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Tim Midgett's Chugchanga-L Poll 2001 Entry
here's what i sent the village voice for pazz and jop
ALBUMS
Black Box Recorder, The Facts of Life (Jetset) 25 points
Destroyer, Streethawk: A Seduction (Misra) 20 points
The Ex, Dizzy Spells (Touch and Go) 10 points
The New Year, Newness Ends (Touch and Go) 10 points
Stephen Malkmus (Matador) 10 points
Basement Jaxx, Rooty (Astralwerks) 5 points
Macy Gray, The Id (Epic) 5 points
Dead Moon, Trash and Burn (Empty) 5 points
Black Box Recorder, The Worst of Black Box Recorder (Jetset) 5 points
SINGLES
Basement Jaxx, "Romeo" (Astralwerks)
Black Box Recorder, "The Art of Driving" (Nude)
Black Box Recorder, "The Facts of Life" (Nude)
Missy Elliott, "Get Ur Freak On" (Elektra)
Macy Gray, "Relating to a Psychopath" (Epic album track, should've been single)
Stephen Malkmus, "Church on White" (Matador album track, should've been single)
Ozzy Osbourne, "Gets Me Through" (Epic)
Pink, "Get The Party Started" (Arista)
I have always admired and liked Luke Haines' music, as manifested in the
Auteurs and Baader Meinhof, but I didn't LOVE LOVE LOVE it until I found
my way to the Black Box Recorder records this year. The addition of
supreme foils John Moore and Sarah Nixey gives Haines' vision a lovely
resonance beyond his personal obsessions. The Facts of Life is
frank, corny, and intoxicating. It's also within the grasp of anyone who
has grappled with ecstasy and heartbreak, which is to say the mundane
process of growing up. Fondness for the concept of serial murder not
required.
Daniel Bejar's glam whine is a locus of all the arch white men that
precede him, and his stark obsession with rock and roll across the ages
feeds his movies-books-'n-records lyrics like gas feeds a campfire. On
Streethawk: A Seduction, beyond the cute titles and coy
quotations, Bejar's fiefdom of Destroyer spins the whole of 1970-72
English rock into a dozen insanely good songs. The tracks coalesce into
a singularity that Marc Bolan would envy.
Finally saw the Ex. Twice. I would go see them every week for a year if I
had the chance. Dizzy Spells (like its predecessor
Starters Alternators) is a remarkable transfer of uncontainable
energy from the most beautiful freight train I've ever heard. I wonder
where Kat will finish in the Modern Drummer poll this year.
Bedhead had it all over any band to which they were ever compared (Velvet
Underground excepted). From their ashes rises the New Year, whose
Newness Ends has the same signature guitar chime and perfectionist
arrangements. It moves, however, with a graceful rapidity that didn't
come naturally to BH. Which is to say it's different, and the same, and
most of what I want to hear out of a couple-three guitars.
The eponymous solo album portends many things for a newly single
musician, but rarely does it result in the kind of modesty and engagement
found on Stephen Malkmus. This debut alb's self-awareness and
circumspect thought and shot of plain old goofiness bring out the Tom
Verlaine comparisons. And maybe a bit of the guitar playing---"Church
on White" is a panegyric we'd all like to have when we're gone.
Basement Jaxx' "Romeo" is my single of the year---one riff so great every
instrument wants to play it. The rest of Rooty has its
worthy moments ("Where's Your Head At" chief among them), and if a
techno-phobe like me likes it this much, the techno-phile
on E must not know what to do with himself.
Macy Gray has made two half-formed records, but somehow they seem like
real albums to me, and they both have a couple of songs that most anyone
would be glad to have written. I won't be surprised if she produces her
own Call Me one of these days. I also won't be surprised if this
is as good as she gets.
Dead Moon's Trash and Burn is a worthy introduction to this
classic Northwest rock band, though it's hardly their best. More telling
of their power was their post-9/11 tour action: watching them roar
through an hour on `the weekend after' was one of the most life-affirming
moments music of any kind has given me.
Me, I go to movies, dinner, the odd rock show. But Pink and Missy Elliott
did a nice job of giving this dork an idealized
peek at the clubbing life (no babbling E-heads, no terrible music, no
laser hangover). I mean...this is 'club music,' ain't it? Are
people even doing Ecstasy anymore? Anyway, they lit up my living room
for many three-minute periods between Junkyard Wars and whatever
was on the Sundance Channel.
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