Our Fragile Erections

Hey, can everybody just shut up for like, five seconds?

Did everything not piss me off this year? Have we swapped the unspoken Christianity of our warmblooded wills to prosthletize for canned snark (hath the shark been jumped, or were we on the other side to begin with)? Fuck, everywhere I turn it's like I can't find the love, be it buried in the humps or humorous master-whipping. I'm trying to put together a list of singles for the year and I feel sapped, disinterested, and wholly un-excited about the state of Us (are we here?). I'm with Villalobos, even if he could use a shower and a nap (it's almost December; throw in some hot cocoa and a blanket and I think I'm hurdling towards universals here). Really, Got Purp Vol. 2 is fine, but Charlemagne Palestine's Strumming Music is a fucking rainbow (thanks Beta-Tor). In Philadelphia I found a little rock & roll, cheaper pints, and an empty bowling alley. Blah blah.

Who am I kidding, though?

TOP THREE ALBUMS I FIND BASICALLY RIDICULOUS EVEN THOUGH IT SEEMS SORT OF COOL TO APPRECIATE THEM:

David Banner, Certified

Anthony, "Crossroads" really is one of the most pathetic, embarrassing songs of the year, without a doubt. Thanks for setting slide guitars alongside thick beatz; critics will claim you unknowingly captured the robust spirit of the post-Katrina south when you actually constructed the aural equivalent of Kid Rock on Sunday morning masturbating to a pin-up of Robert Johnson while checking out the Scott Stapp solo disc. Still, Banner's got a heart, which seems like a lot more than most people run on these days.

EDIT: DEAR DAVID BANNER AND ALL DAVID BANNER FANS (FANCLUB MEMBERS OR NOT): I RESPECT DAVID BANNER; I RESPECT THE BREADTH AND DEPTH OF DAVID BANNER'S PRODUCTION SKILL, SENTIMENT, AND INTELLIGENCE; I WAS JUST FEELING FIESTY. BUT "CROSSROADS" IS STILL TERRIBLE.

Devendra Banhart, Cripple Crow

If I got divine word that in fact, this guy is really the protest singer for our time, I would steal a car, point it at the East River, snort a mound of heroin, and put a cinder block on the gas pedal. No redemptive or conciliatory words. Next!

Sufjan Stevens, Illinois

So far, this guy is shaping up to be the most consistently precious and thorougly overestimated American musician of the last several decades. Dear NPR, please keep my Steve Reich out of my Harry Partch out of my Brother Danielson out of my Jim O'Rourke out of my overextended, overlong, and generally pretentious song titles.

MOST OVERRATED ALBUM OF 2005 ACCORDING TO SEVERAL NUMBER CRUNCHING EXERCISES AS PERFORMED BY THE HA-HA BREATH:

Deerhoof, The Runners Four

I don't hate this album, it's just like, kinda boring. Is this going to be one of those things where in three years I'm going to have to call up all of my friends who liked this album but cowered under the bitter sorcery of my rhetoric and apologize? Maybe. Maybe we just let our expectations overshadow the reality of the whole thing.

ALBUMS THAT JERKED THE LARGEST VOLUME OF TEARS FROM MY OTHERWISE INCREDIBLY CALLOUS SPIRIT:

Hold Steady, Separation Sunday (by a rather wide margin)

THE BLOG THAT WHEN IT STARTED I WAS LIKE "WHATEVER" BUT I ACTUALLY RESPECT THE HELL OUT OF AND REALLY ENJOY:

Tom Breihan's Status Ain't Hood. It's not weird, it's not hilarious, and it's not gimmicky at all; it is honest, engaged, consistent, and pretty informative.

NUMBER OF TIMES I LISTENED TO HEAVEN OR LAS VEGAS BY THE COCTEAU TWINS WHILST UNDER THE INFLUENCE OF ANY NUMBER OF DIFFERENT SUBSTANCES:

A really startling amount, actually.

Say it with me:

Though futures are silver and futures are gold, the glow of the present can never be sold.

Sunday, away!