—Baby's Arms
TOP ALBUMS OF 2011
And so, we’ve reached the end of the year, and it’s time for the annual roundup of the year’s albums. This year’s list came out to 46, for some reason. We’ll be counting down the albums to number one this whole month.
2. Father, Son, Holy Ghost - Girls
If anything, Father, Son, Holy Ghost deserves a spot on every end of the year list because of its wide scope in comparison to Album, which was Girls’ debut release riding on the wave of “Hellhole Ratrace” and lead singer Christopher Owen’s past in the Children of God cult. Those two elements combined made a relatively appealing band, however Album came off somewhat jumbled, almost an expression of Owens’ years without music suddenly exploding in the form of an album. Father, Son, Holy Ghost, however, is much more of a full-length, incredibly release, and that’s really only possible because Album was put out to much acclaim. The new album raises the stakes considerably, putting everything out there in a way that hasn’t been done by an artist in recent years this well: even Sufjan Stevens’ haunting The Age of Adz, the first really personal release by Stevens of his career, was rooted in apocryphal art, whereas Father, Son, Holy Ghost makes no attempt to shield itself from the public light. There are elements of other music in the album - particularly the voice of Randy Newman, which Owens has mentioned as an influence - and the guitar work of Pink Floyd especially on songs like “Forgiveness.” Those influences don’t take away from Girls’ strength, however, like they maybe did on Album, which was conceived most likely as a surf-rock album, an ode to the music Owens never had. Broken Dream Club, an EP they put out last year, harkens closer to Father, mostly in its immediate connection with listeners, its blatant sense of honesty, both in content and songwriting. Tracks like the title one and “Carolina” are among the greatest Girls have created, and that’s most likely due to the drawn out feeling they have, which Father also has. Instead of giving us quick moments of pain or pleasure, Owens allows for those feelings to come full circle in the form of song: even on “Honey Bunny,” which has potential to be an Album song and yet finds itself in a slow melody of “Mama, she really loved me,” a reoccurring theme on the album. People have referenced the truth behind Owens’ story, but whether it is or not, Father is a full expression of the feelings behind that story: the confusion, the love, and most importantly, how it effects him today. Songs like “Honey Bunny” are a window into that lifestyle, and Owens circles the feelings before finally addressing them, which is kind of the way real life goes: you don’t always come out and say how you’re feeling, you have to struggle to do it. That probably why tracks like “Die” appear on the album, because it isn’t a one note recording that recalls the past so much as a densely populated release that encompasses all of Owens’ life over the course of its fifty-four minutes. And the sheer density of Father is what probably draws us in most, whereas it tends to pull us away on albums like M83’s Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming, or even the heavier work of Tim Hecker or Oneohtrix Point Never. Not that those groups bear really much comparison to Owens and company, but the ambition behind the albums does, and Father hits the nail right on the head.
The immediate release of “Vomit” and subsequent music video was original a turn-off for me - a mere copy of what had been accomplished on “Hellhole,” however in the context of the album, it draws much closer to a song you want to hear from Girls, with its swirling lyrics like, “Looking for love… Come into my heart,” which tend to hit us harder than we expect, which is surprising given how basic they are. Songs like “Vomit” and “Forgiveness” both seem to have this quality: broken almost into two halves: long apologetic tracks that are jams just as much as they are confessionals. Both tracks bring us closer to the story that is Owens, and it’s said that the album was inspired by his time in the Children of God, which makes sense overall. The album doesn’t always have to be this forward though, and that’s why it succeeds: there are tracks like “Saying I Love You,” which during its chorus gives us a glimpse into normal life in the midst of the turmoil that is the past. “Love Like A River” also does this, and its placement on the album, towards the end, and after the heavy “Forgiveness,” is not only refreshing but welcomed. And maybe it is the set-up of the entire album that gives it its strength, with tracks like “Just A Song” sitting in the middle, which is the albums climax, in the term of instrumentals and themes. It all makes up the bigger picture that is Father, and it’s why the album just gets better as you listen to it, and if you listen to it. There’s a level of rawness to the entire thing that appears to be more convincing than Album ever could be, and it’s why Girls is such a brilliant group in its execution.
The best tracks on the album, however, are the ones that hit closest to home. “My Ma” could potentially find itself being a bit too real, but instead given its “Great Gig in the Sky”-esque vocals and Owens’ wailing, we really couldn’t ask for more. It’s about the confusion of missing her, the confusing of who she was, and the tiredness that comes with all that: “Oh God, I’m so lost, I’m out here in darkness.” These are all things we’ve heard before, but the fact that he’s singing them now, with this much emotion, it’s incredible. One has to compare Owens’ work here to Robin Pecknold of Fleet Foxes: if Helplessness Blues is Pecknold’s album, then Father is certainly Owens’. Both artists give themselves up the music here, with more courage than we’ve seen in recent years: they jump of the deep end and hope for the best, and both soar - in Owens’ case, he rises. And it’s in the final moments of “Jamie Marie” where we probably see it best: lyrically, it’s probably the album’s best, and structurally it is as well. It’s a love song, it’s a goodbye, it’s an ending - it’s representational of the whole thing. And even if it is inspired by Randy Newman, it’s purely Owens in its core, and it’s what makes the song so hard hitting. It doesn’t have to be in your face or too intense - it’s quiet and memorable in its execution. And as a whole, it leaves you feeling the same way you did about Father from the start: it’s a honest, moving album that doesn’t give up on you if you don’t give up on it.
1. Smoke Ring For My Halo - Kurt Vile
Kurt Vile probably can save music as a whole, if he tries hard enough - but here he isn’t trying. It’s hard to think of a way of explaining his music to convey how emotionally moving it is, and I suppose the best way to do so is by saying how relatable it is. Vile’s music has a tendency to want what we all want: it wants to stop, it wants to lie down, it wants to sleep, but it also wants to be something. There’s a roving quality to all of Vile’s work, whether it be the heavier instrumentals or in the soft vibrato moments or in the repeating lyrics: it all seems to come back to the same point, however Vile himself doesn’t seem to know what that point is. Smoke Ring For My Halo is the expression of that lack of knowing, and comfortability with it. And maybe it’s just me, but from the opening moments of “Baby’s Arms,” one knows that they probably have the most in common with Vile that anybody else: “I get sick of just about everyone and I hide in my baby’s arms… cause there’s nothing to latch onto.” And it’s probably one of the most moving songs of the year - I’ve listened to it countless times it never fails to make something out of the listener in its soft acoustics. As a start to an album, it says more than most musicians can say in an entire career. And then there’s the whole of Smoke Ring, and its depth that really pulls at you, all the while staying rooted in solid rock music. It’s not a particularly exhaustive album - none of Vile’s work is, really - but it has a quality to it that is immediately listenable and then listenable for several times to come. And each time, another beautiful moment sticks out to you: the background guitars of “On Tour,” the finger noodling in “Runner Ups,” and the exhaustion present in “Ghost Town.” To pick out a favorite track is an absurdity, and Smoke Ring is much more than Vile’s career has stated in the past - much more than So Outta Reach could have even said. Even the vast impact of Childish Prodigy, with its “Overnight Religion,” “Blackberry Song,” and “Heart Attack,” can’t match the level of comfort that Smoke Ring provides, and maybe its the fact that Vile has calmed down and been able to create this music, while still feeling the same way, that makes the album most memorable. He doesn’t have to scream or yell it or even do much with it - it all just comes naturally. It’s a bit like the end of “Ghost Town,” which offers: “In the drinking, I get to joking, then I’m laughing, falling down - but it’s just fine and I just pick myself up and walk down, ghost town.” It has those mornings encompassed in a song, probably better than any other one has.
Probably what song tells us most about Vile, though, and might be the thesis of his entire career, is “Peeping Tomboy,” which finds itself constantly contradicting itself, while remaining constant with its acoustics. As a guitarist, Vile is obviously in a league of his own, and that combined with his singer-songwriter skills propel Smoke Ring forward to an extent that most others can’t. There’s nothing here that is particularly thought-provoking or different - there are plenty of influences nestled in the acoustics of the seventies - but it’s Vile himself who drags the album out into the album and makes it worth our time: so worth our time, in fact, that you can’t really put it down. Even on songs like “Society Is My Friend” and “Puppet To The Man,” which are louder Vile tracks, you find yourself wrapped up once again the lyrical power in addition to the instrumental work, which tends to find itself in perfect harmony. On a small scale, Smoke Ring works because of the little moments, broken down inside of Vile until the emerge on the record; on a large scale, Smoke Ring is a statement about the whole of everything, and the scope of it all. And the fact that Vile doesn’t know what to do with it is understandable and one of the most relatable things about Vile. None of us really know what we want, none of us really know how to we feel, and neither does Vile - and he’s writing songs about it. And that’s when you hear those songs you can immediate relate to them, both on an emotion level and on a musical one as well.
