1.

Welcome to Postmodern Accident’s Best of 2007. Now you can all just kiss off into the air.

Let’s begin the final installment of the countdown by reiterating my choices for best album of the past several years. I think it’s the best way to illustrate my mindset in making these selections.

The best album of 2003 was in fact Radiohead’s Hail to the Thief. I tend to think of that year as having an embarrassment of riches when it comes to strong individual songs, but only a few major contenders in the album category. At this point, I was still floating from the slow, syrupy fix of Amnesiac a few years before, and it may have clouded my judgment. Big apologies to Mew, and Muse, and Tangiers, and the Rapture, but none of you seemed to push the boundaries of your capabilities; Radiohead, on the other hand, managed to go even further into the experimental abyss while still maintaining an exceptionally identifiable sound.

The best album of 2004 was Liars’ They Were Wrong, So We Drowned, and I knew it the first time I heard it, and I never wavered from that decision. This is the album that nobody likes except for me, except of course for all of us who say that this is the album that nobody likes except for us. This was the sound of a band completely shattering the expectations of every last one of their fans, all the while challenging themselves. I reward nothing more than fearless adventurousness, especially in bands that already fit neatly into a box. (Additional bonus points for sampling Einstürzende Neubauten.)

The best album of 2005 was the Dandy Warhols’ Odditorium or Warlords of Mars. This is the album that nobody likes except for me. Really. Google it if you don’t believe me! For me, it’s the sound of a highly talented pop group going completely off the rails. It’s perverse, trippy, long, and nobody else likes it; in other words, the perfect album.

The best album of 2006 was Hot Chip’s The Warning. This one almost seems like a conservative choice for me, but I was constantly stricken by its intelligence and its playability, plus it marked the culmination of my three-year obsession with all things produced by the DFA. “Over and Over” is dirty, “Boy from School” is charming, and “No Fit State” is hypnotically alluring. I still listen to this album frequently, and no, their new release Made in the Dark doesn’t hold a candle to it.

And the best album of 2007? It shouldn't take a nihilist with a good imagination to figure it out.



The problem with “best albums” is that they’re the ones you least want to talk about. This year, I could go on about Kevin Barnes’ transformation into a bona fide rock star, his use of the record as a therapeutic outlet for his depression and as a document of his recovery. I could make long statements about how I am still completely uninterested in Of Montreal’s shady past of twee, children-being-indulgent pop records, with titles like The Bedside Drama, The Gay Parade, and Coquelicot Asleep in the Poppies. I could even lash out generally against the painfully unadventurous Elephant 6 collective, while pointing out how this album marks Of Montreal’s evolution beyond such earlier constraints.

And you know what? Kevin Barnes is weird.

But none of that really matters. Mostly, I just want to play the album... repeatedly. Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer? struck a chord in me immediately, as it takes just one listen to hear its magic. Barnes is a stunningly great melodicist and lyricist, and the music—something akin to synthesized glam rock, complete with glorious dollops of Sparks and early Eno—is kaleidoscopic in its constant whirl of color and energy. Barnes moves effortlessly from sunny, histrionic pop like “Suffer for Fashion” through the epic driving menace of “The Past Is a Grotesque Animal” to the crunchy manic rock of “She’s a Rejecter” in such a way that you can tell he’s reached some sort of catharsis. (Or possibly several of them: emotional, mental, sexual...) Every time I go back to the album, I discover new moments; the simple fact that I’ve heard such gems as “Heimdalsgate Like a Promethean Curse” and “Gronlandic Edit” hundreds of times and yet still feel like I’m listening with virgin ears is a testament to how fun and fresh the record remains.

Oh, shit. You probably just went to YouTube and watched the video for either one of those songs and now you think I'm fucking mad. This could be the music of a million crack-addled street musicians, vying for attention. You and your Wilco New Pornographer ears have now lost all faith in my musical credibility. That's it, folks. Game's over; the countdown is done, and it was all rendered meaningless by a quick, harsh judgment against music that sounds completely inane to you on the surface.

I won't lie: Hissing Fauna is overwhelmingly self-indulgent, but here's a key difference between Of Montreal and, say, Dan Deacon. Most artists indulge after a taste of success; buoyed by confidence, they lose their ability to self-edit and produce disastrously misguided material as a result. Of Montreal, however, has done the opposite. Their indulgence has brought about their success, and Barnes has delivered his finest album to date on the heels of severe self-doubt. I can only hope that the massive confidence boost he received this year (especially evident in their live show) does not cloud his vision for the future. I have ranked Hissing Fauna as the #1 record of the year because, more than any other record, it demonstrates remarkable growth in an artist whose future could not be brighter.

2. Radiohead - In Rainbows

Welcome to Postmodern Accident’s Best of 2007:
“…for my family.”

Look, I am as sick of this as you are. I am aware that it is no longer 2007 and that 2008 is slowly creeping by. Another Valentine’s Day has come and gone that meant nothing to me whatsoever because I am a loveless black-hearted fool who is always obsessing about the year before. Musically right now I’m excited about a number of interesting things that have nothing to do with 2007. And most importantly, I have pictures and experiences that I’d like to post that have nothing to do with this inane countdown that nobody seems to be reading anyway.

And so, you might ask, why not just finish up? And so, I might ask back, is that really the way you expect things to run in my world? Of course you don’t… There are death flus and catalog copy and friends visiting and IDM from 15 years ago and all sorts of things that have commanded my attention in the interim. I even considered just not finishing the countdown, because it somehow seems strangely appropriate.

Earlier this month I made a point of establishing a distinction between favorites and the selections on this list, and by that standard the following artist has absolutely no right to be anywhere near the countdown, and really, nobody wants to hear me talk about them again after 10 whole years of hyperbolic fanboy blathering.



Radiohead keep breaking everybody else’s rules; I’m not sure why I expect them to adhere to mine.

Despite the three years of hype that followed OK Computer and the documentary film that I saw at the Music Box behind that big-headed guy and the complete immersion in Kid A that made me sound like I was proselytizing to everyone I knew and the traveling across the country to see the band perform at Liberty State Park and the downloading of a bazillion live bootlegs and the rapture that followed when “True Love Waits” was finally released on a record and 4 years of listening to one particular bootleg that contained an unreleased live track called “Reckoner” that was somehow reminiscent of Led Zeppelin “being pulled apart by horses,” I was convinced that Radiohead were done. It was taking far too long for them to record a follow-up to Hail to the Thief and Thom’s solo record oddly failed to affect me.

“Radiohead are done,” I told my friends, as many of you know. And if they weren’t done, they would surely suck. They would somehow unwrite the fact that “There There” still managed to qualify in my mind as the best single of 2003 and that if I had gotten my cat two years later I would have named her “Myxomatosis” and that “The Gloaming” is still in my head, always, every day, and that there are a LOT of inappropriate situations where you should not sing out loud, “They will suck you down to the other side.”

As you can imagine, it took me all of 8 seconds to decide I was going to shell out the $80 for the In Rainbows Discbox when the band made the announcement that changed everything.

You’re rolling your eyes.

But before you write off my comments as a true believer, please hear me out. I understand that the band’s “pay what you want” approach to downloading sub-par MP3 files was not really as cool as it sounded, and that the skeptics in the audience see it as not much more than foregoing the traditional avenue of distributing free promo CDs to stores and publications around the world. But Radiohead understood that the greatest, fastest form of spreading information was via the Internet, with which they came of age, and ultimately they didn’t need a dinosaur business industry to help them with this part of the task. Rather than just leaking their own album, they offered up an alternative that made people think about the value of music, the value of artistry, the future of the music industry, and the responsibility that goes hand in hand with an awareness of their own power.

In other words, Radiohead took the opportunity to show everyone in the industry that there are other ways to proceed rather than to simply adhere to a dying model. And if the record itself weren’t possibly the finest they’ve recorded to date, this fact alone might be enough to justify their inclusion near the very top of my 2007 countdown.

But, oh, that record…! I was sick as a dog the night it became available for download. Actually, it was about 8 in the morning in the UK. Knowing this, I went to bed early and got myself up in the middle of the night to download it as soon as possible. I transferred it to my iPod and carried it back to bed, and lied there mesmerized and feverish for 40 minutes, entranced, absorbing the whole thing.

What I recall from the haze: the shouts of the children at the end of “15 Step,” the unprecedented high note that Thom holds at the climax of “Nude,” the weird switch in dynamics 3/4 of the way through “Weird Fishes,” and the endless wait for the pile-driving guitar momentum of “Reckoner” to interrupt the swoony, sophisticated tapestry of noodles and bleeps and synths that was dominating the record, which of course never happened because “Reckoner” developed a soul and became something else entirely.

It's an awe-inspiring record by a band who has creatively surpassed themselves so many times now that I have difficulty understanding why anyone still considers the stalemated U2 to be the best band in the world. And my Discbox has proven to be worth every penny, as the vinyl is mastered at 45 rpm to allow for more information in its grooves and the bonus CD has a number of additional gems on it like "Down Is the New Up" (sultry, minor-keyed rock), "Last Flowers" (desolate beauty, like "True Love Waits" or "Like Spinning Plates") and "4 Minute Warning" (gentle, ghostly).

Then why isn't In Rainbows the best record of 2007? Because I think it hijacked the year somewhat. Radiohead are currently bigger than charts and countdowns; even their baby steps are noted by major news networks and cultural commentators. Despite my crazy fandom for a decade, I always felt that their music was somehow "mine." But not anymore; Radiohead truly belong to everybody.

So there's another record, by another artist, who defined 2007 for me so much more profoundly than this did...

(Oh, here's the marvelous clip for "Jigsaw Falling Into Place"...)

3. M.I.A. - Kala

Welcome to Postmodern Accident’s Best of 2007:
“…for my heartache.”



I cannot think of any working artist right now who feels more vital than Maya Arulpragasam; her music has an absolutely perfect balance of universal appeal, intelligence, political weight, and forward-thinking production. Her basic style, best described in muso terms as grime infused with ragga and electro pop, makes her the first artist in my mind to show that hip-hop will ultimately prove to be a genre of music even more comprehensive than rock. The fact that I am even covering this record on Postmodern Accident is a testament to its breadth. M.I.A. references the Clash, the Modern Lovers, and the Pixies on Kala, and she brings in such disparate elements as ABBA-esque Bollywood pop and a group of aboriginal boy rappers. It is a truly astonishing assortment of sounds, approaches, and—most importantly—cultures.

Last year I remarked several times that M.I.A. had produced the album of the year. If we were speaking strictly on musical terms, I might still feel that way, but I think middle-class American guilt actually keeps me from upholding it so highly. The problem is that Kala is so earnest in its multiculturalism, and so readily tuned to the NPR set, that despite its relevance to my musical tastes (think dancy, edgy, electronic, British, sarcastic, etc.), it makes me feel phony, like some sort of silent passenger on its wild ride. I mean, who am I? Just some dull, overeducated, thirty-something white male who has been surrounded by cushions his entire life; I know more about British men with teased hair and lipstick than I do about militant struggles for Tamil independence. So what right do I have to declare that M.I.A. rocked my world more than everyone else in 2007??

When it came to compiling this list, the bottom line is that she didn’t, no matter how much I wanted her to. Kala is an extraordinarily fun record that somehow makes me want to dance and listen to non-American newscasts at the same time. It makes me want to be a better person. But I am not yet that person, and last year, two other artists—far more predictable in terms of little ol' RTW—rocked my world even more.

Here is Postmodern Accident’s choice for song of the year, “Paper Planes”:

4. Animal Collective - Strawberry Jam Panda Bear - Person Pitch

Welcome to Postmodern Accident’s Best of 2007:
“…for my headache.”

Did you ever watch the MTV Top 20 Video Countdown that was played on Friday nights at 7? I think it was aired again over the weekend, so you didn’t have to cut into your Friday night mall time to watch it. I most frequently remember the show hosted by Adam Curry, possibly China Kantner or Carolyn Heldman occasionally.

WOW. Remember Kevin Seal? There are, like, NO pictures of these people online. For personalities who were so pivotal to suburban teen life in the late ‘80s, they sure seem obscure now.

Anyway, my point is that as the countdown reached its higher realms, there was almost always a video that everyone, without exception, was just completely sick of seeing, and instead of playing out the whole damn thing again, they’d show an excerpt from it and move on to something else. I mean, why watch all 7 minutes of “The Way You Make Me Feel” if you could gloss over it in 30 seconds and avoid the crotch-grabbing altogether? This was especially important if a song were moving down the chart, though I’m fairly certain MTV never failed to play the entirety of “Pour Some Sugar on Me.”




I’m not exactly sick of Animal Collective, and their standing on my list hasn’t faltered in any way. But as I already spent
an entire post back in October blathering on about Strawberry Jam and Avey and Panda, I don’t really need to say much about them now.

Here’s the video for Panda Bear’s “Bro’s,” but don’t expect to be able to watch the whole thing because even as an edit it’s still 6 minutes long, and it’s so swirly that it kind of makes me sick. There’s a cat and a long haired (boy?) showering and something else but I don’t have the mild dose of ketamine handy that would undoubtedly slow my visual processing down enough to figure it out. Still, it’s a good example of Panda’s unusual Brian-Wilson-meets-Brian-Eno variant of postmodernism and deserves to be exalted here.

5. LCD Soundsystem - Sound of Silver

Welcome to Postmodern Accident’s Best of 2007:
“…for my lonely.”



James Murphy’s 2005 full-length debut as LCD Soundsystem established that he could be as good as his mighty influences: Daft Punk, Brian Eno, the Fall, Talking Heads. Since then, his newfound status as tastemaker and trailblazer has allowed him to grant careers back to long-forgotten groundbreakers from 25 years ago: Liquid Liquid, Pigbag, Pylon, This Heat. His ever-growing legacy as a remixer has enabled him to keep company with seemingly untouchable contemporaries: Gorillaz, Hot Chip, the Rapture, Soulwax.

Opening with the best dance number of an already-incredible career and resonating emotionally with its audience for much of its remainder, Sound of Silver raises the stakes considerably for James Murphy; it proves that he deserves his ongoing position atop that high, high pedestal. Other than dropping a few more names, what more could I possibly say?

6. Shocking Pinks

Welcome to Postmodern Accident’s Best of 2007:
"...for my sorrow."

DISCLAIMER: The following artist is from New Zealand, and yet has absolutely nothing to do with anyone named Finn.



I think I trust the DFA too much. Ever since the one-two of “House of Jealous Lovers” and “Losing My Edge,” I’ve been picking up just about every release that has that stupid little hand-drawn lightning bolt logo on it—and almost without exception have enjoyed them all. But in a year where the DFA may have spread themselves too thin (focusing on their flagship, signing new bands, reissuing old ones, licensing 12” singles from across the sea), it’s reassuring to know that Tim Goldsworthy and James Murphy are still capable of utterly surprising me with their outright coolness, snatching up a fantastic, little-known lo-fi independent act from one of the farthest corners of the world and sharing it with the rest of us.

DISCLAIMER: This album is a compilation of tracks from two prior records released only in New Zealand. Although the bulk of it is composed of tracks from their latest record presented in the same sequence, in some circles this might disqualify it from inclusion on any 2007 list. If you are a member of such circles, fuck you. This record trumps any of that New Pornographers shit to which you keep clinging.

If you think the DFA affiliation means that this album is going to be chock full of white electro-funk and disco beats, think again. Shocking Pinks is basically the outlet for self-confessed reformed heroin junkie Nick Harte to indulge his fascination with the Pretty in Pink soundtrack, and it shows almost immediately. “This Aching Deal” and “Second Hand Girl” could be outtakes from New Order’s Low Life. “How Am I Not Myself?”—a great title undoubtedly stolen from I Heart Huckabees—sounds like an attempt to emulate the Smiths’ famous riff-and-warble combo. And “End of the World” and “Emily” have a melodic romanticism that has been missing from most alt-rock since the gritty ‘90s turned the Psych Furs into Love Spit Love.

But the two greatest things to know about Shocking Pinks are that (1) Harte is a drummer first and foremost, so the record bears an overwhelmingly hot live-drum sound that sets it apart from everything else on the DFA roster and (2) Harte seems committed to a strictly lo-fi approach that frees these songs from a distinct time and place and gives them all a common denominator. The end result is a record with an embarrassment of riches in a number of disparate styles that sounds like a smartly sequenced greatest hits and plays like a cultural touchstone.

There’s a transcendent moment in the video for “End of the World” where an electric saw is throwing sparks as it cuts through the door of a crashed car in order to reach the passengers inside. The sparks are strangely beautiful despite the circumstances, and I like to think this element is part of what makes Shocking Pinks so appealing, and why I rate it so highly.

Not 6. Liars

Welcome to Postmodern Accident. This is not number six. Six. Six is still coming.

Whenever I compose lists like this, I have to be especially careful not to confuse my “favorites” of the year with “the best.” There are certain artists who have crossed some sort of threshold in my mind that essentially disqualifies them from the year-end best lists, simply because they would always rank there. I am forced to admit a certain degree of subjectivity; I can no longer judge clearly whether I am judging these records clearly. Otherwise, my list would have Depeche Mode, the Fall, and something Damon Albarn-related on it every year.



Liars have probably ascended to that level. For me, they remain the most consistently unpredictable and refreshing band of the 2000s. Yet after I heralded their 2nd album They Were Wrong, So We Drowned as the best of 2004 ("Foot in the grave!" The album is all about witchcraft…), I just kind of stopped talking about them. So please allow me a moment, in the midst of this year’s countdown, to reflect upon the state of Liars today, how they measured up in 2007, and what it means to be a Liars fan.

My friend John, who typically likes laid back singer/songwriter types and countrified rock bands like Wilco, went to see Interpol back in October, with Liars opening up. The morning after the show, I asked him what he thought of it. “Interpol were okay,” he said. “But that opening band? They weren’t even music.”

Of course, Liars are music, but I know what he meant. Liars are so driven by their own contrarianism that they’ll spend two years making noise just to make up for the previous two years in which they composed songs. Most of the time, they focus so heavily on hovering near the outer fringes of convention that the brief hooks and choruses that inevitably pop up on their records come across as extreme moments of experimentalism. Somehow after six or seven years of making severe left turns in their career, the decision to tour with Interpol—a much more refined and palatable band—just seemed like another bizarre and shocking move for the trio. After all, these are the guys whose biggest hit to date is called “The Other Side of Mt. Heart Attack,” and who grafted their own heads onto an explicit gay porn photo for the cover of one of their singles, even though I am fairly certain they’re all straight. These are the guys who named their debut album They Threw Us All in a Trench and Stuck a Monument on Top and yet named their fourth album Liars.

The self-title is appropriate, though. This record qualifies as one of my favorites of the year, not because of its experimentalism, but because it incorporates all the elements of their previous albums into one: '70s punk rock, sinister synth drones, percussive experiments, and remarkable pop songs. Even though 2006's Drum’s Not Dead restored the band’s esteem within the indie community, it remains their weakest record overall. Liars, however, is a clear return to form, a form that the band will likely blow wide open the next time they emerge from the darkness of the woods.

Warning: weirdness follows, but we Liars fans wouldn't have it any other way. We spit upon the Wilcos of the world.