McNutt Against the Music

Crashing the Gates

Last year, political bloggers Markos Moulitsas Zuniga (Daily Kos) and Jerome Armstrong (MyDD.com) released a political manifesto entitled Crashing the Gates. They envisioned a people-powered takeover of the Democratic Party by the grassroots, a new generation of activists that the party leadership had increasingly lost touch with. Paraphrasing Thomas Jefferson, they wrote: “the tree of a political party must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of reformers and insiders.”

I’ve always seen the music industry in a similar light. Every decade or so, the mainstream becomes so distant from its roots, so utterly lacking vitality and point that it screams out for a violent struggle from below (although unlike with politics, often the “below” is a minority in music; something of a grassroots elite, if such a thing is possible). This challenge and collision happened with punk music in the 1970s, grunge and alternative in the 1990s, and it’s happening again today.

2007 was the year that indie rock crashed the gates. Let’s ignore nomenclature concerns – yes, many of the bands granted “indie” status are on major labels – and focus on the cultural movement that’s occurring. With the Internet’s tools at their fingers, today’s twenty- and thirty-somethings are taking their favourite formerly-obscure bands and promoting them across the blogosphere and their social networks. This enthusiasm is pushing these artists not only into the edges of mainstream music publications, but up into the Billboard sales charts. Evidence? (album title / Billboard peak / US first week sales):

Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga / 10 / 46,000
Cassadaga / 4 / 58,000
Our Love to Admire / 4 / 73,000
Neon Bible / 2 / 92,000
Wincing the Night Away / 2 / 118,000
We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank / 1 / 129,000

For every one of these bands, these first-week-sales are a boost from their previous efforts and represent the clearest evidence that there is a shift taking place. But these sales rankings only tell a small part of the story; if anything, they neglect its most important part.

Yes, indie rock is crashing the gates. The problem is that the castle has already been laid to waste, and the spoils of war are nowhere to be found.

A Tale of Two Cities

The year began with Sam the Record Man on Barrington Street in Halifax – the last Sam’s remaining outside of Ontario – closing its doors. It ended with the news that Music World was going bankrupt, leaving HMV as Canada’s last national “music” store chain (with 3/4 of their real estate devoted to DVDs and video games).

In between, dozens of fantastic records were released.

This, my friends, is the great paradox of the music of 2007. Artistically, few years in recent memory can compare. For the first time I can recall, naming my favourite album for the previous 12 months was a genuine challenge, with no less than four truly worthy contenders and a slew of no-less-qualified runners-up. Every minute it seemed like another new band, worthy of your ears – if not your soul’s devotion – was making the rounds through the buzz reels. There are countless records that I never got around to listening too, and yet there’s nothing musically about 2007 that feels incomplete to me. There were old friends, new discoveries, crushing disappointments, welcome surprises and more. In any other time, I’d be making the argument that this is the arrival of a new creative renaissance.

I’m not. I’m not because all this is taking place against a much darker backdrop. A cultural shift has taken place in how people are listening to music, and I’d be lying if I said that I was optimistic about what it means for how our society interacts with the art form. The only reason that so many indie bands were able to break through the charts this year is because it seems like us music geeks are the only people left who buy music anymore; certainly, a shrinking minority in the younger age bracket, at least. We’re approaching 10 years now in the post-Napster era, and still, nobody has figured out how to get people to pay for music now that the digital cat is out of the bag. (Steve Jobs is arguably the only small exception to this, and hell, the record labels do nothing but begrudge his success).

You might wonder why I feel such loss for the bloated, capitalist behemoth that is was the record industry. After all, many of my favourite artists were successful in spite of the industry, not necessarily because of it. And like countless greedy kingdoms before it, the record industry deserves a great deal of the blame for its collapse. It spent much of the past 25 years relying on image over substance, yearning for the quick fix over the long tail, and sticking their heads in the sand when the 21st century knocked on their castle door.

But even at its worst, there were elements of the music industry that at least tried to build long-term relationships between artists and their audience. They produced bands who were larger than life, living out the world tours that teenagers only dream of. They drafted and crafted myth and legend in equal measure, turning career stories into storied careers. And they made music for the masses – sometimes by pandering, sure, but often by providing the kind of pop bliss that people demand to soundtrack their lives, flowing from one album track into another.

Given that, yes, there were songs on the radio in 2007, the year was hardly lacking in soundtracks. But when 2008 turns into 2009 and 2010, will anyone really still be pulling out their copy of Soulja Boy Tellem and giving it a spin?

The Light at the End of the Tunnel

I don’t mean to necessarily pick on Soulja Boy in particular. After all, it’s not like “Crank That” is the first novelty single the record industry has ever churned out, and the year certainly had a few pop gems scattered throughout the charts.

But where were the quality pop records? Where were the popular sensations that will have any staying power? I sat down earlier this week to try and hypothesize who might show up on the list for tomorrow’s Grammy award nominations and I was stunned by how quickly I was drawing blanks. In my years of following popular music, I’m not sure I’ve seen such a substance vacancy in the mainstream.

This is why I don’t buy into the utopian views put forth by those who cheer the record industry’s doom. The music industry hasn’t cut down on its lightweight, disposable pop music; if anything, it’s only gotten lighter. The music industry has, instead, cut down on the more opaque side of their bottom line: building of long-term relationships between artists and their audience, between bands and their base.

Wasn’t it this sort of thinking that got the record businesses in trouble in the first place? Sure, I’m with you on that. But they also know that it may be the only island of opportunity they have left. There will always be a market for music that provides instant gratification and easy results, because there will always be people who engage with music on that superficial level.

And no matter how unlikely we are to admit it, few of us music geeks started our musical lives in the trenches – we started by listening to what everyone else was. It was only when we came across a mainstream artist with a bit of meat on their bones – in my case, Matthew Good, quite ironically – that we became inspired to find light outside of the industry-mandated tunnel; to discover new sounds, dig a little bit deeper, and form long-lasting bonds with the art form.

What concerns me is the possibility that today’s new music listeners will lack the ability to transition to the kind of substantial fare that fills my year-end lists. When only the devoted music fans buy albums anymore, and the record companies only promote single-driven disposable fare, where will this next generation find their gateway drugs, those records that demand more than just causal attention? On the radio? Nope. On music television? What music television? The Internet? Maybe, although the continued ignorance of our body politic proves that access to unparalleled information does not necessarily translate into action.

For those of us who have discovered the lifelong joy of music; who cherish both the single and the album as vital, viable art forms; who support the bands and artists who send our spirits soaring and our souls aflame; it is a damn good time to be a music fan. For those waiting for a spark that will ignite their own personal discovery, the tunnel ahead looms dark and menacing, the walls reverberating with empty echoes and a cold wind.

2007 – It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

Was 2007 as notable as 2006 for live music in Halifax? Not quite. In fact, in many ways it was more than a little redundant, at least in terms of music targeted at the McNutt demographic: return visits from Broken Social Scene, Final Fantasy, Feist, Metric and more. That doesn’t mean that there weren’t riches to be found, as this list ably demonstrates.

What I Said Then: As usual, she was in fine form, although the show wasn’t quite the revelation that her last visit to town was…the entire Cunard Centre sounded like a smoky, disinterested bar.

What I Think Now: Sure, the crowd sucked and the performance was not exactly spontaneous, but it made up for it with stunning professionalism. Further proof that Ms. Feist is a national treasure.

What I Said Then: An ear-crushing set from the Besnard Lakes, who were as heavy as the smoke they played in (I’ve never seen such charmingly excessive use of the fog machine).

What I Say Now: One of my most memorable concerts was seeing godspeed you! black emperor several years ago, and the Lakes sounded like if godspeed had wanted to be a pop band: loud, dynamic and powerful.

What I Said Then: The chemistry is nothing short of electric.…Not only do the Stripes know how to put on a show – they know how to send their fans home happy.

What I Say Now: The Halifax show was a more calculated affair than the Glace Bay concert, but the eight-song encore might have been the most amazing streak of songs they played in the two-concert set.

What I Said Then: Every time I see an incarnation of Broken Social Scene there’s a buzz in the crowd that’s not usually there with your average concert…If anything, the songs might have come across a little more energetic than usual since the band had a little more room to maneuver onstage.

What I Say Now: It lacked the sheer epicness of last year’s BSS gig, but on a technical level if very well might have bested it. I’m not sure “Lover’s Spit” has ever sounded so great.

What I Said Then: Everything that was iconic and awesome about the Halifax show – the chemistry between Jack and Meg, the guitar solos, the crowd interaction – was amplified ten-fold in Glace Bay…Much of the show’s over two-hour length came during the “encore,” which was really more of a second complete set (15 more songs!).

What I Say Now: If this were a list of the greatest concerts I’ve ever seen, there’s a good chance that this number one slot would be exactly the same. A stunning, epic concert that – if Jack’s speculation about the Stripes’ touring future turns out to be true – might have been their glorious swan song as a live duo. What a way to go.

Even in a year as awesome as 2007, you can’t win them all. In addition to the glorious singles highlighted last week, and the albums featured here over the next five days, the year’s music landscape also includes weak follow-ups, ill-advised comebacks and rudderless, directionless records that have no idea whether they’re coming or going. While hardly a complete list, these are the five disappointments that hit me the hardest.

What went wrong? I went on-record defending this album earlier in 2007, but time might have proven the doubters right. Unlike other transition records this year, such as the Shins’ Wincing the Night Away, Some Loud Thunder’s failed moments seemed to resonate more than its successes as the year rolled on.

Salvageable moment? “Underwater (You and Me),” not only the best song on the album, but one of the forgotten great songs of 2007.

What went wrong? Interpol’s problem is that they brilliantly emerged fully-formed with Turn Out the Bright Lights and really haven’t figured out what to do next. There’s nothing particularly bad about Our Love to Admire, but almost nothing truly memorable either.

Salvageable moment? “Mammoth,” the only track that sounds as huge and loud as Interpol wants to be.

What went wrong? John Samson goes back to the well one too many times. Reconstruction Site had songs good enough to survive its redundancy, but the same can’t be said here. Why would anyone listen to this when they could put on Left and Leaving instead?

Salvageable moment? A chance to revisit Virtue in “Virtue the Cat Explains Her Departure,” a heartbreaking lyric of love grown cold.

What went wrong? Billy Corgan seems to have forgotten the diversity of the Pumpkins’ sound, re-imagining them solely as a faux-metal band while neglecting everything else that the band used to be. Someone send this guy a copy of Siamese Dream or Mellon Collie, stat.

Salvageable moment? First single “Tarantula” was decent, but “That’s The Way (My Love Is) almost touches past greatness.

What went wrong? Despite having arguably its most talented and exciting lineup yet, Wilco decided to tone things down and make a methodical, laid-back album that I found almost wholly lacking in revelation. Is it a bad record? Perhaps not – it certainly has its supporters – but it simply wasn’t what I was expecting, nor what I think I’m looking for in a Wilco album. Given my esteem for the band, there’s little question that it deserves this dubious slot.

Salvageable moment? Closing track “On and On and On,” one of the most haunting and beautiful songs the band has ever recorded. If only the rest of the record was half as brilliant.

Here’s what I wrote last year when I struggled with the question of putting a singles list together:

A year-end singles list is particularly challenging compared to an albums list, for the simple fact that everyone knows what an album is; what constitutes a “single” is a whole complex mess. Does it have to have a video? A download from the band’s website? A commercial single? Do commercial singles even matter in this day of digital downloading? It’s questions like these which have led several writers, bloggers and websites to change from a singles list to a favourite tracks list, opening it up to any song produced during the year.

Once again, I seriously considered changing my year-end singles list into something more personal, something that would include album tracks and other releases, but I keep coming back to singles. Perhaps this is some sort of failing attempt to remedy the lack of collective experience in our music consumption, I’m not sure. I have made one minor concession this year: in recognition of the increasing number of blog singles – where record labels send a song around to the major MP3 bloggers as the album’s first taste of the record (and often different than the first commercial single) – I’m also letting these tracks be up for consideration.

Shall we begin?

The reason why I love “Icky Thump” is actually the same reason it has its detractors: it’s rather tuneless. The Stripes love to play with pop melodies, sure, but those occasions where they strip them away and just leave the incessant propulsion of Jack’s guitar and Meg’s drums prove some of the most engrossing in their catalogue.

And make no mistake about it: although there’s some good guitar work here, and – more importantly – some intense keyboard riffs, this is Meg’s show. Say what you will about her – the girl’s got a relentless sense of doom in her drumming. The Stripes work best when Jack gives her the responsibility of driving the song along one kick pedal drop and cymbal smash at a time, unremittingly shoving the song towards the next chord change.

Sure, it might be their most unabashed Zeppelin-ripping single yet, but in the year when the arena legends themselves made their comeback, one struggles to think of a better homage.

Watch: “Icky Thump” music video

All summer singles eventually fall in esteem as the leaves change colour. A full season of incessant overplay only makes people forget the pop bliss they felt the first time they heard a song and instead dwell on its ubiquitious, annoying presence in their lives. Put it this way: there’s a reason that neither “Girlfriend” nor “Makes Me Wonder” ended up on this list.

But “Umbrella” has somehow managed to weather the storm, holding onto just enough of its sheen to end up on year-end lists like this one. Perhaps it’s the fact that the song manages to find warmth in cold, industrial synth. Maybe it’s the way that Rihanna sings “rain-in,” a faux-drawl that oozes sex appeal. Or it could be that you can’t even say “umbrella” anymore without someone instinctively following it up with an “ella…ella…hey…hey…hey.”

“Umbrella” isn’t enough to convince me of Rihanna’s worth as an artist, but it’s the pinnacle of her success as a hit-making machine. Keep ‘em comin’, Jay.

Watch: “Umbrella” music video

It says less about Jon Brion and more about Spoon how different “The Underdog” sounds than the producer’s usual fare. There’s no sparkly keyboards here, nor are there any descending piano triplets. Sure, you get a full blown horn section to add character, but even it sounds surprisingly Spoonified.

The reason? What Spoon bring to the table that’s so lacking in rock and roll these days is swagger. Listen to how the chord changes move slightly off-beat, just enough to pull you into the next bar (musical or otherwise). Note the three-note riff leading to the next line of horns. Or the way that Britt Daniels’ voice cracks as he screams out that survival is unlikely for those who doubt the underdogs.

Underdogs? Spoon? Maybe three albums ago, but today it’s hard to expect anything but excellence from these lads.

Watch: “The Underdog” music video

In an era of dissent, there’s no room for flowery synthesizers. These times require speed and efficiency: strike the drums and bass at once, throw together a makeshit piano riff, and prepare a blistering jangle of guitar for when the barricades come crashing in.

For a band with a tendency to fill every edge of space with sound, “Take Me to the Riot” sounds like a bare-bones reduction of the Stars’ mission statement. Everything’s still here – the heart-on-sleeve politics, the last throes of romantic youth, the collision of the male and female – but it’s been sheared of every last shred of unnecessary filler. Without any sonic safety nets, the band throws themselves into the song, tearing into the chorus with abandon.

On an album that tends to rest on its laurels a little too often, “Take Me to the Riot” is an able demonstration of what happens when a band strips down to its core and finds their essence waiting for them.

Watch: “Take Me To The Riot” music video

SPEECH!

I’m not as gung-ho about American Gangster as a lot of people, but it’s at least good enough to make Jay-Z’s unretirement less like Michael Jordan’s second comeback and a lot more like his first. Best of all is “Roc Boys,” a killer single that stands up with the best in Jigga’s back catalogue.

Sure, it’s another celebration/party anthem from a man who’s made more than enough of them in his career, but by going back to his hustling roots, Jay sounds inspired for the first time in a long time. Rapping about drug wars and fast cars in equal measure, backed with a killer sample from “Make the Road By Walking” by Menehan Street Band, the song ignites from the first note and never lets up.

Mazel Tov to you too, Jay.

Watch: “Roc Boys” music video

Some purists might balk at the idea, but I’ve always felt that the post-Richey Edwards Manics have been at their best when they stopped trying to be the Richey Edwards Manics and instead embraced their pop sensibilities. Shedding the baggage while keeping the hooks intact, Send Away The Tigers is their best record in years.

“Your Love Alone is Not Enough,” the record’s first single, sums up the album in a concise, Brit-Pop-eriffic package. Sharing vocals with a female counterpart is nothing new for James Dean Bradfield, but every time he does it something magical happens. Here, dueting with Nina Persson of The Cardigans, his voice disappears into hers, leading an androgynous pop monster that manages to consume all jaded hipster cynicism.

Combine all this with a self-referential lyric and, yes, a Nicky Wire vocal cameo, and you’ve got the sound of a band who’s effortlessly found the pop relevancy they’ve been trying to regain for a decade.

Watch: “Your Love Alone Is Not Enough” music video

As glad as I am that the Shins have become this uber-popular indie-esque band, I’ve always been frustrated by how it occurred. Owing much of their success to the Garden State soundtrack, the ubiquitious popularity of that film amongst semi-pretentious college students led every dorm room rat in North America to rush out and proclaim their love of “New Slang” and its host, Oh Inverted World. Never mind the fact that by that point the Shins had already released an infinitely superior follow-up album (Chutes Too Narrow)that only a minority of these new fans bothered to seek out.

I’m guessing that even less paid any attention to “Australia,” the second single from Wincing the Night Away that never seemed to go anywhere despite being one of the best melodies that James Mercer has ever committed to tape. The song’s unbelievable catchiness should speak for itself, but the real secret weapon here is the lyrics. Mercer somehow manages to simultaneously sound like he’s crafting wordplay purely for rhythm’s sake, only to construct a series of brilliant lines about emotional vacancy and the futile quest for feeling. It reads as good as it sounds.

Watch: “Australia” music video

The problem with the quote-unquote “emo” genre is the same concern that befalls teenage drama in general – it always seems self-indulgent with any sort of cognitive distance. Most of the time, it only makes sense if you’re actually living it, breathing it. Those of us who have moved on from those awkwardly emotional years look upon the music of the new generation of teenagers with disassociated apathy: it’s not meant for us.

But then you hear a song like “Famous Last Words” and it all comes rushing back. This is the way that hyperdrama is supposed to sound: not whiny, but impassioned; not sad, but defiantly triumphant in the face of all life’s misery. This is a song so fantastic that it overcame all my biases and preconceptions of the band, their fans and the entire genre, to the point where here it sits amongst indie bands and pop stars alike as one of the defining songs of 2007.

Watch: “Famous Last Words” music video

The secret to cracking “The Con” is all in the vocals. It’s a catchy song, for sure, and Chris Walla’s production adds volumes to the track, but its success comes from the way that Tegan and Sara navigate the tension between sounding like ProTools-produced animatrons and real flesh-and-bone vocalists.

Most of the time, the Quin sisters combine their voices together in an inhuman fusion, with a hint of staccato in every syllable they enunciate. It’s bold and unique, but it only works in contrast to the moments where emotion breaks free, where the song’s raw emotion can no longer be constrained and bursts out through the speakers. “I’m COMING AROUND,” sing the sisters, like a child learning to scream with purpose for the very first time. Sometimes, it’s the little explosions that hurt the hardest.

Watch: “The Con” music video

Wanna be startin’ something?

The music video is dying a slow, painful death, but it’s not going down without a fight. Just when most of us had counted it out, the medium sits up from its deathbed, tapes its wrists, and steps into the ring to try to show the world that it still has the power to break a band. Its effort – Jonas & François’ brilliant video-of-the-year clip for Justice’s “D.A.N.C.E.” – may not be enough to declare the art form fit for further action, but the fact that this once-obscure French electronica duo are now riding a wave of global appeal is a pretty solid little victory.

Fittingly, “D.A.N.C.E.” owes much of its appeal to the legend of music video himself, Mr. Michael Jackson. Not are the song’s vocals clearly inspired by the King of Pop, but check out the namedrops in the lyrics: “ABC,” “P.Y.T.,” “Black of White,” “Working Day and Night,” “Whatever Happens.” Just as the video is a love letter to a medium that has seen better days, so too is the song a briliant celebration of nostalgia for the era of dance-worthy R&B that’s long since departed.

Watch: “D.A.N.C.E.” music video

So who does have the power to break an artist these days? Steve Jobs?

Ever since Moby licensed every track off Play to every brand imaginable, the argument has been made that commercials are the new radio has grown louder, rivaled only by the volume of those opposed to the commercialization of their beloved art form. So where does the stunning success of Feist’s “1234,” which skyrocketed the Canadian indie princess to mainstream attention when featured in this fall’s iPod nano commercials, fit – pro or con for artists licensing their work?

Be still my indie-loving heart, I think it’s pro. By this point everyone knows that “1234” is a stunning piece of pop perfection, but do you think radio would have even touched it? Its main instrument is a banjo. It has a trumpet solo. A backup choir. Oh and lacks a chorus. It’s just weird enough to be rejected by North America’s increasingly conservative radio environment. When an artist has the chance to take part in an advertising campaign that enhances their profile without limiting their brand, why the hell not?

You go girl.

Watch: “1234″ music video

The Fire put out three brilliant singles this year, any one of which would have been worthy of being on this list. But only one of them was covered by the Foo Fighters live on BBC Radio One. Only one of them made it onto the US Billboard Modern Rock chart. And only one of them brought the band on stage with The Boss himself.

Yes, the awesomely Springsteenian “Keep the Car Running” was a minor sensation for the seven-piece Montreal collective, but the hundreds of spins in my stereo haven’t muted the song’s power. Unlike with Funeral’s mountain range pace of peaks and valleys, “Keep the Car Running” goes only one direction: forward. Its one beautiful, stunning moment of explosion is immediately shoved back into the passenger seat, propelling onwards towards the empty, agnostic night – uncertain of what lies ahead, but terrified of what lingers in the rear view mirror.

Watch: “Keep the Car Running” live on Jonathan Ross

I’ll be honest – that rule change where I allowed blog singles to count on my list? It was done solely in the interest of one song and one song alone. While the excellent “Mistaken for Strangers” was the first official commercial single from the National’s Boxer, the band smartly chose to pass “Fake Empire” around the blogosphere as the first taste of the album’s moody melodrama.

And what an introduction. Sure, in some ways it’s the record’s oddball – trumpets are hard to come by for the forty minutes that follow – but in the song’s misleadingly simple lyrics sit the album’s entire palette of themes: alienation, urban romance, holding passion together in moments and gasps. With his Cohen-esque rasp, Matt Berninger says so much with so little: “we’re half awake in a fake empire.” He recognizes the emptiness of the evening’s facade but is so desperate to find something real to hold onto that he plays along night after night.

In what might be the most beautiful line of the year, he croons “It’s hard to keep track of you falling through the sky.” In an era where it seems like everything is falling apart one moment at a time, it’s easy to sympathize.

Watch: “Fake Empire” live on Letterman

I didn’t think it would work.

Actually, scratch that – I was pretty sure it would work, but I had no idea that people would like it. Kanye’s bread and butter has always been in sampling soul music, especially when he takes the vocal hook and raising the pitch until it sounds like chipmunks. So when I heard the news that he would be sampling Daft Punk’s “Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger,” and making it the all-important second single from Graduation, I had this voice in the back of my head that was desperately worried for the prospects of America’s most fascinating pop star.

I need not have worried. The rest of North America clearly heard the same “Stronger” that I did: a killer fusion of Kanye’s self-conscious/self-righteous persona and French electro-pop. In one breath, Kanye is proclaiming his unsurpassed greatness; the next, blaming his drink for his behaviour and completely losing his bravado. He adds just enough extra colour – a synth riff here, a Timbaland drum track there – to accent the robotic hook and create the club anthem of the year. I’m sitting here typing this and still find myself physically unable to keep my head still – like a reflex, “Stronger” demands motion.

Watch: “Stronger” music video

Even though I’ve only been running McNutt Against the Music for about a year and a half now, I’ve been doing up these year-end lists for much, much longer. I’m not quite sure why I enjoy doing them so much. Perhaps I compile them as a token gesture to my long-standing belief that music is not a “live and let live” medium: it demands discussion, debate and dissent. And, clearly, lists.

Some years, it’s a relatively easy process; others, a little difficult. But rarely have I been so absolutely, one hundred percent certain about a choice as I am about this one. Unlike with other lists and other years, I have no doubts lingering in the back of my skull, no worries that I’ll look back at this list in a decade and wonder what I was thinking. You see, I don’t just think that “All My Friends” was the year’s best single – it’s arguably 2007’s defining musical statement.

I didn’t think James Murphy had it in him, frankly. Yes, his band’s first self-titled record was good and hinted at more good things to come, but it gave no inclination towards the sheer greatness that “All My Friends” represents. I distinctly remember the moment I first heard that rolling piano riff on my stereo, casually enticing me to what would follow. What flowed forth was not a dance song, it was not a techno song – hell, it’s not even a rock song. This is pure, unadulterated pop music, filled to every edge with pathos, feeling, nostalgia, regret, heartache, desperation. It bleeds life.

Though the track is a slow burner and ramps up gradually to its climax, all it takes is one listen for it to overpower every other song you’ve heard this year. Oh sure, eventually you’ll become so enthralled with the track that you’ll notice every little detail of its unbelievable build: the ramp-up of the drums, the keyboard riff that grows and grows, the electric guitar that comes in and threatens to blow the whole song apart. And it does all of this with two chords. But like all great pop music, it doesn’t require such intensive study. Even as background music, everything brilliant about “All My Friends” is right there on display, just begging to be heard.

And at the centre of it all is Murphy, who delivers the vocal performance of his career with a lyric that absolutely nails the crisis of growing older in a world that values youth, of dads pining for the days of drugs and discos. In the song’s final moments – the most cathartic sixty seconds of music all year – all the lies come crashing in on one another as Murphy’s cracking voice yells out in empty frustration over and over and over again.

As romantic as it is heartbreaking, as powerful as it is poignant, “All My Friends” is an anthem for misspent days, an anthem one last rush into the blistering night, an anthem for a final grasp at relevancy. It stands alone, unequalled, unparalleled, as the anthem of 2007.

Watch: Okay, so you can watch the quite-excellent music video for “All My Friends,” but the song is done an immense disservice in its edited form. Better to download the MP3 or watch the band perform the song live in Manchester and prepare its permanent slot in the soundtrack to your life.

Everything leading up this were appetizers – to me, this is the main course. The album still stands as my preferred way of listening to music, sitting down for 30-70 minutes and going through a record track after track. I’m a dying breed, of course – hell, as it is, I’m quickly coming to realize just how rarely I listen to music without doing anything else. When I, of all people, am disappointed by my listening habits, the art form has reason to be concerned.

If the album is dying, then it’s going out with a bang. Unlike other years, where my top slot was a given by the time December rolled around, 2007 saw four genuine contenders for the number one position on this list. It was a year where some of my absolute favourite bands released great records, while some young upstarts stepped up to the plate and swung for the big leagues. Trying to balance between old hats and new discoveries wasn’t easy, and I’m sure I screwed up many times along the way, but for better or worse (and with many great records neglected by limiting the list to 15), this was the year in my stereo.

This has been coming for a while – after releasing Our Endless Numbered Days three years ago, Sam Beam has released two EPs where he’s been experimenting with pulling a Judas and going electric, or at the very least expanding his sound beyond its acoustic-driven core. And now, three years later, we finally have the culmination of that journey.

The approach is interesting – unlike his fellow breathy-voiced indie folkster, Sufjan Stevens, Beam has chosen to augment his songs with rhythm instead of melody, with percussion instead of orchestration. This gives The Shepherd’s Dog a loose, smoky feel, like it’s well-worn and lived in, like it’s existed for decades but remained magically undiscovered. It rolls from song to song, jangly acoustics and soft-tipped drums pushing the album along. In sticking true to this feel, the album loses a bit of diversity but gains a character all its own.

Watch: “The Devil Never Sleeps” live on Letterman

I’m conflicted about putting this one on the list because I’m concerned about the message it sends (as if, you know, anyone really cares). After all, We Were Dead… is hardly a step forward for Modest Mouse; in fact there’s a good case for it being their least essential record since their debut album.

But it kept finding its way back into my stereo all year long, and I think that’s because it’s the textbook case of a synthesis album: a fusion of the band’s work to date that marries their recently-found pop sensibilities (ably aided by the addition of Johnny Marr) with their past focus on sprawling epics. The record might be a little clean, but tracks like “Spitting Venom” and “Fly Trapped In A Jar” make no mistake about it: even if they top the Billboard charts, Modest Mouse will still be a weird, wonderful little band.

Watch: “Dashboard” music video

As good as holding onto a secret can be, sometimes they demand to be shared. Along these lines, 2007 was the year that the rest of the world found out about Leslie Feist. The best part was that there’s nothing about The Reminder that feels telegraphed for such a breakthrough.

Confession time: I thought Let it Die was an incredibly overrated record, lacking the dynamism and playfulness that I saw when I saw Feist in concert. Thankfully, The Reminder is a much more diverse, interesting and intimate record. You get your pop anthems (“1234”), your stunning acoustic ballads (“The Park”), your electro jams (the fuzz of “Sea Lion Woman”) and everything in between. It’s an album that finally lives up to Feist’s incredible talent.

Watch: “My Moon, My Man” music video

Here’s a question: why do we give some records a chance to grow on us while dismissing others with similar prospects? There’s no question that despite my initial reservations Cassadaga became one of my favourite records all year, but was this only because I was already a Bright Eyes fan? If this had been a new album by some new discovery, would I have allowed it the chance to impress me over time, or would I have simply moved onto something else?

Regardless, here we are. Cassadaga always impressed me to some degree, but with time even the album’s slower, less-immediate second half proved a grower, with tracks like “Coat Check Dream Song” and “Cleanse Song” showing Conor Oberst’s ability to fuse his thirst for sonic palettes with his folk foundation. It may not be a perfect record, but Cassadaga’s sheer ambition proves more valuable than it faults.

Watch: “Four Winds” music video

When I learned that Kevin Drew was going to be releasing his first solo record under the moniker “Broken Social Scene presents Kevin Drew,” I was sure that the Arts & Crafts icon had succumbed to the evils of marketing, shamelessly leveraging his brand name to shill his new product. I still think it was a lame move, but looking over the album’s credits, it kind of makes sense. If Drew was trying to truly make a solo album, he failed miserably: this is as much a BSS record as anything else in the band’s discography.

In fact, while it lacks the high points of the band’s last self-titled album, Spirit If might be a more consistent, ultimately better record. Broken Social Scene sounded like a forced attempt to sound loose and raw; Spirit If actually is loose and raw. With a little help from his friends, Drew lays down some of the best songs of his career, from the J. Mascis-aided “Backed Out on the…” to the exhilarating “Lucky Ones,” to the wonderfully understated acoustic-driven tracks like “Safety Bricks” and “When It Begins.” What’s more, it’s the first BSS-related album that actually sounds like their stunning live show: rollicking, spontaneous, and a hell of a party.

Watch: “Backed Out on the…” music video

One of the more notorious pieces of music journalism this past year was Sasha Frere-Jones’ “A Paler Shade of White,” criticizing the racial re-sorting that took place in the 1990s that saw “black music’s” influence on trendsetting rock minimized. I thought it was a dubious piece, despite it made some salient points, because it was argued from the point of view that emphasizing Brian Wilson instead of James Brown is inherently bad.

Thankfully, Noah Lennox disagrees. I’ve never been a big Animal Collective fan, but on Person Pitch, Lennox’s third album under the Panda Bear moniker and Pitchfork’s album of the year, the Collective drummer lets his Wilson flag fly loud and proud. With a harmonious croon almost identical to the Beach Boy himself, Lennox crafts acidic walls of sound and fury that go on for minutes on end, changing shape and character with ever chord change and sounding completely different depending on how loud you have the stereo turned up. It’s not a record for short attention spands, but Person Pitch - which, fittingly, sits right beside Pet Sounds on my iPod - rewards dedicated listeners with some of the year’s best hooks.

Watch: “Bros” video

Any magician will tell you that the secret of a great trick lies in the art of misdirection, of leading the audience to one conclusion before revealing an entirely different outcome. It’s a skill Springsteen knows well – his most popular album, Born in the USA, coated working class angst and turmoil in mid-80s keyboard sheen, tricking a generation into believing it was a salute to patriotism. While Magic hasn’t captured the public zeitgeist in quite the same way, in many ways it’s a reinterpretation of the same classic trick.

Coated in Brendan O’Brien’s glossy sheen and the E-Street Band’s largesse lies a surprisingly dark collection of songs – anthems of broken trust, failed nostalgia and war gone wrong. Unlike The Rising, a somber if optimistic record, Magic’s best moments feel like a celebration of defiance, tragic attempts to try and find rhythm and motion in the darkness. Like all good illusions, the façade entertains, but it’s the twists and contradictions at the core that linger long after the stage lights go down.

Watch: “Long Walk Home” video

My co-worker Dawn is the most opinionated person I know when it comes to music. She knows no shades of grey – she either likes something, or she doesn’t. And while she really likes Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga, Spoon’s excellent sixth album, she absolutely hates “The Ghost of You Lingers,” the record’s haunting piano-driven second song that throws a huge curveball into the tracklisting.

But that’s what’s so beautiful about Spoon – just when you think you’ve nailed their style, the pitch takes a twist and hits you completely unexpectedly. The result is the same – a strike is a strike, after all – but Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga has a few brilliant trick pitches. There’s the previously mentioned, “Ghost,” the horn-aided bubblegum pop of “You Got Yr Cherry Bomb,” and the funk-esque swagger of “Finer Feelings.” The remainder is some of the leanest, most efficient rock and roll you’ll find all year: slick, sophisticated and oh-so-stylish.

Watch: “You Got Yr Cherry Bomb” live on SNL

It might just be the most appropriately-titled record of the year: a soundtrack celebrating a rapper’s transition from success to superstardom. Yet for all its boasts, Graduation…

“Aww hell naw! Heeeelll naw!!! Number seven!?!? What kind of bullshit is this? My record sold a MILLION COPIES in a WEEK and you put me at number seven?!?! I don’t even wanna see what kind of whiny shit you’ve put higher than my record. I made an entire album trying to please you indie motherfuckers. I sampled CAN for you people, I sampled DAFT PUNK, and this is how you repay me? Number SEVEN!?!?! This was my year, MY YEAR!! When I don’t get the respect I deserve, your blog loses credibility. That’s it, I’m outta here.” – Kanye West

Watch: “Can’t Tell Me Nothing” music video

Alright, let’s get this out of the way: yes, I know that Writer’s Block came out in Europe in 2006, which is why all the cool kids had it on their year-end lists twelve months ago. However, being the stickler that I am for physical records, I did not get around to listening to the album until its North American release this past February. Besides, it would be incredibly negligent of me to ignore such an awesome album just because it happened to fall into the “what year did it come out?” cracks. So here we are.

Yes, you’ve heard “Young Folks” – many, many times, especially if you watch any television at all. But have you heard the beautiful assault of catchiness that is “Objects of My Affection”? How about the cool, bass-driven pop of “The Chills”? Or most importantly of all, are you aware of the sprawling, brilliant “Up Against the Wall,” which makes the most of its seven glorious minutes? No? Then put down “Young Folks” and track down the rest of Writer’s Block – there’s a whole album of pop bliss waiting for you.

Watch: “Objects of My Affection” music video

Want a glimpse into how good 2007 was for music? Last year, Shut Up I Am Dreaming, the debut record from Spencer Krug’s chamber-rock collective, topped my list of 2006’s best albums. Now, I think that its messy, bloated but brilliant follow-up, Random Spirit Lover, is probably a better, if less immediate, record. Yet, here it sits down at number five on my list. Yep, it was that kind of year.

What makes Random Spirit Lover both more challenging and more rewarding than its predecessor is that Krug has abandoned any pretense of leading a pop band and instead embraces the music of minstrels and castle courts – if, you know, minstrels and castle courts were completely messed up. Long, sprawling epics like “The Taming of the Hands That Came Back to Life” and “The Mending of the Gown” roll and rumble, transforming into anthems of trials and triads. With two stunning albums in two years – along with, you know, his 2,435 other projects – there’s a good case to be made to crown Krug king of Canadian indie music.

Watch: “Winged/Wicked Things” live at Culture Shock

There are two ways that rock and roll can change lives. The first is in playing to the back of the crowd with each and every ounce of passion that can be mustered. The second is by inviting the back of the crowd to the stage, turning down the volume and demanding attention through understatement. Neither is better than the other, but the former (I’d argue) is easier; it’s the latter that requires a sense of skill, timing and most of all, dynamic.

On their breakthrough record Alligator, the National tried to balance between the two approaches, but on Boxer they pick a side. They craft a moody, melodic masterpiece that sets its mood with “Fake Empire” and maintains it for the following 43 minutes. Every song is like a miniature epic, completely intimate but somehow vast at the same time. While vocalist Matt Berninger gets most of the attention for his Leonard Cohen croon, the real star of the album is drummer Bryan Devendorf, whose drum riffs hold most of the album together while still holding true to the record’s theme of understatement. The band keeps the instrumentation just simple enough to allow room for the listener to place themselves within the narrative, providing them a personal soundtrack to their own apartment stories.

Watch: “Apartment Story” video

If any artist deserves 2007’s “Most Improved Player” award, it’s easily James Murphy. I know I’ve said this every time I talk about the record, but it just cries out for repetition: LCD Soundsystem’s self-titled debut gave no indication that the band had an album like Sound of Silver in them. I figured that LCD would have a good long career as an enjoyable dance act, nothing more. That the outfit would be capable of crafting a moving, powerful, emotional record like this? I wouldn’t have bet money on it.

What Murphy gets is that regardless of its style – rock and roll, pop, electronic – popular music is a criminal art form. It’s about raiding the record collection for sounds, feelings, and sensibilities, and then deconstructing, smashing and reconstructing them into something that feels brand new. Sound of Silver is hardly the most original album of the year, but it’s certainly the most eclectic: it’s an album that dances, grooves, drives, calms and then speeds up again.

Hell, if it were only for “Someone Great” and “All My Friends” – easily the strongest one-two punch of the year – Sound of Silver would deserve this spot. But the entire album is a plethora of riches: the Talking Heads-aping “Get Innocuous!,” the blistering satire of “North American Scum,” the beautiful bleeps and bloops that close out the title track. But it’s the album’s biggest oddball – piano-ballad closer “New York I Love You But You’re Bringing Me Down” – that proves the very point of LCD Soundsystem’s existence: yes, James Murphy can do just about anything.

Watch: “Someone Great” video

Look, it was bound to happen. Unless the Arcade Fire were able to follow Funeral with the greatest album ever made, they were going to fall victim to the vicious backlash of the indie world. The fact that they’ve managed to stay at the top of several year-end lists surprises me, because the buzz about Neon Bible at the netroots is considerably more negative.

And frankly, Neon Bible walked right into it. On the one hand, it mostly lacks the euphoric, joyous highs that defined Funeral and made the Arcade Fire the most exciting and championed band of the digital era. On the other, Neon Bible not a radical departure from Funeral’s core sound; through-and-through, it’s still an Arcade Fire album. Stuck between people who desired change and those that wanted more of the same, Neon Bible at times feels like an album designed to please no one.

Except me, of course (and, you know, the hundreds of thousands of other disciples in the Church of the Arcade Fire). Those who criticize Neon Bible as too different or too similar to Funeral miss the point – the albums is designed as Funeral’s dark mirror, twisting its sounds and themes not towards cathartic joy but brooding apocalypse. The record’s exhilarating moments – “No Cars Go,” “Intervention” – are as defiant as ever, but come a place of desperation. These are not salvation songs – these beautiful, hypnotic hymns reek of dread and fear. Funeral was a soundtrack for optimists; those of us who fear the times are as bad as (or worse than) they appear, we sleep with the Neon Bible held close to our hearts.

Will time prove Neon Bible a classic in the same league as its predecessor? Who knows? For now, its black wave of shadow and darkness looms long and menacing over our 2007.

Watch: “Intervention” live on SNL

If Marshall McLuhan is right, and the medium truly is the message, then this choice really shouldn’t be up for debate. If only it were actually that simple…

You may notice that of my top four albums – all of which held this top spot at one point or another as I built my list – In Rainbows was the only one that I never reviewed here at McNutt Against the Music. Believe me, I tried. The problem I ran into was that I really wanted to write about the music itself, removing it from the hype over the download-only, “pay what you want” release strategy that sent shockwaves through the record industry. But every time I tried to sever In Rainbows from “In Rainbows,” I failed.

The answer to my conundrum, of course, is that the two narratives are inseparable, and here’s why. For all the blog posts, industry navel-gazing and mainstream news coverage, it’s easy to forget that the band outwardly courted none of it. In what might be the most unassuming album release of all time, the band simply announced their intentions with a brief, almost cute statement on their Dead Air Space blog – 24 little words that created an explosion.

Likewise, In Rainbows might be the most unassuming record that Radiohead have ever made. I’m not sure what sort of album the band set out to record, but with nothing left to prove except their continued relevance, they saw fit to make a simple pop album – a real, honest-to-goodness pop album with hooks, melody and songs. Hell, it’s arguably their most song-driven album since The Bends. That’s not to say that Radiohead have spent the last decade or so just noodling around for nothingness’ sake; far from it. But In Rainbows is their warmest, most accessible record in quite some time.

The record’s accessibility – like the humble announcement of its release – is incredibly misleading; lying within is nothing short of quiet revelation after quiet revelation. What Radiohead have done with In Rainbows is take all of the lessons they’ve learned about soundscapes and dynamics through their years of experimentation and apply them to some of the best songs of their career. The results are stunning: the beautiful “Nude,” finally given the rendition it deserves; “All I Need,” with one of the most awe-inspiring sonic crescendos of the modern era; the soulful “House of Cards”; the haunting “Videotape.”

The most rewarding aspect of In Rainbows, and ultimately why I think I’ve placed it in this spot, is that for the first time in years Radiohead sound like a band again. Don’t get me wrong, I’m as big a big fan as any of the band’s recent output, and some – particularly Kid A – ranks as this decade’s most essential music. But In Rainbows sounds like all the pieces of the Radiohead jigsaw puzzle fitting together in perfect harmony: the vocals, the rhythms, the sonic experimentation, the lyrics. For the greatest band of our generation, everything is indeed in its right place.

Watch: “Jigsaw Falling Into Place” video