Cohen’s voice has been worn down to a scratchy whisper at points, and as with Johnny Cash’s famous posthumous albums, hearing his raw-leather voice at this age feels almost transcendent to a point. It’s hard not to love Cohen’s deliveries, whether he’s singing two octaves lower than most basses or sometimes falling into a pitchless spoken word. Although I didn’t love all of the stylistic and instrumental choices, Cohen’s somber spirituality still cuts through the old-school instrumentation and folk songwriting. In fact, I couldn’t help but feel like the name Old Ideas was about a lot more than his age.

Unsurprisingly, issues of faith, love, relationship, and identity don’t seem to get any easier with age. In “Going Home”, Cohen sings about finding comfort in a home and even about the comfort of having a home beyond the grave: “Going home, without my burden/Going home, behind the curtain/Going home, without the costume/That I wore”. As a person in the “twentysomething” age group, I tend to focus on the fact that the kingdom of God is at hand and that we’ve got a lot of work to do in our lives. But whenever I hear a voice like Cohen’s, I’m reminded of how important it is to remember Jesus’ promise to the thief hanging on the cross next to Him: “Truly I say to you, today you shall be with me in Paradise.”

Cohen still doubts his faith and experiences unrequited love, and his setting of these timeless themes still really does resonate with me. After all, that is what we as Christians go around telling people about, isn’t it? We’ve got ideas thousands of years old, but their implications for how we should live today are endless.

Old Ideas lacks the production gloss and attention to detail that most modern albums have, yet it’s simplicity and focus on songwriting feels refreshing. The album is a reminder that, in the midst of our neophiliac culture, sometimes it’s important to stop and listen to some old ideas for a change — especially from people who’ve been through a thing or two in their lives.

Dead Can Dance

The duo of Lisa Gerrard and Brendan Perry has often been lumped in with the “goth” scene, but their music transcends such easy classification. Though they began as a Joy Division-esque post-punk outfit in the early 80s, their discography saw them weaving medieval, renaissance, and neo-classical sounds together with sounds and instrumentation from Asia, Africa, and South America. And at the core of their enigmatic music, there were the voices: Gerrard’s heavenly, operatic vocals and Perry’s earthy baritone. The duo parted ways after 1996′s Spiritchaser: both members went on to solo careers, and Gerrard gained further attention thanks to her numerous soundtrack contributions, including The Insider, Gladiator, The Passion of the Christ (though it was later withdrawn), and Deus Ex: Human Revolution. The duo announced last year that they’d be releasing a new album in 2012, as well as embarking on a world tour. In preparation for that, they’ve been releasing EPs of material culled from various concerts over the years. The third EP is now available on Dead Can Dance’s website, and features an especially gorgeous rendition of the traditional Irish ballad “The Wind That Shakes the Barley”.

If you want to hear more of the duo’s music, numerous compilations have been released. I’m partial to Dead Can Dance (1981–1998), which features four discs (three CDs and one concert DVD) of material from throughout their career. If that’s a bit too daunting, then Wake provides a nice two-disc overview of the band’s career.

The Mary Onettes

I’ve mentioned The Mary Onettes in passing in some previous “Grace Notes” entries, but never written about them specifically. Given that they’re set to release a new EP later this month, I thought now would be a good time to correct that oversight. The Mary Onettes rose to acclaim a couple of years ago with a slew of EPs and albums that found the quartet harnessing every good and golden sound from 80′s new wave, synth-pop, and post-punk (e.g., yearning vocals, orchestral synths, chiming guitars, mopey melodies). Sure, The Mary Onettes’ influences were pretty obvious — e.g., The Cure, New Order, The Jesus & Mary Chain, A-Ha, Echo & The Bunneymen — but the quartet so fully embodied their influences that their decades-old aesthetic ended up sounding new and exciting all over again. Their newest single, “Love’s Taking Strange Ways”, finds the band muting the 80′s influence somewhat, and one can hear some slight influences from producer Dan Lissvik (formerly of the acclaimed “Balearic House” outfit Studio).

If this piques your curiosity, then be sure to check out some of their older material, such as this Soundcloud set.

Saint Etienne

The term “guilty pleasure” is often used to explain away those CDs, movies, books, etc., that would normally bring us shame and derision if we ever claimed to enjoy them outright. And at first blush, Saint Etienne would seem to be prime “guilty pleasure” material with their dance club-friendly tunes. But with Saint Etienne, the whole is so much greater than the sum of its parts. From their exquisite melodies and retro arrangements to the avant-garde flourishes that pop up throughout their albums, from Sarah Cracknell’s lovely voice (my friends and I had a term for her kind of voice: “phone book voice”, as in, “I’d buy an album of her just singing through the phone book”) to their lyrics touching on middle-class malaise and existential ennui, Saint Etienne’s music is pure pop music on a whole ‘nother level. They have a new album, their first in seven years, coming out later this year, and the first single (“Tonight”), can be heard below.

For a good introduction to Saint Etienne, track down a copy of Smash the System: Singles and More. The compilation highlights the group’s numerous singles, including their break-out hit, a dance-house cover of Neil Young’s “Only Love Can Break Your Heart”.

Lana Del Rey, aka Lizzy Grant, may have been the most talked-about music story in 2011. That is, outside another infamous young singer who fired up debate over ethics and music earlier in the year. And yes, I’m talking about Rebecca Black.

The two don’t often get put in the same sentence, but in my mind there is a real and serious connection going on between the two. While Rebecca Black mostly just gave a lot of people a lot to laugh about, I took her role in our culture pretty seriously back in August when I wrote an article insisting that were we in some way partially responsible for her. After all, we are the ones who have the consumed cultural products that have somehow encouraged Rebecca Black, her parents, and the Ark Music Factory to believe she could succeed.

In some ways, I could understand the outcry over Black though. After all, “Friday” is absolutely hysterical. But Lana Del Rey? Did people have good reasons to be offended by the fact that Lana Del Rey wasn’t as “indie” as they had thought? If it wasn’t for Rebecca Black, would people have given any thought to the fact that Lana Del Rey wasn’t the singer’s real name and that she may or may not have gotten lip surgery and that she may or may not have been “engineered” by producers and agents to trick hipsters?

It’s as if, all of a sudden, we have become hyper-aware of how the music we listen to was made — as if we have become concerned that it had been made by underpaid workers in an assembly line in a Chinese factory. Don’t get me wrong: I think this new sense of awareness is something we should be thanking the “Friday” and Ark Music Factory incident for. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves either — it’s not like Lana Del Rey is any different than most other artists out there, whether they consider themselves “indie” or “mainstream.”

Marketing, branding, image, and production are not just afterthoughts in our musical culture — they are the bread and butter and they always have been. What would “Like a Rolling Stone” have been outside of the hippie movement? What would “Smells Like Teen Spirit” be without the 90s grunge movement it was part of? A band or artist doesn’t need to be signed to Interscope Records to care about stuff like what kind of clothes they wear, how long their beards are, and where their political/spiritual beliefs fall. That is why you won’t read many music reviews that talk a lot about music theory or technical performance skills.

The simple truth is that songs cannot simply be removed from their cultural context as if they are some kind of organism on a Petri dish in a science lab. Nor should we want them to be.

Although I haven’t the knowledge or viewing experience to comment on the films up for consideration this year at the Oscars, after Trent Reznor’s surprise victory last year, I had high expectations going into the award season this when it came to the music. Even though Best Original Score isn’t exactly the most talked-about category, film scores deserve a lot more attention than they are often given. Before I get started, I suggest checking out the entire oscar list here. Here are the nominees that I’m concerning myself with:

Best Original Score:

The Adventures of Tin Tin – John Williams

The Artist – Ludovic Bource

Hugo – Howard Shore

Tinker Tailer Sailor Spy – Alberto Iglesias

War Horse – John Williams

Before I complain about scores that got the big snub, I’ll give you my predictions and hopes for the category. To get right to the point, I’m really hoping for a win for Ludovic Bource for his work on the The Artist. I haven’t seen the film yet, but after listening to the score and reading a lot about the film, it is, without a doubt, the most creative and beautiful use of score out of the five. Here is a film who’s very existence depends on the score that the relatively unknown French composer Ludovic Bource has crafted and the whole thing just oozes with style and that classy 1920s sound. Bource already picked up the win from the Golden Globes, but if Hugo or War Horse end up gaining any momentum for bigger Oscar categories, I could easily see the Academy awarding Howard Shore or John Williams’ more traditional-sounding scores.

But don’t think that I haven’t got my list of Academy snubs. Personally, I absolutely adored Trent Reznor’s score for 2010′s The Social Network, but was not nearly as impacted by his more recent work on Girl With The Dragon Tattoo so I’m okay with that not having made the cut. The real scores that I missed on the list are the Drive soundtrack by Cliff Martinez,  Alexandre Desplat’s Tree of Life score and both of Jonny Greenwood’s scores for We Need To Talk About Kevin and Norwegian Wood.

Jonny Greenwood is one of the strongest composers alive right now, but has been constantly snubbed by the Academy — so not a lot of surprises there. Drive, however, is a different case. Because Drive was not even shortlisted for Best Original Score, I have a feeling it was disqualified for the few songs by other artists at the beginning of the soundtrack. To me, the fact that a technicality could keep Martinez’s score from being recognized alone shows to how much the Academy is living in the dark ages. Martinez’s work on Drive is powerful and borderline revolutionary — it’s what should have been the followup to Trent Reznor’s win last year.

My feeling is that there are these incredible artists out there who are finally making their way to scoring films and giving them brilliant musical touches that traditional composers have been thus far unable to do. So many of these “traditional” scores could easily be switched around to other films — whether its the big sweeping themes of John Williams or the intense action-sequence drones by the likes of Hans Zimmer — many times it’s just a composer switching from “epic mode” to “romance mode” to “intense mode” with very little thought going into what the film is actually trying to do. Don’t get me wrong, I like these composers just as much as anyone else. But with two nods to John Williams, I can’t help feel like the Academy is stagnating.

I’m of the persuasion that the way we recognize and receive a medium like music or film is as important a cultural product as the art itself — in other words, things like the Grammy’s and the Oscar’s tell us a lot about the culture we live in. As a music fan and film score nerd, I’d hate to see the Academy go in the way of the Grammy’s and become another self-congratulatory celebration of the safe and the predictable.

1. M83 – Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming

There’s something so thrilling to me about an artist willing to toss out previous expectations for him or herself and dream up something as ambitious as Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming. The double-album is surreal and exciting In an interview with Pitchfork from earlier this year, frontman Anthony Gonzalez talks about the kinds of movies he played in the studio while working on the album. “A lot of Terrence Malick, David Lynch, Gus Van Sant. A lot of like experimental stuff like Maya Deren. I’m not gonna watch, like, Toy Story.” I found the quote pretty entertaining, as I had previously written about how Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming required the kind of childlike faith and acceptance that a Pixar film did. In many ways, I still stand by that comment. These kinds of films have a way of tapping into that spark within us that has become dulled down by years of disappointment and doubt. They have a way of speaking to us as humans — beyond any generational gaps or cultural enigmas that divide us into groups. Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming did that for me.

A lot of people I know really liked a couple of the hits off the album such as “Midnight City” or “Claudia Lewis”, but we’re often bogged down by the numerous instrumentals and extraneous length of the album — and I can totally get that. However, Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming is the kind of album that will only let you in once you let your guard down. So I would encourage you to grab some headphones and dive into the 72-minute-long ride that M83 has constructed with an open mind and open heart — you won’t be disappointed. -Luke Larsen

2. Gang Gang Dance – Eye Contact

I’ve listened to Gang Gang Dance for quite awhile now, but it wasn’t until Eye Contact that their music finally and truly clicked for me. It’s not that their music suddenly became more accessible: it’s still as crazy and chaotic and manic as ever. Listening to Eye Contact is akin to sending the radio dial scudding through the stations and catching snippets of this or that: some acid house here, some early 80’s goth/post-punk there, a wee bit of some obscure Bollywood soundtrack over there.Indeed, the album seems so full of sounds, ideas, and genres that it threatens to unravel at any moment, especially on songs like “Glass Jar” and “MindKilla”. That it never does, but instead, gets bigger and crazier without ever becoming less catchy or listenable, is a testament to Gang Gang Dance’s peculiar brand of genius. -Jason Morehead

3. tUnE-yArDs – W H O K I L L

I love hearing an artist make the leap.

Follow-up albums are a tricky business. “Jinx” has the adjective “sophomore” knitted to it for a reason. An artist’s album #2 can earn the “highly anticipated” tag by doing one of the following: displaying a rough-hewn sound that hints at future greatness (e.g. Sufjan Stevens’s A Sun Came) or melting minds with an out-of-left-field collection that’s so original it makes you wonder if the artist is up to besting it (e.g. Joanna Newsom’s The Milk-Eyed Mender). While the 2009 debut from tUnE-yArDs, BiRd-BrAiNs, was more of the former (singles “Sunlight” and “Fiya” were standouts), it had the stylistic downsides of the latter. Here was the album’s press release catch: Merril Garbus, tUnEyArDs’ lead tunesmith, made the entire album using a handheld digital recorder and Audacity software. Sure, the collection demonstrated Garbus’s dexterous voice and askew ukulele-shredding, but how much further could she stretch that aesthetic? I was nervous.

When I heard WHOKILL’s lead single “Bizness,” I found my fears were unjustified. Garbus betters her debut in two ways. First, she ups her production values without sacrificing her music’s edge. The music retains its difficult, cacophonous moments, while trading up for the type of killer rhythm section only a studio can capture. WHOKILL swings, rocks, and flat-out grooves. Second, Garbus ups her lyrical game, not by dropping her confessional lyrics, but by projecting herself into more situations than simply relationships-gone-bad. National identity and gentrification get thrown in the pot along tales of body image and romantic love. She even tosses in a surrealistic lullaby. Her voice was always strong. Now that she’s got something substantial to say, it’s even stronger. I won’t doubt her again.  -Jonathan Sircy

4. Youth Lagoon – The Year of Hibernation

Trevor Powers isn’t doing anything that most independent song writers his age aren’t–melding hushed vocals, intimate melodies, and nostalgic lyrics. The difference between Powers and his contemporaries is that Powers is making such music imminently believable. Power masters to naturally build his particular brand of lo-fi into something vibrant and heartfelt. Consequently, The Year of Hibernation was the 2011 album that most fascinated me. I couldn’t stop listening to it and annoying my friends until they listened to it too.

Powers’ songs are not only refreshing in their tightly woven arrangements but also in their hopeful idealism. In “Cannons”, Powers sings, “I have more dreams than you have posters of your favorite teams / You’ll never talk me out of this.” While the end of such dreams is never quite revealed, the sentiment is welcome. There are brief moments of darkness throughout the album but whatever demons Powers is fighting all seem manageable. The Year of Hibernation is a delightful album about growing up–it’s naive at times and unabashedly nostalgic, but as I seek to live productively in an ever more complicated world, such nostalgic ventures become more and more necessary. -Drew Dixon

5. Bon Iver – Bon Iver

The time gap between Bon Iver’s 2008 debut For Emma, Forever Ago and this year’s self-titled Bon Iver was way, way too long.  I’m still a bit annoyed about all that.  But Mr. Vernon laid a sophomore album on us in 2011 that made the wait almost forgivable (almost).

Trading up from his signature haunting stripped-down acoustic ballads to a haunting full-on indie orchestra, Vernon’s soulful stylings led us weeping through ten magnificent songs that rang with wondrous ache, culminating in the glory of “Calgary” before slowly closing the door and leaving us alone once again.  Bon Iver was heart-wrenchingly beautiful and brief, easily and surely one of the most well-crafted and moving albums of 2011.

And now that it’s all over, we get to wait yet again.  *sigh* -Kirk Bozeman

6. Josh Pearson – Last of the Country Gentlemen

Ten years ago, Josh T. Pearson was a wild-eyed prophet, a man on a mission from God to tell the world of an impending apocalypse and lead the faithful into the Promised Land of Texas. He was the frontman for Lift To Experience, a psychedelic rock band for the ages, and their concept album The Texas-Jerusalem Crossroads was garnering acclaim left and right. Ten years later, and Pearson is a broken man singing wry songs of heartache. Divorce and break-ups will do that to you. Last of the Country Gentlemen is hard album to listen to, from Pearson’s brutally honest lyrics to his sloppy acoustic guitar-work to the album’s threadbare production. That, and most of the songs cross the ten-minute mark, often leaving Pearson gasping as he sings of betrayal, infidelity, guilt, and hatred. But sad songs are universal songs, and even if you’ve never experienced the pain of divorce, Pearson’s honest, no-holds-barred account makes for a compelling and captivating listen. -Jason Morehead

7. Fleet Foxes – Helplessness Blues

Musically, Fleet Foxes’ sophomore album felt like a gradual evolution from indie-folk band’s popular debut. There was some added instrumentation, more spontaneity, and tighter production, but it still very much sounded like the same band doing what they do best. Lyrically, however, Helplessness Blues turned the table on the idealist and fanciful themes of their self-titled album to find a As Occupy protests come to an end and another election cycle awaits, Helplessness Blues was almost prophetic in its depiction of a generation coming to terms with it itself. Frontman Robin Pecknold writes about debt and borrowing in “Bedouin Dress”, finding your place in the world in “Helplessness Blues”, and spiritual desperation on “The Shrine / An Argument”; it’s the kind of album that a generation can find itself in — like Highway 61 Revisited or Nevermind. I know those are big names to live up to, but to me, Helplessness Blues feels grand enough to fit all my hopes, insecurities, disillusions, and passions into it — and I don’t think I’m alone. -Luke Larsen

8. Jay Tholen – Mud Pies or Bread and Wine

I discovered Jay Tholen at a time when I was frustrated with the majority of Christian music. Often times Christian music seems bent on making us feel better about ourselves by singing about how spiritual we are. Such sentiments are refreshingly absent from Tholen’s dense and deeply spiritual album Mud Pies or Bread and Wine. This is Christian music with which I can identify–it’s honest, self aware, and unabashedly truthful. There is an honest beauty to many of the songs that lend credibility to simple lyrics like “Jesus is real, He’ll never fail” and “You have reached into my heart and made it beat again for you.”

Tholen is a chip tune artist and if you are curious about what that means, you should listen to our end of the year music podcast in which we interviewed Jay. However, Mud Pies or Bread and Wine exhibits a fascination with more than 8 bit sounds as Tholen is sampling from a wide variety of sources–from old Christian music to newer sounds alongside classic videogame melodies. For various reasons, I have recently found the world of Christian contemporary music rather depressing lately. Consequently  I will always remember Mud Pies or Bread and Wine as the album that made me excited about the possibilities of Christian music again. Also it’s 100% free to download! -Drew Dixon

9. Kate Bush – 50 Words for Snow

10. Neon Indian – Era Extrana

I was blown away by M83′s Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming just like everyone else, but if I am honest, it wasn’t long before I was back to listening to Era Extrana which is often deeply reminiscent of Saturdays = Youth. Perhaps, its not fair to compare Neon Indian with M83 as they represent different genres but I just couldn’t get past how richly arranged Alan Palomo’s latest work is. So while “Midnight City” was the song I was often singing in my head, “Hex Girlfriend,” “Halogen,” and “Fallout” were the songs I found most enriched my commute.

Era Extrana represents Palomo’s most accessible work to date and at times almost feels reminiscent of more popular acts like Passion Pit or MGMT and yet it manages to refrain from relying to heavily on pop sensibilities. From start to finish Era Extrana is an album that demands close attention while still providing glorious escapes. -Drew Dixon

Honorable Mentions: These albums sadly couldn’t make the top 1o but some of our writers felt strongly enough to write about them anyway:

David Bazan – Strange Negotiations 

David Bazan broke up with God on his last album, 2009’s “Curse Your Branches.” Trading the role of storyteller for confessional poet, Bazan married raw lyrics to the most complex music production of his career. The results were mixed. It was as if Bazan’s theological doubt had been sublimated into his musical decisions. Good songs were hidden behind extraneous layers of studio gloss. Was it Dostoyevsky who wrote that in a world without God, every overdub is permitted?

In contrast, this year’s “Strange Negotiations” shows Bazan recapturing a vibrant, stripped-down sound while retaining his lyrical edge. The result is his best full-length since 2002’s “Control” when he was still recording under the Pedro the Lion moniker. Bazan continues to harbor antipathy towards Jehovah (the word “God” first appears on album opener “Wolves at the Door” as half of a profane adjective), but this album shows him doing more negotiating than railing. Every song features the word “you,” as Bazan’s turns his keen eye from the heavens to the people around him. The best songs trade “you” and “I” verses as Bazan exposes himself to the same alternating disdain and compassion as the people he’s addressing.

It’s all held together by tight, laser-focused music that features four-on-the-floor drums, supple bass lines, and Bazan’s increasingly ragged voice. Everything peaks in the bridge of album standout “Eating Paper.” “While this may be the rare occasion where high tides lift all boats,” Bazan wails, stretching his voice to the breaking point, “I’m keeping my head down under the water, ‘cause man, I’ve got to get there on my own.” Immediately, the drums cut out, replaced by handclaps. A piano joins the guitar riff. It sounds like a man physically trying to get there, and for at least one album, it works. -Jonathan Sircy

Imaginary Flying Machines – Princess Ghibli

Minecraft

I’ve never played Minecraft the video game, so I can’t personally confirm whether or not it deserves to be CAPC’s favorite game of 2011 or not (though I trust Drew’s opinion). But I can say that I’ve been rather obsessed with C418′s Minecraft soundtrack over the last couple of weeks. I stumbled across it when I did a search for “ambient” music on Bandcamp, and was quickly won over by its charming atmospherics. While it does venture into some darker and more abstract territory (e.g., “Death”, “Oxygène”, ”Clark”), the majority of C418′s work reveals a more melodic, even whimsical side: watery synths, sparse piano and woodwind melodies, stirring string arrangements, and exotic rhythms come together to evoke shades of Joe Hisaishi’s Studio Ghibli soundtracks as well as “true” ambient artists such as Vidna Obmana and Tangerine Dream. And whereas a lot of “ambient” music requires the use of long-form pieces to evoke a sense of space, C418 does it in a more condensed form — the longest track just crosses the four minute mark — which adds to the impact. By turns contemplative and exuberant, uplifting but with a melancholy streak, C418′s soundtrack paints a picture of an intriguing and wonder-filled environment, and beckons you to enter it and explore to your heart’s content. Highly recommended, even if you’re not that much of a gamer.

You can listen to, and purchase, the Minecraft soundtrack from C418′s Bandcamp page.

Last week, I looked toward the new year by jotting down some New Year’s Music Resolutions for 2012. This week, I thought it would be fitting to list some of my most anticipated releases of 2012. I have more details for some of these and less for others, but all been officially announced. There are a ton of great releases on the horizon, but these are my most anticipated.

The Shins, Port of Morrow (03/12)

It’s been awhile since I’ve cared or thought about The Shins, but truthfully, they’ve got a special place in my heart (even if Zach Braff and Natalie Portman were the ones to introduce me to them). I recently got a chance to see The Shins live, and the excitement they brought to the stage got me excited to hear more from their first record in five years.

mewithoutYou (TBA)

I had never been more than passing listener of mewithoutYou, but their take on indie folk rock in their previous album, It’s All Crazy! It’s All False! It’s All A Dream! quickly became one of my favorite albums of 2009. I am really anticipating more spoken word ramblings from frontman Aaron Weiss and the band’s quirky theological underpinning.

Lana Del Rey, Born 2 Die (01/31/12)

Lizzie Grant’s rise to fame was one of the biggest stories of 2011 — something like the other side of the Rebecca Black coin. Despite all the controversy, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to hearing more from her debut full-length album and seeing if the music lives up to the hype.

Five Iron Frenzy (TBA)

The idiosyncratic Christian ska band’s breakup has been well documented by the band and others. When asked about a reunion, Reese Roper himself said, “If we do get back together, I think you should make us all eat a handful of mayonnaise.” Yet within hours of launching their Kickstarter campaign, we have a new FIF album on the way. Do I still like Christian ska as I did in eighth grade? Probably not. Am I excited nonetheless? You bet.

Janelle Monae (TBA)

Monae put out one of my favorites albums of recent years, the huge afro-pop concept album, The ArchAndroid. After considering every one of the album’s eighteen tracks as my favorite at some point or another, I am now ready to see what Janelle Monae has up her sleeve next. After hinting at possibly even releasing two studio albums in 2012, I can’t help but foresee this year being another big year for the young artist.

Derek Webb (TBA)

While a studio album has been officially announced, not much else is known about the new project from Derek Webb. Last year, Webb released the beautiful instrumental worship album Feedback, but has taken drastic style changes with every studio album he puts out. All I really know for sure is this: It will be something new and something controversial — just what I’d expect from everyone’s favorite CCM outcast.

What albums are you looking forward to this year?

Christmas is over, and it’s that time of the year when we start looking forward to another year and the dreadful idea of considering New Year’s resolutions once again. This is what’s on my mind heading into another year of music-listening . . . feel free to add some of these to your own resolution list.

Don’t let genres or stereotypes hold you back from experiencing different kinds of music.

It’s easy to fall into very specific music circles — reading certain publications, visiting the same blogs, and following the same artists. I can totally understand that, after all, we like what we like. But a year ago, I was at a point where I was turned off by anything that fell into the category of “Christian music” or “CCM,” feeling that it was too easy to pander to my faith to sell CDs. While that might still be true in some respects, several artists have released albums this year (like Switchfoot, John Mark McMillan, and Derek Webb) that have shown me how expanding the possibilities of subgenres like Christian rock can sometimes happen from within. Similarly, albums like Florence + The Machine’s Ceremonials and Beyonce’s 4 have helped me open up to mainstream pop in a new way.

Monitor your listening habits.

There are seemingly endless ways to do this these days. Whether it’s last.fm or Spotify, it’s now easier than ever to access music and see what you have been listening to throughout the year. However, beyond that, in this next year, I am going to attempt to pay more attention to how much time I spend with albums and in what setting I do that. There’s no question the ever-changing digital audio scene is changing what music is and what it means, but we will never know the positive or negative effects of the changes unless we are aware of how they are affecting us as music-listeners.

See more live music and buy more vinyl.

As much as going out to see bands or going down to a record store seems irrelevant, rarely have I ever regretted doing such things. Often times seeing a band perform live or even putting on a record with friends can totally change how the music hits us. Next year, I want to spend less time listening to music while staring at my computer screen with headphones on and more time experiencing music in more physical, tangible ways (see fellow CaPC writer Jason Morehead’s excellent article “Music Made Physical” for more on this). In a sort-of related side note, I am also going to attempt to see more films next year even just for the point of hearing more soundtracks (because I can’t get enough of them!).

Give every album you encounter a chance.

I don’t know about you guys, but I’ve been caught off guard by a number of albums in the past year. One of the biggest examples for me was M83′s new album Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming. You can read my reflections on the album in a previous post, but I will say that it was only when I allowed myself to dive into the album without any preconceptions that was I able to experience it for all it was worth. It’s important to remember that not every kind of music is meant to hit you on the first listen. While first impressions on important, I’m afraid it’s become far too easy to pass off an album based on a 30-second iTunes preview. After all, we’ve been taught not too judge books by their cover or people based on Facebook profiles (or did I just make that up?) — why wouldn’t we do the same with music?

Those are my New Year’s resolutions for music in 2012, and I hope they gave you something to think about and look forward to in 2012. If you have any of your own, feel free to share below!

[C]assette devotees say that tapes are underappreciated. They see cassettes following in the shadows of their analog brethren, vinyl records, which are currently enjoying a renaissance.

[...]

Most music lovers don’t miss the hiss, the background noise caused when the tape passes over the playback head. “Listening to a cassette for quality is like driving a Smart Car in the Indy 500,” says Bob Lefsetz, author of a music newsletter and blog, who says the cassette is a poor music medium.

The hiss is part of the magic for cassette lovers. “Tape hiss has the same amount of charm as a little crackle when listening to a record has,” says Mr. Thordarson. “It makes it seem more real.”

Then there’s the smell. “I want them fresh, sealed in the package,” says André Sirois, 31, who hunts for unopened tapes to add to his collection. “I know one day I’ll rip them open and smell that sweet plasticy smell, and I’m going to enjoy how I used to enjoy music, as an old dude.”

I was recently cleaning out the basement when I came across a box of old cassettes, most of them mixtapes that I’d either made for playing in the car or received from various Internet acquaintances as part of the many mixtape swaps I once participated in. There were also several old Christian alternative titles in there — e.g., The Prayer Chain’s Whirlpool EP, Under Midnight’s self-titled debut, My Little Dog China’s The Velvis Carnival — that I listened to religiously (npi) in high school.

And finally, there was the battered old black cassette of Cure songs that my friend Leah gave me as a birthday gift, a formative event in my development as both a music fan and an angst-ridden teenager. Leah was one of the coolest kids I knew in high school — and in our senior year, she was in a car accident and died just a few weeks before her 18th birthday, an event that haunted me long after I graduated. I’d forgotten about that cassette, but upon seeing it again, I realized just how important it had been over the years as a reminder of a very good friend. I haven’t listened to it in almost two decades now, and it’s in such bad shape that I’ll probably never listen to it again for fear of ruining it, but I can never throw it away: too many memories are wrapped around its spools.

Discovering that cache of cassettes was an instant nostalgia rush, but it had nothing to do with their smell. Cassettes, like vinyl, do indeed have a sensorily affecting aspect to them. Like most folks these days, I don’t really miss cassettes themselves — CDs sound better and don’t wear out so easily, and digital formats like MP3s are much more convenient — but I do miss both the physicality and the intentionality that cassettes lent to music. And there was no better example of these aspects than the mixtape process.

Creating a mixtape was an editorial process: You were forced to consider the limitations of the cassette’s sides when compiling your playlist so that you could fit in all of the songs you wanted to share with someone and in the right order. (For the record, I always used high-quality 90-minute Maxell tapes: nothing but the best if you were getting one of my mixes!) You had to carefully consider the recipient: you had no room for filler so you had to think about their tastes and requests. If the recipient was someone you had a crush on, this became even more important: every song on that mixtape had to leave them swooning over your taste, coolness, and thoughtfulness.

You then spent hours hunkered down in front of your stereo, focused on pressing the “Record” and “Pause” buttons at just the right times while, if necessary, fading the volume between songs to create perfect transitions. If you made a mistake, you had to rewind without going too far back lest you overwrote any of the previous song, and then try again — or you just threw away the cassette and started over from scratch. You had to listen to every minute of this process as you were creating your mix (high-speed dubbing was, let’s be honest, a cheat). And finally, you had to write down the song titles on those flimsy little sleeves that blank cassettes came with. (Disclosure: I made most of my tape covers on my dad’s Macintosh LC. They represented some of my first forays into graphic design… and they really sucked.) All in all, it was a task that, in all of its frustrating and painstaking glory, just can’t be duplicated in this day and age of iTunes playlists.

At the risk of sounding like a Luddite, I realized, as I was cracking open those plastic cases for the first time in at least a decade, how much I missed those things. I was reminded of how disembodied, disconnected, and disposable music can seem in this era of iTunes, MP3s, and “the cloud.” There are, of course, many benefits to these modern technologies, such as near-instant access to massive music libraries. However, I’m kidding myself if I think that I’m not giving up something valuable in its own right, something that can add another layer of meaning and context to my music. That old black cassette, with Leah’s ornate handwriting all over the cover, is a powerful anchor for the relationships and memories borne out of a shared love for music, an anchor that stands in spite of loss. The same holds true, to a lesser degree, for all of the mixtapes that I’ve recently uncovered.

Now, such an anchor is not necessarily essential to enjoying music and finding it rewarding: I certainly not suggesting that people who have never used cassettes have some sort of hurdle to appreciating music. But I do know that the tens of thousands of MP3s in my iTunes library have little that’s comparable to the intentionality, thoughtfulness, and time contained within old cassettes from friends now long gone.

Talk Talk

Though they originally rose to fame as a Duran Duran-esque synthpop band in the ’80s, Talk Talk had evolved into something very different by the decade’s end. Spirit of Eden (1988) and Laughing Stock (1991) found the band moving in a more avant-garde, jazz-influenced direction characterized by subtle, meandering song structures, pastoral ambience, and Mark Hollis’ plaintive voice and cryptic lyrics. The move may have been career suicide — their new sound was a complete one-eighty from their earlier, more radio-friendly material — but the band’s influence has lived on and only grown stronger, even two decades after their break-up. Radiohead, Portishead, Shearwater, Sigur Rós, DJ Shadow, Bark Psychosis, Elbow, Low, and others have been influenced by Hollis and his bandmates — and many of them are contributing to Spirit of Talk Talk, a book due out in Spring 2012 that chronicles the band’s career and influence. In the meantime, if you haven’t listened to Talk Talk — or if you only know them as a result of No Doubt covering “It’s My Life” back in 2003 — then pick up a copy of Spirit of Eden or Laughing Stock. They both come with my highest “Grace Notes” recommendation.

HTRK

I’ve put off writing about HTRK’s Work (work, work) for a few months now, even though I’ve been listening to it on a fairly regular basis. For one thing, it’s difficult to characterize: one could file it under “Electronica”, but that gives short shrift to the album’s semi-industrial soundscapes and the world-weary atmosphere that permeates its songs. Tone-wise, it’s a bit intimidating as well. Calling it “dark” barely scratches the surface: between Jonnine Standish’s lethargic vocals and disturbing lyrics, Nigel Yang’s ragged-yet-ephemeral guitar noises, and the glacial beats and synth-work, the whole album seems to enveloped in a cloud of perpetual haze. Indeed, Blade Runner-esque cityscapes often come to mind while listening to the album. But just as Blade Runner‘s dystopic, permanently shrouded sprawl was often visually intoxicating, Work (work, work) can also be sonically intoxicating. There’s a certain ghostly allure at work in these songs, as well as a desperation that one can’t help but trace back to the 2010 suicide of Standish and Yang’s bandmate Sean Stewart. You can listen to the entire album here.

Sam Billen

Back in October, I told you about Sam Billen’s Kickstarter campaign to fund his holiday project, A Light Goes On. The project was successfully funded, and it’s now available for your holiday enjoyment and edification. A Light Goes On‘s artistic roster is pretty impressive, including musical and visual contributes from the likes of Half-Handed Cloud, The Tenniscoats, Timbre, Dan Billen, Danny Joe Gibson, Beau Jennings, and of course, Sam Billen himself. If you’re looking for some original holiday music to listen to, or an alternative to the packaged Christmas muzak that fills stores and shopping malls this time of year, then A Light Goes On might just be the thing for you.

The Roots have always had a thinking man’s rap group, and their new concept album, undun, is certainly no exception. The album tells the story of a man named Redford Stephens (based off the Sufjan Stevens song “Redford”) who makes some bad decisions based on his harsh urban surroundings. The album, which officially was released yesterday, tells the tale backwards, starting with the protagonist’s death and ending where he begins to do “dirty jobs” to begin to find favor in the world. In “Tip The Scale,” the protagonist sets up his situation like this: “Some think life is a living hell/Some live life just living well/I live life trying to tip the scale my way.”

However, the story of the album isn’t really about details or plot events. Instead, to me, it raises the age-old question of injustice and how to live in a world where rain falls on the good and the evil. The protagonist didn’t deserve the hand he was given — in fact, the lyrics even imply that he was a good man (“Let he without sin live without sin”). Even still, the character falls into a life of crime and drug trade as his only option of survival, knowing that the natural order of things won’t play to his favor.

Throughout the album, thoughts of suicide are always right around the corner, tempting the protagonist to end his life rather than live in the unfair situation he is in. In another song early in the story, “Lighthouse,” the character begins to feel like God has abandoned both him and the world: “No one’s in the lighthouse/You’re face down in the ocean/It seems like when you scream/There’s no one around to hear the sound/And it may feel like there’s no one there/That cares if you drown face down in the ocean.” Hearing these words, I was reminded of the book of Job and how similar the two characters’ stories line up.

Job 19:6 says, “Know then that God has wronged me And has closed His net around me.” In the midst of Job’s extreme physical loss and philosophical confusion, Job finds himself not being able to trust a God who could cause such injustice in a person’s life. In fact, like the character in undun, Job is a righteous man who doesn’t deserve the hand he was given. He also finds himself at a point where suicide seems like a better option than living (Job 7:11–16). For many, this is where not only the book of Job ends but it’s also the tension that we often live our lives in, wondering why God isn’t answering our prayers and feeling as though “there’s no one in the lighthouse,” so to speak.

It is this tension that the character in undun ultimately lives and dies in with his only hope being that when we make it “to the other side, that’s when we’ll settle up the score.” However, the book of Job gives us quite a different solution to the problem of evil and the suffering of the innocent: a face-to-face encounter with the Creator God. Although Job’s account might not present us with a clean picture of how to explain injustice in the world, it gives us hope in that when Job called upon God — even under the pretense of confrontation — God showed up. We don’t live in a world where we can put our hope in universal karma or even in the goodness of ourselves, but instead only in the sovereign goodness of God and His willingness to show up in our lives.

_______________________

Best Rawk Show: The Bazan Band, New Brookland Tavern, West Columbia, SC — Jonathan Sircy

David Bazan runs a tight ship, something that’s probably even more true now that he has ditched the Pedro the Lion moniker. The last four times I’ve seen him with a band (twice as PTL), he has had his mates precise and locked in: a quick run of songs (frequently with tour updated arrangements), a respite to answer questions from the crowd, and repeat. Touring behind 2011 release Strange Negotiations, this Bazan Band was leaner than last year’s incarnation which featured a second guitarist/vocalist, Blake Wescott. But they didn’t sacrifice a whit in sound. Bazan attacked his guitar with a ferocity I haven’t seen before, and when the volume peaked, the band hit like the atom bomb, filling up every nook and cranny of West Columbia’s premier rock club dive. Bazan’s voice has gotten more gravelly with age, but he hit every note he need to (aided by harmonies from bassist Andy Fitts) and more than adequately brought the emotive goods.

I tend to gauge a rock show by the drummer. Is he silently mouthing the words along with the lead singer? Is he making periodic eye contact with the bassist that says, “I LOVE this part of the song”? Does he know how to properly mix precision and fluidity depending on what the song requires? Drummer Casey Westcoat’s mouth wasn’t moving, but his eyes were feverishly intense the entire night. He was by turns pounding on set opener “Second Best,” propulsive on “Magazine,” polyrhythmic on a new arrangement of “Gas and Matches,” and backbeat-tastic on Strange Negotiations standout “Eating Paper.” The set-list was a treat for Pedro the Lion fans: two songs from 1998’s It’s Hard to Find a Friend (“Of Up and Coming Monarchs” and “Big Trucks”), EP deep-cut Criticism as Inspiration, and the two aforementioned songs from Control. He even threw in an obscure Tom Petty cover (“Climb that Hill”) for good measure. His between-song digressions included thoughts about the news media (not to be trusted), the Occupy movement (the first bit of hope he’s seen in years), and bands he loves (Beatles and Fugazi). The show was positively heavy, and Bazan’s ability to go from satirically scorching (“Second Best”) to loving (“Won’t Let Go”) and then to existential questioning (“Strange Negotiations”) showed him at the top of his game. He’s become a must-see performer.

_______________________

Best Moment in a Videogame: “The kid just rages for a while.” (Bastion: XBLA, PC) — Richard Clark

You’re controlling a character with a sword or staff in a videogame. There are boxes and other breakable objects around you. What do you do? Of course, you attempt to break those objects. It’s a gaming tradition that’s turned into an unthinking impulse, rooted more in mechanics than any thematic conceit. From the earliest RPGs, breaking boxes, vases, and chests has resulted in found life, coins, or objects. In other words, games reward our wanton destruction of an environment without any actual reflection. When we do pause to reflect on what we’re actually doing, we seem like utter psychopaths, gleefully destroying everything in sight with little concern for those around us.

That’s why, for the long-time gamer, the moment in Bastion when you first start breaking things is so startling. Shortly after Kid wakes up to find everyone and everything he knows destroyed — and just as you cause him to go to town on various boxes and fragile objects — the narrator clarifies what’s going on in that moment with one concise and profound sentence: “The kid just rages for a while.” We don’t hear that sentence again, and we don’t need to. Kid’s situation is unfathomably sad, but we can all relate to that moment when profound sadness and an inescapable sense of injustice collide, and the only logical response is to break things.

_______________________

Best New Way to Listen to Music: Bandcamp — Jason Morehead

In the past year, online streaming services such as Spotify and Rdio have become all the rage, and understandably so — they’re cheap. A measly $9.99/month will get you access to Spotify Premium, which lets you stream as much music as you want sans advertising to your various devices (iPad support coming in 2012).

However, when it comes to streaming music, my favorite remains Bandcamp. Artists upload their music (full/partial albums or single tracks) to their own details pages and charge however much they want (or they can let users decide how much to pay), cutting out the middle-man. It’s not a perfect system — its tag-based navigation is a bit of a mess — but you can easily spend hours trawling through their site and stumbling across previously unknown artists that blow your mind.

Or, to put it another way, Bandcamp is everything Myspace (remember them?) should have been.

When pop-punk pioneer Tom DeLonge broke up Blink-182 to spend more time with his young family, no one could’ve predicted the new spiritual direction his life would take. Now, DeLonge’s new band, Angels & Airwaves, (or AVA, stylistically shortened to the name of his daughter) is beginning to sound more like a voice crying out in the wilderness than a shot at fame.

While on tour in Europe in the last years of Blink 182, DeLong found himself addicted to pain killers, missing his family half a world away, and slowly growing apart from his bandmates. These pressures pushed DeLonge and the band to a breaking point in 2005, when Blink-182 went on “definite haitus” in what looked like a career-killing move. But out of the ashes of Blink-182 arose Angels and Airwaves.

While you’d never know it listening to Blink-182 and their embodiment of teenage anarchy that shot them to superstardom during the late 90′s, DeLonge grew up in a religious home. So maybe it’s not surprising that in post-blink interviews DeLonge has shared about overcoming his addiction to painkillers with supernatural help, though DeLonge has made it clear, he didn’t find God; rather, God found him. The event helped inspire a new band and a new purpose for his life. One of AVA’s earliest songs, “Lifeline” speaks of walking alongside a savior and choosing to accept a new calling, to become more than just a punk rocker, to become a messenger of hope.

Like a true prophet, DeLonge and company are not chasing the spotlight like they could be, “the message is bigger than the band,” they’ve said in interviews. This is remarkable, considering DeLonge’s descent from stardom–selling 30 million copies of the latest Blink 182 album, to just 3 million over the course of AVA’s four releases. Still nothing to laugh at, but it’s a significant step down from Blink’s peak during the crass chaos of 90′s punk.

But his post-Blink 182 band, Angels and Airwaves, is his means of declaring truth. From the visions of doom stripped from Revelation, to the criticism of organized religion, to visions of hope for a better world, AVA’s latest offering, LOVE pt. 2, finds the DeLonge exercising a prophetic role.

But what exactly is AVA’s message? Their first album, We Don’t Need to Whisper begins with an introspective journey, built on songs like “The Adventure,” and “The Message” that shed light on DeLonge’s own re-discovery of purpose and new emphasis on the positive side of life after the Blink break-up. Their sophomore release, I-Empire takes the positive inner change outside themselves with songs like “Secret Crowds” and “Everything’s Magic,” singing about changing the world around you. Finally, Love pt. 1 explores perhaps the most Christian message of all: our relationship with others.

Together, AVA’s albums have touched on the power of beauty and the mystery of life, wrapped up in the majestic crescendo of synths, soaring guitar riffs and pounding drums. And while the new sound has sent many teenagers seeking a spiritual experience, like a true prophet, his message is often rejected or dismissed, by both the church and non-christians. DeLonge has admitted, singing about love and hope is not cool, and his legions of punk fans have not all made the jump to Angels and Airwaves.

Similar to John the Baptist’s reception from the Pharisees, AVA doesn’t jive well with religious crowd either. Like John’s locust eating and camel hair fashion, Delonge flies in the face of church leaders with his anarchy encouraging Blink-182 background, baggy pants and potty humor. Both DeLonge and John offer some harsh words for the organized religion of their day. For John it was the Pharisees and Sadducees, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the coming wrath?” (Matt. 3:7 NIV) he says, going on to expose their double nature of looking spiritual on the outside, but not producing good fruit. DeLonge criticizes the Church, namely the hypocrisy and double nature of Christians as he sings in “Surrender”:

There is a crowd in here, that fooled themselves/ they brought their friends, and they made their hell/ they fake their grin, it’ll only sell.

The Church, much like John the Baptist’s day, is full of “handsome and calloused, young believers/hiding, plotting schemers/and rotting out like fruit/that was left here to die” as DeLonge sings in “Anxiety,” the first single released for LOVE pt.2.

His lyrics conjure up images of the backbiting and the desire to appear righteous when our actions speak otherwise. DeLonge reminds us we do no good in putting on a fake grin, pretending we’re ok, when we are really hurting and broken.

DeLonge, in his prophetic role, shares something in common to the Bible’s other John, the writer of Revelation. The apostle and former disciple of Jesus is privy to frightening visions of the future, of wars and violence, but also hope and truth. Such things are too much for mortal men—this comes through in “Anxiety” as Delonge sings, “I’m running from the truth/Cause it f$%&s with my mind.”

The revelations burning in DeLonge’s mind come in the form of hope, love and the end of the world. “Behold a Pale Horse” describes the scene of Revelations 1, as DeLonge recounts John’s visions of a terrifying future event,

I see the seven stars/ I see the seven stands/ I hear a deadly voice/ I count the sins we have/ I am the living one/ I am the first and last

The seven angels sing/ and several billion die with the earth shaking/  yeah they know who we are and they will set us free.

DeLonge is refreshingly honest here—this is a strange way of celebrating Christ’s return. But instead of sweeping those feelings under the rug, AVA explores the genuine human emotion and questions that arise from the text.

And AVA’s end of the world discussion doesn’t dwell there, instead, on The “Revelator,” Delonge sings of things to come,

When the show will arrive/ It will be right on time/ So you better sit tight/ It will be a great ride.

The revelation? The world’s ending, but it’s not the end of the story. DeLonge jumps headlong into the anxiety Christian discourse often ignores, but comes up with answers that feel sincere.

The final song on the album, All That We Are speaks of a child and a mother trying to decipher what it means to be human in the midst of sadness and despair.

We are/ All that we are

But what are we? The answer may be found on “Some Origins of Fire” from Love pt. 1. DeLonge sings, “We all are love and love is hard/ We’re hard to love … It breaks my heart.”

Despite the horror of life and anxiety of the future that can’t be addressed with easy answers and sappy Christian songs, AVA remind us of our purpose by naming their massive double album simply, LOVE. And love is all about relationship; simultaneously acknowledging it’s centrality as well as the difficulty involved with loving people on “Some Origins of Fire.”

In the end, even as it seems the world is tearing itself apart and we find ourselves carrying the burden of living in a cold world without love, DeLonge hangs onto hope. On “One Last Thing” DeLonge sings, “but I found, one last thing to believe in . . . I was told/ To breathe in the most righteous breath/ A feeling of heartfelt purpose/ A sense of hope/ For something bigger than ourselves.”

If a prophet proclaims God’s truth and we can glean some goodness, some beauty in AVA’s music, whether intentional or not, wouldn’t DeLonge be a candidate?

LOVE pt.2 is a frightening, hopeful, inspiring and apocalyptic end to the double album. It is underscored by grandiose, though sometimes meandering synth themes and majestic space rock. It is a spiritual experience.

AVA uses Christian themes in their lyrics, song titles and message, and while not overtly Christian, if they serve the same purpose of giving listeners hope while challenging them to make the world a better place, does it matter what band it came from or if the singer used to run around naked on MTV? As Paul writes, some preach the gospel out of rivalry, but others out of goodwill. But what does it matter? Either way Christ is preached. (Philipians 15-18).

Gavin Bryars

Back in the early ’70s, Gavin Bryars was working on a documentary about the London homeless. The film crew had made a number of recordings of various street folks, and one of them — that of a homeless man singing a simple hymn in a broken, faltering voice — caught Bryars’ attention. That simple recording serves as the basis for Jesus’ Blood Never Failed Me Yet. Here, Bryars loops the recording and, over the course of 74 minutes, slowly layers piano, strings, and other vocals (including those of Tom Waits) on top of it. This may sound rather simple and straightforward on paper, but the composition’s effects are anything but. Indeed, the piece becomes exponentially more affecting with each passing minute. There’s something deeply beautiful in the man’s broken voice, Bryars’ arrangements are moving without ever being saccharine, and it’s impossible to not notice, and not be affected by, the apparent irony of a homeless man singing, with such humble sincerity, “Jesus’ blood never failed me yet.”

A Winged Victory For The Sullen

I was reminded of Bryars’ Jesus’ Blood Never Failed Me Yet when I saw the following video on Facebook.

It’s of A Winged Victory For The Sullen, a new project by Dustin O’Halloran and Adam Wiltzie (Stars of the Lid, The Dead Texan), performing a version of the piece at a recent concert. If you’re a fan of lush, drone-y, classically influenced ambient music, then you’d do well to pick up a copy of their recently released self-titled debut. You can listen to one track from the album — the elegiac ”Steep Hills Of Vicodin Tears” — below.

You can also watch more from the concert that featured the above “Jesus’ Blood Never Failed Me Yet” cover here.

When I listen to Economy, the newest release from singer-songwriter John Mark McMillan, one word comes to mind: hope. Taking on the heavy issues of economic recession, hopelessness, and fear, McMillan writes on how God is our ultimate hope in both this life and the next. But in what has become synonymous with releases from McMillan, Economy doesn’t just name-drop the big issues of our day to maintain relevance. Instead, he dives in with a lyrical prowess and sincerity that is hard to find in Christian music these days.

McMillan found his fame when his song “How He Loves” became a widely popularized song to sing in churches across the country bacl in 2009. Since then, though, McMillan has been writing music that often finds itself not fitting into any of the prescribed circles the industry has created for itself. Unafraid of crafting new metaphors for Christian understandings of God and faith, McMillan has been one of the consistent voices in Christian rock and worship music that refuses to dilute the message or the music for the sake of being widely accessible. In fact, even when McMillan sings about topics like sin atonement, in the context of the album, the metaphors really begin to hit close to home (God “paying our debts” really begins to take on a new meaning).

But if McMillan’s previous album, The Medicine, often existed in the realm of lofty theology, Economy feels like a dipping down into the dirty streets and alleyways of life. On the Springsteen-influenced opening track, McMillan sings, “The devil’s dealing dirty in broken hearts and counterfeit currency/The living isn’t easy when a heart’s regret can tax the air you breathe.” It’s lines like these that take the kingdom of God message and see what plays out when it takes up residence in the actual world we live in.

Describing a world in which the financial and political system we have for so long depended on — or even had faith in — are becoming undone, McMillan offers us a chance to fully trust in God instead: ”Daylight comes to meet you on the road/Like a prodigal son, a prodigal hope/That you gave up on when you were young/Yeah, but daylight is coming on.” In the wake of a world and an economy that is desperately trying to survive, it is perhaps more apparent than ever that we live on “the edge of a darkness.” To many of us, our situations and our country’s situations might even seem impossible to overcome. But in Economy, McMillan reminds us that daylight is always just around the corner and that we should be giving God the glory throughout it all.

On 50 Words For Snow, Kate Bush sings from the perspective of a snowflake as it drifts down from its cloudy birthplace to the ground, tells the story of a woman who has a love affair with a snowman, and has comedian/author/actor Stephen Fry recite 50 words for, well, snow. So you could be forgiven for dismissing the album as pretentious. It is pretentious. It’s also otherworldly, delightful, and constantly arresting. I’m occasionally reminded of Björk’s Vespertine, another wintry album full of wide-eyed wonder. But whereas Vespertine was full of chilly electronica, 50 Words For Snow feels warmer, more organic, and even playful at times. Album opener “Snowflake” drifts about on solemn, graceful piano lines and lightly brushed drums that lend the track a fittingly airy and contemplative feel. “Snowed In At Wheeler Street” is a passionate, romantic torchsong in which Bush and Elton John figure as lovers who keep running into each other across space and time. And finally, the title track, which features the aforementioned Fry, should fall apart on paper, but it becomes increasingly compelling and fascinating as Fry describes snow in terms common, poetic, and obscure as Bush cheers him on. For my previous “Grace Notes” column, I offered a list of albums that would make for perfect winter listening: go ahead and add 50 Words For Snow to that list. (Listen to 50 Words For Snow via NPR.)

As something of a followup to an article I wrote a few weeks back, this week I wanted to address a video by one of my favorite music reviewers on the Web, Anthony Fantano of The Needle Drop. In the video (which is posted above), he finds himself perplexed at the following question: “Does the message or moral integrity of a song’s lyrics effect how much I can enjoy the music?” He talks about the fact that sometimes, if he likes the music of a particular artist enough, he can tolerate the lyrics and message of the song, saying that it “buries itself in the back of my head because I don’t see it as a huge deal I guess. . . . Ultimately, what’s offensive is the message and only the message.” However, later on in the video, he questions this idea, saying “but then again, I feel like music and message are so tightly-knit that you really can’t pull them that far apart, especially since music is vital to our culture when it comes to communicating our current ideas and feeling.”

In our age of moral relativism, you will very rarely hear a discussion like this one being brought up in culture outside of the Church, so when I watched this I was fascinated by its logic. Other albums that have come out recently have also made some particularly big splashes in this topic, most notably albums like Lou Reed and Metallica’s album Lulu, rapper Lil B’s album I’m Gay, and Tyler, The Creator’s album Goblin. Each of these have offended a lot of people and expressed the very things Fantano is talking about here: racisim, sexism, homophobia, or just downright creepy sexuality.

And when I say they offended people, I’m not talking about the conservative Chris Tomlin-listening Christian community here: I’m talking about metal-heads, rap lovers, and even people looking to make a quick buck (Tyler, The Creator and his band Odd Future were kicked out of an Australian music festival for their lyrics recently). It’s quite normal to find discussions like this one in Christian communities — but that should come as no surprise for people who believe that there are actions and messages of good and bad merit in the world that we have to choose between. In other words, is our culture’s morality really as relative as it thinks it is?

If Fantano’s video is any proof, I think its an indication that our culture is not quite as sure on where it stands as we’d usually assume. Music, like most all of the things we give value in culture, means something. I won’t go into the deep way in which even just the creation and enjoyment of music point to real meaning in life; just take a listen to your favorite album to see that at work. The way a message is delivered is as important if not more important than the message itself — to the point of the two being essentially inseparable. But that doesn’t mean we should be close-minded and secluded from culture — quite the opposite in fact. Instead, we should be open to the messages our culture are sending to us through entertainment and art with a discerning heart and the knowledge that the messages we create, receive, and eventually live out really do matter.

Not everyone likes cats, but most people like kittens. Some of these people who like kittens listen to a lot of rock and roll. At least one of those people has Photoshop. Hence, The Kitten Covers.

Maybe you’ve stumbled across this tumblr feed of late; it’s been making the rounds. The designer behind The Kitten Covers works solely in the iconic — Bowie, Dylan, The Beatles, The Cure, Prince — all bands and artists with respected careers and catalogs. The cover art that graces the great works of rock and roll history is now repainted in shades of kitty cat — a rock and roll hall of fame with feline stand-ins. There’s not a pic of four cats meandering across Abbey Road yet (unfortunately), but I’m sure it’s on its way.

Clearly, the creator of The Kitten Covers is trying to pay tribute, not lampoon. This is a tongue-in-cheek reimagining of the musical world, like mini-KISS or Dark Side of the Moon played behind The Wizard of Oz (which doesn’t really work, by the way). The Kitten Covers, unlike other Internet fads, is not poking fun at something because it’s laughable or kitschy; it pays homage to it. We’re simply honoring the rock and roll greats through cat-addition.

It’s fascinating to note all of the strange ways people pay homage to the things they love. Posters, t-shirts, bumper stickers, tweets, and status updates all make us willing advertisements for our attachments. In a million little ways, in a million little name- and product-drops, we reveal to the world the things that bring us joy. In the more extreme cases, people get very large, ill-placed tattoos. Adoration is something we long to do for its own sake; it is deep-seated in the human heart.

My high school library had a copy of C. S. Lewis’s Reflection on the Psalms (which was one of the few things I ever enjoyed checking out from there — Steinbeck, ugh!). The ideas Lewis penned there never left me: “I think we delight to praise what we enjoy because the praise not merely expresses but completes the enjoyment; it is its appointed consummation.” I have never come across a more beautiful and helpful expression of the method and purpose of praise (and worship) than this.

The Kitten Covers is an exercise in natural theology. All of us — imago Dei — are created to express the Creator’s image. Perhaps part of this is our constant desire to express “this is good” concerning the things we “create.” Ironically and beautifully, we are creative creatures and even express this creativity in our praise. We were made to express to God his goodness and glory — the ultimate consummation of the ultimate enjoyment — and to do so in a creative, meaningful, God-imaging way. And even if we don’t realize it, we are indirectly doing this when we praise the goodness of His world and works. If that praise involves kittens and rock and roll, all the better.

_______________________

Best Use of 3D in a Film: Cave of Forgotten Dreams — Richard Clark
3D film and a documentary about a cave: It’s pretty difficult to defend the existence of either of these things, but seeing is believing in this lone case. Werner Herzog, the master of suggestive, subjective documentary film making finds his latest muse in the Chauvet caves of Southern France. These caves contain some of the earliest known forms of artistic expression, and at first glance, it’s nothing spectacular. We’ve seen cave paintings before: Guys stabbing animals, running from animals, worshiping animals . . . animals being animals and cave guys being cave guys. Traditionally, people think of these paintings primarily as ways to study previous civilizations and gain spotty, speculative knowledge about their experience. What’s the point of spending a whole movie focused on more of the same?

But this is far beyond more of the same. The third dimension provides us with an opportunity to view the paintings as they were meant to be viewed: on the curves, the crevices, and the slopes of the cave walls. We see how the paintings played with depth, angles, and how they interact with light. Warner does spend some time talking about the ancient civilization that created these paintings, but spends even more time gazing at them in wonder. A significant portion of the film is spent in silent observation of still images that dance, mingle, and interact as the camera pans across them. What justifies this film’s existence is that it’s not a historical excavation as much as it is an appreciation of the artistic experience — something that is apparently as ancient as man himself.

_______________________

Best Album I Couldn’t Write To: tUnEyArD’s, WHOKILL — Jonathan Sircy
When you pop in the second tUnE-yArD’s album, WHOKILL, it’s hard to do anything but listen. You get the sense that Merrill Garbus is already multitasking enough for the both of you. The album demands you acknowledge it. The music is so dense and frenetic that if you have it on as background music, it will make you feel like you’re watching a movie that’s slightly out of focus. Once I took the time to hone in on the music, the image suddenly became clear.

Garbus plays her ukelele with abandon. She has an unbelievably dexterous voice that goes from supple to gritty in a heartbeat; its only limit is Garbus’s imagination. And it’s not just the instrument here. Garbus has things to say. The album’s lyrics are introspective but not myopic. She’s trying to figure out how to live in America in 2011, with all the white-liberal-guilt and body-shame and personal heartbreak that can include. And, oh yeah. The answer to the album’s titular question? That would be one Nate Brenner, the bassist, who absolutely kills it on this album (particularly on “Gangsta,” “Bizness,” and “Doorstep”).

_______________________

Best Worst Song Remake in a TV Spot: “Poop! There It Is!” — Erin Straza
Old songs never die — they simply become the inspiration for atrocious advertising jingles. Take the 1993 classic by Tag Team, “Whoomp! There It Is!” Luvs took that song and abused it further by renaming it, “Poop! There It Is!” The (thankfully) animated spot depicts babies competing in the Heavy Dooty Championship. All three competitors turn their little bums to the cheering crowd and give the Luvs diapers (with Ultra Leakguards) all they’ve got.

It’s no wonder this little gem-of-a-spot has been awarded the Worst Ad in America for 2011 by those polled through the Consumerist. The worst part about the use of Tag Team’s tune is that it gets stuck in your brain. I realize that is the goal of a good jingle. Recall-wise, this ad may be a marketing success. But taste-wise, the song is a total fail. No one wants a jingle about poop stuck in on the brain.

_______________________

Best Use of Violence in a Game: Shadow of the Colossus — Drew Dixon
I’ve been thinking a lot about videogame violence this year:  how games tend to cheapen it and how it could actually be meaningful. Where is the Saving Private Ryan of videogames? Where is the game that depicts violence for what it actually is—namely destructive and costly? While this year saw the release of many stellar games, I am not sure it really produced many memorable or nuanced moments in the realm of violence.

This year, however, did see the high definition rerelease of Fumito Ueda’s Shadow of the Colossus—the most honest depiction of violence in a videogame I have ever witnessed.

Shadow of the Colossus is game about slaying giants. You play as “Wanderer,” a boy by most people’s accounts, charged with the task of slaying 16 giant mythical creatures. While each battle possesses a certain epic feel, the subsequent victories feel more and more troubling rather than gratifying. Wanderer’s violence against these giants is not provoked by the Colossi themselves. The Colossi are peaceful until attacked, Wanderer often has to shoot arrows at them or slash them with his sword just to get their attention. What drives Wanderer to kill these creatures is not any noble desire to protect others, but a selfish hope that slaying these creatures will unleash a mystical power that will resurrect his dead lover. Instead of making the player feel powerful and accomplished, each battle with the Colossi feels somber and tragic.

Wanderer’s violence doesn’t empower him nor is he rewarded by it. Shadow of the Colossus is the most memorable violent game I have played because its violence is attended with far reaching, tragic consequences.

I previously wrote a bit of a rant here on Music at Mars Hill on why Coldplay was moving closer and closer to populist ambiguity when they released their EP leading up to Mylo Xyloto. And now that we’ve got the full album, there’s been a lot of talk about the thing (as is to be expected in a Coldplay release). A recent article over at ThinkChristian talks about how the album is a love-story of sorts and should inspire Christians to be vulnerable and willingly offer ourselves to others.

I recently tried out a new church close to where I recently moved. Each week I’ve gone, Coldplay’s Mylo Xyloto has consistently been the music playing in the background before the service started. While it’s important to remember that the meeting is a twentysomethings-oriented group, I’ll admit that there is something fitting about the sounds of Chris Martin and company blasting through the church speakers. To many, particularly young Christians, albums like Viva La Vida and Mylo Xyloto have become the new go-to for those who have moved on past the shrinking pool that is CCM (Contemporary Christian Music). Despite the fact that Chris Martin is a self-proclaimed “Alltheist” (a made-up term meaning that he believes everything), when he sings about paradise, heaven, and being an inheritor of a kingdom, Christians have been singing along. But what is it about Coldplay, especially in their past two albums, that rings so true with Christians?

The more I listened to Mylo Xyloto, the more I began to see that Coldplay was picking up on many of the same things CCM had been emphasizing for so long. Pitchfork recently published a fascinating feature on why “Big Music,” or epic stadium-sized rock, has taken the rhetoric of Christianity and spirituality to make something accessible to our secularized culture:

“When I see religious art, I tend to admire it but not connect with it on any gut emotional level. As an atheist, I see a stained-glass apocalypse, and I can coolly reconstruct the awe, excitement, and fear that might have bubbled up in the medieval mind. But I can’t feel it. And the same—for all its beauty—goes for gospel. But the Big Music—deploying the emotion of religion within an aesthetic I do relate to—can sometimes push buttons I don’t necessarily want pushed. At its frequent worst, it triggers the same disgusted flight-impulse a TV preacher might. At its rare best, though, it makes me want to believe.”

In other words, when you hear artists like Florence + The Machine or Coldplay reference Christian themes or act as “Big Music,” they definitely are not doing it to pander to Christians. Instead, in the same way they use references to other genres, they are using that same rhetoric to achieve a parallel spiritual/musical experience for people that would otherwise rejects such notions. There is a reason Coldplay chose the nonsensical word “Mylo Xyloto” for the name of their new album; its literal meaning is left empty to emphasize the grandness of its scope that all people can relate to. For us as Christians, it’s okay for us to let Coldplay and other “Big Music” point us to the grand, epic, and massive thing it is imitating.