Favourite Music Of 2004 – The Top 15 (4 of 4)

15: Xiu Xiu – Fabulous Muscles

Xiu Xiu first caught my eye in a Loose Lips Sink Ships article that compared them favourably to Virgin Prunes. I discovered Clowne Towne online (and if you haven’t, it’s here), played it incessantly without ever tiring of it, listened to some more of their stuff and then bought this, their latest release.
I haven’t played it as much as I expected, but it never disappoints on the occasions that it graces the CD player. It’s weird, alternate reality stuff. Jamie Stewart’s voice is tortured and frantic, frequently cracking with controlled hysteria. It’s probably an acquired taste: a very young Gavin Friday crossed with Brian Molko and Rozz thingy from Christian Death is about the best description I can come up with right now.
Musically, we’re in varied territory, with percussive, electronica oriented tracks nestling alongside casually strummed acoustic guitar and more sparse soundscapes. I like the noise they make, which reminds me occasionally of Björk in the way that it frequently loses its connection to anything around it. The lyrics are a mixed bunch, mostly fragmented and regularly heavy-going (as on Support Our Troops OH! (Black Angels OH!) and the title track).
Xiu Xiu are originals, with an intriguing vision. I thought they’d end up being a massive musical obsession of mine, but actually they avoided that. This is a good thing, because it means I can spend more time getting to know their back catalogue in 2005.
14: Björk – Medúlla

Speaking of whom, Björk’s latest album is lovely stuff. Her work gets purer with each release and, disappointed with Vespertine, I was happy to find myself back in tune with her singular oeuvre in 2004. This album is sensual and intimate, with an almost invisible production job that makes it feel like she’s standing right in front of you, whilst at the same time using enough tricks to provide a compellingly rich sonic backdrop.
It reminds me of Kate Bush’s best (i.e. strangest) work in the way that it retains fairly conventional song structures (in other hands, Who Is It could be a fantastic guitar-based pop song) whilst dispensing with the traditional rhythm/bass/melody concept. The more lively tracks like Where Is The Line reveal themselves as a music of pulses and washes that takes the jerky brilliance of something like Bush’s Suspended In Gaffa and pushes it to new limits. Quieter contributions such as Völkuroó are choral and meditative, more suited to a cathederal than a club.
Björk’s work continues to thrill and her status as an artist of long-term interest is, thankfully, assured.
13: Orbital – Blue Album

I bought their first album when it was originally released in 1497, but I never really persisted with them. I’ve always wanted to like them more, but found them a bit sterile. However, this one is great and it’s a fitting swan-song, given that they’ve decided to call it a day.
Their songs are frequently mathematical loops of precision, intricate and ornate, with logical but not always predictable sequences of change evolving through each track. However, they avoid sterility by remaining warm, lush and organic. The Sparks collaboration Acid Pants is just the kind of twisted burlesque monster that you’d expect, You Lot includes mesmerising snatches of Christopher Ecclestone’s dialogue from The Second Coming and the closing track’s Lisa Gerrard vocal is just breathtakingly beautiful.
Mrs Hg nominates this one as her Album Of The Year. Asked to provide exclusive comment for the readers of Hydragenic, she grimaced and pronounced the following in a sarcastic monotone: “It’s. Very. Good.” You know she loves you really, dahlings.
12: cLOUDDEAD – Ten

Nurse, the drugs are kicking in now. Would you mind asking the third monkey from the left to turn the blue down a little bit? Oh, and the one next to him to be a little less triangular? Ah yes, that’s better. Now, where’s that cLOUDDEAD CD? I need something that’s going to make all this seem comparatively normal…
I am sometimes prone to over-utilisation of the word “hallucinatory” when it comes to art (and particularly music). However, the diverse and bulbous collection of songs on Ten almost demands the use of the word. I have no idea what this album is “about”, but its warm and beguiling soundscapes held my attention for a large part of the year.
Lyrics full of precise and arresting imagery – “a single long-stemmed rose resting between two mountain antlers” being one of my favourites – with half-sung, half-rapped vocals in near-falsetto nasal tones. It doesn’t sound very attractive, yet it works beautifully on tranquil couplets such as the following: “It’s hard to stand the sight of two dogs dead under a sky so blue / You have to stop the blood to your head to fit the breath in front of you.”
If I’ve whetted your interest, here are some fine reviews.
11: Rufus Wainwright – Want One

I’m not really sure what to say about Rufus Wainwright, except that somehow the whole is greater than the sum of the parts. He’s an engaging interviewee, fun on stage, has a soaring but sometimes lifeless voice and writes great songs that always seem to fall short of being Great Songs.
In 2004 he released an album with slightly hollow-sounding production, to near universal acclaim. It makes me feel pleasurably nauseous each time I listen to it, like the aftermath of the box of chocolates that you shouldn’t have eaten in one go (but enjoyed anyway). At the time of writing, its follow-up (Want Two) is released in the USA but not the UK. I’ve heard it once and like it a whole lot more.
I’m slightly confused at exactly why I’ve included this album in my Top 15, to be honest. I think more than anything, Rufus Wainwright was a very definite part of my 2004 vibe in a variety of ways (he never seemed to be out of the press, I saw him perform twice and I loved his sister’s music too). Sometimes it’s about more than just the music.
10: Kings Of Leon – Aha Shake Heartbreak

Another band whose first album failed to engage me, despite interest in them generated by the interviews that I had read. There seemed to be more than a hint of manufacture about their music, but with this second release I think they’ve shaken that off and proved that they can deliver the goods.
The ubiquitous single The Bucket included one of the most darkly humorous lines of the year (“You kick the bucket and I’ll swing my legs”). It’s a lovely double-sided couplet that evokes both a lazy sunny day on the verandah and a sympathetic death. It’s typical of the territory – the lyrics as a whole have the compressed, hyper-real feel of The Doors’ LA Woman album.
I love the whole thing, but I’m especially fond of the track that several reviewers disliked, Velvet Snow. It’s a breakneck, hillbilly, rock’n'roll stomp of the kind that Throwing Muses used to do in their earlier days (Rabbits Dying, for example) and the vocal has a feral Beefheart-like tone. It’s so short that it’s over almost before it’s begun and the use of the repeat button is mandatory for full enjoyment.
A year ago I would have written Kings Of Leon off as a flash in the pan, but now I’m thinking that they’ve got what it takes to stick around for a while longer. I’ll be following their progress with interest.
9: Robi Draco Rosa – Mad Love

Hazy, dreamlike stuff that matches the best of Jeff Buckley or (again) The Doors. I hope that Vaughan won’t mind a quote from a personal e-mail message, when I relay his observation that this is “music for listening to in the dark” – he’s absolutely spot on.
Caroline loved it, despite the fact that it sounds like Sting. I’m not sure that I have anything to add to her description, only to reiterate the recommendation.
8: Bright Eyes – Lua/Take It Easy


Not that I promised anything in particular, but this is where I start to deviate from the expectation that I’m writing about albums here. Bright Eyes released two singles, each a taster for two new albums due in January (next Monday, in the UK).
The former, Lua, is from the forthcoming I’m Wide Awake It’s Morning. This treads familar ground, both lyrically and musically. It’s a quiet, reflective, downbeat sketch of an alcohol- and chemical-fuelled evening that isn’t nearly as much fun as its protagonists would like to believe. “We may die from medication, but we sure killed all the pain,” he reflects ruefully, before coming to the song’s central conclusion: “what is simple in the moonlight, by the morning never is.”
Take It Easy is from Digital Ash In A Digital Urn and marks a more electronically oriented sound. Superficially more upbeat than Lua, nevertheless it’s another tale of romantic woe. Regret is mixed with spite, as Oberst builds a protective shell around himself before declaring “if you stay too long inside my memory, I will trap you in a song tied to a melody and I will keep you there so you can’t bother me.” The other track, Burn Rubber, is great too; a few weeks ago I described it elsewhere as Mungo Jerry reconfigured as hillbilly drum ‘n’ bass and a better description hasn’t come to me since then.
The albums should be awesome.
7: Bloc Party – Bloc Party EP

Officially The Next Big Thing by general consensus, by the end of 2004 they had only released singles, plus this EP for the USA market. I had downloaded the Phones Disco Edit mix of Banquet from their website and bought this CD on the strength of that one track. It still ranks as one of the best things I’ve heard all year and there were whole weeks where I was utterly obsessed with it, listening to it more than ten times a day.
On this basis alone, I’ve given then seventh position in my Top 15. However, long-term I’m more cautious. There’s something about them that slightly eludes me. When I listen to the music, I love it, but aferwards I remember neither tune nor melody. They remind me a bit of The Cure’s earlier stuff (Seventeen Seconds and Faith especially) in that the emotional dislocation of the music makes it hard for me to engage with it.
Inscruitable, maybe. I have a feeling that I’ll be listening to them a lot without ever truly loving them.
6: JC Chasez – Schizophrenic

Earlier this year, I would have considered it a dead cert that this was going to be my favourite album of the year. I stopped playing it at the start of the autumn after a three month period of almost constant presence and so I reapproached it in early January with a slight sense of trepidation. Could it really have been that good, or was I just trying to recapture the magic of Justin Timberlake’s debut solo album the previous year?
No worries. If Justin Timberlake was Michael Jackson, JC is Prince. The former produced an immaculately executed collection of songs whose remarkable level of consistency almost but not quite hid the sterile whiff of commercial aspiration lingering in the air. The latter doesn’t seem to give a damn for commercial success and produced an eclectic, all-over-the-place, slightly bonkers mix of soft-core porn and hard-core funk.
Its most honest song is All Day Long I Think About Sex, which is the best thing that Pete Burns never wrote. Sex features repeatedly in the lyrics overall and this overriding obsession could, in other hands, come across as sleazy. It’s to JC’s credit that he merely manages to sound like an over-enthusiastic puppy-dog, so pleased to see you that he just wants to, er, slobber all over you. It’s cheesy, mildly disconcerting but completely good-natured.
My only criticism is that, like many albums these days, it goes on for too long. Track eleven would be a good place for it to stop, with maybe Blowin’ Me Up tacked on to the end as a bonus. Whilst there’s nothing particularly wrong with tracks twelve onwards, they’re mostly superfluous. I don’t know whether JC has a second album in him, but respect for doing just what he damn well wanted on his first. He certainly has the talent to succeed, but I suspect that he doesn’t care enough. This is to be admired.
5: The Futureheads – The Futureheads

I love The Futureheads’ debut. Spiky, concise pop songs with wonderful harmonies, it reminds me of all kinds of different things that you wouldn’t naturally associate with each other: James, The Undertones, The Housemartins and The Proclaimers spring most immediately to mind. I’ve never really paid enough attention to Wire, but this is what I imagine they sounded like in their early days.
The songs are all too short, the album is over in the blink of an eye and you’re left with an overwhelming desire for more. There’s nothing particularly deep about their material, but it’s a nicely observed set of social vignettes, ranging from unenjoyed conversations to new jobs via metropolitan consumerism and the grim love of the space age. And then there’s that version of Hounds Of Love, in which the stately gallop of Bush’s original version is transformed into the frantic dash of the fox fleeing for its life.
When they sing “well here I go, don’t let me go, hold me down,” it sounds like an impossible dare. If there’s nothing more here than an irrepressible energy (and I suspect that there is), that would be good enough.
4: The Killers – Hot Fuss

I was surprised last week to find out just how successful this album has been (No. 2 in the Tesco albums chart, no less!), as I’ve been thinking of it as a little-known secret. Now the cat’s out of the bag, all I can say is that if you’ve ever liked the artier end of Brit rock or maulin-but-not-entirely-suicidal Cure, this is going to be a treat for you.
What makes The Killers stand out above the more pedestrian delights of bands like Franz Ferdinand is that they’ve not let their art become artifice. Their passionate (but not necessarily earnest), urgent, driven music sounds like Pulp when they were still hungry and before The Fear set in. They’re lean and they mean it.
Somebody Told Me seems to be the track that everyone knows and it’s certainly the best thing on the album. I like Mr Brightside a lot too. It contains the best implied/withheld rhyme of the year (“Now they’re going to bed / And my stomach is sick / And it’s all in my head / But she’s touching his… / Chest now / He takes off her / Dress now / Let me go…”) and manages to convey a complex mix of optimism and self-loathing.
Imagine the (mental) voyeurism of Pulp’s Babies, the gender confusion of Blue’s Girls And Boys and the sheer rush of Teardrop Explodes’ Reward and you’re almost there. The gospel surge of the “I’ve got soul but I’m not a soldier” refrain in All These Things That I