My 2009 Hit List (part 1)

So this year is as good as over. That’s all right by me. It wasn’t my favorite year. It wouldn’t even rate on my Top 10. Speaking of Top 10's, if you haven’t already had your fill of year-end top-10 lists, then I’ve got a little something for you to snack on. Over the next couple posts, I’m gonna share my favorite things of 2009 in good ol’ list form. For today’s post, I give you The Top 10 Best Records/CDs/MP3s I Heard This Year (That You May or May Not Have) That Weren’t Necessarily Released This Year (Oh, and I Only Have Five to Share Right Now).

1. Flaming Lips Embryonic (Warner Bros. LP)
The Flaming Lips have been making commercial music in recent years (I’ve seen at least four different TV ads using their music), but there’s nothing commercial about this effort. Most of Embryonic's 18 songs came together through spontaneous jams. And it shows—there are some solid grooves here that are immediate, raw, alive. But this is the Flaming Lips, remember—and as such their grooves are strange and contorted, as well as shaded with all kinds of weird noises and sounds. I love this record—because it’s so unexpected and gutsy.

2. Larry Young Lawrence of Newark (Perception LP)
This album was originally released in 1973, but it’s relatively new to my ears. Ever since having my aural cavities delighted by the trippy “Khalid of Space, Welcome Pt. 2,” I’ve been on the lookout for this album. So when I flipped to the LP in the jazz section of Portland’s Jackpot Records in November, I was elated. Lawrence of Newark is another one of those mind-blowing jazz records that came at a time when acoustic instruments were fornicating with electric ones and making sweet interstellar magic. This is psychedelic jazz on the cusp of fusion. But this one's more Sun Ra and Pharaoh Sanders than Headhunters or Weather Report.

3. Bellywipe Jello Tree Rough Mixes (unreleased demo)
This demo was recorded in 1994, but was finally disseminated to the Internets this year when my old friend David Hayes posted it on his Very Small Records Blog. Only one of these songs was released; the rest existed on but a precious few cassettes doled out by the band (I lost mine more than a decade ago). Bellywipe had a sound all its own: gritty, quirky, ragged, involved, smart. Back when I had a record label I wanted to put out a 7-inch for this band, but it never came to pass—Bellywipe broke up before I could come up with the money to pay for a record pressing. Give these songs a listen—the production quality ain’t the greatest; these are rough mixes of songs made digital from an old, low-bias cassette tape. If you can only listen to one song, point your clicker to “The Fucking Song That Made Us Famous.” Fifteen years later, I still want to engrave this thing into vinyl! (Download the entire demo here.)

4. Om God Is Good (Drag City LP)
God Is Good is Om mark 2, the first album sans original drummer Chris Haikus. Joining founder bassist and vocalist Al Cisneros is Grails drummer Emil Amos. But you won’t mistake this as the work of any other band—it’s pure Om. Brooding, undulating bass lines, vigorous, syncopated drumming and chanting vocals coalesce into repetitive, mantra-like grooves which wander a godforsaken scorched topography on an epic search for revelation. It’s spiritual drone music—as enchanting as it is entrancing. What’s different about God Is Good, however, is the inclusion of hand drums, piano, cello and sitar (the latter’s presence may sound like a cliché for drone music, but its addition is not unwelcome), further enhancing the music’s moody ambiance. (Download the God Is Good track “Cremation Ghat II” here.)

5. Obits I Blame You (Sub Pop LP) b/w One Cross Apiece (Stint 7-inch)
Rick Froberg’s adenoidal voice hasn’t aged much even if middle age makes itself right at home on his weathered face. His righteous scream does indignation and discontent better than most. I Blame You is relatively straightforward and less abrasive than Froberg’s ’90s work with Drive Like Jehu, and it’s not quite as frenetic and angry as early ’00s Hot Snakes. But it’s a satisfying and enjoyable collection from one of the leading voices in my record collection. The 7-inch single that preceded the album is pretty good, too, especially the ringing “Put It in Writing.” (Download three I Blame You tracks from here.)

Next time: albums by Mastodon, Donald Byrd, Cedric Im Brooks and more.

Where There's Smoke There's Flaming Lips

Flaming Lips, Paramount Theatre, Seattle, September 20, 2007

Prior to tonight's show, I never would have guessed that I was allergic to smoke. Not cannabis or tobacco smoke. No, smoke exhaled by the Flaming Lips' mighty arsenal of smoke machines (Fog Hogs). Never in my 15 years of covering music have I ever been subjected to such an onslaught. So thick was the haze that it swallowed up the band's entire spectacle. Not even the laser lights could penetrate the vaporous wall of fog. As soon as the fog enveloped the Paramount's balcony section, my eyes began to water and itch, my nose started to twitch and drip. On several occasions, when the veil dissipated, ringleader Wayne Coyne hoisted his hand-held smoker and filled the holes. My nose wept with snot.

The night wasn't about smoke and tears, though. There were also dozens of giant balloons launched into audience, massive explosions of confetti, an enormous video screen projecting strange films and close-ups of Wayne's nostrils, dancing Santas and aliens and giant inflatables. It was as if some crazed psychedelic band had joyously ransacked the local party supply shop.

As for the music? Well it was pretty great, transcendental even, in that the Flaming Lips didn't need the big-top spectacle. Nor did they need Wayne's folksy, aw-shucks between-song banter. All those balloons, all that confetti, all that gimmickry—totally unnecessary (though enormously amusing). The music stands on its own two feet, and that's what's important. It's also something that couldn't be said about a Flaming Lips performance a few years ago—back when they opted for a drum machine instead of real-life drummer machine named Kliph. Back when they were unable to render live the greatness and splendor of their recorded psychedelic suites. Back when they were transitioning from a madcap noise-rock band to a psymphonic tour de force. Not so anymore. Initially, Wayne's vocals were a little rough, not quite hitting the high notes in the opening song, "Race for the Prize" (thank God for confetti and balloons). But that wasn't all that surprising considering he sings well above his natural register. What's more, instead of warming up backstage, Wayne spent the half-hour prior to the band's set actually on stage, preparing the set and testing equipment right alongside the roadies. (His hands-on approach—uncharacteristic of shows at this level—was as mind-blowing as any of the Lips' songs.)

Back to the music. The Flaming Lips seek to deliver their audience from all that ails it. They offer an uplifting experience that is part religious revival, part carnival, part arena rock revue. And on this night, you had to be pretty jaded not to feel touched by the cosmic joy and energy projected by their music. Sure, songs like "The Yeah Yeah Yeah Song" and "Free Radicals" focal points of the band's latest album, At War with the Mystics, are bogged down by trite political rants. And yet, live these songs radiated with undeniable immediacy and conviction—you couldn't help shaking your ass and singing along. (Honestly, I changed my tune about "Yeah Yeah Yeah" and "Radicals" after experiencing them live.) The highlight of the show was the closer, "Do You Realize," the catchy, bittersweet anthem about savoring the moment, loving one another, enjoying small triumphs—celebrating life. It served as a poignant reminder: Before we know it, the surprise party of death will greet us, and we don't know if we'll be showered with confetti or swallowed into a smoky abyss.