Saying Goodbye to the Unnamed Decade.

Well, New Years Eve. It’s so nice to see you again. How long has it been?

Every New Year, bloggers, hipsters and music critics climb out of their holes to post year-end lists. Best Albums. Best Songs. Best Debuts. This year is no exception–only multiply the activity by 10, as we’ve reached the end of a decade: The, uh.. um.. well, no one’s really quite sure–except for this guy. While no one’s rushing to name the decade, everyone’s rushing to define it. So as we wish the 00′s goodbye (the decade, clearly not our 00 skinny jeans, we are hipsters, after all), it’s finally time for every music site, magazine, critic and aficionado to take a stand on the best albums of the decade.

As for me, I’m far too apathetic to actually compile a list. And I’m far too biased to make it sound like I’m being objective. So here it is, the album that defined my decade (and thus should define yours, too):

Paul A. Ab-Dul’s Entirely Biased Opinion on the Best Album of the Unnamed Decade:

Yankee Hotel Foxtrot - Wilco, 2002 (leaked 2001)

Everyone’s heard it: The myth. The lure. The drama. A musical David versus Goliath. The break with Reprise Records. The internet sensation. The final release on Nonesuch Records. But even behind the media hype, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot is an album good enough to stand on its own musically and lyrically.

The masterpiece is branded Wilco’s most “experimental” album. At times, sonic soundscapes, and occasionally full-on walls of noise, disguise the songs underneath. It rewards multiple listens, after which the melodies begin to reveal themselves under the masterfully created cacophonies that complement them perfectly. Underneath it’s jagged edges and fragments, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot is actually very simple; it’s beautiful and at times vulnerable, exploring a great range of emotional depth: the regret of “I Am Trying to Break Your Heart,” the nostalgia of “Heavy Metal Drummer,” the self-assuredness of “I’m the Man Who Loves You,” the longing of “Ashes of American Flags.” Some of Tweedy’s best songwriting coheres the album lyrically. Although the album was written and recorded before September 11th, it eerily invokes the spirit of post-9/11 America. It’s difficult to divorce the imagery of songs like Jesus, Etc. and Ashes of American Flags from the immediate context of its release, though unintended.

Jeff Tweedy himself sums up the spirit of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot best in Greg Kot’s Wilco: Learning How to Die:
“I started writing from the viewpoint of America as this imagined space, the America that exists in everyone. There is nothing more abstract to me than the idea of a country. These solitudes exist so apart from each other in the sea of white noise and information. And the beautiful thing is they keep transmitting to each other in the hope that somebody is going to find them. And the beauty is that people still do, still find some meaning in another person, in a relationship, find some way to communicate, even though more often than not it’s in a way that’s not what they intended. Because some communication is better than giving up or not communicating at all.”

Yankee Hotel Foxtrot is shaken, but slightly hopeful; a little lost, but reaching out to find meaning and comfort in things–not the least of which is in each other. Between the fragments of noise, Tweedy’s voice and images capture a universal zeitgeist of this past decade.

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Though I value my opinion over all others, I’d like to extend this question to everyone*: what album defined your decade? I’m interested to know. Maybe when Bobcat gets her shit together, she’ll grace us with a post on her pick, too.

Until then, I wish all you hipsters a safe and happy New Year.
See you in the.. ’10s?

*everyone but the staff writers of Pitchfork.

I Wasn’t Trying To Break Your Heart

Dear Hipsters,

I’m sorry it’s been so long since I’ve last written. I swear I wasn’t trying to break your heart; these things just happen sometimes. Things change. People move away. Personally, I’ve just been busy kicking television and foxtrotting–you know, Dixie Cup drinkin’ and assassining down the avenues. Besides, it’s been a long, hot summer. And we all know that when it’s hot in the poor places at night, I’m not going outside.

The good news is that I’m back, and I won’t leave you again (at least for the forseeable future). I also got you something. For those of you who secretly love Wilco, but publicly disdain their critical acclaim, mainstream appeal, and increasing Dad-rock status–this is for you. I give you some bands that are Wilco without being Wilco. Let’s go through them one by one, shall we?

Loose Fur is a band of the men who basically brought you Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. This side project, made up of Wilco frontman Jeff Tweedy, drummer Glenn Kotche and YHF mixer Jim O’Rourke, has released two albums since 2003. The first is the self-titled Loose Fur. My favorites from the six-track album are “Laminated Cat” and “Chinese Apple.” “Laminated Cat“ is a re-working of a song written for Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, but left off the album, called “Not For the Season.” This vibey, drum-driven number about the shifting seasons suits Tweedy and Kotche well. You can check it (and Jeff Tweedy‘s standup-worthy banter) here:

“Chinese Apple” will be somewhat familiar to Yankee Hotel Foxtrot aficionados. Part of Tweedy’s initially semi-improvised lyrics in this low-key folk tune assimilated their way into the very dissimilar “Heavy Metal Drummer.” Over the finger-picked guitars, soft percussion and distant organs, Tweedy sings “Unlock my body and move myself at last / in the warm liquid, flowing glowing glass / Classical music, blasting masks are ringing in my ears.” Hear (most of) it here, accompanied by adorable cartoon animals:

On Loose Fur‘s newest release, Born Again in the USA, comes the infectiously catchy “The Ruling Class,” a song best suited to those not politically correct or only ironically homeboys with Jesus. Tweedy spins the tale of the second coming of Christ in modern day America over jangly steel guitars and a whistling line sure to get stuck in your head for days on end.

Also available on Born Again in the USA (but sadly nowhere I could find on Youtube or elsewhere on the interwebs) is “Answers to Your Questions,” a highly-relatable, melancholy folk tune about a slightly-bitter ex-lover who doesn’t want to write you back. Jim O’Rourke‘s low, clear vocals plod along with the bass atop Tweedy‘s buoyant acoustic guitar. It’s a shame I can’t find it–guess you’ll have to buy the album.

Let’s move on to the next one, pronto. Pronto is a side project with Wilco keyboardist Mikael Jorgensen. I can’t claim to know much about this New York-based group, other than that I like what I hear. I also like Jorgensen‘s glasses. Anyway, they’ve released two discs, All Is Golden and (very recently) The Cheetah, filled with catchy tunes, many of which (but not all) sound like pop-rock throw-backs to the 70s, all signed with Jorgensen‘s signature key-tickling. Here’s a taste of one of my favorites, the sunshiney “When I’m On the Rocks:”

Another non-Wilco Wilco group is made up of Wilco multi-instrumentalist Pat Sansone and long-time Uncle Tupelo/Wilco bassist, John Stirratt. Both are highly talented musicians, singers and song-writers, so the combination naturally results in a great melodic soft folk-rock duo, The Autumn Defense. The group cites musical influences of Cat Stevens, Nick Drake and Simon & Garfunkle–take a listen, and it’s not difficult to hear where these influences come in.

Well, hipsters, this is the end. I can’t tell if this brings my heart the way I wanted when I started writing this blog to you. But it will have to do. I’ll write again soon. I’ll write you a box full of letters.

Sincerely,
the man who loves you,

Paul A. Ab-Dul

For more on:
Loose Fur – http://www.dragcity.com/artists/loose-fur
Pronto – http://www.myspace.com/prontonyc | http://www.facebook.com/Prontosphere | http://prontosphere.com/
The Autumn Defense – http://www.myspace.com/theautumndefense | http://www.theautumndefense.com/

For other Wilco side projects:
Nels Cline: http://www.myspace.com/nelscline
Pat Sansone: http://www.myspace.com/birdyonthemoon
Glenn Kotche: http://www.myspace.com/onfillmore | http://www.myspace.com/glennkotche
Jeff Tweedy: http://www.goldensmog.com/

Fionn the Four-Leaf Clover

The Emerald Isle has given us many modern day folk icons, like Damien Rice and Lisa Hannigan. So in honor of Ireland and St. Patrick’s Day, which, despite my lack of Irish heritage, I will ironically celebrate tomorrow, I’d like to showcase one of my new favorite (and Irish) singer-songwriters, Fionn Regan. He has a few independently released EPs, but his 2007 debut album, The End of History, which I’ve just discovered, took me by surprise and became an instant staple in my musical library. This fighting Irishman says he channels the likes of Bob Dylan and Neil Young, but if you’re a fan of Sufjan Stevens, Elliott Smith, Elvis Perkins or good folk music in general, stumbling upon Fionn is the luck of the Irish for you. In a sea of mediocre folk singers, musicians and lyricists, Fionn is the four-leaf clover you’ve been searching for.

Fionn‘s music is simple yet intricate, like all good folk music should be, in my unhumble opinion. He has it all: simple lyrics, simple melodies, simple arrangements. Yet his lyrics are rife with references and deeper meanings, his vocals strongly carry the melodies, and his musical arrangements may be sparse, but his guitar picking is brilliant.

Musical comparisons will do him no justice, so just go ahead and take a listen to my personal favorite, The Underwood Typewriter:

One of his most popular tracks, Put A Penny In the Slot, is a lyrical masterpiece reminiscent of Dylan:

For more on Fionn Regan, you can check out his official website and myspace page. If you feel so inclined, he also twitters, which means he personally bares his soul to you in 140 characters or less. For more on the Irish, wake up tomorrow, dress in green, get some nonalcoholic beer for irony and eat some corned beef and cabbage. On behalf of Bobcat, this is Paul A. Ab-Dul saying watch out for those  lecherous leprechauns and have a hip and happy St. Patty’s Day.