Looking at the concert schedule, one wouldn't expect this event to have anything to do with a Christian college. Lupe Fiasco, The Hold Steady, The War on Drugs, Over the Rhine and David Bazan were the highlighted shows of the weekend. So what's so "Christian" about this event, anyway?

Author and teacher David Dark may have some insight into why an event like the Festival of Faith and Music exists. During his workshop at the fest, he said of music: "...you have it in your head, but you don't always pay attention to it. When you pay attention, then something happens in your mind."

The festival is not concerned with simply entertaining, but purposefully presents workshops and seminars to help attendees think about what it means to sincerely engage with music. This festival takes music seriously. It doesn't look at electronica as work out music, or punk as a forgotten expression of youthful rebellion. The Festival of Faith and Music is attempting to strike at the heart of what happens when Lupe Fiasco sings about American terrorists, and why Dave Bazan says the f-word in his songs. The Festival of Faith and Music is about the truth of music.

The hope is attendees will experience culture without any form of elitism, be that indie-snobbery or self-righteous religiosity. Christian or not, every person in the world experiences something special within themselves when they're at a concert. It's a topic worthy of dialogue, and the festival's purpose every two years is to spawn those conversations.

In 2007, the fest brought in Sufjan Stevens, Emmylou Harris and Neko Case. and posed the question: "is it possible that not only Christians are able to create music of great cultural and spiritual importance?"

...

This year's event was even more open-minded and fascinating than its predecessors. The highlight of the fest was a meet-up between Lupe Fiasco and renowned thinker and author, Cornel West. In an intellectually engaging discussion about hip-hop, Lupe spoke about what it means for him to interact with art. "The world is a mess, and we're products of that world. But you have to check your mind and soul to find out what the garbage, what the mess is," he said.

As Lupe reminds, awareness is a key principle in music. When a musician composes a piece of music, it takes all his or her experience and skill to put that work together. When a listener consumes this work, they should do so with the utmost appreciation for the energy and heart the creator initially put into it.

David Bazan accentuates this point in saying, "whatever is true, as long as you're thoughtful and careful, will present itself to you." Without mention of the gospel, the speakers and artists at the Festival of Faith and Music showed nothing but respect to the Christian faith. Whether or not they're Christians was of less importance. Lupe Fiasco told Cornel West, "I separated culture from religion, and then religion from spirituality." Setting out three clear distinctions between culture, religion and spirituality, Lupe is a perfect headliner for this unique festival. "I started to go off what I felt, not what I thought."

Too often, American culture blends spirituality with entertainment, and the result is crude and dishonest drivel. Engaging with music can be a spiritual phenomenon, but is not one to be exploited. There isn't much discussion of mainstream Christian music here, as the event is interested in real art and cultural relevance.

"I believe Radiohead. I think they're telling the truth, and I want to be in on it," David Dark said. It is not a specific faith that keeps this festival running, but an openness to the possibility that faith could be bigger than what most Christian rock bands sell. God might be a topic of a Switchfoot song, but that's not to say He can't be just as important in an iconoclastic Arcade Fire track ,as well.

Song may be composed of metaphors, lies, and facts. None of these things are in and of themselves "truth." But after a weekend at the Festival of Faith and Music, one can argue these three things (when indecipherable amongst each other) all point to truth. This truth is not Christianity, but is a God who requires no elitism to experience Him, only a creative spirit.

All of the bands I was excited to see provided me with an excellent set (The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart, The Antlers, Ume, Loney Dear, and more). Titus Andronicus was the only band of whom I had no knowledge that served up music I will chase them down upon my return home. There's a lot happening in the contemporary music scene that has me full of both anticipation and anxiety, and much of it on display at SXSW.

I went, once again, as a completely badge-less, wristband-less, and pass-less poor freelance journalist who had to RSVP for any of the key shows he had any hope of entering, while hoping that his few (but strong) PR contacts could get him into other shows. Thus, I passed over (amongst others) the well-attended Hot Freaks and Pitchfork day shows for other day shows where I knew I wouldn't have to combat the hordes of annoying people there just to chat and not actually watch music. Thus, I managed to partake of a decent portion of the same acts that played the big showcases, but without having to wait in long lines or deal with too many irritating hipster clones (with their Kanye-styled wardrobes). Also, without having to be embarrassed about my lack of a cool, access-granting badge.

From my vantage point as an un-embedded reporter, I would surmise that SXSW 2009 was representative of the economy as a whole: the quality was not diminished, but the size, enormity, and scope of the event certainly were. I took several strolls up and down 6th Street (and requisite adjoining streets), making my way from show to show, and the crowds looked less imposing than last year. Moreover, when you can see more than a few empty/quiet venues in the heart of the event, you know that the general populace's pocketbooks are a bit thin.

On the whole, there looked to be fewer day shows and nighttime showcases, which only served to reinforce one's need to either have a badge/wristband, RSVP far in advance, or be willing to stand in line for the big-name shows. Also of note was less free stuff - food, alcohol, swag, etc. - to go around at the mid-to-lower-level events, and what was present was in diminished quantities. For folks like me, this definitely drove up expenditures compared to years past. Granted, there were still events - the vaunted Fader Fort (put on by Levi's) or the Red Bull Moon Tower Party, for example - where you could go for all manner of hip bands, free stuff, and proof that some aspects of the current economy are doing just fine (clothing and energy drinks are obviously impervious to sundry banking crises).

The flip side to this is that the bands that were in attendance (also fewer than last year) had a greater number of chances to play more shows, thus increasing the average attendee's chances to see a favored band at least once. Groups like The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart, Chairlift, and Vivian Girls played multiple shows across the course of SXSW 2009, earning them an even greater opportunity to increase the buzz surrounding them. Whether you buy into any given band's buzz or not, it was great to not have to worry what show you were going to as there were plenty of prospects to see any number of trendy bands and form your own opinion.

Musically, it seems that samplers, keyboards, and synthesizers are firmly entrenched in the contemporary music scene, as bands as diverse as Akron Family, Telepathe, and The Antlers incorporated those instruments into their live setups. Granted, many of these bands used them in the more traditional format - Princeton had one guy whom seemed to actually know how to play the keyboard - but many others are employing the technology to create quirky, arty sampled sounds to round out the band's sound, while others are just trying to look and sound as weird and cool as possible. I'm not dissing the use of such an instrument/tool in any given band's repertoire, but I challenge bands (like I challenged Anamanaguchi) to either learn how to play the piano or learn how to create beats organically in a live context. I want more from my 3rd-wave post-punk than some energetic teens and twenty-somethings playing retread rock that sounds danceable and hip just because they're playing over pre-recorded beats.

The other sparkling piece of analysis (while not entirely original) regarding the event I might could provide would be this: with Rolling Stone now a physically smaller magazine, Paste having moved to a bi-monthly status, and so many other print magazines going out of business or totally online, the power of the blogosphere to make or break bands is at a peak. My contention is that maybe it has peaked, in that, though the advertising dollars are out there, they can only be spread in so many directions. Thus, with the internet being as diverse as it already is (much less being theoretically endless), even the high-profile websites and blogs that curated the big-time events at SXSW 2009 aren't the all-powerful tastemakers that magazines like Rolling Stone and Creem once were. There are simply too many of us out there for only a mere handful to hold all of the power - oligarchies and plutocracies might exist in contemporary politics, but the internet is much too democratic for that.

All of that aside, SXSW 2009 was enjoyable for me. I was pleased to find a number of quality rock bands out there that seem blissfully unaware of any buzz or hype, while others are hoping to ride their newfound notoriety as long as the current flavor of the month still has a hint of taste left in it. It's no different than any other festival of its kind - several days of loud music, greasy food, copious alcohol, and a lack of quality sleep make for quite a heady brew.

Maybe it seems lofty to say that a band, some sounds and some words could save us from death - but the music that we heard that night in the small Western-themed room full of leather boots, tin ads for beer and paper ads for rodeos pinned by rusty nails to splintered wood, seemed to come out of man who had spent his former life in the body of an Appalachian minister and the other life as Buddy Holly. This concert felt something like church, but nothing like a worship service. I heard Elvis have an epiphany from two rows back as a heavy-set woman and a man with a bad haircut made out to my right. I remembered all of the words from Ash Wednesday ("Do you ever wonder where you go when you die/Emile's Vietnam in the sky" and "And here we go/All the night without love" and "No one will survive/Ash Wednesday alive.") and was made glad by the honest joy and salvation coming out of his guitar, out of his mouth, out of his eyes blocked by his thick long hair, out of unknown and uncalculated certainty in the eternal.

Some of the tunes were taken directly from the hymnal, but given a wonderful rockabilly treatment. I had never heard these songs, seeing as I am not ninety-years old and grew up in a church where a majority of the songs played were written after 1985, expect for "Blood of the Lamb" which was played at the end of every sermon for what I assumed was emotional effect - but it never did anything for me. This was a jubilee. Now, writing this, watching cars role past on I-90, I can hear perfectly Elvis singing, "I don't let doomsday bother me, will you let it bother you...I do not plan to die," and the band and the unchurched crowd yelling, "Nor should you plan to die!" My heart jumped. Even the public lovers to my right stopped licking each other's ears for a second. This sounded like hope. This sounded like joy. There was something beautiful hearing a man who has spun despair and anger and fear on my turntable for the past two years now seeming to have some kind of grip on the unknown future and an appreciation for the shaky past. In the jangley "123 Goodbye" you can see a man on his deathbed, saying, "It was happy, 123, it was sad, 123, we were happy once, when we were sad." In other words, we were glad when we were together, no matter what the circumstances. He says to that same woman, "When I go to heaven, I know you'll go with me." This is not "wonder" anymore. These log cabin rock tunes are about those parts of death and the parts of dark clouds and pain that we somehow find to be beautiful.

The stage could hardly hold them. Elvis and his six guitars were pushed the far left side. Brigham Bough almost knocked over every piece of equipment as he moved around with his bass guitar lifted high on his chest. Wyndham Boylan-Garnett had to strategize as he got up from his organ to play trombone on certain tunes like "Doomsday" and "While You Were Sleeping." Nick Kinsey was pushed to the back with his drum kit, but somehow found enough space for his strapped bass drum that he played like a lawless parade conductor on "Doomsday" and "I Heard Your Voice in Dresden." When these men played, it was as though they were taken over by the spirit of rock and roll, which has many saints - it is a strong spirit.

Just like Elvis "heard the voice in Dresden, and it follow him everywhere, Glory, Glory, Hallelujah," the clanging drums, the howling organs, the American Graffiti guitar sounds and the joyous combination of everything followed Christye and I back out into the cold, and we sang "Glory, Glory," by ordering two plates of nachos, being unafraid to die.

However, if the amazing music on Bromst is any indication, it would seem that Dan Deacon used Dylan's original sonic experiment as a focal point for setting about to experimenting with his own range and limits to his style. Anyone with the slightest of pinkie toe on the pulse of pop music culture is familiar with Deacon's frenetic, kinetic brand of dance-pop and the frenzied live performances of his songs. But immediately upon the first play-through of this new record, it's readily apparent that Deacon made the conscious decision to set aside a few of his electronic devices and invite along a few of his friends to contribute their aptitude on more traditional musical instruments.

The result is the most grown-up set of songs that Deacon has ever created: Bromst is filled with xylophones, horns, strings, pianos, and a vast assortment of pitched percussion appliances, giving his synthesizers and electrical oddities a heretofore untapped depth that is rich, organic, and instantly accessible. The same sense of playful exuberance that carried Spiderman Of The Rings to the top of many best-of lists in 2007 is still more than present, but the breadth and detail of songcraft displayed here should vault Deacon to a new zenith in the indie lexicon.

The album begins with "Build Voice" and the song does exactly that as it provides the listener with the first glimpse into the new voices that will be joining Deacon on the record. Tracks like "Snookered" and "Woof Woof" find Deacon channeling Win Butler by making dance-pop in the mold of indie-rock - the songs start with a peaceably slow tempo, build to a driving middle with big drums and walking piano arpeggios, and then growing to an epic climax.

"Of The Mountain" is my favorite cut on the record as a xylophone and tribal percussion meet with Deacon's synthesizers to create a huge, groove-laden, trippy anthem. The funk-laced dance-pop of "Surprise Stefani" is also worth noting, as it pulses and builds with an intense energy worthy of any dance floor, yet ends on a light, sugary note. Bromst comes to a fitting conclusion with "Get Older," as the myriad tastes, tones, and textures that fill the album crash into each other on a singularly tremendous dance number.

All told, it appears that Dan Deacon has truly hit his stride on Bromst - it's a new hybrid form of symphonic dance-pop (post-dance-rock?!?) that might alienate the old fans, but stands to attract a multitude of newer ones . To put a finer definition to my claim, I would have to say that Deacon has cast aside his hyperactive, court jester routine to reveal an accomplished auteur worthy of any accolades (who still enjoys having a good time). So what if "Deacon went acoustic?" The music world might be all the better for it.

So while I was anticipating Case's follow-up, that sort of anticipation should be tempered. Fox Confessor Brings the Flood, while undeniably beautiful, was also especially appealing at a certain time. For me, it was iconic. And while it's entirely subjective, follow-ups to iconic albums usually fall flat for me. When Middle Cyclone was announced, I was prepared for disappointment.

I don't usually enjoy being wrong, but I'm happy to report Middle Cyclone is better than Fox Confessor Brings the Flood.

That's saying a lot, I know. Somehow, Neko Case, at least musically, keeps maturing. Middle Cyclone has plenty of Fox Confessor's lush arrangements and noir-ish lyrics dripping with dread. It has Case's voice, which I described in my review of Fox Confessor this way: "Blistering, smoldering, and seared into your skull...these are the only ways to describe Neko Case's vocals, throwbacks to a time before."

This time, though, there's more. "People Got a Lotta Nerve" is jangling Smiths-esque pop, filtered through Case's precise phrasing and boomed out in that crystalline wail. The track is pop worthy of any New Pornographers' record, but is unmistakable Neko Case. What's more, Case and her crew never overstay their welcome on any one track (well, except one). Regardless of pace, and there are plenty of slow tracks, hardly a song runs over the three minute mark.

There only one point where that's unfortunate, the all-to-brief "I'm an Animal", a rolling thunder of drums, a spectacular melody, and Case bellowing "Heaven will smell like the airport/But I may never get there to prove it/So let's not waste our time thinking how that ain't fair", which, you'll have to trust me, sounds better than it reads. It's the best track of the year so far, and I can't get enough.

Sounds aside, Neko Case's greatest leap in Middle Cyclone is a dramatic shift from storytelling to personal, introspective lyrics.

Take, for instance, the New York Times' piece on Case. She comes across, in the most polite sense, as incredibly self-centered and insecure, quick to blame others for every problem. Case has announced she is moving from Tucson to an unnamed town in Vermont because of Tucson's "social vampires":

"It's hard to imagine what these acts of social vampirism might consist of, but she prefers to leave them unspecified. She also asks that the Vermont town's name not be mentioned. 'I've had stalkers,' she says. Alexandria, Tacoma, Vancouver, Chicago, Tucson and, next, Vermont. Case hopes that her new community will prove to be her permanent home. You wonder."

In her songs, though, her hard shell fades. Take the title track, which could read as a direct apology to the smugness soaking through on the NY Times piece, had it not been recorded far earlier:

"Baby, why'm I worried now,
did someone make a fool of me
'fore I could show 'em how it's done?
Can't give up actin' tough,
it's all that I'm made of.
Can't scrape together quite enough
to ride the bus to the outskirts
of the fact that I need love."

Back on "I'm an Animal", Case postures again, singing "Yes, there are things I'm still so afraid of/But my courage is roaring like the sound of the sun". In light of Case's honest introspection elsewhere, the bravado of her claim is charming. Mainly, though, there's the hope that Neko Case isn't done embracing her brokenness.

Noble Beast, Bird's newest full-length release, in a lot of ways, is his attempt to be known to the world as a man who can do more than whistle loudly and pluck some strings to a neat little melody. This is not to say that those qualities don't appear on this record, but one can hear Bird taking many of the same ingredients and trying to make a whole new cake. The result is mostly delicious.

"Not a Robot, but a Ghost" and "Masterswarm" are the best examples of Bird trying to take a step outside the box built for him and show us what he can do with Latin-style beats, various computer noises, fuzzy guitars and hooks and bridges that land like trees in a windstorm. It would not surprise me in the slightest if someone decided to take his hand at remixing the dizzying beats of "Ghost" (which reminds me of a non-fat version of low-fat Radiohead tune) and I know for a fact that neither I nor any other critic has said that about a Andrew Bird track before.

The tracks above have a crowded, soiled feel, which is not true for most of the record. Most songs play like a ride on a skateboard on a smooth strip of sidewalk. The album artwork features a single tree in a overgrown field, which I think says a lot for this record. Tracks like "Nonemclature" and "Souverian" are allowed to slowly expand and rest and glide into the seven-minute mark without feeling like epics or absolute bores. "Effigy" is a romantic country waltz and the opening track, "Oh No" is a gentle pop ditty with enough bounce to push the album along, but not too much to make mellowest of mellow tracks a harsh surprise.

"Fitz and Dizzyspells" is a romping tune that keeps this album from being just a quiet reflection piece. To keep the cake analogy alive, this song, along with "Oh No", is the flour and sugar - the things that make a cake a cake; the things that make a Bird album a Bird album.

I have never been a fan of Bird as a lyricist. For the most part, he has just been someone that I can listen to when I need something that will entertain most and offend none. But for this album, I tried to listen well to what Bird has to say and the way he says them. And I was pleasantly surprised. Bird creates odd imagery to speak about familiar and universal feelings. "Effigy" is about the seeming dream of our relationships, about feeling lovingly connected to our peers, yet somehow alone, scared that everything could slip away: "Fake conversations on a non-existent telephone, like the words of a man whose spent too much time alone." "Nomenclature" is a beautiful tune about yearning for simpler times, but painfully aware that "Sometimes you have to pay to play with finger-paints and macrame" when the "colors have bled to grey."

Nobel Beast is a good-sized step in a good direction. He did not pull a Shepherd's Dog move and attempt a redefinition that moved too far too quickly. Musicians are just like us. They go through times when they question all that they are and all that they know, musically. Andrew Bird was wise in keeping enough of himself to make an album that personally progressive, appropriately sensitive and worth our fullest attention.

On "I'm Throwing My Arms Around Paris," Moz declares his affection for the French capital, because "only stone and steel accept my love," yet does so by suggesting that, somehow, even the city's "Paris=Romance" stereotype cannot return his love. "All You Need Is Me" is a growling song that proclaims its brooding, selfish-is-as-selfish-does ethos in the opening line, "You hiss and groan and you constantly moan, but you don't ever go away, and that's because all you need is me." With the track "It's Not Your Birthday Anymore," Morrissey ably states what many people only wish they could declare to an annoying acquaintance, coworker, or family member - "It's not your birthday anymore. There's no need to be kind to you and the will to see you smile and be loved has now gone." And finally, on "I'm OK By Myself," the chorus asserts a classic Morrissey theme: "This might surprise you but, I'm OK by myself, and I don't need you or your morality to save me."

There is a dangerous and willful aggression that seeps out of nearly every track here, creating an almost uncomfortable, sinking feeling in the pit of the listener's stomach. Yet, it is exactly the discomfort - delivered via snarling instrumentation and compelling vocal delivery - that makes the album so superior, as Morrissey's words are smarter and more smugly sardonic than anything he's penned in years. And like the finest of wines and whiskeys, Morrissey's voice has only deepened and become richer with age. He hits nearly every note (especially the high ones) with a measure of strength and power that eluded him in the '80s, allowing his voice to slightly crack only when emotionally appropriate.

Years Of Refusal only sags a bit around the songs "One Day Goodbye Will Be Farewell" and "You Were Good In Your Time" when the lyrics and tone plunge too acutely into an elegiac, funereal realm. Overall, this is an excellent record replete with the biting, high-quality mopery the music world has come to expect from The Mozzer, songs full of earnest melodrama, but with a limited amount of unnecessary wallowing. Count me as a fan and critic truly pleased with Years Of Refusal.

I can't tell at all; I almost don't believe him. The man sitting across from me at this Ballard pub seems as happy as a dog sticking his head out the window of a beat down Ford. He sips his whisky and ginger ale slowly as I write down responses with my right hand, drink Sprite with my left hand, and smile with intrigue at this dude, who, although he is barely my senior, seems wise beyond his years.

And maybe this has something to do with the fact that he has been writing and performing his own material since he was sixteen years old, putting out his first album when he was eighteen. And maybe it has something to do with how absolutely sure of himself he seems. There is almost no timidity in any of his responses, except when I bring up the "one year" ("Just give me one year/And I'll be yours my dear" and "If you have one more year/I will be yours my dear") that comes up multiple times in his newest eclectic collection of pop songs, Signal Flare.

"Well, that year has come and gone..." This when the sheepish grin comes on his face and he looks down at the table and takes another short sip from his short glass. "And, well, that turned out pretty horribly, actually. I think that is about as far I want to go into it."

I had never seen Anderson and Cataldo in concert, so I don't know exactly what he will look like, but I know that I am looking for someone tall, and, if he was being completely honest and accurate in his songwriting, someone about six-foot-six ("6'6"").

"I'm only six-foot-four, actually. But that doesn't sound quite as good in a song, does it?"

"No, I guess not," I say.

I want to say that a stiff breeze might knock him over, but that might be an overstatement. Maybe a wild shopping cart on a windy day would take him down. His long legs and disproportionately long feet tucked into his fading New Balance sneakers makes me think of Andy Dufrane from The Shawshank Redemption.

"I used to be a lot shorter, but I was the exact same weight so I just stretched out. I didn't play any sports when I was growing up, but now I have become a fanatic - not watching, but playing. I love playing basketball and tennis."

I almost don't believe him on this one either.

But I do know for sure that Anderson can write one hell of a pop rock love song. Signal Flare shows improvement in his ability to write ditties with tight and precise arrangements of guitar, banjo, piano, strings, horns and everything else that gives his simple songs the flare they need to survive in the bars and rooms he has been playing for the last few months across America, particularly Washington and the Midwest.

"I feel the tension of having to entertain and having to make something new or fresh when I am having to perform live. Some songs you just can't do in a bar without the drums and the vocals and everything. Really, I just have to entertain myself. If I like something, if something sounds cool, I keep it.

"I like the songs that I write. Sometimes I introduce stuff too soon. I write a lot of material for a song, but the song the way you hear it on the records, I have taken a lot of things away."

This sounds much different that what I hear other artists say about their material. It seems that to be an artist you must be a bit timid and slightly embarrassed (David Bazan and Ray LaMontagne come readily to mind) you must act as though you secretly hate all the songs you write and wish that you could write a song like ABC Songwriter and XYZ Recording Artist. But Anderson seems positively proud of himself and the songs that he writes. He tells me that he is a hopeful person, but are there insecurities?

"Hell yeah! I made my first record when I was eighteen. I go to school. I want to play music and pay my rent and I can't help but ask sometimes, what the f*** am I doing? That's being human. That's being normal. I know what I want to do and I can afford to be young, dumb and starving."

I can tell that Anderson could be doing a lot of other things besides playing music. He tells me about his love for words and his tendency to write and re-write simple emails and notes, the way he speaks to me about the things that he loves with deliberate thought and careful articulation. I can't help but think that this would be a boss's greatest dream in a sales firm or a corporate office.

This caution shows up in his songwriting. He is very careful in how he displays his emotions about love and love-loss. He denies that he only writes love songs, but he sure as hell writes a lot, and those are the songs that stick.

"Those songs are sentimental, sure, but they are not cheesy. That's important. Really, I'm not expressive person in most situations."

If he were able to express himself and his romantic emotions in real-time, in real life, he could nab just about any girl he wanted. All my friends who happen to be girls are absolutely in love with him and they don't even know what he looks like or if he is a good listener and gives good foot-rubs. He could be a six-foot-four lobster; it wouldn't matter as long as he could talk about dancing cheek-to-cheek to country tunes and tracing the line of her back and telling her that she has eyes like two polished glass test-tubes.

He's good at his art because he chooses his words wisely, although, he says, the new EP he is recording (he thanks his current unemployment for the opportunity to do so) will be much more emo - not in the Taking Back Sunday type way he assures me - in that he will let the turmoil of now guide his words, as well as the words of those who came before.

"I have an interest in words. There is no one that I model myself after, but I steal a lot of words. You can't have too many words in your pocket, ready to go. I have been reading a lot of Renaissance poetry. They didn't put those out like they do today; no one published those poems. They were written for particular people to particular people. They were about the same things that I am writing about today - love and such. It makes me know that I don't have to reinvent the wheel."

Before he has to go catch a bus to his friend's art show at a Gibson guitar showcase room (he tells that any artist who is willing to play in front of people gets to play any guitar he chooses. That's a singer's wet dream, I say. And he wholeheartedly agrees) we discuss literature and the power of the Steinbeck, Hemingway, McCarthy, particularly American, short, declarative sentence.

"My professors used to say that my prose had no jazz. I don't want them to have jazz. I want to be able to say exactly what I mean. There is nothing more powerful than the short, declarative sentence."

Then we left. The end.

Last year, it wasn't until the 28th of January that something significant hit stores with the Vampire Weekend album and, on a lesser note, the awesome Protest the Hero disc (apologies to the three of you that were super-psyched for the Natasha Bedingfield disc). On the mainstream end of the spectrum, 2009 isn't much different. Taylor Swift has been the most direct beneficiary of the great gift card cash-in, but the industry is still hibernating, with some of the lowest total sales weeks in decades ringing in the year the wrong way economically. The indie world, on the other hand, has Animal Collective to get all frenzied over, although I'm not sure if people prefer the idea of that band to its recorded reality. Personally, I wasn't a huge fan of the act before and their new album (and accompanying Pitchfork fueled hype) didn't sway me, so the first truly exciting release of 2009 would still be to come.

A new album by New Mexico youngster Zach Condon and his act Beirut seemed promising enough. However, as news trickled out about the project, scheduled to be released on February 16th, there was something troubling about it all. First, the release wouldn't be an album per se, but a collection of two EPs. The first EP was the result of a soundtrack commission that fell apart, but still sent Condon to Mexico to record with the 19-piece Jimenez Band from the village of Teotitlan del Valle. The second EP would, however, consist of electropop tracks Condon recorded in his bedroom. For a guy whose notability is largely based on his recordings/tributes to Gypsy music, the idea of a synth-driven collection of songs, even if it wasn't a full album, was somewhat disconcerting. Sure, no one wants to hear the same album recorded over and over again with slight variations and different titles, but this news seemed like a creative left turn competitive with Kanye West's autotune album of sad bastard balladry. Sure, artists can do whatever they like creatively, but should they?

The good news is that if you liked the other Beirut albums, the March of the Zapotec EP (the Mexican one) is "more of the same" in largely a good way. The energy of a different set of musicians and a different setting were good things for Condon, who probably couldn't release another album in his gypsy arc without seeming out of ideas, but still carries a familiar set of touchpoints into his new surrounding. Like on Gulag Orkestar and The Flying Cup Club, the songs are beautiful and evocative with rich instrumentation, full of drama and energy. Condon's singing is so effected that it's difficult for me to understand what the heck he's saying, but in the same manner you could listen to a French singer like Edith Piaf and feel her words through her rich performance, a song like "La Llorona" works as an over-the-top whole. There are seemingly a thousand things going on each track (the perils of using a nearly twenty piece band), but Condon's respect for old world traditions of song is welcome and wonderful.

The other part of the news is that the Holland EP is good as well, albeit not great. This seems to be the sort of project the ability to purchase on iTunes by the song was made for. You can tell quickly, even via a thirty second sample, if this half of Condon's project is for you. The final track "No Dice" is a straight lo-fi indie instrument made for some sort of dancing, I suppose, but otherwise, the other tracks are like Beirut if you replaced all the horns and accordions with one synthesizer. Oddly, Christian fringe act Joy Electric might be the closest reference point. The electronic songs aren't quite as deliberately hooky as say the Postal Service, but Condon has quite a bit of skill in the genre, but these five songs aren't going to be for everyone. Unlike Animal Collective, for example, Condon's experimental side still keeps the song at the center, although the novelty might not hold up for long. Still, as an artist, Zach Condon/Beirut/Realpeople/whatever is still heavy on the charm, which certainly helps make for a 2009 release to be happy to see on the shelves.

Thus, when digging into Get Guilty, one feels compelled to first compare and contrast the album with his past efforts. On the whole, this is a strong follow-up to The Slow Wonder, and it could be considered as a potentially better record, since Newman has been able to sharpen his songwriting quill on the two records put out by The New Pornographers in the interim. In relation to that band's material, where he cedes control long enough to allow Dan Bejar to get a few songs in, Get Guilty is a smart, unified effort that far surpasses the languid tones of 2007's Challengers and comes close to matching the hooky power of 2005's Twin Cinema.

As has become Newman's modus operandi, aggressive acoustic and baritone guitar strumming, surf guitar flourishes, and forceful acoustic piano pounding drive the entire project. This is real pop music - intelligent lyrics and big hooks that don't kowtow to cliche, songs filled with diversity in melody, tempo, and dynamics - "The Palace at 4AM," "The Changeling (Get Guilty)," "The Collected Works," and "All of My Days and All of My Days Off" serve as the communal centerpiece and showcase for the tones that propel this record forward. Individually, they are high-quality, upbeat power pop tracks that would make Harry Nilsson, Brian Wilson, and, hell, even Billy Joel rather pleased.

In terms of the lyrics, Newman has few peers regarding the penning of syncopated phrases that ring with familiar themes to match his smart pop songcraft. "The Heartbreak Rides" serves a paean to the confusion of adolescent hormones with the words, "Just out of the woods and yelling down the mountains, all I really wanted was to go downtown, and so we ride. The heartbreak slides. Pushing at the modern sunset to your window, gestured with the play chain hand, she said, 'Let's go.' 'L.A.,' she cried. The heartbreak rides for free." The indie-pop track "Prophets" begins with a disillusioned thought shared by many cultural cynics in the post-Christian West: "I was a silent partner. I found myself with the rabble. I stood on the mound hip-shot thinking, but not out loud, 'There are too many prophets here.'" When referencing his traveling vessel in "Submarines of Stockholm," Newman seemingly compares one's personal emergence from a haze of unfounded beliefs with the rising of a submarine to the surface when he sings, "Stop twisting your words into shapes, shapes you can only make out when you squint. Traveling with heads full of myth, our submarine pulls into Stockholm."

The only cuts that don't seem up to Newman's normal standards are "There Are Maybe Ten or Twelve" and "Elemental" in that they are mere passable tracks that pale in comparison to the rest of the project. "There Are Maybe Ten or Twelve" opens up the entire record and starts off with strength, but the mini-orchestra of tympani, strings, and percussion toys present only serve to mask the core elements of guitar and piano that undergird most every other song. Where "Elemental" fails is that it's merely a tame pop tune set to a jangly waltz rhythm. And while it's one of my favorite stand-alone tracks, the pacing of the floor-stomping track "Like A Hitman, Like A Dancer" doesn't match of the whole of Get Guilty.

With this release, it is apparent that Newman is working at a level unparalleled in contemporary music. Often, when a songwriter has no one else to compete with outside of himself, he runs the risk of his material becoming slightly stale and tired. Thankfully, Newman has belied that tendency with some of his best music to date. Inevitably, one must wonder whether or not his talents would be better served as a solo artist instead of fronting that aforementioned and critically-acclaimed indie supergroup.

On Shattered, Matisyahu sings: "Oh will I get out of my cage? Yes, I am a slave searching for some freedom... What is a man with no history? Where am I? Who am I? What is this place? I will be light...Time will continue without you, so in the end it's not about you... It's in one tiny moment in time for life to shine, to shine, burn away the darkness." In true Hasidic fashion, he chooses to be light in a darkened world. Unlike most of us, he lives out his words, bringing that very light into his performance as an artist, stirring strangers towards Light, or Hashem, the Name by which Hasidim call G-d.

In part, the heart of the Hassidic movement - underneath the black coats, the curls, and hats - has been more about living out the Torah - G-d's words to the Jews or as Christians so poorly call it, "The Old Testament" - than just writing books about it. When they tell stories about G-d's movement it isn't unusual to sing and dance their words and prayers. Which makes Matisyahu's live shows something akin to a giant prayer service. Even if the majority of participants just came to hear good music, the weight of his performance can't help but stir the deeper parts of the heart.

I had the chance to see him live at the beginning of December. The show was an experience that had all the elements that are missing in nearly every church experience I've had.

Among the friends with me was an Episcopal priest experiencing Matisyahu for the first time. All he knew was he was going to a concert by a Hasidic Jew that performed Hip-Hop Reggae. He'd never even heard Matisyahu. His comment before the show was "My gut sense is I need to see this."

It's not surprising that any given good concert has many of the elements people seek in a church service. The object of worship may not be as obvious but the communal singing, the euphoria, the music - it is all there on any given Sunday, at any given venue, no matter how milquetoast the packaging. The difference is a concert does not have the residue of religion, nor a religious spirit - something often shaming, false, and utterly nothing like Jesus - associated with it. People who go, go because they want to be there, not because they feel obligated.

At this particular show, Matisyahu came out dressed in traditional Hasidic garb, the edges of his prayer shawl - tsit tsit - dangling under his shirt, yarmulke upon his head. As he sang through his quiver of songs he mixed in chants, Hebrew, and freestyling that speak more like prayer than your normal street chatter. Regardless of how he's changed the songs, it doesn't change the weight of truth he sings: "You're all that I have and you're all that I need/ Each and every day I pray to get to know you please/ I want to be close to you, yes I'm so hungry/ You're like water for my soul when it gets thirsty/ Without you there's no me/ You're the air that I breathe/ Sometimes the world is dark and I just can't see." Yes, I too, feel the same way, experience G-d the same way. Yet, there is hope offered for the taking: "If you're drowning in the water's and you can't stay afloat/ Ask Hashem for mercy and he'll throw you a rope/ You're looking for help from G-d you say he couldn't be found/ Searching up to the sky and looking beneath the ground/ Like a King without his Crown/ You keep fallin' down/ You really want to live but can't get rid of your frown/ Tried to reach unto the heights and wound bound down on the ground/ Given up your pride and the you heard a sound... Makin' room for his love and a fire gone blaze"

As the show stretched into nearly three hours, there was a real sense more than just another concert was in play. To my left were gay women dancing; various kids were swaying not just to the music but because they had too much too drink; there was the smell of pot here and there, and though we might never find that smell in church, it occurs to me the people smoking it won't feel welcome in most church services either. They are caught up in the music, and aware or not, they are sung words about the condition of the heart, the need for love, the need for G-d's light in the world.

I have my moments in conversation with G-d about what is being stirred to the surface in my own soul. Prayers are said. Confessions are made. And all this while I join the dance the Hasidim sings.

It's not just the words or the music, either. It's the professionalism and pure quality of play by each musician on stage. They were playing their best and enjoying it, too, and because of this we enjoyed it with them. When Komakaze (an Afican-American Hip-Hop freestyler from Miami) joined Matisyahu on stage for "Beat Box," true art was flowing. They are artists at their top performance, the way artist celebrate a creative life. The way G-d has created us.

The last song before his encores, Matisyahu sang for nearly 15 minutes. "Sing" would be only part of it, though. He began by chanting in Hebrew to the slow beat, and as he repeated, "we sing praise to you" I forgot I was in a concert venue, surrounded by the drunk, the high, the longing - for I am longing, too. I get the sense this is what it is supposed to be like, to look like, to feel like. And it has none of the "religious" trappings of what Jesus-followers call worship. Though it is a religious experience - a means of drawing closer to G-d as a community.

It was nearly 1:00 AM when the house lights came up and I made my way onto the cold Denver streets feeling a sense of G-d's presence in a way I've not experienced in years; and it is an experience shared with my friends as we walked home. And there was no fabricated "Altar call," "come down the aisle and give your life to Jesus" moment presented by the artist. It was purer than that. The experience sat with me the next few days. I found myself wanting to know more Torah, the words that Jesus read as a child and spoke as a Rabbi, as Moshiac - Messiah. Rarely does a church service provoke me to spend the following week not just reading more about G-d, but wanting to know him more in the ways I've missed because of my narrow understanding of His heart.

Isn't this what we hope for in a worship service?

But it is a concert, filled with THC and alcohol, and people of all kinds, with all kinds of hurts and joys; the mass of humanity that so many churches claim they seek but will never see on a Sunday morning.

Many a Christian could use a long lesson in their Jewish heritage, could maybe dance or sing their prayers to G-d instead of talking in drone to "Father We-jus." Matisyahu not only embodies all the marks of a great artist, but challenges the way Jesus-followers know their Rabbi, their Savior. Whether it's listening to his music at home - really listening to what he's singing - or seeing him live, he gives light to the otherwise bland normalcy that so many Christians have grown dangerously accustomed to.

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The Top Five Albums By Portland Artists In 2008
by Jordan Green

Last year, Portland's music scene seemed poised at its peak. Menomena's sophomore effort lived up to expectations. Elliott Smith had cache of posthumous material wound together in New Moon. Blitzen Trapper and The Shaky Hands were heralded newcomers. Then, in an epic finale, Portland's best artists all got together, recorded some covers, and released a benefit for p:ear.

For a long time, Portland had been rising, not whispered in the same musical reverence as, say, Austin, but on its way. Then The Decemberists signed to Capitol Records and Britt Daniel left Texas for the Willamette Valley. New York media was falling all over themselves describing our thriving foodie scene, and the rest of the nation was beginning to realize there were better beers out there than Natty Light. Suddenly, the rise is over, and we were there. If you want a make It, you go to L.A. or New York or Nashville. If you want to make great music, you go to Portland.

The fear in these situations is becoming the Big Thing...as quantity increases, quality wanes. For every Julian Casablancas in New York City, there are a hundred cheap imitators.

Then 2008 comes. The old Portland standbys...The Decemberists, Menomena, Britt Daniel, The Thermals...were silent. And still, the city produced some of the finest records in the country. New bands, like The Builders and the Butchers and Blind Pilot, stepped into the void. And established groups like Lackthereof (Danny Seim's solo project) and Blitzen Trapper took things up a notch.

Deciding the top five albums from Portland bands in 2008 was a lot harder than it seemed. So here's what I came up with. If you want a more thoughtful and well-researched list, check out Bob Ham's list on OPB.

1. Blitzen Trapper, Furr.

Last years' Wild Mountain Nation was Americana on acid, whiplashing between stomping country rock ("Wild Mountain Nation"), noise ("Woof & Warp of the Quiet Giant's Hem") and wonderfully melodic sing-alongs ("Country Caravan", which my wife and I exited down the aisle on).

Furr drops the experimentalism, opting for straight ahead melody. Like Portland bands The Builders and the Butchers and Weinland, Furr tells tales of rural violence and heartbreak...hardly innovative lyrical content...but the stories are told well, draped over head-nodding melodies and building sounds. The stomping rock is back, particularly on rousing opener "Sleepytime in the Western World", with its Hammond organ blast, and the album's best track, "God & Suicide". Inbetween the stomps and dancealongs ("Saturday Nite"), there's lovely tune about a reformed feral child ("Furr"), country-flecked ballads ("Not Your Lover", "Stolen Shoes & a Rifle" and "Echo/Always On/Easy Con"), and the requisite Dylan-esque closer ("Lady On The Water").

All said, Furr isn't groundbreaking. It's the just the type of music I like best, done very, very well.

2. Blind Pilot, 3 Rounds and a Sound.

Like Furr, Blind Pilot isn't interested in reinventing the wheel. 3 Rounds and a Sound is singer-songwriter fare, simple tunes with brushed drums and plaintive guitar strums. It's the sort of music every starry-eyed, shoe-gazing romantic with an acoustic guitar longs to make. It's the music I wish I'd been able to make, at least. The problem is, so many try and so very few can. In a trend I'm hoping catches on, Blind Pilot frontman Israel Nebeker sings in a regular voice, letting the simplicity and beauty of his songs shine through. Adam Newton said it well during his interview with Israel on Burnside: "[Blind Pilot] hitch up [their] pants like a grown band, compose some beautiful tunes that defy lazy associations and present [their] sound to the world with an innocent strength that awes listeners."

(Just for the record, it's Blind Pilot, not Blind Pilots...that's a very different band.)

3. Lackthereof, Your Anchor.

And then there's Danny Seim, who isn't content to frenetically drum for Menomena. He has to front his own band, Lackthereof, along with his wife, Holly, and an assortment of players (including Blind Pilot's drummer and Kevin and Anita Robinson of Viva Voce). And they're just as good.

Like Blitzen Trapper, Lackthereof's origins in experimentalism have given way to a more crowd-pleasing sound. The changes are relative, though, as Seim's spot-on imitation of Michael McDonald on a cover of "What a Fool Believes" last year hinted. Your Anchor isn't quite Friend and Foe, but it is evidence of how entwined Seim is in Menomena's best songs, with similar use of loops and guitar. Your Anchor's strength is its unsentimenal brevity. With songs averaging around three minutes and standouts "Doomed Elephants" and "Last November" hovering around two and a half minutes, Seim gets in, gets to the point, and gets on with it, moving to the next intricate soundscape without looking back.

4. Boy Eats Drum Machine, Booomboxxx.

Booomboxxx, especially on "Planets + Stars" and "The Crack in the Sea", answers a question you probably never thought to ask: what would happen of Fall Out Boy and Menomena got married and had a baby?

As it turns out, it's a solid merger. The vocals, which Dan Gibson described as "post-punk white boy soul/emo" are only a slight detractor, and melodies swim comfortably over waves of synth and horn blasts. None of Boy Eats Drum Machine's songs is singularly as great as Fall Out Boy's "Sugar We're Goin' Down" or Menomena's "Wet and Rusting"...the closest they get is "We Are An Army"...but Booomboxxx is the most consistently interesting album on this list, mixing blazing fastballs with bewildering changeups and big-hook curves. Even by patchworking two entirely different and established bands, Boy Eats Drum Machine comes up with something altogether new, and this is ultimately what I've grown to expect and love about the Portland music scene.

5. Horse Feathers, House With No Name.

House With No Name treads the gothic alt.country territory settled by bands like Songs:Ohia and Varnaline, less interested with the bad-assery of country rock than rich layers of downbeat lamentation. With song titles like "Heathen's Kiss" and "Working Poor", House With No Name walks a tightrope over overwrought folksiness, but the sheer quality of these songs maintains a balance. You're not going to find yourself cranking these tracks for a road trip, but they might be the music you'd play when the hours have gone by and the sun is setting behind you. There's nary a misstep, and by the time the shimmering "This is What" rolls in, you'll be enjoying the peace.

Honorable Mention: Talkdemonic, Eyes at Half Mast. The Shaky Hands, Lunglight.

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10 Things that Made Michael Dallas Miller Love Music in 2008
by Michael Dallas Miller

10. Unlike a lot of people that I know and love, I was very excited to hear one of my favorite bands of all time, Wilco, appear on various Volkswagen commercials. I like to think that I grew up as an appreciator of music by not accusing the band of selling out, because if a band is truly great, which Wilco certainly is, then any exposure they get to the American public is a good thing. May quality music continue to spread like a mighty rushing wind through every corner of our great and vast nation.

9. This year, I discovered how important music is to the shaping of my memory. I fell in love this summer to the sound of great music and I will always look back and smile when I think about all that I experienced, and it will all take place in my mind around the context of the music I heard: Cataldo, Wilco, Andrew Bird, and many others will always remind of the summer I got the chance to fall in love with a girl.

8. I usually do not care for classical music, but there was nothing quite like hearing Chris Thile and Edgar Meyer play the mandolin and bass, respectively, at the Seattle Symphony Hall. I got the chance to hear them play from memory and feel classic pieces by Mozart and Bach. I sat in awe at the incomparable skill and talent of these two young men. Sure, there is nothing like the energy of watching an amateur player rock out in a dingy club, but there is something magical and pure about a professional doing his thing on an open stage in an honored venue.

7. In a small, basement pub in London, I got to see My Brightest Diamond perform. And not only that, I got to sit about three feet from her as she played her heart out for the suffocating audience. It should be known that Shara Warden of MBD is one of my biggest celebrity crushes (second only to Zooey Deschanel of She & Him), and to shake her hand and say "good show" made me want to fly, as well as brag to all my indie friends.

6. Feel free to email my buddy Drew Grissom (grissd@spu.edu), and he will testify that I freaking called it: the Fleet Foxes were my iron horse, MY band, and I knew that were about the next big thing, just before they went on their national tour, showed up on Lettermen and every iPod of every man, woman and child with an even minor interest in popular music. This year, it feels that I at least accomplished something vicariously through Robin Pecknold his bearded crew of folksies.

5. I had the opportunity to review Gnarls Barkley's newest album for this website and it was one of my favorite albums of the year by a band that is just outside of the box, while making album that can appeal to nearly everyone. I went through some mental health issues myself this year, and nothing spoke to me in such an honest and shocking way like The Odd Couple. The infectious beats of Danger Mouse alongside the eerie, wicked and wonderful lyrics and vocals of Cee-Lo Green reminded me that I am not alone in my pain.

4. There was not a more perfect single this year than Blitzen Trapper's "Furr." The story makes no sense but it doesn't make a difference when you have such a soft and lovely melody, the at-home vocals of Eric Early, and the swaying country accompaniment of the band, including a bird call by the greasy-haired bass player. This is a song that will remain with me for the years to come.

3. This actually doesn't belong in a list of things that made me love music in 2008, but I couldn't in good conscious let the year go by without mentioning how much I hated Auto-Tune. It takes any and all personality from legitimate artists like Kanye West and Lil' Wayne and puts a wall between the words and the listener. May God smite it in the year to come. It is a plague to pop music and may it die a quick and definite death. There. I feel much better.

2. On a cold night, after a very close and personal show at the Fremont Abbey in Seattle, I got the chance to sit down to a cold beer with one of my musical heroes, David Bazan, formerly of Pedro the Lion. I got to feel like a real journalist and ask all the questions that have been growing inside of me since I was a sophomore in high school. And, even more than the actually interview, it was great to sit in his cluttered mini-van, listen to cuts off the upcoming album (which will be a step away from prior Bazan work, and put him on his way to what I foresee as a lucrative solo career) and talk about kick-ass chick flicks and IPAs.

1. In the spring, I found myself at a small pub in a small fishing town in Southern Ireland. I don't think that any other experience will make me love music than listening to average sheep farmers sit in a circle, drink Guinness and whiskey and play folk tunes for hours on end. I was reminded how magical and beautiful pure music for music's sake can be. It felt like a dream. It made me say a prayer for rock and roll: please, may everyone who picks up a guitar and pen do it for the love of art, of beauty, of community and love. May they play for the reason these people are playing at this pub; for the simple joy of putting music into the air, for making room in circle that everyone can join.

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Top 10 Music-Related Questions I Asked in 2008
by Robert Ham

1. Can someone please explain to me what the fuss is all about? (Asked in response to hearing much-vaunted 2008 releases by the likes of Fleet Foxes, The Hold Steady, Ryan Adams, She & Him, and M83.)

2. This is some kind of joke, right? (Asked in response to hearing the high-profile 2008 releases from Guns 'N' Roses, Kanye West and Metallica.)

3. Can you please repeat that? (Asked of everyone around me for a week after having my eardrums pounded into submission at one of my favorite live shows on 2008 - Times New Viking.)

4. Kind of a white audience for this group, don't you think? (Asked of a friend after realizing the only African-Americans in attendance at the absolutely mind-blowing Sharon Jones & The Dap-Kings show were the folks in the band.)

5. Can you hand me a tissue? (Asked of my wife after being moved to tears by the most beautiful and life-affirming Christian/gospel recordings I've heard in years - Como Now: Voices of Panola County, Mississippi and Awake My Soul: The Story of the Sacred Harp.

6. Where have you been all my life? (Asked of Black Habit, the debut release by the arch, post punk trio Rings, and my favorite album of 2008.)

7. Why, dear God, why? (Asked of our Lord and Savior after learning that not only was Scarlet Johansson releasing a disc of leaden Tom Waits covers but also that Terence Howard was putting out an album that was influenced by the likes of Christopher Cross and Barry Manilow.)

8. So, is that some combination of karaoke and exercise? (Asked of a friend who spent an hour one morning "doing Cardioke". The answer was yes, by the way.)

9. Here? (Asked of no one in particular after finding a display of long-playing records on vinyl at my local department store.)

10. Will someone please tell My Bloody Valentine that playing a show in Portland, Oregon is a good idea? (Asked of anyone and everyone that will listen to me.)

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Ten Things I Loved About Music In 2008
by Adam P. Newton

1) Watching the craziness that is an Of Montreal live show

2) Andy Samberg as Ras Trent

3) Cocoa Tea's "Barack Obama" video

4) Attending festivals like SXSW, ACL, & Fun Fun Fun Fest as a journalist.

5) Quality mashup records like Feed The Animals from Girl Talk and Mixtape 3 from The Hood Internet

6) Anything involving Lil Wayne - records, leaks, mixtapes, and general media hilarity.

7) The year of "returns" - R.E.M., The Breeders, Guns N' Roses, (potentially more in 2009) My Bloody Valentine & (especially) Portishead and their awesome Third record.

8) Noel Gallagher continued to be an idiot: there was his "beef" with Jay-Z & then he was tackled/injured on stage later in the year.

9) The Stephen Colbert Christmas Special - Feist, Toby Keith, Willie Nelson, AND Elvis Costello!

10) As dorky as it sounds, falling in love with a woman who enjoys music almost as much as I do has been an amazing way in which to experience music with and because of someone.

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My Ten Shiny Happy Moments With Music In 2008
by Dan Gibson

I know everyone says this, but I'm happy to be done with 2008. The first half was good, and I'm sure if I spent more time thinking about it I could find a reason to redeem the second, but oh well, I'm choosing for now to take the whole year and throw it in the dustbin. Like Bobby Brown said so eloquently, it's my prerogative and I'll do what I want to do. So, how did I react to the gloom? Well, partially with by listening to a series of angry metal albums lately, but also by finding really happy music and trying to turn my frown upside down. Hence, here are my ten happy little musical moments of 2008, in no particular order.

Danielson at the Modified, Phoenix, AZ, November 16th

Sure, he sings strangely. The music sort of defies conventions of what is considered "listenable". Either in spite of those facts or encouraged by them, Danielson and his parade of uniformed music makers put on a heck of a show. So enjoyable. So much fun.

The Reissue of Daniel Amos' Darn Floor, Big Bite

I wrote about this already here and here. I doubt my endorsement will really sell too many additional copies, but in the end, it's your loss.

Alphabeat

While Perez Hilton's endorsement nearly ruins the band for me, the songs (which sound somewhat like the cast of the Danish version of "High School Musical" recording a pop album) gloriously obliterate any sadness or misgivings in their midst.

The Welcome Wagon's cover of "Sold! To The Nice Rich Man"

The entire Ne-Yo album The Year of the Gentlemen

There is a contingent that would dismiss this album because it is a popular R&B album. Those people are morons.

The entire Gaslight Anthem album The '59 Sound

It's not a happy album, by any stretch of the imagination, but it's so good that I couldn't leave it off.

Hot Chip at the Rialto Theatre, Tucson, AZ, September 23

Lots of fun. I danced like an idiot the entire time.

Esau Mwamwaya, "Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa"

I'm choosing not to use the name of Mwamwaya's collaborator for reasons that will become obvious if you look for this song, so I apologize for any offense in advance. I actually still like the Vampire Weekend disc after hearing it nearly the entire year (the same cannot be said for MGMT), but this cover is a definite improvement over the original.

The Academy Is... album Fast Times At Barrington High

If this band wasn't associated with Fall Out Boy, we'd be championing them as the return of power pop we've been waiting for.

"Rumored Nights" (Donnie Darko tribute video)

This Weird Little Bobbing Dance My Daughter Piper Does When She Hears Music She Likes

Also notable, her attempt to do the twist.

See you next year.

* * *

The Burnside Writers Collective fundraising campaign has begun. If you can donate a few bucks, we'd be grateful. Here are a few ways we want to say thank you:

Donations under $35: A Burnside sticker.

$35-$59: A copy of Donald Miller's upcoming book A Million Miles in a Thousand Years and a Burnside sticker. The book is due out in 2009. We may or may not be able to get copies before they hit the stores. Regardless, you'll get when we get it.

$60-$99: An autographed copy of A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, a book of your choice penned by one of our contributors* (list of options below) and a Burnside sticker.

$100-$199: An autographed copy of A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, two books penned by our contributors, a Burnside t-shirt and a Burnside sticker.

$200 or more: An autographed copy of A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, all five books penned by Burnside contributors, a Burnside t-shirt, a Burnside sticker and your name listed as a Burnside Patron on the new site.

Like so many and I know and talk to, I personally cannot stand the type of contemporary country music sounding more synthetic and worse for your overall health than McDonald French fries and currently clogging the airways of country radio. But, what Blitzen Trapper offers in Furr is a country music that can make a person feel good without stealing their souls. I enter tonight into the red and black club, complete with dusty paper lanterns and a angry looking Chinese dragon hanging from the low ceiling, to see what new kind of country sounds like live, what a bunch of hippies from Portland can do to make my feet tap and my head bob.

The first opener, a local favorite (I thought), PWRFL Power's Katutaka Nomura started the night ignored while he fingerpicked like a pro and sang like a pre-adolescent mouse. The crowd got a couple of beers down and welcomed the countrified Rilo Kiley sounds of LA's (they won over the crowd by insisting they really grew up in Oregon) The Parson Redheads. The electrified twang was welcome and a very good warm-up to the main event. (I enjoyed their mini-set about as much as I enjoyed BT. If you dig on Trapper and what some more from that musical thread but with a little more sixties pop, I would highly recommend getting your hands on their few albums and EPs.)

A greasy, high-haired dude in a black leather jacket took the stage first, followed by three men with a beards and beer bellies, a blonde with an eating disorder, and a towering man with curly red-hair that made me think of Will Ferrell whose been wearing the same shirt for six weeks straight.

"Hey everybody, we're Blitzen Trapper from Portland, Oregon. It's great to back in Seattle. How ya'll doing?"

But before anyone in the crowd could give a proper answer, Eric Early, the leather-clad frontman, laid down a sunny and sensational electric organ lick, quickly followed by the rest of the sextet capturing us all in the swirl of My Morning Jacket pop style and Band of Horses tenderness in "Sleepytime in the Western World."

Similar to this album, the finer moments of the show came with the more Dylan-esque textures, such as the acoustic led "Black River Killer" , the Journey-like epic, "Jericho" the bouncy "Country Caravan" and gentle narrative, "Furr." These tunes made the walls and the city streets melt away and brought us all around the campfire to hear someone sing a story about wolves in the distance, running wild with the pack, and settling down on a small farm to raise the kids "as gentle as you please."

Songs like "Saturday Nite" with its infection organ lick and indie-disco groove proved the band could hold a funkadelic party; and "Love U" proved they listened to some early Led Zeppelin and know how to make a lot of sounds-something-like-blues noise. But, these songs do not exemplify what makes bands like Blitzen Trapper important to music.

Blitzen Trapper are important because they offer something to a genre that was steered wrong so long ago. They prove that you can be poppy without selling out. I mean, where have bands like this been when we all needed a response to Shania Twain and Kid Rock? Bands like Blitzen Trapper are what every person who's a little tired of endlessly playing the same Wilco records needs in their record collection.

The show ended with a short encore and we all filed out into the fog of early morning and Kyle and I were both hungry for omelets. We searched for a few hours before finding Beth's on Aurora Ave, talked with some drunk people about potentially gay celebrities and hiking in Ireland outside while we waited for a table. We got inside, ate twelve-egg omelets, got cup after cup of coffee from a black haired girl, and kind of wished that I smoked cigarettes. My fingers never stopped snapping, and my toes never stopped tapping, and all I could hear was that shuffle beat and that country guitar, those modern folk tales and, somewhere in the midst of it, birds chirping in approval.

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The Burnside Writers Collective fundraising campaign has begun. If you can donate a few bucks, we'd be grateful. Here are a few ways we want to say thank you:

Donations under $35: A Burnside sticker.

$35-$59: A copy of Donald Miller's upcoming book A Million Miles in a Thousand Years and a Burnside sticker. The book is due out in 2009. We may or may not be able to get copies before they hit the stores. Regardless, you'll get when we get it.

$60-$99: An autographed copy of A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, a book of your choice penned by one of our contributors* (list of options below) and a Burnside sticker.

$100-$199: An autographed copy of A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, two books penned by our contributors, a Burnside t-shirt and a Burnside sticker.

$200 or more: An autographed copy of A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, all five books penned by Burnside contributors, a Burnside t-shirt, a Burnside sticker and your name listed as a Burnside Patron on the new site.

The album kicks off well with a brief version of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas". It's peppy with a fair share of distorted electric guitar, and feels classically Weezer. But from there the album pleasantly surprises in both pace and content. One might anticipate a selection of songs that celebrate the more secular foci of Christmas, but there is nary a blinky-nosed reindeer, a jolly snowman nor a disloyal parent's amorous encounter with Santa to be found. It's all incarnation, all the time. And it is done with due respect to more traditional versions of the songs.

Which then begs the question: How did this album get made? It is difficult to imagine music execs pitching an album such as this where three of the six songs are essentially Baby Jesus hanging out on the left side of the metronome. But it is equally as difficult to imagine Weezer successfully convincing someone that this is the optimal playlist for an album that will serve as a soundtrack for their Guitar Hero-like iPhone application.

How it went down, we may never know. But what we do know is that Christmas with Weezer is a good album. Each song has a short guitar solo. The selections are all driven by drum parts that shine a spotlight on the downbeat. But most importantly, each performance rings authentic.

On "O Holy Night", the band does an admirable job of balancing the delicate portions of the ballad with the intense crescendos that are called for mid-song. And with it being the longest song on the album, they also provide an opportunity for the listener to hear verses that are lacking from some versions of the song. It's a little comical that it took Weezer's version of the song to make me realize how missional the third verse is. "Truly He taught us to love one another/His law is love and His gospel is peace/Chains he shall break, for the slave is our brother/And in his name all oppression shall cease."

By the time Weezer works through "O Come All Ye Faithful", "The First Noel", "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing" and "Silent Night", you feel like you have spent an all-too brief evening around the piano singing carols with your good buddies. When it's over, you look around and ask "Did that really just happen?". The disc is fun and spontaneous and rings true in a way that you didn't anticipate. But the again, sometimes that kind of thing happens at Christmas.

* * *

The Burnside Writers Collective fundraising campaign has begun. If you can donate a few bucks, we'd be grateful. Here are a few ways we want to say thank you:

Donations under $35: A Burnside sticker.

$35-$59: A copy of Donald Miller's upcoming book A Million Miles in a Thousand Years and a Burnside sticker. The book is due out in 2009. We may or may not be able to get copies before they hit the stores. Regardless, you'll get when we get it.

$60-$99: An autographed copy of A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, a book of your choice penned by one of our contributors* (list of options below) and a Burnside sticker.

$100-$199: An autographed copy of A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, two books penned by our contributors, a Burnside t-shirt and a Burnside sticker.

$200 or more: An autographed copy of A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, all five books penned by Burnside contributors, a Burnside t-shirt, a Burnside sticker and your name listed as a Burnside Patron on the new site.

If we buy a Christmas CD - which never happens because we're sick of the songs by Dec. 1 - we get the same collaboration of remade classics by bands who insist on sounding just like Bing Crosby. Or a few bands try to create their own classics; failing, of course, because no one cares about their "Grown-up Christmas List." (So that was a cheap shot.) As a result, listeners are left with the uncontrollable urge to turn off the Christmas music altogether and resort back to the Coldplay or the Paramore or whatever indie-rock band is cool this week.

But Dustin Kensrue, the lead singer of the alternative rock band Thrice, recently released a Christmas album that neither bores the listener or tempts him or her to secularize the holiday (at least not its music). "This Good Night is Still Everywhere" makes up for the past decade's cliche and fruitless Christmas albums.

Though Kensrue does sing a few well-known Christmas songs, every track is uniquely his. That gruff, folksy voice of his shifts midnight Mass liturgy into a campfire sing-a-long. Kensrue's version of "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel," performed solely with an acoustic guitar, shies away from the typical monk-chanting most musicians replicate. Its earthy style does not create the ambiance of a cathedral, but of a gathering of close friends or the solace of drinking chai solo by the Christmas tree.

Likewise, Kensrue's versions of "O Holy Night," "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing" and "God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen" do not sound like something Josh Groban would sing, but much more like something on the soundtrack to "Little Miss Sunshine"...only Christmas-themed and jollier. No syllables drawn out, no words skewed by excess vibrato.

"Fairytale of New York," a remake of Anglo-Irish folk band The Pogues' chart-topping song, proves that even a California native like Kensrue knows what it's like to slur drunken carols in the Big Apple. Or at least, he can sing about it.

Though most of his songs are lighthearted, the "reason for the season" is not absent from Kensrue's CD. The final song on the album, "This is War," one of the two originals by Kensrue, illustrates Jesus' birth as an offensive battle tactic:

This is war and born tonight,
The Word as flesh, the Lord of Light,
The Son of God, the low-born king;
Who demons fear, of whom angels sing.

The radio may play endless versions of "Sleigh Ride" and "The Christmas Song," but unless the monotony seems alluring at all, it's better to try something new--but "new" as in something original, artsy, not just a classic with an additional verse or guitar lick. Instead, escape the unexceptional redo hits and the droning of wannabe starlets with "This Good Night is Still Everywhere."

* * *

The Burnside Writers Collective fundraising campaign has begun. If you can donate a few bucks, we'd be grateful. Here are a few ways we want to say thank you:

Donations under $35: A Burnside sticker.

$35-$59: A copy of Donald Miller's upcoming book A Million Miles in a Thousand Years and a Burnside sticker. The book is due out in 2009. We may or may not be able to get copies before they hit the stores. Regardless, you'll get when we get it.

$60-$99: An autographed copy of A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, a book of your choice penned by one of our contributors* (list of options below) and a Burnside sticker.

$100-$199: An autographed copy of A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, two books penned by our contributors, a Burnside t-shirt and a Burnside sticker.

$200 or more: An autographed copy of A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, all five books penned by Burnside contributors, a Burnside t-shirt, a Burnside sticker and your name listed as a Burnside Patron on the new site.