coconut barrel cucumber melon and Jon-Rae

Shhhh.... let's pretend like I've been a diligent team-member throughout this whole little blogging experience here and have posted regularily.
Now that that's out of the way...

Kay hi. I would like to talk about Jon Rae and the River and how gospel rock fucking owns me. Apparently.
Mister Jon Rae and his River people opened for Cuff the Duke (I think, maybe the Constantines? I think it was the Constantines. I go to too many shows. I'm eighty-two percent sure it was the Constantines.) at Call the Office here in L-Town a few months back, and I had never heard of them. If someone had previously informed me I was about to enter seedy underbelly of indie's gospel rock scene, I'd have likely scoffed and tromped out, being the pompous little shit I am. But thankfully I did not know what I was getting into, and therefore stuck around for this opener, unaware of my forthcoming Jesus-praising.
Well shut right up. This band blew me, and all the other dudes there, away. And I mean, I'm talking these are dudes here in the crowd to see the Constantines (I am now ninety-four percent sure it was the Cons). Ha-ha. Did you notice how I said this band "blew me?" Anyway. These are dudes here to rock. And there we all are, full out in the sways and swings of Jon Rae and the River, clapping our hands together and praising the Lord.
I'm not religious. But I don't think you have to be to know good gospel folk indie whatever the hell rock sounds when you hear it. Jon Rae and the River is awesome, and I can't wait to see them again. The ballads are skillfully illustrated, the praises are honest and powerful, and the few slower songs are heartfelt. The vocal harmonies between dude (Jon Rae, I imagine) and dudette-other-singer are, well this is cheesey as fuck, but "heavenly" is the only way to describe it.
I enjoy Jon Rae and the River. Pretty much times a kabillion.
If you want to check a little somethin'-somethin' out by these guys, I recommend the tracks "Young Man Meets Old Death" and "Nickel + Dime/Waste of Time" for a first-time listen. And give 'em a chance -- for serious.

I accidentally made a top ten for 2005. Then accidentally posted it.

Dear the World,
I made this for a little indie magazine out of Vancouver in February or so. It would likely look a little different if I were to rewrite it now, but I'll post it as-is. And you can goddamned well deal with it. World.
One of the key points here is that these are in no particular order. As it clearly implies -- although not so clearly to all, apparently. Ahem.
P.S. I drop the eff-bomb, so kabillion bonus points for me. World.
Love from your best friend Cali


Cali -I’M MY OWN DANCE PARTY- Travis says “stick this in your stereo and play it:”

(in no particular order)

Architecture in Helsinki: In Case We Die
Without exaggeration, my right lung is the only thing in the entire world that Architecture in Helsinki did not manipulate by means of some obscure musical procedure in the manifestation of their debut, In Case We Die. What the hell would you do with a tuba, some power tools, and the Opera House behind your shoulder? Fuck all, that’s what you’d do. My new Aussie friends, on the other hand, have masterfully crafted an entire musical phenomenon on its own with this album. The imagination at work behind each track illuminates those hard-to-reach spots in your music loving soul in a way you thought only a pool full of pink Jell-o could. I commend these kids for maintaining coherence in this album as a whole, while managing to express an impressive spectrum of style and originality.
Because of the technicolour landscape this band has painted for me I cannot possibly go to Australia. I’d be horrified that I’m not handed a tambourine upon arrival and the whole place is not an animated musical orchard.

Wolf Parade: Apologies to the Queen Mary
I’ll keep this short: holy fuck.
Ten out of nine.
Apologies to the Queen Mary is appallingly wicked. It’s like, listening to this album is not enough. I have to pry open my chest cavity and spoon feed Wolf Parade to my blood-pumping heart.
I can’t not stomp and yelp and twitch my fingers and throw my feet out from under myself when listening to Apologies, it’s a physical reaction.
I can’t talk about it anymore… I have to dance.

The Go! Team: Thunder, Lightening, Strike
Remember hop-scotch, and swinging super high, and playing Power Rangers at recess? You will, my friend, you will.
My bruva from the same muva, Trevor, gave me an iPod for xmas (wicked cool!) which, thanks to the Go! Team, may lead to assault charges against me, as it is extremely difficult to resist round-house kicking fellow pedestrians in the face when absorbed in Thunder, Lightening, Strike. This album turns my whole world into my own action-sequence power-house music-video land.
Playing this in the morning has me literally summer-saulting out of bed. Nice!

Final Fantasy: Has a Good Home
The voice of a violin could not be complimented in a more perfectly appropriate way than with the lyrical gems of my friend Owen of Final Fantasy. His control over melody and emotion delivered with his instrument is paralleled only by the skilled manipulation of his own pretty voice.
At times, Has a Good Home is as wonderfully buoyant: delicate and whimsical as butterfly breakfasts. Just as memorable are the passionate times on this album when Owen uses that violin of his as a cloth to wring hot water from whilst he flicks angry shouts, or when he gracefully sighs quiet resignations. He can effectively express boyish joy to genuine anger and still sound delicate.
This album is a joy, I can’t wait to bring it to a picnic.

The New Pornographers: Twin Cinema
The New Pornographers have a collective razor sharp wit about them; they’re just so together. There’s no hit-and-miss with the Pornos.
Twin Cinema verifies my hypothesis that the unanimous team goal of the New Pornographers is to ensure the continual satisfaction of my personal thirst for really good music. “Ha.”
Classic but unmistakably original, every song makes me want to skuffle and bop in a new skirt and old sneakers.
C’mon, it’s the New Pornographers. Of course it’s solid.

The Robot Ate Me: Carousel Waltz
The Robot Ate Me has become a lot less obscure since the debut, but has amazingly remained below the buzz radar – especially surprising in the “indie-is-the-new-emo” explosion this year.
Carousel Waltz is a stroll through the whims of the heart on a clear night, and Ryland’s voice is a ribbon taken by the breeze. The whole album is a tribute to the quietness of a reflection on the strength of emotion, and is worth an honest listen. It seems the simplest tools – a guitar, a voice –most appropriately pay homage to the most complicated of emotions.

Sufjan Stevens: Illinois
There’s little I can say about this much celebrated album that has not already been said, but Illinois really does deserve the praise it has received. My inspired friend Sufjan has explored what constitutes a modern musical epic in a pearly-toothed, grit-beneath-your-feet way with this album, and the result is no modest feat. The soft spoken stories of heroes and victims and efforts Illinois tells strike an intrinsic moral chord, and relate to something familiar, intimate, and beautifully human in the listener. Somehow, I’m cheering for Sufjan, for his heroes and his victims and relate all the successes and failures in these songs to my own.
I want to skip stones with Sufjan for an afternoon, a long blade of straw bobbing from between my teeth. But now I can never go to Illinois, either. It will just never add up to the perfect blue skies and dusty gravel of the Illinois in my head.

Okkervil River: Black Sheep Boy
This album is when I pull on a woolen sweater. It’s those fleeting few moments when the sweater is still cold, and I’ve got goosebumps tingling down my arms beneath the scratchy knit – but I know the warmth will come. It’s that memory and anticipation of hugged warmth with a reserved gasp in the reality of the chill beneath the familiar embrace. Any second, I can taste it….
Black Sheep Boy is – although at times light – tragic, passionately beautiful, and darkly whimsical. What a great album.

The Fiery Furnaces: EP
To begin with, EP has the best gyration-inducing party-thumper intro of the year on “Single Again.”
I’m just going to throw words at you: Post-modern indie-pop extreme teeming with quirks, this album moves quickly through dripping back alleys and over neon hills in dazzling sun, but goes nowhere at all. It’s a noisy, abrasive, connect-the dots adventure that leaves you panting, and I fucking love it. I even dropped the f-bomb.

Bloc Party: Silent Alarm
Not only do Brits deep fry Mars bars, but they export some crazy good music. The hype surrounding Bloc Party’s debut put a sour smirk on most rock snobs, well screw that. I’m not too good for Bloc Party. Hell, they beat out Broken Social Scene for my top ten. So you can wipe that snicker off your face because this album is a relentless power house of infectious tracks that beat around between my ears like a hoola-hoop parade on fire.
Silent Alarm’s charm has yet to wear thin. If Bloc Party were a guy he’d be a snappy dresser and quiet, but insanely creative and we’d make-out pretty much all the time.
Bloc Party does it for me. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it.


It was difficult to narrow down this year’s albums to my ten favourite, and I feel bad for the following really awesome albums, so I’ll throw some honourable mentions in your general direction and say four (4) words about each:

Broken Social Scene: S/T
“Melon slice latent party.”
The Most Serene Republic: Underwater Cinematographer
“Lit up the fen.”
My Morning Jacket: Z
“Cigarette under red umbrella.”
We are Wolves: Non-Stop Je Te Plie en Deux
“Lazer bazooka dance floor.”
Stars: Set Yourself on Fire
“Pretty purple plum blossom.”
Animal Collective: Feels
“Secretly feathered Masquerade theatre”
Deerhoof: The Runners Four
“Sprained ankle pastry Astroturf.”