The Factual Opinion

The Top 30 Albums of 2010: # 24

Scuba
Triangulation

So a few items of disclosure immediately - first off, my experience with dubstep is next to nothing. Like a lot of people, I got into Burial almost immediately without getting into dubstep as a whole. The rest of the genre has the problem that a lot of electronic subgenres have, which is that variations are hashed out on a minimal scale, and there’s is a huge glut of material that a layman would have a ton of trouble distinguishing the good from the bad. I gave it a shot, I have the 5 Years of Hyperdub box set and I’ve listened to the whole thing a few times, but I can’t get into it. Burial’s different - with that guy you draw a direct line to Rza and Tricky’s best work - and it’s real easy to write off the whole of the thing that isn’t made by Will Bevan. The other thing is - the consensus of this album on the internet is that it’s very well made but unexciting, that it's too subtle for its own good, and that it’s a toolbox for other artists (the Pitchfork review even compares it to glue). Which, yeah, it’s subtle but it’s not the kind of vanilla that word makes it sound like. This is the first dubstep album that’s been able hold my attention for its entire length, where I didn’t start skipping through the songs because yeah, they all do that drum and bass roll noise as the hi-hats click away. Scuba is barely dubstep in a lot of ways because all the aspects that make it a good dubstep record could just as easily be good dance aspects. The most genre-fitting song on the album, “Lights Out”, is buried at the end of the record (and damn if it's not a contender for best thing here).  “Lights Out” is an 8 minute climb out of darkness, where time is taken to let the song’s changes happen organically. While 8 minutes may seem like a long time, the track feels much longer, and yeah, you kind of wish it was - the percussion is aggressive but delicate, and the space that track exists in is a panoramic kind, created only using the most simple variations and dynamics. “Lights Out” isn’t great because of those dynamics, but the way that it dials back to nothing but synths at its end. The shining centerpiece of the thing is “You Got Me”, starting off as a normalized chunk of beats which is overtaken by huge melodic chunks then swings into minimalist microhouse. The live-sounding drums and vocals on “So You Think You’re Special” may sound a little too much like something Michael Mann could’ve shoved into Collateral next to Audioslave songs, but hey thats not Scuba’s fault. It's Audioslave's.

-Sean Witzke, 2010

The Top 30 Albums of 2010: # 25

Screaming Females
Castle Talk

Marissa Paternoster sings about mostly pedestrian things. On Castle Talk, the fourth album by her band, Screaming Females, her version of romance is holding hands, counting hours, falling asleep. She fears rejection on the basis of being “joyfully employed and normal.” “I don’t really want to die,” she sings on “I Don’t Mind It,” and it’s the “really” that’s the kicker, like there’s only a shrug separating life from death. This is what you’d call suburban malaise. Yet, everything else about Paternoster’s music directly counters her low-stakes lyrics. She possesses one of the most dramatic singing voices to come along in years, which swoops and bellows like Corin Tucker if she had roots twenty feet underground. She plays the guitar like a maniac, with serious chops and an ear for riffs that recall indie heroes like J Mascis or Doug Martsch. And her work ethic is off the charts—Screaming Females has released 4 albums and played more than 500 shows in five years, and Paternoster’s solo debut (Holy Hell, under the moniker Noun) preceded Castle Talk by only a couple of months. Alongside Paternoster’s pipes and guitar shredding, the contributions to Castle Talk by drummer Jarrett Dougherty and bassist King Mike are comparably workmanlike, but that’s actually part of Screaming Females’ charm. They have elements common to any low-rent, high school punk band—Guttermouth bass licks and a cheap drum set—but the band uses them to punch well above its weight class. So there’s a polarity between the band’s subject-matter and its ambition; between the quality of its sound and the quality of its songs.

In fact, Castle Talk sounds better played over iPhone speakers than on, say, Beats By Dre headphones—which makes sense, because Screaming Females apply massive talent to relatively quotidian music. The joy here isn’t necessarily in innovation, but in craft—the propulsive thrumming of “Boss,” the absolute nailing of a guitar solo, the interplay between Marissa’s voice and guitar. They’re making music to root for—Battle of the Bands music that effectively has a shot at the majors—which is a rare quality these days. Paternoster’s lyrics feel like adjuncts to private school teenage years in suburban Jersey. Check the last year of Screaming Females’ blog and it reveals the band to be exactly what the music implies they are: Yo-yo enthusiasts who geek out when someone YouTubes one of their songs to a skate video. This year, in quick succession, the band played “Fucking Awesome Fest” in Detroit, “Fuck Yeah Fest” in LA, and “Awesome Fest” in San Diego. Most of their 500 shows have been house parties, in order to score the under-21 crowds, and they tour in unreliable vans. Between that, the suburban malaise, and the thrilling DIY musicianship—face it—Screaming Females is the closest thing we’ve got to The Minutemen. Their band could be your life.

-Marty Brown, 2010

The Top 50 Songs of 2010: #50-31

For the second year in a row, we polled everyone at The Factual Opinion headquarters to determine the top fifty songs of the year. It was a three-part process: Each participant nominated his or her favorite songs from 2010; Tucker and I sifted through the nominees to come up with a short list of potential candidates; then, we voted. Each participant submitted a ranked list of up to fifty favorites—which were not necessarily limited to the short list—and the results were tallied according to both the total number of votes a song received, and their placement on individual ballots. The results range from UK-garage-influenced pop to skeevy basement electro to frenetic psych rock—and that’s just in the first three entries. The list reflects an equal mix of personal favorites and monolithic singles (and sometimes voters didn’t even know which was which—one participant voted for Cee Lo’s “Fuck You!” thinking that it was an undiscovered gem.) Ultimately, it’s a fair and idiosyncratic overview of 2010—which was, incidentally, a killer year for music. Please enjoy. -MB

50. DJ Zinc – “Wile Out (Feat. Ms. Dynamite)”

I had an instant and unexpected reaction to DJ Zinc’s “Wile Out” and it still happens every time it comes on; when the chorus first drops and tells me to “go girl wile out” I do. I respond as if these are direct orders, dropping my head a little and bopping back and forth like I’m in a huge crowd of people dancing. And I hate huge crowds of people doing anything, so for this song to make me even imagine that’s a good idea is a testament to its power over me. That fat elastic sounding bass and Ms. Dynamite’s playful mastery over the lyrics transcend my usual distaste for the kind of electronic music that is hinted at here and there in the song. “Wile Out” begs us all to let go and shake our assets, and it feels so damn good when we obey, even if it’s just in our living rooms. -SE

49. Flying Lotus – “And the World Laughs With You (Feat. Thom Yorke)”

Quite the little mood-piece we have in “And the World Laughs With You,” isn’t it, friends and neighbors? Flying Lotus brings the smooth obscure-but-beloved-bar-scene funk with lots of robot bloops and whirs. It’s warm and fluid music relying upon the sounds usually embraced by the “how am I so alone amongst all these effing people” set. And so why not add a little Thom Yorke to the equation? You know, because that whole paranoid-trying-to-connect-and-struggling-through-all-of-these-layers-of-these-paranoid-layers sentiment? He kinda famously nailed that. A few times. To the veteran listener (and with Radiohead, the numbers would indicate that every native English speaker under 40 fits this description), his voice is likely fundamentally inextricable from that sentiment. So have him sing about “I need to know that you’re out there” and add some creepy, affected voices assuring the lyrical object that the world laughs with you. Then melt minds in that increasingly comfortable, familiar way. And for all of that, this song is good and fresh and very much of today rather than of 10-or-so-years-ago. That’s called synthesis. And that’s badass. -JW

48. The Black Angels – “Bad Vibrations”

The trick to an album opening fake-out is that it isn't good enough to just lie to the listener about what they're in for—you have to make them fall in love twice, the second time right after the rug gets yanked. For The Black Angels, that second time hits with a gut-born yell right around the 3 1/2 minute mark of “Bad Vibrations,” which is when the door to the stairwell they've lured you down gets slammed shut, the guitars start howling like jungle cats, and the noise doesn't stop until the cellar fills with sweat. This is lounge music. They just made it for animals. -TS

47. Les Savy Fav – “Let’s Get Out of Here”

There’s nothing that says indie rock can’t be rocking, is there? It’s not all sensitive guys singing about their feelings; sometimes, like on Les Savy Fav’s “Let’s Get Out of Here,” it’s a good old “let’s do it,” the kind of song designed to get girls to sleep with you, and that’s what’s going on here. “I want you; let’s get out of here”, simple as that. It probably works wonders for Les Savy Fav, but luckily it’s a nice bit of rock energy for the rest of us, building to that repeated refrain, and maybe even getting some of the rest of us laid too. -MJB

46. Beach House – “Lover of Mine”

True story: I had just gotten a hand-me-down record player fixed, and walked into my local record shop with 20 bones in my pocket, ready to buy the then-newly released Vampire Weekend album. “Lover of Mine” was playing, and I walked out with a copy of the Beach House album instead. The music simply compelled me to do so. That, and I didn’t want the cool kids who worked there to pick on me for still liking Vampire Weekend after their first album. The buzz on this song: “dream pop,” “haunting,” maybe about Norway and maybe not, vaguely reminiscent of Velvet Underground with Nico. The personal reality: much like the buzz, but with the added note that these descriptors don’t do enough to capture the feeling that made me change my plans and plunk $20 on the counter without any hand-wringing at all. -JW

45. Christina Aguilara – “Elastic Love”

Halfway through “Elastic Love,” Xtina informs us that the rubber band that provides the song’s central image is an analogy—a metaphor, if you will. It’s the only literary thing the song gets correct. Across Christina’s collaboration with M.I.A., the ladies mix metaphors (“a lot of love ain’t enough, and so/I don’t know how we gonna find a cure”), mix mixed-metaphors (the rubber band “comes and goes and pins [her] like a trampoline”), and generally spout gobbledygook. Yet, for once you hear these two musical forces come completely untethered from the things that define them—Xtina’s voice and M.I.A.’s purpose. Producer Switch provides them with a bass rumble that pulls, releases, and snaps with the strength of an industrial band, while Xtina literally mimics M.I.A.’s singing voice—which is so beneath her talent it’s like Stravinsky playing “chopsticks.” It’s terrible art, but incredible pop. -MB

44. Vado – “Speaking in Tungs (Feat. Cam’Ron)”

You might be a person who listens to Vado & Cam’Ron’s “Speaking in Tungs” and hears a whole bunch o’ nonsensical nonsense. In fact, you may think it’s one of the more uninteresting rap songs. Not so. Vado puts the poly in polyrhythm. A rap song of such layered and textured beat you can’t help but dancing. Stop for just a moment and count how many different percussive rhythmic tracks are going on. Yeah, that’s right, six. The dude speaking in “tungs,” that thumpin’ bass line, hand claps, a little tambourine here and there, and ooooooh, what’s that now? A snare drum? All underneath a rap-a-liscious vocal track? Whoooo! You should see me dance to this! There’s no way you cannot move your body when you hear this song. Shit—I don’t care what they’re saying, ‘cause the rhythm is doing all the talkin’. So start dancing or getch yo self walkin’! -NS

43. Ariel Pink’s Haunted Graffiti – “Round and Round”

“People boo me everywhere...People don't like it when it seems like you don't know what's happening, or I'm getting bummed out with certain aspects and I can't hide it.”

This quote is the definition of Ariel Pink’s song writing. Born in lush Los Angeles with silver spoon in mouth, Ariel grew up to be the hipster of his dreams. Eternally detached from anything he wants, he has the ability to make any art he wants. Most times disaster strikes, but, on “Round and Round,” Ariel has managed to hit the bulls’ eye blindfolded, on LSD, with his hands tied behind his back. “Round and Round” feels like a collage of three songs and a movie clip, swirling at breakneck speeds until separating, only to be mixed back up again. Multiple Ariels sing harmony upon harmony; hurt Ariel suddenly appears and screams a couple bars to dissipating guitar licks; acting Ariel answers the phone only to be answered by a chorus of ghostly Ariel’s exclaiming “Hold on! I’m calling!” The song is one hell of a trip through one expertly (or accidentally?) crafted imaginary haunted carnival relationship. Just don’t expect him to make anything like it again. -AH

42. Tegan and Sara – “Alligator (Four Tet Remix)”

2009's Sainthood was as close as possible to perfection in this debased world, so Tegan & Sara could have been forgiven for doing anything they wanted as part of their well-earned victory lap. Releasing a long remix LP with no fewer than seventeen versions of "Alligator" was probably not what most people were expecting, but who's complaining? There are some good versions scattered throughout, but it should come as no surprise that Four Tet is the belle of this particular ball. "Alligator" was, to my mind, an odd choice for a second single off Sainthood—a quirky, minor-key, pop song with a jerky melody line, definitely overshadowed on the context of the LP by flashier rock numbers. Four Tet’s Kieran Hebden strips everything but the vocal, warping the melody line into a delicate and intricate descending synth pattern that comes on like a tickle but over the course of five minutes methodically builds into the most epic lullaby ever cooed. Hebden is smart enough to know that the song lives or dies on Sara's plaintive vocal, and as far as that goes he almost betters the original by stripping the performance of any trace of the original's tongue-in-cheek humor, leaving only the unadorned emotion glittering like a naked sunbeam. -TO

41. Lil’ Wayne – “Gonorrhea (Feat. Drake)”

Lil’ Wayne’s “Gonorrhea” was a big one for me, personally. With its slick sci-fi beat and menacing staccato whistles, this Louisiana-by-Mars first single off of I Am Not A Human Being is nothing short of a masterpiece.

• The opening siren, like the Gravitron being set ablaze.
• The way the back steadily drops out, only to usher in his reintroduction: “Weezy Baby a.k.a. ‘Bring The Money Home’/ Pull out an AK and pop ya in ya funny bone/ Laugh now die later muthafucker/ You’s a bitch like Zeta Phi Beta muthafucker”.
• The outrageous zingers: “Smokin’ on that headband / Call that sh-t that Paul Pierce”; the nasty “2 girls, 1 cup” reference; rhyming “diarrhea” with “chia”.
• Drake’s fidelity to Wayne.
• Weezy’s haunting final threat.
• The way it makes me feel when I walk down the street.

That’s the ultimate gift of the self-declared “greatest rapper alive”: when I listen to his music, he makes me feel unstoppable.

Plus, homeboy’s right about Zeta Phi Beta.

Whatever. Wish I never met ya, wouldn’t wanna be ya. -FA

40. Arcade Fire – “Half Light II (No Celebration)”

So, “Half Light II (No Celebration)” is a “continuity” song from Arcade Fire’s concept album. I see you’re snoring already—something like the Gorillaz who could actually tell what song is for what purpose even though the album has thematic points (or Radiohead, which is the band Arcade Fire is really trying to be on The Suburbs), on The Suburbs the division is pretty damn clear—some songs are songs and others are plot points. This isn’t subtle, this isn’t measured—Win Butler starts the song off with, “Now that San Fransisco's gone,” and you’ll know if this is a song for you or not. But, c’mon—it kind of sounds like Achtung Baby. Like, in a good sense. In the bad sense too—it’s pretentious and self-involved as hell, and that’s kind of part of the deal. -SW

39. Ratatat – “Neckbrace”

”Neckbrace” kind of sounds less like a beats-and-guitars Ratatat song and more like a plunderphonic paste-together of a series of breakdowns from a bunch of nonexistent songs. The guitars are there, but so are the weird-ass sound effects, the string stabs that are being played by real people but cut in like a DJ would, the micro-percussion, the bubbling muttering and the Prefuse-style talkbox squawk that makeup the song’s biggest riffs. It’s odd hearing guitars and pianos and punctuation and sound effects as the spine of a song, but here it is, and it shreds. -SW

38. Japandroids – “Younger Us”

Nostalgia is a constant. You’re just as nostalgic in your twenties as you are in your eighties. The difference is that, in your eighties, you’re nostalgic for, I don’t know, shooting a bear or something. In your twenties, you’re nostalgic for your teens—and all of the guilt, awkwardness, and reckless enthusiasm that came with them. Japandroids has staked its entire existence on this principle. They make music that sounds like twenty-somethings playing at puberty—emorriffic, adolescent punk, loaded with wistful longing—and “Younger Us” is both the band’s best and most on-message song . Released as a part of a series of 7” singles from the band’s Post-Nothing sessions, “Younger Us” rattles through a litany of vague remembrances, indulgences, and embarrassments, before ultimately demanding them back. It takes a special kind of nostalgia to scream, “Gimme that naked new skin rash!” –MB

37. Crystal Castles – “Baptism”

The Crystal Castles are ready for the apocalypse, a bleak future where zombies rule the night and no one is free. Expressionless and robot like apathetic cool: check. Frightening and cathartic wails of human voice and word: check. The ability to tear the fuckin’ walls down with simple house synth skullduggery and distorted telephone noises: check. Meet them in the “closet” at Brians place Saturday, after state curfew. Beware of zombies and military police. Tell no one you might not trust. We shall be baptized in the searing sweat of sound tonight my rebel brothers and sisters. -AH

36. Quadron – “Slippin’”

On Quadron’s “Slippin’,” the simple base line, hand claps, and especially that pouty temptress voice singing about weakness, ego and phone obsession transport me to those romantically melancholy days when I can’t get out of the way of my own thoughts or stop looking at Facebook on my iPhone. Ugh. Then the repetition of the keys and the lilting oohs add a lightness, humor and flirtatiousness that put a little smile on my face. The sweetness of this tune dances almost too close to sticky for me sometimes, but there’s a hint of a growl in those vocals and a thickness to the bass that cuts through and adds just the right amount of sexy. And the bit of sax at the end reminds me that I don’t have to take everything so damn seriously. -SE

35. M.I.A. – “XXXO (Rmx Feat. Jay-Z)”

Believe it or not, I'm not really an M.I.A. fan. She's straight or whatever, appropriately catchy, but she's like dead prez in that her music alternates between banging and annoying. The “XXXO” remix, this little three minute track, though, features a strong chorus (ex ex ex ohhhh) and a positively exuberant, party-perfect sound. And then, at the end, we get a verse from Jay-Z that sounds like it could've come from Missy Elliott's "One Minute Man." It's effortless, or maybe easy, but it fits with the song. It's Radio Jay, and more than welcome. –DB

34. No Age – “Glitter”

All that glitters is not gold. Guitar noise glitters. Perfectly placed hand claps can glitter. The perfect combination of loops and drumbeat can glitter. So come on down and check out No Age! They can’t sing or dance but they can sound like shit perfectly. You’ll think its noise at first, but how can noise make you feel so darn good? And what do you know it still glows like glitter! Two guys willing it into being is all you need. So don’t lose hope in those American dreams people! “Don’t fear nothing until it’s broke!” -AH

33. White Ring – “IxC999”

“Ghost House” is kind of a ridiculous name to call a music genre until you hear White Ring’s “IxC999.” There are no go-to comparisons—well you can kinda hear a little bit of David Banner’s thrumming production in there, a little bit of Crytal Castles’ weird abrasiveness, some screwed’n’chopped aesthetics, ... Burial? Goblin’s score work? The track is layered in the same way a good late period Death in Vegas track is. Or an early DJ Shadow one. Scratchy obscure lyrics, dirty south pulse, feedback, shotgun sound effect. Uh, have you ever seen Alice Sweet Alice? The one with Brooke Shields as the kid? Yeah, that. Evil and smart and trunk rattling, this shit sounds like room at the end of Stalker looks. Can’t say any of that about Salem, can you? -SW

32. The Roots – “Right On (Feat. Joanna Newsom & STS)”

Is it just me or is the chorus on “Right On” positively haunting? It's high pitched and slow, which puts it in direct contrast with the verses from Black Thought and Sugar Tongue Slim. The contrast is striking. Newsom feels like part of the song itself, an instrument in ?uestlove's toolbox, while Thought and Slim are coming in from outside to do their thing. Even STS's pre-verse intro, a quiet "Aight," feels like him tagging in for his turn. The beat is a real head-nodder, with ?uesto's drums being the most distinctive thing on the song after Newsom's vocals. Put together, it works, it meshes, and it clicks real hard. The contrast works. –DB

31. Kate Nash – “Do-Wah-Doo”

”Do-Wah-Doo” is the first Kate Nash song I have ever heard, and I am in love. Her voice is like liquid gold, like honey, smoothly laying on top of the driving energy of this song. “Do-Wah-Doo” has got that same recorded quality that The Ronettes’ “Be My Little Baby” has (as did a number of songs on our list), and a fun cheerleader beat. The whole thing makes me think of go-go boots and beehives, and having a carefree good time. Yet, much like Cee Lo Green’s “Fuck You,” the content of the lyrics is sharply juxtaposed to the tone of the song. Or is it? Sometimes it’s just fun to be obstinate and tell everyone exactly what you think, who you don’t like and why. That’s freedom, ya’ll. And freedom is FUN. -NS

By Frankie Alvarez, Matthew J. Brady, David Brothers, Marty Brown, Sarah Engelman, Andre Harris, Tim O’Neil, Nina Stone, Tucker Stone, Sean Witzke, and Josh Woodbeck, 2010

The Top 30 Albums of 2010: # 27

Playboy Tre
Last Call

Making art out of misfortune is a dangerous game, if we're willing to take a moment and expand the definition of "dangerous" to incorporate things like "failing to do so" and "being embarrassed" alongside the sort of danger involved in physically related tasks. (Which is what we're going to do for the next couple of paragraphs.) The traps with painful disclosure are hard to spot--go too sincere, you'll alienate the ironic (an estimable bracket), go too insular, you'll confuse the dilettante (they outnumber the fan 1000 to 1), and if you do it too often, everybody quits caring about you entirely.

Are we building up to the moment where we ape Last Call's bravado to etch claims of Playboy Tre's mastery of incisive brilliance with which he nailed the task? Not exactly. He's a little too compulsive about repeatedly barking true ownership over the performance of gotta-get-paid rap tasks like "grinding" and "hustling", to the point where the words have about as much meaning as the word "fuck" does in a David Mamet play. He seems irritated that you don't remember the Luniz, who had five on it. He has a tendency to botch the landing as he leaps back and forth between being nakedly honest (like when he talks about how his commitment to free mixtapes and the resultant "exposure" does little for his family when his mother is about to be foreclosed upon) over to aggressively offensive posturing (he certainly cares about his people, but his voice is never as gutturally excited as when he gets to spit a stream of "gutter shit bitch nigger"). The dichotomy isn't that he does one thing badly, it's that he does both (being nasty, being sincere) extremely well, often inside the same song. At one point, he criticizes a 26 time usage of "nigger" as being "pathetic", but after a brief pause, he lets loose a Disney villain cackle. He cares about being serious, but he's not about to wear a backpack. When promoting the mixtape, he explained the title's meaning by saying "It's saying that I'm back and if there's any bullshit in the air, it's over with. It's last call. You have no time. It's my time here now. It's my time to be heard."

He's not being dishonest when he describes Last Call in those words, but he is being a bit disingenuous for the sake of making noise. Sure, there's instructions and condemnations all over the album--he can tell you aren't working that hard by checking your shoes for wear and tear, he'll remind you to you to look in the mirror and then happily point out that, since you have the time to do so, you're obviously not giving the work your all--but if you take a step back, Tre's well aware that it's his guest appearances alongside the hyper-popular B.o.B. that have made his name outside of the mixtape set more than any sort of Spartan commitment to "hustling". He never goes into full trickster mode more than in the album's trilogy of skits. There, the attacks bent on skewering prominent mixtape producers work as in-jokes to the knowledgeable, but even better, they're exceptionally funny to the novice (and in one test case, to those who have zero experience at all). Tre's eventual conclusion to the onslaught of self-promoting nonsense--a wearied sigh, the decision to "do it myself"--sounds less like a personal mission statement, more like a guy who just grasped what so many musicians now face: the choice between pursuing the by-chance lottery of widespread success, or a hard-earned grind, the self as judge, and an open door to whomever might come along.

-Tucker Stone, 2010

The Top 30 Albums of 2010: # 28

Jamie Lidell
Compass

“I don’t want to be closed,” Jamie Lidell sings at the beginning of Compass, “But opening up has left me completely exposed.” Then things go haywire. His voice is crystalline—light, sharp and precise—as the music opens up into seismic bass throbs, peals of distortion, lazer blasts, and steam-engine human beat-boxing. The song, “Completely Exposed,” plays at the actual mechanics of vulnerability—the tug between the proposed clarity of honest expression and all of its messed-up, uncontrollable bi-products. In the lyrics, Lidell stares at his own reflection as the music explodes. It’s fitting, then, that Compass is immediately rawer than either of Lidell’s two prior albums. It’s his messiest, most personal work yet—one he’s been building toward for years.

With his 2005 breakthrough, Multiply, Jamie Lidell was an anomaly on the Warp Records roster: a knob-twiddler using his laptop wizardry to create the best blue-eyed soul album since the Hall & Oates era. The follow-up, 2008’s Jim, dove head-long into accessibility. Lidell overtly choose Jackie Wilson and Barry Gordy as his muses, and relegated his Aphex Twiniest impulses to the deep background. Those albums each contained a good number of killer tracks (Multiply’s title track and Matthew Herbert-produced “Music Will Not Last;” Jim’s opener, “Another Day,” and closer, “Rope of Sand”), but, as units, they came up short. Multiply was a little too high-concept. Sure, it offered a heady mix of fashionable electronica and unfashionable soul, but the two mostly stayed in their own corners, rarely playing together. Jim, on the other hand, lacked the experimental momentum of its predecessor, branding Lidell with the worst adjective a British soul singer could acquire: Vanilla.

But Compass makes good on the promise of experimental, laptop soul. If anything, it charges too far in both directions, resulting in a difficult album that rarely makes concessions to accessibility. Jamie Lidell’s voice has developed into an incredible instrument—vibrant, expressive and versatile—but here he’s also unafraid to sing beneath his abilities. On “It’s a Kiss,” for example, he starts out singing too low for his range, so you can hear his voice scrape against the back of his throat. “Your Sweet Boom” rinses his voice through an effect that makes Lidell croak and mumble. On “Big Drift,” he channels Chris Cornell. Throughout the album, he forgoes the easy pleasures of oldies-radio R&B in favor of minor keys and delayed gratification. He uses incredible vocal control to brutally attack delicate melodies, like twisting metal around string.

With Lidell taking his cues from buddy and sometime co-producer, Beck, the music is often a ramshackle progression of sound effects, studio trickery, and sounds that shouldn’t work. Things often go off the rails, as on “Telephone,” when Lidell imitates the beepboopboopboopbeeping of a cellular before launching into a too-precious metaphor about wanting to be your, wait for it, telephone. But even the album's missteps add to the overall effect—even when it fails, Compass is never less than ambitious and unclassifiable. Lidell spent two albums mucking around with Motown versions of love and self-discovery, which can be appropriately brutal, but are always dressed impeccably. On Compass, he discovers the relentless, noisy, unceasingly weird, minor key, bad joke telling, don’t look at me, goddamnit don’t look at me, oh no why aren’t you looking at me, can’t catch my breath, what the fuck it feels like a bomb just went off in my sternum after I ate fried chicken, truth of vulnerability. He sounds ugly and open. In order to be completely exposed, you’ve got to be willing to get a little freaky.

-Marty Brown, 2010

The Top 30 Albums of 2010: # 29

Starkey
Ear Drums and Black Holes

It's all but impossible to document a subculture until the fossilization point is reached, especially if one has any interest in anything beyond that subculture. Generally speaking, that's why the usage of some kind of shorthand reference comes into play, either maliciously (so that entire scenes can be dismissed unexamined) or capitalistically (so that new products can be more easily sold). The primary reasoning behind coming up with terminology isn't always a negative, it's highly possible that we do it as shortcut, a way to contend with genres that are so expansive that they take on monolithic proportions. (That a good portion of the naming stems from those who are home-based and less likely to experience the subculture in the flesh is another factor entirely.) There's so much out new stuff out there that the task of "keeping up" eventually becomes, especially for the amateur, a near oppressive task. Being able to codify things makes it easier: this is another dubstep album, and I don't like dubstep, except for Burial. Is the new Raekwon out?

And yet: Ear Drums and Black Holes isn't just a dubstep album anymore than Boxcutter's 2009 work was. That isn't to say that the genre doesn't exist--it certainly does--nor is it to imply that there's something heroic in claiming oneself as a responsible listener for refusing to label it as such. The core pieces of sound on Ear Drums aren't far removed from what we know dubstep to be, and it takes a certain kind of ear (which this writer embarrassingly admits not to have) to be able to name a Starkey instrumental track on blind listen. We do know he's American, that he refers to his sound as "Street Bass", and while Ear Drums isn't his only 2010 output, it's the most lyric centric release in his burgeoning career. Those are the facts--but what's American about his sound? Is there something that's intrinsically Philly when he adds that squeeking old rave-up sound in "Fourth Dimension"? Did he push for a Jodeci mention on "Club Games"?

Nobody asks these kinds of questions except people who are banging around, trying to write about music. It's unnecessary, even more so when an album is tied into an overall category that's still directly connected to the utilitarian concerns of making a certain kind of club bounce, the equivalent of trying to interview someone about a dance move while they're in the process of moving onto the next. So we pare it down: zeroing in on the "official" album, the one that has graphic design, guest star vocalists, an actual release date. We section off the work, treating it less like what it is--a document of a young artist's development--and more like a statement on a field, ever-hoping that the authorities won't muddy the waters of emotional entanglements with their myth-destroying facts. It's anti-intellectualism at its worst, sure, and the destruction wrought under that name has done this decade little favor--but there's no use pretending that Starkey is interested in instigating philosophy. It's the rest of the nervous system--with a dark focus on what makes us move--that obsesses him most. Let Patrin explain the jokes. My dumb ass wants to grind.

-Tucker Stone, 2010

The Top 30 Albums of 2010: # 30

Tobacco
Maniac Meat

The basics haven't changed: Tobacco is Tom Fec when he's on vacation from Black Moth Super Rainbow, his influences are emotions (yours) and trash (the Jerky Boys, work-out tapes), and his interest in easy-to-figure lyrics ranges from "vague" all the way up to "cursory". Intermingled with fuzz and what could almost be the bass line from Armand Van Helden's "Little Black Spiders", you'll find Fec's distort-heavy voice, exhorting you that he "doesn't want to be like you", which probably isn't going to be that difficult for those of us still struggling on how to "lick the witch" and such. (Beck makes a by-mail appearance that smoothes some transitions, but ultimately, you're comprehension is in the hands of a cleaned-up street ranter.) While it isn't aurally offensive enough to wear the label "difficult", Maniac Meat hews about as close to the noisier edge as one can get while still filtering the vocals with the bludgeoning strength of an American Idol production staff. (What's going to happen to our future, when they grow up without Speak n' Spell? Are the digital prophets of 2020 going to be making rapslash out of that irritating OnStar woman who keeps telling you to "Turn Left"?)

There were more than a few of albums that played in the same all-on-your-own sandbox Maniac Meat calls its own, and the likelihood of that field expanding is undoubtable: the technology is there, even artists are pirating it, and there's way too many bedrooms to expect all of them to be filled with Bob Dylan imitators. Skill isn't even a barometer anymore--not that people don't have it, but that they do--and while talent matters, neither of those are what Tobacco relies on here. After the weirdness, post-accomplishment and with commercial concerns handled by outside agency, Maniac Meat is operating towards the intent that J. Hill, Switch & Diplo came up with for 2008's Santogold track, "Starstruck"--a slow motion soundtrack, one that will accent and accelerate the skyscrapers of our future. Digital workout sessions, bodies the size of Godzilla, ingesting the world around them. You might dance to this, but it'll be in jerky motions. You'd be better off destroying something.

-Tucker Stone, 2010

The Year in Music: 2010tro

Just because music coverage on The Factual Opinion was sparse this year doesn’t mean we haven’t been paying attention. Nope! This year at Factual Headquarters, in preparation for our 2010 year-end music wrap-up, we’ve logged more man-hours listening to more music than every year before this combined (and there were four of them, suckas). Honestly, the year warranted it. 2010 was the caliber of music year that only comes along once a decade, if we’re lucky. 90% of the capital-M Major artists that released material this year brought their capital A-games, while the quality of the newbies’ material kept the old guard on their toes. It was as if everybody all at once figured out that the way to deal with the ever-failing music industry was simply to put out the highest quality product. For the last couple of years, it seemed to be going the other way: since nobody’s buying records anyway, it was like they thought they might as well phone it in and save energy for the concerts. But there’s been such a rebirth of musical creativity this year that it actually, literally gives me hope for the future of music itself.

Over the next ten days*, Tucker Stone and I are going to count down our favorite thirty albums of the year. We got together in person to hash out this list—so there’s some blood in these choices. There was little overall consensus. Most of us had to fight like wildebeests for our favorites, and the result is a deeply personal mix of overlooked gems and world-beating, monster albums. As usual, we’re going to wax poetic about each one, to see if we can convert you to some of our opinions.

Additionally, for the second year in a row, we’ve rounded up the TFO extended family—which includes Nina Stone, David Brothers, Matthew J. Brady, Tim O’Neil, Andre Harris, Sarah Engelman, and Josh Woodbeck, as well as the never-before-seen-in-these-pages Frankie Alvarez—and devised a list of our 50 favorite singles and tracks of 2010. As a whole, this crew isn’t quite as nerdy as Tucker and I (at least, not when it comes to music! Boom!) So, in the songs list, you’re getting songs that have resonated with a group that has had the good fortune of not having to keep up with blogs and shit. Together, we’ve come with a batch of songs that’s as far-reaching and accurate as any other year-end list I’ve seen so far.

Plus, there will be some surprises along the way—some sidebar explorations of genres and artists that had particularly notable 2010s. It’s going to be an extravaganza! It’s almost too much! And yet, 2010 has been a rich enough year to support it all.

Finally, for the last couple of years, I’ve posted a year-encapsulating, 100 song playlist in the intro to give a sense of the wide-ranging year. But it has always been in text form. This year, I’ve thrown up some links to a downloadable version of my 100 song mp3 mix, along with the track list on my tumblr. There’s a lot of overlap between it and our albums and songs lists, so feel free to use it to follow along and check out some of the stuff you might be interested in. In the meantime, we’re going to kick off the albums countdown in a hot minute with number 30. Please enjoy.

*perhaps

-Marty Brown, 2010