction") in Short Story class, and we've been assigned to write a piece for next week. Feedback might be nice; it's not due 'til next Tuesday.


“The Number-Four Fade”
by Cameron L. Maris

“Beth” is the name she writes, next to my name, on the chart, which I glance over as she sets it on the cold beige counter. When she asks me what I want her to do, I give the usual rambling description as if I am just now speaking the words for the first time, like it had just now occurred to me to get a haircut. Beth drapes the protective plastic cape over my shoulders, unfurling it out around me into the air like a bed sheet.
“Are you from here?” Beth speaks awkwardly and deliberately; this is a rehearsed conversation that hairstylists must memorize.
“No. From Alaska originally, but I was raised mostly in Sheridan, about four hours north of here.”
Beth turns on the clippers and begins cutting. I attempt to continue the conversation. “You?”
“Here.” Beth speaks in one-word poems, flash-of-light love sonnets.
“In Laramie? Born and raised?”
“Yep.”
“Wow. What’s it like going through puberty in a University town?” (Ha Ha.)
“It was actually . . . boring.”
I wait for her to continue the small-talk, but she never will. I want to ask her things, like if she is a student, but I resist from fear of embarrassing her. I can feel the blade of the clippers pulling and cutting each individual hair, Autumn wind yanking leaves violently but passionately from a tree.
I watch Beth’s hands moving in the mirror. She wears three rings, two on her left hand and one on her right. Her hair is dyed two different colors; her thin frame looks even thinner and more fragile as she stood next to my square shoulder. Her breast, firm and round beneath her rubber apron, brushes me as she moves past. I look like a granite formation next to her willowy figure.
Beside us in the waiting area, two young blond boys wrestle with each other. Their older sister chastises them, “You’re going to bump into that guy,” motioning to me.
“Yeah,” I smile at the children, “You wouldn’t want to bump me, or she might cut my ear off. You wouldn’t want Beth to cut my ear off, would ya guys?” The boys say nothing, giggle and run away. Their sister stays behind and smiles. She feels vindicated. I have vindicated her authority, her womanhood. She is proud, and I am proud of her.
“Don’t worry, Beth, I know you won’t cut my ear off,” I joke, “despite the wild things in the corner.” Beth smiles and blushes, but she doesn’t reply. I briefly imagine Beth’s hand slipping, and lopping off my ear in one smooth motion. The blood is dark and warm, and it looks beautiful on Beth’s smooth hands.
The front of Beth’s jeans rub against my shoulder as she cuts. I can see her nude, laying in my bed; I see myself making love to her in the cold glow of the moonlight, she, writhing with sharp and bitter desire. All of space and time folds into a tiny sliver of air, no wider than a wisp of hair, and I can see it all. I wonder in this moment if she can see the same things I can.
“In the future, you can just tell them you want a number-four fade,” Beth says quietly, in almost a whisper.
“So if I come here again, I can ask for Beth, and I can tell you I want the number-four fade?”
“Yep.”
When Beth is finished cutting, she removes the plastic cape and leads me to the cash register. I am much too generous in tipping her, since the cut she gave me was far too short, and nothing much like what I had asked for. I glance back once at the pile of my dead hair on the floor, mourning briefly and silently.
I sense the icy breath of snow on my neck, and I feel naked. Winter is coming; winter is here, and I am totally, woefully, unforgivably unprepared.

10 November 2009

[it may be raining]

When, in the story of our lives,
do we stop and remember those that we loved,
that we left behind?

Where, in the hallways of our minds,
do we stop and look over our shoulders,
and remember?

I have it written on my arm,
bigger and blacker and bolder than anything
on my dirty, pale, weathered skin,

where I read it
over and over
every day.

I needed her to know it so badly,
that it was hers,
my arm is hers,
(this arm is yours, Princess).

But all I can do
is write it down
in words that she can read,
over and over,

press the paper into her palm,
and say goodbye.

03 November 2009

Test

Test #1

Name __________
Date__________

1. I [you/we] am [are]:

a.) mindful of others’ feelings
b.) a bloody mess
c.) animal
d.) in a droplet of water
e.) [a] foreigner[s]
f.) reckoner
g.) obsessive about how others perceive me [us]
h.) the mirror
i.) static on the radio
j.) red&white
k.) easy
l.) lovelovelovelove
m.) fucked
n.) all of the above
o.) [some of the above]

[please underline your answer and bring your paper to the front of the room].

29 October 2009

He

“He”
by Cameron L. Maris
(an imitation of “The Man on the Stairs” by Miranda July, from her book No One Belongs Here More Than You).


He was just a dim, shadowy figure across the street, but it caught my eye because of the way He was staring at me. I rubbed my eyes, but it -- He -- just stood there. I narrowed my eyes, I whispered aloud, Jesus Christ, because that was his name. I timed my breathing in perfect whole notes, slowly and deliberately, in-two-three-four, out-two-three-four. I was trying to invent a new way of breathing that was more like composition, so that if someone happened to notice me, they would only think that I was conducting a pleasant artistic science experiment, rather than cowering from the religious icon across the street. But after a while I realized I was counting aloud, which I felt took away my scientific integrity. And he kept staring at me, Jesus of Nazareth. He was standing with his arms spread wide, sort of a “let the children come to me” pose. He was thrilled to be there, in my neighbor’s front yard, finally finding one of his lost sheep after all these years. He was glowing. I don’t think I’d ever been as pleased with myself as Jesus looked at that moment. That is my problem with life, I’m never content with what I’ve found, even after chasing a dream for however-long, like the girl who worked at Target. She was barely eighteen, long brown hair and braces, which were a quality unique enough to give her beauty sort of an off-kilter look. She was perfect as an object of desire, but desire leads to consumption and consumption to over-consumption and to contentment, then to boredom. Or if I’m broke, I get a job and work diligently and never complain. I’m the first to volunteer for cleaning duty. I only do this because I know I have to show initiative so I will be paid. The sooner you volunteer for extra cleaning work, the quicker you can call in sick.

Jesus Christ the Nazarene, of course, is the total opposite of me, his whole thing is being Love Thy Neighbor and Do Unto Others and such. He was smiling so genuinely that for a moment I forgot everything that had gone on between us and simply recognize an old friend, only to be shaken by a quick flash of a memory of neglect and ridicule. He was here to take me, or to kill me, or to damn me, or something, and He looked so fucking happy about it. I stopped trying to adjust my focus, because I didn’t want to make my eyes so squinty. It gave me a headache, and it also made me look stoned, which I was, but if Jesus saw that it would alert Him to what a disappointment I had become. He might even wonder what else I had done wrong, and He might start asking questions like if I have a girlfriend, and was I having premarital sex, and if I was in love with her. I did, and we were, and no, I wasn’t. Alisha was looking for someone to marry, and I was looking for someone to fuck. She loved me desperately, desperate like love so often is, and she wanted to have babies and buy a house and get married. She might have thought I had wanted some of these things, too, but I did not, and I didn’t need to tell her that. Alisha would later fake a pregnancy with me, and go on to cause a real one with one of my close friends, Jason. I apologized to Jason afterward for not warning him. I still feel bad to this day.

I didn’t want Jesus to know about all of these sins. But He would already know. The moment I crossed the street, He would try to embrace me or kiss my cheek or shake my hand and the moment he touched my skin, he would feel all of my crimes. He would feel it in my clammy palm, feel it on the hair standing straight off my arm: O Lord, I Am Not Ready to Receive You, But Only Say The Word and I Shall Be Healed. But when He looked into my eyes, he would see Eli, Eli, Why Have You Forsaken Me? Would He like that I used His own words? Would He be flattered if I cleverly quoted Him? Most people like that kind of thing. Sometimes, when I’ve had a big fight with a close friend, I find it useful to slip in a little situationally-appropriate phrase that I had learned from them, maybe even something that I had teased them about saying in the past. This way, they feel like not only am I sorry for having been angry with you, but I forgive you, and have maybe even learned something from you. People really like the vindication of being listened to, really listened to, that comes from someone else quoting them. Even more than that, I like to quote pop songs and films to people that I may have once listened to or seen with them. Obsessively quoting pop songs is the third-most endearing-but-irritating of all my traits, which are:

1. I get bored easily.
2. I procrastinate to a dangerous level.
3. I reference film and music in casual conversation.
4. I feel no shame for any of these three
things and it makes me seem self-important and elitist.

Being bored easily isn’t so bad, but it’s the procrastination that makes the boredom so awful. There are interesting and important things that require my attention, but they are the very things that make me bored in the first place. Perhaps they are only problems because of the way they interact, and if I could convince them to play nicely with each other, they would be charming, likable qualities. Maybe I am an unsuitable host for my own characteristics.

I first met Him in in the third grade, when my parents thought I should attend Catholic elementary school. He took an immediate liking to me because I was freckled and fat, and my parents were both teachers. I was an easy mark, most likely to feel a need for some greater answer, if only as a way to make friends, and for some time, He was right. Then I got older and discovered theatre and writing and good music and how to talk to girls, and Jesus kind of became and arbitrary figure, someone I only talked to when I thought I needed some sound advice, or maybe a penance or two. On the day of my Confirmation in the eleventh grade, I wore my best shirt and tie, and even though the shirt kept coming untucked, and the tie wouldn’t stay straight, I knew that this was possibly the last time I would ever make my parents genuinely proud, and I could do it by doing nothing more than walking down an aisle at church. As I knelt in the pew, I looked up at the heavy wooden crucifix painted with streaks of too-bright red blood, and I remember thinking If you’re really there, give me some kind of sign, anything, if not, we’re done, man.

And now here He was, standing across the street as I slouch in a chair on my porch. Jesus stands so still that I almost wonder if he is so tired from his long journey that maybe I should offer him a seat on the step. Or maybe He wants me to come to Him, all prostrated and humble, or maybe He doesn’t see me at all, and if I hold as still as Him, I can melt into the shadows; he won’t see me, and I can start looking for a new place tomorrow. I can see His long white robes glowing in the purple summer night, the nail-holes in his upturned palms look like oddly-placed moles from a distance. I have a cigarette in my plam, but I don’t want to light it, for fear of attracting his attention. My roommate is gone for the night, as she is almost every night, so I’m not afraid of her coming home and getting freaked out that I was staring at The Lamb of God across the street. The only sound is of the leaves whispering softly in the trees, and a streetlight whirring and sputtering to life on the corner. He is so still that I begin to wonder if He is a statue erected during the day by that old woman who lives at the house, and I just hadn’t noticed It until now. What if I sit here until morning, hiding from something that’s not there. But lo. In the dim ambient light I can see His fingers start to move in a “come over here” gesture and what I feel is terrified vindication. Jesus is alive, He is across the street, He sees me, and He wants to talk to me, but He wants to do it on His terms. If, by the end of this night, I was spared eternal damnation, I would never forget this lesson in stoicism and tenacity. He was calm, relaxed, and perfectly content in staring me down from a hundred meters, while I was too timid to answer my phone when my parents called. And it was working, because it was scaring the fuck out of me. I don’t think I’ve ever been able to intimidate anyone that well, even when I was a starting lineman on my high school football team, or when I was elected to student council. Perhaps if I were more assertive and persistent like Jesus, I could have gone back to college and gotten that theatre degree, and I could be a famous actor, and I could even play Saint John in a movie about the crucifixion. Maybe the actor playing Jesus would look down from his CGI cross and say to me “Son, this is your Mother,” and I would quietly let a tear fall down my cheek. Maybe. Maybe He would come to the premiere and sign autographs and slap me on the shoulder, and I would lean into His ear and whisper: We couldn’t have done it without ya, Big Guy.

I slipped my hands in my pockets and stood up. I was still dressed in my untucked half-tux that I wore for work, bartending banquets at a local hotel, because what the hell. Maybe He would think I considered the chance to speak to Him for the first time in years a semi-formal occasion. I stepped off the porch, walked across the yard, and onto the sidewalk. I felt naked in the yellow light of the streetlamp, but I could see Him more clearly. For the first time, I noticed the red heart on His chest. I stood waiting for Him to motion for me to come closer, or for Him to smite me with a thunderclap, whichever came first. Finally, I stepped across the street to Him, and I could see his soft, brown eyes. They looked watery. I was right in front of him now; I cocked my head and furrowed my brow to see him better in the darkness. Our faces were parallel. I could smell musky incense burning. It was familiar, He was familiar, I felt safe in His presence. I stood there, and He stood there, and He spoke, and He made a sound that was not a human sound, but an ambient one, like a church organ squealing a wrong note. And I spoke human words, in a human tone, as only a human can speak. And suddenly I could see Him clearly, and I remembered all the reasons we had met in the first place. We were staring into each other’s eyes and suddenly I felt angry. Go away, I whispered. God damn you. Leave me alone.

The moment that Alisha finally told me that she had gotten her period and that she was not pregnant, I bought us a drink. I drank with her, tapped my empty glass on the bar, and told her to go to hell. I walked away smiling, and I took her best friend home that night. She had wanted to name the child ‘Taylor,’ anyhow, which is a silly and utterly pointless name. I began to fall in love with her best friend, and soon the whole matter became something that we just didn’t talk about. It became an amusing little anecdote, a story-often-told. But I didn’t laugh when I told it. I steeled myself against laughter; I would rather die than laugh. I didn't laugh, I did not laugh. But I died; I did die.

20 October 2009

I Am a Ptolemaic Astronomer

I Am a Ptolemaic Astronomer

I am a Ptolemaic astronomer
staring ceaselessly at the night sky
trying to predict
where Venus will land

convinced that the Earth
is the mother
the center of the universe
I keep adjusting my hypothesis
changing my values
amending my expectations

scribbling drawings
on notepads
plotting fictional patterns
in nature
turning science
to prose

adding
epi-cycle upon
epi-cycle
until Venus is spinning
madly over and
out of control
in the sky

epi-cycle upon
epi-cycle

drawing chalk lines in the shape of an egg
rolling the dice, trying to
abolish chance
(but a roll of the dice
will never abolish
chance)

We are Ptolemaic astronomers
ceaselessly staring
at the night sky
telling lies
about Venus.

epi-cycle upon
epi-cycle