Oh Look!
A new poll! Sorry, shit's been busy in real life, but things should start ramping up again for the SECOND HALF. Let's call the last couple weeks half time, shall we? Go vote ya fucks.
76. Eminem – Stan
There was a cover story on Eminem in an issue of Spin a couple years back that outlined the rise of Marshall Mathers: the Writer. Not the slumdog, not the MC, not the violent misogynist homophobe. The Charlie Kaufman of hip-hop, the brilliant lyricist, but most importantly, the storyteller. The story quoted Lorne Michaels, possibly the best eye for visual and humorous writing of the last 30 years, as calling Em a “damn good writer.”
“Stan,” from 2001’s The Marshall Mathers LP, is Eminem’s Stephen King moment, a tale of horror and deep emotionalism and regret from a tortured soul not unlike the story’s main character. Immaculately structured into three tense and climactic verses from a deranged fan and then a fourth resolving verse from Marshall himself, the story builds through epistolary (yeah, I dropped that on Eminem) crescendo, two sides of the some personality bouncing back and forth with spittle, rage, sadness, and confusion. Musically, the concrete-heavy rhymes are broken up with a funny at first, epic at the end Dido sample that, with a little help from the faint sound of raindrops and mounting thunder, gives hardly any respite from the rising black cloud in Eminem’s story.
And the storyteller reaches the most powerful literary climax of any track of the 2000s at 4:20, Eminem quickly cemented his place in the pantheon of hip-hop artists. The outcast lyricist, the substance over style, the heart beneath a raw exterior. Call him the Generation Baggypants Dylan if you want, but this is the eloquent and elegant voice of the last decade’s youth.
Bonus: I think there are four hip-hop/rap/urban/whatever the fuck groups or artists of the ‘00s that stand above all the rest on a separate playing field. Guess them.
78. TV on the Radio – Staring at the Sun
How is this for a balls crazy comparison - TV on the Radio's mid-Aughts creative output to The Beatles mid-'60s creative output.
Settle down, this is comparison, not equation. Like when I wrote a couple months ago about the similarities between Owl City and Postal Service, I wasn't saying this year's nancy-indie hitmaker is anywhere near Give Up. Just saying they share some shit in common. Like the string of brilliant albums TV on the Radio released from 2004 - 2008 and one of the strongest catalogs ever released by the Beatles from 1965 - 1967. The Beatles consecutively released three of what must be considered the 100 best albums of all time: Rubber Soul (personal Beatles fav), Revolver, and Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band.
Well TV on the Radio consecutively released three of what must be considered the 100 best albums of the '00s. It's kind of close. But I don't know if anyone would've expected their knockout line of LPs just from their first full length release, 2004's Desperate Youth, Bloodthirsty Babes. And the band just got better from there.
But, the first strike in their mid-decade trifecta features one song that stands with any other song they've released. "Staring at the Sun" was the band's first single, a soulfully-obtuse introduction to a multicultural and multiethnic group of Brooklyn hipsters who up until that point had been known for pretty unlistenable noise. And all of a sudden, there was this track. With as much heft as the deepest tracks released in the last few years, Tunde Adebimpe's alternately spoken and yelped lyrics lead a minimalist charge inspired by usually disparate indie influences - some funk, some blacksploitation, some noise, some garage rock, a little Velvet Underground chug, and why the hell not, some disco hand claps on the fade out.
Dave Sitek tensely and tersely shreds his guitar for three minutes as the rest of the band tediously balances on a tightrope of noise, careful not to let the water boil over in their pot. It's three minutes of climax, the ecstasy Kyp Malone mentions in the opening verse. And when the guitar finally crashes over the beat and the impossible-to-contain aural enthusiasm is released at 2:04, TV on the Radio played the most understated musical release this decade.
79. Ben Kweller – Falling
In my head, a lot of comparisons make sense. Usually, they don’t actually make any. Like that Pearl Jam are the Who of the new millennium. That connection really doesn’t mean shit, but I like to say it because, hey, the bands remind me of each other and I like to argue. But sometimes, these mental claims become a bit outlandish. Such as when I say to myself that “Falling” is our “Hey Jude.”
Yeah, I just dropped that. Breath it in, San Diego. One of the greatest songs of all time written by one of the greatest songwriters of all time. Compared to the best song on the 2002 debut album of a guy that sings about watching Planet of the Apes on TV. Eat it.
Now THAT is a poor comparison. But here’s where the small dose of verisimilitude in that statement comes from. It’s a strong piano ballad with a croon-y but sharp melody. It opens with keys and voice before rhythm instruments kick in with back up while never covering over the songs yearning, pretty melody. And when the song builds up, the drums and bass quickly drop out to expose the bare ivories, lilting along. There are tempo shifts, as if Kweller’s whim is controlling the flow, not structure or key signatures. And listen, it’s grandiose. Something I would shit on other acts for doing, but I just believe Ben Kweller. Like I assume people believed Paul McCartney in the ‘60s. And there is this killer minor-key shift that comes right before the “Fallin’/And I/Love you/More and more” that pulls at my chest twine every single time. The way he raises up into a falsetto and just bares it. It’s beautiful, and big, and honest, and ok, maybe it’s not our “Hey Jude,” but it recalls a similar feeling and inspires me to believe that our generation can make that kind of statement of love and caring if we really try.