Top 20 of 2020: 11-20

My top 20 of 2020, numbers 11-20.

11 Nihiloxica – Kaloli (Crammed Discs). Ugandan drumming through a techno lens. This project started when the Nilotika Cultural Ensemble in Kamapla, Uganda, started playing at a local nightclub in between and during DJ sets. Word spread to Belgium, where a jazz drummer wanted to capture the synergy on tape. After a couple of EPs, this is the debut full-length, featuring two drum kits and electronics augmenting the vivid percussion, for a 21st-century Olatunji experience, a next-gen Congotronics, that doesn't in any way feel like the original tracks are being overshadowed. It's a great record, but on a personal note, it's also a very productive record: for writing, for walking, for housework, for whatever it is you need to do. As long as you're somewhere you can turn it up loud.  

12 Lido Pimienta – Miss Colombia (Anti). I wrote this and this earlier: It’s great. And I say that as someone who didn't at all love Pimienta’s Polaris-winning La Papessa. Everything has stepped up, starting with Pimienta’s own vocals: they’re stronger, express more dynamics and inflection, and generally more emotionally resonant. That’s true of the electronics as well; she’s said part of her challenge here was to make the technology sound beautiful, and she succeeded. The brass arrangements throughout are also a lovely touch. Her blending of Colombian rhythms with electronics more fully developed. The record is roughly divided into two parts: side one is more modern, side two is (mostly) more traditional, with guest spots from South American pop stars Bomba Estereo and the traditional Afro-Colombian percussion/vocal Sexteto Tabala (the collab here will sound familiar to any fans of Caribbean-Colombian legend Toto La Momposina) illustrating the scope of what Pimienta is aiming for—and achieves. And—hey, look! A Grammy nomination for Best Latin Alternative Album.  



And check out this beautiful video made for the Polaris Prize:

13 Marlaena Moore – Pay Attention, Be Amazed! (Flemish Eye). Wrote about this earlier here: It's a good sign when the opening track on your debut album is a song of longing on par with "Nothing Compares 2 U." Yes, this Edmonton performer's "I Miss You" is that good, and so is the rest of the record. Moore has no shortage of great lyrics that document fragility ("You came to see my harvest and you wanted it for free / Now this empty garden is all that's left of me"), and she often delivers them with a voice with just enough waver that you think she might break, but her inner strength pulls through every line. Moore's an incredible torch singer, as closing waltz "Tiger Water" demonstrates, over guitar feedback, vibraphones and snare brushes. "Imposter" borrows from Roxy Music's "More Than This," likely unconsciously, but the album is full of equally killer melodies all her own. "Xmas Oranges" is a total earworm, an acrobatic melody set to chugging cellos and a beguiling chorus: "Christmas oranges / I don't care for sticky citrus / You can't tell the difference between love and fatal interest." Producer Chad Van Gaalen, who's known for an often-hazy and psychedelic '90s aesthetic in his solo work and for others, helps Moore deliver a vivid and colourful sonic backdrop for songs that are part Patsy Cline, part Liz Phair, part Angel Olsen. It's hard not to be impressed with the chutzpah of the album title, but it turns out to be entirely accurate. I can't wait to hear more from this woman.

Also, I'm a sucker for one-shot videos (well, three in this case), no matter how goofy.

14 The Dears – Lovers Rock (Dangerbird) I wrote this earlier: When Murray Lightburn put out such an incredible solo album just last year, called Hear Me Out, I wondered if he would resurrect the ever-imploding Dears, of which only he and Natalia Yanchak remain. But at his age, it's important not to mess with the brand and name recognition. Sadly, very few people heard that solo record. And as this record proves, there is still a lot of life in this band, who this year celebrated 20 years of their breakthrough End of a Hollywood Bedtime Story. "Since all these years / is it still the same old song?" he asks. Maybe it is, but these are some of the best songs the Dears have ever written, starting with "The Worst in Us," the kind of melodic anthem they often excelled at, with a surprising and danceable bridge taking a left turn in the middle of the song. There are more orchestrations here than they've used since 2011's big-budget Degeneration Street, although Lovers Rock was recorded at their home studio and at Hotel 2 Tango (and Sam Roberts dusts off his violin for the occasion). Jake Clemons of the E Street Band (and Montreal transplant) elevates the lovely "Stille Lost" with his soaring saxophone, while some of the softer moments here ("Play Dead," "Is This What You Really Want," "Too Many Wrongs") are the most stunning. For a band that always recoiled at obvious Smiths comparsions (and I'm going to apologize for bringing them up yet again), there are some decidedly '80s-sounding Johnny Marr effects on the guitars here, but at this point in time, with such a rich and varied career behind them, the Dears shouldn't have to be so defensive. The closing track threatens "We'll Go Into Hiding." Let's hope not.

15 Wye Oak – Horizon EP (Merge). A few years back, this Durham-via-Baltimore duo covered Pat Benatar's "We Belong" for a radio session (watch it here), and it was stunning. That song makes me weepy at the best of times, and Wye Oak managed to make it their own. They didn't have a youth choir behind them at the time, but they do here: the Brooklyn Youth Chorus, who commissioned this work. Normally I find the use of kids choirs in pop music treacly (Benatar notwithstanding), but here they take Jenn Wasner's songs of alienation and dislocation and, to state the obvious, make them sound a lot less lonely, like all those Italian apartment-dwellers singing songs together during the first wave of the lockdown. Of course, these aren't catchy pop songs or simple folk anthems; this is Wye Oak, in all their glorious subtlety and complexity. Almost 15 years into their career, they continue to surprise. I'm extremely grateful they got to record this when they did, before it was no longer possible.

 




16 Deerhoof – Love Lore (Joyful Noise). This band is prolific at the best of times, and the pandemic made them even more so. In addition to a live album and a collection of odds and sods, they released a new album of original material, Greg Saunier covered Voivod's Angel Rat acoustically, and then finally this album of eclectic covers arranged into four long medleys. WIth such output, Deerhoof are more than easy to take for granted, which is why Love Lore is likely getting more attention than the original album released this year: we know what Deerhoof sound like playing their own songs, but what happens when they unleash their powers on others? Only Deerhoof would attempt Ornette Coleman, the Knight Rider theme, Eddy Grant, Stockhausen, Penderecki, Kraftwerk and the Jetsons theme on the same record, rubbing up one another and reinvented in the most magical way. The greatest rock band of the 2000s is still alive and kicking.

 

17 Fiona Apple – Fetch the Bolt Cutters (Sony). This is an uneasy listening record centred around piano and voice and searing lyrics, and yet for me the main appeal is the production, the percussion (drummer Amy Aileen Wood, and percussionist David Garza) and Apple's rhythmic choices, especially on tracks like "Relay," "Newspaper" and "For Her." Apple's strong personality dominates the discussion about this record, which is hardly surprising: it's the most visceral post-#MeToo record to have a large audience, a solidarity message and warning to other women about predatory behaviour, and she laments "yet another woman to whom I won't get through." But it's the band—including bassist Sebastian Steinberg and Apple's own piano work—that I keep coming back for.

18 Nels Cline – Share the Wealth (Blue Note). As much as I love guitarist Nels Cline's playing, in Wilco and elsewhere, I never know what to expect from his solo records. I loved his Blue Note debut Lovers in 2016, a deliberately pretty and "accessible" journey through a varied songbook, everything from Rodgers and Hart to Gabor Szabo to Annette Peacock and Sonic Youth. Share the Wealth is considerably more adventurous, skronky and noisy at times, filled with swing and verve and prog turns and itchy-scratchy avant-garde tumbles into the unknown—in the case of the aptly titled 17-minute epic "Stump the Panel," all in one song. And yes, it's also pretty, as on the relatively straightforward "Nightstand" and "Passed Down." Featuring staple Zorn players Brian Marsella (keys) and Cyro Baptista (percussion), Mr. Bungle bassist Trevor Zorn, Tuatara saxophonist Skerik, and Cline's long-time drummer Scott Amendola, this particular lineup had never played together before recording this album in two days. Cline originally intended to take the sessions and splice them up, but there was so much magic there he didn't bother. With players like this, there's no need for sleight of hand.

19 Sault – (untitled) Rise (Forever Living Originals). Nobody appears to know anything about this British act: whether it's an actual group, or a collection of studio musicians, or some kind of community arts project, or what. What we do know is that this is their fourth full length in the last two years, and the one before this, untitled (Black Is), managed to feature Michael Kiwanuka on one track; otherwise, everyone is completely anonymous. Each record is better than the last, and this features more complete songs rather than sketches, alongside killer grooves throughout. The sound can loosely be labelled soul, tied to no particular time period: big gospel/disco/R&B vocals, either by female soloists or in groupings, lush string sections, live rhythm section, and tasteful arrangements throughout. The raison d'etre, however, is to write songs that speak to the current/eternal unrest: "Fearless," "Street Fighter," "Uncomfortable," "Scary Times"—you get the idea. They sound all the more essential because so very few others appear to be doing this, or at least doing it this well. Closing track "Little Boy" is heartbreaking.

 

20 C. Diab – White Whale (Injazero). This album is the musical equivalent of escaping from the current shitshow to a Pacific Coast cabin during a rainstorm and just droning out with bowed guitar that sounds like a one-man Godspeed filtered through Loscil and Martin Tielli. It's not just bowed guitar, there are a few things going on here, none of which are ambient or soothing, but this does have a powerful catharsis of calm, if that makes an iota of sense. This is a very interior record, released during an extremely interior year, and it's been on high rotation for me since its release in June.  

Why the Melvillian title? Here's what he says in his artist statement:  

“The hope for security, for accountable humanitarian leadership, for affordable housing and fair income, for understanding, things which we learned were natural pieces of a progressive society, now seem like humanity’s great white whale in a darker, regressive world, once appearing on the horizon only to disappear again into the deep.
“It’s my hope that White Whale, for what it’s worth, will lend a small hand to the listeners’ emancipation from inward fear and sadness and feelings of unworthiness. And help you realize what it is you need to do in order to have that conversation, or make that move, and two steps forward in crushing that which seeks to crush you.”

Get I get an amen?

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

2020 Top 40 pt 1: 10 of the lower 20

10 records, alphabetically, from the lower 20 of my 2020 Top 40. That make sense? 

 

Quin Kirchner – The Shadows and the Light (Astral Spirits). This Chicago drummer wants to blow your mind right out of the gate, with the solo percussion piece "Shadow Intro," but it quickly becomes clear that this record is anything but an ego trip, ranging from full band freakouts to more melodic material, to songs featuring just an unaccompanied horn section, to the delicate kalimba-and-upright-bass "Pathways," to the dreamy, interstellar Sun Ra-ish journeys heard on the latter half of the record.   

Mourning (a) BLKStar – The Cycle (Don Giovanni). Is there a secular gospel movement afoot? Last year Damon Locks and the Black Monument Ensemble put out Where Future Unfolds, featuring a chorus of voices singing modern civil rights songs over jazz instrumentation and electronics, and it was fantastic. This year Cleveland's Mourning (a) BLKStar showed up with this stunner, featuring three lead singers with clear gospel skills, a robust horn section, and grooves harkening back to Massive Attack's Blue Lines, with organ at the forefront. "Mist :: Missed" opens with the lines, "I've been dealing with a whole lot of shit / Got my mind racing over it / Folks don't care what they say / It's like they're playing different games." Amen.

 

   

Owen Pallett – Island (Secret City / Domino). There's always more happening on an Owen Pallett record than first meets the eye. At first glance, I thought this was his most stripped-down record, with most songs based primarily on acoustic guitar or piano. Which is ridiculous: part of Pallett's immense talent as an arranger is the delicate detail that you're not even aware is happening. (See also: his soundtrack to the documentary Spaceship Earth, released this year.) Island is much more of an interior mood piece than any of his previous records, and it's a mood that landed exactly at the right moment (for listeners, anyway; it sure put a wrench in his touring plans). 

 

Also: video of the year?

Prince Nifty – We're Not in Kansas Anymore (Bandcamp exclusive). "A soundtrack for doing nothing." Well, that's 2020 in a nutshell, ain't it? Matt Smith is a long-time collaborator of Owen Pallett's, dating back to Les Mouches, and had a hand in Lido Pimienta's excellent Miss Colombia. Here, in his solo alias, he opens with "Over the Rainbow," on solo acoustic guitar and sounding like he's being beamed in from Mars, and from there spends most of his time futzing with synths in what sounds like '70s sci-fi soundtracks. There are two layered vocal tracks that could accompany a Guy Maddin film, while there's also a dramatic Angelo Badalamenti cover and a beautiful acoustic original called "Imitation of Life" (def not a cover of R.E.M.'s worst single). As a whole, it doesn't make a lot of sense. But what does these days? 

Slow Leaves – Shelf Life (Birthday Cake). I wrote this earlier: It’s not like critics are stumbling over themselves in a hunt for the new Lightfoot in 2020. But hey, FWIW, Slow Leaves is likely the new Lightfoot, or at least the most worthy contender since Doug Paisley dropped the 2011 classic Constant Companion. Davidson sings with a gentle lilt and affecting tremolo, his breezy folk rock designed to be played on crackly vinyl or around a campfire. Davidson sounds like a middle-aged dad, which he is, and this is an ideal midlife rainy day record when accompanied by coffee and/or scotch. It’s not new or dark or sexy; it’s just life.

 

   

Julian Taylor – The Ridge (independent). Taylor has spent more than 20 years knocking around Toronto's music scene in two original bands (one of them eponymous), but this solo acoustic record has proven to be his breakout. Small wonder why. These are gorgeous, folk-country songs with rich production and Taylor's velvety voice. The full-band arrangements are gentle and warm; this whole record feels like a warm blanket in front of a campfire on a chilly night. It's comfort food, but it's fucking delicious. 

Throat Funeral – OU812212 (Bandcamp exclusive). Why, yes, all things considered, 2020 is the perfect year to debut a new noise project called Throat Funeral that sounds like a chest being eviscerated. Riff-rocker / heavy metallist / prolific podcaster Danko Jones has had this record in the can for a while, and decided to unleash it on the world now. There are guest spots from Tanya Tagaq (naturally), first-wave grunge singer Tad Doyle, and Swedish avant-garde saxophonist Jorgen Munkeby, but all other sounds here were generated in the deepest depths of Jones's chest and lungs. It's paradoxically aggressive and ambient, somehow both soothing and terrifying. It's 2020 in an audio nutshell.

 

 

 

Etuk Ubong – Africa Today (Night Dreamer). This Lagos trumpeter arrives with accolades from Seun Kuti, and it's not hard to hear the connection to that family's legacy. Recorded live to disc in the Netherlands, this is a document of a band on fire; every single player is fantastic and stands out in the mix, as impossible as that seems (though the keyboardist and percussionists are essential). In a year of horrible headlines from Nigeria, this was some welcome news.

 

   

Wolf Parade – Thin Mind (Sub Pop). I've said this often in the past three years: Wolf Parade Mk 2 is infinitely superior than this band's first kick at the can. Sure, Apologies to the Queen Mary, which turned 15 this year, is an untouchable classic, but 2017's Cry Cry Cry and now this display a band hitting their stride all these years later: as songwriters, performers and singers. Underestimate them at your peril. I wrote about this here and here. Oh, and for the Globe and Mail here.

 

 

Donovan Woods – Without People (Meant Well). Are you feeling lonely in a long-term relationship, possibly exacerbated by a pandemic lockdown? Then hey, have I got the bummer country-pop album for you! Ontario's deep, dark Woods is a master of economy who keeps getting better: in his melodies, in his lyrics, and here he paints some devastatingly vivid pictures on tracks like "Seeing Other People" and "Clean Slate." This record is full of earworms, and the more they get in your head, the more he's here to remind you that "lonely people wrote every song you ever loved."

 

 

 

20 years of the New Pornographers' Mass Romantic

When history is written about the New Pornographers’ 2000 debut Mass Romantic, it usually revolves some incredulity: how did this happen?!

How did this band that wasn’t supposed to be a real band become, for the next decade and beyond, one of the leading lights of Canadian music and the broader international indie rock scene in general? How did this many talented people with parallel careers continue to be a functioning band? How did this album on a tiny Canadian indie make such an impact?

I don’t buy any of that. Everything about Mass Romantic’s success makes total sense, for one simple reason. It was too good to fail.

This was a new band, but not new players. Most were closer to 30 than 20; the two principal architects were (gasp) over 30. There was a decade of experience, friendships and overlapping circumstances that brought that group of people together to create a pop masterpiece. Lots of things could have gone wrong along the way, and certainly afterwards. 

But there is an air of inevitability around Mass Romantic. This was a record that had to happen, and it had to happen with these people. And because it did, it ushered in a new era of possibility in Canadian music. There’s a reason that Kevin Drew, when applying for a grant very early on in Broken Social Scene’s career, described his project as “Ontario’s version of the New Pornographers.”

The first New Pornographers rehearsal took place in 1997. Carl Newman, who worked at Scratch Records and already had two bands on the go—the arch Zumpano, signed to Sub Pop, and the grungy, bombastic Superconductor, a favourite of Guided by Voices—invited a group of friends and acquaintances to form what Western Canadians call a “fuck band,” effectively a social club that might play the occasional gig. Newman claims he had no grand designs, but take a look at who got the invite.

Neko Case grew up in Tacoma, Washington, where she played drums and sang in a band called the Propanes. She was such a local light in the scene, known for go-go dancing at other band’s gigs, that local Sub Pop band Girl Trouble wrote a song about her called “Neko Loves Rock’n’Roll.” Tacoma was a popular destination for Vancouver punk bands, which is how she met Dave Carswell of the Smugglers. She moved to Vancouver in the early 90s to go to art school, temporarily joining Cub as a touring drummer. She then co-founded a punk band called Maow, who recorded early demos with Carswell and John Collins.

Collins played in the Evaporators, a long-running band fronted by Nardwuar the Human Serviette (at that point still primarily a CITR DJ, with little profile outside Vancouver). He also subbed in with Superconductor on occasion. He and Carswell were working on the second record by Dan Bejar, who called himself Destroyer. Both Collins and Bejar were also at that first New Pornographers rehearsal, along with keyboardist Blaine Thurier, a close friend of Newman’s, and drummer Fisher Rose, a friend of Bejar’s.

Their first gig was at a vintage clothing store, the Good Jacket. A few other gigs followed over the course of the next year, and a four-song demo was cut, with two songs by Bejar and two by Newman: “Execution Day,” “Breaking the Law,” “Mystery Hours” and something called “Letter From an Occupant.” The demo was sent to Sub Pop, who ignored it. It was sent to Matador, who rejected it (though A&R rep Nils Bernstein was a big fan). Then “Letter From an Occupant” was selected to be on a compilation put out by Mint Records in April 2000, curated by the Good Jacket, called Vancouver Special. (The album also featured an early version of Black Mountain, called Jerk With a Bomb, and an early version of the Organ, called Full Sketch.) The comp got a lot of attention from campus radio, but the New Pornographers track was far and away the standout.

An opening one-note guitar riff doesn’t necessarily sound promising, until Case starts singing and the drums drop out to just a four-on-the-floor bass drum and fills. The chord progression follows a classic '50s pop pattern of I-VI-IV (the same pattern as Arcade Fire’s “Wake Up,” incidentally, although totally different rhythm and feel). The melody is instantly catchy, and Case’s delivery—Newman instructed her to “sing like a robot,” with Shocking Blue’s Mariska Veres as a reference point—is instantly compelling. Then the pre-chorus hits (hanging on just the IV and V), Case holds longer notes, and the song opens up wide. The chorus itself is wordless, impossibly high ooos sung by Newman, an insanely catchy hook in a song already full of them. 

But wait! There’s more. The punchy first bridge finds Case hollering, “WHERE HAVE ALL SENSATIONS GONE?” followed by Beach Boys in a blender, unintelligible male vocals muttering about something or another, perhaps cowering in the presence of Case. Then another chorus and a monstrous second bridge, a cacophony of collapsing drums, and what sounds like an insect crawling over the strings of the lead guitar part, while Neko repeats “the song, the song, the song has shaken me” like a mantra. It sure as fuck has.

But what the hell is this song about? What is a “letter from an occupant”? Why will “the eventual downfall” be “a bill from a restaurant”? Is this all just a shower of “yeahs” and “whatevers”? These questions dogged me for years, as I attempted, poorly, to sing this song at the top of my lungs. Not only do I not have the range (uh, who does?) but the album had no lyric sheet and I sure as hell couldn’t figure them out apart from random phrases. Turns out some of the actual lyrics are: “The tune you'll be humming forever / All the words are replaced and wrong.” Huh.

The title phrase (“ ‘For the love of God,’ you said, ‘not a letter from an occupant’ ”) is paraphrased from something Newman heard a landlord say once. There is definitely a power dynamic at play, the lyrics a litany of disappointments: “What the hell have the 70s brought me?” “Where have all sensations gone?” “I’ve cried five rivers on the way here / which one will you skate away on?” That last one is a brilliant twist on a line from Joni Mitchell’s Blue, which makes me think the whole song is a jaded GenXer’s complaint to a bewildered Boomer landlord who fails to grasp the reality of economic anxiety. Or something.

The lyrics were beside the point, though: with a melody like that, with a vocal performance like that, with a band performance like that, with production like that--does it matter what the song is about? Countless examples from pop music history would suggest it doesn’t.

Obviously intrigued by that one song, Mint Records asked for more material, and the rest of Mass Romantic was the result. Recorded by Collins and Carswell, and with drummer Kurt Dahle replacing a missing Fisher, the album was released seven months after Vancouver Special. 

Newman has often said that he felt immense pressure to live up to not just the single, but to other work by people in his own band. In February 2000, Neko Case released her second solo album, Furnace Room Lullaby, featuring an all-star cast of Canadian indie rockers and alt-country players, not to mention amazing songs and, of course, the arrival of a major vocalist and serious artist. A few months later, Destroyer put out Thief, a record that was leaps and bounds ahead of anything Bejar had done before, and he too was getting noticed in international underground circles. Newman knew he had to make a record at least as good as those two. By that November, he had.



If there was any concern about living up to “Letter From an Occupant,” the opening title track put that to rest. It opens with a descending riff played on a tinny keyboard and slashing guitar chords, set to a clipped shuffle. Once again, Neko takes the lead, with multiple harmonies joining her at the end of each line. The bridge has intricately layered Beach Boys harmonies (no blender this time) for eight glorious bars, reappearing again before the coda (again, no shortage of hooks here), which has a different descending riff while first Newman and then a chorus of voices sing about “this boy’s life among the electrical lights.” With that, you can hear floodlights being turned on, the music nerd universe’s attention suddenly directed toward this ragtag group of Vancouverites who, after a decade in the trenches, are more than ready for prime time.

There was no shortage of ambition. During recording, there were two key reference points: one was Neutral Milk Hotel’s In the Aeroplane Over the Sea; the other was the dense pop symphonic concoctions of ABBA. Everything needed to be over the top. So much of Mass Romantic sounds like pent-up teenage energy, of people who’ve been waiting in the wings for too long and finally get a chance to shine. Maybe they were nerds too smart for their own good, maybe they were weirdos never accepted by cool kids, maybe they were not only Canadians (which no one in the world cares about) but Western Canadians (which no one east of Thunder Bay cares about) and goddammit, they were going to set off fireworks that could be seen far beyond Rocky Mountains and national borders.

And so the music here demands to be played loud, full of big riffs, fuzzy guitars, layered harmonies, piano parts that never miss a chance to glissando, ugly synths that sound like creaking doors, galloping drums, saxophones (anathema in the zeitgeist at the time) and choruses revolving around phrases like “salvation holdout central.” Then there’s “Mystery Hours,” a song of constant bluster, where the verse chord progression sounds like trying to maintain balance during a log rolling competition, until the chorus repeatedly pummels you over the head while Newman threatens to sing way out of his range and yet gets there every time.

That song is followed by Bejar’s “Jackie,” a respite at a slower tempo, featuring these incredible opening lines: “Jackie, you yourself said it best when you said / ‘There's been a break in the continuum / the United States used to be lots of fun...’ " To hear that line in a pop song in the same month that a contested presidential election was galvanizing America was a weird, seemingly prescient thrill at the time (Haha, end of empire! Take that, exceptionalists!)—except that it can now be argued that the outcome of that (actually stolen?) election started a 20-year-old march toward what now looks like a looming civil war. A break in the continuum, indeed. Oh yeah, and there are also songs on here titled “Fake Headlines” and “Centre for Holy Wars.” So there’s that. Does hope still grow “greener than grass stains” these days? I don’t know, I mean, grass stains are usually more dirt brown than green anyway. I digress.

The album was a hit right out of the gate, exceeding any expectations in terms of sales and press. Someone told Newman after a gig at a Manhattan club that, “Canada is cool now. Because of you guys and Peaches.” It was picked up by Matador in 2001. More great albums followed. They toured the world.

Part of the initial appeal to international media was patronizing, to say the least: “How did a band this good come from Canada?” (It’s not our fault you didn’t pay attention, you Canuckophobic fuckers!) When it came out in November 2000, Mass Romantic ended a year that also brought us the Weakerthans’ Left and Leaving, the Dears’ End of a Hollywood Bedtime Story, the Be Good Tanyas’ Blue Horse, Kid Koala’s Carpal Tunnel Syndrome, Godspeed You Black Emperor’s Lift Your Skinny Fists, Tegan and Sara’s This Business of Art: lots of wheels in motion there for the explosion that followed shortly thereafter. (Yes, I'm writing a book, about this and more.)

One could easily argue that there is no Broken Social Scene or Arcade Fire without Mass Romantic, made by the first-ever Canadian band to erroneously be called either a "collective" or a "supergroup," a trend that plagued others in their wake. The question was no longer, “How did this come from Canada?” It became, “How come there are so many great Canadian acts right now?”

The band is still going strong today, even though Case and Bejar are now only tangentially involved in touring. (Bejar actually quit right after Mass Romantic came out, though he showed up for the occasional gig and continued to contribute a couple of songs per album until 2014. Todd Francey joined in 2000; Kathryn Calder in 2005; Dahle left a few years ago, replaced by Joe Seiders. Auxiliary players have come and gone.) Their 2019 album was one of their best (and, sadly, highly underrated). The New Pornographers’ story is far from over.

There were loose plans to celebrate the anniversary with some shows in 2020. Even Bejar was in. Then, of course, suddenly no one had any plans at all. All we can do now is turn it up, annoy the neighbours, do some air drumming, sing really terribly, and hail the New Pornography that got us here.

The songs are still shaking me.

2020 odds 'n' sods

Before posting my top 40 of 2020, here are 10 other records I enjoyed this year that deserve to be in the time capsule: mostly either by promising newbies or vets who continue to surprise. 

Destroyer – Have We Met (Merge). Come for John Collins's impeccable and interesting production, which is an '80s throwback that improves considerably on the original era. Stay, if you like, for Dan Bejar, who's more miss than hit this time out; some of his weaker lyrical moments prevent me from loving this more than I do, because musically it's one of his strongest. 

DijahSB – 2020 The Album (independent). "It's time for me to become a household name," this Toronto rapper told Xtra recently. Why not? This is a bright, bold, funky record with serious flow, an album made for the dancefloor that never falls into trap. Musical positivity abounds, even when the lyrics are brutally honest about the chronic pitfalls of poverty ("I'll Pay You Back on Friday," "Broke Boi Anthem." 

 

Dana Gavanski – Yesterday Is Gone (Flemish Eye). Here's what I wrote earlier this year: 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. 

 

Magnetic Fields – Quickies (Nonesuch). With 28 songs in 47 minutes, there's not much time to dislike anything here—though there are definitely a few duds—and Stephin Merritt is up to many of his best tricks. Who else could spin a relationship metaphor from "Kraftwerk in a Blackout"? And I'm kind of surprised that "The Day the Politicians Died" ("billions laughed and no one cried... celebrations spread worldwide") didn't get more play in this hellish year.

 

   

Jon McKiel – Bobby Joe Hope (You've Changed). If this record sounds like a long-lost '60s pop gem, that's because it kind of is. McKiel lives in Sackville, N.B., where he bought an old analogue reel-to-reel tape recorder from an online seller. The recorder came with some tapes. On one of those tapes were isolated tracks: instruments, vocals, and even one complete song. McKiel took the tracks to Jay Crocker, a.k.a. Joyfultalk, and chopped them up into pieces from which McKiel then wrote his own songs, collaborating with an artist he never met and never will. The result is hazy, psych-folk pop rich with mystery.

 

 

Terrell Morris – Lavender (Blakk Velvet Arts). Multi-dimensional Toronto R&B/hip-hop, silky singing voice, decent rapper,  but most important a breadth of styles heard over the course of this album. Opening track "Winterfall" ("Fuck I hate the winter / damn I love the fall" speaks to me) spends half its running time with Morris accompanied by only a solo alto saxophone. The more contemporary "Roxy" features a video co-starring 2019 longlister Sydanie. "Play the Fool," primarily a solo acoustic guitar track, puts him in Bahamas/Kiwanuka territory. "Got the Love" is a Kaytranada-esque pop song. "Renaissance" is in super-smooth Sade territory. Fans of fellow Torontonians Junia T, Keita Juma, Charlotte Day Wilson, Daniel Caesar et al should be tuning in. 

 

 

Sneaks – Happy Birthday (Merge). "Tell me, do you want to go out tonight?" HELL YES O GOD PLEASE MAKE THIS LOCKDOWN END. (Safely and scientifically, of course.) Sitting somewhere between early Solange and Le Tigre with some 80s Detroit techno in the mix, this DC artist's fourth album ("I'm not overrated / I'm not underrated / I'm just slightly sophisticated") would have sounded great after last call at your local, but in 2020 it became a soundtrack to driving around desolate streets late at night remembering what was. 

Charles Spearin and Josefin Rusteen – Thank God the Plague is Over (Arts and Crafts). So, yeah, about that title: this was recorded in a 16th-century chapel in a tiny Italian town ravished by the Black Plague, and the titular phrase was 400-year-old graffiti on the wall. Spearin (Broken Social Scene, Do Make Say Think) and Rusteen (a Swedish violinist who's played with Ane Brun) improvised in this chapel every day during an artist's retreat set up by Feist, on nyckelharpa and violin. There are ghosts in this music, and two strangers who don't speak the same language found common ground among them. 

 

Tricky – Fall to Pieces (False Idols). I only check in on Tricky every few years, but the success of Backxwash (with whom I'd love to hear a collaboration), the continued influence of Billie Eilish, and other elements in the zeitgeist made me realize how much we still hear 1995's Maxinquaye every day, in different ways. What I hadn't realized is that he lost his 24-year-old daughter in 2019, and wrote a memoir about his tumultuous life later that year. This new record is very much a 21st century blues album, particularly the raw "Hate This Pain." Most of it is sparse, lovely, and features Polish vocalist Marta. It's his 14th album. I don't claim to be intimate with every minute detail of his discography, but I'd hazard a guess that this is one of the best. 

 

William Tyler – New Vanitas (Merge). I'm not going to the U.S. anytime soon. I'm not going anywhere soon, for that matter, except the furthest reaches of my imagination. For those journeys, Nashville guitarist William Tyler makes great driving music. It's vivid and meditative music, but always seems to be in motion, full of changing landscapes and small details spotted at the side of the road. And whereas someone like Julianna Barwick--whose music served a similar function for me this year--seems to reside in fantastical places, Tyler sounds rooted in the natural world, or at the very least in the quotidian corners of your neighbourhood you never noticed before you were forced to explore them when the world collapsed around you. 

 

 

2020 best reissue: Beverly Glenn-Copeland

Beverly Glenn-Copeland – Transmissions (Transgressions).

Is it a comeback story if no one knew who you were? Are you a late bloomer if you've been performing for 50 years? No, the incredible story of Beverly Glenn-Copeland is one of a new generation's discovery of the right artist at the right time and place.

Here's the short version of the story: a Philadelphia woman attends McGill as one of the first black students and certainly one of the only out lesbians there at the time, records two self-titled albums: one for the CBC in 1970 and one the next year with some of the top players in Canada, including guitarist Lenny Breau, and recorded by future Rush producer Terry Brown. Does some session work, including with Bruce Cockburn in 1980-81 (among other things, on the phenomenal "Tokyo," one of the greatest singles by Cockburn—or anyone), and lands a 25-year gig on Mr. Dressup. Moves to the woods near Huntsville, Ontario, in the 1980s, discovers early computer music software and releases Keyboard Fantasies in 1986, selling only 50 copies on cassette. Lived a life of obscurity for decades, identified as trans in 2002, and through a weird fluke and Japanese interest in Keyboard Fantasies, ended up becoming a minor underground sensation in the late 2010s, sparking a documentary, tributes, and international gigs and press. That all leads to this career-spanning compilation. 

Among others, a really lovely long-form profile ran in the New Republic.

Before Copeland's renaissance, I was aware of the name, if only because I'm the kind of nerd who reads Bruce Cockburn liner notes. I inherited a bunch of '70s vinyl years ago from a family friend, which included Copeland's second album. It didn't do anything for me when I got it, nor when I revisited it over the years: it's lovely but very earnest folk-jazz that I pegged as a post-Yorkville curiosity. Likewise, when Keyboard Fantasies was first re-released, I listened and heard only the kind of '80s new age that seemed oddly in vogue with people 20 years younger than me, and I was mystified. For all I knew, which was not much, this story could be the new "Lewis"—and if you know that somewhat regrettable obscure Canadian reference, more power to you. As Copeland's profile increased, I didn't pay much attention.

This brief yet comprehensive compilation, however, is a game-changer, and the strongest testament yet as to why Copeland deserves to be heard. First, is the voice: rich with operatic gospel tones, seemingly effortless and never show-offy. It's such a beautiful and warm instrument. With that comes a sheer force of personality that carries the listener through those Joni-esque early folk recordings to the lilting '80s synth lullabies of "Ever New" to the trip-hop of opening track "La Vita" to more recent recordings, including a rousing singalong version of "Deep River" recorded in the Netherlands.

That's why this compilation works so well: by spanning such a broad stretch of time, the track list's musical diversity reveals a complete portrait of a complex artist. Whereas certain albums sound dated as a whole, individual tracks illuminate steps in a journey (and I now love the two tracks here from Keyboard Fantasies). Without this curatorial vision, would I ever have become enraptured by the world of Beverly Glenn-Copeland? Possibly, if I had the chance to see him perform live, or finally got around to watching the doc (which I haven't yet). But this comp is revelatory and endlessly rewarding.  

This week, the Polaris Heritage Music Prize inducted three records: Buffy Sainte-Marie's It's My Way, Main Source's Breaking Atoms—both selected by a jury of critics—and Keyboard Fantasies, which won the public vote. All three choices seem rooted in a deliberate attempt to broaden the Canadian canon, which thrills me to no end (I say this having been a founding juror in 2015, when I considered it part of the mandate). But I'm always skeptical of public votes on prizes, because it's all too easy for an artist's fan base to vote early and vote often, so depending on the rabidity of the fan base (Rush) and the hustle chutzpah of the artist (Peaches), it can be relatively easy to win (not that either of those two didn't deserve it; they did).

But how the hell did Beverly Glenn-Copeland win the public vote? There's no marketing machine there. It's not a nostalgic favourite; the album only became widely available relatively recently—an album, I'll remind you, that only sold 50 copies the first time around. And finally, two years ago the number of people who knew his name probably numbered in the low hundreds. From total obscurity to winning a public vote previously won by Neil Young, Arcade Fire and Alanis Morrisette—that's quite a leap.

It says a lot that this music, this man, strikes such a chord right here, right now, with healing music in a world of pain. 

Runners-up for best 2020 reissue:

Prince – Sign O the Times (Warner). I mean, come on. On the one hand, it presents a good argument for record company interference: the 1987 double album is flawless; a triple album would not have been. But the "fat" sure is fascinating, even if we've already heard the best tracks trickle out over the years (and the mythical Miles Davis collab is not one of them).

Pylon – Box (New West). I'm not a big enough fan that the B-sides and early demos mean a lot to me, but the fact that the first two records, from 1980 and 1981—the missing link between the B-52s and R.E.M. in the lore of Athens, Ga.—are once again widely available is thrilling enough. The band that once blew away Gang of Four and turned down a tour with early U2 can now once again prove what all the fuss was about. Still pinching myself over the fact that I got to see the Pylon Re-Enactment Society perform at a street festival in Athens last year, a teenage dream come true. Only question: where is 1990's Chain, the record they made after R.E.M. lured them out of retirement?

2020 vision on 2019's missing greats

Every year there are tons of records I miss, only to discover later—usually through the help of reading other people's year-end lists, or various wormholes I find myself falling into. Now that I'm no longer writing a weekly review column, that list is larger than usual. Here's 10 records that I wasn't aware of, or that hadn't sunk in, when I wrote my 2019 best-of, which you can read here. Best of 2020 coming soon.

 

 

 

Bon Enfant – s/t. In the shittiest year imaginable, this French-Canadian slice of psych-pop brought rays of sunshine and escapism. A windows-open, first-day-of-spring classic. This list is in alphabetical order, but Bon Enfant would be at the top even if it wasn't. I've written about it here and here. 

  

Kaytranada – Bubba (RCA). This came out in mid-December 2019, after most year-end lists were published. Why such a summer dance record would come out in December is a mystery to me, but it didn't seem to affect this Montreal DJ's upward trajectory. I wrote about it here and here. 

Lankum – The Livelong Day (Rough Trade). A traditional Irish band from Dublin who approach their material like a Gaelic Godspeed, full of drones and tension and explosions. Some incredible interpretations of traditional songs ("Katie Cruel") alongside originals ("Young People," about a suicide epidemic). This is music for life during wartime. Or, say, a pandemic. "I've been a wild rover for many's a year / And I've spent half me money drinking strong ale and beer / But now for the future I must take better care / In case that misfortune might come to my share." So stay at home and drone the fuck out with Lankum instead.  

 

Also: holy cow, this video.

Lightning Dust – Spectre (Western Vinyl). Fifteen years after Josh Wells and Amber Webber were a huge part of Black Mountain's debut album, their own project put out what might be the best record they've ever been involved in. I don't know why I first heard it and thought merely, "Oh, that's nice." The more I dove in, the more I fell in love—especially during isolation times. I wrote about it here and here.

 

Little Scream – Speed Queen. This took a while to sink in, but when it did—after seeing her live show at the Wavelength anniversary—I couldn't stop listening to it. I've written about it here and here. 

 

Little Simz – Grey Area (Age 101). A fantastic rap record by this 26-year-old London woman, moving through rock, reggae, funk, disco and even orchestral flourishes ("Venom"). She slays on the mic, with charisma not unlike Haviah Mighty, but it's the music here that really gets me: sparse, lots of live instrumentation, and thriving on raw energy. I'll admit that most UK rap is a mystery to me, with rare exceptions, but this transcends many barriers. 

Mdou Moctar – Ilana: The Creator (Sahel Sounds). I've never been a blues guy, never need to hear a rock guitar god record again in my life, and if I ever crave electric desert blues I'm happy to cling to Tinariwen's 2017 album Elwan. But hoooooollllly shit, I was not prepared for Mdou Moctor, to whose game I'm coming to quite late, despite that Purple Rain-remade-in-the-Sahara shtick from five years ago. This record is fiery and entrancing and a total trip. He was on tour and due to appear in Toronto in March, with Les Filles de Illighadad, no less, when the shutdown hit—dammit! A new record on Matador is expected next year. 

 

Junius Paul – Ism (International Anthem). This Chicago jazz bassist appeared on Makaya McCraven's 2018 album Universal Beings, and this late 2019 debut solo outing compiles recordings made with others dating back years. He's a monstrous bassist surrounded by equally killer players, and this double album shifts between funk, bop and abstractions, sometimes all in one track ("Paris"). Lots of bang for one bass. 

 

Wilco – Ode to Joy (dBpm). I haven't followed everything Jeff Tweedy and company have done in the last decade—Tweedy interests me more as a producer than as a songwriter these days—but his excellent memoir sent me back to this one repeatedly. Yes, it's a largely acoustic, middle-aged band record riding a bit of an endless bummer, but hey, that's where I'm at. 

 

 

Yola – Walk Through Fire (Nonesuch). This was almost a year old (released in Feb 2019) by the time I heard it and was completely blown away. I mean, just the first song ("Faraway Look"), on the first verse and the transition to the first chorus on is such revelatory ecstasy that it's hard to imagine the rest of the album matching it. And yet she pulls it off, again and again. Yola is a British soul singer, with a huge voice, recording in Nashville with Dan Auerbach, who gives her a lush 70s country-pop sound that matches her songs and skills to perfection. These songs are so good and timeless that I can't believe they're not all covers. And "Ride Out to the Country" became a personal fave at a time in 2020 when no one was allowed to do so.