10) Andrew WK - I Get WetFor a moment in time, he was a god amongst men. Appearing on first encounter to be a full grown wild-child that had been haphazardly positioned in a band, great purpose resided underneath the apparent mental case that was Andrew WK. Of a singular earnestness and dedication, this man headed one of the most remarkable humanitarian crusades in recent history: the party. I Get Wet served as an enduring mission statement which did not mince words: life is not to be attended as a soiree or gala, but to be set ablaze with the intensity of an (not necessarily sexual) orgy. This manifesto found perfect companionship in a raging pomp and circumstance best described as Def Leppard mainlining a cocktail of meth and 'roids, within the context of colossal, overdub-happy production. It did not take long for the music and the message to take effect. Soon collectives of supposedly incompatible people (nerds, jocks, geeks, uber bros, etc.) came together under the banner of the party. Yet as mysteriously as he had first arrived, blood face and his dirty white jeans disappeared into obscurity (i.e. Japan). Fortunately, I Get Wet remains - a dream not deferred.
9) Burnt By The Sun - Soundtrack to the Personal RevolutionThe initial tag-line for this record was "a detailed study in the forward motion of heavy music." I'd like to amend that statement with the following: "Progression is great, but if you're too hip for Pantera - get the fuck out." Not to kill the analogy, but Soundtrack to the Personal Revolution is Far Beyond Driven written by Coalesce. Burnt By The Sun are a noble example of what "metalcore" was before the term became associated with tepid hybrids like As I Lay Dying and All That Remains. Tempo and groove shift with the force of passing tectonic plates, ranging from an ambush of blastbeats to some of the most crushing breaks ever put to tape. A seriously menacing listen when it came out, this one still obliterates today. (I wrote an explication piece on the song "Famke" for a high school English class. In retrospect, I should have chosen "The Boston Tea-Bag Party" instead.)
8) Bane - Give BloodHaving discovered hardcore by way of 90's Victory bands like Hatebreed and Buried Alive, much of what I considered to be "hardcore" actually had prevalent metal influence. Not to discredit those groups in the least, but Bane showed me the merits of taking things back to basics: if purpose and energy are job #1, a solid foundation for the music has been laid. Grasping this maxim, they penned a contemporary classic in Give Blood - a record that pays respect to a history rich in tradition, yet avoids an '88 jack move. Echos of the old school fuse with a willingness to evolve within the parameters of the style. In doing so, Bane demonstrate a keen knack for supplementing the punk stampede with huge kinesthetic grooves that dodge metal categorization. Getting verbose about Give Blood as a composition is unnecessary, in a way trivializing the experience - one that revives the now fleeting inspiration of youth, when becoming a better person was a feasible goal. If that comes off a little too sanctimonious, know that "Ante Up" is about a poker game.
7) Pedro The Lion - ControlHow this - an album centered around divorce - was sold at Family Christian bookstores still baffles me. I guess it is as "Rapture" says: "Gideon is in the drawer." Witty quips aside, Control is an incredibly affecting record to take in as a whole. David Bazan's waning lamentation poignantly illustrates the deterioration of a marriage in all it's infidelity and melancholy. That is not to say this a right-versus-wrong finger pointing scenario. By weaving in and switching between different perspectives, Bazan complicates the matter much to our consternation, in way stating that everyone carries these reproachable characteristics and is capable of such social wreckage. Told with an everyman's simplicity, there is no questioning the reality of the tale. To make this bumout palatable, Pedro The Lion's signature stripped-down approach was revamped with a newfound vitality. Songs like "Magazine", "Rehearsal" and the already noted "Rapture" rock a little harder than previous Pedro material, while "Indian Summer" implements a lush synth to create a humble pop-gem. Bazan may have put The Lion to sleep, proceeding on to other credible projects, but Control continues to be the songwriter's most focused and moving work. Look at it this way: I - an intolerably harsh critic of faith - have recited "God bless the Indian summer" countless times without thinking twice.
6) Cursive - The Ugly OrganDomestica solidified Cursive's place amongst the upper echelon of inde-rock, brandishing a group who could expertly tow the line between raw catharsis and catchiness. It can be said that the proceeding album kept the same elements in tact, but that they were more pronounced with a larger dichotomy between the two, submerging the listener into a nerve-wrought atmosphere akin to walking on glass. A precarious doppelganger, The Ugly Organ wolfed down those in search of instant satisfaction. While the angelic "The Recluse" cast its complacent lull, "Herald! Frankenstein/Butcher the Song" quickly reigned down with a jarring racket that was anything but harmonious. Credit is due to cellist Gretta Cohn, who played an integral role in the musical juxtaposition just outlined, providing elegance to the delicate parts and severity to the clamor. Continually shifting from pastoral to caustic and then back again, The Ugly Organ forced a new, comprehensive definition of beauty.
5) Little Brother - The Minstrel ShowThe most significant concept album the genre had seen since De La Soul Is Dead, The Minstrel Show was a desperately needed satirical critique upon the lowest common denominator of modern day hip-hop. Under the guise of a TV station (UBN) thriving off the purveyance of such cliches as the foolish slow jam (see Percy Miracles) and misplaced cultural affirmation in white people (see Dave Wood), Little Brother not only took their shots but provided track after track of filler-free bangers. Like forefathers A Tribe Called Quest and the aforementioned De La Soul, these natives of North Carolina managed to make the smooth hit hard, so as to provide for maximum head bobs. Much of this can be attributed to 9th Wonder's stellar production, a masterful infusion of soul into beats that is on par with the work of the late J Dilla. Of course, history shows us that artistic achievement generally goes unappreciated; in a case of sad irony, BET declined to pick up the single "Lovin' It" because its was considered "too intelligent".
4) At The Drive-In - Relationship of CommandThe album that introduced independent music to a generation of naive suburban kids weened the mainstream. "One Armed Scissor" somehow infiltrated popular radio and video outlets, displaying a sound completely at odds with that of its accepted peers on K-ROCK and MTV. Punk in spirit but full of alluring instrumental twists and turns, Relationship of Command put ATDI in an elite company of genre innovators with Refused and Fugazi. Though the band/album may not have been so impactful minus one eccentric frontman with melodies to burn: Cedric Bixler - creator of a long-stemming infatuation with both nasal sass and girl jeans. And while Bixler's irrefutably self-indulgent lyrics are more or less ambiguous poetry, ATDI's swansong was an arresting venture, leading many of us to question the necessity of our Linkin Park records.
3) Godspeed You! Black Emperor - Lift Your Skinny Wrists Like Antennas To HeavenImagine compiling an array of rock instrumentation, classical arrangements, along with various products of human sound and sending them out into space. Then imagine a signal is shot back to earth with all original components still in tact but rearranged and cross-linked in a manner where unfathomed sonic territory has been forged. Enter Lift Your Skinny Wrists by Godspeed. Utterly triumphant layers of beauty cascade into moments of disconcerting sorrow, all held together with the interspersed words of a doomsday prophet, an aging Coney Island beach bum, and an automated teller machine. It's difficult to move beyond cryptic descriptions. A crude lineage traces back to Sonic Youth and Slint, while streamlined descendants are identifiable in Explosions In The Sky and Mono. Such comparisons, however, only get you halfway. Godspeed exhibit an omnipresent expansiveness on Lift Your Skinny Wrists which places them on the fringe of conventional reference points. Here is the postmodern opus of the decade. Kid A, you have been served.
2) Mastodon - RemissionWhat's in a band name? Be it to correspond with predetermined molds? To increase t-shirt marketability towards brats? Alas, these things are often the case. Though sometimes a name can capture the very essence of a sound. The first time I called upon Remission, thence appeared before me the great mastodon: a indomitable prehistoric behemoth that stormed over frozen tundra, forgoing all regard for that which lay in its path. An animal fiend from ages past, I did see. But its sonance failed to fit any previous documentation. It was a brutish amalgamation, combining the arithmetic of Botch, the physics of Celtic Frost, the putrefaction of the Melvins and the occasional melodious refrain of Iron Maiden. One labyrinthine riff spun dizzily into the next, all while the never-ceasing war hammer struck out in new sequences, refusing to settle on a meter. It's cry? Well, it was the call of the mastodon: a wrathful bellow which cut the terra firma from itself. Since this meeting, the depicted creature has amassed a phenomenal amount of acclaim. Criminal it may be to forsake Leviathan from inclusion on this memorandum, yet I do believe Remission to be its zenith of destruction. All parts in perpetual chaos, but always moving forward as a whole; it was here that I first looked the beast in the eyes and knew it for what it was. Righteous.
1) Converge - Jane DoeIf you know me at all, you saw this one coming. If we've conversed about music, I've spoken highly about this record, perhaps to the point of becoming overzealous in praise. Hype is hype, but this one lives up to every positive word ascribed to it. I say this as someone who wasn't necessarily sold on Converge and Jane Doe the first time our paths crossed. Simply put, it was just too much. "Concubine" would hit and trigger an immediate sensory overload. Still teething off Sepultura, I couldn't get my head around it. But I did recognize the sheer power that came through my speakers. Playing it passively in background was impossible. It compelled, forcing confrontation. So I kept coming back, trying to figure out what the hell all this noise was doing. Eventually I got it (at least partially) and realized why this band and record are a pair of all-time greats.
On Jane Doe, Converge transcend the plethora of influences which make up their sound. It's not hodgepodge of styles that stand apart from one another. Hardcore, punk, metal and grind: these components are seamlessly integrated, coagulating into something completely different, not anchored in any one source. There is no moments of "oh, here's the mosh part and there's the thrash part." This cohesion is result of a nihilistic dissonance and tireless intensity which permeate the songs, eradicating direct resemblances. I mean, what have you heard that even comes close to "Thaw", a demential funhouse on an angry sea of riffs? Where can you place the primal brutality of "Phoenix In Flames", which is composed only of percussion and vocals? And though incessant aggression is a trademark of this album, dynamics and textures have variance; "Distance and Meaning" reeks of The Jesus Lizard smut, while "Phoenix In Flight" exudes a Swans-like ethereal canopy. Closing out is the absolutely massive title track; with a duration of nearly twelve minutes, this monster finale is the culmination of each already mentioned facet of Converge.
Considerable lengths have been taken to explain how ugly and overwhelming this record is. But in many ways, Jane Doe is a positive, empowering experience. The auditory violence is not self-serving. It is the deconstruction of traditional conceptions of art, including the allegedly extreme forms. It takes preconceived notions about music, rips them apart and demands that you either put it back together or walk away. Choose the former and forevermore become an engaged listener - always searching for and constructing meaning. Reflecting back on this record and the challenge it posed, I see it as making an important contribution to my progression in critical thought: not finding truth at the start, but through a process of constant reassessment. To those of who snicker at these principles, by all means continue to arbitrarily nod your head along to REO Speedwagon. This is not for you. But for those who come forth with patience and an open mind, the effect of Jane Doe can be galvanizing.
