-One freak’s commentary on one song (or decade) each week-
If you read my column, you know that it’s built on a foundation of reminiscence. I peddle nostalgia. Why? I guess in part it’s because I’m prematurely becoming a grumpy old man when it comes to music—heralding “the good ole’ days” and rebuking a number of popular new releases as “gimmicky ” or “inane.” But I think another (and perhaps larger) part of it is that I like to remember music as a formative experience. When I’m in the thick of obsessively listening to an album, I’m often unaware why; but when I look back at what I was digesting at a certain point in time, it provides me with vivid memories and also illuminates the historical arc of my musical consumption.
So of course, for a reminiscent sucker like myself, end-of-years always provide a splendid opportunity for me to look back and… assemble meaning. As I’m sure you’ve noticed by the onslaught of “Best Of” lists that came out about three months ago (GvsB, Pitchfork, Paste), this year is interesting because it’s the end of a decade. In addition, this year is even more interesting because it’s the end of the first decade of which I, and those of my relative generation, have been in the life-stage known as “semi-adulthood.” These were our first years of “independent” thought and a time during which we’ve acquired tastes that will linger with us for the duration of our lives. For this reason, as far as music goes, I have decided to label these ten years: “The Formative Years.” This decade has shaped my consumptive person—influencing the albums I buy, the films I go see, the art I enjoy, and the books I choose to read. So over the next three weeks, I’m going to break this decade into as many parts and briefly describe my most memorable (or “formative”) experiences with albums from these respective times.
This week I’m taking a look at 2000-2003. In 2000 I was a snot-nosed high school junior growing up in the suburbs of Buffalo. I liked Weezer and Wu-Tang Clan and generally considered myself to be more open-minded than a lot of my peers, but as per usual, I discovered that I didn’t know shit. 2001 saw me entering college and becoming obsessed with binge drinking and sexual intercourse. It also introduced me to high-speed internet, mp3 downloads, and music snobbery. By 2003 I was a college junior, and I probed deeper into the ever-expansive possibilities of the internet, including the discovery of a then little-known online music magazine called “Pitchfork” (read on to find my defense of this oft-maligned music mag).
Here, in chronological order, are the albums that defined the formative years of 2000-2003. More importantly, while perusing dozens of other decade-long lists, I found that these albums seemed to resonate across the board. This reinforces the idea that these are not only the albums that defined my formative experience, but they in fact defined a large portion of our generation. Maybe we have more of an identity than we think…
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Radiohead – Kid A (2000)
By 2000 I was already a member of the Radiohead cult. The love affair began with OK Computer and I then worked backwards through The Bends and Pablo Honey. Kid A was one of the first albums I ran to the record store to purchase on its release date. In my parents minivan I tore open the shrink-wrap, checked out the stunning album art, and slipped the disc into my CD player. This was it! The new Radiohead! The most important band in the—What the fuck!? This was not the Radiohead I knew. What was this out-of-sync, oddly harmonized, radio-unfriendly music?
Kid A was “out there” even for Radiohead standards. It played with distracting rhythm changes, Thom’s powerful voice was distorted on nearly every track, and then there was “Treefingers.” I was admittedly confused, but not ready to give up on Radiohead. Within a matter of weeks Kid A went from off-putting to haunting to irresistible. It expanded my palette and understanding of the boundaries of music. It tuned my ears away from the sparkle of FM pop and forced me to hear something deeper—something visionary and highly prophetic. I know, I sound like one of those “Radiohead freaks,” but there are few that I’ve encountered who are willing to argue against this album’s monumental nature. Along with The Blue Album and 36 Chambers, Kid A changed the way I listened.
Radiohead – The National Anthem
Radiohead – How To Disappear Completely
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The Strokes – Is This It (2001)
I saw the video for “Last Night” for the first time on MtvU during my freshman year of college. This band was marketed directly towards me, and I bought it—hook, line, and sinker. I remember the video vividly—the dim lights, the apathetic signing, the tight pants, the dirty sneakers. It had a marked affect on me. Within a week I had purchased the album and started reading about the band and becoming obsessed with their modern, commercial take on the New York, CBGB, post-punk vibe. I’ve always been a sucker for style, and this band had it in spades. For a young guy with aspirations of New York, The Strokes were cooler than a toboggan driven by Ice-T, The Fonz, and Vincent Vega.
It wasn’t all style though. Upon re-listening I found Is This It to be tight in all the right places and loose in even better spots. The album frolics amongst bright guitar riffs, simple bass lines, taut drumming, and Casablanca’s charming vocals. Is This It was an entry point into “indie rock” for me, and it elicited my craving to listen to music that the rest of the world was not yet fully abreast of–an acquisition in taste that has proven to be both an asset and a pitfall.
The Strokes – Take It or Leave It
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Interpol – Turn on the Bright Lights (2002)
Now we must discuss Pitchfork. I don’t believe I ran into Pitchfork until my sophomore year of college, but when I did, it revolutionized the music I listened to. While most would be wary to admit that, I’m ok with it. No matter what I think of Pitchfork now, I’d be hard-pressed to disagree with the idea that their website forever altered the musical landscape. They were the first dominant musical arbiters on the internet, they wrote clever reviews rife with references and inside-jokes, they wrote above a fifth grade reading level, and they tended to have pretty solid taste in most matters. I think that many started hating on Pitchfork because it became, like, too easy to be into the music on their website. This, I find sort of foolish. However, I also think Pitchfork has radically changed due to the amount of power they now wield. There are often thinly veiled attempts to be too balanced or display that they are “in touch” with the common music listener. In addition, they have broken a hefty handful of heinously cookie-cutter, and sometimes, just plain shitty bands.
In spite of the flak, Pitchfork was spot-on when they gave Interpol a coveted “Best New Music” stamp. Turn on the Bright Lights is a stylish, well-crafted album that builds on the vibe emitted by previously successful bands of the 80’s post-punk aesthetic. While the style and overall sound of Interpol was catchy enough, it was the rhythm section of the band that kept me coming back. Carlos Dengler (bass, keys) and Sam Fogarino (percussion) propelled this album through the speakers of my Oldsmobile Alero during the bleak Buffalo winter of 2002-03. My love of TOTBL also sparked my quest for the band’s earlier influences, leading me to groups like Joy Division, My Bloody Valentine, New Order, and even Yo La Tengo. If anything, they deserve thanks for that.
Interpol – Say Hello to the Angels
Interpol – Stella Was a Diver and She’s Always Down
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Wilco – Yankee Hotel Foxtrot (2002)
It took me a hot-minute to get Wilco. They were in my face via all the noteworthy blogs and magazines I was reading by this time, but they were just too soft, or too folksy for me, every time I gave them a listen. But that all changed when I entered a Barnes & Noble with my parents over Christmas break. As they lazily shopped around I hopped to the music section, where Yankee Hotel Foxtrot was placed squarely in front of my face yet again. “What the hell?” I thought, and I tossed on the headphones at the listening station, sat down, and finally fell in love with Wilco.
In retrospect, I can’t believe it took me so long. YHF is an estranged, bitter, and melancholy album. It is quiet in all the right spots and uniquely American sounding. It’s self-loathing, yet sort of expectant. It smells like Levi’s and Marlboro Lights and the ghosts of failed relationships. It took Christmas at the mall to make all this bleakness beautiful to me, and since that moment it’s been an obsession—finally, a new band to consume! To this day I stick to the opinion that Wilco is the most underrated American band of the last twenty years.
Wilco – I’m the Man Who Loves You
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Other Notables:
Outkast – Stankonia (2001)
The Avalanches – Since I Left You (2001)
Stephen Malkmus & The Jicks (2001)
Daft Punk – Discovery (2001)
The Clipse – Lord Willin’ (2002)
The Rapture – Echoes (2003)
Jay-Z – The Black Album (2003)
Outkast – Speakerboxxx/The Love Below (2003)
The White Stripes – Elephant (2003)
Blur – Think Tank (2003)
should’ve picked Sam Roberts. No love. GOOD! We’ll keep em extra elitist and canadian.