last.fm is a statistics nerd’s wet dream. The ways in which it lets you slice and dice your listening history are fantastic, and my only wish is that there were even more charts and graphs for me to stare at, staring at reams of data to divine some greater truth about Rainer Maria versus Versus. (If you’re like me, then you’ll find unofficial last.fm data-slicing sites like the fantastic Lastgraph a real treat.) One of the things you can do is sort the last year of your listening history by album. last.fm will give you a list of albums sorted by number of track plays; once you divide by the number of album tracks, you have a rough figure of how many times you’ve listened to the album over the past year. This year’s winner for me isn’t a 2007 release, but one from last year. Closing the unofficial “make up for stuff I missed from 2006″ series is the little band that could from Montreal, Land of Talk.

Applause Cheer Boo Hiss simply refuses to die. It’s been released several times in Canada alone, and several more times for international markets. The latest release, more than a year after the mini-album’s initial street date, is a UK version with new tracks that have previously only popped up live. Land of Talk, too, is band that refuses to die despite numerous setbacks. Entering the year on a wave of good American press, the band lost their original drummer to tour fatigue not long after SXSW. Then the band finds itself opening for several higher-profile bands, a spell of good luck that leads into an opening gig with the Decemberists in Europe—only to discover on the first day of the tour that the Decemberists cancelled the tour. Colin Meloy and company told everyone involved except their opening act (classy), leaving the band stranded in Britain with non-refundable plane tickets and time to kill. Then, upon their return to North American shores, Land of Talk close out the year by having their equipment stolen in the States.

All this explains why interviews with frontwoman Elizabeth Powell occasionally dip into the melancholy. Whether it’s not feeling Canadian enough, not feeling particularly appreciated in Montreal, or just generally being down and out in Britain, you always get this sense that not enough people are giving this band their richly deserved due, and that at any given moment, Land of Talk is held together with twine and Scotch tape. Maybe the Decemberists just make a habit of abandoning all their opening acts in Britain, I don’t know.

Not that everything has gone wrong for the band, not by a long shot. Applause Cheer Boo Hiss came out in March in the States, and in September in the UK; they got a new drummer who’s more suited to the rigours of non-stop touring; and the long-awaited second album is in the works for next spring. If it’s true what they say about what doesn’t kill you making you stronger, then Land of Talk should have a scorching second release on their hands. I can’t wait.

Almost two years to the day after I first posted this song, a postscript of sorts. Under the Radar tracked down Miki Berenyi, who’s been rather scarce for more than a decade now, for an enlightening and bittersweet interview that wraps up some of the loose ends about the end of Lush. And it truly is the end, as Berenyi says she has no wish to remount Lush in any form, or really attempt any sort of musical project.

I’m glad that she sounds relatively happy, and I’m perfectly okay with her just wanting to lead a normal life without all the drudgery of the music industry. What’s sad for me is how Berenyi, who probably put more of herself into Lush than any of us, and was more devastated by the events that brought the band to a quick end, has apparently moved on while parts of me still haven’t. For her, Lush seems pretty clearly to represent not just the past in general, but a specific era in her life now long distant. Meanwhile, I can still put on “Olympia,” imagine it was 1997 all over again, and pretend the intervening decade never happened. And sometimes I wish I didn’t have to just imagine.

Of all the British bands that made it to Canada this year, the one I was most surprised and excited to see was the Long Blondes. Partially this is because as the year went on, Pipettes shows in North America became all but a certainty (I have tickets to see their third show in Toronto this year, happening in exactly a week’s time), taking away their “most anticipated” status, whereas the presence of the Long Blondes was anything but assured. Though Someone to Drive You Home was released in North America earlier this summer, most audiences have seen fit to ignore it in favour of newer, fresher obsessions. It seems almost like anyone who was going to hop on the Long Blondes bandwagon did so back when the import version surfaced last year (though if you haven’t picked up a copy yet, find yourself a North American pressing, as there’s a bonus EP containing the lovely “Fulwood Babylon”).

But another reason why the arrival of Kate Jackson and company to Canadian shores was so exciting was because the band itself is exciting. Stylish, poised and polished in almost every way, Someone to Drive You Home is enough of a spectacle on record; one could only imagine what the live show would be like, and my imagination ran wild for weeks before the show. More than anything this year it was the show I was most looking forward to seeing, and the Lee’s Palace show didn’t disappoint. They even pulled out two of my favourite songs off the album, “Swallow Tattoo” and “Separated by Motorways,” and played them back-to-back for a fantastic encore. It’s like they arranged the setlist specifically for me.

Every year, I put together a list of albums from the past twelve months that I thought were fantastic. And every year, without fail, I miss a couple of albums entirely that should’ve made that list. Last year I missed an album that would’ve been near the top of my 2005 list; this year I missed several that would’ve beaten everything from last year. This album is one of them. If I’m lucky, I’ll get a chance to rectify that mistake next year; the band is currently in the studio recording their second album, so chances are we’ll see new material in 2008. And if they decide to return to Toronto, I’ll be there.

It’s almost time for everyone to start unveiling their multiple-page dissertations on the year in music, with lists and analysis and probably gorgeous x-y scatter charts waiting for us in about a month. For me, November signals a chance to look back at the year before. Inevitably, in the flurry of not-exactly-almost-barely post-game writeups every December, a couple of albums fly under the radar; November has always been a good time to look back and go, “gee, I listened to this album way more than the album I thought was the best last year! I’m an idiot!”

If there was a single phrase I could take back this year, it would be the introduction to my post on Charming’s 2006 album, Turn Down the Lights. Something about that album didn’t sit well enough with me, even though by all measures it’s a decent, occasionally outstanding, pop record. But maybe the words “peculiar, slightly chemical taste” were just a bit too much artistic license. The regret set in almost immediately: right after writing that post, I left town for a weekend to watch a couple of draws in the Canadian men’s curling championships, and the first night in the hotel I sat wondering if I’d been too harsh to Charming. Oh, and it didn’t help matters that upon returning home, I discovered one of the band members had left a sweet comment on the very post where I’d ripped out their heart and tossed it on the ground.

You see, I really liked Champagne and Magazines. “Guilt by Association” was one of my favourite songs of the year: a giddy indie rock song sprinkled with garish keyboards and the singalong factor turned up to 11. And then I discovered the band’s first, then out-of-print album, Giant, and found a collection of heartfelt college rock gems like “Ritual,” one of my favourite sadsack songs in university. So to talk about Charming the way I did earlier this year felt almost perversely like jilting a former lover, someone I maybe didn’t love anymore but didn’t wish any ill will, either. Maybe we should just call my relationship to Charming “complex” and leave it at that.

So in terms of the 2006 album most rehabilitated in my eyes, I think that honour would go to Turn Down the Lights. I still can’t come out and unabashedly declare my unconditional love for the album, because like it or not there’s still times when it gets a little too bland or drags too much. I still don’t really enjoy “Working Man,” though it’s probably the closest the album comes to Charming’s most popular song to date, “Downtown.” I still think the last quarter of the album is forgettable, and I still don’t understand why the band felt the Sunday suite was necessary when really “Sunday Afternoon” is the only part that qualifies as a song.

But on other elements I’ve come around. The more I listen to the title track, the more I love it. The working-girl-soul vibe works really well, and has pretty much become the song I think of whenever I think of Charming these days. And as for Nicole St. Clair Stoops not having enough brass to sing “Stranger (I Will Never Be)” effectively? Maybe I was wrong on that too—I mean, we can’t all be Aretha Franklin, right? And actually, once you stop trying to pretend it IS Aretha Franklin behind the mic, it turns out Stoops does a pretty good job with the song. Strange how you sound a lot better when people (i.e. me) stop comparing you in their head to the queen of soul.

Can’t talk. Too busy playing Guitar Hero III.

(several failed attempts at Slayer’s “Raining Blood” on Easy difficulty later…)

The Guitar Hero series trends heavily towards a mix of classic rock and 80s metal/hard rock standards. There’s a sprinkling of 90s alt-rock singles and present-day hits as well, but generally it’s the broad crowd-pleasers that get centre stage. It’s kinda hard to argue with this logic—one go-through of Cheap Trick’s “Surrender” or “Paint it Black” by the Stones should put a smile on most people’s faces—but it does mean surprises are few and far between. But Harmonix, and now Neversoft with the third iteration of the game, have thrown wildcards into the rhythm game’s repertoire. For example, Harmonix are big fans of synthpop band Freezepop, as they’ve thrown the band into Frequency, Amplitude, and the first two Guitar Hero games. The last part is especially notable, considering Freezepop doesn’t use guitars—or any traditional instruments, for that matter. It turns out that one of Freezepop’s members is also the music director for Harmonix; this also explains how Freezepop songs get into the games before they appear on an album.

Slightly less bizarre but perhaps more exciting is the inclusion of a Sonic Youth song in the latest Guitar Hero game. Sure, “Kool Thing” is about as close to a hit as anything Sonic Youth has done, and it does feature Chuck D’s memorable interlude with Kim Gordon. But it’s still a Sonic Youth song, and therefore slightly odd company against a backdrop of songs by Pearl Jam, Rage Against the Machine and the Beastie Boys. Me, I would’ve preferred “Pattern Recognition,” but I guess you can’t have it all.

Lest anyone forget, there’s yet another guitar rhythm game coming soon: Harmonix will release Rock Band in about a month, adding a microphone, bass guitar and drum set to the mix. Looking at the tracklist for Rock Band brings even more surprises: “Wave of Mutilation” by the Pixies, “Maps” by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and “Electric Version” by the New Pornographers (!) are among the songs that made the cut. Now you too can live the dream of singing like Karen O or Carl Newman. Whod’ve thunk?

My knowledge of punks—real ones, not the fake-o alternative punks that listened to Sum 41, or the even newer punks that listen to [fill in whatever the kids listen to these days here]—is limited, but contrary to popular belief I’ve always known them to be rather lovely people. A good friend of mine had a younger sister who went through a punk phase, and she told me all about the crazy old punk dudes at the big festivals she’d been to, doing some dance whose name escapes me at the moment and generally acting pretty goofy for a bunch of punks.

And then there was the S.N.F.U. show I found myself at on a whim one drunken night in Vancouver, surrounded by some of the nicest moshers and crowdsurfers I’ve ever met—a big change from the 15-year-olds at the Pretty Girls Make Graves show who were far more adept at using their elbows for weapons. Finally there was the Henry Rollins “lecture” I went to a couple of days ago, wherein he related to the audience a great story about playing a show for the reunited Ruts in front of a crowd of former punks out to pay tribute to a beloved band of their youth—people who had since become investment bankers and lawyers, but still attempting to do right by the punk spirit.

With all of that in mind, Tullycraft’s first track off their imminent new release, Every Scene Needs a Center, makes a certain kind of sense to me. I mean, yes, there’s plenty of filthy epithets, concert brutality and macho posturing involved, but at the same time I can’t get the image of introspective, romantic punks writing goofy love songs. Maybe it’s because of the Weakerthans, a rather literate band born as an offshoot of veteran Canadian punk band Propagandhi. John K. Samson is my shining example of an old punk learning new tricks, and learning them extremely well.

As for the goofiness, maybe that’s more a Tullycraft thing than a punk thing, but that too fits. Tullycraft’s brand of quirky, snarky, clever-and-a-half twee pop might be a bit too old school to gain wide acceptance nowadays, but for those in the know their hooks still hit the spot. “The Punks Are Writing Love Songs” reminds me a bit of old favourite “Josie” (”They’ve got a space and they play good stuff / Josie says that it’s not quite punk / she’ll let us know when it’s punk enough”), right down to the female backing vocals—now a permanent fixture thanks to the addition of Jenny Mears to the band’s lineup in 2005. Every Scene Needs a Center is out on Tuesday.

or, a Defense of Eight Arms to Hold You

At the time, it seemed like a horrible idea, especially to a kid who’d just discovered Veruca Salt’s first album, American Thighs, a couple of months earlier. The dynamic duo of Gordon and Post were storming back with a second album—but recorded in Hawaii (?) with uber-producer Bob Rock at the helm. This was not exactly an ideal setup for sophomore success, so my fifteen-year-old brain thought at the time.

Bob Rock’s previous credits include Metallica, AC/DC and Motley Crue, all bands far removed from Veruca Salt’s origins as a female-fronted diamond-in-the-rough grunge-pop band. What unholy terrors could the man have unleashed? But in retrospect, maybe the move wasn’t so bizarre—Veruca Salt had found itself teetering back and forth between indie stardom and all-out major label success before. American Thighs spent about 10 days as part of of the catalog of pseudo-indie record label Caroline before Geffen snapped up the rights to the album and signed a new contract with the band. Perhaps in a bid to reclaim some street cred, Veruca Salt asked Steve Albini to perform his magic on the between-albums EP Blow It Out Your Ass, It’s Veruca Salt. The result was harder, faster, stronger—basically the old Veruca Salt with the volume knob turned to 11 and most of the poppier flourishes left on the cutting room floor (so basically an Albini record, then). But of course, as an EP, Blow It Out Your Ass would never serve as anything more than an evolutionary footnote for the band no matter what direction they chose; apparently they decided Metallica was more to their tastes than PJ Harvey.

So we have 1997’s Eight Arms to Hold You, an even heavier-sounding album that retains the ponderous pace of heavy metal without the earthquake-inducing power chords. Instead there’s a sort of cheerful hard rock chug through most of the album that, in hindsight, wasn’t as much of a departure as I originally thought listening to it. But make no mistake: there’s no “Spiderman ‘79″ or “Celebrate You” or “Fly” on this album. Without much variety in tempo or attitude, Eight Arms to Hold You is left largely to stand on the merits of its individual songs, which means on first glance the album was largely a failure.

But with the passage of time comes perspective, and Eight Arms to Hold You reaps a lot of benefits as a result. For one, we know what comes afterwards: Nina Gordon leaves the band, Resolver turns into a big mess, and Veruca Salt becomes something of a non-entity. Meanwhile Gordon embarks on a new solo career as a Paula Cole impersonator, and ends up being best known for a cover of NWA’s “Straight Outta Compton.” Imagine if Tori Amos’ catalog was so poor that she was best known for her cover of “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” So in that light, Eight Arms to Hold You doesn’t look bad at all.

Along the same lines, the music industry as a whole and alternative rock in particular evolved towards a harder sound as well. What once sounded like stylistic excesses now pale in comparison to the likes of Limp Bizkit, Nickelback and Puddle of Mudd, and the innate pop character of some of the songs shines through brighter as a result. Take “Awesome,” a song that’s bounced around in my head for the past decade—no mean feat, that. Behind the chugging hard rock guitars and the glossy production lies a song that begs you to sing along. The vague resemblance to parts of “Victrola” from American Thighs doesn’t hurt, either.

Maybe “Awesome” and Eight Arms to Hold You are representative of a turning point in my own personal music history, just before alt-rock radio went to shit and I discovered the likes of Sleater-Kinney and Stereolab. Sure, I suppose my appreciation is all nostalgia at this point, but everyone’s got to have their guilty affections, right?

It’s been a while since Pandora went black to anyone outside the United States due to copyright concerns—a relatively new trend, enforcing copyright by reintroducing national borders to the internet—so even though they continue to send me e-mail, I haven’t actually been able to listen to their service in a very long time. This is mainly due to my laziness in setting up access to an American proxy (take that, RIAA!) so don’t worry about sending me tips on how to get around the geographical block.

In any case, even from when I was listening to Pandora, I’d found a number of songs worth holding on to. Whereas a couple of years ago I’d have to just wait for the radio DJ to ID the song and write down whatever I heard (The Dismemberment Planet, anyone?), now it was relatively easy to look up a band and find their music within seconds of hearing the first notes of their song. Alas, with 142 songs from two months of Pandora patronage, finding out what you want to research is harder than it sounds. But Consonant was always near the top of the list, on the basis of one song with a quirky name and chorus: “John Coltrane’s ‘My Favorite Things’.”

Turns out the Boston band has a fair amount of back story. Clint Conley, the man behind Consonant’s curtain, just so happens to be the bassist for legendary Boston post-punk band Mission of Burma. I’ve heard of the band but never their music; this is not surprising, since the band broke up about a year after I was born. It also means I’ve missed out on decades worth of anticipation of side projects and solo careers. Anyone who was waiting for Conley to resurface after the band dissolved waited a long time: Consonant was Conley’s first major music project since Mission of Burma, leaving nothing but a nineteen-year period of mostly silence. (Take that, Kevin Shields fans.)

Interesting, then, that “John Coltrane’s ‘My Favorite Things’” should sound very much like a product of 2002—it’s pretty straightforward melodic indie rock, the kind of thing that wouldn’t sound out of place on the college rock charts just before the likes of Interpol and Bloc Party made it big. My favorite thing about the song has to be the chorus, where Conley manages to juggle words and syllables that don’t sound as though they ought to fit with the music at all, but end up finding proper homes in the nooks and crannies of the slightly unorthodox chord progressions. It’s more fun to sing along to than your usual chorus, with the words threatening to trip over each other at any moment.

Consonant released another album in 2003, Love and Affection, but in 2004 Mission of Burma became a semi-ongoing concern once more, and have released two albums in that time. The corresponding lack of Consonant material implies Conley has other things on his mind these days. Perhaps it’s just as well, as shortly after Consonant shifted to harder material in 2003, the entire “melodic indie rock” thing fell apart entirely, to be replaced by the corporate indie rock landscape of the present day.

Among the pile of CD releases last week was an odd and potentially interesting reissue for anyone who is currently (or is about to become) a Viva Voce fan: a 2-disc re-release of the band’s first two albums, Lovers, Lead the Way! and The Heat Can Melt Your Brain, featuring a ton of extra b-sides and bonus tracks. It’s a value-packed release and a great companion to last year’s excellent Get Yr Blood Sucked Out, but a quick look at the band’s discography may have you scratching your head a bit—weren’t these albums released only a couple of years ago?

I bought The Heat Can Melt Your Brain back in 2005, after seeing them open for Sleater-Kinney in Vancouver, but a lot can happen in two years. In this case, the album apparently went out of print, along with Lovers. With the 70s-influenced acid rock of Get Yr Blood Sucked Out winning Anita and Kevin Robinson quite a few accolades, leaving their earlier albums unavailable would be a crying shame. Luckily for those of you that missed out on the Robinsons’ early career, you now get to reap the rewards.

This sort of reissue isn’t all that uncommon, actually; popular California duo Mates of State (who also happen to be a married couple, like Viva Voce) moved to Polyvinyl and re-released their first album, My Solo Project, because they’d managed to practically sell out their entire pressing. And just looking at last week, Viva Voce wasn’t the only indie band to put out a re-release; Enon’s first album, Believo!, also got the reissue treatment.

(P.S. Sorry for the erratic posting schedule as of late. I blame Valve and the new Half-Life 2 package that came out on Tuesday. Especially the end of Portal (spoilers).)

It’s been a busy week for me, so today I leave you with this gem from the recently reformed Bunnygrunt, the band with the cutest name ever. It’s from a tribute album to C86 pop band the June Brides, a short-lived but much-loved British act playing for a couple of years in the 80s. Both Bunnygrunt and the June Brides were arguably examples of cool bands that died before their time (Bunnygrunt kinda dissolved around the turn of the millennium), though I guess Bunnygrunt never got namechecked by Morrissey as his favourite group. Luckily, after almost a decade off, the band came back in 2005 with a new album, Karen Hater’s Club—a bit more garage, a bit less cute—so now they’ll get a second go at being Moz’s BFF.

Don’t worry Bunnygrunt, I’ll still love you even if Morrissey won’t.