Manic Street Preachers gig [20th November 2010 @ The Forum]

James Dean Bradfield in the heat of the moment

I last saw Welsh alternative rockers Manic Street Preachers back in 1999 at the Prince of Wales in St. Kilda, for their This is my truth tell me yours tour. At the time I only had two of their albums -- the highly underrated This is my truth (1998) and anthemic post-Richey classic Everything must go (1996). This made that a gig of two halves for me; the recent songs that I knew and loved, and the older songs which the die-hard fans were screaming over, but I hadn't heard.

This time I had all of their albums bar their latest, Postcards from a young man, which I have listened to but have yet to purchase. It was also at The Forum in Flinders Street, my favourite gig venue as I have stated many times on this blog.

I met up with my mate Pete, his brothers and work-mate at the venue after leaving early from a bucks night which I was attending. I had consumed a few ales at the bucks night, so this was the first gig in what seemed like a long time that I attended in a less-than-sober state.

We missed the support act, and shortly after 9pm the Manics took to the stage. Opening with one of their Richey-era anthems, You love us, they covered a very diverse section of songs from most of their 10 albums released over a 19-year span. There were old-skool fan favourites like Motorcycle emptiness, Faster and Motown junk, some now mid-career classics like If you tolerate this and The everlasting and a few surprises like Suicide is painless (a.k.a. the theme song from MASH, albeit with lyrics).

Vocalist/guitarist James Dean Bradfield chatted a little with the audience between songs, but it was the flamboyant bassist Nicky Wire who stole the show, returning to the stage part-way through the gig wearing what appeared to be a pink skirt, sailor hat and a shite-load of make-up. He clearly deserves the title of the most camp heterosexual musician in the world.

The biggest disappointment for me was that they didn't play a single song from their superb 2009 album Journal for plague lovers. Easily their most impressive album of the 2000s, it would have been great to hear a bit of Jackie Collins existential question time or Virginia state epileptic colony, but alas it was not to be. They didn't play any songs from their more synth-heavy 2004 album Lifeblood, but that didn't bother me so much.

Closing the set with their sing-along 1996 anthem A design for life, Bradfield and co. farewelled the Melbourne audience. Like fellow Welsh statesmen Super Furry Animals, and legendary English metalheads Spinal Tap, the Manics don't believe in encores. Which suited me quite well; my prior over-consumption of beer wasn't sitting very well, and the fresh air outside the Forum was just was the doctor ordered.

Bootleg media

Nicky Wire before his costume change

All aboard...Nicky Wire after his costume change




Performance of one of their early 90s classics, "Motorcycle emptiness"

RIP: Pete Quaife 1943-2010

[Hardly breaking news]: Pete Quaife, the original bassist for British invasion band The Kinks, passed away last month at the age of 66. This makes him the first of the original four band members (including Ray Davies, Dave Davies and Mick Avory) to no longer be with us.

The Kinks formed in 1964 and first hit the charts with their classic rock song You really got me. Over the remainder of the decade they demonstrated tremendous musical evolution not unlike their contemporaries, a little known Liverpool act known as The Beatles.

They released several fine conceptual albums in the late 60s and early 70s -- Face to face, Something else, Village green preservation society, Arthur and Lola. Their 1971 album Muswell hillbillies is my personal favourite, an underrated and lost classic which you should definitely pick up if you get a chance.

At the core The Kinks were a very singles-dominated band and picking up one of their many singles compilations is the best way to get into them. From the power chords of All day and all of the night, the wry character portraits of Well respected man and Dedicated follower of fashion, the gorgeous story-telling of Sunny afternoon and the perfect pop of Dead end street and Lola, they left a remarkable legacy on the British musical landscape.

Their work influenced countless bands in subsequent decades, and they were in many ways the Godfathers of Britpop.

Rest in peace, Pete.

Wilco gig [5th May 2010 @ The Forum]

Jeff Tweedy in action

[Photo courtesy of MarkP]

American alternative rock band Wilco last played in Australia a few years back, touring for their Sky blue sky album. At the time I had decided to give the gig a miss, a decision which I regretted when some of my other gig mates went along and subsequently raved about their live performance. When I heard recently that not only were Wilco returning to Melbourne, but they were playing at The Forum (easily my favourite musical venue) it was an opportunity too good to pass up.

A few days before the gig my mate Mark informed fellow gig mate Matt and myself that there was going to be even better "bang for the buck" because Liam Finn was supporting Wilco. Regularly observant readers may remember that I named his 2007 debut album I'll be lightning as one of my favourite albums of the 2000s. Needless to say, I was very pleased when I heard that he would be playing support.

While Liam had quite a reputation for rocking out in his live performances, I don't think anyone was expecting the utterly surreal performance of his act that night. While I usually gloss over the support act in my gig reviews, his set almost overshadowed the night for me.

It deserves a review of its own.

Liam Finn

Liam's set opened with a couple of songs from I'll be lightning -- the beautiful ballad Fire in your belly and Better to be. While the former was played in a fairly conventional acoustic fashion, for the latter he used a device which I hadn't seen before. He basically played the rhythm guitar part and then activated a machine to loop the same part continuously. This gave him the rhythmic foundation of the song (necessary since he was playing alone), allowing him to overlay the sound with lead guitar noodling and improvisation.

He had some strange mannerisms while playing guitar, sometimes closing his eyes like he was in pain or having a seizure. There was something a bit David Helfgott about it all.

After playing a couple more songs (On your side and Remember when), the set all got much weirder. He told the audience a story about a man (Connan Hosford) who he has met in New Zealand as a "wandering spirit". Connan had lived with Liam for a while, sleeping in his bed because "it was the only place he could" (although the impression was that their relationship was platonic). Then Liam invited Connan to come on the stage to perform in a few songs, and we were introduced to him as a sleight, youthful and fairly shy man with wavy blonde hair and an almost child-like demeanour.

Liam Finn and Connan Hosford
[Photo courtesy of MarkP]

Liam told the audience about how Connan and himself had co-written a song in tribute to actor Leonardo DiCaprio called Leo, and they performed this on stage. Liam sung the bizarre song with his normal voice, with Connan singing in a high falsetto, performing some strange vocal tricks by using his finger to vibrate his larynx. It was a bizarre display, with many audience members including me finding it all very amusing. When Connan finally did speak, he appeared to have a fairly normal voice.

Connan stayed on stage for the remainder of the set, providing the high backing vocals for the title track from I'll be lightning. Apparently Connan co-wrote the song with Liam and performed backing vocals on the studio version. It was interesting making the connection between the vocals on the studio version and this man on stage.

When he wasn't singing, Connan was dancing really awkwardly to the music. He appeared to be very nervous, but overall he came across as a bit of a Bez (of Happy Mondays fame). The set list ended with a cover of Devo's song Gut feeling, where Liam Finn went off with the help of a mini joystick-shaped theremin.

It was one of the most memorable supports acts I have ever seen; I wish all support acts were this interesting live. I would definitely see him live again if I had the chance.

Wilco

Now who was I here to see again? That's right -- Wilco! Shortly after Liam left the stage, an announcement in a semi-computerised voice came over the PA system instructing fans not to take photos or video. Then Wilco took to the stage to the cheers of the already hyped-up crowd.

Wilco (the band) opened with Wilco (The song) from their most recent studio release Wilco (The album). Could there be an any more appropriate opening song? While the song is a bit of a throwaway, they managed to turn it into the perfect signature song to introduce all of the members of the band. They shone a spotlight on each band member in turn, stating their name; at the end it was all capped off with a single word: Wilco. It was an incredibly effective way to open the gig, showing that the band had a great sense of humour and showmanship.

The first half of the gig consisted mostly of songs from their last 4 studio albums, the albums where they moved away from their alt-country roots to embrace more alternative influences (although admittedly their last 2 albums were a return to a more conventional sound). Highlights of this part of the set included the beautiful Muzzle of bees, the dynamic At least that's what you said and the epic Handshake drugs (which worked much better in a live setting for me).

But the climax of the first half was undoubtedly the awesome Impossible Germany, where lead guitar virtuoso Nels Cline, Jeff Tweedy and the youthful looking Pat Sansone jammed like it was going out of fashion. It was an incredible display of interplay and duelling guitar, and it rawked the house down.

Jeff Tweedy and Pat Sansone trading guitar licks during "Impossible Germany"
[Photo courtesy of MarkP]

The second half of the gig began when bassist John Stirratt took to the microphone to sing the beautiful country song It's just that simple from their debut A.M. While this is (as far as I know) the only song on any of their studio albums not sung by Jeff Tweedy, I wasn't aware that the singer of that song was still in the band. It was a surprise inclusion in the set list.

The majority of the second half of the gig consisted of material from their albums prior to their breakthrough Yankee hotel foxtrot, and music from this era had a much more of a country feel to it. Their performance of Via chicago from Summerteeth was nothing short of amazing, where the mellow verses suddenly disappeared in blasts of dissonance and feedback while Jeff Tweedy and the backing vocalists continued singing as if it was business as usual. It was a sight (and sound) to behold.

The beautiful ballad Jesus etc. provided a chance for the audience to participate, where Jeff Tweedy encouraged everyone to sing along. The crowd definitely did the song proud, singing most of lyrics correctly and rarely missing a beat. I was actually a little disappointed that I didn't get to hear Jeff sing more of the song; he only came in with his vocals in the last verse.

They finished their set with a duo of rockers from their 2nd (double) album Being there -- Monday and Outtasite (outta mind). When they returned to stage for an encore, they played a duo from their 2004 album A ghost is born -- The late greats and the live favourite rocker I'm a wheel, which concluded the gig on a very positive note.

They played for about 2 1/2 hours, and my overall impression of the band can be summed up by two words: class act. They are such consummate professionals who are masters at what they do, and they do nothing short of rocking your socks off when they play live. It was such a pleasure to see such professional musicians performing; they are true entertainers.

Jeff Tweedy is an incredibly charismatic frontman, coming across as a guy you would like to have a beer and a chat with. He engaged the audience throughout the gig, taking requests for songs, telling stories and joking around; but never forgetting that you were there to rock and/or roll.

There are so many pretenders out there, but Wilco perform like a classic 70s rock act, and are (together with My Morning Jacket) one of the best examples of bands I have seen who are able to capture the spirit of that bygone era.

Bootleg media

I made a mistake of taking my camera out too early, during the Liam Finn set. A security guard tapped me on the shoulder and kindly told me that photography was not permitted. After that, I was too scared to bring the camera out again (figuring that since he had given me a warning, he had a valid reason to kick me out or confiscate my camera if he caught me again).

Since my friend Mark hadn't been warned, he was courageously able to take photos during the remainder of the gig (when the crowds were bigger and there was less chance of being caught). Thank you to Mark for all of the photos throughout the blog post. Here's a few more.

Is that you on the left Nigel Tufnel? No it's just Nels Cline.
[Photo courtesy of MarkP]


Drummer Glenn Kotche going off
[Photo courtesy of MarkP]

Spoon gig [30th April 2010 @ Billboard]

Indie band Spoon (who hail from Austin, Texas) are one of my favourite bands from the last decade. Despite getting into them quite late (when I bought their 5th album Gimme fiction in late 2005), I have since purchased most of their albums. It didn't take long for their unique breed of minimal piano-driven rock/pop to get under my skin. With a back catalogue of 7 albums and several EPS, they had a plethora of excellent material to populate a solid set list, and I eagerly awaited the gig.

Taking to the stage with very little fanfare, they opened with the slow burner Before destruction, the opening track from their latest album Transference. Their set covered a vast spectrum of their back catalogue, with bias towards their last album and its predecessor Ga ga ga ga ga (their commercial and arguably artistic peak).

Highlights throughout the set included a groovy rendition of Me and the bean (a cover of a song by Austin band The Sidehackers, included on their Girls can tell album), beautiful ballad I summon you and the Motown pastiche of You got yr. cherry bomb. The crowd seemed to respond best to the Ga ga ga ga ga material; a great cross-section of that album was included, from the anthemic Don't make me a target, atmospheric The ghost of you lingers and groovy numbers Rhthm & soul [sic] and The underdog.

There weren't too many surprises in the song line-up, but front-man Britt Daniel introduced one song as "a Wolf Parade song" before launching into an admirable cover of Modern world from their Apologies to Queen Mary album. Stay don't go (from Kill the moonlight) was also nice to hear, sans the beat-boxing which is integral to the rhythm of the studio version.

Unfortunately Britt Daniel appeared to have a few voice issues, apologising on several occasions and asking the audience if he sounded a bit hoarse. Many of the songs were punctuated with bursts of feedback during the peaks and fade-outs; initially I thought that these were accidents, but my gig mate Matt believed that maybe they were done on purpose to hide his limited vocal range. I certainly didn't think they added anything to the music, so hopefully he was just having an off-night. The sound quality wasn't great in general, but that's probably a criticism directed more at the venue (and possibly sound engineer) than the band.

No songs were played from A series of sneaks (Metal detektor and Metal school would have gone down particular well), and the selection from Girls can tell was also quite lean (the poppy Everything hits at once and down-tempo 1020 AM would have added a bit more variety to the set list). But the biggest disappointment of the night was not getting to hear The way we get by live; not only is it my favourite Spoon song, but it's one of my favourite songs of all time.

Britt Daniel's stage presence at times reminded me of the late Ian Curtis, front-man for the influential post-punk band Joy Division. I'm not sure if it was the almost-robotic way in which he carried himself, but it was especially apparent when he ended the gig after epic finale Written in reverse; he said goodbye to the audience and just dropped the microphone from the height at which he was holding it. It just seemed like something Ian Curtis would have done.

Overall it was a respectable gig, but one marred by technical issues and a (slightly) disappointing set list. Maybe I've just been spoilt by other excellent gigs from recent memory.

Bootleg media

Britt doing his best "Joe Strummer" impersonation.

Britt strumming away.

Performance of I summon you from their Gimme fiction album.

My 50 favourite albums of the 2000s [1]

1. Augie March - Sunset Studies (2000)

Augie March formed in 1996 in Shepparton, a country town almost 200km north of Melbourne. They released a few EPs in the late 90s, the patchy Thanks for the memes (1998) and the excellent Waltz (1999) which included their early hit Asleep in perfection. Waltz was a very accomplished EP which has held up very well over 10 years later, with several of the songs (Rich girl and The mothball) still part of their live setlist.

Waltz was a delicious appetiser, but I wonder how many were expecting the sumptuous banquet that Augie March unleashed on their full-length debut album Sunset studies. You don't even have to hear a note of the album to realise that you are dealing with something very special here; just look at the elegant cover art and a flick through the tasteful booklet. It is a labour of love.

Epic opener The hole in your roof takes its time with a very long, droning fade-in before vocalist Glenn Richards enters the scene: "What do the men say / To the women when they lay down at night / All naked of arms from the old imagined flight?". This was the first Augie March album I bought, and the combination of Richards' ethereal vocals, deeply enigmatic lyrics and the slow-burning intro piqued my interest on the first listen. The song is an exercise in tension and release, building to a stunning climax near the end of its 7 minutes.

Follow up Maroondah reservoir opens with more Glenn Richards poetry "To be / A bee, a moth / Four wings spread for the soft last touch of glory sun" before latching on to an amazing melody that sounds unlike anything you have ever heard before, but will have you humming it after only one listen. It is one of the few songs on the album that loosely fits within the constaints of the tradition verse/chorus structure which most popular music feels the need to be bound to. Most of the songs are quite happy to meander and wander, dancing around the ebb and flow of Richards' remarkable poetry and streams of consciousness.

While most of the music here is progressive and boundary-pushing, there are a few accessible anchors to keep the listener grounded on those all too important initial listens. There's the heart-breaking piano ballad There's no such place, featuring the late Rob Dawson on backing vocals and piano. There is the lyrically dense The offer, which despite breaking the fourth wall on a few occasions ("This is a song, not like the other ones") turns out to be one of the catchiest songs they have ever released. Asleep in perfection is also included despite its presence on the Waltz EP, but it fits in perfectly amongst its peers.

Then there's the slow burners which didn't blow me away on the first listen, but after a few listens they became some of my favourite moments. The stunning ballad Tulip and the pastoral folk of The good gardener (on how he fell) both start off as fairly subdued affairs before reaching transcendent climaxes. The cinematic title track, with its aristocratic imagery ("You are the queen of the dustbowl / Ex to a crier in a town of ashes") will hit you on the 4th listen, I promise you. The inner voice in your head will say "I'm not worthy!" while you try to keep those goose-bumps under control.

Sunset studies is a very long album at 76 minutes, and I think the best way to manage it is to abstract it into an album of 3 parts:

Part 1 (The hole in the roof - Tasman awakens) introduces the various facets of their sound -- slow burning epics, melody, groove, beauty and finally the folk of Tasman awakens.

Part 2 (Believe me - Heartbeat and sails) sees them branching out in odd directions, from the sample-driven interlude of Believe me, the old school folk of Men who follow spring the planet 'round, and the odd and haunting drone of Angels of the bowling green (which seemed like 5 minutes of filler until I realised how lyrically macabre it was).

Part 3 (The offer - Owen's lament) ends the album on a more accessible note with four very melodic songs, before the stupendous closer Owen's lament shoots the album into the stratosphere. This is one of my favourite songs of all time, and after more than 20 listens I am still blown away by it every time I hear it. It is musical perfection, and mirrors the epic opening track in how aptly it bookends the album.

Their follow-up Strange bird (2002) was a perfect sequel, fully deserving of its high placement in this list. Trying to choose between the two albums was incredibly difficult, as they both mean a lot to me. Sunset studies just edged its way to the top because it was the album which introduced me to their music (thanks for the recommendation Pete); for that reason it will always hold a special place in my heart.

I bought this album during a time of my life when I was getting into a lot of new, exciting music, and it helped to create a life-long obsession for me. It is one of the albums which made me realise that music didn't have to be immediate or formulaic to be engaging. It made me realise that looks can be deceiving and the rewards are there to be reaped if you put in the time and effort to let a work of art reveal itself to you. It is the antithesis to what I dislike so much about a lot of modern music.

It is my favourite album of the 2000s.

---

Here's a statistical breakdown of my top 50:

Country	# albums
United States	23
England	10
Australia	8
Canada	2
Wales	2
Germany	1
New Zealand	1
Ireland	1
Sweden	1
Scotland	1

Year	# albums
2002	13
2001	12
2003	7
2000	4
2005	4
2007	4
2004	3
2006	1
2008	1
2009	1

My biggest surprise here was that the majority of albums were by American musicians. I have always considered myself a fan of primarily British music, but even when I total the United Kingdom (England, Scotland, Wales) and Ireland counts it still falls short of the American total.

I am not surprised that 2002 was the best year of the decade -- I once gave it the coveted title of the best year for album releases many moons ago. However, I was surprised that 2005 and 2007 (both great years for music) didn't appear higher in the list. I'm definitely not surprised that the last couple of years didn't appear much in the list, as I definitely curbed my purchasing of new releases over the past few years.

Thanks for reading my top 50 albums of the 2000s.

You can read the previous posts in the series here.

My 50 favourite albums of the 2000s [1]

1. Australian Idol - The Final 13 (2005)¹

I realised when I started to pre-compile my list of the top 50 albums of the 2000s that it was an incredibly difficult task. "Albums of the decade" lists are a dime-a-dozen, and I really wanted my list to stand out amongst the crowd. Then it hit me: most lists like this are incredibly subjective, the opinions of mere music reviewers. Maybe I could stand out from the crowd by applying some sort of science to it. I knew there must be a more objective way to choose the best album of the 2000s.

Then I had a revelation -- the reality show franchise Australian Idol had already done the hard yards for me. Host James Mathison (and former co-host Andrew G) said in almost every episode "It's time to vote Australia" or "Australia has voted". Australia's population (which currently stands at about 22 million) is a pretty large sample size. Could the population of Australia help me choose the album of the decade?

At the end of each season of Australian Idol, the winner releases an album in time for the Christmas buying season. They also release a compilation of songs recorded by all of the contestants who made it to the finals. By definition, each year includes 10-13 finalists who are the best musicians in the country. That means all I had to do was pick the best season in Australian Idol history, and the album (or compilation) of the decade falls right into my lap. Take that, Pitchfork!

Picking my favourite year for Australian Idol was a tough decision. Should I go for season 1, which introduced both Guy "Like a virgin" Sebastian and Shannon "Nollsy" Noll to the world? It was a very tempting choice, as the compilation also included the legendary Rob "Millsy" Mills singing a version of Dirty girl, which one can only assume was dedicated to his flame at the time Paris Hilton (who broke his heart when she stopped returning his phone calls).

Season 2 was also a contender; not only did it introduce the pint-sized Anthony Callea and the prolific winner Casey Donovan to the world, but in a strange self-propagating twist, it also found a future co-host for the show in Ricki-Lee Coulter when James Mathison decided to quit the show recently. Take that, space-time continuum!

In the end, I had to go with season 3 from 2005. Just like the classic animated sitcom The Simpsons, the Australian Idol franchise reached its inevitable peak in this season. While you could argue that the young Bendigo lass Kate DeAraugo was the major contributor to this (whose take on bogan chic was as patriotic as you could get), we must not discount the talents of the über-polished Daniel Spillane, who managed to suck all of the testosterone out the classic AC/DC rocker T.N.T. to allow him to grow that little tuft of hair on his chin. And who can forget the young rocker Lola Forsip, whose rendition of The Who's Won't get fooled again scored a touchdown from judge Mark Holden?

Season 3 was also the first season that resident bad-boy Kyle Sandilands appeared as a judge, replacing Ian "Dicko" Dickson, who decided that food interested him more than music when he became the host of My restaurant rules. While Dicko was a music mogul from way back, Kyle Sandilands was dating Tamara Jaber from reality show band Scandal'us (formerly known as Bardot), which immediately gave him the credentials to judge and criticise music.

Anyone who made it to the top 13 (and hence this CD) had to pass through the Kyle filter, and while it was an incredibly gruelling task, he ensured that any of the girls who were carrying a bit too much "baggage" were quickly dismissed from the show. After all, we didn't want those "tuck shop lady arms" getting in the way of the musical performances.

But what really elevates season 3 all of the other seasons is the talent of one very special person.



Lee Harding.

Come on people, this is a guy who wore a T-shirt of the US punk band The Misfits without having any idea who they were. He also wore a pair of Mötley Crüe shoes despite the fact that he could hardly name any of their songs. Step aside Iggy, the real Godfather of punk is right here.

Unfortunately some of his detractors have accused him of being a sellout bubblegum punk, a try-hard emo kid who wants to take the quickest possible road to fame. But isn't his behaviour as punk as it really gets? The original punk philosophy was about distancing yourself from the mainstream and the bombastic excesses of stadium rock. So what better way to show your punk credentials than appearing on a reality show? Surely 10,000 screaming and texting 12 year old girls cannot be wrong. Stick it to the man!

While many Australian musicians are taking the slow road to fame by playing the pub circuit, writing their own songs and actually dedicating their lives to music, the top 13 performers represented on this CD provide the real heartbeat of the Australian music scene.

It's my patriotic choice for the best album of the 2000s.

---

¹In case you're wondering why I have created a new post with a new number 1 album, you may want to take note of the date of this post.

My 50 favourite albums of the 2000s [2]

2. Badly Drawn Boy - The Hour Of Bewilderbeast (2000)

While compiling this top 50, I noticed that there were quite a few debut albums on the list which the respective artist or band was never able to top. This album is a prime example; while Badly Drawn Boy (a.k.a. Manchester singer-songwriter Damon Gough) has released some respectable music since his debut, nothing has even been in the same league as this experimental and multi-faceted masterpiece.

I first read about this album in the UK music magazine Q. They had one of those full-page advertorials about this album, with a picture of the cover and several quotes from rave reviews. I remember initially being really impressed with the album cover, an eye-catching homage to Leonardo da Vinci's Vitruvian man.

Since I had never heard any of his music before, I listened to a sample from Amazon -- Once around the block -- which I thought was pretty catchy and oddly reminded me of Jamiroquai (I guess there's a vague resemblance in its white-boy funk melody).

I decided to pick the album up, and while I don't remember it blowing me away immediately, I knew that there was a lot of promise beneath its restless diversity that it wore so proudly. Some songs were immediate (Once around the block, Disillusion, Pissing in the wind), but most of the songs revealed their charms slowly over repeated listens. Eventually, hidden gems like the subtle jazzy melody of Stone on the water got underneath my skin. Further listens revealed other favourites.

As great as most of the songs are on an individual level, it probably wouldn't be the masterpiece that it is without the conceptual unity that ties all of the songs together into an oddly cohesive long-player. There's the "water trilogy" of Fall in a river, Camping next to water and Stone on the water. There's the gorgeous instrumental interludes (Bewilder, Bewilderbeast, Blistered heart) which act as a form of delectable musical glue that binds the album together.

Then there's those little surprises in the deep crevices of the album: the hidden song at the end of Cause a rockslide, the splash at the end of Fall in a river (boom tish) and the trippy stereophonic panning of This song (which I love despite the subtle feeling of nausea it gives me). Not all of the experiments work (I could have lived without the 45 second interlude that is Body rap), but you have to take your hat off to the sheer audacity on display here.

There's also a conceptual lyrical arc that runs over the course of the hour-long album, beginning with the infatuation of The shining ("I'm dying...to put a bit of sunshine in your life") and concluding with the regretful melancholy of Epitaph ("Please...don't leave me"). A lot of the other songs hint at feelings which are felt during an intense love affair, from the lust of Everybody's stalking, the romanticism of Magic in the air and the giddy confusion of Disillusion.

A diverse mosaic of sounds, textures and moods, The hour of bewilderbeast is an anarchic labour of love from the incredibly fertile and imaginative mind of Damon Gough. Like a Jackson Pollock painting, he threw all of his musical ideas at a blank canvas and ended up with a work of art. A decade on, one can look at it as a creative master-stroke from a very talented musician who probably reached his creative peak way too soon.

My 50 favourite albums of the 2000s [3]

3. Augie March - Strange Bird (2002)

The transition that Melbourne band Augie March made between their debut album Sunset studies and this one was akin to Dorothy's entrance into the land of Oz. The same characters were there -- lead singer Glenn Richard's poetic lyrics, his unique vocal delivery, and the stunning musical chops of the other band members -- it was just a little bit more colourful.

While Sunset studies was an organically mellow affair, Strange bird doesn't mind straying beyond those stylistic boundaries, following their muse to see where they end up. From the baroque pop of lead single The vineyard, the raucous hoe-down of This train will be taking no passengers (which wouldn't sound out of place on a Pogues album), the brass-inflected Little wonder and the lo-fi folk of Sunstroke house -- there isn't a wasted moment to be found on this hour-long album. It is a tour de force of musical styles and sounds that fit together seamlessly into a cohesive whole.

Strange bird also includes some darkness and shade with rockier moments (Song in the key of chance), brief but beautiful musical interludes (O mi sol li lon, Up the hill and down), avant-garde experiments (O song) and wide-screen epics (the perfection of Brundisium which may just be their finest moment). There's also a thematic thread throughout the record, with a few songs referencing "strange birds" or bird-related imagery in the lyrics.

While the whole band demonstrate their talent on every track, there's no doubt that front man Glenn Richards is the star of the show; his deeply enigmatic lyrics and versatile vocal style (ranging from a mournful croon in This night is a blackbird to the scream of "Train!" at the end of This train will be taking no passengers) always steal the show.

The attention to detail in the packaging is immaculate, from the vintage feel of the album cover, to the booklet accompanying the album which is more like a poetry anthology (even including an index of the first lines of each song). The care and elegance on display here prove to me that owning a digital version of an album will never be able to replace the real thing when there are still bands out there who care as much as these guys do.

Augie March confirmed on this album that they are one of the greatest bands of this generation. While their follow-ups have been relative disappointments, I am hopeful they they will be able to re-ignite the spark and deliver another great album like this in the near future.

My 50 favourite albums of the 2000s [4]

4. Antony and the Johnsons - I Am A Bird Now (2005)

Antony and the Johnsons is primarily a vehicle for the work of Antony Hegarty, an androgynous singer-songwriter originally from England but now based in New York City. I am a bird now was their second album of delightfully twisted baroque chamber music, following their self-titled album from 2000.

I am a bird now is an idiosyncratic masterpiece, and one of the few albums which I have heard that deserves to be treated as a contemporary work of art. It's an album to be torn apart, analysed and re-constructed again; I am hopeful that one day art scholars will be studying it as part of their curriculum.

Like many pieces of contemporary art, this album is not for everyone. You will probably decide within the first few seconds of the opening track whether it is for you. Antony's unique vibrato vocals are not for everyone, and if you are able to develop an appreciation for them then you are already halfway there to developing a taste for this remarkable record. If you are familiar with any of the work of jazz legend Nina Simone, you will definitely hear parallels between her vocals and Antony's.

The music is very understated, piano-based cabaret music; as wonderfully lush and produced as it is, Antony's lyrics and delivery are the real star of the show. Lyrically heartbreaking, the album covers a gamut of emotions from fear of death (Hope there's someone), being trapped in the wrong body (For today I'm a boy) and emotional companionship (You are my sister).

There are a plethora of guest stars: Boy George (You are my sister), Rufus Wainwright (What can I do?), Lou Reed (Fistful of love) and Devendra Banhart (Spiralling). While one can cynically look at guest spots as cross-over opportunities, here their performances fit in seamlessly with the vision and lyrical themes of the album (in particular Boy George).

Whilst the first half of the album spans many intertwining and depressing lyrical themes, the second half (beginning with the Rufus Wainwright vocal performance What can I do?) is more hopeful. The punchy Fistful of love (the most upbeat and optimistic song on the album) is punctuated by saxophone and an upbeat rhythm section, adding some much needed relief to compensate for the darkness of the other songs.

By the time the album concludes with the brief interlude Free at last and euphoric Bird gerhl, you know that Antony has reached a content state of redemption and enlightenment. We don't know whether he has become completely comfortable in his own skin, or whether it's just a façade. We are just glad that he exposed his soul to us and allowed us to accompany him on this emotional journey.

My 50 favourite albums of the 2000s [5]

We are now, as Matt kindly pointed out in the comments section of this post, at the "pointy end" of the countdown. To prolong the inevitable, I will be only doing a single album per post for the top 5.

I hope you enjoy the rest of the countdown!

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5. Wilco - Yankee Hotel Foxtrot (2002)

This album ticks many boxes in the as-yet-unwritten "classic albums" criterion.

It was a pretty radical reinvention
If this was the first Wilco album you had heard, you would find it pretty hard to believe that they started out as an alt-country band.

Wilco formed in 1994 from the ashes of Uncle Tupelo. They had subtle progression over the course of their first 3 albums: AM (1995) was as alt-country as you could get, Being there (1996) was an ambitious and genre-hopping double album, and Summerteeth (1999) added a lot of studio polish and overdubs to their sound (there were also a few collaborations with Billy Bragg on the excellent Mermaid avenue albums).

From the moment the surreal opener I am trying to break your heart hits your speakers or earphones, you know that your ears are in for a treat. Where previous albums were at their core collections of well-written and performed "pop songs", Yankee hotel foxtrot is a multi-faceted and complex masterpiece. Each listen reveals new sounds deep in the mix, yet it is still melodic enough and remains a pleasure to go back to again and again.

It was the band's best to date
Where each of their previous albums had their share of filler material, the quality level rarely dips here. There are catchy and accessible numbers (War on war, Heavy metal drummer, Pot kettle black), mellow laments (Radio cure, Reservations) and even some songs which hint at their country past (Ashes of American flags and the superb Jesus, etc).

There are also elements deep in the mix which constantly surprise the listener, from the titular CB radio transmission at the end of Poor places, the quirky instrumentation in I am trying to break your heart and the way some of the songs end abruptly in a sea of static. On the first few listens I actually thought something was wrong with my CD when this happened; I soon realised that it was intentional.

It's the intersection of accessibility and innovation which made this album so impressive when it came out, and it still remains a compelling listen today.

Later albums couldn't match this one
I've talked briefly about their earlier albums, but this album still stands head-and-shoulders above anything they have since released. A ghost is born (2004) came pretty close but sometimes got caught up in its own pretension, and some songs were clearly big mistakes. Sky blue sky (2007) was too MOR for my liking. I have only heard their latest Wilco (The album) (2009) a few times and I'm not convinced it is going to give this album a run for its money.

I will be pleasantly surprised if Wilco ever manage to top this career peak.

It had an awesome back story
To cut a long story short: their previous record label (Reprise) refused to release this album when they heard it in 2001, considering it too left-field and not commercial enough. Wilco subsequently left the label, acquiring the rights to the record. After a particularly dark period (captured in the awesome documentary I am trying to break your heart) they sold the distribution rights to Nonesuch records.

So why is this so interesting? The whole story is particularly amusing because both the Reprise and Nonesuch record labels are operated through the same parent label of Warner Brothers. Indirectly, Warner Brothers paid for the same album twice.

Jim O'Rourke
This album was co-produced to perfection by the legendary musician/producer Jim O'Rourke, who was once a member of Sonic Youth and has also released a few critically-acclaimed solo albums. I have written before about the nasty industry trend of dynamic range compression, and Jim O'Rourke is one of the few producers out there who is "keeping it real" in his production work.

And you can hear it in the mix of this album; O'Rourke treats the music with utmost respect, allowing the instruments to breathe, maintaining the dynamics of the sound and ensuring that every recorded note remains a pleasure to listen to. O'Rourke set an incredibly high production benchmark for the decade here, which makes the downward spiral of production quality over the remainder of the decade even more difficult to handle.

Just listen to the opening song a few times, and be prepared to notice things on the third listen that you weren't even aware of the first time around. It subtle touches like this that elevate this album from merely great to one of the best of the decade.