Dismemberment Plan
Ice Of Boston
live @ the Crocodile, Seattle, WA (February 26, 2000)
That’s it for the year in review. But one more thing before you go:
Woke up at 3am with the radio on, that Gladys Knight and the Pips song on, how she’d rather live in his world with him than live in her own world alone, and I lay there, head spinning, trying to fall asleep and I thought to myself, Gladys, girl, iloveyoubut OH! GET A LIFE!
Happy fuckin’ New Year’s, bitches!
Handsomeboy Technique
Your Blessings
Adelie Land (2005)
[review 2005: the best of the year]
Theoretically, the Saint Etienne album should be at the top of this list. Many years from now, when my old fogey self looks back at 2005, it’ll likely be Tales From Turnpike House that stands the test of time, the album that becomes a classic. So consider that album the philosophical favourite of the year. But I spent a month listening to Adelie Land, and absolutely nothing this year sounded anything near as cool as this. Listening to “Season Of Young Mouss” for the first time reminded me what it was like to be hopelessly addicted to music. These sorts of moments have been few and far between lately; the last time I remember feeling the same way about an album was the Go! Team’s Thunder, Lightning, Strike. Fitting that it was my favourite album of last year.
But let’s stick with the Go! Team comparison for a bit, since everyone and their dog has made it. Yes, Handsomeboy Technique sounds a lot like the Go! Team. It’s sample-heavy hip-hop without the frontin’ and tha bitches; everything’s in technicolour and all the sounds remind you of being a kid on a sugar high. Some people have even gone so far as to call Adelie Land the second Go! Team album in spirit, and maybe they’re right. But where the Go! Team is the product of Schoolhouse Rock, double-dutch chants and 70s action car chases, Handsomeboy Technique sounds a lot more like the soundtrack to a Katamari Damacy game. Adelie Land and Thunder, Lightning, Strike are two sides of the same coin: the Go! Team are more New York hipster, the Handsomeboy Technique more twee. Take out some of the trumpets, the banjo, the harmonica; add in some keyboards, some disco beats, some ba-ba-bas. The Go! Team are purposefully lofi; Adelie Land, by contrast, sounds almost bigger than life itself.
Adelie Land is addictive. “Adelie Coast Waltz” and “Affections” sit on one end of the spectrum, moving at an upbeat yet unhurried pace, so that the soundscapes pass by like a narcotic dream. At the other end lie songs like “Season Of Young Mouss” and “Miami Radio Flash,” psychedelic dance tracks that burst with ear candy. Everything on the album puts a smile on your face, from the wicked beat of “Miami Radio Flash” to the beatboxing on “8000 Laurels,” from the trumpet blasts on “A Walk Across The Rooftops” to the Jackie Deshannon samples on “Your Blessings.” This album is concentrated Prozac, pressed into a CD and available without a prescription (but sadly only in the band’s native Japan; there’s probably no chance this album will ever come out stateside). You owe it to yourself to find a copy of this album and give it a spin, because Adelie Land is so giddy, so sweet and juicy, just so amazing that it may very well save your life.
Saint Etienne
Teenage Winter
Tales From Turnpike House (2005)
[review 2005: the best of the year]
A lot of Saint Etienne’s albums sound like they were conceived as snapshots of life in London, but I think this is the first album where that goal was made explicit. Turnpike House, a tower block of apartments in London, is the setting for Saint Etienne’s most interesting portrait of London to date.
Tales From Turnpike House is the sound of a band apparently at a crossroads, though in reality Saint Etienne have been figuring out a new direction for a long while now. There are a couple of factions: the Good Humor camp seems to have conceived the more organic-sounding, light pop fare of “Sun In My Morning” and “Side Streets.” Then there’s the old school camp, from whence the Eurodisco pop tracks like “A Good Thing” and “Stars Above Us” hail. Finally, there’s a third group that doesn’t sound much like anything the band have done before; file “Slow Down At The Castle,” “Last Order For Gary Stead” and “Teenage Winter” in that category. It all sounds like Saint Etienne, though, and for the reason why you’d have to look at the details. First, while a lot of the tracks on Turnpike House recall earlier incarnations of Saint Etienne, major differences become apparent once you’ve given the album a couple of listens. The Beach Boys harmonies are a good example, and a point of contention amongst the fan base. Lots of people hate them because they think it interferes or competes with Sarah Cracknell’s charming melodies. I personally think they’re a valuable counterpoint; certainly “Sun In My Morning,” one of the best tracks on the album, wouldn’t be at all the same without those sunny backing harmonies.
Second, the shared set of characters and settings—Gary Stead appears in three songs, for example—lend the album a coherence you won’t find on, say, Finisterre or Tiger Bay. In fact, because the theme runs through both the music and the lyrics, this is arguably the Saint Etienne album that feels most like an album rather than just a set of songs. “Relocate” is a bit of a pain to listen to, but its city-country argument makes sense given the context of the rest of the album. It’s also a great counterpoint to “Stars Above Us,” which is just a song about the nightlife until you realize that, in light of “Relocate” and the naive disappointment of “Slow Down At The Castle,” its urban pleasures are fleeting. Another moment of interplay between tracks occurs between the morning rush of “Milk Bottle Symphony” and the evening walk home of “Side Streets.” And of course there’s the previously mentioned miniature narrative of Gary Stead.
I told a friend once that I thought this album was perhaps a bit sad. “Lightning Strikes Twice” is about a woman who thinks she can charm a man through witchcraft; “Side Streets” has someone blithely ignoring the menacing dangers of walking alone late at night; “Teenage Winter” literally recalls the fading artifacts of lost youth. And yet there’s a comfort in the fact that Saint Etienne have seen fit to devote an entire album to the small dramas and little victories of the less-than-glamorous urban life. Cracknell, Stanley and Wiggs were once the purveyors of effortless cool, writing songs about little sisters stealing your beau and telling “every girl, let’s go out tonight, everything’s gonna be alright.” Now their heart, and this album, belongs to the utterly normal people it depicts and the lives they lead. Tales From Turnpike House practically breathes, so compelling and ultimately sympathetic are the tracks; you can relate to these tracks in a way you couldn’t quite do with older Saint Etienne albums. So, more than the sterile electronic left turn of Sound Of Water or the strident manifesto of “Finisterre,” Tales From Turnpike House is a symbol of Saint Etienne’s midlife maturity, and wouldn’t you know it: even pushing 20, they still have more interesting things to say than most bands half their age.
(edited to show that Turnpike House does, indeed, exist. Shows how much I know about London. Thanks, Paul!)
Mary Timony
9x3
Ex Hex (2005)
[review 2005: the best of the year]
Matador Records celebrated its 10th anniversary in 1999 with a three-disc vault compilation and a three-day concert showcase in New York. Some were old favourites like Pavement and Yo La Tengo; others were fresh-faced newcomers like Solex and Non Phixon. Slotted in at 10pm on the last night of the showcase, was another old favourite, but with a twist. Helium was a much beloved Matador band that faded away after 1997’s The Magic City, an album that made its way onto several best-of-year lists; Mary Timony, the band’s lead singer and principal songwriter, had the 10pm set. Anticipation was high; Everything Is Nice, the three-disc 10th anniversary set, contained the first Mary Timony release; alas, it was a redone version of Helium’s “Aging Astronauts.” That night offered the promise of new solo material, and people were excited. But when Timony hit the stage that Saturday night in late September, it was a bit of a letdown. She barely faced the audience at all, preferring to play to the audience of one that was her drummer for the night, Christina Files. Her guitar playing was suitably meaty and assured, but her singing—never really her strong point—was comparatively timid. Worst of all, she didn’t look like she was having a lot of fun. Maybe it was nerves, or perhaps a bout of stage fright, but the impression she left was not one of a triumphant return to form. And first impressions are hard to break.
If you’re asking why we had to go all the way back to 1999 for this story, here’s the punchline. Reviews from her latest outings—opening spots with Sleater-Kinney and Spoon, plus some headline shows of her own—speak of an entirely different Mary Timony, a Mary Timony that smiles and laughs and has stage moves (even if they’re still somewhat restrained; she’s not Carrie Brownstein). In contrast to her occasionally uncomfortable shows on earlier tours, her 2005 concerts seem assured and confident. This onstage metamorphosis comes just as she releases Ex Hex, easily the best album of her solo career. In fact, it goes one further: it finally gives us the Mary Timony we’d hoped would show up at that Matador concert in 1999, but are just as happy to have six years later.
Forget the Tolkien-esque lyrical imagery, the byzantine melodies and the occasionally laboured vocal performances. In fact, throw away everything you thought you knew about Mary Timony’s solo career. “Ex Hex” is more direct, more aggressive and more confident than her previous two releases. “Friend of JC” was released as an MP3 preview of the album, and in a year mostly lacking in surprises, this was perhaps the biggest surprise of the year. The woman snarling “that’s a fact / that’s whack” over the bridge, surely, was not the same woman who mumbled out the first lines of an unknown song back in 1999. Speaking of which, that unknown song would eventually become “Return To Pirates,” but only after receiving a jolt in the arm courtesy of a renewed guitar attack and an assured vocal performance from Timony.
Louder, faster, stronger—these are the tenets that Ex Hex stand on. “9×3″ starts with a deliciously brutal guitar riff, and Timony brings with her a big dose of attitude when she sings, almost as if to make up for the past six years when a little attitude would’ve come in handy. But that’s not all she has to give—the best she saves for last. “Backwards/Forwards” is six minutes and forty seconds of foot-stomping bliss, propelled on the rocket fuel of Timony’s guitar. It’s a gloriously acrobatic prog-rock crescendo of sound unmatched by anything she’s done before. For the fans who found Mountains and The Golden Dove albums they liked but could never love, good news: Mary Timony has returned.
50 Foot Wave
Long Painting
Golden Ocean (2005)
[review 2005: the best of the year]
The final Throwing Muses record was a bittersweet reunion album. The Muses certainly knew how to get back up to speed; they turned everything up to 11 and proceeded to record the loudest, most aggressive album of their entire career. But almost from the beginning, the band decided that the comeback would be a one-time thing, and a permanent remount would be out of the question. Kristin Hersh, at the time, was still balancing a solo career and a family with the Muses reunion; the self-titled album was released on the same day as Hersh’s own The Grotto. The solo album stuck firmly to the quiet, contemplative territory of Hersh’s previous solo work. Perhaps because she had to juggle the material from both albums in her head, Hersh took an even more intimate and spare tack with The Grotto, almost as if she’d taken a regular Throwing Muses record (or one of her later solo works) and split it into yin and yang to form two.
Shortly after the Throwing Muses packed up shop for the second time, Hersh found herself in a new band with some of her old comrades. Apparently, after Hersh rediscovered the distortion pedal, she couldn’t get enough. If Throwing Muses and The Grotto were part of some musical balance, then 50 Foot Wave would explain why we haven’t heard a whole lot about a new Kristin Hersh solo album—the only thing that could balance Golden Ocean’s ferocious wall of sound is silence. A lot of early reviews of the album called it brutal, perhaps too brutal for fans used to Hersh’s oeuvre of delicate acoustic songs and Appalachian folk covers. (Speaking of which, she’s working on another collection of folk songs.) Even I found the album too harsh; coming off the high of Throwing Muses, hearing Hersh shriek so loud that you could feel your own vocal cords tear in sympathy was a bit painful and unpleasant.
Fast forward a couple of months, though, and suddenly it’s the Muses that sound too quiet. Golden Ocean is proof that Hersh and company haven’t lost their touch, over twenty years into the game. The accomplished performers by her side, fellow Muse Bernard Georges and Rob Ahlers, provide a solid foundation to the songs, with Ahlers delivering some particularly kinetic drumming. But really, it’s Hersh’s anthemic guitar work and her vocal performance that steals the show. Those moments where Hersh tries to physically blow out your eardrums with the sound of her voice? Now they’re bliss, not at all strange like they used to be. I discovered Kristin Hersh before I ever knew about the Throwing Muses, and so my first impression of her is from Strange Angels, singing oddly emotional songs on an acoustic guitar. The cover had her standing in soft focus, backed by a chorus of lit candles. This is not a woman who should be fronting an aggro punk rock band, and yet her transformation on Golden Ocean is utterly convincing.
When 50 Foot Wave set out to record their first album, they must’ve gone into the studio ready to tear a strip off something. In a year where so many albums were nuanced or subtle when they weren’t just outright boring, Golden Ocean is deliciously unrestrained and devastating in visceral impact. May Kristin Hersh and company continue to rock for years to come.
Broadcast
You And Me In Time
Tender Buttons (2005)
[review 2005: the best of the year]
Broadcast is very good at making themselves scarce; with every album, there’s the nagging concern that the CD you hold in your hands may very well be the last Broadcast release you ever hold. The pattern is the same every time: in the three years between 1997’s Work and Non-Work and the low-key psychedelic nightmare of The Noise Made By People, there was barely a word from the Broadcast camp, leading a lot of fans to believe the band had broken up. After the 2000 release, Broadcast played a few shows in North America before returning to Britain, cutting their ties to U.S. distributor Tommy Boy, and disappearing for another three years. Haha Sound, the lush stereophonic spectacular to Noise’s radio transmission echo, was a revelation when it finally appeared. Dogged for years by comparisons to Stereolab that never quite seemed to fit, Haha Sound was the album that should’ve put all the comparisons to rest. The bubbly 21st century bossa nova motif Stereolab was plying bore little resemblance to the reverb-heavy electronic noir. Broadcast was anything but airy lightness; even the poppiest songs on Haha Sound, like “Before We Begin” and “Lunch Hour Pops,” tread a fine line between alluring and menacing. Occasionally difficult but ultimately rewarding, the album became Broadcast’s high-water mark. But then Broadcast pulled their traditional disappearing act, leaving us to wonder what they’d do for an encore.
By this year, the answer was clear: replace the drummer with a drum machine, pare the band down to a duo, and forget the lush psychedelic atmospherics. Tender Buttons is a different affair from Haha Sound in more ways than one. “I Found The F,” the first track, is misleading; sounds like a real drummer, doesn’t it? But it’s also the track that veers closest to Broadcast’s old material, as if the band had decided to ease you into the pool instead of tossing you in all at once. “Black Cat” throws in the drum machine, and suddenly you get the full effect of the new sound. Broadcast was once very good at communicating a sense of space through their music, whether it was claustrophobia (the eerie “Until Then” from Noise) or a tunnel-like hollowness (”Man Is Not A Bird” from Haha Sound.). But on Tender Buttons Broadcast largely destroys your sense of space through the use of buzzy, distorted electronic paraphernalia. Everything flattens out; on first listen, it leaves an oddly limp impression. It takes some work to find the melodies through the static; it’s the musical equivalent of trying to make out naked breasts on scrambled pay-per-view porn.
The process of acclimation starts slowly. “Tears in the Typing Pool” is a standout track; it’s just singer Trish Keenan and an acoustic guitar for the most part. By the by, Trish Keenan is an important reason why Broadcast works; though her vocals are often unadorned and frigid, she remains the thread of humanity that weaves through the tapestry. And when she doesn’t pull her punches and displays the full effect of her talents, like on this track, it’s chillingly beautiful. From there, other songs start to slowly open up. The title track is another delicious slice of low-key electronic noodling, with Keenan in a breathy, deadpan kind of mood. “Michael A Grammar” is a perky, upbeat burst of synthesizers and canned beats. “You And Me In Time” is the big brother to “Until Then,” another minor-key exercise in emotional discomfort that ends up being strangely comforting. It’s not long before you realize Tender Buttons isn’t all that different from Broadcast’s previous albums. And yet it’s clear Broadcast have moved beyond their old retro-futurism, tied as it was to a specific place and time. An exciting time for Broadcast, and an album that is, in the final equation, the equal of Haha Sound.
Joel Plaskett
Non-Believer
La De Da (2005)
[review 2005: the best of the year]
La De Da was a record made essentially on a whim. Plaskett was invited by Bob Hoag, a sound engineer in Arizona and a big fan of his work as the Joel Plaskett Emergency, to come by the Phoenix studio any time to cut a couple of tracks. After touring with his band, the Emergency, to support 2003’s Truthfully Truthfully, Plaskett found himself with a couple of songs that called for a quieter, more contemplative approach. So he emailed his friend the sound engineer and took him up on the offer. When Plaskett asked about studio rates, Hoag’s response was a pleasant surprise: it’s on the house, you can stay with me and my wife, and we’ve got a pool. Who could possibly turn that down?
It kills me that I haven’t had the chance to take La De Da on a roadtrip, because this album’s made for a long drive through back roads and empty highways. Not surprising, since Plaskett essentially wrote most of the album on the drive from Halifax to Phoenix. But he’s always written songs about travelling; “Light Of The Moon,” from Down By The Khyber, is just one of his many songs about life on the road, inspired by the many cross-country tours he’s been on with the Emergency and as the frontman for the late, lamented Thrush Hermit. “Love This Town” is his latest paean, with some choice words for the inhabitants of Kelowna, apparently unable to recognize a great performer when they see one. “Wishing Well,” another favourite, sounds like it’d be right at home coming out of the AM radio in a beat-up pickup truck. And then there’s “Natural Disaster,” which really does act as a sort of travelogue.
La De Da is at its best when it focuses on particular characters. “Lying on a Beach,” about the doldrums of office life, is full of throwaway lyrical gems like “all you star-spangled scanners / trying to photocopy moonlight” and “we never get our hands dirty / but paradise is never this clean.” “Nina and Albert,” based on an overheard conversation between a woman and her jealous boyfriend, was originally conceived as a duet with Neko Case. But even without her talents, Plaskett breathes life into the lovers’ quarrel, imbuing Nina and Albert with vulnerability and longing. It’s a good thing Plaskett uses those storytelling abilities for good.
After the occasionally contrived theatrics of Truthfully Truthfully, it’s reassuring to know Plaskett hasn’t given himself over to arena rock banality. La De Da is a low-key album, and probably the quietest of his career, but it’s a thoroughly rewarding listen. They say that sometimes the best things in life are free. I’m sure Bob Hoag and Joel Plaskett would agree.
Petra Haden
Tattoo
Sings The Who Sell Out (2005)
[review 2005: the best of the year]
This is almost as much a vote for the original album as it is for Petra Haden’s fantastic remake; The Who Sells Out is a great album, and if not for Haden I’d probably have never heard it at all. So for its historical value alone, Sings The Who Sell Out is a great album. The songs themselves are memorable, especially the swirling concoctions of “Our Love Was” and “I Can See For Miles,” and “Silas Stingy” is an almost Dickensian character study whose chorus is delightfully childish. Then there are the faux commercial jingles, which are just as good a showcase as the songs are for the lavishly orchestrated ensemble the Who must’ve put together to record the album.
But many better people before me have written volumes of material on the Who, so I’ll just stop there. What does Petra Haden, member of the musically inclined Haden family as well as That Dog, the Rentals and now the Decemberists, bring to the party? If you’ve heard her previous album, Imaginaryland, you’ll have an idea: while Haden is an accomplished violinist, her secret weapon is her crystal-clear voice. That 1999 album consists mostly of her wordless vocalizations, with only occasional help from other musical instruments. It was an interesting concept album that you could put on and enjoy, but I doubt very many people would call it a favourite. But on this record, Haden has outdone herself; not only has she tossed the instruments altogether, but she’s managed to recreate the spirit of the backing tracks while singing the lyrics over top. It’s by no means a flawless attempt. “Mary Anne With The Shaky Hand” begins with Haden singing, in blissful harmony with herself, “I can’t remember”—as in, I can’t remember what the opening line was. Haden herself said she wasn’t really concentrating on the vocals so much because they simply weren’t as important to her.
That’s perfectly fine, especially for someone like me, whose first listen to the original album came about fifty minutes before the first listen to the Haden remake. Because while Haden’s rendition isn’t all that similar to the original Who recordings, they are, as Pete Townsend put it, “like listening to the songs again for the first time.” Whether intentional or not, Haden brings a sweet choirgirl aesthetic to the proceedings. “Mary Anne With The Shaky Hand” is probably the most obvious example, since the vocal harmonies are so different compared to the other tracks. The Who make it sound sweet and innocent, but Haden takes it to a completely different level; it’s as though Mary Anne had met all those fawning boys after stepping out of church in her Sunday best. “Odorono” and “Tattoo” are equally angelic, with Haden able to luxuriously stretch her voice. It’s amazing that we haven’t heard Haden sing more often, because she’s got an amazing voice, even disregarding her amazing ability to mimic all manner of the Who’s psychedelic touches.
But perhaps the biggest treat—and the parts where Haden had the most fun in the studio, aka her bedroom—are the jingles the Who put on the album. Haden practically gushes with enthusiasm on “Heinz Baked Beans,” and why not? It puts a smile on your face just imagining the vocal acrobatics she must’ve done to put the one-minute track together. And speaking of churches, the bumper at the end of “Tattoo”—”Radio London reminds you, go to the church of your choice”—actually sounds like it was sung by a heavenly choir. Maybe Haden really is an angel.
Bullette
Your Eyes Have It
The Secrets (2005)
[review 2005: the best of the year]
Internet marketing, whether intentional or unplanned, has already produced its share of runaway hits. Entire trees have been felled so that newspapers and magazines could gaze in starry-eyed wonder at Broken Social Scene’s journey to the heavens, propelled on the rocket fuel of Pitchfork praise. There’s that whole Crazy Frog thing, which could never have happened without the internet’s ability to serve cheap ringtones to thousands of cellphones at any time or any place. And then there’s the story of Wilco and Fiona Apple, who both managed to leverage internet support to get their leaked albums released for real—a tactic that worked so well for Wilco that even today, people wonder if it wasn’t all part of some master plan by Warner (whose subsidiary, Nonesuch, eventually released Yankee Hotel Foxtrot).
But if you’re trying to spread the word about your album, there’s nothing better than putting the whole thing on the internet, free of charge and for anyone to download. It’s a trick that Toronto singer/songwriter Tamara Williamson tried a couple of years back; she wrote back then that selling records didn’t matter that much to her, since she made more money as a gardener anyways. Imagine if she’d just waited a few years and put some effort into getting the word out; she could’ve been Monika Bullette. As The Smudge of Ashen Fluff put it, “Monika Bullette has been hunting down all the mp3 blogs and sending them e-mail messages. She’s almost as efficient as EMI.” Here’s a hint to all you starving musicians hoping to use The Internet as a promotion medium: greeting the person you’re emailing by name does wonders. It worked for Bullette, and it can work for you too.
But I’ve said too much about Bullette’s can-do spirit and unusually successful internet campaign. What about her music? The best thing about writing about Bullette is that she’s got a hook (the internet promotion) and she’s got the goods to boot. The Secrets is deliciously ramshackle, seemingly the product of an eccentric musical genius with a large record collection and a penchant for improvisation. Whether it’s the retro garage of “Show Me,” the winsome guitar pop of “What Love Can Do Without” or the eerie industrial dirge of “Uneasy,” Bullette demonstrates a solid grasp of a wide variety of genres. The Secrets never sounds like more than the sum of its parts because the parts are so disparate, but for once this is a forgivable sin; there isn’t a single song on the album that isn’t a great listen. But don’t take my word for it; like I said before, the entire album can be yours for the taking. And just like Tamara Williamson’s internet release, if you end up buying The Secrets, it comes with a pretty hand-crafted cover. How can you lose?
Ivy
I've Got You Memorized
In The Clear (2005)
[review 2005: the best of the year]
In The Clear is a dangerous album to write about. It’s not an especially interesting album, it doesn’t challenge the senses or break new ground, and it’s not far different from what people have come to expect from Ivy—effortless pop music of the purest vintage, anchored by Dominique Durand’s luxurious, accented vocals. If we were talking about the most important albums of the year, versus ones that were just my favourites of the year, In The Clear would be nowhere near the top. By nearly every measure you compare it to, In The Clear should fall well short of being on a best-of-year list. And yet, here it is.
So why is this album dangerous? Because if you asked me why I liked it, I’d shrug my shoulders, play you a couple of tracks and say, “isn’t it pretty?” Which it most certainly is. I guess I could drop a couple of two-bit collegiate words like “effervescent” and “ethereal” to describe the album, and those words do sort of fit. But the best explanation I can give of why In The Clear still sticks in my memory where so many albums this year didn’t is that it’s basically a musical anti-depressant. It’s not overly sacchrine, not too brash, not very harsh; it’s just an album of pop music you can pop in the player and drift away to for an hour. If In The Clear commits any sins, it’s perhaps the overproduced sheen. But this is Ivy we’re talking about, one of the slickest pop outfits out there. People call Ivy “sophisticated” not necessarily because they’re complex (though their songs are always layered in a web of textures), but because their music conjures up images of poolside cocktails, European beach resorts and jetsetting across the continent. Overproduced? Did you expect any different?
And anyways, it doesn’t interfere much with the songs. “Nothing Like The Sky” is one of the best pop songs of the year; it’s bliss translated into music, so weightless as to carry you into the stratosphere. The rest of the album can’t help but sink slightly compared to this first track, but to its credit Ivy doesn’t back down easily. Aside maybe from “Clear My Head,” there isn’t a weak song to be found. “Corners Of Your Mind” reminds me of Ivy’s cover of the Go-Betweens’ “Streets Of Your Town,” which is as good a track to take from as any. “I’ve Got You Memorized” is an equally peppy number, the closest Ivy gets to an outright rock song. “Keep Moving” sits at the other end of the spectrum, a fine example of the futuristic Europop Ivy occasionally tries its hand at. But really, the album is so consistently good that many of the nice things I could write about one track would apply equally as well to a bunch of others on the album. And anyways, it all pretty much amounts to the same thing: it’s all so pretty, from the opening strains of “Nothing Like The Sun” to the fade out of “Feel So Free.”
Well executed pop albums don’t get a lot of respect these days, for whatever reason. This is fine to an extent; music would go nowhere if every album was an In The Clear, an album that doesn’t at all push any envelopes. But that doesn’t mean it’s not a great sounding album, or that it doesn’t put a smile on my face. If I can’t explain it any better than that, that’s my fault; you’ll just have to take my word for it.