My year in music

#1. Tori Amos, Night of Hunters. Tori is my favorite artist and I regard this as her best album since 1999's To Venus and Back! Not only that, it's her first album on the classical label Deutsche Grammophon (twelfth studio album in all). Tori was approached by the label to compose a twenty-first century song cycle based on classical themes. To listen to her tell the story, she responded by saying, "Can I have a drink?" She said that if she were to get it wrong, she would get it really wrong because she was messing with the masters so to speak.

Tori's vocals and virtuosic piano playing are accompanied by the Apollon Musagete Quartet on strings and Berlin Philharmonic clarinet soloist Andreas Ottensamer. And as with her last effort, 2009's seasonal album Midwinter Graces, she enlisted her daughter and niece to provide a few of the vocals.

Night of Hunters is a great achievement, as was the tour in support of it with the Apollon Musagete Quartet through Europe, South Africa (her first time touring there), and North America. The highlight for me was a stunning new arrangement of "Cruel." It was so daring to rework that song from her '98 album From the Choirgirl Hotel (my favorite) with the string quartet.

#2. Bright Eyes, The People's Key. Bright Eyes' eighth album and first in four years represents a departure from both the band's last album, Cassadaga, and Conor Oberst's recent side projects: "I was really burnt out on that rootsy Americana shit. So I tried to steer clear of that." Honestly, I hope he gets into that again but I also love Digital Ash in a Digital Urn, so this album did not disappoint. It certainly has a harder electric sound, with the exception of the quiet "Ladder Song," which Conor Oberst tacked on after the album was almost complete and a friend of his committed suicide. "No one knows where the ladder goes," he sings. Influenced by his interest in Rastafarianism (the Bible and eastern religion are also referenced), the most prominent theme on the album is unification of humanity.

Other 2011 releases that I've enjoyed include:

Adele, 21
Death Cab For Cutie, Codes and Keys
The Decemberists, The King is Dead
Fleet Foxes, Helplessness Blues
Indigo Girls, Beauty Queen Sister
The Kills, Blood Pressures
Paul Simon, So Beautiful or So What
Robbie Robertson, How to Become Clairvoyant
Stevie Nicks, In Your Dreams
Vanessa Carlton, Rabbits on the Run
Wilco, The Whole Love

Concerts I attended this year:

Jan. 2nd: Sarah McLachlan, Capitol Center for the Arts, Concord, NH
Jan. 8th: Vienna Teng, The Center for the Arts, Natick, MA
Mar. 11th: Bright Eyes, State Theatre, Portland, ME
Mar. 13th: Shawn Colvin, Chandler Center for the Arts, Randolph, VT
Apr. 1st: Sara Bareilles, State Theatre, Portland, ME
June 24th-25th: Wilco's Solid Sound festival, Mass MoCA, North Adams, MA
July 28th: Bright Eyes, Meadowbrook U.S. Cellular Pavilion, Gilford, NH
Aug. 1st: Death Cab For Cutie, Bank of America Pavilion, Boston, MA
Aug. 30th: Sara Bareilles, Bank of America Pavilion, Boston, MA
Sept. 9th: The National, Bank of America Pavilion, Boston, MA
Sept. 20th: Wilco, Wang Theatre, Boston, MA
Oct. 22nd: Indigo Girls, Keefe Auditorium, Nashua, NH
Nov. 2nd: Brandi Carlile, Calvin Theatre, Northampton, MA
Dec. 2nd: Tori Amos, Beacon Theatre, New York, NY
Dec. 6th: Tori Amos, Orpheum Theatre, Boston, MA

Review of Wilco's The Whole Love

The Whole Love is Wilco's eighth studio album and the first on the band's own label, dBpm records. It is also Wilco's best album since 2004's A Ghost is Born. The Whole Love has plenty of variety. Interviewed in the latest issue of Rolling Stone, frontman Jeff Tweedy says, "It sounds like Wilco, but with something that feels new and fresh."

The album is bookended by its longest and best tracks, "Art of Almost" and "One Sunday Morning (Song for Jane Smiley's Boyfriend)." The latter was also the highlight of Wilco's Boston concert I attended on September 20th. "One Sunday Morning" clocks in at twelve minutes and has a beautiful acoustic guitar medley with an equally beautiful piano accompaniment. "Art of Almost" recalls the experimental rock of Ghost and Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, with the added benefit of some great guitar work by Nels Cline toward the end. Says Tweedy, "There's a certain faction of Wilco fans that I think has felt maligned by the directness of the last couple of records. 'Art of Almost' scratches that itch for them." In another interview, he remarks that the type of song like "Art of Almost" fits best at the beginning of an album, and wryly laments some people's dismissal of Sky Blue Sky because of its especially mellow opening track.

Were it not for "One Sunday Morning" the louder songs on the album would steal it. There are numerous relatively quiet songs on the album, perhaps more than there should be because of how powerful the more rocking songs are, leaving the listener eager for more of them. Despite how rich the album is sonically, Tweedy's lyrics still captivate. Some standouts include "You won't set the kids on fire / Oh but I might" from "I Might" and "Sadness is my luxury" from "Born Alone." "Open Mind" has strong lyrics (but it's a shame that the song is somewhat boring musically): "I would throw myself underneath / The wheels of any train of thought / Running off the rails or sail you through / The rogue waves of your brain." In "Sunloathe," Tweedy sings, "I kill my memories / With a cheap disease." He remarks, "A lot of 'Sunloathe' is mocking the internally manufactured abyss of addiction. It's a common thread in a lot of my songs--being angry at my own self-pity, or self-pity in general, in the face of real suffering in the world."

This is Wilco's third album with its current lineup of six talented musicians and its strongest together. A few critics have pointed to the variety of the songs on the album as making it seem disjointed--sure, it's not the most coherent, but it is a quality album and one of Wilco's better efforts.

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars.

Live music: rediscoveries

One of the greatest aspects of concerts is how every performance of a song is unique, with varying energy behind it--coming from the artists and influenced by the crowd. Hearing a certain song performed live can spark an entirely new appreciation for it. Seeing a piece by a favorite artist in a new light is satisfying, and it can sometimes seem like you are experiencing a new work altogether.

After a particularly moving rendition of a song in concert, there have been times when I've wondered how I missed singling out that song at all before. It was the same song, yet different. I've rediscovered numerous songs and even whole albums this way.

Rilo Kiley's song "The Absence of God" had not clicked with me until I saw them perform it in concert in 2008. I had been hoping they would play "More Adventurous," which is another slower-tempo, melancholy song from the same album. As it turned out, I found the live performance of "The Absence of God" to be touching, with a lot of feeling behind it, and it became a song to which I listened and liked just as much thereafter as the one I would have preferred to hear.

At the Bright Eyes concert on July 28th, they played a few songs from their album Cassadaga, which had never been an album that stood out to me. After the concert, I appreciated that album like I hadn't before and immersed myself in listening to it. "If the Brakeman Turns My Way" was a highlight of the show (and a live fan favorite, judging by the cheers). I think it might actually be the best song on that album.

Bright Eyes has been ending their sets with "One for You, One for Me," which also closes their latest album, The People's Key. The lyrics "You and me, you and me / That is an awful lie / It's I and I" did not resonate with me until I saw how Conor Oberst performs the song live. Rather than what could be interpreted as an isolationist stance, the line conveys the idea that we are all one. In rastafarian belief, a prominent influence on this album, the phrase connotes equality among everyone. In concert, toward the end of the song Conor always reaches out to the crowd, touching many people's hands. This gesture perfectly complements the lyrics, and can only be experienced live.

Another reason Google rocks

Google is celebrating the first day of summer with a logo enhanced by Japanese artist Takashi Murakami, of whom I've long been a fan. I have to give it up to Google for brightening my days with the enhanced logos. Recently Google had a series of illustrations intertwined with the logo by Roger Hargreaves, creator of the delightful Mr. Men and Little Miss books for kids.

Google occasionally gets interactive--such as marking the birthday of Les Paul with a strummable guitar graphic and commemorating Jacques Cousteau with a changeable view through the portholes of a submarine. Everything you want to know about Google "doodles" is outlined here and you can view an archive of the images.

Themes in Conor Oberst's lyrics (Part Three)

A theme across some of Conor Oberst's finest songs is a struggle with alcohol. Potentially harmless social agent and relaxant or aid to self-destruction and isolation? There exists a complicated relationship between the narrator and alcohol.

"Hit the Switch" is a song devoted entirely to the topic, mapping out the conflict that is felt. He contemplates quitting drinking, lamenting another morning spent in the grips of a debilitating hangover during which he feels like a hypocrite for continuing to inflict damage upon himself. "Lua" contains similar sentiment: "What is simple in the moonlight now is so complicated."

In "Hit the Switch," he also addresses the juxtaposition of friends out socializing over drinks with the narrator's own removed frame of mind: "I'm completely alone at a table of friends / I feel nothing for them / I feel nothing / Nothing" and "I'll call you eventually, when I want to talk / Until then you're invisible." The use of alcohol is not aiding him with his social interactions, but is in effect impeding them.

One reason why it is such a well crafted song is because the switch to which the title refers has him vacillating from beginning to end of narrative. Early on he talks about a switch getting hit and that things stop making sense, with his essential self getting lost in the shuffle. At the end of the song he says that when night descends, "It all starts making sense / There is no right way or wrong way, you just have to live / And so I do what I do, and at least I exist / What could mean more than this?" That mindset gets the last word, which connotes the cycle.

On the one hand, the narrator is continuing to exist, but on the other hand, living with an alcohol problem may feel like a cheated existence. "It's not something I would recommend," he cautions in "Lua," "but it is one way to live." In "Something Vague," he writes, "You see your breath in the air as you climb up the stairs / To that coffin you call your apartment / And you sink in your chair, brush the snow from your hair / And drink the cold away / And you're not really sure what you're doing this for / But you need something to fill up the days / A few more hours."

Morbid thoughts are woven into this lyrical theme. "Milk Thistle" (which is used to treat alcohol-inflicted liver damage) is a song about dying: "I keep death on my mind / Like a heavy crown / If I go to heaven / I'll be bored as hell." In "Hit the Switch," he refers to recurrent nightmares: "I have some where I die / I have some where we all die." In "Lua," he writes, "We might die from medication but we sure killed all the pain."

Conor Oberst is known for his confessional lyrics, and this theme across a number of his songs is a prime example. It is admirable that he would expose such a struggle and probe it to the extent that he does. He does not glamorize or gloss over the topic at all, either--rather, he strips it bare.

It's Star Wars Day!

May the fourth be with you--it's Star Wars Day! It's funny because I have actually been making my way again through the series on DVD (first the original trilogy; now I'm on to the prequels). My favorite would have to be Return of the Jedi. There are a lot of good lines in that movie, many of them said by the macho and sarcastic Han Solo. A few favorites:

Luke Skywalker: "Just relax and stick close to Chewy. I've taken care of everything."
Han Solo: "Oh. Great."

Luke: "Quiet, there may be more of them out there."
Han: "Hey. It's me."

C3PO: "They believe I'm some sort of god."
Han: "Well, why don't you use your divine influence and get us out of this?"

Princess Leia: "It only takes one to sound the alarm."
Han: "Then we'll do it real quiet-like."

The increasingly gleeful emperor when he has Luke in his clutches: "Oh, I'm afraid the deflector shield will be quite operational when your friends arrive." (This is a fun line to do an impression of!)

Of course, Star Wars also has a bunch of other things going for it: the epic storyline; great characters, including strong female leads (Padme Amidala and Princess Leia); the score; cool special effects; impressive costumes; and edge-of-your-seat battle scenes. It also touches on interesting philosophical points, which are often articulated by Jedi Master Yoda:

"Do or do not. There is no try."

"Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering."

"Attachment leads to jealousy. The shadow of greed that is."

"The fear of losing is a path to the dark side."

Themes in Conor Oberst's lyrics (Part Two)

On Bright Eyes' latest album, The People's Key, Conor Oberst writes about the value of viewing life through a child's eyes. He devotes one whole song to this idea, "Beginner's Mind." He also touches on it in "Jejune Stars": "So it starts again / at our childhood's end / I'll die young at heart." He laments the loss of childhood and the fact that its perspective is gone or at least that it has to be reclaimed through a laborious process.

Inspired by a child's spontaneous take on life, he tells himself in "Beginner's Mind": "Swear you'll be the opposite / of all the stilted hypocrites / You know what made you infamous to them, don't you / you keep starting over." He wants to both understand his inner child and protect it: "Stay awhile my inner child / I'd like to learn your trick / to know what makes you tick / to nurse you when you're sick."

I agree with Conor that there is a purity of how we view the world as children. I wish we could stay children for longer ("Youth is wasted on the young"). How is it useful to regain a childlike perspective as adults? Could a wide-eyed approach be the best way to appreciate life? Or to put it another way, what do we get that is positive from becoming jaded? There is also the question of the essential self. In "One for You, One for Me," Conor writes, "We've come so far away from us." His desire to find and understand the purest part of himself is evident throughout the album.