It happens. Things fall through the cracks. Promo CDs pile up on
your desk, unopened, or cracked only once and then forgotten.
Critically buzzed about records pass by while you’re busy listening to
an old favorite. You can’t listen to everything. There’s only so much
room in the paper each week. Whatever—I’m a bad, lazy music
critic. And I’m hungover.
But, with the year’s end approaching, it’s worth revisiting some
overlooked items of 2007 and give them their due. This is by no
means a comprehensive list (inevitably, something is being overlooked
for the overlooked list), but here are, in no particular order, some
things I regret not paying more attention to in the past year:
Burial — Untrue
More accurately, what I didn’t pay enough attention to was Burial’s
eponymous debut album, released last year. I didn’t get the hype
(sorry, Charles); I couldn’t get into Burial‘s hollowed-out
soundscapes. But Untrue has rapidly and unexpectedly become one
of my favorites of 2007. Its manipulated vocals, at once soulful and
ghostly; its collision of sounds and styles so specific to urban
London; and its deep melancholy are really like nothing else released
this year.
Grizzly Bear — Friend
As with Burial, I showed up a little late to the Grizzly Bear party,
and maybe for similar reasons—Grizzly Bear have a similar sense
of remove, with layers of distance in their songs that can make them
initially unapproachable. For Grizzly Bear, it took seeing the band
live at Sasquatch! to realize what I’d been missing. Not all bands take
to the outdoors, but Grizzly Bear’s alternately sparse and reverb-dense
songs didn’t dissipate in the open air, they filled it. Friend is an EP of alternate recordings of old songs, an unreleased track, and
covers contributed by CSS, Band of Horses, and Atlas Sound. It’s not a
bad backward introduction to the band.
Deerhunter — Cryptograms
A theme is starting to emerge here. Cryptograms is another
murky, difficult record—but after seeing the band live, it
becomes apparent that not only is the shoegazy murk pretty captivating,
but it holds hidden pop hooks worthy of Sonic Youth or My Bloody
Valentine.
Jens Lekman — Night Falls over
Kortedala
While busy celebrating locals Throw Me the Statue’s signing to
Secretly Canadian, I somehow entirely missed this record by their new
tour- and labelmate Jens Lekman. Lekman’s rich voice and showy,
nostalgic arrangements immediately bring to mind Stephin Merritt. If
anything, Lekman’s songs dive headlong into the realm of kitsch even
more than Merritt’s, but they’re still more pleasant than silly.
Adrian Orange & Her Band
Adrian Orange (better known as Thanksgiving) has assembled a
sprawling ensemble of musicians—including Phil Elverum, Calvin
Johnson, members of the Mona Reels, and others—to realize his
latest batch of songs. He trades the lo-fi hush of Thanksgiving for
arrangements influenced by reggae and Balkan brass, like some soggy,
Northwest Beirut. Just as Orange’s songwriting and voice are strong
enough to shine through lo-fi recordings, so too are they strong enough
to stand up to these more ornate treatments.
Clipd Beaks — Hoarse Lords
A pretty fair representation of the controlled chaos that is their
live show, Hoarse Lords is a swamp of drones, percussive jams,
fuzzed-out rants, gurgling bass, and gaseous psychedelia. Clipd Beaks
have something of Deerhunter’s lysergic gloom and Animal Collective’s
put-on primitivism, but they’re noisier and less poppy than either of
those groups. This is a fine album, but they’re better enjoyed
live.
The Crocodile Cafe
I didn’t exactly overlook this place this year, but I wish I’d gone
to more shows there recently (in the past year, Matthew Dear,
Celebration, and Battles were all outstanding nights at the Croc). The
sound was always good, the staff was always friendly, and it was a
great place to see shows.
It’s hard not to get depressed about things in Seattle right now.
It’s getting more expensive to live in the city, while some of the
culture that makes it worth living in is getting squeezed out. Pine
Street’s bars are turning into condos or apartments; venues are
consolidating locally and/or getting bought out by giant, out-of-state
corporations; and now the Crocodile is closed. There are other venues
in town to support, of course (and in fact the abundance of other
venues may be part of why the Croc has become less vital of late), but
the Croc was one of the good ones. 
Next week, part 2: Dan Deacon and Jimmy Joe Roche’s Ultimate
Reality, Viva Voce, Crunk Hits Vol. 4, and my home record
player.