Review4

By Noel Murray

Whole Again

Over the summer, the online entertainment magazine Mr. Showbiz asked readers to vote on the all-time greatest rock albums from the ’60s, ’70s, ’80s, and ’90s. Two things quickly became clear—the ’80s were a far better decade than I had remembered, and the ’90s apparently suck. Only I know this isn’t true. Some of my all-time favorite bands rose to prominence this decade; the problem is that this has been a lousy era for albums. Most of the music I’ve loved over the last eight years has been jarred loose from records that are too long and too ill-focused.

That’s what made 1998 so damned refreshing—it wasn’t just the abundance of great music this year, but the sheer number of complete albums that have entered the fray. Chalk that up to the abiding trends of the past 12 months, including the emergence of troubadours like Lucinda Williams, Josh Rouse, Elliot Smith, and Joe Pernice, craftsfolk who know how to craft.

The trend of the year, though, was almost too subtle to notice: the “project” album. Elvis Costello collaborated with Burt Bacharach, Billy Bragg and Wilco teamed up to flesh out some abandoned Woody Guthrie songs, Vic Chesnutt imagined a song cycle with the help of Lambchop, and Mark Eitzel hired Steve Shelley and Kid Congo Powers to strip his music bare. Even R.E.M. approached their first post-Bill Berry album with an ear toward rediscovering their rationale, and Afghan Whigs took their minstrel-porn rock show on the road to New Orleans (both with mixed results, admittedly). Musicians were taking their art seriously this year, and man was it ever sweet.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that this is the first year in a long time that I shared many favorite selections with the country’s most widely read music critics. If I’ve succumbed to hype, it’s because the hype was backed by quality. Though there was no one record of the year for me—if pushed, I would pick Sloan, whom my better-paid colleagues have unfortunately ignored—but I can recommend that all 20 selections on my alphabetical list below be played from start to finish.

A top 20

Air,Moon Safari(Source/Caroline) This French duo’s lush, mostly instrumental pop orchestrations evoke an earlier generation’s romanticism of technology along with the current generation’s pre-Y2K dread. Already, they’ve been appropriated by Madison Avenue to sell makeup.

Beastie Boys,Hello Nasty (Grand Royal/Capitol) The B-boys return to full-on hip-hop with an overstuffed collection that veers from dilettantish experiments to slammin’ party beats. The most exuberant, most adventurous band around.

Belle & Sebastian,The Boy With the Arab Strap (Matador) Yes, The Smiths did the trilling Britpop thing with more energy, but not as elegantly. Besides, I miss The Smiths.

Billy Bragg & Wilco,Mermaid Avenue (Elektra) What could have been a dry, scholarly exercise becomes a joyous rediscovery of American folk music, true to the spirit of Woody Guthrie.

The Cardigans,Gran Turismo (Stockholm/Mercury) Unlike fellow countrymen Komeda, who add color to their drone, this Swedish group is draining its pop of cutesiness, leaving sing-songy melodies and a brittle groove. Chilly and difficult, but worth the effort.

Vic Chesnutt (with Lambchop),The Salesman and Bernadette (Capricorn) I’ve never cared much for Chesnutt’s rickety, monotone folk, and I’ve perhaps cared too much for Lambchop’s increasingly rote country-soul. Together, though, the two artists illuminate each other, drawing on one another’s strengths—Chesnutt’s vivid story-lyrics and Lambchop’s unfolding, organic sonic environments.

Cornelius,Fantasma (Matador) A cross between the cartoon electronica of Pizzicato 5 and the basement psychedelia of Apples in Stereo, with the frayed shadow of My Bloody Valentine distorting the vision.

Elvis Costello with Burt Bacharach,Painted From Memory (Mercury) A throwback to the days when horns and strings were standard, updated by Costello’s most straightforwardly forlorn lyrics in years.

Idaho,Alas (Buzz) Jeff Martin changes bandmates every year, but his music comes out the same—supple and sad, with a heavy bottom, a wispy top, and a creamy middle.

Neutral Milk Hotel,In the Aeroplane Over the Sea (Merge) The sound of psychosis, backed by a tuba and a singing saw. Folk music never sounded so white-knuckle terrifying.

Pernice Brothers,Overcome By Happiness(Sub Pop) The sweetest folk-pop going—so sweet, in fact, it almost turns to syrup. More often, though, Joe Pernice coaxes his sidemen (from The Lilys) to spin crispy sugar.

Pulp,This is Hardcore (Island) A frank depiction of the sad life of a swinger, carried by music that turns glitter-disco into a fugue.

Rancid,Life Won’t Wait (Epitaph) Another intentional Clash rip-off from these Bay Area ideologues. Punk lives, even if few come to visit.

Josh Rouse,Dressed Up Like Nebraska (Slow River) A near-miraculous debut record, offering instantly memorable melodies, vivid lyrics, and a raspy Southern rock sound that steps lively from R.E.M. to Uncle Tupelo and into a future where genre labels seem quaint.