#bestof2010

[playerdangeroustime]

Cerramos la década 2010 de @paulonavarretemora con estas fotos del año 2019 y un final de la década de siglo que marcaron del año #BestOf2019 #Bestof2010 #Año2019 #Decada2010 #Instagram https://www.instagram.com/p/B6vigEHl7G0/?igshid=44ckb8y6twt4

[playerdangeroustime]

Las mejores Top 9 del año 2019 para @paulonavarretemora #BestNine2019 #BestOf2019 #BestOf2010's #Top9 https://www.instagram.com/p/B6otepCFkq7/?igshid=1el2eub6n1k4u

[pwnicholson]

Jonathan Chu on Flickr.

[dance-n-think]

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Nebraska - This Is The Way

[dance-n-think]

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Wafa - Pop Up (Canblaster Remix)

[listingthrough-blog]

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1. Joanna Newsom – Have One On Me

Because, you see, of course it is.

More?

In that case, how about we start by recognising that even though this record came out on February 23rd of last year, nearly a full year ago now, it’s still somehow managing to keep its best secrets crushingly close to what initially seemed such a disarmingly bare chest. After the mesmeric, but nevertheless at times emotionally distancing, Ys (2006), all the motherhood imagery surrounding the pre-release buzz for Have One On Me painted a first listen in hues far bolder, far starker, far more primary than we’d been used to from JoJo. Prepared thus, it was probably the most lyrically direct tracks that hit home first, participating as so many of them appeared to do in that traditional pop-song conceit of exploring universal themes through particulars just a little more gnomic of detail. For me, then, it was the opening verse of ‘Baby Birch’ that struck the first shuddered chords:

This is the song for Baby Birch,

Though I will never know you.

And at the back of what we’ve done

There is the knowledge of you.

It was beginning to feel that, not only was Joanna singing in a clearer, more conventional-sounding voice, but she was choosing to adopt a vernacular specially primed for exploring the more excruciatingly commonplace of human dilemmas: whatever they did, whatever happened to Baby Birch, whether adoption, abortion, or even the choice merely to refrain, that unknown child remained as hypothetical as the constellations, so far away in their bulletproof cars. All the more, and pitched up alongside the briefest and most unswerving of the album’s similarly-themed tracks, ‘On a Good Day’ – ‘I had begun to fill in all the lines / Right down to what we’d name her’ – Joanna seemed to be inviting us to see her not as the pedestal-dweller responsible for, say, ‘Sawdust and Diamonds’, but just another writer into whose life her art was of necessity beginning to intrude, and vice versa.

But, of course, we’re far too smart to mistake ‘direct’ for ‘honest’, aren’t we? Aren’t we? Well, maybe: but, truth or fiction, or the neverland between, tell me you can watch a performance like this and not get to some kind of compelling ‘truth’ for yourself, howsoever you might find it to be composed:

So that’s the thing, then. Yes, these songs are founded more than ever before on emotions we recognise; and, yes, it’s to those emotions that the songs return when they're through; but it’s the residue those lyrical wanderings leave on our later perceptions of those emotions that render them altered, fashion them anew. And that’s all you can ask of an art, isn’t it? How about this one: try ridding yourself a moment, at least in theory, of those items you habitually use to beautify your life – maybe all your pretty dresses, sure, but maybe also your books, your sweeter memories – and then do so after you’ve listened closely to ‘Does Not Suffice’. Oh, how empty hang the hangers, huh?

There’s too much else here for me to go into, so I’ll end instead with a stolen anecdote. Not long after Have One On Me first dropped into our lives – inscrutable as Ludwig, pretty as spent remorse – a good pal o’mine and fellow elect to the cult of Newsom had the unfathomably jealousy-inducing fortune to get to see Joanna and co. play at a little 500-standing venue in Nashville, TN. I’m sure he won’t mind me sharing the tale of his greatest glory: long story short, a moment arose such that, by shouting the immortal phrase, ‘Fuck Eugene!’, into the still of a between-track lull, he made Joanna Newsom laugh. You probably could have done with some context there, I guess, but the point remains: HE MADE JOANNA NEWSOM LAUGH.

Now, I’m not normally one for lapping at the coat-tails of pop stars, no matter how affecting their music might be (seriously, you’ll only need to read this interview with Sufjan Stevens while listening along to Age of Adz to be reminded that the real heroes are, like, firefighters or teachers or whatever. Or Batman); but there’s something about Joanna – call it otherworldliness, or maybe better potustoronnost'  – that sets her apart from the rest, and makes thirty-something-in-the-front-row-of-a-Take-That-reunion-gig idolatry somehow acceptable. So here’s an ending: just a couple of hours before she broke us all with her performance at Green Man last summer, Joanna brushed past me in the crowds, momentarily, then was gone. Oh, how can we forgive ourselves our follies? It’s not like any other love, we say to ourselves: this one’s different because it’s us. 

[listingthrough-blog]

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2. Baths – Cerulean

Looking back a mere cuppla months, and much as I already loved Cerulean in its recorded form by that point, I had a few doubts as to how it would translate live: the one-dude-standing-behind-his-laptop-and-singing phenomenon can be a little unpredictable, after all. So, heading down to a studiously unfinished basement venue in Shoreditch, the potential for fakery loomed like the truth behind a Lib Dem pledge (POLITICS!) Promisingly, though, the support act, Becoming Real, had proved a revelation, coming across like the Robin Goodfellow (LITERATURE!) of 8-bit beat-building. Optimism abounded. Nevertheless, once Will Weisenfeld took to the table and started fiddling around with his equipment (INNUENDO!), those reservations started creeping back in: that’s right, as he loped about all goofy smiles and knob-twiddles, and as the unmistakeable opening rush of ‘Hall’ kicked in, it quickly became apparent that his contribution to the live vocals was, at best, minimal. Oh how hearts can sink, friends. But, y’know what? If there was one record this year that could cause a sunken heart to rise from its own bowels and into the heavens, then Cerulean was surely it. The kid responsible for such joyfulness as that which informs the likes of ‘Plea’ and ‘Maximalist’ wasn’t going to let us down for long: given a few more seconds, back into the heights he rushed, bellowing out that killer refrain, living up to the song’s claims about calling all around, the sound filling, HAAAAA-AAAAA-LLLLLL!!! Year’s best tune? Year’s best tune.

Anyhow, I suppose those of you unprepared to take my word for things like this might need more convincing than those inappropriate capital letters and exclamation marks are apt to provide. Here goes, then: look at it this way, if those few thousand people who bought the Velvets’ records back in the backwhen really did all start bands, then it stands to reason that all those of you in the hereandnow that both watch this clip and then buy Cerulean – which you’re gonna do, because it’s the second best album of 2010 – will have little choice other than to get straight over to your nearest online vendor, snap up an Akai MPD32, and start making your own greatnesses:

 I am going to say I told you so. Just a friendly warning, OK?

So, what about the studio equivalent, then? Well, from the first few syncopated beats that jam right up into the choral loveliness of opener ‘Apologetic Shoulder Blades’, it’s pretty obvious that we’re onto a winner. Next come some melodic bleepings that, straddling the melancholic and the elevational as they do, set the tone for what’s to come, and lead us sweetly into the second track, the Four Tet-meets-Why?-meets-Elmo-rapping of ‘Lovely Bloodflow’. And lovely ‘tis, fo' sho'.

I’m not going to foil the fun of the fayre by regaling you with every detail of every track, of course, but here’s a few heads-ups for the wary: ‘Plea’ is the big, beautiful beast you’ll be singing along to in your sleep; ‘Aminals’ will have you reaching for your choicest head-bopping shoes; ‘Rain Smell’ learned well some of the lessons James Blake is currently bringing with him to teach the Radio One kids; and ‘♥’ speaks of the sort of restrained sombreness Win Butler’s probably looking for before the anthemics take over.

All said and done, then, Cerulean marks the introduction of a major talent who, at only 21, probably has more tricks up his sleeve than a prostitute-conjuring wizard. (A whorelock? JOKES!) If you happen to have been won over, which you have, then you might want to know that Weisenfeld’s just put out another ambient record under the Geotic moniker; if you happen to be smart, you’ll keep watching for more. And here's some more delightful live footage of 'Hall' for starters:

[aaronthechamp-blog]

The Toy Story 3 Divide

At this point I think most people I know have decided that their favourite film of 2010 was either Black Swan or Toy Story 3. Its a pretty telling divide actually, wherein the fans of Toy Story 3 will largely say that Black Swan was their number 2, while Black Swan fans (like me) have Toy Story 3 nowhere on their list.

To be fair, I only got to watching Toy Story 3 last week, and I had largely made up my mind about the film months ago. Every year critics and fans rave about Pixar films, but I never seem to get ‘it.’ Wall-E and UP! were both good films, but really nothing out of the ordinary. The best thing about either of them were their first acts, where we spend a good 20 minutes or so without dialogue in Wall-E, or we witness a man’s entire life tragically flash in front of our eyes in UP. Both of these films offer non-traditional first acts for a children’s film, but quickly regress back into standard adventure-film tropes that ultimately leave the films feeling empty.

What’s funny to me about Toy Story 3 is that it feels like a re-hash of a lot of the thematic ideas of the previous films in the series. The third installment offers zero non-traditional sequences and feels predictable the entire way through. The moment where Woody and the other toys accept their own deaths is a heavy one, but I never for a moment actually thought they would end up in that fire-pit. In fact, I think I would have enjoyed the film more if they did meet a brutal fiery death.

(I am not saying that predictability immediately makes something a bad film. In its first five minutes, Black Swan effectively explains to the audience exactly what is going to happen for the next 2 hours, but Aronofsky makes the journey so much more enjoyable.)

But really what it might come down to is the very simple truth that the film is about toys and ultimately I cannot put myself in that story. People grow out of their toys and Andy, being a reasonable young-adult, has moved on beyond his dolls and is more concerned with the real world. Should I feel sorry for the toys left behind? I guess…but I don’t think that the ending of Toy Story 3 offers much of a hopeful alternative.

Where Woody and the other toys end up in the film feels like an incredibly cruel fate. Sure, they are in the care of a child who will really love them, but that girl is going to grow up and grow out of playing with dolls. Then what? These toys are doomed to cycle of abandonment. What kind of existence is that?

I’m sure some would call me a cynic, and maybe I am, but the stakes of a film about toys just never feel all that high. Given the choice between a film about abandoned toys and a film about a ballerina who slowly becomes more and more crazy the closer she gets to her dream, I’d choose the crazy ballerina any day.

-ac

(P.S. My top films of 2010 were: Black Swan, Blue Valentine, 127 Hours, Winter’s Bone and Inception)