I've been enjoying keeping this blog so neat and clean, but I HAVE to start writing about new music again. The 100 fave albums list will still be updated daily, mind you - I hate blogs that start similar ventures and don't deliver and THAT AIN'T GONNA BE ME, BUDDY! There's just going to be more than that on here. I've been listening too far too much good stuff to only talk about one album a day.

Favorite Ten Songs Currently Found On The Singles Charts On Billboard.Com (excepting those found my Top Ten Singles Of 2003, which I still love with all my heart)

1) Ying Yang Twins, "Salt Shaker" - Dave's bud was bitching about how this song is redundant and insipid after "Shake it like a Polaroid picture" but he's playing himself. Where that line is a nice little addendum to a classic slice of ice cold - a mere joke, this song is wholly focused on two ass pirates' quest for booty. Arrrr. Perkyulate! Will somebody tell me what "skeet" means? Judging by the chorus metaphor I have to assume it means that when her going gets tough, the tough get going! Ho ho!

2) Britney Spears, "Toxic" - that Britney's FOURTH ALBUM SECOND SINGLE does Kish Kash better than Kish Kash reminds met yet again that pop is one sweetly unpredictable place. This is the first song she's ever released that I want to hear again. And again.

3) Offspring, "Hit That" - see it has this discoey octave-jumping bass line and that makes it better than everything. They are so Weird Al with edge! The album tracks I've heard sound like sludgy "Defy You"-style crap but it's probable I'd buy their greatest hits before Green Day's.

4) The Darkness, "I Believe In A Thing Called Love" - I've still got my qualms about these guys, but even if I'd prefer pop-metal artists to pop-metal clowns, this is infinitely more enjoyable than anything else on rawk radio today. Though its screams novelty hit, I really hope that the unashamed glee of this song infects the US FM dial. I have heard the Cult's "Fire Woman" twice this week on WQWK.

5) Linkin Park, "Numb" - I'm shocked how much mileage these guys still get out of synthesizing Vanilla Ice, Alice Cooper and Depeche Mode. Every single is like a slightly different shade of blue, with lyrics that justify the fact that they're still whining. Wanna know how to do the Chester? Just sway forwards and back while clutching your shirt with one hand and pointing outwords with the other. And cry. In slo-mo.

6) J-Kwon, "Tipsy" - Irv Gotti's in the club getting tits...and this isn't even a Murder Inc. track! Oh, that beat. It will, it will, rock you.

7) Mario Winans & P. Diddy, "I Don't Want To Know" - Sean John's still pissed that J. Lo implied he's a suffocating boyfriend, and evidently he always gave you extra cheese (this unexpected pizza factoid is possibly the first thing he's ever said that I can identify with), the unabashed Fugees lift - DJ Shadow he ain't! - reaffirms that Diddly Dong Dingus McGee hasn't lost his touch. Coupled with the striking lack of confidence implied by Mario's pleas for his girlfriend to cheat discreetly, "Satisfy You II: Electric Boogaloo" turns out to be superior to the original (better than the Fugees track too!).

8) Ludacris, "Stand Up" - I still prefer him in a third verse cameo context (see "Holidae In," "Gossip Folks," "Yeah!"), but he's animated enough here that I don't miss the variety.

9) Limp Bizkit, "Behind Blue Eyes" - I don't know whether I'm laughing or crying, but I'll attest to the bountiful rewards of discovering L-I-M-P. My pain always feels so small when I hear this song, and I'm grateful.

10) Clay Aiken, "Invisible" - if he was invisible, he would just walk into your room! It's the love theme from The Hollow Man! Don't be offended Ruben fans, I haven't heard "Sorry 2004" yet. But could it possibly be this hysterically absurd, right down to the bombastic false ending?

#58) The Pretenders - The Pretenders (released in 1979, I bought a copy on used vinyl at City Lights - the cheaper of the two there - during my sophomore year of college)

Now this is new wave. It's still straight-up rock and roll in its spirit and irreverence (a new wave needs to come from the old water, you know), but the album loaded with bracingly novel elements, not the least being Chrissie Hynde. To paraphrase Ann Powers (since I don't have her SPIN Alternative Guide review handy), Hynde was one the first women in rock to project herself as neither a sex kitten or unflinchingly butch, but as a "hardheaded yet softhearted survivor." Everything about their music - especially Hynde's lyrics and impressively nuanced, agile voice - is quick-witted and unpredictable. "Precious" finds Hynde both beguilingly cryptic and rivetingly forthright in her declaration of confident lust, with alarm-like buzz guitars swirling around the rhythm section's thrilling pulse (and gawdamn is this song hot). Side one's closing cover of the Kinks' "Stop Your Sobbing," while beautifully played and conceptually perfect for Hynde, at first seems out of place due to its traditional song structure. Then side two's "Kid" and "Brass In Pocket" reveal that she's is just as capable of Davies' at writing casual verse-chorus-verse classics. The Pretenders' well-earned commercial success makes me even happier than the critical raves; I have no interest in something this inspiring being kept a secret.

#59) Talking Heads - Fear Of Music (released in 1979, I got this on CD in 6th or 7th grade)

Since I first saw David Byrne sweating profusely and karate chopping his own arm on MTV as a wee tot, the Talking Heads have always appealed to me (my favorite muppet was Gonzo and my favorite word was "weird" so I was an easy sell). Back when they actually would play old videos I'd watch the station for hours wanting ONLY to catch "Burning Down The House" or "Once In A Lifetime," whose presence was actually not uncommon. Though my reasons for enjoying them have altered and probably increased over the years, my favorite full-length has always been Fear Of Music. Like Fugazi's The Argument and Pere Ubu's "Final Solution," the textures on the album feel cold and compressed, as Eno's ambient sonic additions add a sense of space already heightened by the layered, minimalist music (the music on"Mind" could almost be mistaken for the Neptunes). Most of the tracks are riddled with paranoia and anxiety, with only the nonsensical "I Zimbra," "Cities" and the fantastical country ballad "Heaven" as outlets of release (I'm not sure what "Electric Guitar" is aside from my least favorite track). "Mind" needs to start showing up on more mixtapes I make, Homer Simpson has a cameo on "Drugs," I wrote a horrible short story one summer based on "Memories Can't Wait" and the lunacy of "Air" and "Animals" crack me up every time. Most people shriek to the heavens about Remain In Light (which does have classics, don't get me wrong) but Fear Of Music is the one that I find the most consistent.

#60) Pet Shop Boys - Discography: The Complete Singles Collection (released in 1991, I bought this on CD in middle school after listening to my babysitter's copy a ton)

I'm enough of a patriot to believe that most British acts that don't make as much of a chart impression here usually deserve their relative obscurity, but the Pet Shop Boys is one case where I think we were wrong (though we DID give mad love to "What Have I Done To Deserve This" and "West End Girls," both career highlights). I'm not going to make like some critics and say that the Pet Shop Boys were (and possibly are - I haven't heard anything they've done since '93) able to create infectious and intelligent chart-toppers UNLIKE their peers, but instead just note that these songs are infectious and intelligent. Heavy with double meanings without succumbing to Costello-like fits of pure effort, these songs manage to sound detached and bored and playful and sentimental and cynical, sometimes all within a single U2/Frankie Valli medley (which probably sounded a lot more irreverent before U2 went ironically "disco" themselves, and I can't say how cruel their rendition of "Always On My Mind" is since I've never heard Willie Nelson's or Elvis Presley's takes). Their sense of camp is always grounded in a certain moroseness, which keeps gregarious classic like "It's A Sin" from sounding too dizzy. The bonus tracks are unsurprisingly weak and I wish the hits from Very where included (maybe I should just BUY that damn thing already), but this is the rare compilation that highlights the breadth and intelligence of a groups work without sacrificing an ounce of accessibility.

#61) The Kinks - The Kinks Are The Village Green Preservation Society (released in 1968, I used to borrowed this from my sister and bought it on CD for myself in 2000)

While concept albums can be a bit much, I'm a sucker for albums with a running thematic thread. Whether it's a mood or a specific subject, I like it when bands provide that sense of unity. It's definitely one of the reasons that this is my favorite out of the five Kinks albums I own (Arthur, which is great, is definitely more on the "rock opera" side of the coin). Most of the songs reflect a playful yet definite desire for the simplicity and calm associated with rural areas and the past. Unlike most pines for the good ol' days, Village Green is very lively. I'm irritated that my Rolling Stone Album Guide says this is the band's "quietest" work - Mick Avory's drums have plenty of forceful swing (his drum rolls on "Wicked Annabella" are the first thing you hear in my solitary slice of film school auteurism, Fat Tony's Cancer) and even at its most pastoral none of the songs feel particularly hushed (except "Phenomenal Cat," whose ultra-twee chorus creeps me out).

Perverse cynical portraits are Ray Davies' speciality, and my favorites here include "Picture Book," a self-conscious look at memento seekers that still finds room for a few "shooby dooby doo"'s, "Do You Remember Walter"'s vaguely homoerotic anguish over a childhood friend and "Big Sky," a song that recommends detaching yourself from the world's misery by pretending you're above it all like God. There's too much beauty in the melodies and his voice for Davies to sound like the asshole he may well have been, but I'm enough of a cynically conservative asshole myself that I probably don't need that comfort anyway.

#62) Pere Ubu - The Modern Dance (released in 1978, I got it for Christmas as part of the Datapanik In The Year Zero box set in 199...6?)

These guys get called the epitome of post-punk, but just as Pulp is really more the last New Romantic band than Brit-pop, these guys are really the last of the art-rockers. Their earlier singles (esp. "Final Solution") are even better but I don't own the comp Terminal Tower in its entirety, so I didn't include that. I think they sound like Eno-era Roxy Music but less turgid. They're gooier in every detail - especially David Thomas's seal-like gurgles. Some of the most approachable "avant-rock" I've ever heard. Just don't ask me what any of it means.

#63) Matthew Sweet - Girlfriend (released in 1991, I bought a copy on cassette around 5th or 6th grade)

The sound is pop-rock at its finest: shining melodies delivered forcefully yet without a trace of plod, performed with such casual confidence that there's no overt sense of commercial effort or retro-fetishism - despite the accessible, memorable songwriting. Though devoid of acrobatic feats, this is undobutedly a guitar album: Robert Quine gets the Oscar for his soulful noise-inflected solos, but Sweet, Lloyd Cole, Richard Lloyd and Greg Leisz more than earn their nominations. The music on Girlfriend sounds effortless and yet makes painfully evident how rarely this perfection is achieved (Sweet himself hasn't truly pulled it off since).

Being pop-rock, the music, as fine as it is, is used to bolster the emotion provided by the lyrics, which (except for solitary and relatively weak odes to God, lust and war) detail the emotions of someone who probably cares a lot more about a relationship than his partner does. As fits an album originally titled Nothing Lasts, every step towards happiness is immediately contradicted - the excitement of discovery detailed in "I've Been Waiting" and "Girlfriend" is immediately followed by the uncertainty of "Looking At The Sun" and "Winona." The indifference of "Day For Night" is followed by the bitterness of "Thought I Knew You," and "Your Sweet Voice" is rebutted by "Does She Talk?" "I Wanted To Tell You" may sound infinitely more joyful than "You Don't Love Me," but notice that the pride in the latter is replaced in the former by an acknowledgement of personal fault. This blow-by-blow struggle makes the defeat in "Nothing Lasts," the closing ballad, all the more arresting. I'm glad cover model Tuesday Weld demanded he change the name, though. Where Nothing Lasts makes his fatalism blunt, Girlfriend masks the subversion and gives the happier numbers equal credence. Weld is older than Sweet too, so whose to say she doesn't have the smarter outlook.

#64) The Velvet Underground - The Velvet Underground (released in 1969, I bought this on cassette back in 8th grade. It was my first VU full-length - I already had the best-of and my friend Patrick had the 1993 live album.)

I used to say I wanted to live inside of the guitar solo on "What Goes On," and anybody (un)fortunate enough to hear my four-track recordings should be able to attest to the influence of that multi-tracked wonder. Stunning and atypical in its calm beauty, this album would probably place a lot higher here if not for "The Murder Mystery," which I will always, always hate. The music always resonated with me, but time has only made songs like "Beginning To See The Light" (which my sister used to think was "I'm a guinea to see the light"), "Pale Blue Eyes" and "I'm Set Free" (possibly the most unsung classic to be found on their four albums) more affecting and impressive. Doug Yule and Maureen Tucker supply gentle innocence on the opening and closing numbers, and Reed himself sounds unusually guile-free, if weathered by heartbreak and loss. The Velvet Underground is the most rewarding of the sunglasses-free Reedworks (which usually come about once a decade).

#65) The Cure - Standing On A Beach: The Singles (released in 1986, I bought this on cassette in middle school but eventually gave it to my sister because it was a bitch to fast forward through all the "bonus" b-sides on side 2. My friend Lisa made me a CD-R of the album in college. Instead of b-sides the CD includes several singles not on the LP or tape. Of them, I'm most grateful for "A Night Like This")

In which the cranky singer of a Wire-inspired house party band notes that boys don't cry, then hears Joy Division, realizes they can cry and joins the group. Eventually he discovers pop and the band becomes New Order. Then he discovers happiness, becomes a lovecat and starts a jazz band. Finally he combines the jazz group with New Order and by the end they've warped into the Psychedelic Furs. It doesn't really flow but I don't really mind. It's probably Robert Smith's fault that so many boys aren't afraid to cry, and while there's definitely some upsides to it, its a shame he never told us how to stop. Galore, which covers the decade of hits that followed this comp, would probably be on my list if I didn't already own all the later full-lengths (I may buy it anyway someday).

By the way, if anybody wants to read the bloated reviews I wrote about a year ago (including one for this album), they better do it now. Out of simple embarassment, I'm going to delete a healthy part of the archive soon.

#66) Neil Young - Tonight's The Night (released in 1975, I'm not sure where and when I picked it up on vinyl. Probably Arboria, probably early in college)

Tonight's The Night is really easy to either overrate (goddamn, it's not THAT much of a "dark night of the soul," and some of the worst moments is when it seems like Neil might be ACTING the part. He is smiling in every photo, you know) or underrate (the songs are really great). Ignore the hype and take it as what it is: moving, ramshackle performances of some of Neil's most noteworthy songs. Neil hands over the reigns much more than usual, letting guitarists Nils Lofgren and Ben Keith take solos in "Speaking Out" and "Lookout Joe" respectively, and including "Come On Baby Let's Go Downtown," an unusually groovy number sung by late Crazy Horse guitarist Danny Whitten, recorded years before the album's release (proving that for Neil to let you sing lead on his album, you'd have to be dead).

Despite the ramshackle vibe, the songs are clear, strong and well-arranged. Plus the band has Young's commanding presence (usually on piano) to lead them (most drunken garage bands don't). Young accidentally (?) sums up his style best on the title track when he describes his late friend Bruce Berry singing "a song in a shaky voice that was real as the day was long." Tonight's The Tonight sounds
like the aftermath of a long day: you're ruminative, sorta happy, sorta sad, and definitely about to crash. I don't know much about death yet, but I know all about being to tired to go to sleep.

(note: this is edited down from a review of Tonight's The Night I posted back in April)

#67) Fugazi - The Argument (released in 2001, I bought this on CD in Northampton, MA soon after it came out while visiting my sister)

I'm tempted to say that this album was an unexpected comeback, but if I hadn't sensed some real potential here I probably wouldn't have bought it. It was as if Fugazi looked around, realized that the mainstream had finally stopped paying attention and decided to merge their ever-growing musical vocabulary with the anthemic force of their pre-"alternative" work. It's not like they'd have to worry they were capitulating to some market anymore. The Argument is no mere "return to form" though, as they team a renewed sense of purpose with the most grandiose, imaginative production of their career. A second drummer, female back-up singers, pianos, cellos and what sounds like a goddamn sitar are used to excellent dramatic effect throughout. These elements never outshine the interplay of the original four piece (never does the album sound unnecessarily overdubbed or bloated), it's just that for once they're really using the studio. Maybe the lack of touring forced by the birth Joe Lally's and Brendan Canty's children made the band no longer see albums as merely a menu to a live performance's meal.

I could definitely complain about the "abstract" quality of Fugazi's lyrics, but - being a lifelong R.E.M. fan, it really doesn't bother me as long as the underlying emotion isn't hindered by it. So while Ian MacKaye's screams of "accessory" on "Epic Problem" sound a lot like "blame sister ray," there's no ignoring the righteous anger of his voice and the manic, propulsive energy of the music. The words that do rise out of their mushmouths say plenty anyhow - MacKaye is clear and surprisingly melodic on the opening "Cashout," "Ex-Spectator" and the closing title track, sounding as determined as ever to voice his protests against greed and ignorance, but not hiding the fact that, being over 40, the wear of having the same debates over and over is starting to get to him. That anxiety matches perfectly with the album's grey artwork and the music's cold determination. Of the albums that I tend to associate with winter (i.e. Portishead's Portishead, Afghan Whigs' Black Love), this is easily my favorite.

As always, Guy Picciotto sounds like he's having a bit more fun (his "Life And Limb" and "Nightshop" both feature handclaps, something that MacKaye probably never thinks to incorporate). On an album devoid of musical disappointment, my favorite track is his "Full Disclosure," which probably would have made the Modern Rock Top Ten had it been on System Of A Down's Toxicity. Sonic Youth-style buzzing guitars are followed by spirited double drums and Picciotto incoherently screaming for release. The cresting chorus releases the tension without dropping the musical intensity one iota, giving Picciotto a chance to voice his desire ("full disclosure/ coming sponsored by no one/ take me over/ and blow out my mind") before the sound drops out and the cycle repeats itself. The closing coda, featuring Picciotto harmonizing with Bridget Cross and Kathi Wilcox, may be the most genuinely joyful sounds in Fugazi's entire recorded history - a veritable victory lap. He may be singing for more than just one good rock song (unsponsored full disclosure not only implies artistic expression but a wish for less secrecy in general), but "Full Disclosure" is one of the rare songs that give as well as demand. This may be the group's last album, and I can't imagine a more suitable finish.

#68) Yo La Tengo - Electr-O-Pura (released in 1995, my mom bought me the CD for my 16th birthday. It was one of the first things I ever asked for without ever hearing the group beforehand. The SPIN reviews I'd read of their earlier albums made me very curious)

I forget who said that the Hoboken trio Yo La Tengo was all about domesticated noise (hell, maybe it was me!) but Electr-O-Pura is the album where they show just how noisy they can get without ever losing any warmth. I blame Ira Kaplan's guitar solos for the fact that I can't help but interject heaps of reckless noise into my own noodlings. On "My Hearts Reflection" and "Flying Lesson" he sounds like Neil Young trying to utilize Robert Quine's tricks while being pushed down a flight of stairs. While all their albums from '89's President Yo La Tengo to 2000's And Nothing Turned Itself Inside-Out are more than worth of purchase, Electr-O-Pura's the one where each track resonates emotionally; nothing comes off like a genre exercise or filler (ok maybe "False Ending" and "Attack On Love," but collectively they count for two minutes of the album so BLEH). The voices add up to little more than "bah bah bah" and vague declarations of love and obscurity, but Electr-O-Pura is all about sound. The distorted keyboards, soaring yet jagged guitars, rising climaxes, gentle lullabies and pulsing rhythms make the album feel like an amazing technicolor dreamcoat that only gets comfier with age.

#69) Magnetic Fields - 69 Love Songs (released in 1999, I bought it the day AFTER it came out. The night of its release two of my friends who already were Stephin Merritt nuts purchased it and we listened to it in my dorm room straight through. I knew immediately I had to buy it as soon as possible. Ironically I haven't really bothered to hear much more of his work aside from the first 6ths album, which I already owned. The others seem a bit monotonous, which is pretty ironic when you consider their relative brevity.)

First off, the placement of this album on the chart is PURELY coincidental. I didn't even realize it till today. Chalk it up to my subconscious righteousness.

There's six tracks that really annoy me here and at least nine that I wish I'd written myself (especially "Long-Forgotten Fairytale" and "The Book Of Love"). If it wasn't for the other 54 amusing ditties that fill out this 3CD NON-compilation, I doubt it would have a chance of making this list (I might have even gotten rid of it by now). Curio-like without sounding overly austere, this monolith is more listenable and less tiring than any box set I own of similar length (and those competitors had decades to produce the material for it). Deftly hopping from satirical wit and genuine sentiment (except for those damn six numbers that annoy me), leader Stephin Merritt's songwriting achievement is unparalleled, in part because no one else would make such a self-consciously audacious attempt. While the textures are endearing and the vocal performances almost all commendable (ironically only Merritt - not the other three singers - ever sabotages the material), I anxiously await a deluge of cover versions. This stuff is timeless.

#70) Half Japanese - Charmed Life (released in 1988, I bought it on CD at the HMV in Manhattan sometime in high school. I definitely considered it a find.)

When I finally found Charmed Life, it didn't really connect with the enthusiastic press it had received. Oh, I loved it immediately, but I didn't get why everybody assumed this music was so audacious and impossible to take. To me it sounded like Urkel making the high school jazz band take it to the bridge, becoming drop-dead cool without having to turn into Stefan (ok the Family Matters metaphor ends here). The sound was amateurish without revealing obvious musical limitations. The originals seemed just as timeless as the covers (I wouldn't have been able to figure out which track was by Chuck Berry) and the ten bonus tracks were surprisingly easy to wade through (though I'm glad the liner notes give the original track listing for when you want to program it). I really wish this wasn't the only Half Jap album I have that features a saxophone. I heard the 3LP-debut 1/2 Gentlemen/Not Beasts a few years later and discovered the more infamous, atonal side of Half Jap, and finally understood why these guys were treated like freaks (man, I wish I could find the albums they released between that and this one). While Beasts is interesting, I wish Charmed Life was the album that got more press. It's universally accessible without a trace of commerciality and Jad Fair is enthusiastically youthful without any of the creepy infantility of much of his later work. That these guys didn't get a cameo in Revenge Of The Nerds is total bullshit.

#71) Pixies - Surfer Rosa (released in 1988, I bought it on used CD at Arboria during my junior or senior year of high school)

As implied by their proximity here, Surfer Rosa and Doolittle are almost equally impressive to me. Both weld slicing guitar hooks and a strong rhythm section (especially impressive for late ‘80s indie rock) with lyrics that make giddy pleasure out of abjection and gothic imagery - White Light/White Heat remixed by “Sugar Sugar” svengalis Kasenetz & Katz. One of the things that gives Surfer a slight nod is Steve Albini’s “production” (don’t call it that in front of him, though). He’s claimed the group was unusually willing to submit to his ideas, and it paid off in a searingly sweet sound that seems wholly unique despite the tireless efforts of numerous ‘90s artists to claim it for themselves (often by using – or better yet, submitting to – Albini’s merciless recording techniques). Black Francis’s most disturbing vocal performances are found here – his squeals and shrieks make him sound like the cutest piggy at the slaughterhouse. The song quality peters out near the end, but “Gigantic” is a much better Kim Deal showcase than Doolittle’s “Sliver” and I love the song about a superhero named Tony (and it’s called “Tony’s Theme”).

#72) The Smiths - The Queen Is Dead (released in 1986, I seriously cannot remember where or when I got it on cassette)

Song for song I’d argue Morrissey’s solo career is much more consistent than that of the Smiths, but as far as this “juvenilia” goes, what’s worth having is definitely worth having. Ironically, it’s not the guitars that the Smiths sometimes have on the later stuff but the rhythm section – sometimes Andy Rourke’s bass is as attention-grabbing as Morrissey’s witticisms. Sprightliness is what these guys do best, and The Queen Is Dead is their most energetic work (Louder Than Bombs sadly separates the crooners from the rockers, making side two almost intolerable for me). “Never Had No One Never” bored me less back when I’d had no one never, but “Boy With The Thorn His Side” still entertains even if I don’t feel that misunderstood anymore. Any critic who doesn’t get a kick of out “Bigmouth Strikes Again” is either a jerk not enough of a jerk to be a good critic: at the very least they should appreciate the munchkin chorus (U2, which the music reminds me of, could never be this playful). More and more this album makes me think about previously felt emotions rather than current ones (only the Mozz’s cries of premature burial at the end of “I Know It’s Over” keep me from smirking), but the irreverent spirit of the title track and the sweetness of “There Is A Light That Never Goes Out” helps makes this album one of the most acute and least torpid cries of adolescent isolation I’ve heard. Judging by what I hear on the radio, there isn’t much competition afoot.

Counting down my 100 favorite albums of all time...

#73) Pixies - Doolittle (released in 1989, I picked this up at Arboria used on CD in high school)

Because I have the mother of all headaches, I'm just going to note that goth bubblegum is a beautiful, beautiful thing.

#74) Stereolab - Transient Random-Noise Bursts With Announcements (released in 1993, I got it on CD for Christmas sometime in high school)

There's nothing too intelligent I can say about this one. Aside from the 1995 compilation Refried Ectoplasm, this is the only Stereolab that consistently rocks (and, sorry, with a group this poised rocking means a lot to me). I'm a big nut for treblicious, jittery drone-rock of the "She Cracked"/"What Goes On" variety and this album is devoted to the stuff. Even when the churning grooves wind down, there's still great vocal melodies (as opposed to some belching sounds, which they HAVE resorted to). Most of the titles describe the sonic content rather than the lyrics (there's a reason). "Tone Burst," "Crest," "Our Trinitone Blast," and "Lock-Groove Lullaby" definitely deliver. "Jenny Ondioline" doesn't advertise its strengths, but its the one with the most sound-washes, hooks and grooves (Supposedly they're all stolen from Neu or something but I wouldn't know since the only Kraut-rock I have is Can). Anyhow I doubt Neu has French female vocals on top that are sometimes in English if you bother to listen to the syllables closely. With the gorgeous, chiming backdrops behind the voices on this album, I rarely do.

#75) Husker Du - Zen Arcade (recorded in 1984, I bought it on CD at Vibes, a branch of the National Record Mart chain that closed up here years ago. I think I got it my senior year of high school)

Husker Du refused to believe that the brutality and cultural criticism of hardcore couldn’t be mixed beauty of psychedelia and songcraft, and we’ve been hearing echoes of their virtuous efforts in the field of “underground rock” ever since. While all of the trio’s full-lengths from this one on are worthwhile platters filled with classic tracks (my pick for least essential, Flip Your Wig, is many people’s favorite), Zen Arcade is the one that I find most consistently exciting. While the actual “concept” of the album - something about a boy leaving home - isn’t particularly defined (no biggie), its thematic flow keeps the less essential tracks from standing out as blatant filler. In fact, one of the stronger anthems on the album, “Turn On The News,” always kinds of bugs me with its relatively coherency. All the tracks before it, whether focused on revulsion, confusion or sadness, share a harried mixture of determination and naked fright. The double LP (single CD) was allegedly recorded in two days, and while it’s astounding that they crammed so many ideas and sounds into a single album (especially since only “Hare Krshna” sounds anything like a genre exercise), the recording time explains why the album sounds so sleepless and psychotic. I can’t say I expect other bands to put themselves in similar positions of self-instigated pressure, but it paid off beautifully here.

#76) Velvet Underground - Loaded (released in 1970, the last thing I bought in Bloomington, IN before moving the summer of '94 was a used CD of this from one of the many cool record stores downtown. When I got the Peel Slowly And See box set, I gave that copy to my sister)

Lou Reed says this isn’t really a Velvet Underground album, probably because that drum kit with hi-hat is not being played by Maureen Tucker. I can’t even say it’s the only great Lou Reed solo album in existence either, since Doug Yule sings lead on a couple tracks. What I can say is that Loaded is the only post-Pickwick evidence of Lou Reed playing in a pop band, and that I enjoy it a lot. If the “gray album” signaled a (however brief) abandonment of subversion and nihilism, then Loaded finds him taking what he has left – a great band, a hook-filled brain and a desire for romance, and just knocking off an album of winning tunes. That’s what pop bands do, right?

I’m curious how ironic this album felt for VU fans in 1970. The musical arrangements are solid but unchallenging, almost generic. The sentiments aren’t startling either: rock is good, love is good but losing it is bad, keep your head held high. The closest we get to controversy (and searing sonics, for that matter) is a dismissal of country life on “Train Round The Bend,” which has little of the acrid edge of the Talking Heads’ “The Big Country.” This actually makes Loaded all the more impressive if you think about it. It’s a rich, beautiful album despite the lack of perversity and musical jolts that were at one time the Velvets’ raison d’etre. And to Doug “Judas? George Lazenby? Cousin Oliver?” Yule’s credit, it was years before I realized that Lou wasn’t singing on every track.

Unfortunately, Reed’s ego was too fragile to take the managerial power struggles that followed its creation and spent the next decade being some kind of icon, getting spanked and wanked by producers way cooler with ‘70s rawk production than I am. The two discs of his box set devoted to the pre-rehab period can sometimes compete with the Velvets’ rarities comps (except when he’s redoing those rarities, which are always superior). I’m a little more interested in Lou’s Blue Mask-on mundane chatterbox stuff these days, probably because I read a lot of Robert Christgau.