obligatory best of 2005 music recommendations

Music: Kirlian Camera: Shapes and Colours From the Land of God Just like the year before last, 2005 was a good one for music, especially if you were reared in the 80s. I share the sentiments of many that this was the breakout year for Death Cab (though I still think Transatlanticism is their best album yet; Plans is too cloying and heavy on the intrusive percussion), and I agree that the Franz Ferdinand stuff is catchy, and yes, the Nine Inch Nails album has grown on me. Even so, I found myself listening to certain things over and over, and on the basis of what I was porting the most (as opposed to what I think is most intellectually satisfying), I present my top eleven favorite music albums of 2005:

American Analog Set: Set Free:I've been a fan of the "amanset" for many years, but this newest release stands along side The Golden Band as their best: slow, melodic, and haunting, Set Free achieves the settled "amanset" sound the best, with ample organ and hushed vocals. The stand out track here is the soft send-up to Cher's "Half Breed," the beautiful "She's Half," so sweet (but sincere) that it will bring tears to your eyes. This album is such a relaxed treat that we can forgive them for fleeing Austin for Brooklyn (or wherever the heck they moved, I forget). Still, most Austinites consider these guys a "local" best.

Antony and the Johnsons: I Am a Bird Now: Many of us more intimate with gay club culture have experienced the drag queen diva at the corner gay bar, the plump and proud mistress with eyelashes longer than your arms sauntering about the room with a cordless mike serenading the unsuspecting straight man with a hearty rendition of some love song from Cher's repertoire. While the latest album from Antony manages to capture the drama of that Cher-on-the-edge so central to drag songcraft, but with surprising sincerity and frequently moving honesty. This is a strange album, somewhere between gospel and cabaret, with gothic lyrics and strange vocoder effects. The most moving song is "Hope There's Someone," a melancholic exercise in falsetto and over layered vocalic effects that details the hope born of loneliness better than the last three Morrissey albums combined. A powerful album that is simply hard to peg.

Bloc Party: Silent Alarm: Everyone's doin' that quirky, jangly 80s thing, but the Bloc Party add more soul and British snarl. The Bravery and the Killers suck compared to this 80s throwback guitar-rock goodness. And it has a beat and you can dance to it (especially the extended dance remixes of choice singles that preceded the album). Blows Franz Ferdinand outta the water too.

Kate Bush: Aerial: I go back and forth on this album because as a whole it feels uneven, like Bush has been stockpiling material and then decided to put it all out at once on two albums. As Bush is known for, there is some marvelous songwriting about the mundane here (one song intones the refrain "washing machine, washing machine," but in a way that seems like the death scene of a sad foreign film). Overall the tone is joyfully sad; this two CD set ambles along in hushed tones and crystal clear moans (the production values here are top-notch, akin to the feel of a Peter Gabriel album). On the first CD Bush sings of everyday life, her son, and of missing her mother. By the end of the first CD Aerial is clearly complex meditation on maternity. The second CD coheres almost as a single piece, with laugher and bird chirps weaving together the different songs like parts of a quilt, ending in a sudden crescendo of intense percussion and chanting. Only in this sense does the set work: one CD, a traditional album as a set of songs, the second CD, one long song that builds and builds and builds to a climax. Kate Bush fans will love this CD. Those unfamiliar with Bush will probably liken this to Enya, however, if you listen to Bush's earlier work first, you will appreciate the subtlety of this album (all the winks and nods are not flung in your face like in the early albums). Next to Hounds of Love, I think Aerial is Bush's best. I think it would have been better released as two separate albums . . . but hey, this is not about making money for her (as she's often made very clear).

Depeche Mode: Playing the Angel: I know it's not very fashionable to laud a band whose heyday was 1988, but after two very disappointing albums DM have managed to put out something that is quite good, drawing on their strengths, but not completely abandoning Gore's decade-long obsession with American blues and gospel. "Precious" is the stand-out dance track, haunting, sweet, and subject to endless remixing, while "John the Revelator" is the most clever (and angry) song of the bunch. Probably the best thing Gore and gang have put out since Violator (although Gahan's solo album, Paper Monsters, is quite good).

Fischerspooner: Odyssey: Another band that is unfashionable to praise among new music snobs is the art-school gang Fischerspooner, whose "wake up and smell the artifice" shtick has started to wear on the nerves of some critics. This album received a luke-warm response, which is unfortunate, because it is the sort of subtle electronica that deserves the Eno award for the most-wink-wink-nerdy-shout-outs to 1970s electronica enthusiasts (if you see who all they pulled in to help make this album, you'll also see why). Although the signature fake hand-claps that made #1 so singular have gone the way of the do-do, they've been replaced by [gasp] real instruments, especially the conspicuous addition of guitar, and sweet, calculated harmonies. This is a warmer and smiling album—though at times snide--that nevertheless gives in to the sort of joy banished by their postmodern ethic on their debut. If #1 was a cold, vogue-esque pomo shout-out to the 80s, Odyssey is a warmer, friendly nod to the 70s analog jet set, replete with post-hippie lyrics ("All We Are") and anti-war anthems penned by none other than Susan Sontag ("We Need a War").

The Greencards: Weather and Water: I came out of the closet some months ago to announce I was an "old time" and bluegrass music junkie. Part of my inspiration for coming clean was a good listen to Weather and Water, a fantastic album by Austin's own the Greencards. Though none of the members are native to Texas (or the states, for that matter), they have managed to create one hell of a melancholic, twangy celebration of Kentucky-flavored acoustic songness. This is a sad album, to be sure, with occasional banjo jubilations for a sense of balance. Although it has more of an "adult contemporary" feel than their debut album (think here of Rosanne Cash's accessible country style), it is nevertheless a moving album about love and its loss. The best twang in town, and for my money, of the year.

Iris: Wrath: I admit that I'm biased because the keyboardist is an Austinite and new friend I've made since coming to Austin, but I've been a fan of Iris since the days of "Annie Would I Lie To You?" (that is, the days of the previous keyboardist). This is synth-pop at its most mature, and definitely marks a newer direction for Iris, one that is slowly moving away from the dance-floor and toward the radio. Aside from one of the worst synth-pop lyrics of the year in the bridge of "No One Left to Lose" ("meet me/on your off day/show me where you/cross my lost way"), the lyrics are mature reflections on relationships—pretty standard for synth pop. Reagan's vocals are flawless and fluid, and Andrew's production (and this time around, his guitar) is simply stellar. This is one of those synthpop albums you can listen to at night without a dance-floor around, boarding on straightforward "pop." You can sample a number of the songs here. Andrew reports that Iris has been asked to join De/Vision for their European tour this spring.

Nickel Creek: Why Should the Fire Die?: This is another blue-grass/rock fusion band, but with a difference. Why Should the Fire Die? is a marvelously penned album with swelling melodies and sweet sentiments (except the song "She Can't Complain," which is not very nice, but perhaps true of a lot of two-timin' pigs). "Why Should the Fire Die," for example, is the love song for the year, with male and female voices in harmony to gentle acoustic instrumentation (you can almost hear the fire cracklin').

Archer Prewitt: Wilderness: Prewitt is perhaps most known for his work with the Sea and the Cake, but his solo albums have always received more play in my house. In part, I think I like Prewitt's understated male voice, which is always gentle and never forced, soft, almost like spoken word. I first discovered him, quite by accident, when I bought his first album used thinking it was someone else. I was immediately taken by his hypnotic, modal approach to guitar. His next couple of albums abandoned that approach, but on Wilderness, it creeps back in. This album is marked by sudden, unexpected directions in melody and song structure, and is probably the most cleverly engineered and produced of his catalog. The first track, "Way of the Sun," is a great example of the sort of things he does: the song begins with a gentle acoustic melody, and then without warning, the chorus of "Ave Maria" comes in, blending with the established melody of the song, sort of like a choral sample. It's simply marvelous. The whole album is like this, full of unexpected directions and musical samplings—but continuously gentle throughout. This is a soft album, so don't expect to jam out. Rather, put this on for long, contemplative drives across country, or when you want your lovemaking sessions to take hours instead of minutes.

Martha Wainwright: I have listened to this album over and over and over and over; and this is one of those self-titled CDs that grows on you with repeated listens. It has so grown on me that I have been taking it everywhere and, consequently, already misplaced it! Argh! If any of my peeps finds this disk of mine, please return it immediately. Anyhoo, I first discovered Martha on tour with Rufus, her brother, playing rhythm guitar and supplying back-up vocals. I've seen Rufus three times, and usually he gives Martha few song spots of her own—and every time, she's always stolen the show. Her scratchy but sweet voice is amazing, and having heard the sheer force of it live, one can really appreciate the careful reserve she evinces on her debut album (it's actually not the debut, but her former album and EPs are out of print). Each song is very cleverly penned, and represents a strong woman who has a history of beating herself up . . . and then, of some anger. The way she delivers the songs here reminds me of the voice of Sam Cooke, in a way: she sings softly, her voice cracks, but just beneath the pretty grain there lurks a rage ready to be unleashed. And it is, about three quarters into the album, when Wainwright belts out "You bloody motherfucking asshole" repeatedly (presumably the song is about her father, however, it could just as easily be a lover—or any inconsiderable male chauvinist). Wainwright might be compared fruitfully to Tori Amos, however, her voice is stronger and better, her writing, more urban and less urbane--it is certainly less self-indulgent. Frankly, Wainwright is not pretentious, and her working-class, straightforward way of writing and singing makes this album, above all others, my favorite of 2005.