I Know How It Feels: Yabadum At Webster Hall Studios

I'm not going to relate a Yabadum show to D.C. hardcore, right? It's not something that seems exactly fitting, comparing one of 2013's best new indie bands to Teen Idles, Minor Threat or Rites of Spring. But if you step back, and take a look through a grander scope, some similarities come by. Their recent show at Webster Hall Studios had more sharpie marks on hands there were adults. Frontman and bassist Laszlo Horvath was sporting a new haircut, and someone from the audience jokingly yelled "skinhead!", similar to how Ian MacKaye was harassed in the mid 80's. The way the setlist was constructed recalled Fugazi circa Red Medicine. Someone was wearing a Hüsker Dü shirt.

I don't know anything about allegiance to straight edge, or if any of the band members listen to Jawbox. But one thing is for certain, when you're a teenager, watching someone your age up on the stage, just playing some great music, you get that feeling that you're living through something special. Maybe Yabadum can be my Minor Threat.

In a relatively short set, opening for two other bands, Yabadum made themselves heard, and let the non-believers know what's up. A downtempo, nearly a cappella intro to "Cosmos" would have ben enough, until they launched into the album version of the song. It doesn't hurt that Yabadum now has a new drummer, Robby Jenkins, who is considerably stronger than their former, and the band now has a well rounded rhythm section, especially on songs such as "Winter" (Horvath has even taken the opportunity to solo on his bass more). "Little Rooms" once again showed off the impressive keyboard playing of Charlie Schine.

New songs were played as well. "Look Alive" takes the Yabadum formula, but then shoots it through something completely different. But then there was the aptly-titled "Head Trip Into the Utopia", a multi-part, Flaming Lips/Mercury Rev/Spiritualized-like multi movement, noisy masterpiece. A euphoric masterpiece, and no matter how noisy it got, it would suddenly be reigned in by a steady piano line from Schine. If guitarist Chris Rivera's use of pedals didn't showcase his experimental tendencies throughout the set, then his brilliant pocket piano solo did, a solo that would make both J. Spaceman and Sonic Boom proud.

When the set was finished, the audience actually cheered for an encore, but to no avail (a rather unfortunate turn of musical events followed Yabadum's set). But seeing a group of teenagers in a dark room cheer for something felt powerful. Here we all were, taking something in together. So yeah, Yabadum is my Minor Threat.

I Don't Care, But I'm Interested: The Dismemberment Plan at Terminal 5

Pitchfork writers seem to like to cite albums by the Dismemberment Plan as "survival guides for your twenties", which is true. The songs of the Dismemberment Plan are so achingly personal and relatable, that they are a shoulder to cry on for those post-college years. But Pitchfork's declaration seems a bit of an understatement considering the sheer amount of different people who find solace in the Dismemberment Plan. I haven't reached twenty yet, but Travis Morrison's lyrics still identify considerably with me.

This theory was further proved at the Plan's kick-off to their tour show at Terminal 5 last Friday night. A good amount of people were men and women well into their forties and fifties who looked they had just got off work. But there was also a lot of young adults, twenty year olds in skinny jeans and Japandroids t-shirts. I was of the minority along with my friend India, with the two x's on either hand.

After an energetic opening set by Austin band Wild Cub, the Dismemberment Plan quietly walked out in the dark and picked up their instruments. Morrison walked up to the mic and said, "hello, we're the Dismemberment Plan from Washington D.C.-", turning to look at drummer, Joe Easly, said "hold on, we're not ready". Bassist Eric Axelson took his place at Morrison's keyboard, and guitarist Jason Caddell at his own (these three band members are famous for constantly switching instruments at shows), and they launched into "Invisible" from Uncanney Valley.

Some of the audience members were singing and dancing along to "Invisible", but not as much as they did to songs played later. But when the guitar line from Change's "Time Bomb" rang out, the young man of Asian descent next to me screamed and started dancing similar to Ian Curtis. And rightfully so, "Time Bomb" is one of the Plan's best songs, possibly with the highest energy. Also played from Change, was "The Face of the Earth" which sounded fantastic. "Ellen and Ben" started some slow dancing among the mosh pit that formed behind us. And "Following Through" got the most audience singing for a song from Change, and I screamed myself hoarse to the chorus of "I can do with anyone at anytime, don't you forget this is my life and it's gonna be good!"

Audience participation got better as the night continues. Moshpits broke out during "Do the Standing Still", "White Collar White Trash" and somehow "Daddy Was a Real Good Dancer" (luckily, India escaped, when I didn't). The audience sang along word for word to "You Are Invited", even though Morrison simply talks throughout, but hey, who cares? "What Do You Want Me to Say?" got the most audience members jumping up and down. Everyone "wave[d] hello" during "A Life of Possibilities"'s "you kind of put your hand up, wave hello" lyric.

It was nice to see the audience enjoying new songs as well as classic ones. We screamed along to the call and response portion of "Let's Just Go to the Dogs Tonight" and "No One's Saying Nothing" made me reevaluate my opinion of the album version. "Lookin'" offered a nice change of pace during the encore after a storming version of "Ok Joke's Over" ("I don't care but I'm interested", "you're in the 70s, I'm in the 90s bitch!", were some of Morrison's ad-libs). "Mexico City Christmas" and "Waiting" kicked ass. But of course, "The Ice of Boston" got the largest response, with Morrison inviting the audience onstage. As I jumped over the fence trying to get to the stage, I was head butted and kicked straight in the chest by fans with similar intentions.

However, the two perfect moments of the show was when the band performed "Spider in the Snow" and "The City". Those two songs that I would always listen to on the subway ride home. My heart started racing when the synth of "Spider in the Snow" began, and I sang to every word of it. I had the same reaction when those guitar notes were struck at the beginning of "The City". The loudest the sing alongs ever got was during the bridge of "all... I... ever... say... know... is... GOODBYYYYYEEEEEE!" It was a beautiful moment.

During the first chorus of "The City" I stepped on the foot of the woman next to me, and she turned around, maybe with the intention of saying something. But we made eye contact as we were both singing the chorus, smiles were exchanged, and we turned back to watch an amazing band play an amazing show. So yeah, the Plan has touched a lot of people. And thank god for that.

When I Say 'What the' You Say 'Hell': A Review of The Dismemberment Plan's "Uncanney Valley"

Parties that you don't want to be at suck. It's not fun when your life starts to feel stagnant. It's kind of weird when your girlfriend suddenly gets blown from the face of the Earth. It's just annoying when your friend borrows your copy of Bruce Springsteen's Nebraska and when you go over to get it, she's having sex with her boyfriend and they don't even bother to put their clothes on. It's strange spending New Year's Eve alone in a strange city. The end of the world/apocalypse isn't going to be fun. "Happiness is such hard work, and it gets harder every day". It's not enjoyable, having bad memories. Having superpowers that you don't want, that's a curse. What does it even feel like to be a spider in the snow? If you don't know, then your life must be perfect. Which is probably a lie.

These truths were proudly brandished through the Dismemberment Plan's 90's career, admitting things that not a lot of other people could. But instead of filtering these sentiments through hushed indie pop confessionals (which seems probable, without hearing any of the music), the Dismemberment Plan offered some of the most inventive instrumentation, drawing from the D.C. punk of their hometown, but also hip-hop, Braniac, and R&B. This all came together perfectly on their classic third album, Emergency & I. Then, for 2001's Change, the band smoothed out their prickly edges, focused on more lush and expansive songs, and lead singer Travis Morrison all abandoned his MC-like vocal delivery.

With the release of Change, it seemed that the possibilities were endless for the Dismemberment Plan, but in 2003, they closed shop, just feeling tired and stalled out. It was a quiet break-up, no fights or hard feelings, no guitars thrown at other band members (looking at you, Black Francis). So, us fans were left with two perfect albums, but no band behind them. Bassist Eric Axelson formed the band Maritime, before deciding to teach an English class, guitarist Jason Caddell became a sound engineer in the D.C. area, drummer Joe Easly works at NASA, and Travis Morrison attempted at a solo career, before being berated by critics, and retired from music to sing in a church choir and work with Huffington Post. But then in 2007, the band reunited for some shows, one thing led to another, they played the Roots Picnic and Pitchfork, teased new recordings and now we've come to 2013, with the release of their long-awaited fifth album, Uncanney Valley.

From the first song, "No One's Saying Nothing", it's tempting to remove the head phones and forget you purchased the LP. This is mostly Morrison's fault, as he sings a line like "you hit the space bar enough, and cocaine comes out, I really like this computer!" over an otherwise formidable, Christmas carroll channeling backing track. This isn't the Dismemberment Plan from Emergency & I and Change and not even of "!" and The Dismemberment Plan Is Terrified, with Morrison throwing out corny jokes and tangents that don't do him or the songs much justice. But then you remember that it has been over a decade. Morrison is no longer alone in an apartment in D.C., but happily married, living in Park Slope.

It has been twelve years since Change and fourteen since Emergency & I and even when Uncanney Valley falters, it still feels like a logical step for the band as a whole. It's the first Plan album to have a keyboard in every song, and other forms of electronic instrumentation are prevalent throughout. Synth keys stab through "White Collar White Trash" as Morrison sings of the gentrification of D.C., similar to ...Is Terrified's "Academy Award". "Mexico City Christmas" rides a shuffling beat and organ with one of the album's catchiest choruses ("so pull out the wires and shoot out the lights / 'cause I'm lost in a dream and I can't breathe at these heights / hyyyyeeeeeiiiiiiooooo, hyyyyeeeeeiiiiiiooooo!)

As previously mentioned, Morrison is now married, and his feelings for his wife can dominate the album. Even when it does get cheesy, you can't help but be happy for him, because on numerous other Plan albums, his luck with love isn't great ("Come Home" and "Face of the Earth" from Change), as he acknowledges on "Lookin'" when he sings "I'm lucky that you love me, because my luck isn't that great", and the sentiment is sweet. On the triumphant closer "Let's Just Go to the Dogs Tonight", rattles off a bunch of cutesy couplets ("I can be the sugar you can be the cream", "I can be the salt, you can be the lime") but it's such an earnest testament to not caring about anything else, that it works. Which is why I shouted along to "when I say 'cluster' you say 'fuck', cluster fuck!" at their recent concert at New York's Terminal 5.

Of course, there seem to be some growing pains. The Plan has had a reputation for somewhat useless songs, yet with the cohesiveness of their past albums, those songs deserved their place. But Uncanney Valley is definitely the least cohesiveness of the Plan's albums, which happens to be one of it's downsides. "Go and Get It" does manage to show off the super-human rhythm section Axelson and Easly (it was rumored that Easly's drums on Change's "The Other Side" were sped up, because no one could drum that fast. Easly can.), but beneath it's stadium stomp and grandeur, there's nothing to hold onto. "Daddy Was a Real Good Dancer" features Caddell's serpentining guitar and some interesting ideas of familial sacrifices that must be made, but it's bogged down by it's redundancy and pop-country tendencies.

When it comes down to it, the songs that sound more similar to Change and Emergency & I, are in fact the best songs on the whole album. "Living in Song" manages to capture the feelings of "The City" over some unorthodox percussion as Morrison sings "I hear you whistle through my neighborhood every night, and it makes me wonder if you're really doing alright." "Invisible", undeniably the album's strongest moment, manages to capture big city anxiety ("waiting around for the 7 express / New York was a bet / Queens was a guess / I thought I'd be working in Midtown, a winner / instead I'm biting my nails and calling it dinner"), loneliness ("snow on the window of the taxi back home / I just sit back and turn off my phone") and depression ("invisible, yeah that's me") all over tense guitars and sampled strings. "Waiting" shows off a potential future for the Plan, a successful blend of the keyboard based instrumentation, and Morrison's impressive lyricism. The song begins with a sampled horn fanfare, before the squiggly synth kicks in (and stays for the duration of the song) as Morrison weaves a story of meeting an ex in a bar, hoping to rekindle the relationship but then realizing it's a pointless endeavor ("you know I'd give my life for you, for promises that won't come true").

It seems as if comebacks are now measured in necessity, and for a good reason. The revamped Pavement from a couple years ago only played a handful of shows before disappearing again, and it was clear that they still hated each other. The same reason the Pixies didn't feel like the Pixies on Trompe le Monde was because there was no Kim Deal, and it's the same for last month's EP-1. But there's been an impressive amount of bands that have proved that they still have something to say after a prolonged period of time, and the Dismemberment Plan fall into this category, along with Superchunk, Sebadoh and Dinosaur Jr. And even the most hardcore fans can't dismiss this record, because it's till the good ol' Plan. All their musical idiosyncrasies are still present, just much more laid back. Emergency & I was the crisis, and when the anxiety reached a boiling point. Change was the aftermath, trying to live off past events. So twelve years later, Uncanney Valley is the feel-good record, and there hasn't been one by the Dismemberment Plan yet.

It feels quite necessary.

The Dismemberment Plan - Uncanney Valley
7.5/10
Recommended Tracks - "Waiting", "Invisible", "Living in Song", "Mexico City Christmas", "Let's Just Go to the Dogs Tonight"

And It All Makes Sense (Will the Fight for Our Sanity, Be the Fight of Our Lives?)

A frequently asked question: "Why am I listening to something like this?"

And then Neutral Milk Hotel's "The King of Carrot Flowers, Pt. 1" begins, and I'm knocked back into my chair, as a slight "damn" escapes my lips.

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The Summer's over. Coming with the ending of that "magical season", comes the end of many things. The end of TV shows (I'm still missing Drunk History), free concerts (I'll never forget the Men's cover of"I Wanna Be Your Dog" at 4Knots), the end of the heat, and the the end of relationships, both romantic and friendly.

My Summers usually entail listening to a lot of DIIV, Wild Nothing, Craft Spells, Beach Fossils, and whoever else is on the Captured Tracks roster or fits the season. But now that the cold is creeping up, I've found myself turning my musical interests to a different and bygone era in music.

I don't listen to Japandroids around Christmas. I listen to Television, Fugazi, Gang of Four and Jawbox.

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Reverting back to a simpler musical landscape isn't exactly what this is. Because this music is goddamn complex. If you don't believe that statement in regard to this era, just listen to Modest Mouse's The Lonesome Crowded West (which will be mentioned later). What made the era of Beat Happening, X and Liz Phair such a strange, complex and brilliant era, was that artists worked without inhibitions. No one gave a shit. Phair could sing about one night stands on an album where she proudly brandished a nip-slip ("Fuck and Run" from Exile in Guyville), John McRea of Cake could make a pop hit with a chorus that simply yelled, "just shut, shut the FUCK UP! ("Nugget" from Fashion Nugget), or Calvin Johnson of Beat Happening could sing about hot chocolate boys, in a creepy baritone ("Hot Chocolate Boy" from Dreamy).

Starting in the early '80s, music in America started to move away from classic rock, and move on to something else. If you've read Michael Azerrad's Our Band Could Be Your Life, you already know how bands like Black Flag, Minor Threat, Fugazi, Hüsker Dü, Minutemen, Mission of Burma, Sonic Youth and The Replacements spearheaded a movement, a blend of pop, hardcore and punk into a whole. But after them, came the indie rock of the '90s, much less angry, and more focused on melody. Led by R.E.M., artists like Pavement, the Lemonheads, Buffalo Tom, Jawbox, Superchunk and Guided By Voices forged their own careers, whether being slacker noise, or lo-fi pop. There was no point in being obscure for them (i.e. Sonic Youth, Butthole Surfers), so they sang about the normal things: breakups, music and the occasional drug reference.

But the one record perfectly encapsulate all these musical references into one, is Dinosaur Jr.'s second album, You're Living All Over Me. J Mascis is possibly indie rock's supreme guitar god (Sonic Youth's "Teenage Riot" is about him!), able to convey so much emotion through the tips of his fingers. Backed by Lou Barlow's powerful bass and Murph's jazzy drumming, Mascis's thin whine details stories of girls, and other topics that are now filed under "emo". There's not one song on this thing, that isn't equally catchy as it is terrifying. The fuzzed out guitar of "Little Fury Things" matched with Barlow's throat shredding screams. "In a Jar"'s pop tendencies, with lyrics of stalking, being stuffed into a jar and picking at scabs. When the staff at SST received the advanced copy of this record, they didn't know what to think, because the needle on the monitors spun out of control due to the intense noise and distortion. And rightfully so. "Tarpit", "Kracked" and "Sludgefeast" are fuzzed out, indie based guitar rock classics, and Barlow's "Poledo" set the standards for modern day bedroom recorders, who dream of something better, by using their four-track.

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If you're feeling the need for something more, there were albums that were just huge, in scope, musically and lyrically. What's a better example for this, than the Flaming Lips' 1999 opus, The Soft Bulletin? The Lips were picked up by Warner Bros., but were considered of being dropped, they only had one hit ("She Don't Use Jelly") and had just lost their lead guitarist. So after the experimental, four stereo requiring Zaireeka, they doubled down, and worked on creating a monumental album (with the intention of not using a single electric guitar). Where Wayne Coyne sang about vaseline and jelly was now replaced by thoughts on the big things, those being: love, death and life. The Soft Bulletin is a celebration, a meditation on life, a somber reflection, or anything you want it to be. On the triumphant "Race for the Prize" Coyne sings, "they're just humans, with wives and children!" over sweeping instrumentation. The ballad(esque) "The Spiderbite Song" finds Coyne reflecting on multi-instrumentalist Steven Drozd's heroin addiction and bassist Michael Ivins' near fatal car crash. On "A Spoonful Weighs a Ton", Coyne sings, "giving more than they had, they lifted up the sun". And that's what the Flaming Lips did.

Another record that can achieve the same heights that The Soft Bulletin can, is Smashing Pumpkins' 1995 double album, Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness. Mellon Collie operates as a generation's call to arms, their White Album, Quadrophenia, or Sandinista! It's a double album, where almost all musical chambers are explored, from grunge, to R&B, to metal. It also has no filler. It produced some of the Pumpkins' biggest songs ("Tonight Tonight", "1979", "Bullet With Butterfly Wings"), but listen all the way through, and you'll find beauty in songs like "Galapogos" and "Farewell and Goodnight", hushed confessionals like "Stumbleine" and "Take Me Down", or ugly rawk on "X.Y.U." and "Bodies". At it's best, Mellon Collie is a distillation of teenage angst and sadness, and it achieves what the Smiths and Bowie tried to do. No wonder 15 year old me loved it.

But, not every big record was intent on making you feel "better". Modest Mouse, wanted you to question everything, and realize the darkness, but sometimes beauty, that comes along in life. And this old Modest Mouse we're referring to, pre Good News for People Who Love Bad News and awful American Idol covers of "Float On". Back in the mid 90s and early 2000s, Modest Mouse was a band we could wave at the British, and say "you may have Radiohead, but you don't got this!" We could say that, because Modest Mouse was undeniably an American band. This trait is no better exemplified than their 1997 sophomore album, The Lonesome Crowded West. In the words of frontman and guitarist Isaac Brock, his "[surroundings] were becoming mall-fucked". The Lonesome Crowded West acts as a reaction to this, and many other things, developing throughout a young man's life. On opener "Teeth Like God's Shoeshine", Brock screams, hits a lovely falsetto, pounds the life out of his guitar, and sings a semi-chorus of "here's the man, with the teeth like God's shoeshine" (who else but Brock to think of a lyric like that?). God and religion is a topic encountered a lot on this record, from the man who plans to start a war with the man upstairs ("Cowboy Dan") or the main protagonist wishing to walk like Jesus while drowning ("Styrofoam Boots / It's All Nice On Ice, Alright"). But other songs, were tear jerkers ("Trailer Trash", "Polar Opposites" and especially "Bankrupt On Selling", where Brock sings "I came clean out of love with my lover, I still love her, loved her more when she used to be sober and I was kinder").

For those fans of Lonesome Crowded West's sadder and more inward songs, were rewarded on the singles and b-side collection Building Nothing Out of Something (considering that a compilation was so incredibly cohesive and one of Modest Mouse's best shows how consistent they were). The beautiful, winding "Interstate 8" finds Brock lamenting on how life is just a figure 8. "Workin' On Leavin' the Livin'" takes Erasherhead's "Lady in the Radiator Song", to create a beautiful harmonizing jam. And on my personal (in regard to lyrics) favorite, "Whenever You Breathe Out, I Breathe In (Positive Negative)", where Brock sings lines such as: "I didn't hang out with anyone, 'cause I'd have nothing to say", "I didn't leave my bed for eight days straight" and "I didn't feel angry or depressed, I didn't feel anything at all".

Friends of Modest Mouse, Built to Spill, started to employ the same lyrical profoundness, but rivaled their's with sweeping, melodic guitar arrangements. On their breakthrough record, There's Nothing With Love, with the hit "Car" (Doug Martsch probably connected to thousands of indie kids when he sang "I wanna see movies of my dreams"), Built to Spill offered nuggets of guitar based pop. When picked up by Warner Bros., Built to Spill made one of the most unconventional major label debuts with Perfect From Now On. All of the songs exceed five minutes, many are multiple movements, without the basic verse-chorus structure. Martsch got sinister on "I Would Hurt a Fly", was pissed off on "Out of Site", gave a universal creation story on "Randy Described Eternity" and tugged on our heart strings with "Velvet Waltz" and "Kicked It in the Sun". Built to Spill's pop tendencies with their Neil Young-esque guitar passages were perfectly distilled into 1999's Keep It Like a Secret with songs like "Carry the Zero" and "Else".

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The Meadowlands is the marshy/swap area below the Pulaski Skyway in New Jersey. It's also the title of The Wrens' amazing third album. New Jersey's the Wrens represent this sort of "middle ground" in indie rock. They were guys just like you (Stephen Malkmus, Evan Dando) but sang about actual things, like girlfriends and day jobs. The Wrens haven't made an album since the 2003 release of The Meadowlands, but apparently, they're still working on it. The Meadowlands is a devastating record, a chronicle of romantic failures, inter-band turmoil, depression, anxiety and more. The majority of the album keeps a somber mood, but when the Wrens rock out, they rock out (I want to raise my fist whenever I hear the chorus of "Everyone Choose Sides"). Singer/guitarist Charles Bissell does this over fuzzed out guitars, stark pianos, and a driving rhythm section. His voice is sometimes difficult to understand, but Google the lyrics while listening, and you'll never be the same. "A sophomore from Brown / she worked lost and found / I put her face on you all year" Bissell sings on the great "She Sends Kisses". "Ex-Girl Collection" weaves a story of a man who keeps all letters sent to him from ex-girlfriends while also having an affair, but then his wife finds out ("Ann slams in, another lightning round begins, 'why Charles?', I found out, wipe that smile off your face... called at work, 'Happy anniversary jerk'... I'm called ten kinds of bastard"). On "13 Months In 6 Minutes", he meets the only one he's ever loved, after thirteen months, just to spend six minutes with her in an airport. It's hard to be stuck in the same place for so long, in the Wrens' case, New Jersey. So when Bissell sings "you keep saying, Jersey's not a home" on "Thirteen Grand", it hits like a brick.


There's also Weezer. Oh, Weezer. For a couple of years, Rivers Cuomo was the next indie-rock guitar God, right up there with Doug, Thurston and J. Cuomo painted himself as a relatable geeky kid who liked KISS on Weezer's self titled debut. He could be bitingly funny ("Undone [The Sweater Song]"), but his songs could also carry a message ("Say It Ain't So" was for all the kids who were to scared to listen to Minor Threat but who still were straight edge). But their crowning achievement remains their sophomore album, the commercial failure yet cult classic Pinkerton. Dealing with the anxieties of being famous, Cuomo holed up in Harvard to write a harrowing concept/break-up album about half-Japanese girls, booty shaking and lesbians. The self produced aspect gives the band a much meatier guitar approach, and all backing vocals were recorded at the same time, sans overdubs. All ten songs are perfect from the desperate "Tired of Sex", depressed "Across the Sea", acoustic "Butterfly and "Pink Triangle", where Cuomo's love interest reveals herself to be a lesbian. It's loosely based on Puccini's opera, Madame Butterfly, and Cuomo painted love to be a fleeting, and dead on arrival kind of thing.


But the band that capitalized on this subject matter the most, and took it to new heights, was the Dismemberment Plan. Starting as a scrappy D.C. punk band in 1993, by their second album in '97, they proved themselves to be a force to be reckoned with, with the monster hit, "The Ice of Boston". But on '99's Emergency & I, they managed to capture the anxieties of being young, with some of the most forward thinking music in indie rock (12/8 time! Lyrics about the apocalypse! Synth flourishes more accustomed to Braniac than Fugazi!) It also didn't hurt that Travis Morrison was a lyrical genius, able to dissect the feelings of loneliness and anxiety coming from being a young person in a large world. "Spider in the Snow", "The Jitters" and "The City" are beautiful reminders of this. On 2001's Change, they smoothed out their sound, and became "prettier". Change is a break up album with him looking back in "Sentimental Man", dealing with the lack of her presence ("Face of the Earth", "Come Home"), and equally becomes life affirming while seeking revenge in "Time Bomb" and "Following Through".

It would be tempting to say "they just don't make them like this anymore", which in some ways, is true. We'll probably never get another record that's a cesspool of slime, insanity and emotion like Dinosaur Jr.'s You're Living All Over Me. No one will ever be able to make make-out music for indie kids like Yo La Tengo. No one will ever be able to make a song like the Flaming Lips' "Suddenly Everything Has Changed"; a beautiful meditation on death. There will never be closers as powerful as Sugar's "Explode and Make Up" or Weezer's "Only In Dreams" (a two minute crescendo, followed by the best solo of '94). The Replacements' Let It Be is the perfect distillation of humor, punk, teenage angst and hardcore. Who else will make beautiful noise like My Bloody Valentine? Also, Modest Mouse were calling ex-girlfriends drunk before Drake was ("Long Distance Drunk" from The Lonesome Crowded West). But there's still artist who make records that will live up to these one day. Japandroids, The National, M83, The Gaslight Anthem, Titus Andronicus and The Hold Steady.

But no one will ever be as brutally honest as Travis Morrison when he sings "happiness is such hard work, gets harder every day", because it's true. And because that's true, we turn to these records.

Again and again.