Instead, here are nine albums that I discovered this year (as in hadn’t heard a peep of them before 2011) that I think are well worth sharing, sorted conveniently by their place in the alphabet. Some are available through conventional means, while others may take more creativity. But all of them contain sounds that would be simply shameful to keep to myself.

Bela Bartok’s String Quartets

The logical continuation of the Stravinski fix that started my year, but even more unsettling. The constant discord keeps your stomach in knots throughout. Perfect if you’re craving something to wrestle your eardrums into submission through sheer sustained tension.

Recommended track: String Quartet No. 4 in C Major

Bill Withers – Just As I Am

“Lean on Me” is a great song, but its inherent cheese does no justice to the potency of Withers in his more melancholic moods. Put side two opener “Hope She’ll Be Happier” on in a crowded room, and see that the room doesn’t fall silent. Withers has the ability to mine complex emotions from the simplest arrangements – listen as he repeats the words “I know” 26 times in the middle of album highlight “Ain’t No Sunshine,” with nothing but the drums propping him up; somehow, those two words end up as captivating as the most overblown vocal flourishes.

Recommended track: Ain’t No Sunshine

Bubble Puppy – A Gathering of Promises

Don’t get thrown by the ridiculous name (it’s a misremembering of an Aldous Huxley line, for what it’s worth) and just focus on the music. Dual-lead southern psychedelia that moves from sweetness to blistering guitar workouts in a fraction of a second, the group isn’t quite garage-y enough for a Nuggets comp, but that doesn’t make it any less deserving of a place in the proto-hard-rock pantheon.

Recommended track: Hot Smoke and Sassafras

Deltron 3030 – Deltron 3030

Sci-fi hip-hop set in the far-off year 3030 (“Way past the millennium,” as the album is eager to point out). The setting is mostly an excuse for producers Dan the Automator and Kid Koala to conjure up dystopian soundscapes without resorting to chilly synths or other future-chic cliches. Del’s cartoonish flow keeps things closer to comic book whiz-bang than hard sci-fi – no wonder Damon Albarn tapped the trio for the first album from his post-apocalyptic cartoon outfit, Gorillaz.

Recommended track: “Positive Contact”

Jim O’Rourke – All Kinds of People Love Burt Bacharach

This one might’ve actually come in late 2010, but it’s deserving of another mention anyway. Bacharach is one of the finer songwriters of the 20th century, but aside from a few Elvis Costello albums and twee popsters like Sondre Lerche, his influence can be tough to spot. But, as this album’s title says, all kinds of people love Bacharach, including, apparently, Japan’s avant-garde, along with ex-Sonic Youther Jim O’Rourke, who produced this album and plays most of the instruments. Some tracks play things relatively straight (Akira Sakata and Masaya Nakahara’s take on “After the Fox” might be straighter than the Peter Sellers/Hollies original), but it’s twists like Haruomi Hosono’s self-centred “Close to You,” and the impeccable production, that make this one essential.

Recommended track: “Close To You”

The Liminanas – The Liminanas

Skuzzy down-tempo garage rock with several dollops of Serge Gainsbourgh sexy-cool mixed in with its Velvet Underground swagger. Even the band’s attempts at straightforward pop (“Chocolate in my Milk” have a charmingly detuned quality to them, but the album’s at its best when it plays up its dark-side-of-Paris charm in smoky, sultry, and downright sinful grooves.

Recommended track: “Down Underground”

Margo Guryan – Take a Picture

I wrote about this one for the month of new music, so I won’t rehash too much of that here. Suffice to say, Take a Picture is a thoroughly lovely blend of breathy, Joni Mitchel singer-songwriter fare with hard-edged psychedelia and sunshine pop, all with a jazz-tinged core that keeps things lively throughout. Very disappointing that she only ever put out one album.

Recommended track: “Sunday Morning”

Spiro – Lightbox

The instrumentation of this one (guitar, mandolin, fiddle and accordion) puts it square into the folk-traditionalist category, but a minute or two is all you need to realize there’s more going on here. Folk structures are reinforced with the more hypnotic elements of minimalist classical composition, while the movements go through the same slow-builds and constant ebb as modern dance music. And for all that, it never sounds pretentious or over-thought.

Recommended track: “Binatone”

York Redoubt – York Redoubt

Before Long Long Long was plying its near-blend of spastic math-pop and lo-fi bedroom rock, most of the same guys were in the even-more-oddball York Redoubt, whose one self-titled album is everything an album like this should be. Alternately head-bopping and ear-grating, striking a balance between pure sugar hooks and “is that really the riff?” verses, it’s packed with enough ideas for at least three bands. Which is good, because Long Long Long already flamed out at this year’s Wyrd Fest, which means it’s up to the latest incarnation, Each Other, to take on the mantle.

Recommended track: “Where the Day Grows”

D’Angelo – Voodoo (2000, Cheeba Sound/Virgin)

The “neo-soul” progenitor’s second album is as silky smooth as you’d expect, locking into effortless grooves throughout and riding them for absolutely everything they’re worth. ?uestlove, Raphael Saadiq, Method & Redman, Roy Hargrove and more flesh out the sparse setting, but D’Angelo’s falsetto is what lifts this to heavenly.

Morgan Greenwood – Winter, (2011, independent) (free download)

Greenwood’s greatest skill as a composer is his ability to blend electronic and organic elements. Winter is no exception. Glitchy, unpredictable percussion flits around washed-out synths and unorthodox melodies, with only the occasional spoken-word sample to provide context. Despite the chilly title and crystalline production, it isn’t bleak, it’s beautiful.

Ghostface Killah – Supreme Clientele (2000, Epic/Sony/Razor Sharp)

No question, the reputation is justified. One or two listens is hardly enough to decipher Ghost’s crazy-dense verses – hell, I still can’t even get over the bizarre dissonance of “Buck 50,” let alone pick out lyrics. It hardly needs saying, but just in case: it’s an undisputed classic.

Born Gold – Bodysongs (2011, independent) (Pay-what-you-want download)

It’d be impossible to capture the pure feel-good power of Born Gold’s live show in a few MP3s, but Bodysongs is a valiant effort. The heavily processed vocal hooks, huge drums, overpowered synths, and consistent “more is more” approach put a brilliantly bizarre spin on modern pop’s giddy excesses.

Morlove – All of My Lakes Lay Frozen Over

A thoroughly lovely folk record, Lakes doesn’t often break from fairly traditional instrumentation and arrangements, but it doesn’t need too. Corwin Fox and Miss Emily Brown’s vocals blend elegantly throughout, and the playing is tastefully restrained, though the sombre moments (especially the title track) work better than the bouncier bits.

Chilly Gonzales – The Unspeakable Chilly Gonzales (2011, Gentle Threat)

The only Chilly Gonzales tracks I tend to like are his instrumentals, and The Unspeakable doesn’t have any of those. The man obviously has talent, but lyrics come across over- and under-thought, even repeating lacklustre punchlines. The last track’s title says enough: “Shut Up and Play the Piano.”

Huddle – All These Fires (2011, independent)

Varied indie-pop with enough soaring melodies and inherent sweetness to play well on Radio 3, although it doesn’t immediately stand out from the crowd. There’s the potential to be a grower, though – the songs feel sturdy enough to hold up to repeated listens. Ask me again in a month.

Yoko Ono – Yoko Ono/Plastic Ono Band (1970, Apple)

Compared to most of his work with the Beatles, John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band is a remarkably raw piece of work. The album in general and lead single “Mother” in particular were a direct result of Lennon’s primal scream therapy – hence the increasingly raw shouts that end off the track. For a singer mostly known for pretty melodies and playful surrealism, it must’ve been a shock.

But nowhere near the shock of the flip-side to that single, “Why,” the first track from Yoko Ono/Plastic Ono Band. If “Mother” is a pained reflection with a moment of catharsis, “Why” is pure screaming id, a sonic assault that has more in common with Captain Beefheart than Sergeant Pepper. No wonder the public pegged her as a no-talent hanger on – this is not music meant for mass consumption.

Forty years has done nothing to dull Yoko Ono/Plastic Ono Band’s abrasiveness. Even speaking as someone who’s listened to his share of noise, this one still stands out. Put “Why” next to Deerhoof’s noisiest output, and it’s still going to turn heads. Its follow-up, “Why Not,” has a more conventionally bluesy backing track (a jam between Lennon, Ringo Starr, and bassist Klaus Voormann), but Ono’s voice brings it right back to the edge of terrifying.

There’s hardly a moment to steady yourself. Even the one track that doesn’t come from the Lennon/Starr/Voormann jam session, the Ornette Coleman collaboration “AOS,” refuses to give the listener a break. There’s a minute or two where it seems Ono is trying to seduce you with sex-kitten moans, but then, with no warning, she’s shrieking in your ear like an injured beast while Coleman’s quartet breaks into pure freeform anxiety. And then it’s back to the Lennon/Starr/Voormann session for two more spaced-out jams, both of which should quell any notion that Starr was too straight-laced to push boundaries like his bandmates did.

It’s frightening how powerful of a reaction Plastic Ono Band can still provoke. I won’t be able to end this better than Lester Bangs ended his own review of it (which you should read in its entirety, because it’s far more eloquent, knowledgeable and thought-out than I’ve managed):

This one will grow on you. They haven’t ironed out all the awkwardness yet, but this is the first J&Y album that doesn’t insult the intelligence—in fact, in its dark confounding way, it’s nearly as beautiful as John’s album. Give it a try, and at least a handful of listenings before your verdict. There’s something happening here.

John Grant – Queen of Denmark (2010, Bella Union)

There’s a lot to like about John Grant’s Queen of Denmark. Grant’s baritone is rich and smooth, his lyrics can be clever, and the arrangements (ably performed by Midlake, who coaxed Grant back into the music biz after the breakup of his last band, The Czars) are steeped in the best sort of ’70s singer-songwriter traditions. And particularly when it goes out on a limb – the Brill Building pop of “Silver Platter Club” and the bitter, vulgar “Jesus Hates Faggots” being two prime examples – it can be memorably theatrical, and downright fun in its own way.

Unfortunately, it does get dragged down by a few too many mid-tempo ballads, and a sameness to the songs despite stabs at a variety of genres. Strong as Grant’s voice is, he doesn’t show off a particularly wide vocal range, and the melodies blend together before too long. That puts too much weight on the lyrics to distinguish between the songs. Your mileage might vary, but lines like “I feel just like Wynona Ryder in that movie about vampires, and she couldn’t get that accent right, and neither could that other guy” (from the song “Sigourney Weaver”) don’t strike me as particularly suited to load-bearing.

If nothing else, Queen of Denmark seems like it might work better piecemeal. It’d sit well alongside the Scissor Sisters or the Magnetic Fields on a mixtape, and I could see getting the urge to revisit it if any of the songs came up on shuffle. But I doubt I’d feel compelled to finish it.

Childish Gambino – Camp (2011, Glassnote Records)

The rumours are already floating about a mid-season cancellation for Community, so the timing is pretty much perfect for Donald Glover to launch a hip hop career, and the odds are good that Camp will accomplish just that. Like the mixtapes that precede it, Camp is spotty but mostly enjoyable, with Glover’s energy and personality making up for the more-than-occasional moments of weakness.

With the exception of the clunky “You See Me,” Camp’s production is largely an improvement over last year’s EP, itself a huge leap over Gambino’s earlier releases. String-heavy bombast is the standard mode, but there’s still plenty of variety to be found in the electro backdrop of “Heartbeat,” the minimal clang of “Backpackers” and the nursery rhyme jangle that opens “Kids (Keep Up).” It’s a strong effort on the whole, even if the hooks tend to be the weakest parts (Glover’s no Drake as far as sneaking R&B smoothness into the chorus).

If there’s a particular weak spot, though, it’d be Glover’s ego tripping. As with EP, a sizable chunk of Camp is dedicated to Glover talking about how awesome he is and how the ladies can’t get enough of him (probably justifiable, all things considered). And as with EP, those chunks are grating and unnervingly misogynist as often as not – for a guy who has written punchlines for a living, Glover doesn’t land nearly as many of them as you’d expect. He actually tries to deflect that criticism throughout, referring to himself as “Mr. Talk-About-His-Dick-Again” and pointing out that he knows how dumb it can sound, but self-awareness doesn’t make a criticism less true. Instead, Camp is at its best when Glover drops the boasting to explore the pain and confusion that comes from being a perpetual outsider, and how that fits with his current celebrity status. That may not be altogether new territory, but he does it with real wit and insight. It can get heavy at times – the closing monologue, which doubles as an origin story, lays it on a little thick – but it sure feels a lot less put on than the macho posturing.

Dixie’s Death Pool – The Man With Flowering Hands (2011, Drip Audio)

I have a bad habit habit of forming opinions of albums based on their opening few seconds. That’s not to say I’ll discount an album if it doesn’t win me over in ten seconds or less, but if those opening seconds are strong enough, it’s love at first sight, and rationalizing it is a little tough.

Think of the first five notes of “Everything in its Right Place” off of Kid A, the opening chimes on “Melody Day,” or the stutter at the start of David Vandervelde’s “Nothin’ No.” Not all of those albums are on the same level, but they each make a hell of a first impression with their first few notes. That impact has almost nothing to do with songwriting ability and everything to do with the production – it’s about the album’s ability to establish a mood purely based on the timbre of the instruments – but it’s an important skill nonetheless.

Dixie’s Death Pool absolutely nails its first 10 seconds. “Sunlight is Collecting on My Face” opens with an isolated buzz of gritty distortion as the song gets ready to start, dropping in a gently throbbing bass, and tropical guitar laced with impossibly high feedback. It’s striking, and the other 5:31 of the song isn’t half bad either, scratching up its bucolic foundation with a seemingly endless variety of textures.

As I said, it’s all about the production, but then, that’s Dixie’s major purpose. It’s largely improvised, building its tracks around relatively straightforward drums, acoustic guitar and upright bass. But Dixie mastermind Lee Hutzulak took those skeletons and stuffed them full of homemade organs (among the instruments: “a 6ft tall spinning card rack on wheels” and “a large metal shelf played with a scrub brush). It’s not always obvious how or why a certain texture was added, but there’s a dream-logic to it that works throughout.

It’s a cliche, sure, but dream-like really is an accurate description of The Man with Flowering Hands. That’s a double-edged sword, too – like a dream, the album isn’t always easy to remember when its wrapped up. Hutzulak has a gift for atmosphere, but that comes at the expense of particularly memorable melodies. By the album’s closing third, the tracks start to blend into each other, with a few strong moments bubbling to the surface and then quickly receding. That said, what the album does well, it does very well indeed.

Sandro Perri – Impossible Spaces (2011, Constellation)

There’s something of a kinship between Perri’s Impossible Spaces and Destroyer’s Kaputt. Spaces isn’t anywhere near as glossy (although it’s not exactly raw, either), and the lack of soaring ’80s sax solos also means it’s less likely to be accused of intentional kitsch, but both of them are based to a large degree on the potential for experimental songwriting within the confines of easy listening. For Destroyer, it was about sneaking an artfully askew personality into yacht-rock arrangements. For Perri, it’s light jazz, bossa nova and singer-songwriter fare, all of which get twisted and re-shaped into something much more interesting than any of those tags imply.

Opener “Changes” is a clear standout in an album that doesn’t lack for quality songs. One of three songs on Impossible Spaces to clock in at over seven minutes, it begins with a suitably jazzy organ and rubbery bass, while drummer Dan Gaucher (whose past projects include Calgary’s Shecky Forme, plus jazzier outfits Rabnett 5 and Doppler (d)effect) shuffles restlessly in the background, not so much propelling the track as poking at it. At least until the song switches gears at the midway point, settling into a tastefully swoon-worthy three-minute instrumental groove.

“Wolfman” also takes advantage of its length, using its 10 minutes to meander through a landscape of dissonant guitars, saw-toothed synths and a start-stop sense of lurching momentum. It’d feel like stream-of-consciousness songwriting if it didn’t somehow slot together so well.

Maybe the best example of the album’s easy listening oddness comes at the end of “Futureactive Kid (Part 2).” The track is only two minutes long, and yet it still manages to move from a decadent jazz-flute intro to an uncomfortably fuzzy guitar solo that fades out before you’ve even realized it’s started. That callous disregard for listener expectations is normal for an act on the Constellation roster, but when you mix it with Perri’s incontrovertible pop instincts, the result is beautifully disorienting.

I don’t know if I can make a stronger argument for this album than just showing off its opening track:

But in the spirit of this project, I’ll give it a shot. A jazz musician turned on to the counterculture by a Beach Boys-loving friend (who also happened to be the songwriter behind the “I’m Just a Bill” Schoolhouse Rock episode), Guryan uses that background to bring an off-kilter energy to her sunshiny pop. Her voice is a perpetual whisper – maybe a little too breathy at times – but the songs are often surprisingly muscular, especially the aforementioned “Sunday Morning” (no relation to the VU tune), and the sprawling “Love,” which swims through almost two minutes of spacey noodling before congealing into tuneful psychedelia.

Not that there aren’t any softer spots, mind you. “Take a Picture”, “Love Songs” and the Pet Sounds-inspired “Think of Rain” are all supremely lovely, and exceptionally well produced. Sweet as they are, though, the ballads don’t quite rise to the level of the more upbeat fare. They don’t hold as many surprises, and they don’t have the benefit of the cognitive dissonance that comes from the contrast between Guryan’s kittenish voice and the less-than-delicate arrangements.

Guryan wasn’t a fan of touring, which is likely a big part of why her only album never really took off, and she soon dropped out of the music biz to become a teacher. Guryan’s blend of folk, pop and jazz would’ve made for a fine female counterpart to Donovan, and outliers like the Brill Building-influenced “What Can I Give You” are proof that there’s no shortage of directions she could’ve taken. Take a Picture belongs firmly in the “forgotten classic” canon, and fans of soft psychedelia are strongly encouraged to track it down.

Feist – Metals (Arts & Crafts, 2011)

For someone who’s been knocked in some circles as the new face of easy listening, Feist has always had plenty of modes of locomotion. She could slink, bounce, swing, or float whenever she saw fit, throwing in a bit of disco strut to balance out the sweetheart pop and coffeehouse heartbreak. It just happened that all of those modes came across sweet enough that they didn’t sound out of place selling lattes (or iPods, as it were).

Ironically, Metals is being pushed as Feist’s embrace of experimentation largely because she’s cut that assortment of steps down to two – the sway and the stomp. Or, on quite a few of the tracks, the sway and then the stomp. That means you get a lot of the hallmarks of serious music, and Metals has its share of sweeping crescendos (see “Undiscovered First”), but that commitment to catharsis doesn’t make Metals any more or less experimental than her last three albums.

It has its eccentricities, sure (the shouts on “A Commotion” would’ve been a bit of a shock nestled between “Mushaboom” and “Leisure Suite”), but Feist has just traded one kind of playfulness for another. If Let it Die was about seeing how many genres you could re-create with a few slight shifts in cadence and bare-bones instrumentation, and The Reminder was taking full advantage of broader arrangements, Metals is all about the tension between the timbre and the melody.

Not to sound like I’m giving a backhanded compliment, but Metals is one of those albums that’s almost better if you can’t quite hear it. The swells have their place, but the album is at its most compelling when Feist forces you to lean in, with her voice just tracing the outline of an emotion and leaving you to fill in the rest. And on that level, it’s the same as her first three discs – they’re all subtle to the point that they might sound dull if you don’t give them a fair shake (they aren’t). But that subtlety is probably her best feature. It’s why her albums actually improve on repeated listens. I’m on no. 5 so far today, and Metals has done nothing but grow on me.

Harry Nilsson – Pussy Cats (1974, RCA Victor)

The sound of talented people having way too much fun in the studio, laying down raucous covers and blackly funny ballads with little regard for coherence or flow. Nilsson was sick, so his usual honey voice is barely even a rasp by the time he’s rockin’ round the clock at the end. Production by John Lennon is as raw as Nilsson’s voice, and a backing band that includes Keith Moon and Ringo Starr (at the same time!) gets plenty splenetic when it’s called for. Of the originals, “All My Life” is tops, an upbeat downer that sums up the spirit of the sessions pretty well, and if the ballads aren’t Nilsson’s best, they’re still better than most. But it’s the covers (“Many Rivers to Cross,” “Loop de Loop”, “Rock Around the Clock”), ramshackle as they are, that really sell the experience.

Sons and Daughters of Lite – Let the Sun Shine In (Reissued 1999, Luv N’ Haight)

Mellow Afro-soul from the early ’70s San Francisco scene – apparently these guys opened for Fela and Sun Ra during their run. Given that, you might not expect the grooves to be as mellow as they are, but the funk and Afro-beat influences are softened by a fondness for blissful grooves and vibraphone melodies. That sometimes means that you’re left waiting for a track to kick in when it’s never gonna, but once you accept it for what it is, the stew of influences is pretty impressive. Bouts of over-singing occasionally shift things from hypnotic to piercing, but the opening twosome (the title track and “Fly Away”) are good enough that they could’ve been followed by a half hour of silence and the album still would’ve been worthwhile.

Raymond Scott – Soothing Sounds for Baby (Basta Audio-Visuals, 1964)

Even if you’ve never heard of Raymond Scott, odds are you’ve heard his music. It appeared in over 100 of Warner Bros.’ cartoons, which had a particular fondness for his “Powerhouse,” especially the bit that comes in at around the 1:30 mark. That track and Soothing Sounds for Baby don’t share much, musically, although it’s fitting that the Warner cartoons picked his song to represent coldly efficient machinery, since by most accounts, that’s how Scott viewed his musicians.

It was that disregard for human imperfection that led Scott to become a pioneer in electronic music, even if he doesn’t often get the credit for it that he deserves. It’s impressive enough that Scott’s masterwork, the three-disc set Soothing Sounds for Baby, was largely composed on instruments that Scott himself designed, and that Bob Moog considered him a huge inspiration. But when you consider that the album came out a full decade before Brian Eno or Tangerene Dream started exploring ambient electronic music, the actual achievement becomes that much more incredible.

By design, the album favours simple arrangements, usually built around short loops and chiming melodies. It was, after all, written to lull babies to sleep, with each of the three discs catering to a different age group (1-6 months, 6-12 months and 12-18 months) and getting gradually more complex.

Some tracks are more successful than others, with the more percussive tracks usually falling short of the more melodic ones.“Toy Typewriter” loops a simple, two-second-long rhythmic pattern for almost 18 minutes, with only minor variations. It’s even more grating than you might think. Same with the eight-minute “Tic Toc,” which mostly just sounds like an “out-of-time” warning for a gameshow.

But those tracks that focus more on bubbling melodies and warm atmosphere are grin-inducing enough to justify the experiment. Each of the three discs has at least one song worth recommending: “Lullaby” and “The Happy Whistler” are as welcoming and cheerful as the names imply, and the last disc’s “Little Miss Echo” has some downright gorgeous synth washes. Admittedly, Soothing Sounds is probably more a curiousity than a true classic, but it’s one that, on the whole, is surprisingly easy to listen to.

Roxy Music – For Your Pleasure (Island, 1973)

This time out, I’ll just focus on the two tracks that really grabbed me – the first tracks of each side of For Your Pleasure. “Do the Strand” opens the album in a marvellously ridiculous fashion, urging listeners who are “tired of the tango, fed up with fandango” to indulge in the titular dance without ever stooping to explaining its moves. All you have to know is that it’s “a danceable solution to teenage revolution,” and that “The sphynx and Mona Lisa, Lolita and Guernica did the strand.” The verses aren’t even particularly danceable, with the minor key melody coming on like a threat. The track rests almost entirely on Bryan Ferry’s swagger to sell it (well, that, some vaguely sinister saxophones, and a pretty rockin’ breakdown) and he makes it seem effortless.

The second side, meanwhile, opens with the nine-plus-minute “The Bogus Man,” an atmospheric workout that comes across like Brian Eno’s rebuttal to Ferry’s pop ambition. It’s all swirling reverb, discordant horns and fragments of guitar melodies, with Ferry in full-on spook mode, and the whole thing has the kind of texture you can just get lost in.

It’s fitting that those two tracks pretty well epitomize the tension in Ferry and Eno’s musical relationship, because that sense that the collaboration could tear apart at any moment is exactly what makes the album so fascinating. The skronky solos in the balls-out “Editions of You,” the dueling-guitars-in-space ending of “Strictly Confidential,” the anti-melodic keyboards in “In Every Dream Home A Heartbreak,” all of them are possible because of a brilliant blend of genuine theatricality and relentless experimentation. Pure genius.

OutKast – Stankonia (Arista, 2000)

One of the things about going through a punk phase (musically, at least) in junior high is that, even once you start branching out, you’re skeptical of anything remotely mainstream. I would’ve been in Grade 12 when Stankonia came out (although I feel like it was around for more than just my last year of high school), but even though I liked the singles well enough, it didn’t occur to me that it was an album I could actually buy. Why settle for the mainstream when you can get something genuinely creative, inspired and inspiring, right?

It just goes to show, high school principles can be pretty misguided. Now that I’ve finally gotten around to listening to Stankonia in its entirety, it’s a whole lot more inspired than a good chunk of what I was listening to back then. That’s not a surprise – I know the album’s meant to be one of the grand achievements of the 21st century so far, and Speakerboxxx/The Love Below was one of my gateways into hip hop, even if I did spend my first few years with the album under the mistaken impression that Andre 3000′s half was the more impressive side. Even if it is unsurprising, it’s a nice reminder that cultural blinders are never a good thing, regardless of which side of the indie/mainstream divide you find yourself on.

Because Stankonia, as the millions of people who bought it already know, is really damn good. Opening with “Gasoline Dreams” gives the impression that it’s going to be a bit more aggressive than the actual product, even with the pop double-whammy of “So Fresh, So Clean” and “Ms. Jackson” to balance that out. The singles are still the obvious high points, and I doubt any of the album cuts could overshadow “B.O.B.”, which is maybe even faster than I remember it and definitely heavier. But even if tracks like “Slum Beautiful” and “Humble Mumble” can’t quite stack up to that one, it’s less because they’re lacking and more that the album’s best sets an unreasonable bar. But that doesn’t take away from the joy of hearing Big Boi and Andre 3000 stretching out on the other tracks, indulging in loose funk vamps and impossibly precise verses with the same endless enthusiasm. It’s so eclectic that it really shouldn’t hang together as well as it does, and it’ll probably take a dozen more listens to tease out the common threads, but I can already tell I’ll end up loving a lot about this album. When even most of the skits are actually endearing (the shouted “break” at the end of each one reminds me of an over-enthusiastic improv group), you know you’ve got something solid.

1. Stress that the project is about the power of art and storytelling:

“The idea came from seeing the success of other films based on popular video game content,” said Pelletier.

2. Re-assure fans that you’re staying true to the source material:

“We’ve taken some significant creative liberties in adapting the content to the screen,” said the director.

3. Emphasize your passion for the project:

“The main crew, myself included, were not huge Halo fans coming into the project. Our unbiased views allowed us to take more liberty than one who is attached to the established franchise,” he went on.

Yep — this is gonna be great.

And, with the exposition out of the way, let’s get started:

The Style Council – My Ever Changing Moods (Polydor, 1984)

I’ve always felt like I’d really like The Jam if I ever gave them a proper chance, but Paul Weller’s catalogue in general is imposing enough that I’ve never really started in on it. And on first listen, My Ever Changing Moods is making me think that was a pretty significant mistake.

Let’s get the bad out of the way first: Weller’s foray into hip hop, “A Gospel,” is awkward. Respectably awkward, sure, and impressively forward-thinking, but like The Clash and Blondie’s experiments with rap, it just hasn’t aged well at all.

But that’s the only genre Weller and co. don’t pull off here. The rest is a rousing blend of rock, soul, R&B, ska and pop – “Here’s One That Got Away” even echoes the Celtic soul of Dexy’s Midnight Runners, which only leads to instant credit in my book. In terms of influence and production, it seems to draw from the same well as a lot of the acts that get lumped into the “yacht rock’ movement, but with so much more vitality – I’m not sure if it’s the political underpinnings to a lot of the songs, or Weller’s roots in the mod and new wave scenes, but something in there is keeping this from falling into easy listening.

1. Asking a bunch of people what they think
2. Asking them again, in the hopes that their taste has improved
3. Gathering an elite group of cultural arbiters in a dark corner of a Masonic temple, barring them from them leaving until they have decided on a winner, preferably through merciless physical combat

(For the record, this’ll be the fourth year that I’ve taken part in the first two steps, but I’ve never been invited to the third — just as well, since I’m not much of a scrapper.)

In honour of the occasion, this week’s mixtape will also double as my breakdown of the 10 shortlisted albums. Like most years, it’s a bit of a mixed bag, and every juror will tell you that there’s some chaff included for all the reasons — even if they’ll completely disagree over which albums those are, and why they ended up making the list. In other words, it’s probably as solid of an attempt as you can make at getting 200 music fans to agree on anything:

Arcade Fire – The Suburbs – “Empty Room”
Odds are, if you’re a fan of Canadian music, you’ve already heard this album, and probably own it in some form or another. The Suburbs has already won Arcade Fire the Grammy and Juno awards for best album and topped sales charts around the world. Oddly enough, that might put it at a disadvantage with Polaris, which has a history of supporting underdogs despite its “sales don’t matter” mantra. As for the music itself, it’s the most consistent thing the band has put out, even if it doesn’t have anything that stirs quite as powerfully as Funeral’s best moments.
Will it win: Picking The Suburbs could actually be a politically savvy move for the jury, since it’d mark the first* time that the prize has gone to a commercially successful act, which might do something to dissuade cries of elitism. Still, I feel like this is an album that many people like and few are passionate about, on the jury at least — I doubt it’ll inspire the passion you need to drown out the other voices in the jury room.

*(Note: People love talking about firsts with Polaris, myself included, but the idea is actually pretty meaningless in an award that’s only been given to five albums. Basically anything on the shortlist could lead to some sort of “first.”)

Austra – Feel It Break – Hate Crime
An electro-pop album with an interesting melodic sense and plenty of personality. Singer Katie Stelmanis has been on the Canadian scene for a while, even lending vocals to Fucked Up’s Polaris-winning Chemistry of Common Life back in 2008, but Austra feels like she’s really found her voice. Her precise vocals work well with the chilly keyboard tones, and she certainly knows her way around a pop hook.
Will it win: Giving the prize to Stelmanis would make for another first — it’s never gone to a woman — but that might not be enough to overcome complaints that the album is an ’80s throwback. It isn’t, mind you — there’s a lot more going on in the music than nostalgia — but Polaris tends to like guitars, and there’s not much of that going on here.

Braids – Native Speaker – “Plath Heart”
Of all the albums on this year’s short list, Native Speaker is the most intuitive blend of pop and experimentation. The guitars are put through enough processing that they’re sometimes hardly recognizable; the vocals search for the edges of their rhythmic and melodic space; and the arrangements include plenty of interesting touches, from heavy breathing to incredibly confident uses of space. With all that, though, Braids is still recognizably indie rock, even if they’re finding plenty of room to play within the genre.
Will it win: A young, talented, co-ed, buzzed-about band making a confident debut that appeals to folk fans as much as to Animal Collective types? The odds seem decent.

Destroyer – Kaputt – “Poor in Love”
There’s a lot of truth to the idea that Kaputt is Dan Bejar’s yacht-rock album — if you had to describe it in a single word, it’d be hard to do much better than “smooth.” That has turned some former fans off, but the smoothness, saxophones and all, helps spotlight Bejar’s strengths as a singer, giving his rambling, wordy melodies a bright new context. That contrast is what really makes the album, and what elevates it above the ironic soft-rock that its critics accuse it of.
Will it win: I’ll say basically the reverse of what I did about Arcade Fire — this’ll be a really hard one to build consensus around. Kaputt seems to inspire adoration and vitriol in equal measure, and an album that’s been compared to Kenny G. will be a very hard sell in the jury room.

Galaxie – Tigre et diesel – “Camouflar”
This French outfit does two things — big rock riffs and danceable hooks — and it does them both well. There isn’t an album on the short list that’s more straight-up fun; like last year’s Radio Radio, these are the guys you’d want to play the afterparty, even if you’re not necessarily pulling for them to win.
Will it win: Artistic achievement and party rock are strange bedfellows. No question, Tigre et diesel does what it sets out to do, but nothing about it is boundary-pushing or statement-making. That lack of ambition makes it unlikely to take home the prize.

Hey Rosetta – Seeds – “Welcome”
One of the few albums on the list that I just can’t understand. It’s slick enough, but there’s hardly an ounce of personality to be found. Here’s hoping that their live show will turn me around on this one — I might’ve said the same thing about last year’s winners, Karkwa, but their two-song set at the gala made me a believer.
Will it win: Not likely. It’s not even the strongest offering in its genre – The Suburbs does the “epic indie rock” thing better, and with a fair bit more ambition. I can’t see that album’s supporters jumping ship for Seeds.

Ron Sexsmith – Long Player Late Bloomer – “No Help At All”
After defending Destroyer, it feels disingenuous to criticize Long Player for being altogether too smooth, but while I can appreciate Sexsmith’s songwriting, the album is impossible for me to get a grip on. It’s almost an adult-contemporary version of Galaxie, in that it’s hard to find fault in Sexsmith’s craftsmanship but artistic achievement seems beside the point — and in this case, it’s not even particularly fun.
Will it win: No one plays the underdog better than Sexsmith. He’s long been a critical favourite, but despite some covers by star-studded friends, he’s never managed to break through. If this were his American Recordings (ie. a stripped-down recording to remind audiences why they liked him in the first place) I think it’d have a fighting chance, but Long Player Late Bloomer feels too commercially minded to take home the prize.

Colin Stetson – New History Modern Warfare Vol. 2: Judges – “Fear of the Unknown and the Blazing Sun”
A sometimes terrifying, sometimes frustrating and occasionally beautiful album, New History finds a middle ground between the worlds of jazz, post-rock and experimental noise. Knowing the recording process makes the album easier to appreciate — Stetson mostly recorded live off the floor, using circular breathing and carefully placed microphones to unleash an incredible range of sounds from his saxophone. I wish he was performing at the gala — his music is incredibly physical and his live shows are basically an athletic event — but unfortunately he’s on tour in the U.S. with Bon Iver…
Will it win: It has a shot, for sure. Unfriendly music has made it through before (see Fucked Up’s 2009 win), and while New History is even more out there, it’s far from inaccessible, especially to a room full of hardened music critics. With his close ties to the indie-rock world (he also plays on Timber Timbre and Arcade Fire’s albums), he could be just the friendly face to move Polaris away from rock ‘n’ roll — although the fact that he’s only just received permanent citizenship has some questioning if he’s “Canadian enough” for the prize.

Timber Timbre – Creep On Creepin’ On – “Woman”
It’s not hard to love Timber Timbre. Specializing in spooky backwoods folk with a twisted sense of humour, the group’s second album (the first was more a solo project than anything) also shows a knack for atmospheric instrumentals. Those oddball bridges make Creepin’ On feel more cohesive somehow, and although some of the songs suffer from sounding overly similar, you’d never mistake them for anyone but Timber Timbre.
Will it win: There hasn’t been much discussion of it heading into the home stretch, but it might sneak in as a compromise between fans of weirdo-jazz and straight-ahead rock.

The Weeknd – House of Balloons – “Wicked Games”
Super-slinky R&B from a mysterious Torontonian who had never even performed live before getting shortlisted. On the plus side, the music practically oozes sexiness, the production is consistently top-notch and it’s pretty much the only nominee you could see getting played at a club. On the downside, every track is a slow-jam, which starts to feel oppressive after a while, and a lot of the sentiments reek of teen melodrama and macho posturing.
Will it win: House of Balloons has plenty going for it, and the jury is overdue to recognize Canadian R&B. I’d put The Weeknd easily in the top three contenders (Arcade Fire and Stetson being the other two, and Braids just behind ‘em).

Bonus: Three albums that should have made the short list, but didn’t even make the long list

Not that I’m bitter about that at all.

Eric Chenaux – Warm Weather with Ryan Driver – “Since We’re Smokey”
Unfortunately, the live version here doesn’t have Ryan Driver’s piano, but you still get to hear Cheneaux’s warm, expressive voice and guitar. If you’re looking for folk/singer-songwriter fare, Chenaux is probably the country’s finest, and Warm Weather is up there with his best.

The Meligrove Band – Shimmering Lights – “Bones Attack!”
Catchier than Hey Rosetta!, more ambitious than Galaxie, and more fun than Arcade Fire. Plus, if you’re talking about Canadian-ness, Shimmering Lights somehow manages to condense the last decade’s worth of Canadian indie-rock trends into one very listenable package.

Slakah the Beatchild – Something Forever – “Things I Do (For Her)”
I found out about this one too late to truly fall for it before the long list vote, so I’m as much to blame for its absence as anyone, but it’s a fantastic slab of throwback hip hop with nicely breezy production, silky R&B hooks and a summertime vibe that’s tough to top.

YOUR SISTER’S SISTER
Director Lynn Shelton’s Hump Day was a very pleasant surprise, taking an Adam Sandler-worthy premise (two straight guys decide to make a porn together as a result of a game of gay chicken) and turning it into an insightful examination of male friendship. Your Sister’s Sister starts from a more grounded place, but eventually finds the same mix of heightened emotion and believability. This time, it’s platonic friendship and sisterhood that get put through the emotional wringer. It didn’t resonate for me quite as much as Hump Day, maybe because Shelton wasn’t targeting me quite as directly, but it’s still a rich blend of humour, naturalism and well-pitched drama.
B+

THE LADY
Luc Besson (Fifth Element, Extraordinary Adventures of Adele Blanc Sec) tones down the fantasy for a biopic of Nobel laureate Aung San Suu Kyi, the Oxford housewife who became a leader in the Burmese quest for democracy. Though certainly not limited in scope at nearly 2.5 hours, Besson keeps the focus on the personal over the political, dedicating much of the film to Aung San’s house arrest and the Burmese government’s efforts to keep her cancer-sick husband from visiting the country. This means Besson can draw some powerful emotions from Michelle Yeoh, but the downside to this approach is that we rarely see Aung San achieve anything — the bulk of her screen time is spent pushing through self-doubt, loneliness and guilt at staying away from her children in England. It gives a good sense of the personal sacrifice involved in political change, but aside from a handful of speeches and one confrontation with armed soldiers, Aung San’s actual contributions are frustratingly unclear.
B-

CHICKEN WITH PLUMS
Marjane Satrapi once again co-directs an adaptation of one of her graphic novels with Vincent Paronnaud, this time choosing live action over Persepolis’ gorgeous animation. The switch leads to no loss in visual richness — the compositions are beautiful throughout — but may make the cartoonish tone of the material more off-putting. The story is more like a fable than anything, depicting the last eight days in the life of a renowned violinist who loses the will to live. Art, love, death and destiny are the main topics at hand, handled with a constant whimsy that takes some of the grimness out its mean-spirited protagonist’s quest for death. Occasionally reminiscent of Jean-Pierre Jeunet both visually and tonally, the film bodes well for Satrapi’s future as a live-action filmmaker — it’ll be interesting to see where she goes with a project conceived from the beginning for the screen.
B

DARK HORSE
It doesn’t seem right to describe a Todd Solondz movie as upbeat, but Dark Horse is somewhere near it. Never mind that its protagonist is a thirty something who lives and works with his parents, collects Thunder Cats action figures in his spare time and can only get a date out of pity. Played to absolute perfection by Jordan Gelber, Abe doesn’t let his obvious shortcomings get him down, preferring to think of himself as the dark horse who will surprise everyone in the end. Granted, that leads to a sense of entitlement and persecution that only exasperates his situation, but Abe’s optimism is a welcome respite from Solondz’s usually unrelenting cynicism. This is still a Solondz movie, so there are still plenty of dark moments, but the humour is more up front, the performances broader, and the whole experience less soul-crushing than usual.
B+

TWIXT
Francis Ford Coppola sure is in a weird place lately. His latest bills itself as a gothic horror, but its hard to say how much of it is intended to scare and how much is intentional camp. The introductory narration by Tom Waits sets things up with plenty of cheek, and Val Kilmer doesn’t seem to take himself overly seriously as a “bargain-basement Stephen King” who uncovers a murder mystery while on his book tour. It’s certainly more self-aware than Coppola’s last attempt at gothic horror in Dracula. Gimmicky moments abound, including two exceptionally brief 3D sequences, with the overall sense that Coppola is more concerned with playing with a variety of techniques than providing a coherent story. Making the lead character a writer allows for plenty of metatextuality, and the ghost story that’s eventually uncovered is creepy when you get down to it, but I’d be more curious to see the film of that story than this one of its discovery and telling.
B-

GENERATION P
I have a few friends who may take this as more of a recommendation than is really intended, but Generation P is basically what you would get if you took Grant Morrison’s The Invisibles, moved it to Russia, and swapped the super-heroes for advertising creative types. In other words, it’s a bit of a mess, but when you’re blending social commentary, political philosophy, ancient mythology and psychedelic drugs, a mess is what you’re aiming for, really. As the government and economy open up at the tail end of Soviet Russia, poet and kiosk operator Babilen meets an old friend who convinces him that the future lies in the ad world. What follows is a mix of heavy handed cultural criticism (the film’s view of marketing is about as subtle as Adbusters) and bizarre tangents that coalesce into a strange multi-media conspiracy. The last third might require a good working knowledge of contemporary Russian politics to fully appreciate (I started losing interest a few times), but it’s a good mix of inspired and infuriating.
B

DEATH OF A SUPERHERO
The two main selling points of this kid-battling-cancer drama are its use of animated bits to convey the kid’s fears, and the chance to see Andy Serkis in a non-CGI role. The latter pans out better than the former. The movie does a good enough job getting across the muddle of emotions that come from essentially receiving a death sentence before you’re in spitting distance of adulthood, so the comic book characters that serve as emotional surrogates, while completely in fitting with the character, come across clumsy. Serkis’ role, meanwhile, is basically another take on Robin Williams’ Good Will Hunting psychologist, dead wife, bad sweaters and all. Despite all that, it comes across as sincere rather than calculating, even if it does press all the obligatory buttons.
C

INTO THE ABYSS
I expected more from Werner Herzog, to be honest. Into the Abuss bills itself as a documentary about the death penalty, but while it’s excellent at capturing the emotions that surround the debate, it still feels like a superficial treatment of the subject. Focussing in on a single case, Herzog looks at the details of a car theft and triple homicide that left one of its perpetrators with a life sentence and another on death row. The evidence of their guilt is overwhelming, including DNA and damning statements from the perps themselves — so when the death row inmate calmly insists on his innocence, it’s shocking that Herzog simply lets that thread drop. What we’re left with, then, is a collection of emotionally powerful interviews (peppered with leading questions from Herzog), and a few moments where Herzog’s personality comes through (which, naturally, are pretty wonderful). That it doesn’t build into a larger argument, though, seems like a wasted opportunity.
C+

TRISHNA
Director Michael Winterbottom transports Tess of the d’Urbervilles to contemporary India, and while the results are certainly beautiful, they’re less engaging than they could’ve been. No blame for that goes to the actors — Slumdog Millionaire’s Frieda Pinto plays the titular heroine with the right mix of hesitation and ambition, and Riz Ahmed is charming enough that, for a while at least, you can see how his general assholishness could be forgiven. And certainly no blame goes to the cinematography, which is gorgeous and colourful throughout. But the structure becomes numbingly repetitive after a while — there are only so many times you can see a woman degraded before the new insults don’t seem much worse than what came before. All of which makes the climax seem to come out of nowhere, rather than being an escalation of emotionally devastating circumstances, and a tragedy with a weak climax, even a gorgeous, well-acted tragedy, is just an exercise in suffering.
C

URBANIZED
Gary Hustwit is an expert at making seemingly mundane topics exceedingly fascinating. After tackling typography (Helvetica) and household objects (Objectified), he’s moved onto a much larger scale. Urbanized looks at urban design, taking an impressively global view of the issue and providing the requisite background info to argue for the subject’s importance. The talking heads can come across a little poncy — academics and design professionals do have a certain air about them — but the topics they discuss, namely liveability of modern cities and the challenges facing the urbanization process, prove endlessly interesting. There’s a perfunctory attempt to be evenhanded by inviting in a sole pro-sprawl planner, but Hustwit’s point is obvious and well-made. Case in point — by 2050, Mumbai’s slums will have the population of New York and London combined, and are currently averaging one toilet per 600 people. Clearly, something needs to change.
B+

THE DAY
For as little attention as The Day gives to its backstory, it might well be set in the same universe as The Road. Like that film, there’s not much left in the way of plant or animal life, though it’s never explained why, and the few survivors have either banded up into roving gangs of cannibals, or resisted the temptation (which means a much rougher go of it, what with the global famine and all). But where The Road used its post-apocalyptic setting to examine the relationship between a father and son (and to depress the hell out of everyone who watched it, in a good way), The Day is straightforward genre fare, with all the jump-scares and blood splatter that implies. The whole plot could fit itno a cut scene in a survival horror game, and would probaby be pretty fun in that context. Too bad its potential as fun popcorn fare is thrown off by a torture sequence mid-film that eats away at any sympathy for the protagonists.
C+

KILLER JOE
Sometimes one scene can completely change your view of a film. For the most part, William Friedkin’s Killer Joe is a tawdry but entertaining crime flick about a trailer-park twenty-something who recruits his dad to help him hire a hit-man to take out his mom for the insurance money. The cast revels in the skuzzy setting, and everyone from Thomas Haden Church as the lunk-headed father to a surprisingly friendly (though not particularly merciful) loan shark — and even Matthew McConaughey’s calways-calm hitman, for the most part — all seem committed to keeping the tone lighter than the subject matter would suggest. Then, after a third-act twist, things change from tasteless to downright hateful in a stomach-churning sequence where a character brutalizes a suspected betrayor. Suddenly, what seemed cheerfully crude earlier looks uncomfortably sexist in retrospect, and even a particularly ballsy ending can’t make up for the shift in tone.
C

HYSTERIA
After two films where women suffered horrible beatings, a comedy about the invention of the vibrator seemed like exactly the right sort of innocuous ending to the day. And that’s about the right word for Hysteria, which is probably the most non-threatening movie ever to focus on finger-banging and sex toys. Despite a raunchy premise, Hysteria is darned near family friendly, and quite traditional in its pursuit of rom-com formula. There are a few things that elevate it: Rupert Everett is a delight as a brash, wealthy electricity afficianado; Maggie Gyllenhall is perfectly winning as an early feminist and advocate of social welfare for the lower classes. The only trouble is that it never quite hits the manic pitch promised by the trailer — it’s a date-friendly film with a touch of tittilation, a bit of politicizing and a few period-based laughs, but it never moves beyond “pleasant.”
B