Tennis is playing in Cambridge

And I'm here to prepare you for the show.

Sharon Van Etten likes honesty

And I wrote about it for WERS.

Omar Souleyman

Omar Souleyman played at one of my school's theaters, so I went! Then I put my thoughts in a newspaper.

I wrote some things about Ariel Pink

Read the things I wrote about Ariel Pink!

Burning Down the Haus

Yesterday I went to the Whitehaus in Jamaica Plain for the first time. The Haus houses DIY shows each week, many from their collective, the Whitehaus Family Record. Events usually focus on area artists, but they manage to bag some out-of-towners as well (Dirty Projector Nat Baldwin, for example, will hit up the Whitehaus on Friday). Last night's show featured local favorites Hands & Knees, a solo set from QUILT singer Anna Fox, a pair of Brooklyn ladies going by Feather & Folly, and troubadour Pelvis McGillicuddy.

Pelvis, aside from a love song or two, used his set to break down partisan barriers through the power of music. Labeling himself an ultra-progressive Nader-voter, Pelvis hopes to harmonize with the tea baggers over frustrations with the Obama administration. His tune "God Will Appear," he admitted, is basically an attempt to trick conservatives into agreeing with him before they can realize he's a far left maniac--if you're trying to appeal to the right, he says, you've got to start with God. "Tea Party Victory Song"--for which, rather than playing live, he debuted a construction paper-style music video--is even less subtle. In the video, a cartoon Pelvis holds up cards listing his problems with the president as the overriding music sympathetically pokes fun at the Tea Party movement. Though I sincerely doubt any far-righters were in attendance, the set did inspire a brief debate about the electoral college between Pelvis and a patron. So that's something.

Feather & Folly, meanwhile, don't aim to spark any controversy with their sparse, cooing pop-folk. The slower songs are pretty vanilla, but they manage to show some personality when they rollick a bit. "How I Break," for example, has a pleasant urgency to it and "Country Hands"--which the girls informed Pelvis was the closest they'd ever get to a political song-- has been stuck in my head since the show, with its saccharinely peaceful refrain of "Hate has got to go." Despite frustrations with an out-of-tune guitar and the lead singer's constant roof-gazing, they held their own with strong harmonizing and generally endearing stage presence.

Anna Fox took the night in a different direction by introducing some electronic equipment. She played a short set of psych-folk that mostly centered on layering guitar lines with a loop pedal. Her rich build-ups have a bluesy feel that sets her apart from fellow one-person sampling bands like Atlas Sound. And she's not depressing, either, like Grouper, who Anna told me she's been meaning to listen to because a bunch of people have compared them. Overall, the set was pretty entrancing, but certainly disappointing when she ended so quickly.

Hands & Knees closed the night and absolutely destroyed, not just figuratively: Lead singer Joe O'Brien accidentally demolished the miniature tambourine that was strapped to his leg as he bounded about the room. The group fired power-pop banger after power-pop banger at us, and despite being a stripped down, drumerless set, the performance was not lacking in percussion thanks to heavy stomping from the crowd. The mood was boosted by the performers' obvious joy--O'Brien engaged bassist Carina Kelly in vigorous staring contests while playing which without fail left her cracking up. Friends and family (the two groups, conveniently, that compose 100% of my readership) are aware that nothing makes me swoon more than when band members genuinely laugh onstage during songs. Oh, how I love it. Even the many band conferences about which song to play next (which faithfully followed every single tune despite the fact that O'Brien had a piece of paper with a setlist on it) didn't diminish the energy and vibes.

In conclusion, I'm definitely going back at least a million times.

Chandelier picture from WhitehausFamilyRecord.com

Q&A with City Slickers

A great Boston rap trio, City Slickers, came by WERS last week. I talked with them after their in-studio session, and the Q&A has been posted here.

Black Mountain

I wrote an article about Black Mountain for Emerson College's newspaper, the Berkeley Beacon. The piece is a combination concert preview, bio, and album review. Enjoy it so fast.

The Love Experiment

I'm writing for Boston's oldest non-commercial radio station, 88.9 WERS. My first article, an interview with neo-soul band the Love Experiment, has just been posted.

I wrote about Pavement for a class

We had to write a review of something for the class, so I naturally jumped on the opportunity to write about a concert. I had to follow a very specific format, so it's not exactly what I would have written given complete freedom, but I thought I'd share it regardless.

Pavement @ the Agganis Arena 9/18

Pavement emerged from Stockton, California in 1989 among a plethora of other disaffected Gen-X bands. As their grungier contemporaries were yelling, making statements, and acting generally angsty, Pavement, however, simply opted to not care. From the sloppy, fuzzed-out guitar work to Stephen Malkmus’s monotone talk-singing, everything about the band suggested utter apathy. This indifference towards the world continued throughout their career, evidenced events like their walk-off during a 1995 Lollapalooza performance and Malkmus’s refusal to sing at Coachella 1999. But, as the band proved with a recent performance at Boston’s Agganis Arena, with their recent reunion has come a new attitude: the guys clearly give a damn this time around.

And they don’t just care about themselves: the effort they put into the set suggests a genuine concern for the fans. People are quick to accuse reuniting bands of only getting back together for easy money, but Pavement’s intention seems to be geared toward pleasing as many of their followers as possible. While fellow reuniters Pixies have toured essentially the same hour and fifteen minute set every night for the last year, Pavement creates a unique two hour set list for each performance, switching deep cuts in and out while rotating the positions of their catalogue’s cornerstones. Though leaning heavily on their 1991 debut Slanted and Enchanted, the Boston set spanned their career. Whether it was the quasi-sentimental alt-rock ballad “Here” or the falsetto strut of “Brinx Job,” Pavement offered something for fans of each of the band’s stylistic phases. Die-hard devotees appreciated obscure non-album tracks like the sloppy guitar jam “Heckler Spray” from Pavement’s early EP Perfect Sound Forever, while casual concertgoers still got to hear classics like “Cut Your Hair.” The Agganis Arena is a decently large venue, but Pavement made sure no one left the stadium without hearing a bunch of songs they wanted.Shockingly enough, it wasn’t just the audience having a good time.

Among the pleasant surprises of the night, one is more or less universally agreed upon—Stephen Malkmus is very obviously having a blast. He dances, he stomps, he jams, he smiles. Notorious for refusing to allow co-songwriter Scott “Spiral Stairs” Kannberg to contribute any songs to the band’s last album, Malkmus oddly enough ends up shaking his ass to the Kannberg-led “Kennel District” more than any other tune. Even when he shoots a glance at the sound guy and mimes hanging himself (a reference to the venue’s frustratingly poor acoustics), the laugh that follows indicates it’s in good humor. The gesture even comes across as charming.

And despite attempts to divert attention from himself (he’s positioned far to stage right; percussionist Bob Nastanovich handles the crowd-banter duties), Steve can’t help but come off as the clear leader. Perhaps it’s the irresistible ease with which he operates on stage: when he goofs around while jamming, when he plays with the lyrics, any time he strays from what the audience expects, Malkmus adds a delightful spontaneity to the performance.

Despite the thrill, the joy, and the enthusiastic reception, Pavement has reported that this tour is to be a one-off affair. No new albums or future tours have been scheduled. In a post on their record label’s blog, a writer explicitly states, “Please be advised this tour is not a prelude to additional jaunts and/or a permanent reunion.” Perhaps the members worry that the bad feelings will arise again if they spend too much time together. Perhaps they really prefer their solo endeavors. Or perhaps it’s the fact that bands that peaked long ago tend to fade into irrelevance rather than reclaim any former glory. A new batch of Pavement albums could actually cheapen the sanctity of their original, acclaimed run. And if they were to not put out new music, at what point would they cease to be triumphant homecomers and turn into old men milking their past success? One victory lap might be enough.

I can already tell "Dance Yrself Clean" is going to be my summer jam of 2010

And it should be yours too. LCD Soundsystem's new album opener is off the wall. You can probably find it on the internet without my help.

Concert Review: The Walkmen

The Walkmen w/ Atlas and My Friends
University of Delaware, 19 March 2010


Photo stolen from DelawareOnline.com, by Joe del Tufo.

All right, so the Walkmen. For some reason this show didn't really move me towards the keyboard like the last two concerts did, but I'm going for it anyway. Hopefully it won't seem too forced.

The openers were both local bands of guys who were all pals with each other. First one (My Friends) had a black guy who at first just played extra percussion, but eventually started jumping up and down and doing some pretty wild dancing. The next band (Atlas) had better tunes but no one did any crazy leaping and bounding. Fair trade off, I suppose. You can't expect to get everything from one local band, you know? The drummer for Atlas reminded me of a drummer I played with in a jazz band one year. It actually was quite possible that it was the same guy, but I forgot to ask him about it.

So then the Walkmen came on stage and my first thought was a worry that they would be disappointed about the small crowd size. I mean, they're not a huge group by any means, but I'm pretty confident their shows usually draw more than the one hundred or so people who showed up here. Granted, this is just some college town in Delaware and not a big city. And I wasn't really worried that they would be upset about the crowd size, just that playing to so few people would cause them to phone it in and not give their all.

But then I took a minute to think logically and realized something important. How the hell would I know if they were giving 100% or not? I've never seen them before and I don't have any idea if I'll see them again. The only way I'll ever learn if they weren't putting effort into the show is if I see them again and they do a lot better. In which case, I'll probably be too busy enjoying the performance to care that on March 19th, 2010 they could have put on a better show. So I might as well just take what they give me and assume the best.

The Walkmen's live show reminds me of the National's. Like the National's Matt Berninger, Walkmen vocalist Hamilton Leithauser is not the most active frontman, but both singers have this deep intensity about them when they sing; they're not about to jump around, but the energy forces its way through in other ways. I imagine every Walkmen live review ever mentions Leithauser's neck vein, but with good reason--that thing bulges like mad. And when you see it throbbing, you know damn well he puts something real and passionate into every performance. Hell, the vocal demands in the group's tunes don't allow him to not strain himself every show.

Also like the National: the Walkmen have a great drummer who is just a joy to watch go about his business. Extraordinarily tight and controlled, but not rigid. And, to be honest, the fact that the guy's really really tiny makes it all the more delightful.

I couldn't have asked for a better set list. The hour and twenty minute show focused mainly on 2008's excellent You & Me, with several favorites included from their 2004 breakthrough Bows & Arrows, like the frequently-requested-via-shouting "The Rat" and the somewhat surprising sing-a-long "New Year's Eve." Plus, it's always a joy when some of the night's highlights are brand new songs; I'm really looking forward to the next record.

Who knows, maybe they were just fulfilling an obligation; perhaps the group routinely puts on far better shows. But when I get a perfect set list, a singer who really connects, and a show that I didn't have to drive into Philly for, I'm not even coming close to complaining.

Concert Review: Mos Def and De La Soul

Thursday, February 18th Mos Def, De La Soul, Pete Rock, and Hezekiah, with special guest Slick Rick at the Trocadero Theatre.



In introducing the group's 1991 hit "A Roller Skating Jam Named 'Saturdays'", De La Soul's Posdnuos expressed his regret that the show had fallen on a Thursday night rather than a Friday: when midnight rolls around on a Friday night, it becomes (as the song says) our "one whole day to play", but when the clock hits twelve on a Thursday night, it'll be just another weekday. And while Posdnuos said this only as a lighthearted way to lead into the song, by the end of the night the crowd quite clearly shared the sentiment. When Thursday changed to Friday, headliner Mos Def had only just taken the stage, and he wasn't providing the special something necessary to keep the audience captivated.

But it didn't have to be that way. Mos Def is by no means a bad performer, De La absolutely killed, and Slick Rick did what he needed to do (be Slick Rick; spit a few lines). In order, then, to avoid suggesting these talented performers were the major cause of the lost enthusiasm, I'll begin by imposing a large deal of the blame on DJ/producer Pete Rock.

At the risk of sounding like an impatient, ADD-ridden Generation Y-er that doesn't understand real hip hop, I must say that I found no reason for Pete Rock's DJ set to go on for an hour and ten minutes. Despite decent transitions, his collage of snippets from hip hop classics--barely, if at all, remixed and frequently interrupted by commands to yell "Go Pete Rock, go Pete Rock, go"--can only keep one interested for so long. Maybe I'm missing something, but I can't help but feel like if his performance had been half the time, concertgoers would not have been quite so spiritless by the time Def took the stage.

Now we come to Hezekiah, our host for the evening. A cheerful and sprightly rapper, Hezekiah had started the night off on a good note with an upbeat set featuring live horns (provided by members of the troupe "Me So Horn-y"). Each time Hezekiah would show up to fill time between sets, however, he had less to offer, and his appearances eventually deteriorated into an awkward series of plugs for upcoming events and random a capella verses from him and his sister. In the minutes leading up to Mos Def's set, the audiences hit their breaking point and began to boo Hezekiah. I felt bad for the guy and I certainly don't condone or forgive the crowd's lack of tact, but I could understand their restlessness.

All right, now that I've established some context concerning the vibes that preceded Mos's entrance, I feel more comfortable explaining why exactly he didn't cut it. Mos Def is a relatively laid-back performer. While his tunes are often energetic, he is a cool, collected fellow whose flow and demeanor lack the aggression and bite of many rappers. Not an inherently negative style--I often find it preferable--but after Pete Rock's 70-minute relay of songs I can listen to at home and bad vibes surrounding Hezekiah, we wanted to be wowed. Def's show, though, is consistently enjoyable but rarely transcendent.

Even when he stepped into new territory by simultaneously playing drums and rapping on "Quiet Dog Bite Hard", it still felt too subdued. The routine was more impressive than entertaining, kind of like that movie Adaptation.

When he broke into "Auditorium" Mos Def actually managed to generate a healthy response from the crowd, but he can't take the credit--on album, the song features a guest appearance from Slick Rick; the fans all knew it was only a matter of minutes before the guest of honor finally took the stage.

Def glides through his part of the song amidst the flourishing cheers and intermittent hollers of "SLICK RICK!", clearly energized by the renewed vivacity. The second chorus closes and a heavily gold-adorned Slick Rick saunters onstage, greeted warmly with applause from a crowd ready for his sticky eerie-serene flow.

But when he raises the mic to his mouth, it squeals and wails and no vocals are heard. The Ruler continues to rap inaudibly for a few seconds before a roadie dashes over with a substitute mic. And thus, the most anticipated moment of the night was dulled by technical problems. The set recovered quickly as Ricky then does a short medley of his hits, but it's hard to deny the false start to what was destined to be the evening's climax.

Fortunately, the night was not a loss. I've saved the best for last, and the organizers of the event should have as well: the experience would have been greatly enhanced if De La Soul's energetic, playful, engaging, and all around fantastic set had closed the evening. De La dished out everything the audience would have needed to recharge them as the night grew later, everything that Mos Def just couldn't quite provide.

The 45 minute (yes, they gave the best act of the night 25 fewer minutes than Pete Rock's iPod shuffle of hip hop classics) show was a forceful blend of classics like "Me, Myself, and I" and "Potholes in My Lawn" with more recent favorites like 2000's "Ooh." Posdnuos charges through his verses with a joy and vigor seen nowhere else throughout the night, while fellow emcees Trugoy and Maseo alternate in the role of a solid second fiddle. The group's back-and-forth banter is delightful, including a bit in which each Pos and Trug attempts to prove to the other that one side of the crowd is superior. The routine is clearly rehearsed but so endearing that the crowd eats it up, cheering wildly to pledge their allegiance to either Pos or Trug and whichever side of the arbitrary line they happen to be standing.

And maybe part of what makes it so endearing is the fact that these guys have been doing this for more than 20 years with little mainstream success and can still completely bring it. They haven't gone out with a bang; they haven't slowly faded into obscurity. Rather, they've continued to put out solid records and, despite their age, their live show transcends every expectation. The D.A.I.S.Y. age may be long over, but the trio carries on the attitudes and vivacity they first let flow on their 1989 debut. And why not? The crowd at the Troc that night certainly needed it, and we could have used more of it.

-Andrew Doerfler

Prove me wrong, Drew: or, O Canada Part II

One week after I posted a bleak prediction regarding the fate of Canada's indie scene, Broken Social Scene bandleader Kevin Drew announced that the collective plans to release a new record on May 4th. According to that website Pitchfork, the album was arranged mainly by a group of six consisting of Drew, Brendan Canning, Justin Peroff, Charles Spearin, Andrew Whiteman (also of Apostle of Hustle), and Sam Goldberg. But that's not quite all--Leslie "Feist" Feist, Metric's Emily Haines, Stars' Amy Milan, Lisa Lobsinger, and many others also contribute to the disc. More details can be found in a delightful interview with Drew can be found here.

I am going to infer from the timing of the new album's announcement that Kevin Drew follows this blog, so I would like to take advantage of his readership to say that I hope my aforementioned prediction turns out to be wrong. 2002's You Forgot It In People is one of my favorite records of the last decade and the self-titled follow up three years later didn't disappoint. And your performance of the latter album's closing track, "It's All Gonna Break", at the 2008 Lollapalooza went unparalleled at that festival. What I'm trying to say is this: even though you haven't recorded anything particularly interesting in the last five years, I should keep faith in you based on a pretty damn solid track record. I would welcome few things more than another album that gives me the same thrill upon first listen as You Forgot It In People.

Your move, BSS. I know you're reading.

PS Also it would be quite nice if you would do a full lineup show at the Pitchfork Music Festival. Bring Band of Horses along too so I don't have to feel so bitter about the show the two of you are doing with Pavement in Toronto.

I'm in love with a soldier from Baltimore

Most readers probably know that I am a pretty big fan of Animal Collective. They are basically my favorite active band, and if I had ever gotten around to doing that "Bands of the Decade" feature I promised, they surely would have been the first installment. So when I found out that Josh "Deacon/Deakin/Deaken" Dibb, the Animal Collective guitarist who has been "taking a break" from the band for the last two years, would be playing his first ever solo show New Year's Day in Baltimore, I decided to grab a few pals to accompany me to Ravenstown!

PRETENSION AND PERK'S B'MORE ADVENTURE
My girl friend and my regular friend and I are all in the above photograph. I promise you, none of us is the one who looks like he is shushing Deacon. But I am getting ahead of myself. REWIND TWO AND A HALF HOURS.

Standing outside the venue, we mused about how it would be quite humorous if someone had come to the venue believing that popular electronic musician Daniel Deacon would be playing rather than the similarly named Animal Collective guitarist. It was not an impossibility: both Deacons are from Baltimore, and Daniel was indeed scheduled to play at the very same venue in the coming weeks.

Then, while the first opener (Moss of Aura) was starting up his second song, out of the corner of my eye I noticed a rotund, bearded poncho approaching. But this was no ordinary rotund poncho with a beard... it was Dan Deacon with a beard wearing a poncho! LITTLE HAD WE KNOWN, WE WOULD SEE DANIEL DEACON AT THE VERY SHOW THAT WE HAD JOKED ABOUT SOMEONE MISTAKENLY ATTENDING UNDER THE PRETENSE THAT THEY WOULD SEE DAN DEACON. It turns out our hypothetical misinformed person might have very well seen Daniel Deacon, albeit not as a performer.

Zomes, the next guy, was pretty boring and we did not see any Mob Town celebs during the set. A lose all around.

Now we arrive at the highlight of the evening: Daniel Higgs, shown below.

Mr. Higgs played just two songs. But his 40 minute performance was the most surreal concert experience I have had in a while. To give you a vague idea of what to expect (and to ease you into the heavier stuff): his set up consists only of (a) a mysterious music box that he rhythmically opens and closes, (b) his warbling bray and (c) some bells strapped to his stompin' boots.

Higgs kicked off his set with a 25-minute hookless and rambling tune, the lyrics of which he read from a book--which I must assume was bestowed unto him by the gods of freaking the fuck out of people--that laid at his feet. About halfway through he invited the audience to let out whatever sounds they happened to be feeling at that moment. We were all happy to (and perhaps nervous not to) oblige, immediately creating a cacophony of whoops, screeches, and various other noises that can probably be heard somewhere on Sung Tongs.

What followed, though, easily surpassed any yelping session I have ever been a part of. After concluding "There is a Root" (a title I am granting his opening saga because they are the only words I remember from the tune, and I believe the only four consecutive words he ever repeated throughout its entire 25 minutes), Higgs unleashed a much more direct and, I daresay, accessible song. Though it still ran about 12 minutes, the song had a distinct hook, repeated at least 10 times, which I will bless the reader with the pleasure of seeing:
"Stand atop the Bible until your tears run dry, it's Holy Bible time, Holy Bible time."
The verses, meanwhile, offered suggestions on what activities to undertake with your personal Bible, which included but were not limited to "cherish the Bible", "burn the Bible", and "ignore the Bible." It was probably the most profound religious experience I've had in a good three years.

Oh and Deaks was good too. Not much going on melodically but a lot of cool sounds went down, especially guitarwise. A bit shoegazey, but still pretty Animal Collectivey. And he likes to twirl around when he plays guitar, which was refreshing after the first three fellows sat throughout 100% of their sets.

So:

OVERALL B'MORE B'SCORE
John Waters sightings: 0
Number of Ravens fans who trashed/stole my car because it has a Steelers-themed spare tire cover: 0
15 minute songs about the Bible: 1
Verdict: I would consider going there Balti-more often :D

PS thanks to whoever chrissy abbott is for all the pictures I stole
PPS thanks to Wikipedia for telling me what some nicknames for Baltimore are

Prediction for the 2010s: O Canada

Canada's indie music scene will fade out almost completely. Boeckner, Owen Pallett, Carey Mercer, Islands, A.C. Newman, and Broken Social Scene (+all related projects) will all become completely irrelevant, releasing albums during the first half of the decade to a consistently lukewarm response. Some of these have already started their freefall. They're not going to bounce back. People have grown tired of this scene, or at least have realized that all the ground has been very, very well covered.

Spencer Krug will continue to put out digital EPs and 7"s under new names and with new projects, all only slightly deviating in style from the last. They will be received warmly until the public loses interest upon noticing that not one of these projects ever develops into a well thought-out, consistent album.

Arcade Fire may be counted as an exception, as their success and acclaim in the 00s transcends anything the previously mentioned acts have achieved. But their fanbase will grow little and subsequent recordings will be released to only modest praise.

Oh, and Dan Bejar will finally fulfill his destiny of becoming a nomadic troubadour. Toss a coin his way if you hear him wailing as he shuffles down your street.

ATP New York Saturday: Photos

Due to budgetary and educational reasons, Pretension and Perk was only able to send a reporter to day 2 of this year's ATP New York. Despite missing what were surely some of the best sets of the weekend (Panda Bear, Boredoms, Jesus Lizard, Suicide), our reporter had a fabulous time, as evidenced by these photographs. A full report will follow tomorrow, and our decade end coverage will resume before the weekend hits.

Everything by Andrew Doerfler.

Animal Collective


























Deerhunter
















Shellac

























Sufjan Stevens + Heads















Atlas Sound















El-P













Autolux













Circulatory System



























Old Man playing "The Candyman Can" in the lobby




































Festival grounds

Naught to Be Outdone: Albums, Pt. 2

Hello friends. It's time for part 2 of our newest decade-end feature. As you can tell, there is little rhyme or reason to what features we put up at what time. Though we started off with a live review before moving on to our album list, it has been decided to follow through with the entire list before pursuing other features further. Obviously this is for the benefit of the reader, who is anxiously waiting to hear what the best albums of the decade are. You are very welcome, reader.

Click here part 1 of the list (and a profound, retrospective introduction).

15. Chutes Too Narrow. The Shins. 2003.
"Tone down the reverb. Clean it up; tighten the sound. Experiment a bit. Explore some styles that you hadn't before. Embrace those styles. But still build on what you've done before. Dig deeper. Have more fun. Get emotional. Keep it together." -an excerpt from How I Beat the Sophomore Slump and You Can Too! by James Mercer, published by Books "Pretension and Perk" Just Made Up.

14. Apologies to the Queen Mary. Wolf Parade. 2005.
I don't know what to say about this record. It simply comes as close as any album on the list to fitting my tastes perfectly. I love the way the two major songs writers play off each other, allowing the album to excel in ways that each fellow's separate efforts (see Sunset Rubdown; Handsome Furs) never could. While Spencer Krug's erratic and yelping contributions are the highlights of the album, Boeckner grounds the album with more straightforward indie rock songs. Instrumentally, the two also click: the layering of synth and guitar parts is done exquisitely, creating some of the most triumphant and rich sounds of the decade. Oh, look. I guess I could say something about the album.

13. The College Dropout. Kanye West. 2004.
DISCLAIMER: I know I'm contradicting myself. In the previous segment, I lauded Jay-Z's The Blueprint for its perfect structure; a tight and condensed effort that doesn't rely on guest spots or throwaways. I said I wished more rap albums were made that way. But here is College Dropout, an album that breaks every single one of those rules, three spots higher on the list. The fact of the matter is that Kanye knows what he's doing. When he makes moves that normally make me cringe, I don't mind. His skits are amusing, but don't seem like misguided attempts at comedy. All the guests prove that they deserve to be there, but they also don't steal Kanye's thunder (I doubt he would let that happen). And the beats, hooks, and flows are so strong and delightful that seventy six minutes does not feel too long. I guess I'm just another one of the millions of teens who fell for the guy who doesn't play by the rules.

12. Fever to Tell. Yeah Yeah Yeahs. 2003.
The Yeah Yeah Yeahs have certainly matured a lot over the years, but Karen O remains a very primal and ferocious creature, and the group was at its finest when the music was as raw and untamed as its leader. This album does not mess around. There's no filler; 37 unrelenting minutes of pure garage rock. The songs are fast, hard, and biting. Hell, even the song names are: "Rich". "Pin". "Maps". "Tick". Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam. All right, they do tone it down quite a bit for "Maps", but that's because--in addition to it just being a pretty beautiful song--Karen and the gang don't want too much raucous rawk rocking your face too hard. They're looking out for you, listener.

11. And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside Out. Yo La Tengo. 2000.
Yo La Tengo is a band of the nineties. And they're damn close to being the band of the nineties: I Can Hear the Heart Beating as One and Painful rank as two of the finest discs of that decade, and the rest of their body of work holds up damn well too. Yo La Tengo's last few efforts, though, sound like greatest hits records; each track recalls a highlight from their output while the albums as a whole lack cohesive directions. And Then Nothing Turns Itself Inside Out marks the trio's last successful attempt to create a record with a distinctive personality. The disc sees Yo La Tengo venturing into a darker region of music, and maintains a moody overcast even when a song gets poppy. And it doesn't hurt that the group's best song, the upbeat and fuzzy "Cherry Chapstick", is on the album. A great way to start the decade.

A quick break from decade coverage...

Yes, we're running behind on our Naught to Be Outdone feature, but yesterday the game changed.

Atlas Sound's Logos leaked. And it is a serious contender for album of the year. hashtaghypehypehype

This delicious unauthorized release of intellectual property without the creator's consent jolted us back to focusing on the current year rather than the decade as a whole. On that note... here's Pretension and Perk's diary of 2009 so far.

1 Jan. Still recovering from the awesomeness of the Animal Collective album leak.
3. Jan. Blogs declare Merriweather Post Pavilion album of the year; resulting backlash is astonishing. Not sure I want to live in a world where people don't like MPP.
19 Jan. Starting to get worried.... maybe MPP isn't so great after all. What if I just like it cos Pitchfork does? Do I have any opinions?
2o Jan. Animal Collective tour dates!!!1
12 May. Animal Collective plays Philadelphia's Electric Factory. Greatest night of ~2500 people's lives, including mine.
1 Sept. Logos leaks.

(I promise, Part 2 of our album list is coming soon)

Naught to Be Outdone: Albums, Pt. 1

Remember when the world was all abuzz with this idea that the album was "dying"? With the world's newfound ability to buy individual songs via the mp3, appreciation for an entire 45 minutes with one artist would quickly fall, and albums would cease to exist.

Well, they weren't entirely off base. Album sales have indeed dropped. And though artists are still churning out the LPs, who knows, maybe this "death" is just taking a bit longer than we expected. Regardless, the Decade of the Mp3 still managed to produce some damn fantastic albums. Sexy, droney, hooky, fuzzy albums that pushed music in interesting directions, just as albums had in the last 5 decades (without the hindrance of the mp3). Here are a few of Pretension and Perk's favorites.

20. Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea. PJ Harvey. 2000.
Polly Jean Harvey has repeatedly insisted throughout her career that she was not influenced heavily by Patti Smith. Despite the overwhelming evidence against her (see: almost every PJ Harvey song), I am inclined to believe her, if only for the sheer honesty she puts into her fifth album Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea. Simultaneously beautiful and rough as hell, the album finds PJ reaching a balance she has been on the verge of for her entire career. PJ, we beg of you: stop messing around with that John Parish fellow and give us more albums like this.


19. Franz Ferdinand. Franz Ferdinand. 2004.
Oh my god. What a sexy album. This thing is just dripping with a pansexual intensity. The hooks are what pull you in first, which, though incredible, are just the foreplay. After a bit, your mind clears and you notice the subtleties. Alex Kapranos' articulation is sultry and comforting, inviting and menacing. The the guitar licks bite you, then heal you back up. The slow builds... the resolves. What are you left to do?: Let it happen again and again for thirty-eight point seven minutes. Oh yes.


18. Sound of Silver. LCD Soundsystem. 2007.
For his sophomore effort, the consistently brilliant and consistently disheveled James Murphy sacrifices some of the biting wit found in tunes like "Losing My Edge" for a bit more heart and soul. And it works. "Someone Great" takes on the question of starting over with a repeating hum that drills into your brain; "All My Friends", meanwhile, builds on a single, droning piano riff to create a middle-age examining-masterpiece that defies classification. But by no means is his edge gone: "North American Scum" is a sly jab at the oversimplified criticism of American culture. Murphy's edge and soul finally converge in the album's closer, "New York, I Love You But You're Bringing Me Down", a song that shows him trying out a surprisingly traditional rock structure. Of course, it succeeds. Is my man-crush blatantly obvious yet?

17. The Woods. Sleater-Kinney. 2005.
When Sleater-Kinney announced their hiatus in 2006, they couldn't have been going off on a better note. Their final album sees the band not summing up their career (as so many swan songs do), but rather continuing to expand their sound. Dirtier and more elaborate riffs ground the girls' intense and desperate wails in both the album's lead single "Entertain" and the epic, 11-minute "Let's Call it Love". But it's "What's Mine is Yours" that hits the hardest: the songs swings like the girls have never swung before, but ultimately degenerates into a more familiar fuzzy mess. "It's either run or fight," yelps Corrin Tucker, just before howling in a prolonged drawl, "I'M STILL RUNNING." Hey, the band might have chosen flight over fight, but perhaps it was for the best. It would be pretty hard to create a more perfect final memory.

16. The Blueprint. Jay-Z. 2001.
Sure the hooks are great. The samples are well chosen and well placed. And Jay's flow has rarely been smoother. But what really puts this album over the top is the structure: no skits, no throwaways, and no guest rappers except one instance in which the guest is very much warranted to be there. Jay crafted The Blueprint the way more rap albums should be crafted, and he backed it up with the finest set of songs he has put out to date. It would have been an utter shame to see them spread thin by joke tracks or cheapened by lazy verses by the hot new rapper of the month. Hova proves again and again he knows just what he's doing. --insert any of the thousands of relevant, self confident Jay quotes here--.

Naught To Be Outdone: LiveJournal, part 1

As a relatively young music fan, I naturally did not start actively listening to/consuming/obsessing over music until this decade had already been quite underway. The naughts, consequently, entirely shaped my taste in music. My experiences as a concertgoer perhaps contributed to that shaping of taste more than anything else. Since the first show I went to in 2003, a handful of concerts stand out as especially important to my life as a music fan; performances that caused something to click inside me; shows that screamed, "This is what music is. Find more of this."

December 2nd, 2004. The Hives.
2004 was an important year for this founder of Pretension and Perk: I took my first steps away from 70s punk and into modern music. It took a few heavy hitters to make this happen, though. First off, Modest Mouse's "Float On" broke into the mainstream. Then Interpol's Antics showed me a more fun and accessible kind of post-punk. And finally, Franz Ferdinand set a new standard for the pop-rock album with their self-titled debut.

That last one is what led me to Camden, NJ's Tweeter Center on December 2nd. The Y100 "Feastival" boasted a mediocre lineup headlined by Good Charlotte and Jimmy Eat World, but the promise of my newest Austrian archduke-named obsession was too good to pass up. Franz, as it turned out, had not quite mastered their stage presence yet. But I didn't leave the Tweeter disappointed.

For a group of Swedish rascals in black and white suits made it their duty to completely annihilate the ears of the Good Charlotte-adoring teeny boppers that had made their way to Camden that night. But the Hives managed to maintain proficiency in musicianship despite their raw, ferocious energy. Today I know this is not exactly a rare feat, but when this group was surrounded by the lackluster performances by Jimmy Eat World, Silvertide (one of the worst shows I've ever seen), and Franz Ferdinand, I couldn't help but be amazed.

While the band churned out balls-out garage punk song after balls-out garage punk song, frontman Howlin' Pelle Almqvist combined Jagger-esque stage moves with obnoxious, self-deprecating egotism into something all his own. The unbridled conceit and undeniable swagger of Almqvist left a young me completely enthralled. He simply refused to accept that anyone could think that The Hives were not the greatest band in the world. I certainly wasn't going argue. I hardly can today.

And I promise, I left 3 songs into Good Charlotte's set.