[review 2004: the best of the year]

Stars was once a good example of New York hipster music: suave, cool, laidback, too sophisticated for its own good. But then a funny thing happened: the band picked up and moved to Montreal. They’ve been hitting the right notes ever since.

It’s not that the formula has changed a whole lot over the past couple of albums. Set Yourself On Fire might rely a little less on keyboards and electronics than Nightsongs, but otherwise the major difference in sound isn’t strictly in instrumentation or production values. At some point after the move back to Canada, Stars picked up the mantle of the soft revolution and took it to heart. The result has been two of the most emotional albums released this decade, a potent antidote to the narcissism and nihilism of a lot of other indie bands out there today.

Set Yourself On Fire covers much the same ground thematically as Heart, but does so with more verve and energy. “Ageless Beauty” is this year’s “Elevator Love Letter,” a straightforward rock song with a heady, almost shoegazer atmosphere. “The Big Fight” is the closest Stars comes to the old Nightsongs material, recreating aspects of the electrolounge sound but not the cool, calculated demeanor; it’s a smoky, whispered duet that plays up the psuedo-relationship between singers Torquil Cambell and Amy Millan before it dissolves into an extended spaced-out coda.

From the sparkling opener “Your Ex-Lover Is Dead” straight through to the wistful “Calendar Girl,” Set Yourself On Fire satisfies. The one failing here is that the album doesn’t recreate the live experience; only in concert can you truly see the heart and energy they put into every song. It’s enough to convert anyone who goes to see a show. But if it just served as a reminder of what Stars is like live, Set Yourself On Fire would already be a success; as a proper album, it’s the best work Stars has done to date.

[review 2004: the best of the year]

This past summer, Leslie Feist painted Toronto red. Her picture seemed to be all over the alternative weeklies for a good month, and it seemed you couldn’t go anywhere without hearing someone mention “Mushaboom.” Her NXNE show at the Mod Club was a big draw, and even though she seemed a bit disappointed, she garnered more reaction from the audience than most Toronto shows I’ve seen�and all for an album of silky, sublime lounge pop. Must be pretty good, then.

What makes this all so interesting is that Let It Die isn’t what you’d call a summer album; circumstances and the fickle attention of the Toronto hipster scene (heard anything about Feist lately?) just made it so. Recorded mostly in Paris with fellow Peaches collaborator Gonzales, Let It Die is a neo-French-pop delight. It’s also a big u-turn for Leslie Feist, whose last album of solo material, 1999’s Monarch, was much closer to Sarah Harmer than Serge Gainsbourg. And while Feist has developed a somewhat-unfortunate flair for the dramatic in the interim, she’s also recorded a fantastic album of nighttime gems.

“One Evening,” “Leisure Suite” and “L’Amour Ne Dure Pas Toujours” form an alluring and seductive suite, showing off Feist’s vocal and songwriting talents at their best. Her cover of “Inside And Out” is another late highlight cut from the same cloth, a song she describes as the last hour before a breakup. But Feist has other gears as well; “Mushaboom” is a gloriously playful pop gem, and probably the first song most people fell in love with. “When I Was A Young Girl” is grittier than the rest of the material, and a nice counterpoint to the soft, hushed tones of its surroundings. Feist’s upbeat rendition of “Secret Heart” brings it all back, though, bursting at the seams with curiosity and wonder.

So Let It Die isn’t a summer album in the traditional sense, but it’s actually a perfect album for those quiet late summer nights. Or any late night, really. Let It Die will make you swoon with its heady mix of confident poise and quiet emotion.

[review 2004: the best of the year]

Technically, this shouldn’t be on the list at all, as it was released by Sonet/Universal in 2003. But that was in Sweden only; it wasn’t until mid-2004 that Kokomemedada came out Stateside, thanks to Minty Fresh. Good thing, too, because we’ve been waiting a long time for new Komeda material, and it was touch and go there for a while.

It is perhaps a statement more reflective of Stereolab’s recent fortunes than anything else, but all the bands that used to be compared to the once-triumphant neo-Marxists with a penchant for drone-rock and free jazz have now eclipsed them. Broadcast has carved out a claustrophobic neo-psychedelia niche for themselves, Pram have continued to play with toy instruments to greater effect than Stereolab’s real ones, and Komeda have continued to take things in a more traditional pop direction.

Komeda’s problem, up until recently, has been that their amazingly syrupy Swedish pop could give people a toothache. Part of the reason was because Komeda was so good at being so catchy that you just couldn’t stop listening anytime you liked. But the other reason was Komeda wasn’t big on variety. The same basic formula of guitars, bass, drums and organ held throughout much of Komeda’s material, especially on earlier albums like The Genius Of Komeda. Kokomemedada is quite different in that respect; each track has its own distinctive character. While the album suffers a little bit in overall cohesiveness, it more than makes up the difference through the individual performances.

Nonsense is a more restrained, less sacchrine version of the Komeda we’ve come to know, and is a suitable introduction to the more relaxed and full-bodied incarnation of the band. “Blossom” is not quite the same song first found on the Powerpuff Girls: Heroes And Villains compilation. There, it was another fine slice of the hyperactive Komeda of old; here it’s a jangly, countrified pop song that takes a little longer to get used to. It’s well worth the wait, though. From the upbeat disco-pop of “Elvira Madigan” and “Victory Lane” to the laidback sounds of “Catcher” and “Out From The Rain,” Kokomemedada displays a range not previously seen on a Komeda album, with the same trademark Komeda pop sensibility and skill intact.

It’s interesting to note that the Cardigans, Komeda’s brothers-and-sisters-in-arms, took a sharper stylistic left turn on their last album, Long Gone Before Daylight. Here, Komeda haven’t quite gone so far as to completely turn adult contemporary, but Kokomemedada sounds more substantial and mature nonetheless. And while the future of the Cardigans is in doubt despite the quality of Daylight, it sounds as though Komeda still have a lot of life in them. Hopefully they won’t take another four years to put out another album, though.

[review 2004: the best of the year]

A synthpop band that writes a song about a robot friend and the end of the world? That’s a novelty. A synthpop band that writes songs about stalking guys, stealing bikes and duct tape? Still a novelty, but one that doesn’t get old. Meet Freezepop, a synthpop band out to rokk your undies off.

Fancy Ultra-Fresh should be a disposable pop album. It’s a one-trick-pony (”Hey, dude, it’s the 80s again! No, seriously!”). The band members all have fake (or are they?) names like Liz Enthusiasm and The Other Sean T. Drinkwater. All their songs are composed and performed on the Yamaha QY70, a tiny pocket synthesizer. It shouldn’t work. Plenty of bands do this better on paper�everyone from Ladytron to Metric to Le Tigre have had a horse in the electro sweepstakes, and some of them make damned good pop music. Freezepop are far more faithful to the 80s synthpop sound, though, and isn’t the attraction behind the neo-electro sound the ironic detachment?

But what sells Freezepop isn’t that it’s hilariously over the top; it’s that the songs are so much fun, you forget the band’s so over the top. If you’ve heard or seen a Freezepop concert, you know the weird names, the vinyl fashions and the single-synthesizer gimmick don’t matter; it’s just three kids on stage playing awesome blippy songs about how cool their fans are and stealing bikes. “I Am Not Your Gameboy” would’ve been the obvious single, with quirky lyrics, a sweetly chirpy chorus and a fun speak-n-spell intro. “Chess King” is complete 80s cheese, with a litany of pop culture references and hilarious drum effects straight out of that Yello song in Ferris Bueller, and yet it’s amazingly catchy at the same time. Even when Freezepop turns the lights down for “Outer Space” and “Emotions & Photons,” the emphasis is on catchy hooks and a pleasant, bubbly soundscape. Freezepop are serious about being able to play all their songs on the QY70, and unlike some bands with a gimmicky instrument (hello, Quasi), they pull it off almost without you noticing it. By the end of the album, you’re not at all thinking about how it’s done with synthesizers, or even about how retro it sounds.

Of course, when it suits them, Freezepop pull out the 80s gambit. “Chess King” is a good example, but even better is the bonus track�a full-on cover of the Jem And The Holograms theme song. Yeah. As if you needed another reason to love Freezepop�Gameboys, robots and Jem. If you don’t get it yet, I’m afraid you never will.