The New Classics #40: Boy In Da Corner, Dizzee Rascal

Title: Boy In Da Corner
Artist: Dizzee Rascal
Year: 2003
Label: XL Recordings

If the 1990s were the decade where rap established itself as a dominant force in music, the 2000s were the decade where it began to expand and test its own boundaries. American rap saw dozens of innovators push the envelope with both production and lyrics, but the biggest expansion of the genre seems to have come internationally. Hip-hop from South America, the U.K., Germany, Australia and even South Africa has broadened rap's possibilities, with each country's own traditions and culture putting a new stamp on beats and rhymes. One of the decade's earliest and best examples of this was Dizzee Rascal's Boy In Da Corner, an exemplary release that dramatically rewrote the rules of hip-hop. Recorded when Dizzee was only eighteen, Boy In Da Corner's blend of stark music and lyrical creativity have established it as one of the earliest and most important albums of international hip-hop.

Listening to the music and beats on Boy In Da Corner is still an exhilarating experience. Rather than using the standard James Brown funk breaks or clipped R&B samples of his American contemporaries, Dizzee's songs are built out of staccato keyboard jabs, precise drum machine hits and terse samples of plucked strings. The result is a deeply un-funky, stabby sound, far removed from the sexiness of American hip-hop. Cold, mechanical and often unrelentingly fast, the clockwork beats on songs like "I Luv U" are jarring. Dizzee himself delivers his lyrics with machine-gun speed, spitting the words out in his thick, occasionally unintelligible East London accent. These are songs that get in your face. At that album's most intense, such as the single "Jus' A Rascal" or "Stop Dat," this barrage of words and rhythms is overpowering.

Boy In Da Corner doesn't even pretend to pander to American audiences, as its crammed full of East London slang and references that fly over the heads of many listeners. About half the album's songs deal with Dizzee's own ego, attacking enemies with an unyielding wall of braggadocio and threats. However, rather than coming across as arrogant and irritating, Dizzee's wordplay and sheer, youthful dedication to what he's saying allow him to create a powerful, charismatic personality for himself. Lyrical gems like "it's possible you'll get hit with a chair" and "I'll make you care intensively" from "Hold Ya Mouf" give the songs a fun sense of humor amid the danger and violence. Despite all the thuggish elements of daily life Dizzee raps about, he's clearly a very intelligent guy, slinging elaborate metaphors and rhyme schemes at high speeds.

Yet, it's the other songs, when Dizzee slows down a moment and observes the world around him, where Boy In Da Corner really earns its place. The paranoid opener "Sittin' Here" is spectacular, with Dizzee reflecting on how bleak things have become compared to his childhood. The same themes haunt "Brand New Day," featuring the observation "looks like I'm losing mates, there's a lot of hostility near my gates, we used to fight kids from other estates, now eight millimeters settle debates." At only eighteen, Dizzee Rascal already sounds grizzled and nostalgic. He's smart enough to see through the life of violence and "pregnant girls who think they love useless mans with no plans," leading to dire warning songs like "Jezebel." The wistful closer "Do It" ends the album with Dizzee wishing he could "sleep forever" to escape the intense, frightening life he documents throughout Boy In Da Corner. Powerful and emotional, it's a highly effective way to end an album. Despite all the struggles he talks about, Boy In Da Corner definately sounds like Dizzee's ticket out of that suffering. Sure enough, it catapulted him first to massive critical acclaim (winning the U.K. Mercury Prize) and, finally, mainstream success in the U.K. Although these recent hits came at the expense of the detailed lyricism and musical innovation that first made him famous, Boy In Da Corner is still as awe-inspiring as it was in 2003. You can call him a sell-out if you want, but after living the bleak life he discusses on his debut, I say he deserves to just enjoy himself a bit.

Next up on The New Classics: Vespertine, Björk

The New Classics #41: You Forgot It In People, Broken Social Scene

Title: You Forgot It In People
Artist: Broken Social Scene
Year: 2002
Label: Paper Bag/Arts & Crafts

Here's something you may have never realized: Canadian music in the 1990s sucked. Now, before I get beaten to death with hockey sticks, let's just look at some numbers here, eh? Out of the one hundred most acclaimed albums of that decade, only two were made by Canadian artists: Alanis Morissette's Jagged Little Pill and Neil Young's Ragged Glory. Not that there's anything wrong with those two albums, but that's it? An ubiquitous coffee-shop, singer-songwriter record and one last gasp from a guy who's been in this game since the damn 1960s? The fact that all those holier-than-thou critics, who listen to music that hasn't even been recorded yet, chose only those two albums is quite telling. Sure, the 1990s had a few weird groups like Barenaked Ladies or country phenomenons like Shania Twain, but critics never jumped on either those bandwagons. It seems the 1990s really were a musical drought for the Great White North.

Good thing Canada wasted no time laying ownership to the 2000s. The first sign was 2000's Mass Romantic, a winsome power-pop album by the New Pornographers, a songwriting collective from Vancouver. Friendly and warm, it was far removed from 1990s moping and misery. Two years later, though, Broken Social Scene broke through in a massive way with You Forgot It In People, another charming, inclusive record, but one that aimed for the stars with its expansive hugeness. On standouts like "KC Accidental" and "Almost Crimes," you can hear the power Broken Social Scene can harness when the really get into gear. Tumbling drums, overlapping voices and a veritable army of guitarists create churning, dense songs, rewarding those who listen closely and repeatedly.

Yet, You Forgot It In People is at its strongest when it pares things back a bit and lets these gentle songs breathe and grow slowly. The memorable "Anthems For A Seventeen-Year-Old Girl" is a definite highlight, especially when its mantra of "park that car, drop that phone, sleep on the floor, dream about me" starts repeating over and over again. "Lover's Spit" has substantially more grandeur, but the same sense of restraint gives it a special peace and calm, especially with its chorus of "isn't it time we grew old and did some shit?" If the album has a weakness, it lies in the lyrics, which are often frustratingly vague or unformed ("Cause = Time" is about religion and molestation...maybe?), but Kevin Drew's slurred delivery reduces most of the words to just another enjoyable element weaving its way through the mix.

Above all, You Forgot It In People reflects the immense community that created it. Not unlike the New Pornographers before them and bands like Arcade Fire after them, Broken Social Scene create music that sounds spontaneous and huge as a result of incorporating many different musicians into the band. In the case of Broken Social Scene, though, that number was in the dozens. You Forgot It In People introduced its audience to future indie hitmaker Leslie Feist, along with Metric frontwoman Emily Haines, Evan Cranley from the Toronto band Stars and scores of other Canadian musicians. All these different voices and influences create a scattered, diverse album, but the whole thing still manages to magically gel into a cohesive work, with its own recognizable style and internal logic. Of course, a few years later, Arcade Fire would use this same expansive, majestic sound to conquer the world, but that's a story for later. You Forgot It In People is an early musical high point from the 2000s, showcasing a busy, yet ultimately relaxing sound that would go on to influence all kinds of music down the line.

Next up on The New Classics: Boy In Da Corner, Dizzee Rascal

The New Classics #42: Person Pitch, Panda Bear

Title: Person Pitch
Artist: Panda Bear
Year: 2007
Label: Paw Tracks

I was slow to jump on the Animal Collective wagon. Despite being exposed to their music from 2004 onward, they never really did anything for me. First off, they were saddled with that whole "freak folk" genre title for a while, which, in hindsight, they never even remotely deserved. Then there were the whimsical album covers, featuring squashed berries and cartoon animals and so on. Most importantly, though, the music never grabbed me. Squishy, squelchy and often formless, I found Animal Collective's mid-decade albums to be only so much forgettable, inoffensive noise. I'd like to say that Person Pitch, the second solo album released by AC member Noah Lennox (under the name Panda Bear) was the album that changed that. But that's not true in the slightest. My bored distaste for the band prevented me from ever giving it a true chance back in 2007. I saw two songs with running times approaching thirteen minutes and I balked. Yet, in hindsight, I've realized what a colossal mistake that was. Two years later, Animal Collective would release Merriweather Post Pavilion and leave most of the world picking their jaws off the floor, myself included. Looking back, it's clear that Person Pitch laid the groundwork for most of what made Pavilion so successful. It should have been my initiation into the world of Animal Collective, but my own stubbornness prevented that from happening. So, it's time to go back and recognize this accomplished and overwhelmingly uplifting masterwork.

Trying to describe the music on Person Pitch always brings me back to the same word: soup. I realize that good music isn't often described as "soupy," but there's really no better term to describe the rolling, dense, yet endlessly flowing music landscape Lennox created. Primarily recorded using samplers, the album's seven songs string together bits and chunks from other records into looping rhythms and soaring grooves, interrupted by sound effects and other unidentifiable noises. Rather than the stark, crisp sound of samples found in most hip-hop, however, Person Pitch's tracks are organic. They slosh around, rarely leaving midtempo, building upwards as more looped bits and bobs are layered into the mix. So yeah, soup. This music rolls around, revealing various delicious odds and ends now and then that you have to fish out with your ears and devour. Or something like that.

The real appeal of Person Pitch, though, is the mood. Lennox cited some recent changes in his life as the inspiration behind the album, including getting married, having a child and moving to Portugal. The resulting atmosphere, then, is a happy one, balanced by a healthy dose of maturity and responsibility. The opening track, "Comfy In Nautica," revolves around the optimistic advice of trying "to remember always just to have a good time." Likewise, the end of "Take Pills" concludes that "I don't want for us to take pills, because we're stronger and we don't need them." The album's most celebrated track, "Bro's," has the best lyrics of all, as Lennox speaks to an unspecified partner (possibly his wife or Animal Collective bandmates) that "I'm not trying to forget you, I just like to be alone." As songs about honest communication go, it's hard to beat, as Lennox carefully explains to those who want him around that occasionally we all just need a bit of alone time.

Animal Collective have always enjoyed rapturous critical notices from the hipster set, but Person Pitch was positively engulfed in praise upon it's release. Sunny and almost unfashionably optimistic, it still managed to be a progressive, experimental record, featuring a grand-yet-ethereal sound far removed from anything in indie rock beyond Animal Collective themselves. In year end album best-of lists, it regularly eclipsed Strawberry Jam, the proper Animal Collective album released the same year. Of course, as I explained, I missed that boat entirely. It wasn't until Merriweather Post Pavilion and Lennox's touching song "My Girls" that I went back and realized that Person Pitch was the genesis for all these lovely songs about family and dedication. This really is a wonderful and engaging album, managing to be quite upbeat while still retaining enough weirdness and edge to keep things interesting, evoking the Beach Boys at Brian Wilson's most eccentric and ambitious. For me, it took a long time to recognize all that. Hopefully, Person Pitch's charms will be more readily apparent to the rest of you.

Next up on The New Classics: You Forgot It In People, Broken Social Scene

The New Classics #43: Madvillainy, Madvillain

Title: Madvillainy
Artist: Madvillain
Year: 2004
Label: Stones Throw

No matter how hard we all try to deny these things, it looks like the era of the classic hip-hop long-player is all but dead. As the 2000s went on, this became increasingly clear, as mainstream hip-hop drifted away from coherent end-to-end albums. The Illmatic's and Return Of The Wu-Tang's of the 1990s have few comparable works from the past decade. Yet, hiding amidst much of this rap wreckage, left-of-center rap flourished, providing some of the most satisfying and often surprising albums of the day. Most iconic of these underdog classics is Madvillainy, the first and, to date, only album by Madvillain, a collaboration between MF DOOM and Madlib. Both veterans of the alternative/indie rap scene, these two accomplished artists joined forces to create an album totally at odds with the prevailing trends in hip-hop and rap, yet still fun and innovative in ways that continue to endure.

The first thing you notice about Madvillainy is the song lengths. Ten of the twenty-two tracks are under two minutes, while only four exceed three minutes. Madvillain tracks feel like commercials, cramming entire concepts and messages into compact little nuggets, ready for easy consumption. These aren't the goofy skits you find on many rap albums; these are fully realized songs, boiled down to their most basic elements. "Accordion" fits a crisp beat, a woozy accordion sample and DOOM's barbed takedown verse into just one minute and fifty-three seconds. Madlib's jazzy samples and snippets of dialogue stolen from ads and cartoons are unique and complex, yet never overstay their welcome. The music and beats can't become repetitive, simply because they don't have time. Once you factor in DOOM's ability to create vivid scenes with a bare minimum of lyrics, you realize what a lean, efficient album you're dealing with.

Yet, for all this control and restraint, Madvillainy is comically casual, resembling a hazy night spent getting high with buddies, while the TV rambles endlessly in the background. Madlib's retro samples and DOOM's drawling, associative lyrical style don't sound like the results of clear minds. In case the listener has any doubts, one of the album's longest tracks is "America's Most Blunted," a loving ode to the stoned lifestyle, punctuated by the sounds of bong hits and coughing. The album is also united by a vague concept of "the mad villains," a cartoon duo of supervillains who diabolically threatened society. This self-mythologizing is nothing new to DOOM, who performs wearing a metal Dr. Doom mask (just check out that album cover). However, rather than feeling like the product of bloated egos (Kanye, I'm looking at you), DOOM and Madlib just sound like fun guys, casting themselves as lovable antiheroes who just like to smoke up and make wacky, cloudy music.

Upon its release, virtually everybody loved Madvillainy. Its universal acclaim actually bordered on frightening, with even The New Yorker getting in on the action. Who knew that a fuzzy album of stoned rap vignettes, punctuated by vinyl crackle and superhero dialogue would be the thing that would unite music critics the world over? As the years have gone by, it seems to have been overshadowed by other classics, resulting in its impressive but not eye-popping place down here at #43. Yet, it wouldn't have the same charm without some of that underdog swagger to it. Rather than being overly earnest or just plain pretentious, like much of indie rap can be, Madvillainy is friendly, warm and inclusive, rewarding those who just put it on and let the calm silliness fly by.

Next up on The New Classics: Person Pitch, Panda Bear

The New Classics #44/#51: Fever To Tell, Yeah Yeah Yeahs

Title: Fever To Tell
Artist: Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Year: 2003
Label: Interscope

[Note: On Acclaimedmusic.com's list, the 44th most acclaimed album of the decade is Sigur Rós' Ágætis Byrjun. That's all fine and wonderful, but that album was actually originally released in Iceland in 1999 before making its way to the U.K. and United States the following year. As such, most critics have grouped it in with the albums of the 2000s, but for this project, I find it ineligible. So, instead, I'm covering Fever To Tell, the 51st most acclaimed album on the list. It's a dandy, too!]

Is punk dead? That's certainly a subject you hear a lot about these days. Some say it died in the 1990s, when Nirvana and Green Day brought it kicking, screaming and pogo-ing into the mainstream. Some say it never made it out of the 1970s (I tend to lean in this direction). Yet others say that it remains alive and well, albeit in a radically different form than the Sex Pistols ever imagined (assuming they imagined these things at all...which they probably didn't). It all depends on how you define "punk." Is it the music of rebellion? Is it an attitude? A certain energy? It a particular political persuasion? All these definitions have been argued over the years, but it all seems to boil back down to that certain reckless spirit, that urge to spit in the face of authority and run around like crazy. I'm not sure I'm ready to call Yeah Yeah Yeahs' Fever To Tell a great punk album, but one thing is for certain: you're going to be hard pressed to find an album with more reckless spirit than this fiery masterpiece.

Appreciating Yeah Yeah Yeahs' music has to start with Karen O. Spastic, seductive and sensitive, she's one of the most charismatic women in alternative rock history. When Fever To Tell was first released, she was an absolute revolution, bubbling over with personality and unstoppable sexiness. The fact that half of the album seems to consist of her orgasmic shrieks and moans certainly helped matters as well. Karen O certain knows how to abuse vocal ticks like nobody else, but she's also a very powerful and versatile singer, leaping from soulful crooning to throat-shredding exultation at a moment's notice. On songs like "Date With The Night," "Rich" and "Tick," she brought back rock's unpredictability. As music increasingly sounds like a product polished and shined for mass consumption, Karen O still seems authentically volatile.

Her instrumentalist bandmates more than carry their own. On Fever To Tell, Nick Zinner stacked his claim as a certified guitar hero of hipster-dom, with his zooming slides and aggressive, gritty riffs. Combined with his distinctive hairstyle and penchant for Polaroid photography, he was destined to become a cult icon from the word go. Drummer Brian Chase has always been the band's secret weapon, as his shuffling rhythms imbue Yeah Yeah Yeahs' songs with surprising funkiness. He's far from a traditional, pounding rock drummer, but his style suits the band, supplying both power and subtlety as needed. Best heard on singles "Y Control" and "Pin," the band's ability to consistently craft a tight, compelling groove is staggering.

Fever To Tell starts with an unstoppable run of high-octane, punky songs, almost all of which seem to be about sex in one way or another. Yet, around the midpoint of the album, the band downshifts toward more midtempo material, revealing the other side of the band. Culminating in the indie rock power ballad "Maps," Yeah Yeah Yeahs revealed themselves to be an extraordinary pop band, crafting evocative songs about longing, romance and emotional pain. Its this side of their that the band would embrace fully for their next two releases, resulting in more critical acclaim and moderate chart success, although they've never had a hit to rival the exquisite "Maps." However, by jettisoning that earlier, punkier sound, Yeah Yeah Yeahs have lost a frightening amount of what made them initially special. Fever To Tell remains one of the most thrilling albums of the decade because of its balance of belligerent chaos and careful, restrained songcraft.

Next up on The New Classics: Madvillainy, Madvillain

The New Classics #45: Speakerboxxx/The Love Below, Outkast

Title: Speakerboxxx/The Love Below
Artist: Outkast
Year: 2003
Label: Arista

Pioneering artists often aren't recognized for the greatest works. Sgt. Pepper's made the Beatles the biggest band in the history of bands, but I think most listeners today can point to a decent of handful of the Fab Four's records that they enjoy more than the bloated studio pomp of that 1967 landmark album. For the Atlanta-based rap duo Outkast, their Grammy-award winning, chart-topping, world-conquering double album, Speakerboxxx/The Love Below, may well be their Sgt. Pepper's. Released following the genuinely visionary works Aquemini (1998) and Stankonia (2000), this double album arrived on a wave of critical acclaim and surging popularity. The ambitious concept of two full-length CDs, each a solo project for Outkast members Big Boi and Andre 3000, was one of the boldest pop experiments in recent memory. The awards came flying from every direction, with their victory at the Grammys being a crowning achievement for not just Outkast, but also rap in general and fans of truly left-field music. Outkast had done the impossible and brought the alternative firmly within the fold of the mainstream.

However, lost in all the hubbub and awards and alien costumes was the actual music on the actual records. Looking back at the two albums, it's undeniable that much of the music has not aged well. The biggest culprit is the first album, Speakerboxxx, featuring Big Boi's semi-traditional take on southern hip hop. "GhettoMusick," released as a single from this disc, sounds like a weak imitation of Outkast's previous hit "B.O.B.," with its frenetic synth jabs and unpredictable structure. Big Boi had always represented the harder, thuggier side of Outkast's music and Speakerboxxx is the disc more likely to appeal to classic hip hop fans. But aside from the irresistible single "The Way You Move," the songs on the album are generally forgettable. Big Boi's delivery verges on goofy more often than not and even prominent guest appearances from Jay-Z, Ludacris and Cee-Lo can't breath much life into these tracks. Critics generally ignored Speakerboxxx upon the double album's initial release and it no surprise why. While it's a serviceable slice of semi-retro hip hop, Speakerboxxx is eclipsed creatively by The Love Below.

Not that The Love Below is perfect, but it certainly takes a hell of a lot of chances. After building a cult of personality around himself as Outkast's maverick artistic spirit, Andre 3000 delivered a sprawling collection of songs and sketches that can rarely be defined as hip hop. Tapping into the spirit of Prince and other genre-bending pioneers, Andre plays fast and loose with musical styles, jumping from the jazzy "Love Hater" to the stomping funk of "Happy Valentine's Day" with ease. The groovy "Roses" isn't actually that far removed from Steely Dan, for crying out loud. Throughout is a fun, playful, cartoon version of the standard rap persona, with tracks like "Spread" all but mocking the "bootylicious" songs you'd find on the radio. Mind you, much of The Love Below is still about sex and love, but it's presented in a gentle, comically romantic way, celebrating monogamy and the search for "the one."

Of course, The Love Below also features "Hey Ya!," an era-defining song if there ever was one. Catchy as all hell and blessed with an unforgettable video, "Hey Ya!" was a major cultural touchstone from the moment it was released. As a pop song, it's quite bizarre, with an unusual time signature and undefinable genre, but these were things we expected from Outkast. With "Hey Ya!" leading the way, Speakerboxxx/The Love Below finally awakened the rest of the world to the magical genius of the group. Sadly, however, it captured the duo at a moment of creative flux that has yet to be truly resolved. Since it's release, Outkast have only released 2006's underwhelming Idlewild and rumors of a permanent split are always swirling. While these two albums served as an impressive breakthrough for Big Boi and Andre 3000, splitting their two personalities onto seperate albums ultimately weakened both sets of songs. Speakerboxxx lacks spark and imagination, while The Love Below needs some serious grounding. However, their collective ambition and pioneering spirit should not be ignored. Outkast deserve whole chapters in the musical history of the 2000s, but they earned that place with other albums than this inspiring-but-messy double CD.

Next up on The New Classics: Fever To Tell, Yeah Yeah Yeahs

The New Classics #46: Return To Cookie Mountain, TV On The Radio

Title: Return To Cookie Mountain
Artist: TV On The Radio
Year: 2006
Label: Interscope

From the beginning, TV On The Radio stood out from other contemporary bands. Amidst the overwhelmingly Caucasian world of indie rock, the presence of two black men within TVotR's core trio gave them a distinctive identity. Racial politics aside, however, it was their music that first brought them acclaim. Best heard on 2003's Young Liars EP, early TVotR combined soulful, R&B-flavored crooning with the nervous, noisy energy of post-punk. This fascinating blend of styles led to a storm of hype surrounding the band, which their 2004 debut, Desperate Youth, Blood Thirsty Babes, never truly lived up to. That early promise had simmered down to occasional nuggets of thrilling rock, surrounded by endless, shapeless jamming. Two years later, however, after recruiting a full-time rhythm section, the band released Return To Cookie Mountain and finally gave the world the masterpiece that we had been promised.

Make no mistake about it: Return To Cookie Mountain is big. The musical arrangements are lush and nuanced, full of rolling percussion, cascading guitar arpeggios and the occasional wall of static-y noise. The lyrics also aim for the stars, as singers Tunde Adebimpe and Kyp Malone tackle the world's biggest issues: love, war, power, corruption and redemption. Opening with "I Was A Lover," which alludes to a past "before this war" and closing with the swirl of "Wash The Day," full of references to "greenhouses," "landfills" and the "dying woods of Brazil," Cookie Mountain is framed by world conflict. Hailing from Brooklyn, it's tempting (and certainly justifiable) to read a distinctive, post-9/11 flavor into TVotR's lyrics and music.

Yet between those epic bookends lies an album full of love songs. Mind you, love within the context of Cookie Mountain is a dangerous, violent thing. The album's standout track and lead single, "Wolf Like Me," compares attraction to a supernatural, werewolf-esque transformation, begging a potential lover to "lay hands on me." This religious phrasing is echoed in other songs throughout the album, especially "Blues From Down Here," where the song's narrator pleads to a higher force in the face of his struggles, only to hear the response "just stay on your knees." Yet, even at their most grandiose, the songs on Cookie Mountain keep things relatable and personal. The album seems to place a premium on love in the face of a hard world. As the chorus of "Province" states, "love is the province of the brave."

Powerfully delivered by Malone's soaring falsetto or Adebimpe's gospel-tinged howl, these sweeping themes are given all the emotional heft the require. Backed by guitarist/producer Dave Sitek's grinding guitar, the music on Cookie Mountain is strong and visceral, a far cry from the gentle acoustic guitars and crisp snare hits usually associated with indie rock. Few groups can claim to draw equally upon Marvin Gaye and Joy Division, yet TV On The Radio combined them elegantly on this album. Bringing both grandeur and some occasionally overt sexuality into a genre often devoid of both, Return To Cookie Mountain is an unconventional, but undeniable important milestone in the history of 2000s alternative rock.

Next up on The New Classics: Speakerboxxx/The Love Below, Outkast

The New Classics #47: Up The Bracket, The Libertines

Title: Up The Bracket
Artist: The Libertines
Year: 2002
Label: Rough Trade

One of the big musical stories of the 2000s was the return to rock, both in the United States and in the U.K. While us Americans had our Strokes and our White Stripes to carry the burden of rock, the English had the Libertines, a shambling quartet from London, led by future gossip column mainstay Pete Doherty and the comparatively stable Carl Barât. Like their American contemporaries, the Libertines brought rock back to its garage roots, playing lean, mean, gritty blues riffs over a crisp rhythm section. However, the Libertines infused their music with a tremendous sense of place and pride, following in Britpop's footsteps by celebrating the Union Jack and all that was English.

The Libertines' debut album, Up The Bracket, features twelve sharp, snappy songs about running around town, getting drunk, chasing after women and just generally being, well, a libertine. Given an extra level of authenticity by Doherty's and Barât's drawling, heavily accented singing style, the Libertines' songs sound like that perfect night when everyone is just drunk enough to get along with anyone who walks in the door. Even at their most lyrically forlorn, the songs on Up The Bracket maintain a certain cheerfulness, suggesting that everything happening is just part of life in the Libertines' eyes. Doherty and Barât storytelling is too detailed to be simply imagined, especially on epic songs of daily struggle like "Up The Bracket."

Behind that ragged optimism, though, lies a fierce pride towards England, especially in relation to America. The anthemic "Time For Heroes" features the stinging lyric "there are fewer more distressing sights than that of an Englishman in a baseball cap," while "The Boy Looked At Johnny" acknowledges that "New York City's very pretty in the night time, but don't you miss Soho?" In the video for the title track, the four Libertines prance around dressed as Queen's Guards, while friends of the band wave a Union Jack in the background. In this sense, the Libertines were a logical extension of bands like Oasis and Blur, who championed being English in the face of increasing global Americanization. However, rather than copying Oasis' stadium rock (and delusions of grandeur), the Libertines brought that attitude back to street level, playing pub-ready rock, full of stories with everyman heroes and villains.

Up The Bracket is a stunning album, especially given that it was the band's debut. Sadly, like so many artists on this list, the Libertines never got the chance to live up to the promise this album hinted at. Doherty's drug use and legal issues drove a rift between him and the rest of the band. Barât, ever the level-headed one, decided put the band to rest in 2004, after one more lackluster album and a seemingly endless slog through the tabloids. Doherty formed a new band, Babyshambles, before taking a stab at a solo career, while Barât fronted Dirty Pretty Things, featuring Libertines drummer Gary Powell. None of those endeavors resulted in much of anything and early this year, the band announced plans to reunite and play assorted summer festivals. Music lovers the world over remain cautiously optimistic, but no matter what shape the band is in now, we still have Up The Bracket. Combining charmingly ramshackle guitar rock, piercing lyricism and so much attitude (just listen to the wonderful "fuck 'em!" on "I Get Along"), the Libertines crafted an album perfectly in tune with the prevailing zeitgeist of the times, bringing rock back to a dirtier, more dangerous place while simultaneously striking a blow for ol' Britannia.

Next up on The New Classics: Return To Cookie Mountain, TV On The Radio

The New Classics #48: Relationship Of Command, At The Drive-In

Title: Relationship Of Command
Artist: At The Drive-In
Year: 2000
Label: Grand Royal Records

Having Relationship Of Command appear on this list interests me for several reasons. First off, At The Drive-In were only a band for the first year of the 2000s, making them essentially one of the last 1990s bands rather than one of the first of the new decade. Second, I used to love this album, end to end. Harkening back a few years, when I was an excitable high schooler learning his way around a bass guitar, the limitless energy and spastic rhythms on Relationship Of Command were irresistible. Time has not been kind to this album, though. Revisiting it for this project, the technical skill of the band is irrefutable, but some of that excitement has aged into semi-formless flailing. But I'm not the one picking these albums. Relationship Of Command has found a place in the new canon of great albums and still has an impressive legacy seen in other modern music.

At The Drive-In were a five-piece band formed in El Paso, around the multi-racial nexus of guitarist Jim Ward and singer/professional spazz Cedric Bixler-Zavala. After getting their primordial musical ooze straightened out over the course of their first releases, the band settled into a post-hardcore punk juggernaut, fueled by unpredictable rhythms, Bixler-Zavala's evocative lyrical style and some certified guitar pyrotechnics from Omar Rodriguez-Lopez. By 2000, this combination had gelled into the explosive songs found on Relationship Of Command, such as the first single, "One Armed Scissor." Incorporating an impressive sense of melodicism and local Mexican music into the usual sturm and drang of hardcore, At The Drive-In distanced themselves from the pack with genuinely catchy tunes like "Pattern Against User."

Their proximity to Mexico also informed their lyrics, especially on the Relationship standout "Invalid Litter Dept.," which dealt with the rape and murder of young factory workers through oblique lyrics like "in the company of wolves was a stretcher made of cobblestone curfews." This strong political angle kept Bixler-Zavala's lyrical shenanigans from spiraling too far out of control, keeping things grounded in some level of relatable themes. Combined with the band's often staggering ability to pull gorgeously crafted songs out of their back pocket, best heard on the churning "Quarantined," it really looked like At The Drive-In were ready to dominate the 2000s right out of the gates.

Relationship Of Command held up its end of the bargain, as critics greeted it with a hail of approval. It snuck into the lower reaches of the Billboard 200. They even got Iggy Pop to do guest vocals on a couple songs (just listen closely to "Rolodex Propaganda"). At The Drive-In seemed to be firing on all cylinders, with their newest album being their crowning achievement to date. However, behind the scenes, the band was rapidly pulling in two very different directions. Bixler-Zavala and Rodriguez-Lopez veered towards a druggier, more experimental side, full of mind-splintering guitar and time signatures, pushing the surreal, artistic side of the band further. Meanwhile, Ward, bassist Paul Hinojos and Tony Hajjar set their sights on a more commercial brand of alt-rock. Finally, in 2001, these differences proved impossible to overcome and At The Drive-In splinted in half, becoming the modern prog noodleheads The Mars Volta and the intermittently interesting Sparta. Both bands have found loyal fan bases and have continued to chase their chosen paths to the most logical conclusions. Yet, neither band has been able to record something that tops the remarkable fusion of Relationship Of Command. This album has become the last word from a band that bowed out right when opportunity seemed to be knocking, pursuing two extreme musical visions instead of trying to conquer the world with both. Maybe such a goal was beyond their reach. Maybe it was all for the best. We'll just never know.

Next up on The New Classics: Up The Bracket, The Libertines

The New Classics #49: LCD Soundsystem, LCD Soundsystem

Title: LCD Soundsystem
Artist: LCD Soundsystem
Year: 2005
Label: DFA Records

So much of the past decade of music has been defined by the always uneasy relationship between rock and dance music. The 2000s' first big breakthrough artists, such as the Strokes and the White Stripes, were championed because critics felt that this new music was wiping away an era of prefabricated, inane drivel (the boy band/pop diva continuum). More recently, in the later half of the decade, dance-influenced music has risen again, through the work of bands like Daft Punk, Hot Chip and M.I.A., leaving the rock purists whining once more. This dynamic is nothing new and it taps into a familiar opposition: the raw, "authentic" expression of rock vs. the escapist, functional beats of dance music, which, as any good rock critic will tell you, is "entertainment, not art." Combining these two supposedly opposing forces is always asking for trouble (just ask the 1980s) and can lead to music that simply no one wants to hear.

LCD Soundsystem broke every conventional expectation about dance-rock with their debut album, a monolithic effort split into two discs. The first, containing all new material, including the pounding single "Daft Punk Is Playing At My House," is spectacular in its own right, yet it's the second CD, wrapping up LCD Soundsystem's earlier singles, that features the band's definitive story. Their debut recording, "Losing My Edge," introduced to world to James Murphy, the intensely witty, charismatic dynamo at the core of the band. With an impeccable eye towards the details, "Losing My Edge" is the frantic attempt of an aging hipster to keep the younger generation from overrunning him completely with their iPods and Interpol. As the rage and jealously increases ("I hear you have a compilation...of every good song ever done...by anybody"), Murphy is reduced to a twitching pile of name-dropped references, heralded by the manic cry "have you seen my records?!" Oh, and the beat rocks, too. In this single song, Murphy revealed his master plan for great LCD Soundsystem songs: unstoppable rhythms, relentless hooks and lyrics filled with carefully calibrated social observation.

One of the classic arguments against dance music has been its lack of lyrical depth. While that's certainly true in many, many cases, Murphy's brand of beat-driven showstoppers are just as rewarding to the young writer scouring the lyric sheet as they are to those who just wants to dance the night away. The aforementioned "Daft Punk" unfolds as a celebratory depiction of roaring house party, while the lovely "Never As Tired As When I'm Waking Up" teems with yearning and sexual frustration. Musically, the band is no slouch. The songs on LCD Soundsystem lean towards raw, immediate power, even falling deep into the abyss of rock on "Movement" and the ironically named "Tired," which sounds more like the Stooges than anything else. The album's tracks sit precariously on the fence between rock and dance, while hinting all the while that the chasm separating them might not be as huge as imagined.

LCD Soundsystem are definitely one of the most important sounds of the 2000s. Even with only two albums released during the decade (with a third released today!), they've defined a whole new path for both powerful dance tracks and inordinately groovy rock. While other bands from this era tried awkwardly to shoehorn electric guitar next to drum machine beats, on LCD Soundsystem, they created a sound that always feels natural, yet effortlessly bridges that gap. They've never been a hybrid band. Murphy and his cast of capable characters have simply played their music, tapping into the exploratory spirit of post-punk and new wave to create an exciting way forward that is still going strong.

Next up on The New Classics: Relationship Of Command, At The Drive-In

The New Classics #50: A Rush Of Blood To The Head, Coldplay

Title: A Rush Of Blood To The Head
Artist: Coldplay
Year: 2002
Label: Parlophone

While they'll never win the affections of the hip, collegiate intelligentsia, Coldplay have spent the past ten years winning over virtually everyone else. Few rock bands in recent memory have enjoyed the unparalleled, international success of this London-based quartet. Their penchant for sweeping, emotional anthems has struck a very familiar chord with the listening public, the same one U2 have tapped into for decades. Yet, before A Rush Of Blood To The Head, Coldplay didn't seem to have the potential to blossom into such a world-conquering force. Their 2000 debut, Parachutes, was charming but also painfully quaint and, as one critic put it, "possessing more sap that Mrs. Butterworth." The lilting ballad "Yellow" had earned them a few respectful nods, but they certainly didn't seem like a band with any real shelf life.

Rush Of Blood catapulted Coldplay into the upper echelon. Written and recorded in the weeks following the events of 9/11, frontman Chris Martin spoke at great length about how he wanted his songs to start reaching wider audiences. Those lingering comparisons to Radiohead were still haunting the band and Coldplay were ready to assert their own identity upon the world. The lead single "In My Place" certainly did that, with it's ringing guitars and cascading cymbal crashes. Even now, you have to be unusually cynical not to get all caught up in the song's whooshing melody and guitar hook. "The Scientist" went even farther, matching plodding piano chords with some truly shameless lovelorn lyrics. The sound heard upon its release was the rustle of millions of emotional, over-earnest guitarists adding it to their repertoires.

Of course, there was "Clocks," with its inescapable, rolling piano line. Despite being the third single off the album, "Clocks" remains Rush Of Blood's most famous calling card, despite lyrics that verge on nonsense ("come out, all things unsaid/shoot an apple off my head"). Yet, the single that sounds the best all these years later is the off-kilter "God Put A Smile Upon Your Face," a twisting ballad powered by a discordant acoustic guitar lick. It's a song that reveals just how strange Coldplay's songwriting can be when you peel back Martin's piano clomping and wispy lyrics. Best heard on the driving "A Whisper" and the soaring "Politik," Coldplay's ability to inject their usual sugary balladry with unexpected edge and grit is a characteristic that has gone woefully ignored by most reviewers.

A Rush Of Blood To The Head breaks little musical ground, but it's special because Coldplay crafted eleven exemplary pieces of populist alternative rock. While Radiohead's The Bends certainly established the blueprint for Coldplay's entire career, Rush Of Blood was the album where they mastered that exacting balance of melody, emotion and grandeur. Sure, virtually every song is about finding lost love, but the world needs well-crafted cliches every now and then. The album's legacy is a glowing one, since its been embraced by both the public and the ever-wary music press. Like it or not, A Rush Of Blood To The Head will be one of the defining albums of this era of music.

Next up on The New Classics: LCD Soundsystem, LCD Soundsystem

The New Classics: Introduction

Welcome back to Pretzel Logic!

After a lengthy hiatus, this humble little blog is returning for its third incarnation. Things are going to be a bit different this time, however. Albums reviews and music news, which until now have been my blog-bread-and-butter, are being put on the shelf. Instead, I’m going to use this blog as a workspace for whatever weird music-related writing projects I feel like undertaking. Essays, lists and random musings are going to the name of the game.

My first project, The New Classics, should take up most of the summer and possible spill over into the fall. Using the incomparable resources over at acclaimedmusic.com, I’ll be counting down the 50 most acclaimed albums of the 2000s. Each post will cover one of these albums and feature original writing about the album’s creation and place within the modern canon of great music. The goal of this project is to assess how the history of the past ten years of music is being written and to take a guess at how the music of the 2000s will be seen in the future.

Once I’ve covered these top 50, I’ll offer up an alternative list of 50 albums, based on my own personal tastes, showcasing albums I feel deserve more attention than they’ve been given. As always, comments from friends and passing Internet readers are welcomed.

So, check back here tomorrow, when my first New Classics post will be up! It should be a fun summer!

The Blog Strikes Back!

Be warned: Pretzel Logic will return within the month. Commence rejoicing.