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