Let's Touch Fives!

(t5!) My Year In Lists 2011: Albums! 30 to 21

2012-02-14T02:30:00.003-07:00

Technically, Beyoncé remains to be peerless. Mariah hasn’t done anything in a while, so no other female at this moment has better command of her vocals like she has. Everyone should automatically expect a terrific vocal performance from her in any kind of album by now. But what pushes 4 to another level is the experimentation that she amuses herself with, which has never been heard before in a Beyoncé album. Beyoncé’s fourth (obviously) is unquestionably her most complete album and it's pervaded with themes of monogamy, matrimony, and everlasting love. H.O.V.A. must be holding it down as Ms. Knowles’ boof boof if marital bliss can inspire her to be this sonically adventurous. It’s evident that not only is Jay-Z the greatest rapper alive, he may also be the greatest husband alive. The 4 tracks are schizophrenic; it is true modern R&B to its core, but it feels compelled to switch around stylistically, from guitar ballad to Major Lazer indie dance to Prince candy pop to drum-and-bugle banger to Afrobeat to etcetera

1+1
Countdown
Schoolin' Life

More often than not, a band or artist you love can be around for so long that you start to grow weary of them. That was the case with Wilco for me. I love Yankee Hotel Foxtrot so much that I want to take behind a middle school and get it pregnant (as the classic saying goes); A Ghost Is Born is still pretty good; Sky Blue Sky seemed too mature for my liking; and Wilco (The Album) was pretty much ignored. Needless to say, my relationship with The Whole Love had a false start. When I listened to guitarist Nels Cline and drummer Glenn Kotche have a conversation with each other for the last three minutes of the first track, I lost interest right away. But after seeing it rank high on a few year-end lists, I gave it another shot, and I'm grateful that I did because listening to it all the way through demolished my first impression of it. This eighth album marks their return to that blending of uncomplicated pop/rock/country tunes and uncustomary textures that made YHF such a revolution. It’s still not as perfect—it’s still not the WHOLE love—but Im happy to announce that Wilco and I are back together.

I Might
Capitol City
One Sunday Morning (Song For Jane Smiley's Boyfriend)

In 2011, Adele was selling her records like it’s an addiction and Jessie J’s “Price Tag” was so overplayed that she became convinced that it’s about the money a little bit. It’s clear that there’s a British invasion currently going on in pop music, but I’m fearful that the majority is focusing on the wrong invaders. 21-year-old Brit Kathleen Brien—Katy B, for your convenience—is conquering pop charts that side of the Atlantic, scoring four top twenty singles from her debut album, On A Mission. Her voice is as smooth as silk, unafraid to belong among the upper class of R&B singers. She has enlisted today’s superstar producers like Benga, Geeneus, and Skream to escort the sound of the dance floor to pop radio. She is aesthetically pleasing, like the girl next door that you see downing shots at the bar. And yet she remains a virtual unknown everywhere else. I don’t understand it. Hopefully that will all change in 2012, because if I hear “Price Tag” one more time, I’m going to suffocate myself with a poison-laced pillow.

Katy On A Mission
Broken Record
Lights On

I never gave PJ Harvey the time of day before this album came out, mainly because her “best” albums—Stories From The City, Stories From The Sea of 2000, Uh Huh Her of 2004—didn’t do much for me. If her best LPs weren’t connecting with my aural tastebuds, then why should I care about the rest of her discography? So I find it odd that on PJ Harvey’s twentieth year as an acclaimed musician, I finally liked one of her releases. I doubt that it’s the World War I concept or the extreme Englishness of Let England Shake that I’m agreeing with, but whatever it is, it lured me into its world, which is outlined with dampened melodies and the hazy grooves of autoharp, zither, and vibraphone. This soundscape paired with PJ Harvey’s agitated vocals constructs a surreal atmosphere that helps you imagine the horrors of the war she’s attempting to mythologize. It was such a massive accomplishment that I’m actually thinking that maybe I just didn’t give Polly Jean a fitting consideration. Properly listening to Harvey’s other nine albums is my pop-culture resolution for 2012.

Let England Shake
The Words That Maketh Murder
Bitter Branches

In order for people to dance to electronica, it has to have some form of structure: house thumps at 4/4, jungle is a looped Amen Break sample, dubstep slows the beat way down to make it seem sped up. It typically makes it easy to get enslaved by the rhythm, which is why the genre is lazily classified as “dance” music. Glasgow’s Rustie though doesn’t conform to those standards. His first proper album, Glass Swords, is like eating icing off an entire cake. Glass Swords is a challenge to dance to because Rustie (aka Russell Whyte) prefers sonics to rhythm, which should be admired for his courage since electronica artists rely on DJs populating dance floors to get some buzz. Rather than architecting a solid foundation, he inflated these tracks with video game noises, free-flowing ‘80s synths, echoing drums, and smudged slap bass. Instead of developing in your mind a beach party in Ibiza or a house club in West Village, the cold sharpness of each sound effect builds a habitat that has 8-bit, polygonal, multi-colored landscapes as decoration.

Flash Back
Ultra Thizz
Death Mountain

Cults get a pretty negative reputation, and for a good reason. Just watch Martha Marcy May Marlene to get a sense of how frightening it is to belong in one. Superficially, there’s nothing frightening about this Cults. The tracks in their self-titled debut are inspired by 60’s girl-group pop, and thus, the melodies of this boyfriend-and-girlfriend duo seem familiar and instantly appealing. But after careful rumination, it will eventually confess that hidden underneath the summery vibe are gloomy words that have a hint of desolation, cynicism, and apprehension. There’s a clever contradiction when lead singer Madeline Follin’s precious voice sing pop melodies with lyrics that talk about slight agoraphobia, kidnapping as a form of love, and sleeping with strangers to avoid loneliness. Essentially, Cults is a record that can be appreciated as either a summer jam or as a soundtrack for sinister deeds. Either way, it’s just as effective.

Abducted
Go Outside
You Know What I Mean

If you were expecting Toro Y Moi’s second album, Underneath The Pine, to be the familiar fuzzy chillwave like his earlier releases, then you would be slightly disappointed. Chazwick Bundick, as he’s also known as, has indicated that he’s bored with this movement that he was appointed to represent. Not that he has completely ditched the style either; there are traces of chillwave in here, but it’s just not as tangible. What is tangible is a sound influenced by disco; the tracks in Underneath The Pine struts like a peacock, entrusting a rotund funk bass, fearless synth runs, and steady 4/4 beat to enliven hipster dance clubs. He also relies more on his distinguishable falsetto, making it stand out more rather than letting it get engulfed by the fog of chillwave. Your preference between this and his older stuff will depend on how much you’re caught up with the hype behind the new genre, but one thing is for sure, this album is easier to tackle. Bundick stepping away from the genre and still coming up with a victory guarantees that he can still be relevant even after chillwave out lives its stay.

New Beat
Got Blinded
Still Sound

I used to sort through new releases every Tuesday hoping to add a favorite indie guitar rock album to my collection. But nowadays, I just find them so stale and flaccid. I think a huge part of why this is is because I don’t have time for giving a lukewarm album a second or third trial anymore, and the best indie rock albums usually doesn’t reveal its greatness on the first listen. Just give me the hits, the synths, the beats! I don’t know how but for some reason, I gave Wye Oak’s Civilian the concentration it deserved, and it’s a good thing I did because I would have discarded it after one run through. On the surface, the work of Baltimore duo of Jenn Wasner and Andy Stack is typical indie rock—layered textures, inoffensive distorted guitars, vague songwriting. But after a while, the raw melodic exhilaration surprises you when you least expect it. Wye Oak knows when to stay quiet to make their peaks higher than they actually are. It may be a backbreaking climb to reach, but once you’re there, they reward you with a view that will leave you awestruck.

Civilian
Plains
We Were Wealth

Philadelphia singer-songwriter Kurt Vile is a little cocky, isn’t he? He has the brashness to name his past albums Constant Hitmaker, God Is Saying This To You, and Childish Prodigy. But to quote Kid Rock, it ain’t cocky if you can back it up. He just firmly believes in his own product, knowing that it’s the outcome of hardwork and dedication. Before putting his signature on a Matador contract in 2008, Vile had been recording and releasing songs at a hypersonic pace for years, establishing a steady group of impressed adherents as he continues to tinker with his smoker’s lounge brand of classic rock ballads. His most recent, Smoke Ring For My Halo, isn’t titled as confidently as his other albums, but it certainly one that he should be most proud of. For the first time, he’s recording in a studio with a professional producer (John Agnello, who’s been in sound booths with The Hold Steady, Sonic Youth, and Dinosaur Jr.), but hasn’t lost the dingy atmosphere that this childish prodigy has been constantly making hits with.

Baby's Arms
On Tour
Runner Ups

If one calculates rock stardom by the artist’s sheer ability to horrify suburban parents, then—especially in a rock world currently populated by metrosexual jerkoffs and indie weirdos—Tyler, The Creator is perhaps the only true rock star of this young decade. I accept that he’s not mainstream enough to incite an anti-Tyler, The Creator movement, but, man, this 19-year-old is as terrifying as your worst fears, expelling threats of rape and murder of women, infants, homosexuals, and celebrities. I’m not a big fan of censorship either but I’m not even sure I would let my future children listen to him. His official debut Goblin is not just about shock value though. Sonically, Tyler, The Creator’s beats are evocative and tenacious, its lo-fi DIY sensibilities furnish the album's atmosphere with a barrel full of grit. And his flow is like toxic ooze, slowly working its way to contaminate minds via ears. For the collective good of our youth, let’s pray that he doesn’t get a bigger following than this. Although upon hearing this, I’m afraid that it might be too late.

Yonkers
Transylvania
Sandwitches

See you tomorrow for (t5) My Year In Lists 2011: Albums! 20 to 11

(t5!) My Year In Lists 2011: Non-Singles!

2012-02-13T02:08:00.000-07:00

Album tracks, mixtape singles, digital downloads, and DJ Remixes I love, 2011. Thirty tracks, ranked alphabetically.

Alex Winston - Sister Wife [Star Slinger Remix]
AraabMuzik - Streetz Tonight
Beyoncé - 1+1
Beyoncé - Schoolin' Life
Blawan - Getting Me Down
Cass McCombs - County Line
Charli XCX - Stay Away
Childish Gambino - Break (AOTL)
Destroyer - Kaputt
Drake - Doing It Wrong
Fleet Foxes - Someone You'd Admire
Gang Gang Dance - Glass Jar
Girls - Jamie Marie
Grimes - Vanessa
Jacques Greene - Another Girl
Jhené Aiko - Stranger
Jojo - Marvin's Room (Can't Do Better)
Kendrick Lamar - A.D.H.D.
Purity Ring - Ungirthed
Rustie - Ultra Thizz
SBTRKT f. Yukimi Nagano - Wildfire
Seany Mac - One Of Those Days [Organ Mix]
Slow Club - Hackney Marsh
The Antlers - No Widows
The-Dream - Fuck My Brains Out
The Rapture - How Deep Is Your Love?
The Weeknd - House Of Balloons/Glass Table Girls
The Weeknd - Wicked Games
Wilco - One Sunday Morning (Song For Jane Smiley's Boyfriend)
Zola Jesus - Avalanche

Flash forward to (t5!) My Year In Lists: Albums! 30 to 21

(t5!) My Year In Lists 2011: Singles! 10 to 1

2012-02-12T01:48:00.001-07:00

Robyn’s lack of restraint, releasing three EP’s and one full-length album in 2010, robbed her fans of having a significant Robyn single in 2011 (“Call Your Girlfriend” is right on the edge). But thank God her style is inspiring proficient followers from Britain; at least we have Katy B to fill the void with her own masterful version of broken-hearted Europop. “Broken Record” is a desolate dance single Robyn would’ve loved to call her own. Katy B sings forlornly, the shuffling breakbeat constructed by Geeneus and Zinc zooming by her. There’s a difference between Robyn and Katy B though. The cold comfort of knowing seems to shield Robyn from the emotional misery while Katy B is a masochist who can’t admit to herself that she’s stuck in a relationship that is repeatedly hurting her. Her lyrics say that she’s rueful and irrationally willing to overlook her suffering, but her minor-chord melody reveals her heart is about to explode. I’m sure a couple more awesome hits like these and she’d be able to endure romantic failures as gracefully as Robyn.

It’s really a tie between “Heaven” and the last entry because whichever I prefer more between the two changes from day to day. What’s important is that “Heaven”, “Broken Record”, and Yasmin’s “On My Own” shows that there is an innovative new wave of Britain dance pop stars who are successfully reviving this forgotten kind of mid 90’s dance music. “Heaven” takes first place this time on the grounds that even though traces of the source (Blue Wave era Massive Attack) are still distinguishable, it rises above thanks to Emeli Sandé. She is typically an anonymous hook singer for Magnetic Man and Wiley, but this is a breakthrough stalwart vocal achievement. It’s easy to be swallowed by this sandstorm beat complete with raucous horns and empyrean strings, but Emeli refuses to by belting these words as if her rent depended on it. Her voice being invigorated by a gospel choir during the euphoric final chorus hardly seems fair to her competition.

Some time in the future, we’re going to look back at “Super Bass” and realize how monumental this single turned out to be. Nicki Minaj sounds like she’s having fun rapping as she utilizes a couple of her personalities to say a word here and there, and Ester Dean’s pop chorus is aural equivalent of eating cotton candy. But most importantly, the influence it had on preteen and teenage girls in 2011 was remarkable. On YouTube, we have hundreds (maybe thousands) of girls—a list that includes Selena Gomez, Taylor Swift, and Filipina celebrity Rhian Ramos—channeling into their inner rappers, pouring their hearts out into their own cover or lip sync version of this song. Even my twelve-year old cousin has committed the entire song to memory; she may not be able to recite it on a skill level similar to Nicki Minaj’s double-time assault, but she certainly performs it with the same ebullience and facial expression as hers. But it can go either way too. I would hate to see Disney rappers in a couple of years, but that could easily be a direction we’re heading at thanks to this.

Poor Kelly Rowland, always the bridesmaid, never the bride. Destiny hasn’t been as kind to her as it has been to its other Child, Beyoncé Knowles. B has always been the better singer, the better performer, and the bigger sex symbol; Kelly had that one song with Nelly once. The former groupmates both released an album in 2011, and Beyoncé’s 4 sixtoupled the sales of Kelly's Here I Am. On top of that, Ms. Knowles and Jay-Z gave birth to Blue Ivy Carter, the most anticipated baby of the decade and the future greatest hip-hop artist of all time. But Kelly has "Motivation", an icy R&B jam that is so sultry that you can work up a sweat just by listening to it. There’s no doubt that it’s sexier than anything Beyoncé has released this year. She erotically creeps up and down the octave, showcasing that her vocal range can compete with anyone. If Kelly can pull out treats like this more often, she can run the world while Beyoncé is in maternity leave.

Basic bitches will criticize your love for Kreayshawn. Why? Because she’s a young, white, female rapper; because she’s a perpetuator of girl-on-girl misogyny; because she spells her name “Kreayshawn”. But for all the issues of inauthenticity and lack of credibility, for all the reasons why this shouldn’t be taken “seriously” because of what Kreayshawn is and what Kreayshawn does; the only thing that really matters is that “Gucci Gucci” is catchy as fuck. “Gucci Gucci” is jam-packed with unabashed self-assurance and juvenile joyfulness (so much so that “it’s pumping out of her ovaries”) that it’s hard not to be infected by it. There’d be times in 2011 when I’m struggling with life-altering dilemmas, “Gucci Gucci Louis Louis Fendi Fendi Prada” would infiltrate my thoughts, and then I would just be smiling like I’m posing for an imaginary photographer. Even when it’s bad, it’s smile-inducing: “I’m looking like Madonna but I’m flossing like Ivana…Trump” just reminds of “Jean-Ralphio, you gotta end on the rhyme!” all day.

On first take, “Countdown” is just chaotic, at least that’s what I assumed when I found this in her 2011 album, 4. Beyoncé has a tendency to be dizzying on her faster paced tracks; sometimes the elements come together wonderfully (“Crazy In Love”, “Single Ladies (Put A Ring On It)”), sometimes you get buried by garbage (“Déjà vu”, “Diva”). Thus, it’s easy to discard one of her singles as a scattered mess, especially when it has a difficult tempo changes and a pre-chorus that is melodically incongruous to the rest of the song. But then, you listen to it more, and you watch the spasming video, and one by one, these jewels start to leap out of the clutter: the marching band arrangement, the plinking synth droplets, the revelation that she calls Jay-Z her BOOF BOOF, “griiiiiind up on it, girl”, the greatest chorus she’s ever recorded. And, yes, even the pre-chorus countdown gets you pumped after a few runs; its countdown to 1 is a build up to an indisputable 10.

In the last seven years, M83’s sound evolved from the crystalline electronic shoegaze of Dead Cities, Red Seas & Lost Ghosts to the bombastic arena synth-rock of Before The Dawn Heals Us to the soundtrack-to-John-Hughes-movies revivalism of Saturdays=Youth. He has been transitioning into other styles so successfully that it becomes a challenge to pinpoint what direction M83 is heading towards next. In 2011’s “Midnight City”, M83 Anthony Gonzalez tried to extract a little from Column A, B, and C, resulting into the band’s most flawless achievement yet. It combines the fuzzyness of Dead Cities with the pop sensibilities of Saturdays=Youth, and with the assistance of live percussions and a saxophone solo, everything is launched into colossal heights previously reached by the tracks of Before The Dawn. Also, the single achieves what its title suggests: “Midnight City” is the quintessential nighttime summer jam, the perfect accompaniment to those late-night rides as you enjoy the night air from your rolled-down window.

Out of nowhere comes Azealia Banks, saying “hey, I can be the answer.” And if the question is “who is my go-to artist to dance to in 2011?”, then she would be absolutely correct. Azealia Banks is an unstoppable demon on the mic. In "212", she highlights her lyrical skills and rapid-fire diction by spitting out a blitz of creative assonance using four different charming voices: (1) the clamorous barrage that makes her the no. 1 contender to Nicki Minaj’s female rapper crown, (2) the impellent mushmouth that everyone thought went extinct when Missy Elliott disappeared from thin air, (3) a sludgy version of Rihanna’s unvarnished hook maker, and (4) the panic attack scream from an urban Björk. Any of those personas are remarkably irresistible when combined with that booming "Calle Ocho" drums and sleazy sirens, that dirty beat launching that dirty mouth like a cannon attempting to knock down buildings. While we’re on it, hate me or call me a misogynist if I think that hearing the word “cunt” on this track is refreshing. I’m sorry but I can’t defend it, I just do.

Like I mentioned in the intro of this My Year In Lists, the first few months of 2011 stunk for me personally. I had no work, I was facing rejections, and I was in a crippling long-distance relationship. During that nadir, “All of the Lights” was my song. It’s not as if the lyrical theme of the song was a message that I can relate my situation to—I myself didn’t struggle with my celebrity and love life like Kanye West does. Still, certain aspects of it were helpful as an entrance music before every job interview: the Rihanna line (“we’re going all the way this time”) that I yelled out while I was sitting in my car to relieve all of the tension and nervousness that I was feeling; the uplifting horn arrangement that sounds like a maximalist hip-hop Rocky theme; the fact that Kanye enlisted 14 guest vocalists just to sing one line in the song is the exact manifestation of Kanye’s admirable drive and ambition. I know that it seems kind of corny but I’ll forever remember “All of the Lights” as the motivational tool that I used to pull myself out of the gutter.

There was a time when everyone thought that the allure of celebrity luxuriance has basically driven Britney spears crazy. But “Till The World Ends”, from the stutter of the electronic intro to the muffled explosion to end the song, is affirmation that she currently has her head on straight. Every detail in here sounds superbly fabricated, every wobbly synth bassline and every stammering faux-dubstep beat seems precisely engineered by Swedish pop inventors, Dr. Luke and Max Martin, to move your every muscle. And Britney, Femmebot 1.0 herself, is expertly programmed to digitally coo and sigh on this track, taking advantage of the unjust fact that she hasn’t gotten a beat this dizzying since “Toxic”. Don’t call it a comeback, she’s been here for years.

The prediction that this year may be our last is well documented, and for the record, I think that it’s complete bullshit. Having said that, if it turns out that the Mayan calendars are accurate, and solar flares end up flipping the Earth’s magnetic poles like a coin, then Britney has the right approach here.. Every time I listen to this song, I picture a gathering of sweaty naked dancers, taking part in a colossal orgy, singing the immensely “Whoa oh oh oh” bridge in a synchronized euphoria. It’s an excellent motto during our waning days on Earth. Why worry yourself with something inevitable? Let’s celebrate what’s left of existence with a party in which Armageddon is its only last call.

Flash forward to (t5!) My Year In Lists 2011: Non-Singles!

(t5!) My Year In Lists 2011: Singles! 20 to 11

2012-02-10T01:23:00.003-07:00

Sure, Drake is coming off like a suburban thug in "Headlines", and the heat he’s spewing seems like it’s not pointed towards anything in particular, but that doesn’t take away from the grandness of this song. Drake sounds as if he’s just saying—using his trademark sing-song delivery—anything that comes to mind, like an unedited deliberate freestyle. Boi-1da and 40 erected an exemplary arena for Drake to throw a fit on, an entourage of hyperventilating string arrangement and crisp snares that climbs and climbs until Drake has reached his ceiling. The bravado is comprehensible; it’s a staple of rap, a right of passage even. Everyone from Biggie to Skee-Lo has released an “I’m the greatest” track during their careers. To be honest, I didn’t know Drake had this in him. Somehow, amidst all of the emo-rap that populated this year’s Take Care, he executes the most booming single he has released to date, the hardest rap single of the year not released by a rapper currently in Paris.

The most unsung female vocal performance of this year goes to Yukimi Nagano, the Japanese vocalist of Sweden’s Little Dragon. In “Ritual Union”, she is wonderfully compact, with each lyrical phrase delivered like droplets of icy water dripping from a dangerously acute icicle. Due to the delightful thinness of her vocals, there’s also a tinge of brittleness heard here. “Ritual Union”, after all, is about the repeated pitfalls brought in by infidelity, the cycle of lies sadly begotten by being trapped in a commitment, causing both parties to “[get] in trouble again”. That’s why it’s understandable that her emotions are being imprisoned in here; there are no bulky hooks while her notes never wander too far from the song’s core. The music surrounding her staccatos is equally excellent at its execution, refusing to be outdone by its frontwoman. The taut bassline and sudden blasts of unstable synths give Yukimi’s arrested vocals a pool to swoosh around in.

“Rill Rill” was the standout track from Sleigh Bell’s debut album Treats, and popped up everywhere in 2010 (you heard it in Gossip Girl!). It seems inconceivable that they would wait until a year has passed before they released it as a single. But now I understand what Alexis Krauss, Derek Miller, and the executives in charge of Sleigh Bell’s image were thinking. Thanks to the jangly Funkadelic “Can You Get That” sample, Krauss’ schoolyard melody, and twee lyrics over the snap beat, “Rill Rill” was gleeful and adolescent. It’s a song you teach your kids, giving them indie cred when they perform it in their school talent show. It’s easily the most accessible song in their back pocket. Having said that, this song sounds like an anomaly next to the thunder crunch tracks of Treats. If they debuted with this single, their fans would think that their entire discography is similar to this and would be utterly disappointed. Releasing this as a third single seems appropriate.

It’s disheartening to think that the majority of the people turning this up in car stereos, twerking to this on dance floors, and posting this on their Facebook walls weren’t even alive when the sample used here (MC Hammer’s “U Can’t Touch This) was released. But that’s beside the point. It’s sort of like how kids didn’t know that Missy Elliott borrowed Run DMC’s “Peter Piper” for “Work It”. That’s how dance songs have always operated. It doesn’t matter that the origins of the beat is known as long as it can be danced to; no one came for a history lesson. Anyway, “Dance (A$$)” is a formidable effort from Big Sean (his most profitable single to date). Although let’s face it, the real star here is Nicki Minaj. When the spotlight shines on her, she doesn’t waste her time; she spits obscene couplets, makes the handclaps snap extra hard, and flaunts her ass all over the video. It just fits that the greatest ass in hip-hop is rapping about ass like a Rhodes scholar.

“You can be the , and I can be the ” is such a simple template that it should get tiring after a few usage. But it doesn’t. As a matter of fact, the more you listen to it, the more this single sneaks under your skin. “Sure Thing” is an amalgam of simple pieces: the aforementioned lyric structure, the shrill synth line, the unintelligible screwed-and-chopped hook, the punctuating guitar, the mellow beat, the restraint in Miguel’s voice. Each of these on its own is nothing to write home about, but together they form an uncomplicated smooth summer breeze. It’s like really appetizing Italian food; the ingredients on the plate don’t need to be fancy and skillfully prepared, it just needs to be fresh and precise. One advice for Miguel though, he should get a better name. I know his style is all about simplicity, but the league of modern R&B is full of one word boring characters (Lloyd, Mario, Joe, Case) that barely amounted to anything.

So there’s this girl, right? Hollywood smile, stripper booty, brain like Berkeley. She and Frank Ocean met at Coachella, and you know it’s doomed from the start because he’s there to take lessons from the greatest of all time and she’s there to check out the dance tents. Then comes the unavoidable downward spiral: filming orgies, snorting cocaine for breakfast (yikes), autotuning melodies, doing anything to numb the pain. Ocean is conflicted and drugs are the only solution to make sense of it all. We’re familiar with every painstaking twist and turn of this love story because this so-called Hipster R&B single is masterfully detailed and picturesque,a rare accomplishment for the genre. Furthermore, Frank Ocean’s genius in “Novacane” reveals in the way he manages to make this carefully crafted tale of heartbreak and withdrawal seem stream-of-consciousness storytelling. Moreover, his delivery—the way he sings this in a disinterested, almost monotone voice—is the best encapsulation of numbness in track this year. Perfect.

We belong in an era where cynics roam, where people find faults at even the most immaculate pieces of work. So what can these misanthropes do then when faced with such exquisite beauty like “Holocene”? Bon Iver has mastered the technique of picking the perfect combination of notes, melody, and tempo which serves as a vehicle that transports you to a faraway Eden where no one is allowed to be ironic or dismissive. In “Holocene”, the guitar feels like the soothing oscillation of tranquil waves, and when you listen to it with your eyes closed, it feels like as if you’re floating on water, bereaved from all unwanted problems. It also helps that the lyrics are ambiguous enough that even the most academic asshole would have difficulty deciphering—and thus criticizing—what Justin Vernon is singing about. Even when Vernon is profane in that patented honeyed falsetto, it still sounds like the most angelic word in the English dictionary. I don’t even know what or where or when Holocene is, but I want to go there.

No song in 2011—very few in the history of music, actually—exemplified loneliness and reclusion as effectively as “Lindisfarne”. Although listening to the two-part album version gets you the full emphasis, whoever made the decision to combine them together into a single edit deserves applause. I, myself, would never suggest that you listen to one part without the other. In “Lindisfarne I”, James Blake’s wintery, highly autotuned pleas appear faintly, only to withdraw into nothingness shortly after, and every time it does, the hairs at the back of your neck is pulled as far as it can go. And in case you weren’t feeling abandoned enough when part I ends, a downpour of acoustic guitar notes, subdued bass thumps, and electronic clicks soak you in “Lindisfarne II”. Blake appears in your head once more to utter “beacon don’t fly too high”, repeating the sentiment over and over again, confirming that no one's going to be there to respond. I also would never suggest that you listen to this if you’re currently stuck in a dark place in your life, not unless you’re prepared to bawl your eyes out anyway.

Don’t be fooled by “The Bay”. Devon’s Metronomy isn’t referring to San Francisco or Port Jackson here. “The Bay” they are singing about is Torbay, the eastern part of Devon that tourists have playfully dubbed as the English Riviera. Now before you starting planning a vacation to that destination, it’s critical that you know that this The Bay doesn’t exactly offer breathtaking views of skyscrapers or beaches populated with bikini-clad sunbathers. The only thing you'll experience in Torbay is pleasant climate and small-town harbor sensations. Metronomy gives it a marvelous attempt to color the truth though, and it’s all done to mask the turmoil that surrounds songwriter Joseph Mount’s relationship. The rubbery bass, four-on-the-floor strut, and the “it feels soooo gooooood in The Bay” chorus line may lead you to believe that he is ready to disco, but he’s really (unsuccessfully) pleading his love interest to spend one more night with him in this Bay. So be careful. Even the palm trees commonly seen in Torbay are actually cabbage trees.

I like my video games. I can go through a Madden franchise season in one sitting. My kill/death ratio in Call of Duty is respectable. I’ve spent countless hours on my bed with an Xbox 360 controller in my hand satisfyingly commanding computer generated characters to do every thing I want them to do. I wasn’t planning to change that habit as long as EA Sports and Infinity Ward keep churning out new installments of my favorite games. But then I discovered Lana Del Rey’s “Video Games”, and I realized that I had to get all my priorities in order. Lana Del Rey, those pouty lips expelling a withering alto, is saying that “heaven is a place on earth with [me]”, like she’s perfectly fine with whatever activity we’re wasting our time with. But hearing the melancholy she’s singing these words, and feeling the dispiriting pace of the string-kissed accompaniment, there's a sense that she's trying to bury the exasperation she's feeling. I would never want my wife to resent me because I’m busy killing noobs.

Flash forward to (t5!) My Year In Lists 2011: Singles! 10 to 1

(t5!) My Year In Lists 2011: Singles! 30 to 21

2012-02-09T00:50:00.001-07:00

According to the reliable well of information called Wikipedia, the Wilhelm Scream is a stock sound effect used when someone falls from somewhere high. That factoid alone is what makes this song interesting. James Blake’s “The Wilhelm Scream”, a modernized rework of his father James Litherland’s folky tune “Where To Turn”, is the cry during his freefall. The harrowing repetition of “falling” is effective at educing the feeling of James Blake’s recession. Even when it swells into a disorderly jumble of bleeps and unharmonious layers, James Blake and his hazy production can’t seem to shake off its fragility, as if it’s always on the brink of fracturing. However, that’s where the connection ends: The Wilhelm Scream sound is so loud that it makes the pain comically obvious; “The Wilhelm Scream” single is restrained and the pain is within. The Wilhelm Scream has been used so often in films that it has become a cliché, an in-joke Easter egg that film nerds seek out. “The Wilhelm Scream” is a creation of a promising vanguard.

Once upon a time, Junior Boys was responsible for two of my favorite albums of all time. Five years and two albums after 2006’s So This Is Goodbye, it seems that the boys from Hamilton doesn’t have it in them to put together a complete A+ album anymore. Although after hearing “Banana Ripple”, it assured me that they still have the skills to construct an enslaving dance single. It’s odd though that like their previous indie club banger, “In The Morning”, this single is unlike all of the blue-eyed soul electropop album tracks that made Last Exit and So This Is Goodbye gems. I guess if obligated to release a single, I agree that you select songs that make the masses groove. Nine minutes to make your banana ripple may seem too daunting of a task, but Junior Boys never makes you feel its length. Believe me, I have an inside scoop here; when I saw them perform this live as an encore, the crowd was so into it that they could have cared less if this went on all night.

Rihanna sneaks in delightedly, because the year wouldn’t have been complete without a noteworthy Rihanna single. But really, “We Found Love” should’ve placed higher in this list. Rihanna has become our generation’s Donna Summer, a heavenly instrument used by today’s producers to season their attempts at making the most exciting dance music that they can fabricate. Here, RiRi tried her best by presenting us with her prettiest melody ever, her voice evaporating up the scale like never before. The problem is Calvin Harris. He is contempt with a clunky two-note synth back-and-forth that a teenage Soundcloud member can come up with on his iPad. If this is the best Calvin Harris can offer the greatest hook singer of this era, then he’s not worthy to be in the same sound booth as the Barbadian beauty. Nevertheless, even with Harris’ elementary exertion, there’s enough going on here to still be one of the best of the year. Can you imagine how high this would have been if a more capable producer used this melody?

The statement “I would kill for love”, aside from being incredibly dark, sounds like a massive exaggeration, doesn’t it? Still, it has been a staple in pop music from Meatloaf’s “I Would Do Anything For Love (But I Won’t Do That)” to Bryan Adams’ “Everything I Do (I Do It For You)” to Bruno Mars’ “Grenade”. But this type of commitment/hopelessness is frequently associated with something theatrical or melodramatic or acoustic to emulate the emotions felt inside. Not Portland band, Chromatics, though. The music in “Kill For Love” sparkles, containing concave drums, dazzling synths, and New Order inspired arrangement. Chromatics understands that longing for love is like being the only person in the world not being invited to a party. “Everybody’s got a secret to hide,” Ruth Radelet sings snidely with an unhistrionic colorless alto. She’s spiteful of everyone around her, but at the same time, she wishes she had an invitation.

"Whirring” is proof that standard indie rock is loads better once you put a female vocalist up front. Singer Ritzy Bryan is the highlight of this dish, hitting registers higher than a level that a male counterpart can reach. She affirms that the higher the notes a song comes up to, the more it evokes a feeling of ascension. Furthermore, her vocals awake memories of Metric’s Emily Haines. With that said, Metric as a band has never sounded this dense and gritty. When Bryan sings “turn the dial on my world”, the band is quick to respond by simultaneously cranking up the crunch of their instruments. I understand that this is a singles list, but I have to encourage you to listen to the album version of this song in order to fully appreciate it. The single version is a charming four-minute number packed with epic intensity, but it neglects the outro. After Bryan lifts everything into the stratosphere, she steps aside and lets her backing take over the rest of the way, ending the song with another four minutes of walloping dissonant instrumental capable of moving mountains.

Remember when one of the biggest critiques of modern hip-hop is that it’s all about money? Well, I doubt the skeptics thought that it would go this far. The basic premise of Jay-Z & Kanye West’s collaboration, Watch The Throne, is to show that it isn’t a coincidence that the two richest rappers in the world is also the two greatest rappers in the world. “Niggas In Paris”, the second single from that album, is its best exemplification of their argument. Jay and ‘Ye’s European vacation is an extravagant touchdown celebration, a middle finger to the scoffers who thought that these ghetto uneducated negros can’t do anything but make dumb hip-hop music. It’s a statement stating that the wealth they worked hard for has permitted both of them to riches most people can never fathom. Jay-Z said it best, “if you escaped what I escaped, you’d be in Paris getting fucked up too.” Capitalism has always been a prevalent theme in hip-hop. Jay-Z and Kanye, the hardest motherfuckers of the 1%, is just going global with it.

How many times exactly? If the number of times K. Michelle sings that high C with power and vigor is any indication, then the answer to that question is “numerous”. It appeared that female vocalists were showing off their pipes more often than usual in 2011: Adele was extravagantly dynamic while stalking and trying to clone her ex; Katy Perry gained inspiration from a Jack Kerouac novel; Lady Gaga stood at the edge of glory. Beyoncé let us know she can add. It’s disappointing that K. Michelle was a hidden treasure that was secretly outclassing these famous divas. The Mary J. Blige influence couldn’t be more obvious in "How Many Times"; she even dedicates an entire verse to her. K Michelle understood from her that while belting out notes over sharp piano stabs sounds impressive, the voice still needs to carry a metric tons worth of emotion. She’s so overwhelmed with frustration here that she sounds like she’s pulling her hair out, and, you, as a bystander, is feeling every painful tug.

I’ll never understand how artists name instrumental tracks. How did Pantha Du Prince get “Saturn Strobe” out of that blizzard of tonal percussions? What was Vitalic’s thought process when he named an electronic cosmic rumble like “La Rock 01”? Gold Panda naming “Marriage” though? That I get. Even when there's no lyrical indication as to why Gold Panda named this subtle ambient pop “Marriage”, it just seemed to make sense. Listening to it evokes the jubilation and warmth that matrimony (ideally) provides. The hissy base microhouse beat represents the repetition of being with someone 'til death, and the subtle shifts in scenery like the coming-and-going sound effects provided by the various pinging Oriental instruments represents the spice needed to keep the monotony interesting. Gold Panda didn't make this extravagant by any means, but that simplicity is what makes it work. “Marriage” just sort of blends with the atmosphere, but before you know it, you’ve played it ten times in one day, and you don’t regret any of the blissful seconds you’ve spent with it.

Because of all the lazy sampling, constant stage name changes, Making The Band, acting attempts, Sean Combs has become such a joke to the mainstream over the years. It’s easy to forget now his success as an entrepreneur and his responsibility for the ascent of several notable hip-hop and R&B songs over the last fifteen years. The rap skills may be awkward at times, but he has an ear for delectable production and an eye for talent. He has continually contrived R&B entities in his Bad Boy laboratory, with varying success, and it seems that he has struck gold again with Dirty Money. "Ass On The Floor" is equal parts icy and hot, thanks to Dawn and Kalenna's chillingly scorching presence on the track. Swizz Beats’ employment is smart as a motherfucker; his discography may be patchy, but he has constantly proven that he’s capable of making addictive beats. This production comprising of snares popping like popcorn in a microwave over an unwavering synth lamina contributes to the heartbreak-in-the-club feeling that “Ass On The Floor” is all about.

Not since Eminem in his prime have we listened to such baneful, calculated, and daring style of hip-hop; a minimalist rap song to soundtrack the most bloodcurdling nightmares. The beat of "Yonkers" is basically the Psycho theme in a different pitch layered over a viscous bass line and rough percussions, but the amount of intensity that materialized from these simple ingredients is staggering. Tyler, The Creator growls perverse lyrics on top of this terrifying production, and he does so with a level of wit, aggression, and viciousness that can only be achieved by most if they’re possessed by an incubus. I know the cockroach eating, demonic contact lenses, and suicide by hanging are all props and stunts used in the music video, but there just has to be extreme sociapathic tendencies lurking within the Odd Future Wolf Gang Kill Them All member for him to imagine verses as disturbing as these. And I give him bonus points for wanting to brutally murder B.O.B. and Bruno Mars.

Flash forward to (t5!) My Year In Lists 2011: Singles! 20 to 11

(t5!) My Year In Lists 2011: #Hashtags! 10 to 1

2012-02-08T00:40:00.000-07:00

If you want to market a product effectively, there’s no better strategy to have than targeting people’s paranoia. Fox’s 24 were experts at that, and it allowed them to stay on air for as long as they did. During an era of uncertainty, Jack Bauer was a fictional terrorist slayer that audiences relied upon to keep them safe. And even though it was never really phenomenal after the first season, the sum of all fears convinced everyone that this living exemplar of the Patriot Act is having the worst day anyone in the world can ever have….eight different times! In 2011, I’m glad to say that that nationwide paranoia is diminishing, so Showtime’s new drama Homeland was unable to rope in fans the same way 24 did. However, it remains brilliant without the need to exploit that horror. Although you won’t find a Jack Bauer in Homeland, you will find Emmy-worthy acting performances from Claire Daines and Damian Williams, and a substantial storyline full of twists reminiscent of classics of the genre such as The Manchurian Candidate and The Parallax View.

We’ve been preconditioned to think that the perfect NFL quarterback is accurate, has a quick release, stays in the pocket, steps back to pass 50 times a game, easily throws for 300 yards against the most stifling pass defenses. Denver Broncos’ Tim Tebow has none of those qualities: he is inconsistent, has an unorthodox throwing mechanic, is uncomfortable in the pocket, rarely throws the ball, would never lead the league in passing yards. He is atrocious when judged by normal standards, yet all he did was win, and it drove every NFL expert and stat geek insane. It’s not even appropriate to label him a “scrambling quarterback”; even Michael Vick, the greatest player under that classification, still has the abiliy to break down a defense with his arm. If you must categorize this enigma, Tebow is a fullback that runs the option and throws occasional 40-yard bombs, a trick play that normal NFL offenses use maybe once a season. But in Denver, he’s there for every excitingly unpredictable and unexplainable possession.

If you are aware of Ren & Stimpy in the ‘90s, more specifically their patented tactic of zooming onto something truly gross, then you should know that Nickelodeon is committed to an extremely high level of detail when they do animation. Therefore, you were confident that when Nickelodeon Movies teamed up with Industrial Lights & Music to make Rango, ILM’s first ever feature film, it is guaranteed to rival anything Pixar or Dreamworks has ever done. To rival them seems like a limiting ceiling; they inconceivably surpassed them. Not only did you get the chameleon version of a Hunter S. Thompson-inspired Johnny Depp, not only did you get a cartoon version of the 1974 film Chinatown, but you also got the most eye-popping computer-animated feature film that you have ever seen. The way Rango made their animated animals look like archetypal ugly Spaghetti Western characters is ridiculous, and the way they made it seem like they placed those animals in a real-life barren Mojave Desert is phenomenal.

The last Charlie Sheen project that I truly enjoyed before 2011 was the Major League series. I’m not really a proponent of his chosen lifestyle either. Sure, drugs and alcohol and porn stars would be a good life for like a couple of days or so. But all of that hedonism should get old after a while. Still, I don’t think that 2011 would have been the same without Charlie Sheen. Charlie Sheen was basically a walking soundboard, throwing insane quotable lines left and right during his interviews with ABCNews and TMZ. These quotes, like “Duh! Winning!” and “I’m an F-18, bro!” were then turned into merchandise slogans that sold like water bottles just before Y2K. After being released from the very profitable sitcom Two and a Half Men, Charlie Sheen went on tour, his venues packed with fans hoping he would utter one of these phrases. Also, his roast on Comedy Central this year—the highest rated roast Comedy Central has done—was a treasure chest of weirdness, such as Mike Tyson trying to do stand-up and Steve-O trying to give himself a black eye by jumping into Tyson’s fist.

If Rebecca Black is the byproduct of children never receiving any criticism because the people they’re surrounded with would rather lie to them than hurt their feelings, then let us continue to spoil these kids. When it comes to unintentional comedy in 2011, “Friday” is definitely the seat you take. The melody consisted of two notes, but Rebecca needed the help of an autotune anyway; the video was an experiment on how many awkward dancing teenagers can they fit in front of a green screen; a huge chunk of the lyrics consisted of Rebecca educating us on the order of days in a week; and the one black guy they found in Hollywood hills was enlisted to “rap” a verse. The worst part about it was that the song is as catchy as a common cold, so every Friday for at least three months, everyone was heard singing a line from the song. Yes, it’s cruel to find joy at her expense—poor Rebecca had to take down the YouTube video due to the amount of ridicule she was getting—but I'm too busy laughing out loud to care.

Brad Pitt used to be the guy that even the most homophobic man can openly admit is really good looking. In 2011 though,Ryan Gosling officially became that guy. There wasn’t even a torch passing ceremony; while Pitt was busy portraying 1950s dads and renegade baseball general managers, Gosling just plain stole the torch from under his nose. It’s not as if Gosling is completely useless either, because this pretty boy has acting skills, starring in numerous critically acclaimed movies in 2011 (and late 2010) like Blue Valentine, Drive, The Ides of March, and Crazy, Stupid, Love. There was also video evidence that he’s cool enough to break up random street fights and to reintroduce the lost art of baglamas playing. The Ryan Gosling deification was authenticated when People Magazine unfathomably named Bradley Cooper over him as their 2011 “Sexiest Man Alive”, which actually caused devastated protesters to wave pro-Gosling placards outside of their New York office. No one ever did that when Richard Gere beat Pitt in 1999.

If the NBA lockout could’ve gone forever, Dallas Mavericks’ Dirk Nowitzki would be completely fine with that. Not only would his team’s reign as champions be extended until eternity, he would be remembered as the best player in the NBA the last time professional basketball existed in the United States. The Mavs’ championship run was improbable; no one even believed that they would get past their first round opponent, the Portland Trail Blazers. But they handled them in six, then swept the defending champs, the Los Angles Lakers, then took an up-and-coming team, the Oklahoma City Thunder, to five games, then humbled the Big 3 (or Big 2, plus whatever fraction of superstar you think Chris Bosh is) for six games. All in all, the 2011 NBA playoffs were entertaining thanks to his team’s improbable run. And Dirk? He was sinking everything, and doing so at the most crucial moments. He was so impressive in 2011 that the Lakers’ Kobe Bryant is actually attempting to forge his patented one-footed fadeaway. Imitation is the best form of flattery.

I know (t5!) is my blog and I can do whatever I want in it, but I sort of make up little rules that I have to explicitly follow to give myself some form of structure and consistency. One rule that I have is that for these #Hashtags lists, I confined myself to only include episodes of television shows unless it’s a show’s debut season. Otherwise, if a show is constantly terrific, it’s going to show up in this list annually, and that’s boring blog work. But I’m going to have to break that rule in 2011 because there’s no way I can select one episode from Season 3 of Parks & Recreation. It was literally flawless and the best season of comedy that has ever existed in my lifetime. Adding Adam Scott and Rob Lowe as regular cast members just fortified the already extremely gifted and hilarious roster of comedians that have figured out how to selflessly maximize each other’s talents. It would be really optimistic to think that the people from Pawnee can keep up this streak—Season 4 is still magnificent, though probably not as consistent—but it was awesome while it lasted.

Like Season 3 of Parks & Recreation, all 13 episodes of AMC’s Breaking Bad should be included in this list, because the show’s fourth season is the most intense chapter of television anyone has ever aired. But I can’t break my rule two entries in a row. Besides “Crawl Space” is an easy choice given that it was the season’s unequivocal climactic peak. I could list here all of the impactful events that left everyone breathless afterwards, but that would be pointless because it would (a) only reiterate all the scenes that is already forever etched on your brain, or (b) only spoiling it for you if you haven’t watched it yet, and thus deprave you of the exhilarating thrill. “Crawl Space” is the episode when Walter White’s entire world fell apart. But most importantly, it marked the symbolic death of I’m-just-cooking-meth-to-provide-for-my-family Mr. White (brilliantly illustrated with that overhead shot of Walt laughing maniacally in his crawl space). And with that persona out of the way, he can complete his transition to super bad-breaking Heisenberg.

I’ve always felt indifferent towards the whole fantasy genre in general. I guess my imagination isn’t vivid enough to envision the majestic setting to be able to put myself into the protagonist’s world. I’ve never read any fantasy novels when I was young. I found the entire Lord of the Rings Trilogy a bore. I didn’t hang with the kids in school who played Magic: The Gathering. I have never played Legend of Zelda back when I owned a Nintendo.

Call me a genre bigot, but that’s exactly why I didn’t give HBO’s Game of Thrones a fair shake right off the bat. I assumed it would be a tedious narrative about opposed kings, elderly wizards, fire-breathing dragons, and mystical quests. However, after seeing the first season, I am now gladly eating my words. While other television adaptations of the genre were usually fixated on fetishizing magic and knights and sword fighting, Game of Thrones—even though it still contained all of those fetishes—were more focused on picturesque storytelling than anything else.

Game of Thrones is really no different than any of HBO’s exceptional dramas. The Wire was basically a cop show, Deadwood was basically a Western, and The Sopranos was basically about gangsters. Game of Thrones is basically a show about a mythical version of the Middle Ages. And yet, to the audiences who loved these shows, they will attest to the fact that all of them were much glorious in their ambition and much richer in their execution. Similar to The Wire, the characters of Game of Thrones were incredibly realized and wonderfully casted. I wanted to know more about these characters, which, along with the nudity, kept me from falling asleep during dialogue that I usually don’t care about.

The first season felt so incomplete, but that is meant in the very best way. The entire collection of episodes felt like a prologue to the crazy shit that’s about to go down when the Starks, the Lannisters, the Baratheons, the White Walkers, and Dany’s dragons collide. I can’t believe I’m saying this about a fantasy television show, but I can’t wait to watch it. I may even give Magic: The Gathering a shot if I can find people willing to play it now.

Flash forward to (t5!) My Year In Lists 2011: Singles! 30 to 21

(t5!) My Year In Lists 2011: #Hashtags! 20 to 11

2012-02-06T23:48:00.002-07:00

Drew Brees stole a little bit of his thunder near the end there, and his backup Matt Flynn sort of proved that a replacement can be plugged into this offensive system and can still put up numbers. But regardless, in 2011 in the NFL, Aaron Rodgers is king. To start the year, he led his sixth-seed Green Bay Packers to win Super Bowl XLV. Then to prove everyone that his accomplishments were no fluke, he won 13 straight games to start the next season. He finished the most recent season with career-highs 4,643 yards and 45 touchdowns, only threw six interceptions, set an NFL record 122.5 passer rating, and tied the NFL record for most consecutive games with at least two touchdowns with 13 games. The Packers only lost once the entire calendar year. With these monstrous numbers, he solidified himself as one of, if not the best quarterbacks in the league. That’s pretty decent for someone who was passed over by 23 other teams in the 2005 NFL draft and backed up Brett Favre for three long years.

The couple of episodes that lead to Steve Carell leaving The Office, “Michael’s Last Dundies” and “Goodbye, Michael”, were, without a doubt entertaining and emotional, but what happened afterwards was more significant. We saw Peyton Manning miss the entire 2011 NFL season because of neck injury, and the reliable Indianapolis Colts went 2-14 without him. Similarly, Michael Scott left The Office and the show tanked in his absence. No one doubted how phenomenal both of them were as individual performers, but not everyone realized how valuable they actually were until they’re gone. Before Steve Carell left to become a bigger movie star, I thought that the greatest strength of the show is the depth of its cast. But while Jim, Pam, Dwight, Andy, and the rest were all lovable and funny characters, Carell’s departure proved that the insensitive, offensive, socially clueless, self-proclaimed “World’s Best Boss” is completely irreplaceable. "Goodbye, Michael" might as well be the series finale.

Professional wrestling was an addiction I couldn’t shake. Even when their product was horrible, I just had to tune-in week after week to see what happened next. If I hadn't made a conscious effort to quit—and I was aided by WWE’s diminishing talent pool and stale story lines—I would still be slogging through WWE’s weekly programming. For a few weeks in 2011 however, CM Punk reminded me why I used to love this circus unconditionally. One June Monday night, Punk thought it would be fun to kayfabe, which is wrestling geek talk for "breaking the fourth wall". After interfering in a John Cena vs. R-Truth match, he delivered one of the most defiant and compelling monologues in WWE history, punking out superstars like Cena, Hulk Hogan, The Rock, Triple H, and WWE owner Vince McMahon. CM Punk was “suspended” for this act of outright disobedience, but I still couldn’t help but tune in subsequent weeks to find out how this story line concluded, being treated with charismatic mic work and exciting matches from him once he came back.

I suspect that a handful of people may scoff at the inclusion of this film in this list. The Tree Of Life is unequivocally a movie with obvious (dinosaur-sized) flaws. It’s long, uneventful, confusing, pretentious, and can’t be described without using the dreaded word “epic”. For all of its negative traits though, one thing that is for certain is that it’s the most gorgeous looking film of 2011, and coming from director Terrence Malick, that wasn’t at all surprising. I will always choose an entertaining plot over brilliant film school characteristics any day of the week, but he and Wong Kar Wai are the only two directors that I will promote for their captivating cinematography, regardless of whether or not the script of their movies is engrossing. Persevering through the story of The Tree Of Life may be a daunting endeavor—I myself eventually learned to love the theme of people’s capacity to love as well as hurt without forethought—but I never wanted to look away for a second because I would hate to miss a masterly shot scene.

Explaining FX’s Louie to someone who hasn’t watched a minute of the show before can be a little bit challenging. It’s billed as a comedy and its lead actor, writer, director, editor, producer, custodian is every comedian’s favorite comedian Louis C.K.. It’s absolutely funny the majority of the time, but to call it a comedy would singularize what the show is doing marvellously. “Duckling”, the best episode of the series’ abundant second season, didn’t make you laugh out loud, but it was a thoroughly beautiful, feel-good tale about Louie’s trip to Afghanistan and how the duckling that his daughter gave him as a gift to keep him safe might have actually saved his life. A huge percentage of human conflict arises from misunderstanding between two parties. Louis C.K. demonstrated in “Duckling” that the simple comedic effectiveness of a chubby, middle-aged man falling over while chasing a baby duck can be a common frame of reference that can diffuse an extremely volatile situation.

No one expected much coming into this. Manny Pacquiao has decimated the last seven fighters that stood across him before this fight, while Juan Manuel Marquez faded into obscurity after his bout with Floyd Mayweather in 2009. Vegas oddsmakers calling Marquez a 10-1 underdog didn’t add much to the excitement factor either. So when Marquez showed off his counterpunching prowess early, making it difficult for Pacquaio to unleash any sort of fury, everyone was shocked. It eventually ended up into a split decision that went in Pacquiao’s favor, enraging the Mexican fan base, as well as the incognizant casual boxing fans. Marquez had more highlight punches, so many thought he should’ve won. However, the judges’ scorecard revealed that Pacquiao landed more punches and won more rounds. Even though he didn’t win them spectacularly, all that matters is that he won more than Marquez. The fight sparked controversy, but it’s refreshing to watch a competitive match for a change. A great night for boxing.

Chris Paul’s 2011 was a roller coaster ride. Because he was going to be a free agent next summer, the league-owned New Orleans Hornets were forced to trade Paul away when the lockout ended to avoid losing him without getting assets back. So GM Dell Demps concocted a fair three-team deal that would send Paul to the Lakers. But because the Hornets were collectively owned by the other 29 NBA teams, they persuaded NBA commissioner David Stern to veto the trade. They questioned the fairness of the deal and they whined that it’s another case of a superstar leaving his small-market team for a big-market franchise. The whole debacle infuriated everyone involved in the NBA, pointing out the conflict of interest, and the league jeopardized its credibility as a result. The PR mess forced David Stern to re-open trade negotiations with other teams, and Paul ultimately ended up with the Los Angeles Clippers. And now Paul couldn’t be happier; he has the enviable task of throwing alley-oops to Blake Griffin, and is being talked about as a legitimate MVP candidate.

Real fans practice unconditional sports monogamy. When the Edmonton Oilers were struggling during the past few NHL seasons, you still stuck by them if you’re a real fan. In 2011, those real Edmonton Oiler fans were rewarded for their loyalty in the form of a scrawny 18-year old center called Ryan Nugent-Hopkins. Don’t get me wrong, last year’s pertinacious winger Taylor Hall is just as rewarding, but he never really looked like a guaranteed superstar during his rookie season. On the other hand, Nugent-Hopkins at times looked like a hockey virtuoso, even when his physique seems too juvenile for the brawny men of the opposing teams. He was capable of seeing passing lanes that hasn’t even developed yet and he had a knack for turning loose pucks into goals. Partly because of his play, there was a short period of time in the 2011-12 season when the once (and still) lowly Oilers were leading their division, but has now limped back to normalcy to end the year. Whatever happens this season, the future looks promising.

When NBC didn’t include Community in their midseason schedule, I became violently angry. As a fiercely loyal fanatic of Community, I’ve attempted to recruit people to be part of this strange “community” of devotees. But, even someone as dedicated as me can admit that at times, the show can be too audacious. Its inconsistency wasn’t an appealing attribute, but we fans understood though that we have to go through all the drivel for a promise of an episode such as “Remedial Chaos Theory”. This episode demonstrated that when the show is at its finest, it can successfully showcase its ambitious plots while humanizing its zany characters. The multiple timeline gimmick exposed the developing relationships and unresolved issues the different study group members have with each other, but it also allowed everyone to boast their comedic chops. I’ve stopped pimping this show to everyone I know. I realized that if Community had to dumb down to get more viewers, it wouldn’t have the fortitude to reach highs like this.

I often bitched about how Friday Night Lights, the greatest teen drama TV series of all time, didn’t get a big enough audience. But really, I should just be thankful that it did hold on for five satisfying seasons and gave its passionate fans a fitting goodbye. Friday Night Lights was seldom kind to the citizens of Dillon, Texas, but "Always" was kind enough to grant its characters a favorable ending. East Dillon won State, and even though they had to disband afterwards, they got to continue the run as members of the Panthers the next season. Matt gets Julie, the love of his life. Becky gets Luke and the Riggins family. Tim gets his brother Billy back, a potential future with Tyra, and a piece of glorious Texas land. As for Coach and Mrs. Coach? Eric was willing to become a low profile high school football coach in Philadelphia so that Tammy can get her dream job at a college admissions office. It may not be “Texas Forever” for them, but it’s the happy ending that the greatest married couple in TV history deserved.

Flash forward to (t5!) My Year In Lists 2011: #Hashtags 10 to 1.

(t5!) My Year In Lists 2011: #Hashtags! 30 to 21

2012-02-06T00:45:00.019-07:00

Jimmer, former Brigham Young University’s beefy Mormon point guard, was celebrated everywhere in college basketball in 2011. He tallied 28.5 points per game during the regular season, leading the nation in scoring, and he usually scored each point in spectacular fashion. His arsenal of faraway pull-up shots and acrobatic layups caused fans, overexcited commentators, and the entire Twitterverse to whip themselves into a frenzy. Belonging in a predominantly black sport like basketball, Jimmer was seen as a Great White Hope, which is some people's explanation why this undisciplined, selfish style of play—which is typically frowned upon by college basketball supporters—is forgiven when Jimmer played it. Selfish or not, it's still entertaining as hell. As a rookie in Sacramento, it’s yet to be seen whether he can translate his shoot-first, pass-rarely amateur game into a successful NBA career, but the world is checking out every highlight just so it’s witnessed properly it if he does.

HBO’s How To Make It In America was cancelled last year, and even people who watched the show every week thought to themselves that it’s the equivalent to a mercy killing. The show was horrible, but people (like me) refused to give up on it because it had so much potential. You can see the puzzle pieces—underdog mentality, Brooklyn, fashion, Aloe Blacc’s “I Need A Dollar”, Helvetica font, Kid Cudi—and it’s frustrating that the show can’t seem to put it all together. One thing I’m happy about is that the show has successfully advertised its most promising puzzle piece, Lake Bell, before the show ended. I’m not even talking about the fact that HBO made her go topless in season 2 (although nude scenes can do wonders in an actress’ career); the show was just a terrific exhibition for her acting skills. It’s frustrating to watch her waste her impeccable comedic timing and fast-talking charm on underdeveloped storylines, but at least we know that she’ll be able to parlay this stint into bigger and better things.

Everyone can remember the “Where Will Amazing Happen This Year?” campaign that was featured during the 2009 playoffs, where famous NBA moments were slowed down, refashioned as black-and-white clips, and soundtracked with a poignant instrumental piano track. But the NBA can’t run this brilliant marketing gimmick yearly, so they had to find a way to keep topping themselves. While the 2011 “Where Amazing Happens” commercials may not have been as intense or as expansive, they are definitely more clever. Fans of today travel back in time to confront their NBA idols Kevin Durant, Steve Nash, Amar’e Stoudemire, Chris Paul, and Stephen Curry, letting their favorites know the impact they’re going to have on their lives one day. The degree of difficulty is extremely high, which is why they only aired five different commercials and was never duplicated on YouTube like the WWAHTY? Of 2009, but I would’ve loved to have seen more of it. A fan pulling David Stern and Billy Knight aside to resolve the collective bargaining agreement earlier to avoid the lockout, maybe?

If you’re a music fan who pride on being ahead of the curve, you were really excited to see Arcade Fire with a bunch of Mountain Dew induced BMX riders perform “Month Of May” in the 2011 Grammy Awards; and you were probably very really excited when The Suburbs won 2011 Album of the Year; and you were basically jumping like a Jehosephat when they came out to close the night with “Ready To Start”. It’s admittedly ridiculous; it’s not as if your taste in music needed vindication for it to be valid (in the form of an incredibly irrelevant Grammy statue, no less). Nevertheless, the whole night felt like a personal victory, like it's the collective’s first step towards becoming the biggest band in the world. Apparently though, the majority weren’t ready to start, and inquired loudly all over the Internet who these French Canadians with violins and peculiar haircuts. Twitter blew up, Tumblr accounts were created, memes were started, shirts were pressed, and we, with superior tastes, laughed at their ignorant faces.

Bill Simmons is one of my inspirations as a writer. I read his 736-page The Book of Basketball in its entirety, and I make sure that I never miss any of his 10,000-word articles on ESPN. So you can imagine how psyched I was when he announced that he was compiling a handful of up-and-coming sports and pop culture writers and starting a spin-off website. But Grantland is so much more than just Bill Simmons mega-columns. It’s Chuck Klosterman, my favorite pop culture probe, giving answers to questions that no one ever bothered to ask; it’s Jalen Rose in a podcast with the czar of reality TV, Dave Jacoby, giving the people what they want; it’s Bill Barnwell reinventing the Monday Morning Quarterback position; it’s Molly Lambert dissecting the tabloids every week. It’s the first online magazine that I visited everyday since Stylus Magazine decided to shut it down, and every day it seems that one of their contributors offer an interesting perspective that either influence or challenge my own.

When ESPN Films completed their fabulous 30 For 30 series, I was upset. I thought that was it; no more unexposed stories, no more investigative interviews, no more wonderful celebration of sports in the form of documentaries. Thankfully, it turned out that ESPN couldn’t help themselves and decided to extend the series anyway by showing the documentaries that did not make the original 30. More thankfully, the first installment of the 30 For 30 continuation is about my first ever (and most) favorite NCAA basketball team—the Fab Five Michigan Wolverines. Director Jason Hehr tackled the reasons why I fell for this team: the baggy shorts, the black socks, the trash talking, the swagger, the skills, the teamwork, the camaraderie between the five freshmen. He also revealed details that I was unaware of before, such as their inferiority complex with Duke and their resentment over the fact that the university profited millions while they didn’t make a dime.

Back when we watched the freshmen of Adams College fight back against the jocks in Revenge Of The Nerds, or when we watched Steve Urkel annoy the Winslows in Family Matters, did we ever imagine a time when nerds will become incredibly fashionable? But that’s the world we live in now: nerdy fashion, nerdy rappers, nerdy NBA players. And in Fox’s New Girl, we even have nerdy sex symbols. Zooey Deschanel isn’t your typical computer nerd like Angelina Jolie in Hackers, or girl-in-glasses-but-is-actually-hot nerd like Rachael Leigh Cook in She’s All That. This nerd can actually be insufferable if she wasn’t so adorable doing the chicken dance, wearing starfish lingerie, or singing out loud her every thought, I never understood Zooey Deschanel’s appeal before this year; I found her obnoxious in Almost Famous, trashy in All The Real Girls, and heartless in (500) Days Of Summer. In New Girl, I finally got why she is so revered.

Martha Marcy May Marlene is an absolutely unnerving psychological film that brashly put the cult experience on film. It recounts the tale of an impressionable young woman who escapes the orgy-laden rural cult she was trapped in and the grasp of her creepy Charles Manson-like cult leader whom she has fallen in love with. While Sarah Paulson and John Hawkes provide us with captivating performances, Elizabeth Olsen, the film’s breakout star, deserves most of the accolades here. She brilliantly convey the lingering damage of belonging in a traumatic environment for two years. It was heartbreaking to see her struggle to find a connection with the real world while she lived with her older sister and her new husband in their lakeside home in Connecticut, uncertain to find the difference between a dream and a memory. To think that all this time was wasted paying attention to Mary-Kate and Ashley, and there exists a perfectly good Olsen sibling that had actual talent.

Margo Martindale’s Mags Bennet from FX’s Justified was the most unlikely villain of 2011. She’s a folksy fifty-something, whose maternal tenderness can make everyone want to hug her or buy her flowers. But anyone who watched the show’s amazing second season knows how dastardly she can be. The scene where Mags, without remorse, smashed the fingers of his youngest (and biggest) son for his betrayal should be a convincing enough proof of her wickedness. But if you want more, consider how frighteningly manipulative and shrewd she was when she was using her comforting exterior to rally the citizens of Harlan against Black Pike to pocket a profit, to gain sympathy by feigning tears, or to convince her nemesis to drink her homemade apple-pie flavored, poison-laced moonshine. Mags was such an impressive character that Margo Martindale took home the Best Supporting Drama Actress in this year’s Emmy’s, even when the majority of the TV-watching contingent have no idea that the show exists.

Since the advent of the American League Most Valuable Player award, only 21 pitchers have received the coveted prize. It’s due to the fact that pitchers aren’t classified as full-time players. Unlike hitters, pitchers either start every four games or come in for a couple of innings to relieve the starter or to ice the game late. In order for a pitcher to win the MVP award, he has to really separate himself from the pack, either by being incredibly dominant or by being good in a year when there’s no hitter deemed a irrefutable favorite. For the Detroit Tigers’ Justin Verlander, both cases were true in 2011. Sure, no hitter was superior enough that they should imperatively win the MVP. But at the same time, Verlander posted insane numbers all year: 24 wins, 250 strikeouts, 2.40 ERA, and tied for the league lead in WAR. Even the most illiberal voters of the award—those who think pitchers should only be eligible to win the Cy Young—had no choice but to reward Verlander’s stellar production.

Flash forward to (t5!) My Year In Lists 2011: #Hashtags 20 to 11.

(t5!) My Year In Lists 2011: #Hashtags! Honorable Mentions

2012-02-05T02:05:00.003-07:00

At the onset of 2011, nothing was going right for me. I was unemployed, and bringing the love of my life over was strictly dependent on getting myself a steady income. But thanks to the Chinese zodiac, I had an illogical reason to be optimistic. I read somewhere that people born on the Year of the Pig (1983) was going to have a fruitful 2011, the Year of the Rabbit. I was never a believer of astrology, but I needed every bit of encouragement I can get my hands on. I was even reassuring my friends who were the same age as me that 2011 was going to be our year.

I’m happy to report that 2011 was my year. I got hired by an outstanding company, a young consulting firm that is ideal for my budding engineering career. Because of that, I married my girlfriend of two and a half years, and I am currently in the process of sponsoring her to come to Canada. I was able to fly to the Philippines and see her twice in 2011. Everything was coming up Marc!

The only downside to this is that Let’s Touch Fives! wasn’t gathering the attention it warranted. My love for writing and putting together mixtapes hasn’t faded in 2011, but because I was working and was visiting the old lady all the time, I just didn’t have any extra free time. With that said, these (t5!) My Year In Lists is such an important personal exercise that it’s going to take a life-altering event that would render me unavailable for 24 hours, 7 days a week for me to not persist. Sure, its materialization is a month late, but it’s here. It is absolutely necessary that I release this to the world, even if I had to sacrifice a couple of hours of sleep every night for me to accomplish that.

If you’re new to Let’s Touch Fives! and My Year In Lists entries, I’m going to release the best 30 pop culture events, singles, and albums (in that order) over the next couple of weeks. I’m starting (t5!) My Year In Lists 2011 with #Hashtags, a list of the most blog and Twitter worthy incidents that happened in sports, film, TV, Internet viral videos, fashion, celebrity news, gaming, and kitchen sink design in 2011. Again, obviously I can’t comment on anything that I haven’t watched, used, owned, or experienced first hand. For example, even though I heard that Boardwalk Empire had a shocking season finale and Hugo was lovely and heartwarming, I haven’t seen them yet so I can’t put them on this list.

Starting tomorrow, I will count down the top 30 #Hashtags of 2011, but today I want to give you an amuse bouche. Here's a list of 30 #hashtags that didn’t make the cut but deserves an honorable mention.

Anderson Silva
Attack The Block
Boston Rob
Call Of Duty: Modern Warfare 3
Curb Your Enthusiasm's "Larry Vs. Michael J. Fox"
The Descendants
Drew Brees
Drive
Facebook Timeline
Futurama's "Reincarnation"
Hope Solo
Jacoby Ellsbury
Kate Upton
Louis C.K.'s "Hilarious"
Margaret
Memphis Grizzlies
Moneyball
Nike Air Mags
NHL All-Star Draft
Novak Djokovic
Open Court
Pippa Middleton
Richard Blais
Rob Gronkowski
San Francisco 49ers
Scarlett Johansson
Shameless
Tim Thomas
Wilfred
Winnipeg Jets

Flash forward to (t5!) My Year In Lists 2011: #Hashtags! 30 to 21!

P.S. Go Pats!

(t5!) Top 30 Fictional Character Crushes, 10 to 1

2011-09-30T22:47:00.007-06:00

If you’re still not convinced that Community is the most clever comedy currently airing, at least watch it for Annie Edison. Her dorkiness and ultra-innocence, combined with her big adorable eyes and her ability to run well in slow motion, is definitely worth tuning in for every week. Annie Edison may not be the funniest woman on television right now (she doesn’t have Leslie Knopp of Parks and Recrations and Liz Lemon of 30 Rock beat), but she’s certainly the cutest.

Rachel Green is the perfect example of the disconnect between the fictional character and the actress. Jennifer Aniston has weird facial features, has no sex appeal, and seems like a nagging shrill; Rachel Green had a trendy hairstyle, had a witty sense of humor, and went commando at formal attire functions. If Brad Pitt was married to Rachel Green instead of Jennifer Aniston, he would’ve never gotten divorced for Angelina Jolie.

Mention The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air in a conversation with someone and both of you will most likely agree upon three facts: (1) the theme song was the first rap song you knew by heart, (2) doing the Carlton dance is guaranteed to get you laughs on the dance floor, and (3) Ashley Banks grew up to be very hot. It’s really unfortunate that Tatyana M. Ali wasn’t able to parlay her success into something bigger (although she did try to have a career in R&B, releasing the very underrated “Daydreamin” in 1998). Couldn’t she have done something with a Wayans Brother? Or something Tyler Perry? Even Alfonso Ribeiro had Celebrity Duets.

Cruel Intentions is such a dreadful movie, but I’ve probably watched it ten times because Sarah Michelle Gellar was extremely seductive as Kathryn Merteuil. She was so seductive, in fact, that you completely forgot that she was trying to sexually entice her step brother throughout the whole movie. And of course there’s the kiss, which was jaw-droppingly awesome back when the mainstream audience hasn’t been desensitized to girl-on-girl action yet.

Those who watched Closer will tell you that the two most memorable scenes of that movie both entail Natalie Portman’s Alice Ayres looking stunning. Her as a stripper, wearing a thong and giving Clive Owen’s Larry Gray emotional blue balls, and her walking on the streets of New York in slow motion, turning heads while Damien Rice’s “The Blower’s Daughter” play in the background. Alice is needy, cold, careless, and manipulative. I would hate to be in a relationship with someone like her, but if she ever decides to exploit how weak my impulses truly are, I don’t see how I have a choice.

I totally wrote "first" on Jessica Alba's career. Before the entire world saw her in Idle Hands, Dark Angel, Honey, Sin City, and Into The Blue, I discovered Jessica Alba’s hotness while watching Flipper on YTV Saturday nights in 1996. I knew before everyone else did that this girl is going to be a star, the epitome of the beauty that ethnic ambiguity brings. While every other 13-year old boy tuned into Baywatch for their girls-in-swimsuits fix, I was catching a glimpse of Maya Graham battling Cuban pirates and dolphin clubbers in a bikini, her olive skin tone glistening under the Florida sun.

Freddie Prinze Jr.: Pick any girl here, and I, the undisputed prom king of the world, can turn her into a prom queen just by being with me!
Chubby Paul Walker: It’s a bet, playa!
Freddie Prinze Jr.: Who are you going to pick? Loner girl blowing bubbles? Fat girl sitting on the floor? Redhead fixing a wedgie?
Chubby Paul Walker: Lol OMG, how about Laney Boggs, dude?
Freddie Prinze Jr.: No! Not Her! Forget about the fact that she has the most precious little face in teen romantic comedy history, she has paint on her shoes, works in a falafel fast food joint, wears glasses! Did you hear me? GLASSES!!!!
Chubby Paul Walker: LMFAO, I feel sorry for you, bro.

40 Days and 40 Nights demonstrated that taking a 40-day vow of celibacy meant that you get to meet someone as cool as Erica Sutton in a Laundromat on a Friday night. Sadly though, I doubt that this will ever happen in real life, and it’s partly because there are very few women in the world who is as cool as Erica Sutton. Have you ever met a girl who has an eccentric taste in outfits, can confidently dance in public by herself, looks at Internet pornography as a 9-to-5, is willing to have a first date on a bus, can be intimate with a flower, and has a smile that can light up a room? Her only downfall is that she is willing to do it with Josh Hartnett.

Summer Roberts was supposed to be a very minor character in The OC, but she was so enchanting and the fan’s demand for her was so deafening that show creator Josh Schwartz used her in more and more scenes. Eventually, she surpassed daddy longlegs Marissa Cooper as the show’s most popular female character. Seth Cohen was a character that a lot of geeks like me were able to see ourselves in. And Summer represented that girl we put up on a pedestal: popular, fashion conscious, and looks great in a Wonder Woman costume. Also much to our surprise, it turned out that she’s incredibly quick-witted and Ivy League worthy. Seth ultimately winning her over was a victory for us all.

Forget kryptonite, it was Lana Lang that really made Superman’s knees weak. Sure, Lois Lane eventually became his primary love interest, but Lana Lang is his “the one who got away”. If Superman himself—the man of steel, faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, able to leap tall buildings at a single bound—can’t resist her charms, then who am I to be able to.

Lana Lang is divine, sweet, and can converse using sophisticated vocabulary without sounding pretentious. But her most important trait is she never looked that unattainable. Sure, she may be the prettiest Asian-looking fictional character in television history, but she didn't have a significant dissemblance from the Asian dimes that I see walking around in Edmonton. Coupled with the fact that she’s from Vancouver, I fantasized about seeing her (Kristin Kreuk, not Lana Lang, of course) hanging out in Robson Street, I would express my adoration for her, and then she would admire my eagerness enough to go on a date with me, and then we would live happily ever after. A man can dream, can’t he?

(t5!) Top 30 Fictional Character Crushes, 20 to 11

2011-09-30T00:09:00.003-06:00

Mena Suvari’s Angela Hayes was so breathtaking that she elicited a meaningful turning point in the life of Kevin Spacey’s character. Before seeing her perform a dance routine at a high school basketball game, he was stuck in a job he hated, he was emasculated by his wife, and he lost his daughter’s respect. After, he became reinvigorated. Because of her, he suddenly has purpose in life. Seeing rose petals rain down on her naked body is like the sexual equivalent of being in a spiritual retreat.

In order to convince the audience that Owen Wilson’s character was willing to give up a life filled with parties and detached sexual relationships for one girl, that one girl is going to have to be an amazing. That’s why Rachel McAdams is the perfect casting choice as Claire Cleary. Whether she was bombing on her maid-of-honor speech or playing background touch football with the guys, it was clear how lovable she was.

It’s always been a fantasy of mine to go out with the girl next door. She would walk home from school with me, she would tease me from across the window, and she would sneak in my room late at night. The problem is that I’ve never lived beside a neighbor who is as hot as Danielle Clark. If I did, I wouldn’t know how to contain myself. And if she ends up being a reformed porn star too, that would just be the icing on the cake.

The plot was a little ridiculous. A day before he’s about to marry a legitimately hot Bridget Monyahan, John Cusack’s character tries seeks out this marvelous girl that he had an unforgettable couple of hours with ages ago. To go through all this effort just to find a stranger is absurd, but it all seemed to make sense during the movie because you know that Kate Beckinsale’s Sara Thomas would be someone that you wouldn’t let get away either.

Sure, Harmony Faith Lane looked titillating in that Mrs. Claus outfit. But when Robert Downey Jr.’s character said that he feels “badly” because he interrupted a conversation that she was having with a friend, and then she corrects his improper use of an adverb saying “feel badly would be saying that the mechanism which allows [him] to feel is broken”, completely ruining RDJ’s momentum, right then I knew I was hooked. I have a thing for girls who can ball bust.

Back when I was in elementary, it was a little harder to explain to the cashier at 7-11 my purchase of Archie and Betty & Veronica comics. I know that mostly girls buy these stuff, he didn't have to give me weird looks. But now, I’m secure enough to admit that I did have a crush on a two-dimensional babe. With those precisely drawn curves, pouty lips, and flowing black hair, how can you not want Veronica?

The stupidity of Richard Gere’s character in this movie frustrates me. His wife was understanding, great with the kids, and crazy hot; and yet, he just took her for granted. I’m never a proponent of adultery, but I understood why Connie Summer cheated on his lame husband. If my wife can look half as good as Connie Summer ten years into our marriage, I would consider myself very lucky.

Rollergirl was adorable in Boogie Nights: big eyes, blonde hair, voluptuous body, rolls around in rollerskates all day. She also happened to be a widely popular adult superstar, during an era when Internet didn’t exist and perverts still had to pay for their pornography. Suffice to say that a girl with those qualities would be the most coveted girl in any high school.

Marisa Tomei aged really well and had numerous crushworthy roles later in her career (Alfie, The Wrestler), but this Oscar-winning role is how she won the hearts of many (just ask George Costanza). Mona Lisa Vito was beautiful, smart-mouthed, looks great in a body suit, and knew more about cars than I do. I can only wish that the girls of Jersey Shore are as hot as Mona Lisa Vito, then maybe it wouldn’t be so painful to watch.

If you watched the movie, it was apparent why Ben Stiller’s character was obsessed about Mary Jensen: she’s hot, companionable, altruistic, a beloved orthopedic surgeon, loves golf, and she dumped Brett Favre. If she existed in real life, she would be the perfect woman. There’s Something About Mary was also filmed during Cameron Diaz’s physical peak, so we didn’t get that catcher’s mitt face that we saw in Bad Teacher.

Continue on to (t5!) Top 30 Fictional Character Crushes, 10 to 11...

(t5!) Top 30 Fictional Character Crushes, 30 to 21

2011-09-28T23:33:00.006-06:00

I’m married now; I made a promise to commit to this monogamy deal seriously. For that reason, I’m happily giving up other women for my lovely spouse, and that includes all of my fictional character crushes from television, film, and literature. But before my eternal unavailability break their fictional hearts, let’s give all of them a proper send-off, by listing the 30 fictional women I have been infatuated with.

Before we get going, let’s lay out some ground rules first. The most important qualification is that she has to be a fictional character. Even though I’ve had crushes on musicians (Britney Spears), models (Miranda Kerr), centerfolds (Carmella DeCesare), athletes (Maria Sharapova), and reality show participants (Janelle of Big Brother, Charla of Paradise Hotel), the fact that they are people—non-fictional characters at best—disqualifies them. It's also irrelevant that I find certain actresses really attractive, like Vanessa Hudgens or Ashley Greene. She has to have played a character that I’ve gushed over on television or film. Moreover, the TV show or film has to be international, so while I spent a considerable portion of my life crushing on Filipina fictional characters, such as Bing Kosme from Home Along Da Riles or Barbs from Kuya, they don't count. Lastly, she has to be from a show or a movie that I know pretty well to make this list, so iconic female fictional characters like Buffy Summers, Jill Munroe, or Holly Golightly won’t show up in this list either.

Enough intro, let us countdown to my Mt. Crushmore, ten a day, starting...right...now!

The most important power that fictional crushes have is that their mere presence can make an excruciatingly painful film or TV series watchable. The plot of Teaching Mrs. Tingle is just horrible, but Marisa Coughlan’s Jo Lynn Jordan was so cute in it—with her bubbly personality and eye-catching smile—that this movie stands up to repeat viewings.

Ask any hipster to jot down his list of fictional character crushes, and it will most likely include Amélie. And it’s hard to disagree, Amélie in Amélie is a breath of fresh air. Hipsters are usually fans of twee and introverted women doing overly cute things on screen, and not many personified that character better than this beautiful French woman.

ABC’s TGIF had a lot of entertaining shows in its lineup (and a lot of fictional characters to gawk at). Having said that, every guy would 100% agree with me that Step By Step is the best one out of the bunch, especially after witnessing Al Lambert blossom from a sassy little tomboy into a sensuous, buxom brunette. After watching it now in syndication, I can only speculate that she was the only reason why I watched this show.

It was horrible enough that celebrated high school quarterback Jason Street suffered a severe spinal cord injury, consequently losing his football scholarship. But when he lost Lyla Garrity, his head cheerleader girlfriend, to his best friend, it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. She was so beguiling that even when she’s clearly the worst actress in the legendary show, Friday Night Lights, you still wanted to see her in every single scene.

Boston Public employed several attractive teachers, but none of them surpassed Marilyn Sudor’s hotness. In fact, the student body agreed. During the show’s first episode, Marilyn Sudor was voted the teacher male students most wanted to sleep with. If I had high school teachers that looked like Marilyn Sudor, I wouldn't have skipped that many classes.

Kelly Kapowski was supposed to be this sweet, innocent, apple of Zack Morris’ eyes. However, every kid who woke up early every Saturday morning to watch Saved By The Bell knew there was something naughty about her. Her wearing an off shoulder shirt or a midriff-baring crop top made her the first crush of a generation of awkward preteen boys. I just don’t get how Justin Bieber knows this when he wasn’t even born yet during the show's air date.

I owe a handful of my happy junior high memories to Alicia Silverstone’s Cher, because if it wasn’t for her existence, the girls in school during that time would still be outfitted with grunge flannel shirts and baggy corduroy pants. But instead, Cher gave us an army of princesses sporting miniskirts, spaghetti-strapped tank tops, and sex kitten pouting lips. However, we should all be grateful that the falling-in-love-with-a-stepbrother thing didn’t become a fad.

It’s incredible what type of punishment I’m willing to endure just to catch a glimpse of a hot fictional character weekly. Whoever decided that Michael Rapaport deserved to star in his own sitcom should be boiled to death because The War At Home was plain awful. I’m sure the only reason it got two seasons is because Kaylee DeFer as Hillary Gold was just irresistible.

Cerie doesn’t show up often in 30 Rock, but when she does it’s impossible not to take notice, and you wonder why she doesn’t have a more significant role. If you ever hire an administrative assistant like her—blonde, slender, sprightly, and wears outfits like this, and this, and this—how the hell would you ever get work done?

Kimberly Williams’ Annie Banks is the reason why every time TBS shows Father of the Bride (or Father of the Bride Part II), I absolutely have to watch it. The problem with this movie is that you can look at Annie Banks from two different male perspectives. She was written as the girl that every father wouldn’t want to give away: homey, really appealing, plays one-on-one basketball with her dad. She was also written as the girl that you want to marry. As a prepubescent boy watching this movie, those are pretty big conflicting feelings to have.

Continue on to (t5!) Top 30 Fictional Character Crushes, 20 to 11...

The Philippines Experiment, Track Eight

2011-08-22T23:53:00.008-06:00

If you know who I am or have been reading this blog, you are probably aware that I spent two and half years of my life living in the Philippines. Now I'm back, and I'm going to attempt to chronicle the entire experience as best as my vague recollection allows.

Tom Tom Club - Genius Of Love

I am normally not a sentimental person, and I usually make it a rule to not talk about my love life in this blog. But I’m not going to skip a significant chapter of this retrospection of my Philippines Experiment just because I’m afraid to wear my heart on my sleeve. So to borrow from a Childish Gambino lyric line, it’s about to get so cheesy up in here that your cholesterol levels may be in trouble after reading this post. If you’re the type of person that has a gag reflex for sappy, overly romantic things, then I suggest that you skip this eighth track. No hard feelings.

Anyway, for whatever reason, I found it easier to meet women in the Philippines^*. But contrary to popular belief, that’s not the sole reason why I moved there (not the main motive, at least). Even when I was meeting women during the first six to eight months of my stay there, I didn’t let it develop into something more than a fling. I wanted to make sure that I stay unencumbered so that I have the freedom to chase down goals that I’ve set out to achieve. Also, without a girlfriend, if something came up and I needed to go back to Canada immediately, I can execute an emergency escape strategy without feeling the remorse of leaving someone behind. Having said that, when the universe decided that he wanted to ruin my plans by introducing my future wife to me, I guess I was powerless to do anything about it.

I really want to thank my friends in the Philippines for being so shameless in regards to picking up women, because if it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t have met Ikhari. A group of us guys were hanging out one night at a bar, and one of my friends introduced himself to a girl that belonged to a group at another table. He lured her in by telling her that I will pay for her group’s drinks for the night, the two hit it off, numbers were exchanged, and eventually, the two aggregations of friends merged into this one awesome Venn diagram overlap that partied almost every night. I wasn’t attracted to anyone in that original group, but that widening of my social network still benefited me because one of the girls introduced me to Ikhari a couple of weeks later.

If I recall, our relationship was flirtatious from the very start. At least, I remember that I was trying to pursue her right away and she was too shy to reciprocate, even though I could tell that she wanted to. Knowing how Filipino men operate, I needed to act fast because if I didn’t, I’m certain that one of my friends would have swooped in. Bro code does not exist in the Philippines, more specifically the article which states that you don’t try to steal the girl that your friend is trying to get. Literally all is fair in love and dating. The way they see it, if you lose your girl to a friend, it’s because you’re too slow or too ugly to close the deal.

But as aggressive as I was on my undertaking, I had no intentions of committing to Ikhari when we started, which I know makes me a complete douchebag. In an attempt to reduce the guilt that I was feeling, I was completely upfront with what I wanted from this relationship. She was a little devastated at first, but eventually accepted the fact that we can just have fun with whatever this was. Eventually though, the longer we knew each other, the more often we went out, the harder it is to resist the attraction. At some point—during a Holy Week beach camping trip to be more specific—all those barriers that I was trying to put up between us collapsed, and I finally gave in. She can be very irresistable

Ikhari was definitely the type of girl that I usually fall for: petite, elvish qualities, tiny waist, great fashion sense, looks great in a ponytail. But there are five definitive things that I was truly attracted with when I met her:

i) Her eyelashes go on for kilometers. It’s like God plucked two angel feathers and pasted them on her eyelids when He was making her.
ii) She is tremendously enticing on the dance floor. A girl without rhythm is a deal breaker for me, so likewise I’m easily allured by a girl that can dance like a ribbon in a rhythmic gymnastics routine.
iii) When she laughs really hard, she snorts uncontrollably
iv) She’s very low maintenance. We can have street food on our dates, and she’d be perfectly fine with it. She’ll watch me play basketball for a couple of hours on a hot day without complaints. She drinks any type of beer you put in front of her.
v) I guess in the same vein, whenever we do go somewhere she has never been or do something that she has never done before, she gets really excited. A lot of girls try to suppress their enthusiasm to hide the fact that they don’t “belong”, and fakeness like that irks me a lot.

I also figured out that falling in love is not so much an exponential drop. It’s more a gradual tumble, which I think is the key to a much longer relationship, because even as we speak I’m still falling for her. Love is beyond the flowers, chocolates, candle lights, long walks in the beach. It’s that Monday night, not caring that there’s nothing to do. It’s that quiet mid-day lunch at a fast food joint. It’s the mundane moments that became colossally enjoyable because I was spending it with her and only her.

Of course, relationships are never a perfect fit either. I allowed her to move in pretty early in our love affair because I was starting to get lonely in a big, empty house^**.So we determined very quickly that we have differences that we consistently had issues with. For example, I like getting up early in the morning, and she likes staying up late at night; she likes the dark meat of the chicken, and I prefer white meat; she replays songs she loves over and over again, and I tend to get sick of songs after a few listens. But we both discovered—after a few struggles—that your willingness to endure all of those little differences is the truest indication of being in love with someone. It’s what makes it unconditional. Unconditional love lasts for lifetimes.

That’s exactly what we were banking on when we, after three years and four months of being together, decided to get married. People have commented to me how lucky Ikhari is that she found me, but they mean it with a negative connotation. Ikhari’s family isn’t exactly well-off, and the Philippines doesn’t usually give less fortunate people chances to improve their own financial status, so people saw me as her one-way ticket out of her situation^***. And it’s true, we both don’t deny the fact that she would go down a different path if it wasn’t for me. But I never sensed any indication that she made me fall in love with her just so that she can head towards greener pastures. There was never a point where I felt that she is loving me because I keep a Canadian passport in my back pocket. Besides, I’m also very lucky that I found someone who is as beautiful, kind, affectionate, and fun to have conversations with as her. The way I look at it, we’re both very fortunate people, and I’m confident that we’re both going to be very happy for the rest of our lives. Even though it’s going to be a struggle trying to bring her over to Canada so that we can finally be together, by the end, it’s all going to be worth it.

* Top 5 reasons why I found it easier to meet girls in the Philippines, in no particular order: (1) I am more culturally similar to them than to Canadian girls, (2) I am more dimensionally similar to them than to Canadian girls, (3) I seem more impressive to them than to Canadian girls, (4) I go out more in the Philippines than in Canada, and (5) I hung out with people who could introduce me to girls that are more my type in the Philippines than in Canada.

** My relatives have told me that they’ve seen paranormal behavior in the house that I was living in. Now I personally don’t believe in ghosts, but your mind can play tricks on you when you’re alone and sleeping in the dark. This is a little embarrassing to admit—and I’ve never told her this before because I didn’t want to freak her out either—but being with Ikha at night made me less scared in that house.

*** People think this because it's a very common practice in the Philippines. Due to the fact that even if you're the smartest person in your graduating class, or you kill yourself trying to find a decent employment, there is no guarantee that you can pull yourself out of hardship in our country. Some people have determined that the only solution to their financial problem is to look for opportunities abroad, and the laziest, most pain-free way of doing that is to find a foreigner to sponsor them out of the Philippines. It's that Cinderella mentality of thinking that "someday my prince will come" to rescue me out of this hellhole. It's why foreign immigration approaches every spouse sponsorship application with skepticism, which ruins it for us who are in genuine relationships. Every case they receive is guilty until proven innocent with photos, emails, phone bills, remittance slips, etc. I tip my hat to those who still marry for love.

This Week On Billboard: Pitbull f. Ne-Yo, Afrojack, and Nayer - Give Me Everything

2011-07-08T01:37:00.003-06:00

This Week On Billboard is where I unabashedly critique the current no. 1 hit on Billboard.com, the major yardstick for what's "hot" in music today. In order to simplify the review for those who don't want to read the whole article, each song is given a "!" rating, in which the finest grabs five of them. It's been gone for a while, now it's back after a 22-month hiatus.

Pitbull sucks as an artist. His flow is unstructured and turbulent, his voice is coarse, his punch lines are tragically unfunny, and he sings hooks like a drunken karaoke enthusiast. He does hip-hop like Kevin James does movies. Very few would associate the phrase “leading man” with Kevin James, just like very few would associate the phrase “rap star” with Pitbull. Yet in spite of their lack of skills in their respective fields, they are doing pretty well for themselves. Inconceivably, Kevin James is top billing on big budget summer blockbusters, and Pitbull is a resident on top of Billboard charts.

Their unlikely success is attributed to knowing exactly what their lane is and staying on it for as long as it’s profitable. As an everyman hero who gets the girl despite his physical shortcomings, bumbling personality, and loud sense of humor, Kevin James is a character that a huge group of people can relate to and is therefore fun to root for. His comic approach is zany, slapstick, unsubtle, and completely inoffensive, which is a brand of comedy that the majority of movie-goers are generally looking for. Pitbull is the music equivalent. He might not be Biggie on the mic, but he’ll rap on any sound that can make a booty bounce. Fortunately for him, a lion's share of the world's population love bouncing their booty.

For all his flaws as a rapper, Pitbull understands that someone needs to supply club music to club customers, and on any track he releases, he sounds like he’s fully committed on providing that service. Every archetypical non-corny-ass rapper try to record danceable rap singles to boost their record sales, and it almost always sounds like they are being coerced into doing it. They feel that (and they know that their fans feel that) recording tracks suited for the club dilutes their street cred, and therefore, ruins their authenticity (or their "keepin'-it-realness"). Like 2 Live Crew, 69 Boyz, Salt-N-Pepa, and Missy Elliott before him, Pitbull is mainly concerned with making people dance, and he’s better at that than a lot of other adroit rappers like Nas, Talib Kweli, Mos Def, etc.

Pitbull arrived as a reggaeton artist when reggaeton artists were hot commodities back in the mid-zeroes. But when the mainstream moved away from that that trend, he found a niche of rapping over Eurodance tracks that people are familiar with but don’t know the name of^*. But on “Give Me Everything”, his first ever no. 1 single, he decided to employ acid house producer Afrojack to concoct an entirely new track as his accompaniment. There are numerous highlights in this production—laser synths, the four-on-the-floor piano stomp intro and its cascading riff transition, the rest and drum fill combo before the chorus—but because all the music heads realized the success the Black-Eyed Peas had on soundtracking weekend bliss, everyone wants to mimic “I Gotta Feeling” and thus, everything sounds like a counterfeit version of that. It’s funny because it was only three years ago when I was praising all of these amalgamation of hip-hop and dance music^**, now I’m just plain sick of it.

Pitbull contributed the necessary amount of exuberance and sleaziness to pull off a club track like “Give Me Everything”, but he’s not skillful enough to be taken seriously as a rapper. The lines he spits out are laughable^*** , and his execution is even worse, but “Give Me Everything” does succeed in spite of his presence here. Afrojack’s production may be derivative but it's also very effective. Nayer’s input may be brief, but her airiness is pivotal in creating the amplification before the chorus hits. It’s also a terrific decision that Pitbull secured Ne-Yo to sing most of the hooks for him; this melody is more fetching than anything Ne-Yo has released in years, and he elevates this to “song of the summer” prominence. But because Pitbull is the main artist here—and he will go down as the answer to the trivia question of who ended Adele’s seven-week stay on the top of Billboard Hot 100—this is his well-deserved blockbuster moment. He’s aware that his sole responsibility as a musical artist is to make people go crazy on the dance floor, and no one can say he sucks at that.

(t5!) score: !!!!

*"The Anthem" is Enur's "Calabria"; "Krazy" is Frederico Franchi's "Cream"; "I Know You Want Me (Calle Ocho)" is Nicola Fasano's "75, Brazil Street"; "Hotel Room Service" is Nightcrawler's "Push The Feeling On"

** In 2008, we heard Ne-Yo's "Closer", Chris Brown's "Forever", Wiz Khalifa's "Say Yeah", Crime Mob's "Pretty Rave Girl", Hood Headlinaz's "Rollin", featuring Jackie Chain & Jhi-Ali

*** The worst line has got to be Pitbull rhyming "kodak" with "kodak" in the intro. Same-word rhyming is only good when you are fully committed to it throughout the song, like Black Rob's "Whoa" and Cam'Ron's "Oh Boy".

Me and the Mixtape: (t5!) June 2011 Mix

2011-07-06T02:10:00.002-06:00

Me and the Mixtape is a 90-minute tracklisting for a mixtape that contains the best songs I've discovered this past month.

Side A
01. Coldplay - Every Teardrop Is A Waterfall
02. Junior Boys - Banana Ripple
03. SBTRKT f. Yukimi Nagano & Drake - Wildfire [Remix]
04. Charli XCX - Stay Away
05. Hotel Mexico - Dear Les Friends
06. Bombay Bicycle Club - Shuffle
07. Big Sean f. Wiz Khalifa & Chiddy Bang - High
08. Fast Foot - Protect Animals [Lazy Rich Remix]
09. Drake - Marvin's Room

Side B
01. The-Dream - Fuck My Brains Out
02. Ford & Lopatin - Too Much MIDI (Please Forgive Me)
03. Flight Facilities - Crave You [Adventure Club Dubstep Remix]
04. YACHT - Dystopia
05. Balam Acab - Oh, Why
06. Washed Out - Amor Fati
07. Martin Solveig - The Night Out
08. The Naked & The Famous - Young Blood [Futurecop! Remix]
09. Bon Iver - I Can Make You Love Me [Bonnie Raitt Cover]

Download the (t5!) June 2011 Mix here.

2011 NBA Draft: Is This It?

2011-06-28T02:48:00.009-06:00

The Strokes - Is This It

It's unfortunate that the NBA couldn't follow up one of the best seasons of all time. Not only do we have this impending lockout looming over everyone's heads, this year's draft class is being projected to be a dispersion of the most useless collection of talents (or lack thereof) to ever come up since 2000. Experts are saying that none of these players are guaranteed all-stars, only two are expected to become annual starters, and only a handful are supposed to be part of an NBA rotation throughout their career.

What's even worse though is that even when the upcoming group of rookies aren't that strong, it usually doesn't matter because the real fun is the event itself. But since everyone is following 100 Twitter accounts and is subscribing to every smart basketball blog out there, these kids are so self-aware now that the unintentional comedy that is usually prevalent in NBA drafts are turned way down. If someone is caught wearing a ridiculous suit, someone is most likely doing so ironically.

Oh well. Here's (t5!)'s shakedown of the lottery picks, the fourteen best of the worst:

1. Cleveland Cavaliers select… Kyrie Irving, PG, Duke

Upside Potential: Chris Paul without the Napoleon complex
Entrance Music: Radio 4 – Too Much To Ask For
Proposed Nicknames: Kyrie "Dr. K" Irving

It’s a high mountain to climb when you are already being compared to the best player in the position you play in. The miserable people in Cleveland are also hoping that he can fill the gigantic void that LeBron James left behind. And to be honest, no one truly knows if Kyrie Irving can conquer these impossible expectations since we’ve only seen him in 11 college games. To be fair, in those 11 games he played, he looked like the best available NBA prospect this year.

Honestly, his basketball IQ might not be as high as Chris Paul’s. He also doesn’t have the athletic ability of Derrick Rose and wouldn’t be able to beat John Wall in a foot race. There’s no particular skill that he can say he’s the best at, but he does excel in every skill needed to be a franchise point guard in the NBA. But first, he needs to prove that he can move ahead of Baron Davis and Ramon Sessions in Cleveland’s depth charts.

(t5!) Level of Excitement: !!!!

2. Minnesota Timberwolves select… Derrick Williams, SF, Arizona

Upside Potential: if Rodney Rodgers reached his potential
Entrance Music: Fleetwood Mac – Need Your Love So Bad
Proposed Nicknames: Derrick "Not A 4" Williams

I already don’t like this kid. Right after being drafted, he said in an interview that he prefers to play the small forward position, but he will play power forward if necessary. It’s not that I don’t appreciate his talent—because of the uncertainty that surrounds Irving, he may be the most NBA ready player in this draft—but, I’m afraid that even though his greatest strength is his explosiveness and dunking ability, he may be the type of player that settles for outside shots all the time. I realize though that he may be doing this to communicate to the Timberwolves coaching staff that he doesn’t want to compete for playing time with their best player, power forward Kevin Love. But it's still off-putting.

But with the T-Wolves' situation right now, he does have to compete for playing time with somebody in that team. The incompetent and incomprehensible GM David Kahn have stockpiled young small forwards over the years, so he needs to clear some space in his roster. The team desperately needs a veteran presence, and if they plan to pick a solid player via trade, Derrick Williams has the most value. There’s a chance that we may not see Williams in a Timberwolves uniform when the season starts, whenever that is. But if we do, it’ll be another dysfunctional season for the LOLves.

(t5!) Level of Excitement: !!!!

3. Utah Jazz selects… Enes Kanter, C, Kentucky

Upside Potential: Joel Przybilla with offense, so they say
Entrance Music: Magnetic Man – Perfect Stranger
Proposed Nickname: Enes "The Undertaker" Kanter

Based on the two games that scouts saw him play in, and the pre-draft workouts where he went against chairs and assistant coaches, Enes Kanter is a dominating force in the paint. Because he was paid to play overseas, he was ineligible to play for Kentucky last year. Thus, other than the fact that he scored 34 against the best freshmen in the world in the Nike Hoop Summit, no one really knows how good (or bad) he can be against NBA talent.

But since there’s a chance that he could become an All-NBA center in the Association, this is a smart pick for the Jazz. If Kanter needs time to develop, Jazz has a pretty decent frontcourt already so he can just let fellow turk Mehmet Okur mentor him. If Kanter’s ready now though, he will allow current center Al Jefferson to play power forward where he can get more mismatches, Paul Millsap to come off the bench, and Derrick Favors to develop in his own pace.

(t5!) Level of Excitement: !!!!!

4. Cleveland Cavaliers select… Tristan Thompson, PF, Texas

Upside Potential: A more celebrated Amir Johnson
Entrance Music: Rascalz – Northern Touch
Proposed Nickname: Tristan "True North" Thompson

Although I love the fact that a Canadian was drafted this high, Tristan Thompson is not talented enough to be a no. 4 overall pick on a great year. He has tremendous footwork and busts his ass in the paint, but at 6’8”, he’s a little undersized for his style of game. With Anderson Varejao, JJ Hickson, and Antawn Jamison already in the Cavs’ roster, Thompson has to be phenomenal to crack that rotation. Having said that, this is a testament to how horrible this draft is. The next best available player that is not a point guard is center Jonas Valanciunas, but he won’t be able to play in the NBA for another year due to his contract in Europe. The Cavaliers’ true need is a shooting guard, but Klay Thompson and Alec Burks drafted fourth would be ridiculously way too high.

(t5!) Level of Excitement: !!

5. Toronto Raptors select… Jonas Valanciunas, C, Lithuania

Upside Potential: Tyson Chandler with low alley-oop IQ
Entrance Music: The Fiery Furnaces – Waiting To Know You
Proposed Nickname: Jonas "Weezer" Valanciunas

Jonas Valaciunas may be everything the Toronto Raptors needs. He’s an intimidating obstacle in the paint, he has a reliable post-up game, and he has a motivated rebounder. It gives new head coach (and former Dallas Mavericks assistant) Dwane Casey a version of Tyson Chandler in the middle. If only they drafted him next year instead.

It’s especially tough because GM Bryan Colangelo passed up two point guards who is available right now. Brandon Knight has the potential to become even better than Kyrie Irving and Kemba Walker is a proven winner. Valaciunas is a terrific pick for the long-term, but Raptors fans are aching for them to improve this season. Jonas can't join the team until 2011, and therefore won't be able to help them get better.

(t5!) Level of Excitement: !!!

6. Washington Wizards select… Jan Vesely, SF, Partizan Belgrade

Upside Potential: Jomario Moon, 6’-11 and Czech
Entrance Music: N.W.A. – Appetite For Destruction
Proposed Nickname: "The Dunking Ninja" is already the greatest nickname of ALL TIME

This wasn’t much of a surprise since the Washington front office invited members of the Czech Republic Embassy in their war room during draft night. If the YouTube highlights is any indication of what Jan Vesely’s going to bring to Washington, the Wizards are going to be fun to watch in 2011. The Dunking Ninja gives 2010 no. 1 overall pick, John Wall, a running mate, and alongside JaVale McGee, I foresee a lot of alley-oops and posterizations in their future. Vesely also had the best accessory in this year's draft.

(t5!) Level of Excitement: !!!!

7. Sacramento Kings select… Bismack Biyombo, PF, Congo… then trades him to the Charlotte Bobcats

Upside Potential: Ben Wallace, but younger?
Entrance Music: Guided By Voices – Your Name Is Wild
Proposed Nickname: Bismack "My Bitch Up" Biyombo

Bismack Biyombo is certainly the best name of the 2011 NBA Draft. Biyombo’s extraordinarily tenacious on the defensive end, something he showcased in the Nike Hoop Summit when he tallied 11 rebounds and 10 blocks. He and fellow Congolese, Oklahoma City Thunder’s Serge Ibaka, will be battling for the league lead in blocks in five years. However, if you are looking for him to fill up the scoreboard, you’ll be very disappointed. The only thing Biyombo can do offensively is to dunk the basketball. Moreover, everyone is doubting the fact that he’s only 18 because he looks older than some of the head coaches in the league. And like Valanciunas, he is obligated to stay in Spain for a year or so.

(t5!) Level of Excitement: !!!!

8. Detroit Pistons select… Brandon Knight, PG, Kentucky

Upside Potential: A mellower Russell Westbrook
Entrance Music: Guns ‘N Roses – Welcome To The Jungle
Proposed Nickname: Brandon "Nut Slapper" Knight

Like I said above, Brandon Knight has the potential to be a better player than Kyrie Irving, so theoretically, this is a magnificent pick for Detroit. But success in the NBA is as much about being in an ideal situation as having talent, and the Pistons locker room is a mad house right now. Last year, all of their players mutinied against their coach, who was eventually fired earlier this month. A point guard needs to be able to lead his group of men every night, so how would a rookie like Knight—who is a shooter first and a passer second—be able to command these gangs of hooligans to victory if a coach can’t? He has a steady jump shot, has a quick first step, and is the type of player that would hold a grudge because he dropped this low. I'm excited to see him play, but him being a Piston is unfortunate.

(t5!) Level of Excitement: !!!!

9. Charlotte Bobcats select… Kemba Walker, PG, Connecticut

Upside Potential: Bulls-era Ben Gordon
Entrance Music: Sufjan Stevens – Size Too Small
Proposed Nickname: Kemba "Too Short" Walker

If Kemba Walker’s six inches taller, he would’ve been the consensus no.1 pick. He is a deadly shooter, an impossible cover, and a clutch performer. More importantly, he led the UConn Huskies to win the Big East Championship and the National Championship, so he’s knows exactly how to win. But at 5’11”, he might have a hard time doing what he did in college in the NBA. It’s not as if guys under 6’0” had never found success in the NBA before (Allen Iverson and Isiah Thomas first come to mind), but he is more likely to fail than to succeed. Plus, the Bobcats is already starting a 5’11” DJ Augustin at point guard.

(t5!) Level of Excitement: !!!

10. Milwaukee Bucks select… Jimmer Fredette, PG, Brigham Young… then trades him to the Sacramento Kings

Upside Potential: Street ball Mark Price
Entrance Music: Raekwon – House Of Flying Daggers
Proposed Nickname: Jimmer "The Honor Code" Fredette

JIMMER!

There is no doubt that Jimmer Fredette is the most popular player in this draft, thanks to his achievements and highlights in Brigham Young. Unfortunately, his style of play doesn’t necessarily translate well in the NBA. Jimmer can make a shot from anywhere in the gym, but there are questions of how easily he could score in the NBA because he’s not athletic enough or tall enough or quick enough. He also showed in college that he has an allergy to defense. If he is willing to diminish his usage rate though, he may have a productive career of knocking down open corner shorts. It's all on him if he's willing to change his game up.

(t5!) Level of Excitement: !!!!

11. Golden State Warriors select… Klay Thompson, SG, Washington State

Upside Potential: Wesley Person with a ton of open shots
Entrance Music: Broken Social Scene – Stars And Sons
Proposed Nickname: Klay "Achin'" Thompson

I don’t know much about Klay Thompson other than the fact that he’s the son of 1978 no. 1 overall pick, Mychal Thompson. From his highlights, it looks like he's a little slow, but can knock down shots like an undergrad in Puerto Vallarta. If Golden State decides to keep both Stephen Curry and Monta Ellis, he will benefit from countless drive-and-dish opportunities.

(t5!) Level of Excitement: !!

12. Utah Jazz selects… Alec Burks, SG, Colorado

Upside Potential: smaller Nick Young
Entrance Music: Ramones – Here Today, Gone Tomorrow
Proposed Nickname: "Smart" Alec Burks

The most fun aspect of a bad draft is that someone like Alec Burks would feel like a bust on draft night, but when you reevaluate the draft order five years from now, you can’t fathom how some of these teams passed on him. Burks seems like a prototypical 6’6” chucker that would have a hard time cracking an NBA rotation, but remember, Kobe Bryant was the 13th overall pick in 1996. It’s not inconceivable that Burks may shock us down the road. But currently, my excitement level is low.

(t5!) Level of Excitement: !!

13. Phoenix Suns select… Markieff Morris, PF, Kansas
14. Houston Rockets select… Marcus Morris, PF, Kansas

Upside Potential: Markieff is Chuck Hayes with a better free throw form; Marcus is Carlos Boozer with an underdeveloped post-game
Entranec Music: Rob Base and DJ E-Z Rock – It Takes Two
Proposed Nicknames: Markieff "Solid Snake" Morris; Morris "Liquid Snake" Morris

It would’ve been nice to see a Daniel and Henrik Sedin draft-day miracle in the NBA, but alas, the Morris twins went their separate ways. There have only been six set of twins in the history of the NBA, and the only time a set played together is during Dick and Tom Van Arsdale’s last season in Phoenix. Admittedly the chemistry between a set of twins would be uncanny, but the reason why it’s rare for twins to play together in the NBA is because two players with the same size and same build (and same skill set usually) would be redundant. Even if they belonged in the same roster, it would be very rare for them to actually be in floor at the same time. It could work with the Morris twins—because Markieff is more of a defensive presence and Marcus is more of a low-post scorer—and at 6’10”, the two can exist in a lineup as a power forward and a center; however, I don’t think Phoenix or Houston wanted one of them that bad in the first place, let alone two.

(t5!) Level of Excitement for both of them: !!!

2011 NBA Finals: The (t5!) Cap Off

2011-06-18T16:16:00.010-06:00

Thanks to massive amounts of subplots, an extremely deep talent pool, and LeBron James’ Decision forcing the rest of the league to reassess their battle plan, we witnessed one of the most compelling NBA seasons of all time. I'm certain that there have been more competitive years, as well as years that exhibited more athletic and prodigious highlights, but I doubt if you can remember a more talked about NBA season than 2010-2011. Because of that, I can confidently say that you won’t be able to find an NBA fan that didn’t enjoy this NBA season, even if their respective favorites did not end up as NBA champions in the end. If you are a GENUINE Dallas Mavericks fan though, you should be GENUINELY happier than everyone else after last Sunday's win.

The Mavs have been a perennial regular season juggernaut for more than a decade now, yet they never had a championship trophy to legitimize their success. Since they've been labeled as playoff chokers all of these years, and since many believed that this veteran team’s window to win a championship has been closed many seasons ago, no one gave them a chance in 2011. Many NBA experts thought that they would lose to a much rougher, much more athletic, sixth-seed Portland Trail Blazers, but they beat them in six games. Many NBA experts thought that they would lose to the defending champion Los Angeles Lakers, but they swept them in an embarrassing fashion. Many NBA experts thought that they would lose to a younger, faster Oklahoma City Thunder, but they exposed the fact that Kevin Durant and Russell Westbrook weren't ready yet for the big stage. They proved every single naysayer wrong. So, if you are a GENUINE Dallas fan who has stuck with this team through thick and thin, I’m sure it feels sweet to be rewarded with a well-deserved championship win.

I’m emphasizing the word “GENUINE” here because the majority of people who are rejoicing when the Dallas Mavericks captured that elusive NBA title Sunday night weren’t supporters of them to begin with. Most of them have switched allegiance over to the Mavs to root against LeBron James and the Miami Heat. I know that bandwagon jumping and sports bigamy aren't criminal offences, especially in the NBA where the appeal of the individual transcends the boundaries of teams. It’s just unfortunate that the Mavericks didn't receive the fanfare they deserved. Rich Bucher reported that during Sunday’s post-game press conference, the press room was packed when LeBron and Dwyane Wade were answering questions from the media. However, when it was Dallas’ Jason Kidd and Jason Terry’s Q&A portion right after, half of the room was gone. Very few were interested with what the Dallas Mavericks achieved. Many only cared about what it felt like for LeBron and the Heat to taste defeat.

Right after the announcement last summer that he will “take his talents to South Beach”, LeBron James became the most polarizing athlete in sports today. NBA fans outside of Miami and Dallas became divided into two camps: pro-LeBron and anti-LeBron (*). The larger and more vocal Anti-LeBron coalition have been trashing King James and rooting for him to fail from day one, their hatred incomprehensibly evolving into something personal and unhealthy. Governor of Ohio, John Kasich, made the players of the Mavericks “honorary” Ohioans for beating LeBron James and the Miami Heat. My father, who is a very dedicated NBA fan, refused to watch the Finals this year because he didn’t want to see LeBron James’ ugly face (his words, not mine).

If only he handled his exit from his hometown of Cleveland a little classier, then there would be no justifiable reason to hate his decision to sign with the Heat. While playing for the Cavaliers, everyone insisted that he's going to need more help if he plans to win a championship. So he did that by joining Dwyane Wade (one of the five best players in the world) and Chris Bosh (one of the 25 best players in the world) in Miami, and yet he still gets scorched because it's apparently unethical for superstars to collude to conquer their sport. Everyone criticizes the arrogant way they promised they’ll win multiple championships in a row, but I think it would be more problematic if a player's personal goal wasn’t to win every year he’s active in the NBA. People do not like how they celebrated after every dunk? I got news for you people who are allergic to fun: NBA players have been posturing after every monumental play way before LeBron was born. My only problem with him playing with Wade and Bosh is that his legacy will always be tarnished now. LeBron is possibly the most athletically gifted player we’ve ever seen, but because he was unable win a ring on his own, he will never be ranked among the greatest legends of this game. But so what if his ceiling is to only become the 11th best player of all time? Am I going to enjoy his alley-oop dunks, bullet passes, and runaway drives to the basket any less? Probably not.

After watching the final six games of the NBA season though, it’s very difficult to be an apologist for LeBron. He was uncomfortably passive in every fourth quarter of these games, and considering that three of the six games came down to the final shot, his lack of contribution had a major impact. In crunch time this series (less than five minutes to go with point differential of five or less), LeBron had zero points, only seven shots, and never got to the foul line. That stat line looks even more ridiculous if it is compared to Dirk Nowitzki's 26 points, 8-for-13 shooting in the field, and 9-for-9 shooting in the foul line. As intelligent as the Dallas defense were for the double teams and zone coverages they threw at him, the way he disappeared in the fourth quarter is mind-boggling. And it’s not as if he’s terrified of the moment like what everyone is saying because LeBron had legendary fourth quarter performances before. As a matter of fact, they wouldn’t be in the finals if it wasn’t for his performances in the clutch against Boston and Chicago earlier in the playoffs. The people in the know have pointed out a rumor that LeBron’s fiancée slept with Washington Wizards’ Rashard Lewis, which might have served as a distraction during these games. But even so, these are the most important games of his career, and legends step up when they’re called upon to do so, no matter what’s going on off the court.

However, critics forget that LeBron James is only 26 years old and still has a long career ahead of him, and thus, his epitaph shouldn’t be written just yet. Critics also forget that almost every single person in NBA’s pantheon had their ability to win questioned. Michael Jordan was thought of as a ballhog and someone that will never be able to coexist with anyone to win a championship. Wilt Chamberlain can literally score 100 points, but he couldn't get pass the mighty Boston Celtics. Magic Johnson was so horrible when he was younger that the media started calling him “Tragic Johnson”. Larry Bird struggled in his first Finals appearance, needing the help of Cedric Maxwell to beat the Sixers. Kareem Abdul-Jabbar wasn’t able to win without either Magic or Oscar Robinson by his side. Kobe Bryant struggled even with a dominant Shaquille O’Neal drawing all the attention. Shaq’s commitment was always questioned until Phil Jackson introduced him to the triangle offense. Even Dirk was declared “too soft” to win the whole thing once (more on this later). The point is that every superstar is considered a loser until they started winning (**). There’s still a chance that LeBron and the Heat are triumphant in the next seven years , and if that happens, all of the criticism directed towards him will be surely forgotten (or, at the very least, people will find new ways to criticize him).

Critics are also disregarding the fact that this is Year One of this Miami Big Three project, and they can only get better from here on out. The Big Three will ultimately gain a better understanding of how to play with each other, and they will also be blessed with a full year of Udonis Haslem and Mike Miller (whom were both injured for the majority of the year). Veteran free agents who want a last shot at a championship will gladly sign a one-year contract to take their own talents to South Beach (***), and they might get lucky with young players if they draft right. Worst case scenario is that they can trade Chris Bosh for a couple of specialists that would better satisfy their needs. One problem they have to fix is their coaching staff because Eric Spoelstera was out-coached throughout this series. Coach Spoelstera is a great offensive play designer, a good pre-game planner, and an adequate motivator—and I will always have an attachment to him because of his Filipino Heritage—but, he is incapable of making in-game strategic adjustments. On Dirk’s Flu game, Dallas went to a Jason Terry-Tyson Chandler pick-and-roll, using Dirk as a decoy in the corner, and the Heat couldn’t adjust to it. When JJ Barea was plugged in the starting lineup and started killing Mike Bibby, Spoelstera didn’t adjust until Game 6. Whenever Dallas went into a 2-3 zone, his offensive sets were invalidated. During crunch time, he should’ve designed a Wade-LeBron pick-and-roll, but it never happened. There are brilliant basketball minds who are just destined to become assistant coaches in the NBA; Eric Spoelstera might be one of those guys.

But like I said a million words ago, it’s unfortunate that the Mavericks aren’t getting the props and the coverage they deserve. LeBron James and the Heat didn’t choke away this series; they would’ve easily won against a less formidable opponent. The Mavericks played like champs and they plainly took it away from them. Dirk Nowitzki was Batman throughout the entire playoffs. He was putting on a shooting clinic, at times looking like he’s throwing the basketball into an ocean-sized rim and making that patented one-footed, 45° lean seem easy. As much as I wanted Miami to take it, I’m delighted that Dirk was able to finally shed the impression that he doesn’t have what it takes to win. Dirk’s unconventional finesse game was a prototype that everyone coveted early in the decade, but after Dallas’ disastrous first-round loss against the Golden State Warriors in 2007, all of the franchises that dedicated a scouting team to find the next Dirk in Europe decided that his type of game will forever be “too soft” for the NBA. I’m glad that he was able to get stronger physically and mentally to prove that he has the ability to lead a team.

Because of Dirk’s mythical performance, every NBA geek has been pondering about where he currently ranks among NBA’s greatest. It’s already been established that he’s the best European player to ever wear an NBA jersey. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves though and start comparing him to Larry Bird. Dirk’s a beast, and he and Bird may be the best shooting forwards ever. However, Bird is also the best passing forward of all time (****), and he’s a better rebounder and defender than what people give him credit for. They don’t call him the Basketball Jesus for nothing. With that in mind, he surpasses Charles Barkley and Karl Malone in the list of greatest power forwards to ever play that game (*****). More importantly though, from this point on, he will be talked about as the heroic figure that denied the villainous LeBron James and the Miami Heat their first championship. Would he, or any other savior, be able to do it again next year?

(*) One of the reasons why I love the NBA is because the NBA finals have a tendency to divide the NBA universe into two camps, and your allegiance is commonly an extension of your personality. Last year’s finals between the Lakers and the Celtics were a conflict between the socialites and the common people. This year was a conflict between two groups: those who are anti-LeBron and those who are pro-LeBron. Anti-LeBron people stands for proper sportsmanship and good morals; pro-LeBron people are all about hedonism and outright dominance. Anti-Lebron people marry girls they can have a good conversation with; Pro-LeBron people marry the hottest girl that will be willing to sleep with them. Anti-LeBron people shut their computers down after work to save the environment; Pro-Lebron people don't because time is money. Pro-Lebron people have a grapefruit and a slice of whole-wheat toast for breakfast; Anti-LeBron people eat a Bacon McMuffin, or Pop-Tarts.

(**) One important key to note though is that all of these superstars made drastic improvements to their game to get to what they eventually became. If LeBron really wants to win, a major flaw that he has to address soon is his lack of post-up game. It is inexcusable that someone with this combination of strength and speed can’t figure out how to score with his back to the basket.

(***) My one NBA wish is for Steve Nash to sign the minimum to play for the Heat when his contract ends in 2012. Surely his role would be diminished into someone who just spots up on the corner (like Mike Bibby’s role this year), and a ring as a role player doesn’t mean as much to his legacy as if he led the Phoenix Suns to a championship. Having said that, it would be nice to see him win one time.

(****) There are two fabulous YouTube montage solely dedicated to Larry Bird's passing ability. I watch them whenever I'm feeling down. Watch them here and here

(*****) (5) Karl Malone, (4) Charles Barkley, (3) Dirk Nowitzki, (2) Kevin Garnett, (1) Tim Duncan

Me and the Mixtape: (t5!) May 2011 Mix

2011-06-05T23:38:00.002-06:00

Me and the Mixtape is a 90-minute tracklisting for a mixtape that contains the best songs I've discovered this past month.

Side A
01. Mr. Little Jeans - The Suburbs [Arcade Fire Cover]
02. Kreayshawn - Gucci Gucci
03. Washed Out - Eyes Be Closed
04. Gang Gang Dance - Romance Layers
05. Fleet Foxes - Someone You'd Admire
06. jj - No One Can Touch Us Tonight
07. I'm From Barcelona - Always Spring
08. Big Sean - I Do It
09. Friendly Fires - Blue Cassette
10. Rye Rye f. Robyn - Never Will Be Mine

Side B
01. Bon Iver - Your Love [The Outfield Cover]
02. Jim Jones - Believe In Magic
03. CSLSX - Keep On Shining
04. Jesse Ruins - Sofija
05. The Antlers - Corsicana
06. The Weeknd - Rolling Stone
07. Okkervil River - White Shadow Waltz
08. Foster The People - Houdini [RAC Remix]
09. Flux Pavilion - Got 2 Know [VIP]
10. Drake - Dreams Money Can Buy

Download the (t5!) May 2011 Mix here.

This Week On Billboard: Adele - Rolling In The Deep

2011-06-03T12:34:00.001-06:00

This Week On Billboard is where I unabashedly critique the current no. 1 hit on Billboard.com, the major yardstick for what's "hot" in music today. In order to simplify the review for those who don't want to read the whole article, each song is given a "!" rating, in which the finest grabs five of them. It's been gone for a while, now it's back after a 22-month hiatus.

I don’t believe Adele is only 22 years old because she is singing with such maturity in her voice. The version of “Rolling In The Deep” that I first heard was the Jamie XX Remix featuring Childish Gambino, and I thought the vocals were an unearthed soulful sample that would’ve found itself in a Fatboy Slim track if he discovered it first. When Haley Reinhart covered the song in this season’s American Idol (of course, much to everyone’s chagrin, we were stuck with two unadventurous country singers in the finale), people unfamiliar with Adele most likely had mistaken this song for a Nina Simone classic. I’m not saying that it’s impossible for today’s 22-year-olds to obtain this level of sophistication, but what Adele shows in “Rolling In The Deep” are skills that only well-seasoned veterans possess.

Proficient vocalists are becoming more and more insignificant in today’s pop music since beat makers and producers are becoming so impressive and technology is doing a marvelous job at covering up any pitch flaws. So whenever a genuinely remarkable singer like Adele reaches commercial success, it’s imperative that you take notice. She belongs in the same bluesy category as Amy Winehouse and Duffy, but what Adele has that these singers do not is the power in her vocals. It’s strange though that with all this muscle in her larynx, her performance in “Rolling In The Deep” is still marked by control instead of exuberance. When she launches into the colossal “we could have had it ALLLLLLLL” line in the chorus, there’s more impact because of the way she holds back in the verses.

Adele’s thrilling voice is the main reason for the massive success of “Rolling In The Deep”, but yet it’s Paul Epworth’s production that pushes the song from something capable into an eventual classic. Pounding drum kicks, piercing piano stomps, and taunting backing vocals form a merciless blend of sound. It’s like a snowball rolling downhill: it starts out small, but it gathers momentum along the way, and by the end of it, you have an avalanche of emotions trouncing you senselessly. I’ve been impressed with Adele’s voice since “Chasing Pavements”, but I’ve always found her singing very dull songs. This, however, is a perfect accompaniment for Adele’s powerful pipes.

My only issue about Adele is that everything about her appeals to people who long for “realness” in pop music, and her reaching Billboard’s peaks gives these authenticity-obsessed fans something to be “right” about. I understand the argument that a fan can’t respect or admire an artist if he or she doesn’t write his or her own songs, doesn’t play an instrument, utilizes an auto-tune, or looks like a fashion model pretending to be a musician. I just think that not liking a song because the artist possesses these criticisms—or, conversely, saying “Rolling In The Deep” is great because Adele is someone that doesn’t possess these objective qualities—is utterly ridiculous. I’ve always subscribed to the idea that you determine how good a song is by listening to it and deciding whether you like it or not. All of these factors that pertain, not to the song’s quality, but to (basically) how the song is manufactured should ideally be irrelevant.

(t5!) score: !!!!!

Me and the Mixtape: (t5!) April 2011 Mix

2011-05-02T23:10:00.003-06:00

Me and the Mixtape is a 90-minute tracklisting for a mixtape that contains the best songs I've discovered this past month.

Side A
01. Skratch Bastid - International Whisperer's Anthem [UGK & Outkast v. George Michael]
02. Panda Bear - Last Night At The Jeffy
03. John Maus - Believer
04. Mount Moriah - Lament
05. Blood Diamonds - Lasting Love [Keep Shelley In Athens Remix]
06. tUnE-yArDs - Powa
07. Metronomy - The Look [Fred Falke Remix]
08. Breakbot - Fantasy
09. Childish Gambino - Break (AOTL)

Side B
01. Xaphoon Jones - The Jackson Pit
02. Gang Gang Dance - Mindkilla
03. Oh Land - Helicopter
04. Jamie Woon - Gravity
05. The Morning Benders - Oh Annie
06. Purity Ring - Lofticries
07. Alex Winston - Sister Wife [Star Slinger Remix]
08. The Temper Trap - Love Lost [Adventure Club Dubstep]
09. Bingo Players - Cry (Just A Little) [Original Mix]
10. Birdy - Skinny Love

Download the (t5!) April 2011 Mix here.

This Week On Billboard: Rihanna f. Britney Spears – S&M

2011-04-28T00:43:00.002-06:00

This Week On Billboard is where I unabashedly critique the current no. 1 hit on Billboard.com, the major yardstick for what's "hot" in music today. In order to simplify the review for those who don't want to read the whole article, each song is given a "!" rating, in which the finest grabs five of them. It's been gone for a while, now it's back after a 22-month hiatus.

Lately, Rihanna is being talked about often, but I feel it’s for all the wrong reasons. Now that she’s romantically unattached, rumor blogs and tabloid pages have been feasting on her conquests, like her secret relationship with Drake, her sexting affairs with Colin Farrell, her public dates with Ryan Philippe, her girl-on-girl flings with an unknown that wrote a book about it. With all of that covered, people have basically neglected the fact that Rihanna has released five number one singles in a span of a year. After “S&M” reached the top of the charts this week, she is now the fastest solo artist to release ten number one singles in Billboard’s 52-year history. The only artists who have gained ten Billboard No. 1’s faster than her are The Beatles and The Supremes. I know that there is no proven correlation between the artist’s merits and the amount of number one singles he or she has, but that record is a massive accomplishment nonetheless.

Yet, Rihanna hasn’t really been denying the allegations thrown at her either. She’s actually becoming more overt about her hedonism, even if she’s most likely doing so to endorse the lewdness of “S&M”. Like the title suggests, “S&M” is about sexual masochism. But even when you see transparently sexual lines in the lyric sheet like “sticks and stones might break my bones, but chains and whips excite me”, it seems like the release of the single hadn’t offended anyone too much. Maybe it’s due to the fact that her nymphomaniac persona here is as believable as her hair color. It’s not as if Rihanna isn’t an effective harbinger of sexual liberation. Whenever I hear “Rude Boy”, I’m convinced that she’s going to “give it to me harder”. But in “S&M”, her erotic confessions aren’t believable at all for whatever reason.

The best reason I can think of why this fell flat is that this Stargate production isn’t particularly sexy, which is weird because the Norwegian production team have created incredibly seductive tracks for RiRi before, such as the aforementioned “Rude Boy” (*) and another number one hit from last year, “What’s My Name?”. “S&M”, with its rock-tinged electro-stomp beat, sounds like a retread of her mediocre singles like “Shut Up And Drive” and “Disturbia”. This particular brand of Rihanna isn’t horrible, but it also make her seem conceived in a factory. And like I said before, Rihanna is at her best when she lets her Caribbean lineage permeate into the track, and I would prefer something like that than the “rock star” persona she puts on here.

What I’m most excited about this “digital re-release” that went number one this week is definitely this chance to hear a once-in-a-lifetime Rihanna-Britney pair-up. For the past ten years, they have ranked #1 and #2 in my favorite female pop stars list (**), so to witness them collaborate for a number one hit is akin to watching Shawn Michaels and The Rock form a tag team for a Wrestlemania main event. It may be disappointing that the song that brought them together weren’t as strong as I wanted it to be; but this is a rare gift from the gods of pop and I’ll take what I can get. I’m just hoping that they also rework the video so that it features the two of them doing kinky stuff and a lot less Perez Hilton.

(t5!) score: !!!

(*) I can’t defend the omission of “Rude Boy” from the (t5!) My Year In Lists 2010: Singles!. It was released so early in the year that I plainly forgot about it, which is embarrassing. Looking back now, I would say that it’s definitely in the Top 10.

(**) Rihanna and Britney are #1 and #2, respectively, if we’re only talking about American Top 40 female pop stars. However, if we remove all the irresolute sub-genre barriers so that it includes every pop/R&B/dance female soloist, my list would go: (1) Robyn, (2) Rihanna, (3) Cassie, (4) Ciara, (5) M.I.A., (6) Britney…(second last) Rebecca Black, and (last) Pink.

This Week On Billboard: Katy Perry f. Kanye West - E.T.

2011-04-05T02:54:00.003-06:00

This Week On Billboard is where I unabashedly critique the current no. 1 hit on Billboard.com, the major yardstick for what's "hot" in music today. In order to simplify the review for those who don't want to read the whole article, each song is given a "!" rating, in which the finest grabs five of them. It's been gone for a while, now it's back after a 22-month hiatus.

The last time I wrote a This Week On Billboard entry was six weeks ago. This isn’t a sign of me being lazy, or having a full plate, or running out of things to say; I was just patiently waiting until Lady Gaga’s “Born This Way” decides to vacate the top spot. With all the airplay and publicity it’s getting, and Maria Aragon’s cover of the song becoming a massive Internet hit, it seemed like “Born This Way” wasn’t going to relinquish its stronghold on the Billboard chart any time soon. It’s not that I didn’t like this song—in fact, my (t5!) score may have improved from a !!! to a !!!! after a few more listens—but I’m ready to move on. I love giving my two cents on these medallions of pop victory and fragments of the cultural landscape, and Lady Gaga is depriving me of that joy. So, thank you, Katy Perry and Kanye West, for keeping the charts from being stagnant with “E.T.”.

My first thought after listening to “E.T.” was how much it reminded me of t.A.T.u.’s “All The Things She Said”. It made me recall how terrific that song was, with its fetching minor scale melody, apocalyptic atmosphere, and captivating video. It’s unfortunate that the song’s quality was overshadowed by the Russian duo’s controversial girl-on-girl act, and it was never really judged appropriately as a result. I wouldn’t be surprised though if it’s discovered down the line that Katy Perry is genuinely an enormous t.A.T.u. fan, considering that she tried to debut with her own revamped version of a lipstick lesbian persona in “I Kissed A Girl”. I would be a bigger Katy Perry supporter if she released “E.T.” with the intention of giving “All The Things She Said” a proper homage.

Honestly, I haven’t been the biggest Katy Perry supporter in the world, and that’s mainly due to the fact that I can’t stand her voice. Her bellowing voice had been so awful that it spoiled perfectly constructed pop songs before (e.g., “Teenage Dream”, “Thinking Of You”). In “E.T.” though, her vocals aren’t damaging anything. She usually gets in trouble when she switches from her modal voice to her falsetto; but in “E.T.”, she manages to minimize these awkward transitions by singing a vocal range that doesn’t fluctuate as much within portions of the song. Actually, when she sings the entire bridge in falsetto, she nearly sounds celestial.

I’m assuming that Kanye West’s involvement in this track is also having a positive effect on Katy Perry’s performance. Not only is his ambition—this belief that his art can raise the bar for everyone else—infectious, his intense work ethic also extracts the best efforts from everyone around him. It’s akin to when the most talented player on your team is also your hardest worker on and off the court. When you’re associated with a colleague like that, you almost feel like you’re obligated to follow his lead. Sure, he’s still improving as a lyricist, as witnessed in the very weak verse in the middle of the song, but his ebullience on “E.T.” is evidently making Katy Perry rise to the occasion.

"E.T." may not be a perfect single (I'm giving this a perfect score but it should really be a !!!!.5), but it is very exhilarating to listen to in more ways than one. Every single off of Katy Perry's Teenage Dream has been summery and cheerful that it's starting to get stale. In "E.T.", Dr. Luke Gottwald has assembled a pleasantly dreary gathering of torrential synths and distorted lead tones to go with the angsty minor chord melody. Furthermore, it's refreshing to hear a rock stomp in pop music for a change. I appreciate a hulking electrostomp track as much as the next guy, but when every single release on the radio contains that 4/4 thumping, it's easy to get tired of it. And like I said, it also dethroned an irritatingly ubiquitous "Born This Way", so I'm very grateful for that. I thought I wasn't going to write a This Week On Billboard until next year.

(t5!) score: !!!!!

Me and the Mixtape: (t5!) March 2011 Mix

2011-04-02T04:04:00.001-06:00

Me and the Mixtape is a 90-minute tracklisting for a mixtape that contains the best songs I've discovered this past month.

Side A
01. Daft Punk - Adagio For Tron [Teddybears Remix]
02. Katy B - Broken Record
03. Eminem f. Slaughterhouse & Yelawolf - 2.0 Boys
04. James Blake - What Was It You Said About Luck
05. The Knocks - Dancing With The DJ [Campfire Acoustic Version]
06. DeVotchka - All The Sand In All The Sea
07. The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart - Strange
08. Holy Other - Touch
09. Jamie Woon - Lady Luck
10. Mac Miller - Donald Trump

Side B
01. Britney Spears - How I Roll
02. Nas - Nas Is Like [Sourface Remix]
03. Raekwon - Rich & Black
04. Matthew Dear - Slowdance [How To Dress Well Seance]
05. Sleep∞Over - Casual Diamond
06. Family Portrait - Other Side
07. Ra Ra Riot - Too Dramatic [The Morning Benders Remix]
08. The Weeknd - House Of Balloons/Glass Table Girls
09. Oupa - Forget
10. Gold Panda - Marriage [Star Slinger Remix]
11. Big K.R.I.T. - American Rapstar
12. Anthem - God Of Joy (Dionysus)

Download the (t5!) March 2011 Mix here.

The Philippines Experiment, Track Seven

2011-03-22T14:50:00.003-06:00

If you know who I am or have been reading this blog, you are probably aware that I spent two and half years of my life living in the Philippines. Now I'm back, and I'm going to attempt to chronicle the entire experience as best as my vague recollection allows.

Queen - Friends Will Be Friends

Moving to a new place is never easy since you’re leaving everything you know behind to start over and build a new life. This Philippines experiment was offering new and exciting adventures and challenges, but I had no close friends to share it with so there's a feeling of fruitlessness that came with it. I’m not anti-social or a lone wolf by any means, but making new friends is hard. Actually, making new friends is a lot more daunting than finding someone to date. Actively seeking out new friends seems pathetic even, especially when you’re not in school or you’re not working. It’s not like you can just go to a bar or a club, strike a conversation with a group of strangers, and see if you have similar tastes in movies or if they get your sense of humor.

I did spend the first twelve years of my life in Olongapo city, so I’m sure I still have long lost elementary friends kicking around nearby. But I never saw a familiar face from elementary school whenever I was out, and hence never got to hang out with any of them. I'm guessing that either most of them had probably moved elsewhere, or they’ve decided that they’re too old or too busy to have a night life (because, let’s face it, I should be), or they had aged so much that it’s difficult for me to recognize them now. But like I mentioned here before, I did have cousins to keep me company, which was fine because I’ve known these people since I was wearing diapers. It’s just that because I was a relative who they may not share the same interests with, it felt as if they were obligated to keep me company (and the vice-versa is just as true). Additionally, some of them took advantage of the fact that I had no one else, so they controlled where and when to hang out and who to hang out with.

So for the first seven months of my stay in the Philippines, I was constrained by my cousins’ social decisions, staying home when I felt like going out and enduring boring venues when I wanted to party. It was basketball that emancipated me from that. It’s a good thing I am somewhat competent in the court because it allowed me to meet guys that I can coexist with. My cousins were courteous enough to let me tag along with them during their “less competitive” games with their friends, and in spite of all the trash talking and hard fouls, we all became really thick as thieves. Eventually, they became a lot closer to me than they are to my cousins.

Absolutely no one can replace my friends in Edmonton. They are the tiger blood to my Charlie Sheen and I will always love them violently. Having said that, there are apparent differences between my friends here and my friends in the Philippines. Some of the most enjoyable moments I had with my Filipino associates were the times when we were just killing time in front of a convenience store, divvying up the winnings we acquired from our wagered basketball games and checking out the beguiling girls that walk by. If I ever send an e-Vite for a Friday night, 7-11 parking lot, Slurpee soiree to my friends here in Canada, they would purposely forget that I ever existed…permanently. The way friends drink at house parties in the Philippines are different too. The normal procedure when consuming alcohol amongst friends is for everyone to sit around a table with a pitcher of beer or a bottle of hard liquor while a tanggero, the person usually sitting at the head of the table, pours a shot into a glass and passes it to the successive drinker. Sure, if someone has a cold virus, then the entire party gets it the next day; however, this Filipino custom is terrific because it forces everyone to socialize with everyone else. It also ensures that everyone tosses down the same amount of drinks, so everyone gets drunk at the same rate.

But the biggest difference though is that in Canada, I’m guaranteed that there are no ulterior motives behind my friends’ companionship, but unfortunately, I don’t know if I can say that about some of the people I rolled with in the Philippines. The fact that I have a Canadian bank account is not lost on some of them considering that it’s obvious that some just hung around for the free drinks and appetizers. In fact, some would go as far as to advertise to their other friends that I’m buying rounds for everyone on my table. I admit that at times I felt like Vincent Chase of Entourage with all these so-called friends kissing my ass because they wanted something, but most of the time, it’s just insulting. However, I do emphasize the word “some” here because I did develop authentic friendships with a few guys, those who had my back whether or not I pick up the tab at the end of the night, and I’ll forever appreciate that (you guys know who you are, thank you.)

In spite of not knowing what my Filipino friends’ real intentions were, I was condoning a lot of the freeloading and hilariously apparent brownnosing because I was having loads of fun. And knowing them allowed me to network with more wonderful people. Most importantly, because of them, I met Ikhari.

Me and the Mixtape: (t5!) February 2011 Mix

2011-03-01T01:11:00.002-07:00

Me and the Mixtape is a 90-minute tracklisting for a mixtape that contains the best songs I've discovered this past month.

Side A
01. Katy Perry f. Kanye West - E.T.
02. K. Michelle - How Many Times
03. The Strokes - Under Cover Of Darkness
04. The Dears - Galactic Tides
05. Jessica Lea Mayfield - I'll Be The One You Want Someday
06. Tyler, The Creator - Yonkers
07. Solar Bears - Cub [Keep Shelly In Athens Remix]
08. Architecture In Helsinki - Contact High
09. Toro Y Moi - Still Sound
10. Siriusmo - Idiot
11. Radiohead - Codex

Side B
01. Adele - Rolling In The Deep
02. Lil' Wayne - Green And Yellow
03. Yuck - Suicide Policeman
04. Lykke Li - Love Out Of Lust
05. Korallreven - Honey Mine [Memoryhouse Remix]
06. Cassette Culture - We Once Had An Empire [Jungle Fiction Remix]
07. Cut Copy - Need You Now
08. Germany Germany - Take Your Time
09. Dada Life - White Noise/Red Meat [Bassjackers Remix]
10. James Blake - The Wilhelm Scream

Download the (t5!) February 2011 Mix here.

This Week On Billboard: Lady Gaga - Born This Way

2011-02-23T03:31:00.007-07:00

This Week On Billboard is where I unabashedly critique the current no. 1 hit on Billboard.com, the major yardstick for what's "hot" in music today. In order to simplify the review for those who don't want to read the whole article, each song is given a "!" rating, in which the finest grabs five of them. It's been gone for a while, now it's back after a 22-month hiatus.

This week on Billboard, we have reached a milestone! Lady Gaga’s “Born This Way” is the 1000th number one single in Billboard Hot 100 history. It’s been a long and winding road, starting way back in 1958 with Ricky Nelson’s “Poor Little Fool” ((t5!) score: !!!!). I’ve been planning to write a blog post that will give a rating and a small review to every number one ever, but it seems a tad too ambitious and I really doubt that I can pull it off anyway. Aside from that, “Born This Way” also became the fastest-selling song in iTunes history. Of course, none of my friends or acquaintances that take music extra seriously has ever downloaded a track on iTunes, so take that achievement as you will.

The reason why this is selling like hotcakes is because it’s such a colossal anthem, especially to the gay community. Positive messages about homosexuality is scattered throughout the song’s lyrics: the song opens with the spoken word “it doesn’t matter if you love him, or the capital H-I-M (*)”; then she recalls a conversation with her mama when she was young, singing “’there’s nothing wrong with loving who you are,’ she said, ‘cause He made you perfect, babe.’”; and then she hammers in the point, chanting repeatedly “don’t be a drag, just be a queen.” Elton John himself has said that this will replace Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” as the unofficial anthem of all homosexuals. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with an unapologetic gay anthem (it’s wonderful, in fact), but the overtness of this is a little disconcerting. The problem with this being so blatant is that there will be homophobic/unprogressive people out there that will listen to this song, hear its pro-gay messages, and will (at best) say that “Born This Way” is not for them. Obviously, Lady Gaga’s intent of the song is to allow all kinds of teenagers to use gay issues as a powerful metaphor for whatever outsider angst they are personally going through, but we can’t really trust the defective intellect of today’s teenagers to realize that. In actuality, the phrase “born this way” is enough to get the point across—it’s still discernable that the message is about liberation and being proud to be yourself, but it’s also vague enough that it’s compliant to any type of apprehension that people experience.

(*) I have no idea what “Capital H-I-M” means. Either Lady Gaga meant “Him”, which means that she’s referring to the overly religious, anti-gay protestors “who love Him” and yet, question the fact that “He makes no mistakes”; or she meant “H.I.M.”, as in the Health Information Management; or she meant “HIM”, as in the Finnish Goth-Rock band. If you know, let me know.

Just look at Madonna, who is someone who has this inexplicit gay anthem thing down to a science; her entire Erotica-era output is more or less a self-help book for people coping with their outcast kind of life. And I’m sure Lady Gaga is aware of that, because “Born This Way” conspicuously sounds like “Express Yourself”, yet she still forgot to mimic Madonna’s songwriting approach. It’s true that you can’t invalidate a song for sounding like another song, especially since there are millions of songs out there and I’m certain that every melodic combination and chord progression has been released on record already. It’s not proof of an artist's “unoriginality”. However, it is a bit distracting. I know I already used this analogy once, but it’s like how I probably wouldn’t enjoy Taylor Kitsch in anything else because I’ll always see him as Friday Night Lights’ Tim Riggins. Moreover, “Born This Way” is now the third Lady Gaga single that has similarities to other popular songs, and it’s a little troubling. “Alejandro” shamelessly rips Ace Of Base’s “Don’t Turn Around”, and the synth lines of the promotional single “Dance In The Dark” and Depeche Mode’s “Strangelove” are very much alike. Also, you can also hear bits of TLC’s “Waterfalls” and David Guetta’s “When Love Takes Over” in “Born This Way”.

“Born This Way” is catchy and very danceable, but that’s about it. It relies too much on its massiveness, and it sounds very safe—at least compared to “Bad Romance”, “Poker Face”, and “Telephone”, which are all very complex sonically. This being the first single off of her forthcoming second studio album, Born This Way, it feels like this is basically a warm-up of what’s to come. Granted, “Born This Way” isn’t as strong as “Just Dance”, a song that was a very impressive lead-in to The Fame singles that were released afterwards; still though, I’m expecting the third and fourth single from her next album to be terrific as usual.

(t5!) score: !!!

This Week On Billboard: Wiz Khalifa - Black And Yellow

2011-02-17T04:22:00.001-07:00

TV Wonder: Turning Off Friday Night Lights

2011-02-15T15:42:00.006-07:00

It’s so sad that Friday Night Lights said its farewell after five memorable seasons. I still remember how excited I was before it debuted in 2006 on NBC; the movie it was based on was one of the most powerful sports movies of the last decade, and there has never really been a successful sports television series in my lifetime. Critics say that the only other entertaining sports TV series was The White Shadow, a high school basketball drama that was way before my time. The only non-reality sports TV show I can remember watching was NBC’s Hang Time, which had a plot that was both implausible and atrocious. That show had Anthony Anderson playing shooting guard for a state champion basketball team, for God’s sake!

I also remember how much I was ridiculed for being excited for a TV show that revolved around high school football. Sports when portrayed on screen usually come out clichéd and overdramatic, so people were skeptical when the show was first introduced. Breaking it down, Friday Night Lights was underappreciated because it never captured its intended audience—the demographic who love high school drama and teen soap operas wrongfully assumed that this was just a show about jocks and cheerleaders, and the people who love sports didn’t have the patience to watch a dramatic plot even when it’s about football players. Moreover, NBC never found a proper timeslot for it, always sticking it on Friday nights—the Siberia of primetime television—just because it had Friday Night on the title. Frankly, I thought it wouldn't survive its first season, but thanks to the praise it was receiving from critics, and Internet savvy fans downloading the episodes illegally, the show generated enough buzz for the network to keep it for a few more years.

The greatest strength of Friday Night Lights has always been the acting, and it’s unfortunate that the greater public never witnessed how phenomenal these actors are. The creators of the show gave their performers freedom to deliver their lines in a way they were comfortable with, and as a result, the brilliant cast gave us countless thrilling moments. The show’s first season will probably go down as one of the best TV series seasons of all time, and the climactic scenes from the 22 episodes of that season are all extraordinary. But just to name a few: when Jason Street got paralyzed in Ep. 1; when the team ran wind sprints on a muddy hill, soaked by the rain in Ep. 3; when the Riggins brothers fought and made-up in Ep. 8; when Tami confronted Julie after seeing Matt Saracen buying condoms in Ep. 20; and the Mud Bowl game sequence in Ep. 20.

Outside of the first season, some of the best moments include: when Coach threw Saracen into a shower and told him to get his act together in S02E14; when Smash finally got into college in S03E04; when Coach was testing Saracen’s wide receiver skills in S03E08; when Coach had to forfeit the first game for his new East Dillon Lions team in s04E01; Saracen’s dad’s funeral in S04E05; when Riggins agreed to go to jail for his brother in S04E13; when the stars of East Dillon were talking about their journey to success in S05E05; when Vince’s drunk dad was trying to break down their door in S05E11; when Vince and Coach shared a hug in S05E12; and when Coach begged Mrs. Coach to take him to Philadelphia in the series finale. To the fans of the show who just read that, I’m sure that that was a touching trip down memory lane, but for the people who have never seen a single second of the show, I know it would’ve been convenient to have clips to go along with that list of fabulous moments. However, I suggest you just watch the entire series. You wouldn’t want to miss out on all of the lump-in-throat scenes, engaging dialogue, difficult issues, and spectacular acting display. There are also really small moments that will make you fall in love with these characters, and I wouldn’t do it justice just by describing it here.

You definitely don’t want to miss out on watching the best marriage in the history of television. The relationship depicted by Eric and Tami Taylor—Coach and Mrs. Coach—should be a template for what a terrific marriage should be like. Every conflict they encountered was illustrated brilliantly: how to tackle financial adversities, how to discipline their children, how to have trust in one another, and how to support each other in every which way. I think there’s an argument out there that in order to be intriguing as a TV couple, they have to go through some sort of infidelity. Yet, the Taylors never had to go through an affair or a divorce scare just to give their relationship some sort of excitement. Even when Tami had to deal with the guidance councilor kissing her, their foundation is so solid that the two basically just shrugged it off and treated it like a joke. It’s even the shows’ source for comedy sometimes; their exchanges as husband and wife are so endearing that I always despicably enjoy every time they get into an argument. Of course, a huge reason for the success of it is also due to the chemistry between Kyle Chandler and Connie Britton, making the relationship tremendously authentic, honest, and absorbing.

While I am sad that one of the best shows that ever existed ended, I’m satisfied that everyone’s stories concluded happily, in spite of the fact that the whole “where are they now?” denouement always seems rushed even when it’s accomplished well. I would’ve wanted to see Minka Kelly back just because she may be the hottest woman in the planet as of this moment, but I guess she somewhat received her resolution in Season 4. It’s funny though that she was probably the worst actress out of the whole cast, yet she will most likely have the most abundant career outside of the show. But aside from her, I am looking forward to see where all of these exceptional actors will end up, and I’m hoping they find an opportunity that was as generous to their talents as Friday Night Lights was. But still, they’ll always be a resident of Dillon, Texas in my eyes.

Me and the Mixtape: (t5!) January 2011 Mix

2011-02-01T03:37:00.038-07:00

Me and the Mixtape is a 90-minute tracklisting for a mixtape that contains the best songs I've discovered this past month.

Side A
01. Ceo - Halo [Beyoncé Cover]
02. London - Paradise
03. Creep f. Romy Madley Croft - Days
04. Destroyer - Kaputt
05. Cold War Kids - Mine Is Yours [Passion Pit Remix]
06. Ellie Goulding - Lights [WIRED Dubstep Remix]
07. The Joy Formidable - Austere
08. xxxy - Ordinary Things
09. Killa Kyleon - Mrs. Green

Side B
01. Yasmin - On My Own
02. Angus And Julia Stone - Big Jet Plane
03. Asobi Seksu - Trails [Holy Other Remix]
04. Braids - Lammicken
05. Arches - This Isn't A Good Night For Walking
06. Purity Ring - Ungirthed
07. Young Galaxy - We Have Everything
08. I Blame Coco - Quicker [Shook Remix]
09. Chilly Gonzalez - You Can Dance [Gemini Club Remix]
10. M.I.A. - Bad Girls
11. Kanye West f. Jay-Z - H.A.M.

Download the (t5!) January 2011 Mix here.

This Week On Billboard: Britney Spears – Hold It Against Me

2011-01-27T01:41:00.004-07:00

This Week On Billboard is where I unabashedly critique the current no. 1 hit on Billboard.com, the major yardstick for what's "hot" in music today. In order to simplify the review for those who don't want to read the whole article, each song is given a "!" rating, in which the finest grabs five of them. It's been gone for a while, now it's back after a 22-month hiatus.

Because of her disappointing personal life and because she’s heading into her eleventh year of pop existence, Britney Spears is now astonishingly considered an underdog. I’m assuming that because she debuted on top of the Billboard charts this week with “Hold It Against Me” after a year and two month hiatus, I’m not the only one who enjoy rooting for her intermittent ascension. Keep in mind that this also isn’t the first time Britney debuted on top of Billboard’s Hot 100; her last single “3” also debuted on top of the charts in 2009. Britney may disappear for long periods of time, but she has proven that when she does hold it together long enough to record a single, every living creature in our infinite galaxy is going to want to hear it. Granted, half of the people who tune in are just there hoping to hear a train wreck, their votes still count. It also helps that Britney’s people do a good ass job at extinguishing free ways to listen to her product—exterminating Youtube uploads and snuffing out free downloads on blogs—so the only way to hear her new stuff is to basically pay for it in iTunes or to request it on the radio.

It’s really easy to forget now that she was a walking goddess back then, a formidable contender in this game of chart pop. Remember the Rolling Stones cover? The “I’m A Slave 4 U” video? The 2000 VMA performance? Those iconic images and moments stole my innocence when I was younger. Which is why when I found out what the song was called, I thought I should make a very hilarious joke about how when I was a teenager, the only thing I wanted in the world was to hold Britney Spears’ body against me. What I didn’t know was that the song itself was going to make the joke for me since the single pretty much revolved around that played out pick-up line. Although I am sort of disappointed that it deprived me of a chance to display my comedic prowess and my ingenious attempts at double entendres; I am very happy that even after all these years, she’s still churning out sleazy and sweaty dance floor bangers, and Britney has always been at her best when she’s singing about lust and seduction.

The sexy “Hold It Against Me” wouldn’t have been an exception to that axiom if it weren’t for the fact that it sounds like a Tiesto remix of a regular Britney song from ten years ago. Tiesto, or more broadly trance, sounds like something I should like in theory—deeply melodic, pseudo-orchestral, stirringly energetic. But everything about it is so painfully obvious that it annoys me, from the elementary chord progressions to foreseeable “euphoric” swells to the repetitive throbbing thump. All of the ingredients that Dr. Luke and Max Martin arranged in “Hold It Against Me” sounds like Roland JP-8000 presets, which doesn’t automatically translate into something terrible, but it’s not wowing anyone either.

But holy mother, no one expected the dubstep breakdown though! If Britney was accompanied by the half-rhythm and spastic vocal phrases throughout the single’s completion, “Hold It Against Me” would’ve been some next-level shit. While dubstep has been pervading UK charts recently (Katy B’s “Katy On A Mission” immediately comes to mind, which had a peak position of #5), there has never been a US pop star who released a song that directly emulates a dubstep archetype. Of course, there’s the argument that Timbaland beats and Southern rap influenced the genre in the first place, but I don't want to dive into a much deeper examination of dubstep in the US. Nonetheless, dubstep as we see now has massive crossover potential and it is fated to redefine mainstream pop in the next few years.

And it would’ve been amazing to see Britney spearhead that movement in 2011. Throughout her career, she has always been more adventurous when it came to cutting-edge sonics, and that always separated her from everyone else: she was one of the first songbirds for The Neptunes’ foray into radio pop; “Toxic” was the result of someone trying to smuggle Basement Jaxx’s maximalist mutation of dance styles into the US; and her Blackout stuff may sound ordinary now, but back when no one was doing electrostomp, the singles she was putting out sounded fresh. By hesitating on making “Hold It Against Me” entirely dubstep, Britney missed a chance to extend her career for a few more years.

(t5!) score: !!!!

(t5!) My Year In Lists 2010: Albums! 10 to 1

2011-01-14T03:18:00.003-07:00

Albums I love, 2010.

I always thought “Final Fantasy” was one of the best monikers in music. It gave out a vibe of defiance even if it’s all kind of silly and juvenile, like “I don’t give a fuck about the laws of trademark infringement :p”. That’s why it’s unfortunate to finally see Owen Pallett give in to the legal stuff, deciding to just go by his real name. The only great thing about it is that the name change does symbolize his maturation, in more ways than one. Heartland still has the same unique sensibility as the songs he was putting out while he was still named after a Nintendo role-playing game, and he's still showing that he’s an expert at making melodic chamber pop out of a violin and a loop pedal. But, he made exactly the perfect adjustments to open his music up to a much wider audience—energetic percussion tracks, sprightly synthetic bass, a wider array of mood, a special kinship between the orchestral and electronic instruments. It’s as if Pallett made a conscious choice to become less alienating without compromising his trademark sound.

Putting disparate ingredients together is an overdone experiment in music, and it usually results into a fusion that’s way too ambitious. But when it works, like Treats, it’s like eating Oreos with milk. Sleigh Bells gathered up the loud fuzzy guitars of power rock, the straightforward beats of Southern rap, and the sugary melodies of pop, and merged them together into an ear-popping cacophony. It’s not necessarily My Bloody Valentine if they wrote songs for teens like what everyone is saying; it’s more like The Ting Tings if they wrote songs for grunge fans. It’s something I didn’t think I wanted in my life, but I’m embracing it nonetheless. And the fact that they ended the album pretty quickly—a 32-minute LP is an anomaly in today’s world—before it overstays its welcome helps matters too, leaving listeners craving for more. I don’t think I want to see Sleigh Bells setting trends though, because I assume imitators of Treats would sound like stale copycats. But if it’s inevitable, let’s just enjoy this blessed union of sounds before the uninspired degrade it.

Soldier Of Love is the reason why I keep sifting through new releases, why I still listen to everything even if all of my instincts are telling me that a particular album will bore me at best and abhor me at worst. The only information I have about Sade before 2010 is the very sultry single “Smooth Operator” and the trip-hop hit “No Ordinary Love” (the latter only because the Filipino band Urbandub covered it). I knew Sade’s smoldering alto is outstanding, but I had no clue it could sustain this restrained sexuality, this erotic voice with a hint of lachrymose she painfully tries to suppress, for an entire album. Soldier Of Love is an album of alluring mystique, of whispered emotions, feeling like a long, passionate make out session over wine and candlelight. It does sound dated but that's a positive thing, because they don’t make R&B records quite like this anymore. The tracks contain lyrics dripping with sensuality rather than overly dramatic or autotune embellishments. Needless to say, I sought out Sade’s entire discography after listening to this, hoping to find something as equally awe-inspiring.

I never really got the allure of Beach House prior to the release of Teen Dream. They were so boring that the CDs might as well came with a cup of coffee. The tracks in their first two albums are more about mood than song structure, lethargic dream-pop songs urged along by hazy guitar, shiftless organ, and lead vocal Victoria Legrand’s Nico-inspired rough alto. But something remarkable happened in Teen Dream, and it takes a keen ear to notice the change. Ironically, the songs in Teen Dream are less dream-like, and the duo from Baltimore obtained that by simply decorating them with haunting melodies to make them easier to listen to. It kept me awake long enough to notice the slight endowments that make Beach House noteworthy: how the vocals are layered to make it sound like Legnard is accompanied by a choir of ghosts; or how graceful and emotive Alex Scally’s guitar is; or how they have an extraordinary ability to place choruses in the end of their songs that seem like they can last forever. If they discovered melody four years ago, their career would've been very different.

Nothing represents counter-culture and overall hoity-toity-ness in music more than Vampire Weekend. Just listen to Contra, their sophomore album: right off the bat, they rhymed “horchata” with “balaclava”; they used an autotune, but only ironically; they’re probably enjoying the fact that people would idiotically think that this is named after a classic NES video game. However, Vampire Weekend’s pretentiousness and Ivy League preppiness would justifiably be oft-putting if the ten tracks in Contra weren’t loaded with colorful hooks and sweet melodies that agreeably linger in heads for a very long time. The second album also reveals that Vampire Weekend is capable of growth, broadening their influences while still maintaining what made their debut a consensus choice. They expanded from 80’s-era afro-pop to reggae, calypso, synth-pop, ska, and punk, and the new mélange of genres are crisp, summery, flamboyant, and yet still succinct, airy, and not at all pansified. Plus, having this in your playlist is like owning a token that says you’re better than everyone else.

It seems like every year, there’s an indie guitar pop band highly lauded by hipster blogs that proclaim their love before the evil majority gets a hold of them. An endless stream of bands with clever names and distinguishable references called on to play in that year’s trendiest music festivals. But their flavor-of-the-month status is only sustained until a song of theirs is used in a Gossip Girl episode or a Google commercial. And then the renouncement happens, “oh, that band? Their first album was better.” This is why I can already extrapolate Surfer Blood’s career from the moment Pitchfork gave Astro Coast a favorable rating. If they decided to stop trying to outdo this debut album, I wouldn’t blame them. It’s not that it doesn’t deserve the buzz—appropriate Beach Boys similarities, sunshiny vibes, hazy atmosphere, addictive guitar lines, surprising melodic turns that purchase timeshares in your mind—the album is admittedly brilliant. It’s just that I’ve seen this movie before, and it doesn’t end well. Enjoy it while it lasts, hipster cats.

Let’s talk about musical crushes for a minute. Usually, when I have admiration for a female artist in the R&B universe, it’s usually based on looks (eg. Christina Milian before she faded into insignificance, Cassie before she shaved the side of her head, Beyoncé before Jay-z turned her bootylicious into chunk). Janelle Monáe is not unattractive by any means but I’m only crushing on her because of her work on The ArchAndroid (Suites II and III). Her vivaciousness in every track and the eclectic collection of styles she works with is very attractive. Whether she’s shrieking her lyrics out or she’s heavenly cooing it in our ears, it’s obvious that she’s skilled when it comes to vocal ability, showing off that she can easily handle these retro-progressive productions and invigorating live instrumentation. However, she doesn’t let her ego cloud her aspirations to make an “emotion picture” about her futuristic society—a world apparently colored by traditional R&B, classical compositions, swing-style big band, and indie glam. It’s as if I have a man-crush on a woman with tantalizing doe-eyes and whimsical fashion sense.

Electronic producer Dan Snaith switches genre so effortlessly—from light-headed psychedelia to neo-Krautrock to ambient breakbeat to 60’s sunshine pop—that it’s such a shock when he releases an album in a style that electronic producers are accustomed to making: dance music. And I’m not talking about the intelligent dance music his work is usually labeled as; Swim is unabashedly more dancefloor-ready than anything Snaith has ever designed on a laptop. But while Snaith abandoned his habitual experimentation in favor of immediate rewards, you can still feel the usual Caribou signifiers in this fifth album: mutant percussions, subtle stereo panning, textural effects, introverted vocals. Snaith has mentioned in an interview that he wants Swim to “sound like it’s made out of water rather than made out of metallic stuff like most dance music does”, and it achieved that by making his instruments resemble the fluidity and rippling effect of water. He gets away with the transformation because he never compromises his own identity and ambition, and Swim is no exception.

As one-half of OutKast, Big Boi was unfairly ignored. Andre 3000 is the imaginative prodigy, and Big Boi is the grind-it-out worker bee. Andre 3000 was sanctioned to experiment and venture towards different genres while Big Boi held down the fort. Since Andre 3000 is doing his own thing for now, Big Boi finally has the freedom to grow, distancing himself from the OutKast name momentarily. That liberation may be the reason why he sounds so ebullient and vibrant in his solo debut Sir Lucious Left Foot: The Son Of Chico Dusty. It’s like he recorded every couplet in this record with a smile on his face, and I'm guessing it's due to the weight of the world off his shoulders. He has recaptured the vitality he hasn’t had since Stankonia, and he combined it with his agile flow and epic filthy synth-funk beats to school today’s rappers who believe that lethargic rapping wins the race. As far as the age-old question of who’s better between Big Boi and Andre 3000? Well, I love them both but Big Boi has a new album—and it happens to be the second best of the year—and Dre doesn’t. Big Boi wins, for now.

Here’s my theory. I believe Kanye is actually a performance artist, like our generation’s Andy Kaufman, and none of us are in on the joke. Think about all the shit that happened before the release of Kanye’s fifth album, My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy: the VMA trolling, the hiatus, the surreal Twitter messages, the vulgar album cover, the name change from Good Ass Job (I always read that as “good ASS JOB”) to something a vampire novel would be titled as, the ridiculous 35-minute short film for “Runaway”, the Matt Lauer interview, even Pitchfork’s exaggerated 10.0 score. They were all tools to nauseate us, so that when we finally listen to My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy in its entirety, we would be flabbergasted when we discover how sensational it truly is. Really, it’s like an anti-buzz. It’s like Kaufman’s Mighty Mouse performance: Kanye’s loud personal life/off-stage hoopla is like Kaufman’s quiet moments, and My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy was the moment when he sang, “Here I come to save the day!”, pleasantly surprising his audience.

I’ve always been a Kanye apologist, but even I was preparing myself for the worst before the official release in November. But after just one listen, I was bewildered by the impressive self-awareness in his lyrics and the unparalleled pop architecture of his production—characteristics I’ve always known he had—and it only got better after I voyaged into this polychromatic world of his multiple times. I guess my theory is a tad farfetched; but even if the commotion Kanye caused in 2010 is not an act, and it turns out that he is plainly music’s biggest fool and the biggest egomaniac today, My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy proved that he’s also the biggest pop genius we’ve seen in a while. I would put up with all the shit if I can listen to a Kanye album as monumental as this every year.

I’m not sure if I would consider My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy the “best” Kanye West record to date (I still think Late Registration is a little bit more consistent, but ask me again in ten years). But what is special about it is that it’s a terrific reminder of why I loved Kanye all these years. It contains every type of Kanye we’ve seen since he debuted in 2004: the lyrical punchlines Kanye, the chipmunk soul Kanye, the preachy Kanye, the lush production Kanye, the introspective Kanye, the rare sample source Kanye, the cold and autotuned Kanye. He could’ve easily just released a greatest hits compilation—that's what everyone else would do—but his gigantic self-pride will never let himself rest on his laurels like that. He strives to become the best, so he continually raises the bar and pushes every limit forward, while taking on and defeating all of his contenders. I doubt that anyone will be betting against him after hearing this.

If you want any of these albums, just let me know and I can yousendit to you.

...AND I'M GONE

(t5!) My Year In Lists 2010: Albums! 20 to 11

2011-01-13T01:06:00.003-07:00

Albums I love, 2010.

Take out the constantly amplifying strings and extemporized Hopelandic verses from your Sigur Rós records and replace them with glitchy pop synths and heavily accented English lyrics; if that idea repulses you, then you won’t find satisfaction in Jónsi’s Go. But if you’re going to dismiss this without a proper deduction, then I’m afraid you’ll miss out on some heart-palpitating beauty. Go is light and vibrant, and Jónsi has gathered up Sigur Rós’ best features—like their lively arrangements and fluctuating levels of sounds—and he’s pointed them towards new trajectories. And of course you’re getting Jónsi’s extraterrestrial vocals, Sigur Rós’ most prominent instrument. Although he’s not holding notes while cathedral sounds ebb and flow around him; he is more sprightly here as his vocals frolick around with Nico Muhly’s vivacious sounds. I won’t ever wish for a band like Sigur Rós to break up, but if this new beginning from one of its members is what we get as consolation, then no one should be too bitter if the Icelandic duo calls it quits.

I’ll forever promote that The Radio Dept is the most underrated indie band of the previous decade, and their debut, Lesser Matters is a neglected classic (no. 78 in (t5!) Heroes Of The Zeroes Album List, actually). It’s a shame that half of their already small fanbase has never heard of them until they were featured in the Marie Antoinette soundtrack in 2006, three years after they entered the scene. Clinging To A Scheme may not be as arresting as Lesser Matters, but it does showcase the same strengths. Radio Dept’s most appealing feature is definitely the haze that is akin to the sensation of just waking up from a dream, elegantly clouding the lo-fi guitars and the finger picked notes and major 7th chords they produce. Johan Duncanson’s opaque vocals is sensational because it seems like he’s not even trying, but his apathy is ideal for the Sunday morning bedroom mood they are attempting to pull off. Hopefully Clinging To A Scheme is the album that brings the Swedish band the fanfare they are entitled to, and they wouldn’t be as underrated in this decade.

The mark of a terrific female pop star is her malleability. The world of popular music is in constant flux, and if you don’t keep up with its instability, you’ll be forgotten by everyone. Why do you think Madonna is still (sorta) relevant on her third decade of pop existence? She was able to adapt. Kelis has also demonstrated that she’s a chameleon: she evolved from rainbow-haired R&B riot grrrl screaming “I hate you so much right now!”, to bossy, hyper-sexualized, cherry on top who brought all the boys in the yard, to what you see in Flesh Tone, a vibrant neo-Donna Summer for everyone’s current obsession with electrostomp. There’s a massive sentiment of exaltation in these tracks; it’s as if Kelis has figured out that conventional songwriting doesn’t work in this type of music so she focused on singing surging, anthemic hooks instead. And in spite of the fact that she doesn’t exactly have premium Eurodance producers working for her, she enlivens the life out of these boilerplate accompaniments, certifying that her vocals can imbue any beat or trend thrown at her.

Everyone probably assumed after listening to the introductory single “Drunk Girls” that This Is Happening is full of silly energetic numbers designed to serve as background music for frat parties, and he is making bratty dance-funk records again like the songs in his eponymous album. But this third James Murphy album is a continuation of 2007’s very excellent Sound Of Silver, a couple more steps towards introspective songs propelled by emotional excesses and personal admittance that are strongly relatable to his generation. LCD Soundsystem has always been labeled as dance music, but recently it’s much richer than that, both in message and style. Blending unyielding post-punk, stutter-stepping funk, and electrifying Bowie-inspired Kraut-rock—genres Murphy, I’m sure, enjoyed as an offspring of the seventies—This Is Happening is an album that all your friends and their conflicting tastes could agree on. If the rumors are true that this is the last LCD Soundsystem album, it’s a exemplary ride into the sunset.

Crystal Castles of 2008 was an acceptable debut, but it did suffer from multiple personality disorder. Crystal Castles weren’t sure which identity they wanted to showcase—their scintillating synth-pop or their blitzkrieg of 8-bit NES noise—and that indecision resulted into an innovative but a confused record. Crystal Castles of 2010 improved simply by achieving balance between the two styles, changing without compromising themselves. In fact, the Toronto duo of Ethan Kath and Alice Glass are at their best when they find a marriage between the gleam and the glitch in the same song, making their songs sound like The Cure soundtracking Capcom games. But instead of distant post-punk croons, Crystal Castles has Glass’ damaged and extremely blurry vocals, demonstrating that she’s more than an abrasive brat on the mic. The two also got a bad reputation for being difficult off-stage and reckless on-stage, causing a lot of people to write them off as immature punks. Let’s hope that this second self-titled album puts them into a better light, because it takes maturity to grow like this.

Joanna Newsom, a gifted harpist who has abandoned her classical training to compose ten-minute folk songs about her life experiences, is understandably alienating. But those who are tolerant enough to commit to her ambitions have been rewarded with an enthralling recess from the daily grind. Have One On Me is, as usual, driven by the caressing spirit of a harp that plunges like a waterfall of celestial notes. There are also her spine-tingling vocals, which is vastly less childlike and more agreeable here than what was heard in her past two albums. If you’re really paying attention, you’ll adore Newsom’s uncompromising poetry about romantic, familial, and platonic love. My advice is that you make sure you have two hours to spare before you venture into this triple album, because if you listen to Have One On Me in the wrong setting or mood or activeness, then it’s very likely that you will think that this is an arduous undertaking, and you’ll miss out on one of the most riveting albums of the year.

It’s unfortunate that all of my favorite Canadian indie rock bands from the last decade have sort of lost their luster recently. Broken Social Scene, Wolf Parade, etc. have all recorded a momentous album once, causing people to ordain Canada as the main breeding ground for exciting music, and yet they’ve all struggled to impress with their most recent work. Arcade Fire is a completely different story though; they just keep on truckin’. Right after Funeral in 2004, the citizens were ridiculously claiming that they would be the U2 of the 21st century; after listening to The Suburbs, it seems as if that prophecy already came true. They carefully cultivated a substantial album that shed light on the uniformity and other sociological perplexities that are polluting North America’s suburbs. Sonically, The Suburbs show that the Montreal collective hasn’t lost a step, using the grandiosity of their instruments to communicate their entire emotions, motivating their sound with ardor and intense devotion. The rest of Canada's indie rock has a lot of catching up to do.

When people discuss today's musical geniuses, Bradford Cox’s name doesn’t get mentioned as often as it should. As a singer for Deerhunter, his solo side-project Atlas Sound, and the short-lived The Wet Dreams, he has released five studio albums and five EP’s since 2007, and pretty much all of his work are highly recommended by every important tastemaker. There’s no concrete reason for his obscurity, but the cause is most likely the lack of accessibility that plagued his earlier albums, a weak spot he tried to amend in Deerhunter’s last album, Microcastle, and have completely fixed in Halcyon Digest. He made this a lot less discordant than Cox’s past compositions by peeling away layers of dim atmosphere and revealing the simplicity and catchiness of early-Beatles melodies and Phil Spector wall of sound. And I’m not saying that Halcyon Digest is as easy to get as a Coldplay record; it took me a few spins before I completely appreciated its majesty. However, without the noise murkying up the brilliant melody, it’s way easier to recognize the genius in Cox.

Right now, The Roots are benefitting from being Jimmy Fallon’s in-house band. First of all, I can only imagine that the extra comfort and stability is providing them with buckets-full of epiphanies, because How I Got Over is like magic recaptured. They were always at their best when they’re intermingling their gritty hip-hop with funk, jazz, and neo-soul, a connection that the four albums they released in the zeroes never achieved. It’s been a long time coming but the equable ambience of 1999's Things Fall Apart is back, and I for one welcome it with open arms. Also, working late night has both widened their artistic limit and their address book because the boys from Illadelph are collaborating with musicians that were formerly unfamiliar to them. They’ve conquered the alternative hip-hop scene already, so working with Diplo, Monsters of Folk, Joanna Newsom, and Dirty Projectors allows them to attain a whole new demographic, propagating their message of struggles and temptations to the broadest audience.

Everyone has their preferred "sad bastard" music, a go-to band or artist when you want to wallow in your own depression and self-pity. Some have sappy R&B, some have emo, some have bands like Coldplay or Snow Patrol to accompany them on their lowest days. However, no one knows your pain more than The National, the best band to listen to on those car drives without a particular destination, those damp walks in the rain, those trips that you take to be alone. They’re definitely perfecting their craft in their fifth album, High Violet. I don’t want to discount the efforts of their instrumentalists, especially the work of the rhythm section, Scott and Bryan Devendorf, whom give the tracks that sense of propulsion that’s helpful when down and out. But vocalist/lyricist Matt Berninger deserves all the acknowledgement here. The lyrics he wrote, which brilliantly convey the true anguish of loss or the true adversity of growing old, is expressed in a deep, solacing baritone. It certainly exceeds the whininess of pop punk, the effeminacy of Britpop, and the histrionics of R&B.

If you want any of these albums, just let me know and I can yousendit to you. Continue on to (t5!) My Year In Lists 2010: Albums! 10 to 1...

(t5!) My Year In Lists 2010: Albums! 30 to 21

2011-01-12T01:05:00.006-07:00

Albums I love, 2010.

I’ll pick summer over winter any day, but I’ll never disregard the tangible beauty of our coldest season: the twinkle of fresh powder covering boughs of evergreen, the sublime contrast between the falling snow and dark skies, the muffled footsteps on quiet nights. Black Noise has a similar aesthetic. When you’re totally immersed in the album’s wintry heart, you’ll wonder how something so cold can conjure such warm emotions. The hallmark of Black Noise’s concept is the layers upon layers of percussions as the foundation of the melody: the metallic clang of chimes, dulcimers, and glassy bells unite with the flourish of electronic clicks, hissing hi-hats, and subdued kicks to create a blizzard over the long cascades of disheartening strings, grooving basslines, and the psychedlic chants of Animal Collective’s Panda Bear. Moreover, the album moves along alluringly, maintining its darkened mood throughout, with the tracks rising, then intensifying, then melting away effortlessly. You’ll appreciate the exquisiteness of this, but just make sure you're wearing a warm enough jacket.

It’s easy to make fat comments about Rick Ross; he seems to embrace his obesity to the point of even using it as a marketing strategem. You know, something like “the guy has impressive breath control for someone who couldn’t walk a block without panting”. Or something like “the beats in here—produced by Lex Luger, J.U.S.T.I.C.E. League, et al.—are as bulky as him”. Or something like “he put Miami rap on the map not only because of his triumphant verses but also because he’s so large that you can see him using Google Earth”. Or something like “he and Notorious B.I.G. has the same vocal timbre and the same waist size”. Or something like “looking at the number of famous guest appearances here, it appears that his Rolodex is as enormous as his man boobs”. Or something like “what does Rick Ross and Santa Claus have in common? They both brought joy to the faces of children everywhere, with their bushy beard and their belly full of jelly”. But I’m sure all these jokes about his weight wouldn’t faze him. He’s Teflon Don; jokes like these just slide off of him.

To be nineteen again, amirite? To be naïve, awkward, horny, miserable, yet still optimistic about everything. As a man in his late 20s (wow, that’s difficult to type), even one that has a massive Peter Pan complex, it’s regrettable that I will never feel that way again. Unfortunately, all I can do is reminisce. However, one listen to Long Beach’s Avigdor Zahner-Isenberg and his Avi Buffalo, and I can strongly imagine being nineteen all over again through him as he evaluates his experiences as a young adult in this self-titled debut. The tracks here are honest almost without remorse, tackling subject matter that would make me blush if I was the inspiration for it. Especially about the sore subject of teen sex; it confirms that trying to get laid at that time of your life can be both sublime and disheartening. One way we differ though is that when I was his age, I surely wasn’t capable of writing blissful indie pop melodies that revives the spirit of The Shins. But I can’t beat myself up too much, the majority of songwriters twice his age aren’t even near his talent.

Four Tet was immensely innovative when he first started over a decade ago, so much so that the tag “folktronica” was invented professedly to describe his minimal sound. I’m such a fan of his imagination that I’m considering naming my unborn child after his everyday name, Kieran. So it's not as if he has to prove that he's avant-garde now, especially after releasing five very inventive albums, but there are several bedroom laptop artists nowadays mimicking his style that There Is Love In You doesn’t seem to be breaking ground as much. But it doesn’t matter; Four Tet, even at his most conventional, can still outdo all the biters. There Is Love In You is dancier than his previous efforts, showcasing that he’s been influenced by his recent DJ sets and his collaboration with Burial. Delicate beats, mellow tones, acoustic appregios, and skittering samples twinkle gently like they emanate from a music box hosting a party. What we see here is not the work of a trailblazer, but a genius musician who has mastered his craft and focused his vision.

When you commit yourself to one genre, especially one that is as limited as “blues-rock”, you get bored of making it eventually. It felt like The Black Keys have taken their gritty old-school style as far as it could go, and that’s why they tried to change things up on their last album, 2008’s Attack And Release, by giving their very distinct style to the helm of electronic producer Danger Mouse. It also revealed at the time that maybe that particular blend wasn’t them. But they persisted, and in Brothers, they’ve accomplished the evolution they were looking for. They have never been this eclectic before, demonstrating that their attempts at composing glam-rock, ‘60’s soul, vintage R&B, and psychedelia can be equally impressive as their antiquarian blues-rock. More importantly, Dan Auerbach seems to be rejuvenated by the transformation since he’s flexing his vocal chops more than usual. His howl is on full display here, but he also flaunts a falsetto and a tenor that could’ve recorded a few Motown records back then. Maybe that’s something to look forward to, a full-on R&B album from The Black Keys.

If I had to rank Robyn’s 2010 output, it would go Body Talk Pt. 2, Body Talk Pt. 1, then the leftover stuff from the complete series of Body Talk. Although the consistency of the Body Talk trilogy is definite, I don’t really understand what the point was of splitting it into separate EP’s before amalgamating into one full album. I guess it’s sort of like The Beta Band releasing The Three E.P.’s, but the three building blocks for that 1998 hit was released in a span of two years. By seeing the components before hand, Body Talk resembled a greatest hits compilation, and Robyn’s greatest hits (at least circa 2010) make you wonder why she’s not dominating the charts every week. While other pop stars are incapable of fabricating melodrama in a consistent basis, Robyn shows she can intensely convey a boundless arrangement of emotions and states of being, such as heartache, martyrdom, poise, tenacity, and confidence. It's a difficult achievement for someone who calls herself an emotionless fembot.

Best Coast’s most important accomplishment is that they confirm the extensive influence of girl-group 60’s pop in music history. Crazy For You never veers from that classic style, but it also captures the feel of an eclectic collection of genre, such as lo-fi indie pop, alternative-country, California surf-rock, DIY punk, and grunge. Of course, it also proves that Bethany Cosentino’s voice is beautiful no matter how you dress it, which is a terrific advantage to have when you are singing the most candid and straightforward lyrics you’ll hear out of records that came out of 2010. It should’ve been clear from the album’s title, but Crazy For You is an engaging boy-crazy confessional, an honest lowdown of Cosentino’s incapacitating obsession and exhilarative infatuation, which is strenghtened more by the lyrics’ lack of pretense. Anyone that has been lovestruck can accurately relate to these tales of how someone from the opposite sex can make you feel inadequate, needy, covetous, and insanely blissful.

Pittsburgh-based computer maestro, meticulous micro-historian, sample king of kings, Girl Talk, doesn't exactly bring anything new to the table at this point of his career. He has found a trademark, but predictable formula. If you have formed an initial opinion and you do not like his fervently creative, ape-shit insane, deliriously schizophrenic, audio version of the Sgt. Pepper album cover, there isn't really much to say to switch your snobbery off. But if you’re massively enamored with Gregg Gillis' work already, his fifth album All Day, is the ultimate musical expression of vague and widespread fandom, capturing the essence of over 370 songs to create his most epic, densely layered and meticulously composed musical statement to date. While All Day's similarity to previous Girl Talk albums is discernible, Gillis polishes these bite-sized samples into great musical moments. Whatever the case, what we see here is Gillis at his loosest and most confident, seamlessly blending together five generations of music. You can at least download it without the crippling guilt because he gave away the album for free on his label's website.

He’s not Eminem, even though the similarities, which I admit are without depth, are very apparent. They’re both white, they’re both under Interscope, they both represent their respective neck of the woods (Eminem is to 8 mile as Yelawolf is to Alabama), they both take pride in their lyricism, they both write verses while wearing their trailer trash upbringing on their sleeve, and they both relish the opportunity to sing their own chorus hooks without the help of an auto-tune (well, when Eminem is at his best, he was like that). With that said, it would be unfair to pigeonhole him because of these resemblances. Besides, the creeping production? That’s straight up Gucci Mane. The distinct southern drawl to his flow? UGK. The method where he smoothly switches from a beat’s original pace to double-time? A little Busta Rhymes. The way he synchronizes his flow with the intricacies of the beat? That reminds you of Anticon rappers. And if Trunk Muzik 0-60 is any indication, Yelawolf may soon be one of the standards that everyone else compares himself to.

Artists usually have to frustratingly walk on the slender line that separates their ideal style from a sound that attracts a fruitful fanbase. Most end up swallowing their pride in favor of commercial and critical success. That’s not how Ariel Pink rolls, though. Even when the very authoritative appraisers of Pitchfork gave his earlier releases unfriendly reviews for being too eccentric—and most likely affected his record sales as well—he didn’t compromise his artistry for anything. But a strange thing happened in 2010: his chillwave genre became in season, and Before Today suddenly became more attractive to critics and consumers. He has cleaned up a little bit of the tape hiss that cluttered the AM soft-rock and blue-eyed soul he deconstructed and rebuilt in his bedroom, making this ninth album his more approachable record to date. But other than that, this is not that much different from his older stuff. It confirms that you don’t have to change what you believe in in order to get what you want. Be persistent and everyone will eventually come around.

If you want any of these albums, just let me know and I can yousendit to you. Continue on to (t5!) My Year In Lists 2010: Albums! 20 to 11...

(t5!) My Year In Lists 2010: Singles! 10 to 1

2011-01-11T04:02:00.003-07:00

Singles I love, 2010.

You remember how you were as a teenager? The person that broke your heart felt like he or she ended your world, right? But you say now that the whole circumstance seems foolish and you don’t really regret anything you did. Taylor Swift says you're not telling the truth, and juvenile love is as legitimate as love when you know better. The best thing about Taylor Swift, even at an unripe age of 20, is that she can make young love feel sincere, heartfelt, and not at all immature. She’s wonderful at devising a convincing narrative, and she’s better at it than the majority of established songwriters today. The lyrics are clear and effortless, written like a comprehensive blog post that accurately documents the suffering and the mistakes she has made. Also, she has the ability to construct a melody that is not only within her limited capacity, but also one that is very haunting in its simplicity. Her vocals float tranquilly over the trembling guitars and swelling strings, rising and falling like a snowflake in a gentle breeze. If you think you’ve outgrown this type of despair, you’re fooling yourself.

I’m loving the spontaneity and rawness of this. It’s like we’re in a basement party somewhere, and someone who recently listened to Biz Markie’s “Make The Music With Your Mouth, Biz” starts beatboxing. Then, Jazmine Sullivan joins in. She belts out verses she’d written recently about how she can’t leave the man that keeps treating her wrong, revealing her emotions and her impeccable sense of rhythm and timing in the process. Her best friend hypes her up, filling in the spaces with “whoops”, “exclusives” and “one times”. She has heard this song before so she provides the harmony to give Sullivan’s soulful voice some depth. Some guy grabs a sitar from the trunk of his car and fortifies the beat. Another guy who had too much to drink riles up everyone in the party with a call-and-response; when he says, “hold up”, you say “wait a minute”. And by the end, we see a group of friends bobbing their head in unison and having an enjoyable time. It’s a good thing someone was kind enough to record everything for the world to hear.

“Whip My Hair” reminds me of early-zeroes Aaliyah; it belongs in that amazing minor chord skittering R&B run she had before she passed away, a list that includes “Try Again”, “Come Back In One Piece”, “We Need A Resolution”, and “More Than A Woman”. What is so mind-boggling about all of this is that Willow Smith wasn’t even born when that run began in April 2000. I guess daddy Will and mommy Jada Pinkett were feeding her Aaliyah singles when she was old enough to appreciate personality-filled R&B, molding her into a diva that sings with grinning aplomb and justified swagger, which are amazing qualities to have as a popstar of any age. She doesn’t sound like a kid trying on her mom’s makeup here; rather, it is us geriatric people who want to be like her—colorful, uninvolved, heedlessly shaking off all her problems with no fear of repercussions. And even with inherited celebrity, Willow is not a product of nepotism, and “Whip My Hair’s” placement in this list isn’t a “great for her age” recognition either. You still would be whipping your hair back and forth no matter who sings this.

You can’t really say that Robyn owes all of the acclaim she gets to synthesizers; that’s as ridiculous as saying Joe Montana owes all of the acclaim he got to Jerry Rice. However, the fact that she has been blessed with terrific synth work in almost every single is also undeniable. The synth lines in “Hang With Me” are sensational as usual, forming a lovely cascade that showers Robyn’s precious vocals. It soars and subsides at the most propitous times, not in terms of volume or speed, but it gets more intricate and more lively when the chorus needs it to. But as splendid as the production may be, Robyn doesn’t get overshadowed either. She sounds adorable in this friends-with-benefits track, making it seem as if hanging with her is the most celebrated thing to happen to the listener’s life. If there’s any doubt still that she can't succeed without the synths, listen to the stripped-back piano-and-strings version for confirmation. You can feel the full impact of Robyn’s tenderness when acoustic, proof that her vocals, even when it's unadorned by synth enhancements, is something you can fall recklessly, headlessly in love with.

Janelle Monáe has spent so much time cultivating her extraterrestrial-R&B-android-from-the-future persona that it’s odd that her introductory single and biggest hit is a phenomenal blast from the past. “Tightrope” is the opposite of retro-futuristic, kinda like ultramodern-nostalgic then. It shows that Monáe is enchanting without playing the cyborg character in her album, singing and stuttering optimistic lines over a dynamic and aggressive James Brown-era soul track. Ecstatic handclaps, sprightly guitars, jaunty bass lines, velvety Classy Brass, Big Boi guest rap, and purposeful backup vocals fall from the sky like a torrential downpour. And while others would be overwhelmed by the hectic beat, Monáe gracefully dodges and jukes around the blitz to demonstrate her sense of control and self-composure. The whole arrangement could’ve been chaotic without her cool and unruffled demeanor in the middle. The best way to evangelize poise and confidence in a song is by showing you can do it yourself.

Who knew Scott Storch had this in him? I’m not surprised that Big Boi is remarkable in this. As usual, his exuberant hypersonic verses put on a tutorial on rhythm, phrasing, and breath control. He doesn’t know how to pull punches; like he said, “I keep it playa while some choose to play it safe.” But when was the last time Storch kept it playa? He hasn’t created a beat this vivid and kaleidoscopic and robust since “Still D.R.E.”. Check the elements: the grumbling bassline, the reverbed handclaps, the stacatto synths, the sleek guitar chords in the second verse that showed up unannounced, the Soul II Soul citation. It’s car audio hip-hop that skates when it’s supposed to stomp. It’s a dirty south track that is as polished as a championship trophy. The chorus sounds like the right step for G-Funk: background music for an intergalactic barbeque. The production is groundbreaking in all aspects, and Big Boi on top of it is like decorating a delectable birthday cake with a million dollars. Seriously, this is really Scott Storch?

Newsflash! Sex is good. So why is singing/rapping about sex—especially in the inelegant universe of hip-hop—looked at as an artless endeavor? It’s like everyone is convinced that an artist’s work is somehow less immaculate if debased by the lurid touch of lust. In the art of torridly grinding to a beat, Ciara is Michelangelo and “Ride” is her David. Most of her singles deal with her pimping that sex appeal to anyone with a working libido, but those are hymns written by nuns compared to "Ride". She works it so good that she erases the line that separates the musician from the video ho. When she says, “they can’t wait ‘til you try-y-y-y-y me”, you are unclear if she’s alluding to her musical talents or her arousing physique, but either way, it’s a win-win situation. As usual, Ludacris turns in an invigorated guest performance when inspired by sex, expertly firing piercing syllables from his semi-automatic mouth. And obviously The-Dream does production dirty: all pounding bass, swooshing synths, and tensely coiled like post-coital bliss. It’s the perfect beat for Ciara, and she's riding it like a true artist.

It was only a few years ago when everyone was dismissing southern snap rap for being too undernourished to become more than a fad. Now in 2010, not only is it a sub-genre that deserves appreciation, but it also got so big that its style is finding its way into distant musical worlds. Even though this may sound alien to the American South, Girl Unit’s “Wut” owes itself to the thick syrupy goodness of snap rap. The popping 808s and blaring air horns could've been straight out of a T.I. track, but instead of the world-conquering self-assurance and vindicated egotism that you usually get, “Wut” has the antarctic glint of synths and chimes and the indecipherable glitch of sped-up diva voices. Because of the halved tempo, the know-it-all would group this together with the hundreds of dubstep underground hits that are flooding dancefloors all over, but to do that would be missing the allure of “Wut”. Dubstep succeeds by submerging you in its dirty euphoria and big phat subwoofer basslines; “Wut” is all clean and concentrated waves of treble in your ears.

Not that you can’t dance to any of Dan Snaith’s past tracks (I personally believe that you can dance to anything if you put your mind to it), but unlike past Caribou/Manitoba singles, “Odessa” is devised deliberately to make you shake. The drums have an urgency that hasn’t been in his discography before, and it invincibly propels the track forward when paired with the understated bass line. Sure, there exists an agogô breakdown, a birdcall and sitar solo, and a tambourine-woodblock combo to colorize the rhythm, but all in all, it’s the simplicity of the 4/4 rhythm that makes this hard to deny. Kudos to Daniel Snaith for realizing—probably from listening to Erlend Oye’s DJ mixes—that indie boys uncomfortably singing pretty melodies about sad things can make a track light and agile. Regrettably, it wasn’t the crossover hit I was hoping for that would deservingly push Caribou to the mainstream but it was the catalyst for the impromptu dance parties in my room that made 2010 a year that can’t be messed with.

I’m 27 now. I am way too old to be infuriated by people’s narrow-mindedness. If you’re content with your musical choices, and you don’t want to try out music you’ve never heard before, then that’s your own loss. Having said that, when my Swedish crush Robyn is overlooked, when the so-called pop music lovers dismiss her for being nothing but a forgotten R&B chick that made a small splash in the nineties with “Show Me Love”; that shit’s unforgivable. Robyn released three amazing singles in 2010, and if there’s an inkling of justice in the world of pop, all three should’ve been chart-toppers. But that's unrealistic hope, none of them cracked Billboard’s Hot 100. The only exposure she had on primetime American television this year is on the MTV Video Music Awards, a shortened performance of an inactive Deadmau5 remix of “Dancing On My Own”, and she's literally dancing on her own.

Part of the reason why her obscurity angers me so much is because my heart breaks for Robyn. I cried in the rain with her in “Be Mine!”, I felt her pain in “With Every Heartbeat”. It’s the way she quivers with angst in every word she sings that affects me, it's the way she recounts every agonizing detail in her lyrics. It pisses me off that she hurts so much in her songs, and she’s not even getting the proper acknowledgment for them. As fabulous as it is, “Dancing On My Own” is just way too distressing, and that’s probably how the Swedish pop princess likes it. If I caught the one I love kissing her “new friend” while I’m on the dance floor, it’s over. I don’t think I would have the proper composure to be “dancing on my own”, even if the track bumping in the discotheque is a synth-driven Moroder-inspired disco track that is properly seasoned with piquant wood blocks and 80’s gleam.

“Dancing On My Own” is about suffering for closure, suppressing despair long enough to “say goodbye”. I agree that the beat and synths are cheerfully irrepressible, but you dance to this with a lump on your throat. When the music lets up for a few seconds, and Robyn sings “I’m in a corner, watching you kiss her, ohhhhhooohohhh” unaccompanied, you can’t help but to hurt with her no matter what you’re doing. It’s the most perfect, most heart-breaking, most goosebump-generating musical moment of 2010. If you love pop music, you can’t disagree with that.

continue on to (t5!) My Year In Lists 2010: Albums! 30 to 21...

(t5!) My Year In Lists 2010: Singles! 20 to 11

2011-01-10T01:20:00.006-07:00

Singles I love, 2010.

Never would I have thought a couple of years ago that beef would commence between rappers who wear baggy jeans versus rappers who wear tight ones, and it would spawn a few diss songs from both parties, such as last year “Tight Pants Are 4 Girls” by Termanalogy and this year’s New Boyz hit “Cricketz”. Meanwhile, the hip-hop youth would surprisingly relate more to the fashionably progressive skinny jeans camp. But that’s where hip-hop is in 2010: bright-colored shirts, vintage Nikes, skinny jeans like they “starve they fabric”, and no song represents that I-don’t-give-a-fuck, bratty rebellion of wearing skinny jeans quite like “Cricketz”. The beat is expansive, spacious unlike the pants they rock. It’s appropriate that they give homage to Pharrell on the first line, because the clicking, chirping beat could’ve come out of The Neptunes’ incredibly minimal production discography. If you have listened to this single and your counterrevolutionary mindset is still making you hate on kids who wear skinnies, the New Boyz suggest that you "go fuck a clone. Get it?"

Forget the casual listeners whom obnoxiously overpraise this for the novelty of it—the immature frat guys who think anything with obscenities is hilarious, the recently brokenhearted who is using this as an anthem and is now playing this fifty times a day, the DJ who play this in wedding receptions to show off how "edgy" he is. The cursing isn’t the appeal. What’s engaging is the “ooh-ooh-ooh” he uses to punctuate every “fuck you” in the chorus. It’s the song’s structure that reminds you of the era when Motown ruled the world, back when it ain’t R&B if it’s not written by geniuses like Smokey Robinson, Barrett Strong, or Norman Whitfield. It’s the tambourine that coerces you to jiggle like a fish out of water. It’s the way Cee Lo Green is torn between whether or not he wants to love or hate, whether or not he wants to aim his bitterness towards the girl or her new boyfriend. It’s him falsettoing with such jubilance that it undercuts all the vengefulness and malevolence of the lyrics. This got stuck in everyone’s head because of all that, not because the word “fuck” is in it.

The mainstream filter-house production by DJ Ammo is shamelessly straightforward if you remove the spastic synth lead, but in a year contaminated by gruesome coalitions between R&B and dance, “4th of July (Fireworks)” just seemed to sparkle brighter than the rest. The arbitrating variable obviously is Kelis—while the Taio Cruzes and the Enrique Iglesiases of 2010 can only spout romantic banalities over their humdrum Eurodance beats, Kelis has the ability to elevate it to the empyrean. Earlier this year, I praised Rihanna’s “Only Girl (In The World)” for her triumphant bellows in the chorus, but this just takes it a massive step further (or, I guess, it was better to begin with because this existed first). When the beat cuts and all you’re left with is a ravishing piano, Kelis screams “NOTHING!!! I’LL EVER SAY OR DO!!! WILL BE AS GOOD!!! AS LOVING YOU!!!” with that granular vocals of hers, and it sounds like the fate of civilization depended on what she had to say. It’s how it’s done, citizens. This is what you fist-pump to.

I don’t know much about Norway. I know brilliant musicians such as Erlend Øye, Röyksopp, and A-Ha are from there; I know Lillehammer once hosted the Winter Olympics; I know of Patrick Thoresen, who was once a winger for the Edmonton Oilers. But I don’t know what the country’s climate is like, or what its physical geography looks like. Although if it’s as breezy or as majestic or as surreal as what Beach House made their “Norway” sound like, then visiting the country should be very high on my priority list. The single is airy, ambrosial, and viscous, the aural equivalent of dancing in a wind tunnel full of swirling lilies-of-the-valley petals. The lush synths gradually bend and detune, conforming to Victoria Legrand’s haunting alto, and she sings a melody that is unquestionably the most fetching of the duo’s not-exactly-fetching career. It survives the accusations that indie pop—especially when the genre is prefixed by the word “dream”—is only good for soundtracking boring parties and sleepy bedroom epiphanies. You shouldn't spend a trip to Norway gazing at your shoes.

We Asians are pretty awesome, aren’t we? Even though we’re sub-par drivers and have really strict parents, we have excellent food, we are superb in math, and we are more than capable in at least one form of martial arts. Our cartoons have successfully portrayed that we have mind-blowing hairstyles and our mouths are really small when it’s closed and ridiculously huge when it’s open. Sadly though, aside from ones who have released songs of questionable quality, our musicians haven’t really crossed over as well in chart pop…UNTIL NOW!!! Far East Movement and “Like A G6” have effortlessly perpetuated a few more Asian stereotypes to authenticate how awesome we truly are. Like did you know that Asians’ drink of choice is Moet and Cristal? Did you also know that sober girls act like they drunk around us? And when we’re “feelin’ so high like a G6”—the jet aircraft, mind you, and not the Pontiac car model or the six largest European Union members—we are pretty much unstoppable? Oh and not only is this awesome because it's performed by a group of Asians, the beat is a riot and it’s club anthem 2010.

If you told me that you’ve listened to “Lewis Takes Off His Shirt” and the phrase “I’m never gonna give it to you” didn’t linger in your brain for days, I would have to respectfully call you a liar. The chorus is like crack cocaine for your ears, and this is what amazes me about Owen Pallett. Aside from being a prodigious instrumentalist, a captivating storyteller, and a genius at arranging musical compositions, he has superhuman pop instincts, recognizing which combination of notes can form a melody that catches. “Lewis Takes Off His Shirt”, in addition to being unyieldingly pretty and intellectually agreeable, is a song that can enchant the masses. I realize that relatability is a bizarre trait to praise in a single that is sung by a fragile elfin voice, overly decorated with violin layers and organ arpeggios, and contains overwhelming imagery like “a hegemony armored with a thousand-watt head and seven inches of echo”. But I assure you that if given a proper opportunity, I firmly believe that “Lewis Takes Off His Shirt” skyrockets to chart mountain peaks.

The title is sort of misleading. When you see a song named “Cold War”, you envision a song that sounds like something they would serve as Drago’s entrance music in Rocky IV. Or at the very least, it should have an extremely spacious beat with a sparse amount of electronic pinging and clanging sounds, like Kanye West’s “Say You Will” or The Knife’s “We Share Our Mother’s Health”. But Janelle Monáe’s “Cold War” is way too kinetic for this title. Right after the ominous organ intro, an impellent beat explode out of nowhere, making it sound like the logical extension of OutKast’s “B.O.B.”. She sings the shit out of this track, urging her audience to have clear destination and purpose, and the warmth of her and a thousand backing vocals melts off the frost that the title might have suggested. And of course, there’s absolutely nothing cold about a guitar solo, probably the only instrument sound that can go toe to toe with Monae’s energy and incandescence. The way this resonates, it feels like the war is being held inside a volcano crater.

Sure, the original version (or the original cover of the original original version) with Alice Glass’ vocals overly decorated in sinuous effects is plenty great enough. Crystal Castles dug up a decaying single from an unknown Canadian new wave band, Platinum Blonde, and made it suitable for 8-bit-video-game soundtracks by enhancing it using transcendent sparkling synths and bitter drum machines. So The Cure’s Robert Smith isn’t rescuing anything here, but in any case, him on the mic makes a lot more sense for “Not In Love”. His addition exposes the paralyzing melancholy of the song, that hopeless attempt to convince yourself that your heart doesn’t belong to someone else anymore. Smith accomplishes that not only because his legendary croon brings clarity to the heavyhearted lyrics, but also because hearing a single syllable of his emoting voice automatically evokes the dark romantic longing that 80’s new wave keenly pursued. If only Platinum Blonde were generous enough to hand this over to The Cure when they were in the height of their success, "Not In Love" would’ve been an iconic hit of that era.

It’s kind of brash for Katy B to refer to herself in the third person on the title of her debut single, particularly since she’s at best the third most popular Katy in music behind Katy Perry and Katy Rose. I mean, “I’m On A Mission” could have been just as effective. But nevertheless, all is forgiven because “Katy On A Mission” is colossal. Katy B’s sparkling coos leave behind streaks of neon light on Benga’s mammoth dubstep production. The single encapsulates the haziness—aided by alcohol or narcotics or just being with your friends after a long week—of those club nights that you didn’t want to end, nights you’ll forever remember even if you don’t remember any of the details the morning after. Also, while Katy B sings about the wonderful feeling of autoscopy caused by music—when the beats, the bass, and melody possess your body to make you feel like you’ve lost control—you encounter the same sensation while listening to the grimy beat. “This right here, I swear, will end too soon,” and Katy B couldn’t be more right.

How appropriate is it that the producer responsible for this elephantine track is named Lex Luger, the wrestler who called himself The Narcissist once upon a time. The Narcissist was famous for posing in front of full-length mirrors before every match, an undertaking he would do to boost his confidence and to validate the egotism in his mind. In a way, the exploding beat is the mirror for Rick Ross’ 300-pound frame: it gives him power and fortitude so that he can unlesash every steamrolling boast in “(B.M.F.) Blowin' Money Fast”. The reflection he sees isn’t of himself though, but images of what he envisions himself to be: Big Meech, Larry Hoover, self-made, coked-up, iced-out motherfucker. Ross has never recorded a single this immense before, but thanks to the Luger and his beat, he’s emanating menace and leaking tenacity. When you hear this single in the club, you want to feel as self-assured as Rick Ross. That’s not the alcohol that’s making you feel enormously valiant, that’s the result of reciting “I THINK I’M BIG MEECH” and “ONE NATION! UNDER GOD!” as loud as you can.

continue on to (t5!) My Year In Lists 2010: Singles! 10 to 1...

(t5!) My Year In Lists 2010: Singles! 30 to 21

2011-01-07T02:12:00.037-07:00

Singles I love, 2010.

One of my biggest musical pet peeves is the tokenist reggae fan, the people who tell everyone how devoted they are to the genre just from listening to The Best of Bob Marley album and a couple of Shaggy singles. Someone becomes a tokenist either from intent to promote oneself as open-minded, or worse, from disinterest to expand his or her love for the genre even further. Well, tokenist Rastafarian, if you’re willing to enlarge your reggae collection, Gyptian might be someone you would be interested in. Even if the riddim is quite faint, “Hold Yuh”, his first single in four years, undoubtedly exhibits the effortlessness that reggae has. Needlepointed piano and indefatigable bass line generate a spacious contrasting loop for Gyptian to promote his tender Caribbean roots. And even though I can only understand a few snippets of the lyrics, “Hold Yuh” is delicate enough to provide an urge to spend your better days at the beach with someone you love. Now you know four reggae songs. You’re welcome.

So much have been written about the similarity between Vampire Weekend’s afro-pop style and Graceland-era Paul Simon, but the writers have neglected to compare him to another eighties pop icon, Mark Mothersbaugh. Maybe not so much to his work as a member of Devo though, but some of Vampire Weekend’s tracks sound like it should be part of Mothersbaugh’s film score/soundtrack choices. One listen to “Holiday” and you start to imagine Jason Schwartzman and one of the Wilson brothers doing some kind of whimsical activity in a Wes Anderson movie, right? Or Michael Cera on a scooter cruising around in a perfect sunny afternoon, blathering like a squirrel monkey? The fact that the lyrics recall a girl protesting against a war is disregarded. The frolicking bass line, cheerful guitar stabs, and jaunty percussions evoke cheerful images in your mind. It takes you into a vivid aural holiday, if you will, for anyone who wants to escape a dreary setting. And accomplishing it in a little more than two minutes, it sure is short and sweet.

Black and yellow is a strong color scheme. It has the ability to make everything look intense, like black and yellow Air Jordans, motorcycles, dresses, and kitchen sets. Maybe it possesses that power because it makes you think of bees, the kamikaze pilots of the animal kingdom; or, maybe because it’s the standard color combo of caution signs that say “shit will go down if you don’t pay attention to this”. And then there are Pittsburgh’s sports teams—The Steelers, Penguins, and Pirates all wear some form of black and yellow and were all winners of their sport once upon a time. That’s why you can’t blame Wiz Khalifa for dedicating this hit to his hometown; represent black and yellow and you are automatically a champion. Without a doubt, “Black & Yellow” sounds incredibly triumphant. The swarming vibraphone, foreboding drums, charming call-and-response, and Wiz Khalifa’s precision and phenomenal amount of swag solidify the song’s tremendously victorious attitude. But honestly, the colors it reps pretty much did all the work.

Sleigh Bells are the musical equivalent of eating chocolate-dipped jalapeno peppers or mangoes sprinkled with cayenne powder. The pairing may seem incongruent in theory, but they taste surprisingly magnificent together. In “Tell ‘Em”, the Brooklyn duo’s weird combination of loud and sweet is nothing like anything you’ve ever heard in 2010. Derek E. Miller’s musical framework is a spicy and abrasive tornado of serrated guitars and explosive percussions. The other side of the coin, former popstar Alexis Krauss’ candy-coated vocals playfully tiptoe around Miller’s volatile landmines, knowing that she’s too indestructible to be fearful, especially when deliciously harmonized. It’s why she’s so effectual as the older sibling that she’s conveying here. Even when she sounds sort of puerile, she’s empowered by Miller’s hulking music, giving her the confidence to drop some knowledge. When she ends the single with the advice, “you could do your best today”, she’s so emphatic that you have no choice but to make it your life’s credo.

Signs that I’m getting old? The nineties to me still feels like yesterday, but when an artist emulates music from that decade and it sounds more retro than dated, it's as depressing as seeing the sprouting grey strands of hair on my head. Alphabeat has always been an aural Delorean, a time machine to the infectious upbeat pop music of the past. If you’ve heard the singles from their last album, you’d know that they’ve effectively duplicated Like A Virgin-era Madonna singles and songs that seem like it should be used in a late 80’s John Hughes movie. It makes perfect sense then to progress their style towards mid-nineties eurodance. “Hole In My Heart” is pretty much an unearthed B-side by Snap!, especially since Stine Bramsen sounds exactly like Thea Austin in “Rhythm Is A Dancer”. Anders SG’s vocals are the weaker of the duet, but its timidness serves as an ideal antithesis to Stine’s dance temptress allure. The minor-chord piano riff, the trance synth, the handclap preset, and the slide whistle seem like components of a song I was coerced to awkwardly move to during a junior high dance.

From the little information I know about Sade, I knew she can be sultry and seductive in a track, a voice that can launch a thousand ships, but I never knew she could be so motherly. “Babyfather” is very personal to Sade; it’s a poetic song dedicated to her daughter and her daughter’s father, a Jamaican musician she and her daughter are no longer with. The reggae vibe is a nice little homage to him: a breezy, honeyed, effervescent acoustic accompaniment to compliment Sade’s velvet voice. I’m enamored with how endearingly clumsy and meandering the timing of the vocal track is. It’s almost improperly aligned with the song’s rhythm, and it’s perfect in its imperfection. I’m not a father yet, but this already brings a smile to my face, and I can only imagine how much this would affect me emotionally if I did have a child, especially the line “your daddy love come with a lifetime guarantee”. “Babyfather” sounds like a lullaby I would love to sing to my son or daughter one day.

You know all those haters that keep saying that hip-hop is stupid music for stupid people? Mythologizing the angry black male ethos? Too much incessant shouting and not enough quality lyricism? Too much violence, too much gangsta, too much braggadocio, too much homogeneity? “Hard In Da Paint” is a powerful statement aimed at the naysaying xenophobes who are stil angry by the absence of “legitimate” musical qualities in rap. It’s evidence that those mentioned above is true, times a hundred, yet it’s still undeniably astonishing! Lex Luger is the hottest hip-hop producer of 2010, and he won that crown by sticking to what he knows best—titanium-hard beats filled with gigantic horns that intimidatingly pace itself like Michael Myers on Halloween. Waka Flocka Flame, Gucci Mane’s former weed carrier, is ridiculously unsystematic, deliberately chaotic, and definitely untrained. But his bombast and recklessness fits this beat like a glove. And also, half of what makes it wonderful is how fun it is to say “Waka Flocka Flame”.

The range of style that Hayley Williams of Paramore have dabbled in is vast, encompassing the juvenile angst of emo-punk all the way to her unexciting attempt to crossover to rap as the featured vocals in B.o.B.’s “Airplanes”. But her best release this year, other than the picture she accidentally leaked on Twitter, is a single that reverts back to early zeroes Coldplay. “The Only Exception” is a stunning ballad: it has the flowing majesty of “Yellow”, a comfortable melody sung beautifully by Williams; it has the reverbed guitar of “Spies”, turning the arrangement into an opulent backing; and it has the softhearted 3/4 rhythm of “Sparks” and “We Never Change”, making this an emotional number to waltz to on weddings. Even when the drums finally intensify in the bridge, they show remarkable self-control, which is extraordinary for a band that nearly ruined a beautiful song like “My Heart” with screamo growling. If Paramore can remain in this Coldplay mindset, they just may have obtained the sound that can sell out massive arenas around the world.

Don’t get me wrong, I love me some Funeral. Even though that’s still my favorite Arcade Fire album, I admire the growth they’ve shown from that debut. The evidence can be heard in “Ready To Start”—the restraint they exhibit in this third The Suburbs single flaunts Win Butler’s maturity and self-assurance as a songwriter. When they were modest rookies, they seemed too exuberant at times, spilling all their emotions from the very start. Here, they use the ringing guitars in the intro to establish the rebellion-against-the-Man mood of the song. Butler doesn’t get all shouty right away, holding it together long enough to build tension. The pacing of the rhythm actually teases eruptions right after the first two choruses, but the band determines that the song hasn’t ripened yet. Two-thirds in, Butler climaxes, as if the anguiish that he’s trying to suppress is weighing too heavily in his heart and he couldn’t wait any longer to release it. “Now I’m ready to start,” he cries, and it was worth the wait.

It probably would’ve been a more consumer-friendly approach for Rick Ross to release a song called “Mitsubishi Lancer Music” or “Hyundai Sonata Music”. At least anything that’s more relatable than “Aston Martin Music” because I wouldn’t have the slightest clue what to bump to in a car that unattainable. Chrisette Michele likes listening to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Drake obviously prefers listening to his own Thank Me Later all day everyday. To each their own, I guess. But if J.U.S.T.I.C.E. League and Rick Rozay intend to assign “Aston Martin Music” as the prime choice for Aston Martin listening, then it's indirectly saying that you should put something on that resembles a Notorious B.I.G. track while cruising down a highway. I wrote earlier in Twitter that part of Rick Ross’ appeal is that he’s superficially filling the void left behind by Biggie. In “Aston Martin Music”, not only does Ross sound like Biggie Smalls, but the beat also contains the smoothness and splendor of old Bad Boy tracks. You almost expect Diddy to annoyingly interrupt, uttering “uh-huh yeah” after every couplet.

continue on to (t5!) My Year In Lists 2010: Singles! 20 to 11...