The 2021 Playlist is in

The first rule of playlist is you don't talk about... Wait, that was a different set of rules. 

Ever since 2012, I have put together a playlist for the year. The premise is simple enough: chuck a bunch of songs into a growing (and evolving in real time) Spotify playlist made up of songs that moved me in some way at some point between January 1 and December 31 of any given year.¹  After a couple of trial runs, the rules for assembling said playlists were largely solidified in probably 2014 when I set out with the goal of listening to one new (or new to me) album a day (or at least averaging an album a day over the course of the year). 

[I mean, if that isn't a New Years resolution you can get behind, then I don't know what to tell you.]

Like any set of rules, there is a healthy mix of permissive and restrictive structures that guide inclusion.

On the permissive side, I don't have to like the whole record, most of a record or really the whole song for that matter for a tune to make the cut. There are always a handful of songs every year where there is an element in an otherwise nondescript song that does something for me. Take Barrie's song "Clovers" from 2019, for example. There's a part of me that will always say that that one is a bit too far out on the poppy end of the spectrum to fit neatly into even my broad musical sensibilities. That said, that bouncy synth line about three-quarters of the way in that runs through the end clouds my judgment of the song in its entirety. I fall for it every time. Usually it is something on the low end of the register (read: bass) that draws me in or some other snaps and farts.

There are also low barriers to entry elsewhere. A song does not have to be new, new to me or released in the year of aggregation to be included in the yearly playlist. Again, the main criterion is that a song -- or element of it -- moves me in some way. It can be an older song. Often one will drift back onto my radar through film or TV. Year after year, television gets better and better at augmenting the final product with (what I'll call popular) music. And hey, sometimes nostalgia just brings a song back up into your memory bank and it serves as a sort of mile marker in the year in question.

Yet, there are some restrictions in place that limit what passes muster. Music from one artist or group can appear in the playlist more than once but only if they are songs from different albums or EPs. Just from a listening (back) perspective, you don't want artists to dominate even the shuffle of a playlist. That can mean some Sophie's choice situations if there are two or more tunes on a record that you're torn over including. [There are work-arounds to this. That's why it can be good to have a summer playlist you can dump good but +1 songs into.]

Generally, in recent years I have also had a one song a day for the year goal as well. But I'm less strict about that. There has to be some quality threshold. I'm not going to include a song just to include it and get to 365 songs as New Years approaches. Covid helps in this one area. The pandemic has had me listening to a LOT more music these last two years.  

[As an aside, if you follow along with the Musical interludes I do in my Instagram stories and on Twitter most days, then these playlists might look like an aggregation of those. But just because a song is a musical interlude, does not mean that it will make the playlist. Most interludes do, but some of those are drawn from past playlists as well. And I try not to add a song to multiple yearly playlists. It happens. Hey, music moves us all in different ways at different times. But it happens rarely.]

The 2021 playlist includes 390 tracks and clocks in at a little more than 25 and a half hours. Enjoy. 

¹ Playlists cannot (or should not in my mind) be listened to before the end of the first quarter of the year in which they are being curated. The reasoning is twofold. First, it allows for the accumulation of enough songs to actually be a real playlist and not just some weirdly small collection of songs. But second, that rule is in place to give tunes added late in the year to the previous year's playlist a chance to sink in a bit more. Otherwise, they can get lost, ahem, in the shuffle. Regardless, having a contemporaneous playlist always -- ALWAYS -- skews my Spotify Wrapped at the end of November each year. These playlists offer a bit of a "Re-wrapped" for me at the end of the first quarter. ...that includes December music/listens!

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Library Baby release "I Guess"

"I Guess" was released on Crying Cat Records on Sept. 17

Library Baby's sound has an air to it. It subtly drifts in and out on a gentle wind and that breeze just kind of washes over you as you listen. 

And so it is again on the group's latest single, "I Guess," another signature spare number placing Sarah Royal's fragile vocals out in front of Justin Lacy's atmospherics. Together, they weave this tapestry of sound that plays with space in the music in a way that many are not patient enough to. It has been argued that music itself is not the notes on the music sheet, but rather, the area in between those notes. Library Baby consistently works well with and in that space in their music. 

It was true in the early spring with the release of "How I Say My Name" as well. That song is driven by this swooning clarinet (or is it bassoon?) sound that makes a bit of a reprise cameo in "I Guess" but accompanied this time in a the song's climax by swirling strings and a kind of gypsy guitar sound that evokes Anton Karas's theme from The Third Man or almost any of the tunes from that Django Reinhardt/Stephane Grappelli collaboration in the late 40s. 

It is a nice touch. And "I Guess" adds to an already promising catalog from the Wilmington duo. 

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REWIND: Autolux -- Future Perfect

Autolux released its debut, Future Perfect, in 2004

It's Greg Edwards' fault. 

The guy who penned the simultaneously mundane and quirky opening line, "Say hello to the rug's topography," to Failure's "The Nurse Who Loved Me" pulled me over to Autolux. In the time after the space rockers -- Failure hate that description -- called it quits in 1997, all I really wanted to soothe my soul was something that approximated or expanded on 1996's Fantastic Planet. [The group's masterpiece remains the criminally underappreciated.]

It is, of course, folly to wish for things that don't really need to be repeated or copied anyway. But in the absence of something like Fantastic Planet, I did what a lot of folks do: I followed the band members on to their next projects. 

Ken Andrews went on to do some solo stuff under the moniker, On (2000), and started Year of the Rabbit (2003). Those were both fun, but they did little to sate my desire for something else. Andrews also donned a producers hat, working on Blinker the Star's 1999 record, August Everywhere. And while I still have a soft spot in my heart for that album, Fantastic Planet (or Fantastic Planet-like) it is not. 

Neither is Autolux.

And that's entirely beside the point. Because in following Edwards to the LA trio and stumbling on their debut, Future Perfect (2004), I found something that not only filled that void but eclipsed it.¹

Let's go track by track. Listen along (Spotify link above).

"Turnstile Blues"

Right out of the gate, Turnstile Blues is nothing remarkable until you consider that that lonesome drum beat up front is being powered by Carla Azar's bionic elbow. Bassist Eugene Goreshter enters with vocals and then at almost a minute in the distortion kicks in and starts to announce what Autolux is about: noise, noise, glorious noise.

"Angry Candy"

Angry Candy revs up to speed with a heavier fuzziness, but it is also a tune where we're first treated to another Autolux signature: the occasional vocal flourish. You can't call it doo wop, but -- and this factors in on later songs -- the band are hardly bashful about throwing in a doo do do (or whatever) not as filler but as part of the tapestry of any given song. [And for those of us who don't really hear lyrics until like the billionth listen, this sort of use of the vocal instrument can be a nice touch if done right. Autolux pull it off well.]

"Subzero Fun"

This is one you can feel from the get go is going to start in low, build the tension and then release it, kicking into overdrive. And it does. That opening line is a killer over that repeated, simple enough strum. ["You're my preferred route...  ...down."] Azar kicks it up a notch leaning on that bass drum. And then, bang, like a machine in some abandoned factory grinding to life, the chorus takes off. And that grind is the key.  

"Sugarless"

Cripes. What can you say about Sugarless? I've loved this one since the very first time I heard it. The formula isn't all that different from Turnstile, although there is a bit more complexity to the introductory part of the song. But then that drop -- oh, that drop -- hits a little more than a minute in. Exquisite. But the song is also the first to feature Azar on vocals (on the first part of the repeated chorus). This is something I can say in retrospect after years of listening, but songs with Azar on vocals are always good. Always. They are sporadic enough that they don't feel like the group are just doing that thing The Beatles did in giving Ringo "his" songs on an album. No, instead, Azar-sung songs are like a seal of approval, a guarantee that something good is coming down the pike. There's just a consistency to them over three records now. And to top it all off, there is that extended whirling dervish of an outro complete with vocal accoutrement (see Angry Candy) to close the song. It's one of those sequences you listen to on the recording and think to yourself, "That would be cool live." It is.

"Blanket"

Some track had to follow Sugarless and Blanket does yeoman's work in trying to keep up the pace of that scorcher. It's those reverby bits on the guitar in the chorus that carry the load. It is one of those things that makes you wonder whether something is wrong with your equipment. Is the speaker blown? What's wrong. Music that gives you that feint can be really rewarding. Well, to some of us anyway. 

"Great Days for the Passenger Element"

Not that the album moves at breakneck speed to this point, but Autolux downshift into first gear on Great Days. It is a change of pace, yes, and fair or not, it works in essence like the segues Failure has peppered its albums with since Fantastic Planet. It is a palate cleanser. But the distorted conclusion does in some ways foreshadow the band's use of darker bass on 2016's Pussy's Dead. [It wasn't all Boots.]

"Robots in the Garden"

Ah, here's that warped machine whirring back into form again. Robots is a buzzsaw that is nearly over before it starts, a quick number that packs all the fuzz, reverb and other distortions that one might crave.

"Here Comes Everybody"

But then the pace drops off again. Part of returning to that crescendoing song structure is that an album in which it is used can feel like a bit of a rollercoaster. Throughout Future Perfect, Autolux use that with aplomb. And hey, this song replaces those doo do dos with sha la las. And yeah, Azar is delivering them. So, check. This one is good too. "Here comes everybody you never cared... ...for... ...sha la la!" That line sends the song off in a fiery jam that feeds into the warbled keys over deep pulses that transition into another Azar turn on vocals in...

"Asleep at the Trigger"

Sure, Asleep at the Trigger slows things down again, but it is a gauzier song that is great in its use of space. It's a patient track with a melancholic overtone that you can fall for every time. And, my god, that ambling ending is like lava slowly working its way down the gentle slope of a volcano that long ago blew its top and has incrementally built its way part of the way back up. 

"Plantlife"

The fade out on Asleep meets the fade in of Plantlife. But what comes in alongside some spacey bleeps and bloops is something with a little bit more urgency. Unmistakably, however, it is that formula again: slow and low, building to something, this time through calls of "we're so dumb" and later exhortations of "shut your mouth". Plantlife never reaches the same peaks as some of the other preceding songs, but it isn't supposed to. It's purpose is to set up the closer, part of a progression over the final three songs.

"Capital Kind of Strain"

Finally, Capital is a slow build, brick by brick over the first more than three and a half minutes. Everything -- vocals, drums, guitar, bass -- is like the rhythm section of a jazz combo: repeating, dutifully keeping time behind some improvisation. But here, it is some spacey synth stuff deftly meandering around all the other component parts keeping time. And then, just as it seems as if the song will fade away and the record come to a close, it all comes rushing back, louder and more insistent with contorted guitars groaning in the background. This is one to listen to through headphones because things drift off almost into oblivion and then pop right back up again. But it is a brief fever dream that loses momentum and fades out.

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So yeah, Future Perfect is pretty great. It is a benchmark by which I measure other records, not just those by Autolux. It isn't my favorite album. I don't play the favorite game because I think I'm probably still in search of it. But Future Perfect is very high up on my list. And it certainly is the bedrock of the sorts of snaps and farts I look for in (and view as good) music.

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¹ Yes, 2001's Demostration EP predates Future Perfect, but I didn't get to that material until after Future Perfect had already gotten its claws into me. 

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If the Descent is only Decent, then Happy Pill's debut rocks by comparison

Decent Descent from Happy Pill came out on August 8

[Come for the dad joke headlines, stay for the scintillating analysis <wink>]

Pandemic time is weird. There is an elasticity to it that makes some things that happened not all that long ago feel like they did. Wilmington, NC band, Happy Pill, is a good example of that. I feel like they popped onto my radar on Instagram near the before times during the beginning stages of the lockdown in 2020. Well, I got the time of year right, but the year wrong. Local music Instagram was aflutter with mentions of the five piece in the spring of 2021, and then it wasn't (at least in my corner of the world). 

As it does, life happens. Umpteen new records came out, other stuff got heaped on my plate, and I lost track. I lost track, that is, until recently when, lo and behold, social media brought mention of Happy Pill back onto my screen.

Hey! What are those guys up to? They put a record out!?! [Immediately adds album to listening queue.]

I'd be kicking myself for missing five weeks of listening to Decent Descent, the group's debut, if I wasn't having such a good time listening to it right now in the present tense. At a time when most albums clock in at anywhere from half an hour to 45 minutes, Happy Pill turn in a true long player with 14 songs running nearly an hour in change. And it is an eclectic blend. 

Off the top, "Stayin' Home" hits like early Sneaks when it was just Eva Moolchan, a bass and a drum machine. That leads into "Describe the Light," which sounds like 70s era singer/songwriter stuff until the keys really come in and bring a loungy feel -- in a good way! -- with it. Then there is a series of tunes -- "Crossed My Mind," "Turn Your Back," and "Believe in Urself" -- that carry a kind of John Mayer vibe. I'm no fan of Mayer. He continues to strike me as a bit smarmy. [Sorry, not sorry.] But you can't deny his musicianship. He's got chops. And that set of songs from Happy Pill is all the solid musicianship without the smarminess. And then there's "Thinkin' Bout Food." It's a hell of an earworm, but I couldn't shake thinking about how "Yesterday" started out with Paul McCartney on a guitar singing "scrambled eggs" as filler until the words we all know came along. This song may or may not see another life, but in the meantime, we're left with a super catchy tune.

But where Happy Pill (unsurprisingly) grabs me is when they veer off in a 90s post-hardcore, tangentially shoegazey direction on songs like "See Thru" and "Anyone Who Loves Me." And look folks, don't get me started on "In This Moment." I'll push the elderly and children aside like George Costanza fleeing a "fire" to be first in line to listen to that one. [Editor's note: No, I wouldn't, but I do really dig that song.] That moment where Julia Rothenberg's delicate vocals are juxtaposed with a surging tidal wave of sound leading into the second verse is just beautiful. It's card that, when it's played well, gets me every time. Here, that card is played well.

Some may look at the ground covered on Decent Descent and say that Happy Pill are kind of all over the place on their first record. Poppycock. This is band that is not that long in the tooth and has seen some turnover in that short tenure. But they show a hell of a lot of potential. Hell, I'm more than happy to sit back and watch (and listen!) as they develop their voice. No rush, y'all, but I'm looking forward to what's next. And we've got more than enough to tide us over until then.

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Low has another winner in HEY WHAT

Low's HEY WHAT was released September 10 on Sub Pop

No one likely needs an introduction to Duluth, Minnesota band, Low. The three piece has been at it a while, churning out spare, what-you-see-is-what-you-get rock for nearly three decades. Yet, my path did not cross theirs — well, their music’s — until 2005’s sunny The Great Destroyer (Sub Pop), a happenstance discovery via probably All Songs Considered or some magazine. [I know. How quaint.] 

Subsequent music from the trio drifted in and out of my life until 2018 when Low released Double Negative (Sub Pop). At the time, the record was hailed as, if not a departure from, then an evolution to the formula the band had tended to use to that point in their career. Fine, that was enough to get me to give it a whirl. 

First impression? Not good. And folks, I’m just about as tolerant a music listener as you will find. I can feel guilty for not liking some records that I feel like I should like based on some history with the band or whatever. But Double Negative did not do it for me. 

However, that said more about me than it did about the album. Because I wasn’t done with Double Negative and its warped and crumpled contours. I trekked out to the beach one weekend, pressed play and started walking. As the landscape became more desolate, Mimi Parker’s and Alan Sparhawk’s warbled harmonies fronting crackling distortions began to make much more sense to me. It all clicked. And there’s a lesson in there. There’s this commingling of time and place and mood with music when they cross paths and dance, however fleetingly, that never ceases to surprise and is almost always among the most beautiful of things. 

So, when HEY WHAT (Sub Pop) was released recently, I was better prepared. I was in a better headspace before I tackled it. And it is a fantastic extension of the tracks Low laid down on Double Negative. Those vocal harmonies may not be the prettiest out there, but there is this quality about them — and this is nothing new — that makes them feel like home. Over (or hell, behind) the hairpin bends and breaks of the lurching guitars, those vocals on songs like “More” or “Disappearing” or “Hey,” for example, are like a call from somewhere distant. Not a distress call from space necessarily, but a reassuring message (albeit with some urgency) from somewhere out there, whether in the cosmos or your own head. What better soundtrack for these times.

And if that is the sort of diversion you need, then HEY WHAT is worth a spin.

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