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Some Albums John Darnielle's Dug In 2004 Neumu's Michael Goldberg writes: OK. This is not a "best-of" list. See Neumu Contributing Editor and 4AD recording artist John Darnielle's intro below. It's a list of albums that Darnielle thinks are pretty damn great. John Darnielle writes: I do not like year-end lists, generally speaking. They strike me as reductive. It's hard enough to say what I mean when I say "This is a good record": good for what purposes? Good for who? Good for how long? Good as in "useful" or good as in "noble"? And so forth. Dull voices croak things about "posterity" and whatnot, but I don't buy any of that: Straight Outta Compton was better than anything else I heard in 1988 largely because it sounded like it wanted to expend all of its energy right fucking now. Is great sex any less great if I'm not still enjoying it the next day? And so on. So please, let's never again ask any questions about whether anything's gonna "stand the test of time," unless we're singing Van Halen's "Why Can't This Be Love," which, by the way, we must henceforth all do twice daily (once on rising from sleep, and once during dinner). For me there are no 10 best albums. There's just the stuff that occupied more of my time. Here, in accordance with tradition, are 10 such stuffs: The Double, Palm Fronds (Catsup Plate ): A good example of what I'm talking about in the cranky paragraphs that precede this list. I don't feel like listening to this record very often; I find it emotionally exhausting. I have no interest in hearing its individual songs. I only ever want to hear it from beginning to end, as one piece. But few records, if any, have given me more pleasure this year; or sent me into deeper trances; or made me more melancholy without me even knowing quite why; or changed the texture of my afternoons quite so drastically. It is very beautiful. God Forbid, Gone Forever (Century Media): This is a heavy metal album. Not a black metal album or a death metal album or a grindcore album. Death metal and black metal are what gives God Forbid's singer permission to yell instead of scream about half the time, but the album's melodies, twin guitars, hooks, and structures are straight-up classic KNAC metal, updated. I love every song on it, and anybody who doesn't won't get invited to my birthday party, because all we are gonna do at my birthday party is listen to Gone Forever all day long. And it is going to be an awesome party. Dizzee Rascal, Showtime (XL): Personally, I prefer this one to Boy in da Corner, because: 1) "Da" as a substitute for "The" is totally lame and played-out; 2) Boy in da Corner seemed kinda artsy to me, while I can shake my not-inconsiderable ass to Showtime; and 3) "Dream" is the greatest song ever recorded ever by any recording artist ever ever ever, and when he says "I used to love music, it was like my hidden hobby," it causes me to burst into tears every God damned time. Juniorboys, Last Exit (Domino): While we're on the subject of stuff that makes me cry, I found Last Exit almost impossible to take, for which reason I subjected myself to whole days in which it was the only thing I listened to. This is a young album by young people, I presume; their theme, to state it succinctly, is "We will someday remember all of this." Listening to Last Exit is like being born a second time. In a glacier. With all your memories from your previous life being projected onto the walls of the glacier in glorious Technicolor. In slow motion. On a Friday night. In New York. Shock G, Fear of a Mixed Planet (33rd Street): Neck-deep, heart-strong, sun-bright, river-dark. Do I gotta spell everything out all skywriter-like? It has Humpty Hump on it. Rich, honest, funny, exhilarating, poignant, and, last I checked, only available directly from the artist, Fear of a Mixed Planet feels really good. Like a hot bath feels good, you know. Or a half-pound of butter melting over your chest. Incantation, Decimate Christendom (Olympic): Incantation are a really interesting death metal band with a doom fixation. The preceding sentence is probably meaningless to anybody who doesn't already have an opinion of this record, yet must I soldier on. Wish me luck! "Doom" isn't a mood; it's a style. Black Sabbath are its grandparents. Or maybe only its parents. Or maybe actually its nephews. Anyhow, it's usually quite slow. It's the blues without that real good feeling that blues changes give you. Death metal, on the other hand, is usually quite fast. Incantation got peanut butter in their chocolate and made a death/doom fusion album that somehow leaves the listener in a contemplative state. A rage-flecked, anti-Christian, contemplative state. Way cool. The Streets, A Grand Don't Come for Free (Vice/Atlantic): I do not understand the arguments about not being able to relate to Skinner's persona, or, worse, about not believing that it's actually a persona. How is Skinner singled out for this particular argument when far more disagreeable personae are by no means wanting: in literature, in music, in public life? Anyhow, this was more a novel than an album, and utterly captivating, and really quite sweet at its heart. It is his second masterpiece in a row. One wonders if he can keep this pace up. Hope springs eternal. Masta Killa, No Said Date (Nature Sounds): Word is that some of these songs are, like, eight years old or something. I don't know. You like that tight, sparse, weighty Wu-Tang sound? That unshakable, head-nodding feeling? You like real basic beats with clever rhymes and kung-fu dialogue samples? You like Ol' Dirty Bastard? Yeah, well, me too. A lot. Insision, Revealed and Worshipped (Wicked World): Death metal, no frills, no fireworks, no apologies. The problem that kept Insision's previous effort from achieving greatness — lousy vocals — has largely been solved, leaving a sludgier Morbid Angel, a looser Decapitated, a crazier Suffocation. Erik Friedlander, Maldoror (Brassland): I am admittedly biased in favor of any album for solo cello which takes, as its jumping-off point, the proto-surrealist scratchings of Isidore Ducasse, whose shoes I am not worthy to untie. I found this wholly improvised album so charming, for lack of a better word, and Friedlander's October performance at the Knitting Factory so electrifying, that I asked him to play on my next album. You can therefore call this entry a "conflict of interest," if that's the sort of thing that appeals to you. Anyhow, the album knocked me flat on my face. Several times. On purpose. The InsiderOne Daily Report appears on occasion.