Best of 2000, 20 years later

My friend Aaron Brophy likes to revisit his year-end lists from at least a decade back, and alternately either boast about his amazing, timeless taste, or wonder what the heck he was thinking.

20 years ago I was hired by Philip Bast at the Kitchener-Waterloo Record to write a weekly CD review column. I did that until 2019, reviewing three to six albums a week.

In 2000, I was living in Guelph, working at Exclaim, writing for Eye Weekly, and working on a book called Have Not Been the Same. 

In 2020, I'm writing a book about events 20 years ago, so I've been living in a bit of a time warp.

Here’s the 10 albums I submitted to Eye Weekly’s year-end poll in 2000. Commentary is new.


1. Sarah Harmer – You Were Here (Cold Snap)
A classic record, to this day. I knew that the day I heard it, after buying a copy from her after a show at Ted’s Wrecking Yard on College Street, a copy that was a CD-R with a hand-drawn cover. I was a huge Weeping Tile fan and was thrilled that Harmer finally got her due. Is it the best album of 2000? It’s one of my favourite albums of all time, so there’s that. Will have a lot more to say about this in the book.


2. The Weakerthans – Left and Leaving (G7). O hell yes. I first saw this band a couple of months before this album came out, at Exclaim’s anniversary party, and these songs blew me away. So did songs from 1997’s Fallow, which everyone in the room but me seemed to know by heart. I bought a copy from Soundscapes before my own band played a show at… Ted’s Wrecking Yard. The year 2000 was very much about Ted’s Wrecking Yard for me. I wrote an essay about this album’s anniversary here.


3. Yo La Tengo – And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside Out (Matador). I listened to this album more in 2020 than I had since the year it came out. That had nothing to do with its anniversary, and everything to do with therapeutic listening during enforced isolation. 

4. Bettie Serveert – Private Suit (Parasol). I have a lot to say about this, one of the most underrated rock records of the last 30 years, and one I revisit annually. I’m pretty sure I’m the only person in the world who feels that way. Wrote about this here.


5. Sleater-Kinney – All Hands on the Bad One (Kill Rock Stars). This isn’t even among my top three favourite S-K records now, but it sure sounded great in 2000—in part because so much other rock music was terrible. “You’re No Rock’n’Roll Fun” still gives me chills. I have never seen this video!

6. PJ Harvey – Stories From the City, Stories From The Sea (Island). I had some kind of hipster hang-up at the time about whether this was the best PJ Harvey record to date or whether it was just the PJ Harvey record you were most likely to put on when other people come over for dinner. Does it matter? Still sounds amazing, top to bottom.


7. Neko Case – Furnace Room Lullaby; Carolyn Mark – Party Girl; The Corn Sisters – The Other Women (Mint). It’s amazing to me that these three albums came out the same year as New Pornographers’ Mass Romantic. I still know every lyric to each of these songs. In the political climate of 2020, I re-latched on to Neko’s “Mood to Burn Bridges.” Feeling disconnected, I found solace in “someone singing my life back to me” in “Guided by Wire.” For 20 years leading up to my midlife crisis, I’ve had a Corn Sisters lyric by Mark in my head: “Is it a groove? Or is it a rut?” In April, I watched an online hootenanny hosted in isolation by the incredibly social Carolyn Mark, during which she played Party Girl’s “Don’t Come Over, Baby.” It was perfect.


8. Crooked Fingers – s/t (Sonic Unyon). Much like Sleater-Kinney, this is nowhere near my favourite album by one of my favourite artists of all time. But again, like Yo La Tengo, this one sounded particularly good in 2020: “Crowned in Chrome,” “New Drink for the Old Drunk,” “Broken Man,” “Black Black Ocean,” “Under Sad Stars”—because it was just that kind of year.

9. Jess Klein – Draw Them Near (Slow River/Ryko). This is the one album on this list where I thought: really? I remember liking it, but I don’t remember loving it and I definitely haven’t listened to it in 20 years. But guess what? It’s pretty great. Really solid songs, great voice, great band. In the same vein as Harmer, but American. 2000 might have been the last year I listened to a lot of roots rock, which is why Klein would have fallen off my radar. She’s still active, and new stuff sounds pretty good.


10. The Gruesomes – Cave In (Tyrant). This might have been the first of my favourite bands from my high school years to reunite and not suck, and so the surprise element no doubt vaulted this onto my top 10. Listening to it now for likely the first time in 20 years, it is a great record, and probably even the Gruesomes’ best. The songs and performances are all killer (and there’s finally a studio version of “You Were Not Using Your Head”). I just don’t listen to garage rock anymore; I barely did in 2000, either. But if you do, and/or if you were ever a Gruesomes fan and have somehow never heard this, I highly recommend it.



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Other favourites I wrote about in my year-end column for the K-W Record:


Asian Dub Foundation – Community Music (London/Polygram). I’d totally forgot this band until two years ago when I wrote a book about the Tragically Hip—which is a weird connection, but I read an article where drummer Johnny Fay talks about rocking this record on the tour bus. It also came to mind when I dug the Melt Yourself Down record this year. In many ways this record sounds either of the moment or incredibly dated, depending on your POV. I still think it sounds great. I had no idea they were still active; they put out a new record this year, and haven’t changed a bit. If Rage Against the Machine can have a revival, this band sure as hell can—and should. It’s not like what they were singing about has improved one iota. 

 

 

Bjork – Selmasongs (Warner). I was in a deep Bjork period of my life. Does this oft-forgotten soundtrack to Dancer in the Dark hold up? Probably much better than the movie, I’m guessing. After hearing about the antagonistic working relationship she had with notorious sadist Lars Von Trier, I reconsidered all portrayals of extreme suffering on film (not the first or last time in my life Bjork changed my worldview). The production is a delightful blend of the digital clicks and cuts she’d soon dive into and the orchestration heard on much of Post. I often forget that in the same year Kid A came out, Thom Yorke duetted with both PJ Harvey and Bjork on their albums, both of which are better than Kid A.

Blue Rodeo – The Days in Between (Warner). I loved this band for about 10 years of my life (1987-97), but have followed only from a respectful distance since. This album was probably the last one I enjoyed—or listened to more than thrice—and revisiting now I can see why. Was this the last time Keelor and Cuddy brought their best work to the band instead of their solo records? Trina Shoemaker’s production brings just the right amount of atmospherics. It sounds great today. Still: best of 2020? This was a nostalgia vote for me.


Deltron 3030 – s/t (75 Ark). The sound of the future? Nope, but definitely the sound of 2000, when Dan the Automator seemed to be everywhere (Gorillaz, Primal Scream, Handsome Boy Modeling School). Del the Funky Homosapien has great flow as always, though I don’t know about this as a concept album: the main appeal for me, then and now, is the music. (And yet: I’ve never listened to the accompanying instrumental album.) Kid Koala features prominently. His own Carpal Tunnel Syndrome is not on this list; it baffled me at the time. Now it’s clear he was charting his own path. I don’t think I’ve listened to a new Dan the Automator record since 2001, though I had a soft spot for his 2006 Mike Patton collab Peeping Tom (which I haven’t listened to since).


DJ Serious – Dim Sum (Sound King). This was a Toronto DJ whose debut featured MCs Brass Munk, D-Sisive, Arcee, Asicks and Lil Jaz. This being Canada, with a woeful hip-hop infrastructure, it came out on the same label that put out rock bands Danko Jones and Bionic and promptly got lost. Musically, it’s on the same wavelength as California’s Quannum crew, a mix of ’80s electro funk and early ’90s jazz-influenced tracks. It was definitely out of step with the Choclair and Kardinal crowd, and is now out of print and unavailable to stream except on this YouTube rip. I’m sure I haven’t listened to this in 20 years; it totally holds up. DJ Serious released a follow-up, Cold Tea, in 2005; I’ve never heard it. His studio output has been silent since.


Steve Earle – Transcendental Blues (Artemis). I don’t think Steve Earle gets enough credit for his five-album run between 1995-2000: Train a Comin’, I Feel Alright, El Corazon, The Mountain and finally this one. It’s flawless. Dozens of killer songs in that run. Where’s the box set? It should be mentioned in the same breath as the Beatles, Led Zeppelin, Stevie Wonder, Prince, you name it. He’s released at least nine albums of original material since, but I’ve only paid sporadic attention—maybe because it’s hard to measure up to this, which still sounds fabulous, especially loud. “All of My Life”—what a goddam anthem. “Another Town” is the greatest song the Pogues never wrote (see also: “The Galway Girl”). There’s too many more here to list. I’m not sure Earle’s production skills have ever sounded better. No idea why this wasn’t in my top 10.


International Noise Conspiracy – Survival Sickness (Epitaph). I put “Smash It Up” on so many mix CDs for years, but did I ever like this whole record? None of these other songs sound remotely familiar—although the title track certainly hits home these days. Garage rock was not my thing; I was posing, craving a political rock band so much that I imagined this was this one for me. It wasn’t. Little did I know at the time that this band’s predecessor, Refused, would prove to be so influential on a lot of the aughts’ aggressive music. 

Jurassic 5 – Quality Control (Interscope). I saw this band open for Femi Kuti’s North American debut at the Roxy in New York City in 1999: one of the most unforgettable nights of music in my life. This band was maligned at the time, considered some kind of retro hip-hop Sha Na Na or some bullshit, at the time of Timbaland and Jay-Z, but I loved it. Still do: I’m a sucker for genuine interplay between MCs, which is all but unheard of in this day of one-off collabs. (Quick: try to name one modern rap act with more than two MCs and not named Migos.) Related: Cut Chemist put out a good record a couple of years ago that I only just discovered.


King Cobb Steelie – Mayday (Ryko). One of my favourite bands of the ’90s, for both musical and personal reasons. This was a final bid for glory on Rykodisc, with pop songs and guest vocalists (Michelle McAdorey, Tamara Williamson), before they resurfaced four years later with an indie instrumental album before fading away. Produced by Laika’s Guy Fixsen, Mayday sounds amazing—though definitely dated. There’s something textbook turn-of-the-millenium in the drum machine sounds here, as heard on the title track; it’s a post-triphop groove that was ubiquitous for a while with the KCRW crowd and then vanished. There’s an entirely unnecessary scratch solo (by DJ Serious! see above) on “Below the Stars”—remember when rock bands felt they needed turntable solos to be somehow relevant? “Home” is still a great single, with a synth bass squiggle that now reminds me of Charanjit Singh’s Ten Ragas to a Disco Beat. Weirder moments like “Fast Money Blessing” have aged very well. This is an album ripe for rediscovery—or at least half of it. This band’s discography would be served well by a collection of greatest non-hits. And there have been rumours of a reunion.


Paul Macleod – Close and Play (independent). This one hurts. Paul Macleod was one of the most brilliant performers and songwriters I’ve ever known; he was a staple in the Kitchener-Waterloo and Guelph area, where he was never short a weekly gig. He performed often with Danny Michel, collaborated with the Rheostatics, and joined the Skydiggers as a sideman (at a time when he was writing better songs than they were). He always seemed poised for great things, which never materialized—a common story for hometown heroes everywhere, but I truly believe Macleod was exceptional. This was his first of only three proper studio records that I’m aware of (2007’s Bright Eyes Fade came out on Busted Flat; I’ve never heard 2014’s Gauge). He made it with Hawksley Workman, and it’s full of the same energy Workman brought to his own material as well as early records by John Southworth, Serena Ryder and Tegan and Sara. The songs are perfect Beatle-y pop. Macleod was an amazing singer. But no one heard this record unless you bought it from Macleod at a show. That’s not as big a tragedy as the fact that the Macleod I knew is no longer with us. I only knew him as an acquaintance and have very fond memories; I didn’t know his demons, which eventually took hold of him, hurt someone else, and landed him in court shortly before he died by suicide in 2016. It’s an awful story. I wish I could listen to his music now without thinking about it. I can’t. Hopefully someone can.

Listen to “Cruelty.” I mean, holy shit, what a song. 

 

Or “Giants.” 




New Pornographers – Mass Romantic (Mint). Kind of shocked this didn’t make my top 10, though it was released in November so maybe hadn’t fully sunk in. I was definitely in love with “Letter From an Occupant,” because who wasn’t? I wrote about this anniversary here.

Outkast – Stankonia (BMG). 2000 might have been the last year I felt remotely connected to mainstream hip-hop. I do love Outkast because they’re genre-busters, game-changers and genuinely odd. I also can’t love Outkast because I’m too much of a white Toronto prude. But this album is bloated: way too long, populated by skits, and dragged down by tracks like “We Luv Deez Hoez.” And as much as “B.O.B.” still slams (musically), the chorus is downright gross: “bombs over Baghdad” is not a great metaphor in any context, least of all as a pre-9/11 sentiment for not finishing a fight or not following through on a challenge.

Radiohead – Kid A (EMI). I don’t know that I ever loved this album—but not for the reasons people hated it. I like it just fine. If anything, it wasn’t weird enough. The fact that it was remotely divisive speaks to the intense conservatism of the time. (I’m debating whether I even care enough to read Steven Hyden’s new book about it.) I probably put it on my list so that I wouldn’t seem out of touch. Total posturing on my part.

The Salteens – Short Term Memories (Endearing). This was when I still had great affection for peppy indie pop populated by handclaps, trumpets and bop-ba-da’s. Come to think of it, I was in a band not unlike this one at the time. This Vancouver band had really catchy songs, heavily influenced by Sloan, and a really strong rhythm section. This is a really good record, better than most of its peers other than the New Pornographers. Not one I’d listen to today, though given the chance I’d probably join a band like this in a heartbeat.


Amon Tobin – Supermodified (Ninja Tune). Pretty sure I was a complete poser when I put this on my year-end list. Some of it is great and totally holds up—sexy, even; some of it sounds like a dial-up connection.


Travis – The Man Who (Sony). Woof. Really? I’m glad working for Brave New Waves saved me from becoming a guy who likes Travis.



Records that should be on this list that I got into shortly afterwards:

Belle and Sebastian – Fold Your Hands…

Destroyer – Thief

Be Good Tanyas – Blue Horse

Gonzales – Uber Alles

White Stripes – De Stijl


And Royal City’s At Rush Hour the Cars, made by some good friends of mine, and which I might have left off the list for nepotistic reasons.

Albums I should have appreciated more at the time, relevant to current research:

Dears – End of a Hollywood Bedtime Story

Godspeed You Black Emperor – Lift Your Skinny Fists...

Peaches – The Teaches Of 

 
Album all my friends loved and I still don’t get: 

Blonde Redhead – Melody of Certain Damaged Lemons.

2020 Top 40 pt 2: 10 more of the lower 20

10 more records from the lower 20 of my Top 40 of 2020, in alphabetical order. 

 

79rs Gang – Expect the Unexpected (independent). I can't claim to know a lot about New Orleans tradition of Mardi Gras Indians other than a well-loved copy of The Wild Tchoupitoulas in my collection. This is a band comprised of two former rival chiefs, who unite to make a thoroughly modern record steeped in deep tradition. Yes, there's yet another version of "Iko Iko" (this one called "Iko Kreyòl," with Haitian band Lakou Mizik), and a spoken word track that condenses New Orleans history into 90 second. But the rest is a welcome reset, with some help from members of Arcade Fire and LCD Soundsystem, if you need that to nudge you a bit closer. 

 

 

Allie X – Cape God (AWAL). This is a really smart, well-arranged pop record, in the realm of a more operatic Maggie Rogers. It pushes all the buttons for me that Carly Rae Jepsen should but never does. Allie X is a pop star without a radio audience of her own; she writes for BTS, Katy Perry’s a fan, and she’s been slogging it out for a while, to the point where she has more than a million streams (which is more than some Canadian acts who fill arenas). But this album is where Allie X’s classical training and craftsmanship really come to the fore. Ideally, she’d be a household name by now; in the days of Kate Bush, maybe she would have been.

Julianna Barwick – Healing is a Miracle (Ninja Tune). Yes, yes it is. And I listened to this album and others like it (collaborator Mary Lattimore's Silver Ladders) this year as a meditative balm. Even if there are times when I feel like Barwick is the new Enya, and after reading about the latter in Chilly Gonzales's treatise and Jenn Pelly's Pitchfork appreciation, I might be okay with that. 

Bloto – Kwiatostan (Astigmatic). Polish jazz from the end of the world. The drummer seems to be channelling drum'n'bass at times. The bassist plays Moog bass as often as he does electric. The keys are largely atmospheric and at times industrial, with the occasional vibraphone flourish or dark piano riff. The saxophonist plays tenor, alto, soprano and even that ridiculous Akai "electronic wind instrument." I know nothing else about this band other than that they sound like the Comet is Coming's creepier younger brothers. And it's awesome. 

Budos Band – Long in the Tooth (Daptone). Hey, remember the '70s, when there was massive political unrest, people getting shot in the street, cities were decaying, there was mass unemployment, there was a drug epidemic and institutions were breaking down? And yet people made powerful music that managed to encapsulate all that in ways both beautiful and bleak? Thank god we have the Budos Band around today. This might be their first album where no one will compare it to a '70s NYC dystopian movie soundtrack, because we're living the movie right now. At least this is a part of the soundtrack. 

 

 

Caribou – Suddenly (Merge). I wrote this in June: Dan Snaith continues to not only improve, but to remain unique in his field. I’m hard pressed to think of another electronic artist with this breadth of material in one album, from beat-less ballads to R&B pop songs to psychedelic jazz loops to early '90s house. Less rigid than his last record, this is Snaith’s most soulful and encompassing records of his long career. Suddenly is like his own greatest hits collection. 

Jennifer Castle – Monarch Season (Idée Fixe / Paradise of Bachelors). This Toronto songwriter split for Port Stanley several years ago, and so instead of the usual all-stars surrounding her, this is a true solo record. And it's perfect: guitar, piano, harmonica, and that spine-tingling voice, all sounding like they were recorded in a rural town on the coast of Lake Erie (which they were). Remembering friends in "NYC," singing about how "butterfly days are here" in the title track, writing a paean to the moon on "I'll Never Walk Alone"—these are songs for meditative moments when life slows down to a crawl. Had any of those lately? She can even lift a phrase from a well-known Motown song—Jimmy Ruffin's "What Becomes of the Broken-Hearted?"—and make it entirely her own. 

 

 

Brandy Clark – Your Life is a Record (Warner). Game respects game, which is why it's not remotely surprising that this Nashville songwriter got Randy Newman to drop by for a song called "We're Gonna Need a Bigger Boat." It's not even close to the best song here. Like him, she is a master of character portraits, rich with acerbic details and kiss-off one-liners. She sounds cynical at times, but that's the "hopeless" part of "hopeless romantic." This is ostensibly a country record, but any fan of great songwriting should get on board.

 

Alabaster DePlume – To Cy & Lee: Instrumentals Vol. 1 (International Anthem). “People have said this to me: ‘I put your music on, and it was perfect, but then you started shouting something about a pig. Can’t it just be the nice bits?'" Alabaster DePlume explained to The Quietus about why he put out an instrumental record lifted largely from his previous four albums. I knew nothing about this oddball beforehand, so I can't really comment on his pig poetry, or how this album relates to his work in music therapy, but I do know that this is a beautiful, soothing record focused mainly around a saxophone played with maximum vibrato, which suits the eastern melodies. This isn't jazz or experimental or specific to one specific cultural reference (though there are certainly nods to Ethiopian jazz); it simply sounds like open-minded, delicate players aiming for beauty. This was essential pandemic listening for me early on. 

 

 

Sarah Harmer – Are You Gone (Arts and Crafts). I wrote this back in June: The master is back. It’s been 10 years since we last heard from her, and she’ll tell you this is her best record yet. Strong words: it’s hard to top the untouchable You Were Here or I’m a Mountain. But this comeback is full of timeless gems, not the least of which is “St. Peter’s Bay.” And dammit, “New Low” is exactly the political pop song we needed in 2020; I only wish she turned up the guitars on that one in order to match the lyrical bite. Would love to hear Billy Talent take a stab at that. Can imagine Stars doing a lovely cover of "Wildlife." But can't imagine anyone but Harmer improving on the sublime "Just Get Here" or "Little Frogs" or "Take Me Out" or, or, or... ah, dammit, it's so great to hear her voice again. Her comeback might have been ill-timed from a business standpoint, but fans really needed to hear from this old friend during times like this.

  

 

Next: the top 20

My personal Polaris longlist 2020 part 2

Day Two!

Recap: I cast my ballot for the Polaris Prize this week. Jurors only get five slots. Almost 200 albums were suggested by fellow jury members. A long list of 40 will be published next week. As always, there’s no shortage of excellent Canadian music. But this year there’s no one album—or even three—that I feel so obviously tower above the rest. Which makes the winnowing even more difficult.

I’m not going to tell you what’s on my ballot, but these are the 40 records I considered. Most of these have been discussed by the Polaris jury at some point, but this is a very personal list that no one should read into deeply. Many of these will likely not make the long list, and many not mentioned here most definitely will.

Final caveat: I’m a 48yo anglo white dad who lives in Toronto with all the obvious blind spots that entails, so take all this with as many grains of salt you feel are required.

Part 2/4:

The Dears – Lovers Rock: This band has been making anxiety-ridden apocalyptic prog-rock for 20 years now, so the fact they’re releasing their best record in years right now is sheer coincidence. Older, wiser, and with their grand ambitions tempered with humility and grace, the Dears easily conjure the fireworks of their finest hours—“The Worst in Us” is vintage Dears, and would be a highlight on any earlier record—while balancing the bombast with breezier fare like “Play Dead” and “Is This What You Really Want,” both of which wouldn’t have been out of place on singer Murray Lightburn’s excellent 2019 solo album. Bandcamp link here.

Frazey Ford – U Kin B the Sun: Words will always fail to describe Frazey Ford’s voice, probably because she fails to enunciate most of her words in the first place. Such is the magic and mystery that this soulful singer brings to everything she does, whether it was the folk revivalism of the Be Good Tanyas 20 years ago or the soul music she immerses herself in here. This is not exactly retro R&B, but it is a solid live band with a Hammond organ (or imitation) hovering over the bass-heavy grooves and gospel-tinged backing vocals. She’s a devoted D’Angelo fan, and her last record used the same band Cat Power did on The Greatest; Ford brings her own hippie B.C. vibe to the genre. She’s not in this game to win; she can take or leave the music business, as she’s proved over the years while moving at her own pace. The music she makes is for healing, for uplift, for the spirit. Which is all well and good and inspiring, but the songs she brings to the table this time, and the players she gathered to perform it, that elevate this far beyond mere good intentions. It’s the balm. Bandcamp link here.

Fountain – Laughing Through Traffic: Holy shit, this came out of nowhere (look ’em up, and you’ll find next to no press at all, so shout out to CJLO’s Francella Fiallos for tipping the jury to this). This is a Beefheartian Montreal band with incredible chemistry despite sounding like they’re being pulled in at least three different directions at once. There are elements here of everyone from Television to Old Time Relijun to recent Polaris faves Fet.Nat, with a singer possessed of the necessary sardonicism to sell the sizzle (“On an art deco gecko all I drink is prosecco / that’s not healthy!”). One of many contenders this year that I wish I could see live, though this recording has raw energy to burn. Bandcamp link here.

Dana Gavanski – Yesterday is Gone: No wonder this odd little record is so fascinating: it was born in Vancouver, Montreal, the Laurentians, Banff, Toronto, and Serbia. Gavanski packs a lot of work, discipline and experience into her debut album, which fits into a lineage that spans Nico to Aldous Harding (and FWIW I’m not a fan of the latter). It’s unassuming at first, with subtle arrangements and Gavanski’s deadpan voice somewhat off-putting. But the intimacy and delicacy of the instrumentation ultimately draw you in; every tiny production decision here is very particular and deliberate, creating a world you want to inhabit on a lazy afternoon. Fans of Jennifer Castle should be paying attention. Bandcamp link here.

Golden Seals – Something Isn’t Happening: Dave Merritt lives outside Ottawa and puts out new music of an old-fashioned vein about every six years or so, which means this record had zero push behind it other than Merritt’s always entertaining online presence. He’s the kind of 50-year-old guy with Beatles deep in his blood and a whole lotta Nick Lowe and Aimee Mann on his shelf, and has likely had a Mojo subscription for the last 20 years. All that pop scholarship pays off here, which not only has Sexsmithian melodies and jazz chords, but the production here is much more vivid than one would ever expect from a home recording—even the track he recorded as a phone memo sparkles. (Local Ontario heroes Andy Magoffin and Philip Shaw Bova shared mixing duties; both do great work, as always.) There’s tightly wound nuggets of pop perfection on tracks like “Independence Day,” “Idiot Kid” and “The Opposite End of the Country,” but he gets pleasantly unspooled on the closer “The Takeaway.” This is old fart music par excellence. Don’t hold that against him. Bandcamp link here. Zunior link here.

Jacques Greene – Dawn Chorus: I’ll admit that full-length techno records are not my bag, but Greene’s 2017 release Feel Infinite was intriguing, as was his work on Cadence Weapon’s excellent 2018 self-titled album. That rapper turns up to return a favour here, joining electronic artist Julianna Barwick, film composer Brian Reitzell, hip-hop producer Clams Casino, and underrated Toronto singer Rochelle Jordan. The result is a late-night cinematic journey with character and depth, recalling early 90s rave (yes, Moby) records in the best possible ways. Does that musical era sound retro now? I have no idea. But this record sounds great today, illuminating empty urban landscapes with memories of what once was. Bandcamp link here.

Sarah Harmer – Are You Gone: The master is back. It’s been 10 years since we last heard from her, and she’ll tell you this is her best record yet. Strong words: it’s hard to top the untouchable You Were Here or I’m a Mountain. But this comeback is full of timeless gems, not the least of which is “Just Get Here” and “St. Peter’s Bay.” And dammit, “New Low” is exactly the political pop song we needed in 2020; I only wish she turned up the guitars on that one in order to match the lyrical bite. Ah well, maybe Billy Talent will cover it. Bandcamp link here.

Kevin Hearn – Calm and Cents: He’s one of this country’s MVPs (Barenaked Ladies, Lou Reed, Gord Downie, Rheostatics) but Hearn’s solo records are criminally underappreciated (see: 2014’s Days in Frames). This one is largely instrumental and absolutely lovely. Featuring longtime bassist Chris Gartner, drummer Gavin Brown and violinist Hugh Marsh, this is a meditative and melodic record about environmental decay, in which Hearn’s delicate piano is balanced with ambient electronics, Vocoders, and very subtle reggae influences underneath the sci-fi surface.

Ice Cream – Fed Up: This record sounds like 1999. The year of Peaches and Le Tigre. The sound of Prince’s classic album 1999. But in 2020, Ice Cream are two Toronto women who deliver dual-lead electric guitar over electro beats and catchy pop songs (“Peanut Butter,” “Banana Split”). There’s plenty of darker material here, as well (the title track, “Dove’s Cry”). These women are killer singers and players—which is why they’ve been drawn into the U.S. Girls universe (Carlyn Bezic was playing in the current lineup; both she and fellow Ice Creamer Amanda Crist play with Meg Remy in the band Darlene Shrugg.) If Fifth Column were around today, they’d sound a lot like Ice Cream. Bandcamp link here.

Junia T – Studio Monk: This is a winner on so many levels. For starters, Junia T steps to the forefront after being Jessie Reyez’s tour DJ for the last few years to craft this masterful collection of grooves built from the bottom up with live musicians and engineer Slakah the Beatchild. It took him two years, a time during which the MC decided to put down the mic to focus on the music, and invite an array of mostly Toronto talent to shine in his stead. So not only is this a solid, jazzy hip-hop and R&B record with a rich vintage sound (and by vintage I mean not only 70s soul, but there’s a particular late 90s vibe here), it also functions as a mixtape with all-stars like Reyez, Sean Leon, and River Tiber, but relatively unknown singers Storry and Faiza, as well as highly underrated Toronto vet Adam Bomb. Sometimes this much talent on one record means a lot of compromise and mush, but every single artist here brings their A-game. (Well, maybe not Nate Husser.) If at least one hip-hop record makes the shortlist this year, this is going to be it. 

Daniel Lanois's Harvest Picnic

Daniel Lanois’s Harvest Picnic

August 27

Christie Lake, Dundas, Ontario

Just as I wasn’t expecting Emmylou Harris’s set to comprise almost entirely of her 1995 classic Wrecking Ball—which was produced by Daniel Lanois, who invited her to play the inaugural incarnation of what he hopes will be an annual festival just outside his hometown of Hamilton—I’m positive Harris didn’t think that material would have such resonance on a day of national mourning and a state funeral.

“I can’t remember if we said goodbye.”

“See what you lost when you left this world, this sweet old world.”

“Where will I be when that trumpet sounds?”

“It don’t matter where they bury me. I’ll be home and I’ll be free.”

She even apologized at one point—how unnecessarily Canadian of her!—before introducing her elegy for the late Kate McGarrigle: “I’m sorry so many of my songs are about death.”

Morbid historical context aside, it was an absolute joy to hear Harris play this material, segueing seamlessly out of Lanois’s own solo set and featuring him and his band (though arguably the biggest name on the bill, Lanois slotted himself third down the bill). She’s done plenty of fine work since Wrecking Ball emancipated her from the confines of country music, but listening to it with fresh ears was a reminder that nothing else in her discography has touched that towering achievement. Its success owes as much to the choice of material (Lucinda Williams, Gillian Welch, Steve Earle, Neil Young, Jimi Hendrix, Anna McGarrigle) as it does to Harris and Lanois.

The set capped a perfect day that bode well for the future of this festival. The weather was perfect; Christie Lake is an easily accessible, lush and large space for a family-friendly concert; the emphasis on local organic food was a big plus; and the beer and bathroom lines were perfectly manageable.

One of my only quibbles is that set times were not posted; my family arrived at 4.30 p.m. to find Sarah Harmer more than halfway through her set. Which is a shame; after over a year of performing her album Oh Little Fire, her band easily locks into a groove and breathes more life into the material than can be heard on the album.

Harmer was followed by her old friend Gord Downie, with his Country of Miracles band. I’ve seen Downie twice before in the last 12 months; once was a rousing performance at the Hillside Festival, the other a sublime set at the Queen Elizabeth Theatre, which found him creating evocative water paintings on stage with an overhead projector. Here, he was a bit off his game, seeming like he was jumping on stage right after a summer vacation; he wasn’t his usual compelling self—at times uncharacteristically at a loss for words between songs—and Tragically Hip drummer Johnny Fay was filling in for an absent Dave Clark. It was the more laid-back material (“Trick Rider,” “Chancellor,” “Yellow Days”) that resonated the most in this relaxed atmosphere; no one there was particularly ready to rock, with lawn chairs taking up almost all the space in front of the stage.

Lanois appeared with a new rhythm section unconnected to his current Black Dub project; they covered that band’s “Ring the Alarm,” but otherwise dipped deep into Lanois’s discography, the only “hits” being “The Messenger” and “The Maker.” The trio was in full-on psychedelic blues jam mode—though displaying considerably more subtlety than that descriptor would suggest—with Lanois’s guitar sounding a lot like that of Neil Young’s on the album they made together (2010’s Le Noise). The only misstep was the Brazilian carnival dancers brought onstage to writhe in the least sensuous manner imaginable. There was nothing alluring nor even interesting about the presentation; it was simply tacky.

After Harris’s set, Ray LaMontagne shuffled on stage to close the evening. Never having heard a note of his music before this show, his popularity is a complete mystery to me. There’s dull music that I find easy to ignore, and then there’s dull music that I find offensive; LaMontagne’s limp folk rock is certainly the latter, sounding like little more than third-rate Neil Young leftovers sung in an aching, earnest voice for aging Pearl Jam fans. Harsh? Hey, some of my best friends are rapturous fans of his. But the best thing I can say about his buzzkill set is that it allowed us to skip out early and beat the parking lot rush. Which I’m going to consider an unconscious gift on the part of the organizers, just another small detail they got right in planning what will hopefully be a new Southern Ontario summer tradition.

Lord knows that Lanois has an address book full of people he could haul to his neck of the woods for a good party.

Have Not Been the Same: Weeping Tile

Later this week, Have Not Been the Same, the 10th anniversary revision/reissue, should be on bookstore shelves across the country. The launch party is Friday, June 10 at Lee’s Palace in Toronto, featuring Weeping Tile, King Cobb Steelie and Kevin Kane of the Grapes of Wrath (tickets available from Soundscapes, Rotate This and Ticketmaster).

Between now and the date of the launch party, Radio Free Canuckistan will provide a series of insights into the origin of the book, what went into the reissue, and everything you never knew you wanted to know about the project.

(photo of Weeping Tile at Wolfe Island Festival 2007 by Frank Yang, Chromewaves)

They say that rock’n’roll is the fountain of youth. Of course it is: at the ripe old age of 39 I wouldn’t still have good friends under the age of 25 unless we both somehow bonded over music.

One such friend, however—though she’s been a fantastic supporter and promoter of live music in Toronto and Montreal for the past five years—gave me blank stares when I told her who was playing my book launch.While dispiriting, that underscores part of the reason why I wanted to have this book in print again. It also proved to me that perhaps some introductions are in order.

Unlike the launch of the first edition in 2001, (which I’ll reminisce about in a later post), we wanted to keep our bill to three bands, ideally reunions of bands from the book to make the night more of an event. Each of the three co-authors got to pick an artist; several had to decline for various reasons, some never got back to us, and some we didn’t get a chance to ask (no hard feelings?) before we landed on the current line-up, which we’re incredibly proud to present.

Today, we’ll look at our headliner (note: they’re playing the middle slot, however, so don’t be late!).

Everyone knows and loves Sarah Harmer for her work in the past 12 years as an award-winning singer/songwriter, composer of intergenerational Canadian classics tailor-made for cottage campfires and homesick expatriates, team player and best bud to people like the Weakerthans, Holy Fuck, Feist, Neko Case, and hundreds more. After her 2005 acoustic album I’m A Mountain, she retreated for several years to focus on environmental lobbying, returning in 2010 with the album Oh Little Fire.

What people might not know or remember is that Harmer first emerged playing electric guitar and fronting Weeping Tile, a rock band that was part Breeders, part Neil Young, and 100% awesome, a band who could convincingly cover both the Replacements and the Beastie Boys (“Sabotage,” anyway). They released two albums on Warner, as well as 1994 EP featuring an early version of her 2000 smash solo hit “Basement Apt.” The band split up amicably in 1998; Harmer went solo and the rest of the band formed Luther Wright and the Wrongs. Since then there have been occasional reunions in Kingston (usually a Christmas benefit show for the Salvation Army), but only one Toronto appearance—which was over 10 years ago. The upcoming book launch show features the 1995 line-up of the band, with sister Mary Harmer on bass alongside Wright and drummer Cam Giroux.

When Harmer’s solo career took off in 2000, I was a bit incredulous. Not because the album You Were Here wasn’t amazing: every track on it was a classic, and the word of mouth was so strong thousands of fans knew every word of those songs when she played on the mainstage of the Hillside festival before it got re-released by a major label.

No, I was shocked because how could all of these people not see before what a huge talent Harmer was from day one? It’s all right there on the first EP (actually a self-released cassette that Warner re-released); every song on there perfectly captures twentysomething angst living in a small, picturesque university town somewhere along the 401. Her voice is a stunning gift, like that of her friends Feist or Neko Case; though none of those three women sound alike, they’re all capable of captivating you with their first note. Listen to the original “Basement Apt.” vocal, the way her voice crackles on the line “below street level / barely alive”—you know she feels that hurt, that ache. As Harmer matured as an artist, she got more professional and better in many ways, but there’s an honesty and an urgency to her Weeping Tile material that still strikes a raw nerve. I love everything she’s ever done, but those records still kick me in the gut.

Gord Downie, who was close friends with several of Harmer’s older siblings when The Tragically Hip was just beginning, recalls hearing a 16-year-old Sarah play for him by the family’s pool near Burlington, Ontario. “Maybe I knew four chords, but she already knew five,” Downie once told me. “After doing 600 gigs that week, I would sing with her in a ragged voice, and she had the voice of a bird. I sensed she had this look on her face like, ‘Jesus, if you can do it, I certainly can.’ But I had nothing to teach her, let's put it that way.” A year later, she was asked to join a rootsy band called the Saddletramps. At Queen’s University in Kingston, she formed Weeping Tile, a band where she was the only consistent member.

By 1998, Weeping Tile was a victim of changing tides in the industry—they hit their stride as the boom was going bust. On her own, Harmer started from scratch the old-fashioned way: playing house shows, selling her albums through mail order from her farmhouse outside Kingston, and winning a whole new audience with just her guitar and her songs. She started out with an album of back-porch, old-timey covers recorded with a friend for her father (Songs For Clem), followed by You Were Here, a more concerted—but not compromised—pop bid that proved wildly successful, going platinum in Canada and even making a fan out of David Letterman.

Harmer was an icon to many I knew—especially female musicians—for who she was as much as for her songs themselves. Most women in rock then were solo artists; few fronted a real band. Most women, as the stereotype goes, opted for softer music; even in the grunge era, few strapped on electric guitars and let loose (there’s a definite PJ Harvey influence on some songs from 1997’s Valentino). Harmer wasn’t a glam girl, nor was she grungy; she was your sister, your friend, the modest performer who shows up at the open mic night and blows everyone away. There were no pretensions there—“unshaven, of course I am”—because there didn’t need to be, with talents and charisma as natural as Harmer’s.

No wonder everyone started lining up to work with her: around the turn of the decade, she seemed to be singing on everybody’s album, especially those who came before her in the CanRock Renaissance and saw a kindred spirit: Rheostatics, Blue Rodeo, Skydiggers, Weakerthans, Neko Case, and a dozen more. In both Weeping Tile and on her own, Harmer wrote with a distinctively Canadian voice, very much a product of the CanRock Renaissance she grew up in.

All of which is why I’m ecstatic that Weeping Tile are playing the book launch for Have Not Been the Same’s 10th anniversary.

Summer reviews '10 pt1

Apologies for the delay; the following reviews ran in thee Kitchener-Waterloo Record and Guelph Mercury in July 2010.

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Laurie Anderson – Homeland (Nonesuch)

It’s true that perhaps only Laurie Anderson would begin a verse of a song with the lyric: “Ah this world, which as Kierkegaard said…” But it’s also true that perhaps only Laurie Anderson could set Socratic questioning and existential musings about the end of an empire (specifically, the American one) to music. Not only that, she does so with emotional weight—even while doing little more than reciting her lines with the detached neutrality of a planetarium narrator.

Homeland is only her third musical work in the past 20 years, but it’s a natural continuation of her vital work in the ’80s—right down to the use of a Vocoder (which she did on her one and only pop hit, 1981’s “O Superman”)—and yet miraculously, she doesn’t sound like an artifact of that decade. Instead, her lyrics are terrifyingly timely, and her music is otherworldly enough to be permanently out of time.

She may decry those who “haven’t a clue what time it is, or where it goes, or even what a clock is”—but rest assured, Anderson will never be any of those. (July 8)

Download (iTunes, puretracks.com, amazon.com): “Another Day in America,” “Only an Expert,” “Transitory Life”

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Big Boi – Sir Luscious Left Foot: The Son of Chico Dusty (Def Jam)

As one half of Outkast, Big Boi has long championed an eclectic, freaky brand of R&B and Southern hip-hop; when he appeared earlier this year on Janelle Monae’s track Tightrope, the song of summer 2010, it was as much a passing of the torch to a new Atlanta-based freak as it was a reminder how unproductive the Outkast camp had become lately.

Sir Luscious Left Foot is Big Boi’s long-awaited, much-delayed solo album; his first since Speakerboxxx in 2003. Various singles leaked out in the interim—none of which appear on the final version of the album. Combining the best of ’90s Dirty South hip-hop, ’80s funk and new wave, and old school ’70s funk, Big Boi also emphasizes vocal melodies and rich harmonies this time out. George Clinton, Janelle Monae, Lil Jon and T.I. all make appearances; sadly the Kate Bush hook-up didn’t work out, but there’s no reason why her idiosyncracies couldn’t have fit right into Big Boi’s vision as well.

For whatever reason, Sir Lusicous Left Foot was rejected by his previous record company, which claimed to not hear any hits—an accusation that is patently ridiculous. This is every bit as full of hooks as Speakerboxxx and doubles as a welcome return and a bold step forward. (July 15)

Download (iTunes, amazon.com, puretracks.com): “Shutterbugg,” “Tambourine,” “Follow Us”

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Brasstronaut – Mount Chimeara (Unfamiliar)

This Vancouver band does feature a trumpet player and they do play spacey music—but that doesn’t excuse their terrible moniker. Can a group of musicians who pick the name Brasstronaut actually have any taste in music? Thankfully, they do, and Mount Chimeara finds them charting their own course with expansive songs and instrumentation that veers into jazzy territory: upright bass, electric piano, trumpets, clarinets and violins provide delicate shadings, like a jazzier Talk Talk or a considerably more chill and less apocalyptic Godspeed You Black Emperor. Mount Chimeara was partially written and recorded during a residency at the Banff Centre, but it’s the Vancouver vibe that is evident throughout—you can almost taste the ocean air. (July 22)

Download (zunior.com): “Slow Knots,” “Lo Hi Hopes,” “Insects”

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The Clientele – Minotaur (Merge)

When The Clientele announced they were breaking up this year, shortly after the release of easily their best album, 2009’s Bonfires on the Heath, they were commended for going on a high note. And yet here they are again, with an eight-song EP that’s every bit as delectable and definitive as that album, one that encapsulates their rainy-day U.K. dream-pop perfectly. Alisdair MacLean gets increasingly melodic with each passing release, while “The Green Room” is little more than a poem set to sound art, showing the band pushing forward in every direction. Which once again leads to the obvious question: why stop now? (July 15)

Download (iTunes, eMusic, amazon.com): “Minotaur,” “Jerry,” “Strange Town”

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Gonjasufi – A Sufi and a Killer (Warp)

Sumach Ecks, who records as Gonjasufi, admits in interviews he does yoga every day not just for his health, but to calm his temper. That’s obvious on his debut album, which straddles chilled-out, psychedelic soul and paranoid, dishevelled garage rock, with North African and Arabic influences woven throughout, and Ecks’s gravelly, morning-after crackle of a voice—not unlike Tricky’s, or late period Sly Stone—attempting to glue it all together. There are times when Ecks lets his aggression breaks free, but much of A Sufi and a Killer is about tension and restraint—especially when most of the songs clock in at less than three minutes, presumably checking out before things get really, really weird. Even at its most disorienting, it manages to be entirely intoxicating, and highly recommended for the next heat wave. (July 15)

Download (iTunes, eMusic, amazon.com): “Ancestors,” “Change,” “Duet”

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Grady – Good as Dead (C12)

Not sure what the album title is referring to, but it’s safe to say that guitarist Gordie Johnson hasn’t had the same kind of success with Grady as he did with Big Sugar in the ’90s. Not that he seems to care: he’s relocated to Austin, Texas, is still playing as loud as ever, and Grady’s brand of what he calls “cowboy metal” has legions of enthusiastic fans in the U.S.—including ZZ Top’s Billy Gibbons and, oddly enough, punk icon Jello Biafra, who is quoted as saying Grady is the “missing link between early Johnny Winter and Ministry.” (Biafra also put out an earlier album on his label, Alternative Tentacles.)

So while Grady once sounded like a low-grade boogie band doing Big Sugar covers, Johnson has whipped this band into shape and found its own sound—and its own songs, like “Alberta Bone”s and “If I Was King,” that prove Johnson isn’t just relying on guitar gimmicks. (A almost unrecognizable cover of The Tragically Hip’s “Boots or Hearts” is a nice touch, as well.) That he’s still a phenomenal guitarist is undisputed, and this album demands to be played at full volume. The rhythm section could use some more swagger and swing, but Johnson’s energy alone carries the day. (July 1)

Download (iTunes, eMusic): “Blackass Woman,” “Alberta Bones,” “If I Was King”

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Sarah Harmer – Oh Little Fire (Universal)

It’s been five years since we heard from Sarah Harmer, and there was no telling what we might expect. Another acoustic record, like 2005’s I’m a Mountain? A return to her Weeping Tile rock days? An everything-all-at-once classic like 2000’s You Were Here? All bets were off when first single “Captive” made it to radio; some unsuspecting listeners thought it sounded like Metric, not because of some synth-rock makeover, but because of Harmer’s vocal style.

It turns out that this album’s closest predecessor is 2004’s All Our Names, a sanded-off album that didn’t seem to satisfy fans of any of Sarah’s various sides. Thankfully, Oh Little Fire has considerably more zip than that, perhaps due to her long absence, and it says a lot about Harmer’s charisma and talent that she can communicate some rather raw emotions in jaunty acoustic pop. She may be feeling heartbroken—as anyone could easily discern from titles like “Captive,” “Careless,” “New Loneliness and “The Thief”—but minor chords are rare here, and tempos seldom drag.

Sarah Harmer is so good at what she does—or rather, everything she’s done so far, be it raucous rock, old-timey jazz, acoustic country, or pop music—that one can only wonder what it would sound like if Oh Little Fire had sparked some serious reinvention. Then again, if it ain’t broke…(July 1)

Download (iTunes, amazon.com): “Captive,” “The City,” “Silverado”

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Kylie Minogue – Aphrodite (EMI)
Robyn – Body Talk Pt. 2 (Universal)

Criticizing a fembot like Kylie Minogue is pointless: no one listens to her records expecting an outpouring of warmth or human emotion. She’s managed to maintain a mysterious 25-year international career by being largely faceless, her singles largely indistinguishable—with the exception of 2000’s “Can’t Get You Out of My Head.” Along the way there has been an oddball duet with Nick Cave and a high-profile battle with breast cancer, but there’s little on Aphrodite that sounds significantly different than anything else Minogue has done since day one, and with no standout single as a calling card, either.

And so Swedish pop singer Robyn is here to tell us: “I’ve got some news for you/ fembots have feelings, too.” On the surface, little distinguishes herself from Minogue: both sound robotic, both revel in technological artifice, neither of them pretend to be anything but pop stars. Yet Robyn actually has personality: she’s tough (“Don’t F---ing Tell Me What To Do”), she’s independent (“None of Dem”), and she can be vulnerable (“Dancing On My Own”)—but ultimately warns you not to fall in love with her (“Hang With Me”). She sounds perpetually dissatisfied that lovers and the world at large will never meet her high standards—and you can be sure that she’s not settling for second best: from anyone else, from herself, from her music. (July 15)

Download Robyn (iTunes, puretracks.com, amazon.com): “Dancehall Queen,” “None of Dem,” “Cry When You Get Older”

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Owen Pallett – Lewis Takes Off His Shirt EP (Domino)

"Lewis Takes Off His Shirt" is by far the poppiest song on Pallett’s recent neo-classical masterpiece, Heartland. Odd, then, that the three remixes on this EP don’t make it any more danceable than it already is; only Benoit Pioulard’s near-ambient approach improves on the original—and does so by removing any rhythm track at all, as well as 95 per cent of the vocals, making the song sound almost sombre. Most disappointing is Dan Deacon’s remix, which manages to muddy the waters, seemingly forgetting about various faders and leaving everything on all the time. Simon Bookish wins the contest, however, by roping the 9/4 time signature of “Keep the Dog Quiet” onto the dance floor with all its quirks intact—if not adding more. (July 22)

Download (iTunes, eMusic, amazon.com): “Keep the Dog Quiet (Simon Bookish remix),” “Lewis Takes Off His Shirt (Benoit Pioulard remix),” “Midnight Directives (Max Tundra remix)”

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Reflection Eternal: Talib Kweli and Hi-Tek – Revolutions Per Minute (Rawkus)

Never mind Jay-Z: Talib Kweli is one of the top MCs of the last decade, and that’s something Jay-Z himself has admitted on record (a line that’s immodestly sampled here). And while his albums have been somewhat spotty, his best tracks have always been with DJ Hi-Tek, dating back to Kweli’s days in Black Star with Mos Def. Revolutions Per Minute is only the second Reflection Eternal album (and the first in 10 years), but it’s a mature encapsulation of everything Kweli has been up to since the start. With one exception: there’s very little straight-up hip-hop here, relying instead of ’70s soul styles. And it’s not because Kweli is any less fiery. If anything, Hi-Tek pulls some punches in order not to compete with Kweli’s verses; instead of sounding weak, he sounds entirely complementary and comfortable—like long-time collaborators should. (July 15)

Download (iTunes, amazon.com, puretracks.com): “Back Again,” “In This World,” “Midnight Hour” (featuring Estelle)

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The Roots – How I Got Over (Universal)

After eight albums, 15 years, and hundreds upon hundreds of marathon live shows, the Roots had announced that the 2008 album Rising Down would be their last. They had just got a gig as the house band on Late Night with Jimmy Fallon, they still planned on being a touring band, and bandleader ?uestlove was consistently busy with other projects. What else was there to say? To do?

For starters, their recorded output had never reached the level of respect that everyone had for the band as an entity‹and that¹s why How I Got Over is as much of a comeback as it is a classic in their catalogue. Rarely, if ever, have the multi-talented Roots crew been able to sustain a mood over the course of a concise album that plays to all their strengths: classic hip-hop, both vintage and neo-soul, and eclectic influences filtered through their unique vision.

Lyrically, How I Got Over is very much like a hangover of the George W. Bush years, with battered idealism and plenty of self-doubt. And yet the music is far from dark: it¹s fierce and funky, it¹s soothing and soulful, and it benefits from a bevy of guests that range from usual collaborators Dice Raw, Phonte and Blu to John Legend and the Dirty Projectors. Two songs born of borrowed sources don¹t sample or cover existing songs, but instead invite the original artists—in this case, Jim James of My Morning Jacket and Monsters of Folk, and harpist Joanna Newsom—to sing their hooks while the MCs write verses that expand on the original themes.

This isn’t a band ready for its Vegas years. This is a band with a renewed sense of purpose. (July 8)

Download (iTunes, puretracks.com, amazon.com): “Right On,” “How I Got Over,” “The Fire”

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Shad – TSOL (Black Box)

Shad doesn’t believe in wasting words. The London, Ontario MC packs enough of them into his third album that he could be excused for slacking off once in a while, but the free-associative double entendres fly fast and furious here. The pop culture references and occasionally adolescent jokes abound—he calls himself a “true school rapper with middle school humour”—but there’s no denying his versatility and verbal dexterity, which is equal to his ’90s heroes like Common or Guru. He can also be deadly serious when he wants to, like on the tribute to clever ladies on “Keep Shining,” or the post-Obama paranoia of “At The Same Time.” Guests include Ian Kamau, Classified, Justin Nokuza and Broken Social Scene’s Brendan Canning and Lisa Lobsinger, all of whom help make TSOL Shad’s most solid set of backing tracks to date. But there’s no doubt the spotlight is all on the main MC, who is as warm, funny and engaging as he is whip-smart on the mic. This fall he’ll be hooking up with K’naan for a fall tour; on TSOL, Shad sounds like he’s a small step away from a “Wavin’ Flag” of his own. (July 22)

Download (iTunes, eMusic, amazon.com, puretracks.com): “Telephone,” “We Myself and I,” “At the Same Time”

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The Slew – 100% (Ninja Tune)

Ten years ago, Montreal turntablist master Kid Koala appeared on a track by Handome Boy Modeling School called “Rock’n’Roll Could Never Hip-Hop Like This.” Now, after years in the interim make abstract, absurdist and jazzy records and pop cameos, Kid Koala returns to the rock, splicing myriad ’70s rock riffs together and setting them to the heaviest hip-hop beats this side of John Bonham. That mash-up sounds almost too easy to do, in a way that everyone from Girl Talk on down has done already. But Koala doesn’t take obvious classics and funk them up; in fact, you’d be hard pressed to name any of these samples. Instead, as always, he’s primarily interested in sounds, taking a distorted organ or a fuzzed-out guitar or a hysterical scream and manipulating it manually, rather than letting the original sources play out. But unlike much of his other work, The Slew is very much a visceral rock’n’roll experience—live, it’s augmented by the former rhythm section of Wolfmother, although they don’t appear here—and leaves little doubt that, yes, rock’n’roll can hip-hop like this. (July 1)

Download (now only available physically): “You Turn Me Cold,” “Battle of Heaven and Hell,” “Robbing Banks (Doin’ Time)”

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Stars – The 5 Ghosts (Universal)

Three years ago, Stars put out an album called In Our Bedroom After the War, with songs titled “Take Me to the Riot” and “Barricades.” If they’d have released that album the week of G20 protests in their hometown of Toronto, their melodramatic sense of drama might not have felt so histrionic—albeit effectively so—as it did at the time. Now, they return with songs about how “dead hearts are everywhere” and how “thousands of ghosts in the daylight walking through my hometown square.”

Yet the ghosts here might as well refer to Stars’ past glories, which seem hidden in a distant past on this, their major label debut. “I Died So I Could Haunt You” provides an unhelpful reminder that a definite sense of loss—even defeatism—hangs over the album, as opposed to the romantic idealism that has often buoyed their more triumphant moments. The band gets easily caught up in their own contradictions: “Changes/ I’ve never been good with change/ I hate it when it all stays the same.”

Musically, they step back from the more rock-heavy moves of recent album and rely more on synths. But while the production is top notch, the songs rarely rise to the occasion—especially when they try on an electro-pop sex-kitten jam called “We Don’t Want Your Body,” which sounds like a twisted collaboration between Trent Reznor and Mariah Carey.

At one point, Amy Millan sings: “I don’t mind this wasted, hated daylight.” I don’t know why her character hates the daylight, but it certainly sounds like it’s wasted here. (July 1)

Download (iTunes, eMusic, puretracks.com, amazon.com): “The Passenger,” “Wasted Daylight,” “Changes”

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Wolf Parade – Expo 86 (Sub Pop)

When Wolf Parade first appeared on anyone’s radar in 2004, part of what blew everyone away was that they appeared fully formed, with classic songs and a sound of their own cobbled together from the debris of their major influences, and bashed out on equipment that could barely stay together. Now that the two songwriters (Spencer Krug and Dan Boeckner) have successful bands of their own (Sunset Rubdown and Handsome Furs, respectively)—with more records between them than Wolf Parade does at this point, the original project can seem like an afterthought—which it did on 2008’s disappointing At Mount Zoomer.

For whatever reason, Expo 86 finds Wolf Parade sounding hungry once again, ready to prove something either to themselves, the world, or both. Both Boeckner and Krug are not necessarily at the top of their game—their recent albums with their other bands are, overall, more cohesive and satisfying—but they’ve obviously agreed to make a full-on rock’n’roll record, with nary a ballad in the bunch, and the lines blurred between their individual songwriting styles.

Engineer Howard Bilerman helps deliver perhaps the biggest sound Wolf Parade has ever put to tape, and every member of the band puts everything they have into visceral performances—there are even guitar solos this time out. The lyrics are often absurdist (“I had a vision! / Of a gorilla! / And he was a killer! A KILLER!”), but no matter: Expo 86 is a return to the giddy thrill of discovery, the rush of youth, and the sparks that ignited such an explosive band in the first place. (July 8)

Download (iTunes, amazon.com, puretracks.com): “Little Golden Age,” “What Did My Lover Say?”, “Pobody’s Nerfect”

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The Wooden Sky – If I Don’t Come Home You’ll Know I’m Gone (Black Box)

It’s tempting to file Toronto’s The Wooden Sky as a roots rock act. All the signifiers are there: pedal steel, acoustic guitar, country rhythms, occasional gospel influences and a slight twang in Gavin Gardiner’s voice. And yet The Wooden Sky don’t fit into any easy category, due primarily to Gardiner’s songwriting, which is more on par with the noir-ish elegance of The National than, say, Blue Rodeo. While most Canadian roots artists tend to play it rather straight, The Wooden Sky are, along with Cuff the Duke, one of the more convincing acts to deliver raucous, occasionally epic country rock that never sounds like it’s falling back on a formula. Passionate performances and no shortage of standout tracks make this a powerful statement from an exciting band. No wonder they leapt from obscurity to the Polaris Prize long list this year; their dynamic set at Guelph’s Hillside Festival in July proved that they’re ready for much bigger stages. (July 22)

Download (iTunes, eMusic, amazon.com, puretracks.com): “Angels,” “Oslo,” “An Evening Hymn”

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Wovenhand – The Threshingfloor (Sounds Familyre)

“I am the god of hellfire!” began an old psychedelic rock classic by Arthur Brown, a man who has nothing on David Eugene Edwards, a.k.a. Wovenhand. Edwards believes in a god of blood and redemption, and doesn’t think that Christian music is meant to be some kind of feel-good false witness to the world. Edwards sings with great gravitas about a God who has the whole world in his hands—and is going to do whatever He damn well pleases with it, human intentions be damned. Speaking of the whole world,

Edwards expands his usual mix of gothic country, blues, Celtic and Appalachian folk with textures drawn from Arabic, Native American, Italian and Indian sources, all of which seamlessly fit into his songwriting and help create his best album to date—which, considering the impeccable 2003 self-titled Wovenhand album, is no small achievement. (July 8)

Wovenhand plays the Garrison in Toronto on October 1.

Download (iTunes, eMusic, amazon.com): “A Holy Measure,” “Sinking Hands,” “Terre Haute”