When the daylight’s like fluorescent lights
I’m going to take my time night by night.
I hang my hands over your eyes tonight.

When I heard that Emily Haines had a new EP and it was just more Knives Don’t Have Your Back, my first thought was “Sign me up!” Seriously, if you liked Knives, there’s no reason not to have at least downloaded this five song (plus one pointless remix) EP. Telethon is the best cut from this disc, with Haines musing about feeling the blues on a lonely New York (or Toronto, or L.A., or Vancouver…) night. I pine for her and her heroin chic style.

Tiptoe through our shiny city
With our diamond slippers on.
Do our gay ballet on ice,
Bluebirds on our shoulders.
We’re half-awake in a fake empire.

For some reason, Boxer and I just didn’t connect. That said, there are some profoundly beautiful moments on Boxer when everything comes together and this is one of them. It was a tough choice between this and Slow Show to represent The National, but I decided to stick with the opening track, which gets the album off to a mesmerizing start (I’m a sucker for Track 1s). In this case, the monotonous vocals are a boon, allowing the instruments to breathe and build on their own. I felt that there were too many moments on this CD where the singer and the band seemed to be performing two different songs, but that effect is used to perfection on Fake Empire, whether it was intentional or not.

Twenty-three seconds
All things we love will die.

One of the most chilling opening lines I’ve ever heard to a song. When I first heard this song, it didn’t register but eventually I couldn’t get it out of my head. Kazu Makino’s vocals are almost unintelligible under the shimmering feedback (what happens when a band self-produces for the first time apparently), which makes the whole experience all the more terrifying. By the time the “la la las” come in, the song already has you. I could definitely see this song being used in a car commercial one day; that is, if the car was made in Hell. Shirley probably said it best: When you listen to a song like this, you have to just let it wash over you. I’ll shut up now.

She sings songs,
All hands they roll, they roll to the golden tide
And take that fool out of sight, but then you
Tell him that you got no babies, that he got no babies…

I’ll admit it right now: I’ll lap up anything that comes from Dan Boeckner or Spencer Krug. Yeah, you read that right! I haven’t even got a chance to listen to Spencer’s Sunset Rubdown stuff yet. No time to write blurb for this song that I can’t understand anyway. Must listen to more Krug…Okay, I will say that Tears is completely crazy and one of those CDs that let’s you know how far you’ve crossed past the indie line. After devouring this album I can barely see the mainstream side of things anymore. Most of this album, including Reform The Countryside, follows the popular indie formula of adding and adding and adding until you don’t even remember what the beginning of the song sounded like. Reform does it best, including one glorious sequence that sounds like someone breathing heavily into a mic that they may or may not realize is on.

Bonus: The winner of the “Why Bother?” award for being one of the few indie bands out there to actually provide a lyrics sheet (and a particularly well laid out one, at that) with the CD. Too bad they don’t make a lick of sense. I might as well be reading Chinese.

Take it slow.
Take it easy on me
And shed some light,
Shed some light on me please.

In addition to track 1s I’m also a sucker for first singles, which hopefully will justify my picking this track over the absolutely gorgeous 1234. I also wanted to, ahem, “shed some light” on this song since it seems to have been forgotten in Feist’s post-iPod commercial explosion. I challenge you, I CHALLENGE YOU, to not move your hips or bob your head when this song comes on. A song that is as catchy as hell, but also has a nice, meaty texture thanks to strong production and Feist’s now-predictable-to-the-point-of-being-boring flawlessness.

Sometimes I can’t get started.
Back from nothing.
Sometimes I can’t get started.

Pretty much my personal anthem for the last six months. I’d been lying around having finished with school and having no job; worse, I wasn’t really looking for work. Everyday I’d wake up and just lie in my bed staring at my ceiling until I could build up enough momentum to roll to the floor. Songs like this appeal to me. It’s too mellow to be considered uplifting, but too funky to be nihilistic. Now that things are “starting” for me in a sense, I suppose I should distance myself from this song. I still have trouble getting out of bed sometimes.

‘Cause the years fly by in an instant
And you wonder what he’s waiting for.
Oh, then some skinny bitch walks by in some hot pants
And he’s a-running out the door.

Originally written for Nancy Sinatra (I’ve yet to listen to that version unfortunately), I can’t imagine what this song would sound like without Jarvis Cocker’s British-ness. Some of you might remember Cocker as the lead singer of the UK band Pulp, known mostly for their hit single Common People (one of my favourite songs EVER). Here, Cocker muses on having to watch someone you want going out with some knob/douchebag/prick, while you can only stand idly by in self righteous solitude. A topic all guys can relate to. It’s straightforward, formulaic and absolutely fucking brilliant.

I spark tireless illumination,
Fire sixteen bars, wireless communication, let’s go!

Hip hop and I have grown distant. I don’t want to say it’s because the mainstream rap scene has become as whack as hell, but…the mainstream rap scene has become as whack as hell. It’s only fitting then that my favourite rap song of the year comes from a guy who is far removed from the mainstream ever since he lost a legal battle to Godzilla years ago (don’t ask). On most “club bangers”, the MC either keeps his rhymes simple and gets out of the way or struggles to keep up with the beat. When Pharoahe Monch is putting it down, it sounds like the beat is struggling to keep up with him. Pharoahe makes allusions to Daredevil, The Terminator and spends a whole verse comparing him and his rivals to different forms of telecommunication. Riiiiiight.

Lift your head and look out the window.
Stay that way for the rest of the day and watch the time go.
Listen, the birds sing.
Listen, the bells ring.
All the living are dead and the dead are all living.
The war is over and we are beginning.

I was reading the Pitchfork review of this album and they noted this song as one of the lowlights of Bedroom. They said it was theatrical, self-indulgent and cheesy. You know what? It is all those things and it works. The whole CD sounds like a musical hidden inside a concept album which, as you might expect, is hit or miss. This song is a hit. Torque’s vocals are as good as they’ve ever been and in this heartfelt chronicle of a couple trying to recover from an emotional shitstorm he just lets it rip with a surprising and utterly delightful lack of restraint.

We all are real, if real ever was it’s just because
We all are real and feel we’ve had enough.
I’m real ‘cause someone gave us sound.

Billy Corgan once said that he was the Michael Jordan of the music world. In response to why he stopped making albums like Siamese Dream and insisted on going to a more electronic sound on albums like Adore, he said that it was no challenge. If he wanted to, he could put the ball on the floor and take it to the rack anytime he wanted. After listening to Tarantula, I can safely say that this cat ain’t lyin’. Billy just put it on the deck, split two defenders and stuffed it on Pat Ewing’s head. Nice.

Who’s gonna throw the very first stone?
Oh! Who’s gonna reset the bone?

There are so many good songs on Neon Bible that picking one almost seems criminal, but Intervention is as worthy a track as any to be considered one of the Arcade Fire’s best. Whether you want to read it as a condemnation of the war on Iraq or just another song about feeling helpless and fucked up, the Arcade Fire keep things rolling with a booming organ and a sweeping orchestral arrangement that leaves you gasping for air.

White Americans, what?
Nothing better to do?
Why don’t you kick yourselves out?
You’re an immigrant too.

Franz Ferdinand. The Strokes. The White Stripes. These are bands with lead men that roll out of bed in the morning with a crazy riff in their mind, eat their breakfast while coming up with lyrics and walk out the door ready to make a hit record. While Jack White insists on delving into every genre possible (I’m still waiting for that trance record, Jack), he remains at his best when he puts those fingers to the frets and works his magic. Also, when he plays the stylophone (and yes, I had to look that up). The White Stripes are always straddling that line between the mainstream and the bizarre. As long as they keep producing records like this, they can do whatever the hell they want.

And does your fear not grow when you see that you’re all mine?
See that you’re all mine with a knife in your chest?

I have a lot more to say about this band later, so I’ll keep this brief: The Twilight Sad are the best new band of the year and this is their best song.

So we just skirt the hallway sides,
A phantom and fly.
Follow the lines and wonder why
There’s no connection.

It was toss-up between this song, Australia (the catchiest song on the album) and Turn On Me (a song that means a lot to me personally), but when in doubt I go with the single. From what I’ve gathered from Songmeanings.net, this song is about two lesbians figuring out what to do with their lives in a remote town. Also, a “phantom limb” is what an amputee claims to experience after surgery. What do these things have to do with each other? I have no idea, but who cares about the meaning when the song itself is so awesome? Don’t think about it, just enjoy the “ooooooh oooh oooooohs”.

Mama would scold us if we got too rough.
She didn’t care, she was proud of us.
I ran around and talked to the animals,
Tellin’ them stories of savage cannibals.

Hands down, the funniest song of the year. Max raised a valid point that this song shouldn’t be eligible for 2007 consideration because as far as we know, this song could have been recorded ten years ago and not leaked until now. Since it wasn’t available for public consumption until now, I’m rendering it eligible. And no Max, this does not mean that you can put Jetplanes Of Abraham on your year-end list, no matter how good they are. Where was I? Oh yeah, Rivers Cuomo is a living, breathing god.

Under your wheels, your hopeless reign.
We fall too far, we’re up too late.
We hang suspended from the heights
Until it’s safer to walk here.

When I heard the title for this song, I already knew it was going to be good. It’s actually difficult to explain why I like this song so much, especially when you consider the vast catalogue of hits that this band already has. The lyrics are good. As is common with a New Pornographers song, the lyrics are intentionally misleading or nonsensical, but I guess that’s what makes them so fun to interpret. For me, the singer sounds like someone who is resigned to the fact that this person they care about is never going to change and they decide to lay down the “truth in one free afternoon” and be done with it. I don’t know. Amidst the harsh feelings, there’s a wonderful softness to this song as well that makes it even more appealling.

So let the people talk
This Monday morning walk
Right past the fabulous mess we’re in.

Let it be said first that Patrick Wolf is a character of questionable sexuality, so let’s get all those “Ooh, what could the ‘magic position’ be?” jokes out of the way. I’m going to ruin it for you. It’s doggie style. This is an awesome song about being in love and not letting the rest of the world in on you’re little secret. The spiritual successor to Wake Me Up Before You Go Go.

Because East London is a vampire,
It sucks the joy right out of me.
How we long for corruption in these golden years.

A Weekend In The City is kind of, how do you say…ah, yes…shit. There’s so much…singing on it. Yuck. In fact, the CD starts with Kele Okereke breaking out some falsetto, which caused me to initially react with a WTFF (What The Fucking Fuck?). It was all downhill from there and I tossed the album aside, heartbroken. I actually was anticipating this album more than the new Arcade Fire because I felt that this band had a lot of growth left even after the brilliant Silent Alarm, while the Arcade Fire can’t be blamed if they never surpass Funeral (it’s just that damn good). Long story short, I gave the CD another listen and while it didn’t shine much brighter, the opening track certainly stood out. Drawing imagery and ideas from the novel Less Than Zero, Okereke sums up the lives of young British men out on the town with nothing to do but eat at fancy restaurants, do drugs and screw around. Bloc Party’s instrumental work is as crisp as ever, but it’s Okereke’s, er, unique phrasings that make this song so special to me. He makes syllables magically appear, kind of like Jean Claude Van Damme.

For anyone who underestimates the power of a good bass line, observe this masterpiece by New York “math rock” masters Battles. When it comes to instrumental music, I know less than nothing but that’s the beauty of this track: You don’t have to. It’s the same bass line for about seven minutes and the bands adds and removes elements in regular intervals. Crazy chanting! Guitar solo! Drum solo! Shit I can’t even identify! And underneath it all, a bass line stolen from the greatest Western movie that will never be made. It was actually quite an effort to write this blurb, because all I think about when I’m listening to this song is “Jesus Christ, this song is good!”

Bonus: This year’s winner of the illustrious “Makes Me Want To Fight A Nigga Or Two” award (split between I Bet That You Look Good On The Dancefloor and Wolf Like Me last year).

I’ve got a feeling of you and we danced for so long,
I want your arms around me like lovers do
And I’m never gonna let you down, gon’ let you down, gon’ let you down…

One of the biggest steps I’ve taken towards indie-ness is when I realized that Peter Bjorn And John were my favourite Swedish rock band because it meant that I actually enjoyed more than one Swedish rock band. Five years ago, I wouldn’t have believed you if you told me that and I would have kicked you in the face if you told me that one those groups would produce the best song of 2007. Well, that act is Loney, Dear and the song is I Am John and it is the best song of 2007. This is what pure happiness sounds like; that is, if you’re definition of happiness is escaping to the middle of nowhere with no regard for anything and the only guarantee you have is that you’re going to fuck up eventually and possibly lose everything you’ve worked for. Or something like that. A solo too long, a falsetto too high and a structure too repetitive add up to my favourite song of 2007 and one that will always stand as a marker of my musical maturity.

When I was growing up, I wanted to sing like a lot of grunge acts (Nirvana, Soundgarden, etc.), but more than anyone else I wanted to sound like Eddie Vedder. I’d do the fake growl and everything. When the songs came on the radio, I’d sing along and I swear I sounded exactly like him. A few years ago he did a cover of The Beatles’ You’ve Got To Hide Your Love Away and it just blew me away. Finally, he’s released a solo album, having been asked by Sean Penn himself to provide a soundtrack for his movie of the same name and it’s a good one. No bells and whistles, just Eddie strumming along and singing with that ache in his voice that hasn’t gone away after twenty years. Why wasn’t this CD a bigger hit?

Indie cred indicator #49: Do you like Strawberry Jam?

Upon listening to this initially, it seems to fall under the much vaunted indie category of just fucking noise, but it’s so much more and so much less than that at the same time. It’s more, because there’s some wonderfully catchy melodies and hooks in there; less, because this CD isn’t some grand indie odyssey. Once you learn how to process this kind of music, it goes down nice and smooth. The vocals and compositions are kept fundamentally simple, which allows Animal Collective to throw in whatever loops they feel like experimenting with. If they stripped the tracks down to there bare instrumentals, they’d sound fine, but the layers and layers that are added on make the album essential listening.

This album is so much fun to listen to that you can slap it on repeat and have listened to it ten times before you realize that you should get out of your room. I’ll never get tired of Dan Boeckner’s wailing, ever. I like to tell people that this band is like Wolf Parade meets The Postal Service.

There was an article in the Toronto Star a few weeks ago that labeled the Arcade Fire as “overrated”. I so hate that word. The bottom line is that the Arcade Fire is one of the best live acts in the world today and Neon Bible is more than a worthy follow-up to Funeral. It’s thematically and instrumentally diverse and different from their debut album. The small songs are sweet and the big songs sound important while staying away from self-indulgence (or parody). Yes, their act and attitude remain highly theatrical, but the show is so good that people should just shut up and clap their hands.

Baby’s first instrumental CD! So good.

Even though this is the first album of theirs that I’ve actually listened to, I will be forever grateful to The Shins for being one of the first indie bands that I really enjoyed. They were my gateway band and Zach Braff was my dealer. While I do plan to go back and listen to their other stuff, I’m in no hurry because I found Wincing to be such a complete, fulfilling experience. One of those albums that makes you want to kick yourself for just discovering what cool people have been listening to and enjoying for years (a feeling that I will no doubt experience again and again).

The best new band and the best album of 2007. Don’t let anyone else tell you different. In fact, this is one of the best albums of the last five years. I’d put it up there with Funeral, Silent Alarm, Apologies To The Queen Mary by Wolf Parade, Hell Hath No Fury by Clipse and Room On Fire by The Strokes (yes, that was gratuitous name dropping to make myself seem hip).

For some reason, most people can’t get past the lead singers Scottish accent because, as I’ve been told, it’s been ruined for them by characters like Groundskeeper Willie and Shrek. That is the single, dumbest reason I’ve ever heard for not liking an album, especially one as good as this one. I’m not saying that it’s an easy band to get into by any means. There’s tons of feedback on the CD, the titles are super-pretentious and the songs all take about thirty seconds to a minute before they get going; but if you get it, if you really get it, then what you’ll hear is a totally fresh, rewarding musical experience that you’ll be hooked on forever. With every pounding drum beat and every guitar crescendo and every stunning lyric, I was consumed. When I finished listening to it the first time, I just sat in my chair listening to myself breathe for a while. It felt good to be alive.

It’s been so hard to get people to like this band and it’s even harder for me to explain why I won’t give up on that. One day, when these guys are selling out arenas or performing at the Super Bowl halftime show, I will always remember that period in my life when I began listening to them. Even if that never happens (and part of me hopes it doesn’t), I won’t care because this album is mine, all mine and I don’t give a damn if everyone else is missing out.