Live At Massey Hall 1971

Sifting through Youtube videos of Neil Young, I noticed one user's sage comment: "Neil never smiles." But with the topical themes of his songs and the haunting timbre of his voice, who can really blame him for an often-neglected sense of fun? A few weeks ago I stumbled across Young's Live At Massey Hall 1971. In addition to two never-released songs (the entrancing "Bad Fog of Loneliness" and the pulsing romp "Dance Dance Dance"), the album features stunning live renditions of his most poignant numbers. "Ohio" is all the more powerful in its acoustic incarnation; the defiant political rocker is elevated to a new level of stripped-down emotional vulnerability. "How can you run when you know?" sings Young, his fear and indignation audible. Live At Massey Hall 1971 is a remarkably rich collection of songs, so full of Young's essence: the social consciousness, the sensitivity, the sweetness. His mumble is modest and sincere, if somewhat somber. Maybe Neil Young wasn't such a smiley guy - but the breadth and depth of his emotional palate make smiling seem all-together irrelevant.

Faves of the Aughts.

As the decade drew to a close, I began to ponder what my favorite albums of the 00's (more simply the "aughts") were. Here's what I came up with.

Morrissey – You Are The Quarry (2004)
Most pop stars have to be dead before they reach the iconic status Steven Patrick Morrissey has achieved within his lifetime. Morrissey sheds his enigmatic, sexually ambiguous Smiths persona on You Are The Quarry. His sumptuous baritone wells with intense emotion as he denounces Oliver Cromwell, the Tory Party and the repressive Catholic Church that turned his childhood into a living hell. Amidst sensitive balladry and cathartic stompers, swirling piano and serrated guitar, Morrissey steps into the spotlight as a human being complex and flawed, on an album that is complex and flawless.

Nickel Creek – Why Should The Fire Die (2005)
Since their 1993 debut, the progressive bluegrass group has been composing melodically masterful tunes complete with lush three-part harmonies and charming twang. But what differentiates Fire from their other albums? This album really rocks. The string band remained traditional in their use of acoustic-only instrumentation, but their sonic scope broadened dramatically. The chromatic lilt of “Jealous Of The Moon”” is more reminiscent of R.E.M. than Ralph Stanley. With Why Should The Fire Die, Nickel Creek carried the American tradition of bluegrass into the 21st century.

Arctic Monkeys – Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not (2006)
Alex Turner was a 16-year-old Brit with big ears, a thick Cockney accent and keen observational abilities. When Turner decided to pick up a guitar and put his stories – inspired by drunken teenagers, young prostitutes and North England nightclubs – to music, the result was a prolific punk outfit with a sound as raw as their message. In the span of thirteen songs, Turner and company encapsulate the gritty realities of an angry, exploited generation. Remember the teenage wasteland that The Who described in “Baba O’Reilly”? New generation, same wasteland.

I Love Liz.

Words fail to capture the importance of Liz Phair's 1993 debut, Exile In Guyville. I can only begin express my feelings towards the album via hand gestures and facial expressions. Have you ever had that transcendental moment alone on your bedroom floor, listening to that certain album with tears streaming down your cheeks? There's something very essential and not at all girly about the experience of being literally moved to tears by a work of music that speaks on such a personal level, you can't help but think it was written with you in mind. Exile In Guyville tore me to shreds. When I first laid ears upon Phair's splenetic snarl, all of my preconceived notions about communication and gender roles in relationships were challenged and shattered. Liz uses her sharp tongue and equally sharp brain to explore natural human impulses. Her narrative is unfiltered, uncensored, honest, raw. Exile In Guyville is an album that centers around themes of love and sex, with lyrics that are never safe or sentimental. The song that brought me to the brink was "Fuck And Run", which explores how destitute, how heartbreakingly bleak physical love is in the absence of genuine human connection. Liz has this wonderful way of making herself vulnerable yet retaining the ability to sound like she can kick your ass at any given moment. The album is uniformly lo-fi, full of scratchy guitars and the low, almost-masculine tonality of Liz's voice. Her music is where tough meets tender: she is opinionated, often angry, yet compassionate and introspective. Exile In Guyville became my adolescent spirit guide, helping me navigate this mine-strewn journey through its frank study of relationships, carnality and self-discovery. This is not a pretty album. It doesn't coddle, it doesn't preach and it's a must own for any teenage girl.