Madlib (left) and J Dilla (right). Photo Courtesy of Stones Throw Records

For most hip-hop listeners in their late twenties and thirties, it’s quite hard to know what exceptional albums emerged over the past ten years. We recall the glory decade of the 90s, from the gritty east coast to the gangsta west, but what about the 2000s?

Without a doubt, hip-hop continues to run “through my veins like blood, and love.” It’s a genre that I play as much as anything else, it’s a motivating force, it makes my body bounce, and it influences my swagger. It’s funny, because I wonder if I’ll still cherish this music as dearly in 2020 and I wonder how my children will feel about it.

For me and many others, this was the decade of J Dilla and Madlib, two innovative producers whose resumes really exploded in recent years. In early 2006, a rare blood disease ended the life of Dilla, but not before he created a lasting impression on hip-hop and the music industry as a whole. A podcast dedicated to J Dilla (though redundant by now) should be in the cards in coming months, but for now check out the two Dilla tracks (Common and Slum Village) on this mix and Madlib’s two gems (Madvillain and Quasimoto) as well. The rest of the playlist is pretty self-explanatory: The first half are classic underground cuts that personally hit me in a profound way and the second half gets into more mainstream and culturally significant tracks. Let me know what I missed.

The Best Hip-Hop of the Decade [00s] (mp3)

Atmosphere - Guns and Cigarettes
Talib Kweli & DJ Hi Tek (Reflection Eternal) - The Blast
Common - The Light
Slum Village - 2u4u
Madvillain - Accordion
Quasimoto - Basic Instinct
Zion I - Critical (Feat. Planet Asia)
Blackalicious - Make You Feel that Way
Deltron 3030 - Mastermind
Lupe Fiasco - Kick, Push
Kanye West - Flashing Lights
Dead Prez - Hip-Hop
Outkast - So Fresh, So Clean
Jay-Z - Izzo (H.O.V.A.)
Snoop Dogg & Pharell Williams - Drop it Like it’s Hot
Eminem - Drug Ballad
E-40 - Tell Me When To Go
The Roots - Seed 2.0 (Feat. Cody Chestnutt)

 

 Hip-Hop is Dead? The Best Hip-Hop of the Decade [00s]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

Categories: Nostalgic commentary, Visine for the ears
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8/26/06 - An old journal entry that made me grin.

We walked into a diner somewhere outside Winslow, Arizona. The carbon monoxide slapped me in the nostrils as the glass doors shut behind us. We were not in the Bay Area anymore,
Barrel bins full of toffee like candy were being sold by the counter. Cowboy hats and belt buckles, old decrepid skin, cigarettes before/after/during cholesterol happy meals, american flag paraphenilia the norm, a dude in a “new Testament” hat?…Claire don’t point that guy out to me cause I am an awkward laugher… and I will cackle at him hysterically… and the last thing this town wants is an “Arabian” guy not from “’round here” laughing incessantly at anything… especially not another human.

Categories: Nostalgic commentary
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As I roamed the narrow streets of the Blue City (Johdpur), taking snaps of passerbys & shopkeepers with the bright blue walls in the background, I noticed that the pillars throughout the city were filled with posters of Sri Sri Ravi Shankar. I was thinking, “Damn, this dude is bigger than I thought.” I had heard he was a candidate for the Nobel Peace Prize, but seeing his picture everywhere put it all in perspective.

I first met Oso in a Latin American Literature discussion class that we had together in the Winter of 2003. I walked into the class early on the first day, looked around, and there was this red-headed Robert Redford looking fellow with a nicely trimmed goatee seated in the last row surfing the net on his labtop (Surprised?). So that’s where we met and that’s where he fell in love with the Grad student, Heidi, who was teaching the section part of the course. No, actually they despised each other with good reason.

From there on out Oso and I met up on campus and played hoops, he introduced me to some of San Diego’s quaintest cafes (starting with Clare de Lune in North Park), and I asked him if he wanted to go hear Sri Sri Ravi Shankar speak. He said “Sounds good,” so we inhaled some dollar fish tacos at Rubio’s one afternoon and went to the spot with our ears ready for some spiritual healing (Remember, this isn’t Ravi Shankar the sitar player).
Unfortuantely, it seemed a little cultish. You had the typical older Americans who are willing to believe any alternative Eastern thought. These folks absolutely worshipped anything Sri Sri touched. But this was an introductory seminar and Sri Sri was not willing to give out any details on his secret path to spiritual awakening.
I recall someone asked him, “Sri Sri, can you explain your breathing exercise that you are so well known for?”
“Just breathe,” Sri Sri answered.
Couldn’t I have gotten that advice from a TelepopMusik song?
Oso and I were sitting there laughing to ourselves. A beautiful, radiant older woman was sitting next to me and I knew I already had her intrigue based on my “alternative skin color.” So I started talking to her and she was fascinated that I was Indian.
“So are you Hindu or Muslim?”
“Well, actually I’m Zoroastrian. It’s the Parsee community that formed and emigrated from Iran to India after persectution in the 8th century (0r was it 6th century).”
“Really, so you’re Persian, too.
“Ummm. Yeah, I guess I am.
“Wow.”
Oso was slyly giggling to himself. The woman, along with everyone else, waited in a ridiculous line for a life-long blessing by the simple touch of Sri Sri, as Oso and I cruised out the double doors.

Around this same period of time, I saw a guy from my high school whom I had never spoken to before. It was at UCSD, we talked for a while. I have never seen anyone get so excited when I told them my last name.
“Ardesher? Ardesher? You are Zoroastrian?! Wow, I gotta call my father. That’s incredible! Let me get your email!”
You can say that this guy Kurosh is a very proud Persian and is one of those people who likes to stick to his own kind. I guess he had reason to celebrate.

The term “nationality” is one that became more baffling to me as the years have gone by. The question, “What is your nationality?” is one that I would normally answer with, “Indian”. But after taking two sociology courses with Professor Andrew Barlow at Diablo Valley College 4 years ago…I know this question has been asked and answered incorrectly. The person asking it meant “What ethnicity are you?”. In that way, it would be okay to answer it with “Indian.” But nationality? I’d have to say I’m American. It’s too bad coconut is not an option - brown on the outside, white on the inside.
I’d like to differentiate between the different terms courtesy of Wikipedia:

Ethnicity is the cultural characteristics that connect a particular group or groups of people to each other.
“Ethnicity” is sometimes used as a euphemism for “race”, or as a synonym for minority group.
While ethnicity and race are related concepts, the concept of ethnicity is rooted in the idea of societal groups, marked especially by shared nationality, tribal afilliation, religious faith, shared language, or cultural and traditional origins and backgrounds, whereas race is rooted in the idea of biological classification of homo sapiens to subspecies according to morphological features such as skin color or facial characteristics.
It is a term also used to justify real or imagined historic ties as well. In English, Ethnicity goes far beyond the modern ties of a person to a particular nation (e.g., citizenship), and focuses more upon the connection to a perceived shared past and culture.

Oso, talks about ethnicity and defines other commonly misunderstood terms briefly on a recent post:

Ethnicity is a social construct based on biological, cultural, and even religious differences. I think the best definition I’ve read of ethnicity came from a Nigerian writer who migrated from his home country to the U.K. and then to Los Angeles. He said his ethnicity has been called Yoruba, Nigerian, African, and finally Black even though his DNA has never changed.

Nationality is defined by where you are born or where you have naturalized. It’s also based on when you were born. For example, if you were born in San Diego two hundred years ago, your nationality would be Mexican, but if you were born in San Diego twenty years ago, your nationality is considered American.

You can share the same nationality with someone despite not sharing the same ethnicity nor speaking the same language. In fact, this is the norm, not the exception. (take a look at a this list of languages by countries and this one of ethnicity and race by countries - this map of geographic origins of languages is also interesting) India is a prime example of one nation, many languages, many ethnicities, and many religions.

Finally, language is a form of communication that is often related to nationality and ethnicity, but just as often not. Spanish, for example, is one of four languages spoken in Spain. But it is also spoken - in various adaptations - not just in Latin America, but also the Caribbean, parts of Africa, the South Pacific, and much of Southern California and New York City. English is another example of a language which started as one of several in Great Britain, but is now spoken in countries around the world from the United States to Singapore and Malaysia.

Categories: Indian Odyssey, Nostalgic commentary
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Being in Karachi at my Nani-ma’s house was like living in my favorite cafe/used book store for a week. So that would be Cafe Macondo in the Mission District or Karova in San Diego or Cafe Trieste in North Beach & Moe’s Books in Berkeley or City Lights in North Beach. Although City Lights isn’t used… Kerouac and his fellow Beats shoulda done something about that.
There are like 3 rooms filled with bookshelves with some some of the greatest authors - Galeano, Kundera, Ellison, Hemingway…It’s been a constant “Damn, he liked them, too. Hell yeah.”
It’s been nice investigating his past, although my Nani-ma has been a little restrained on what she feels I should know. That’s been frustrating as hell. She also claims that she burned his letters and journals because that is what he wanted. Why would anyone want their memoirs burned? And then she asks me “Well, if I did have them…what would you use them for? Why would you want to see them?”
This made me kind of uncomfortable when she would ask questions like this.
“Ummmmm….because I want to know what he was thinking, feeling, and doing during different periods of his life.” Why the hell else would I want to see them?
All in all though, it was excellent spending quality time with her and hearing her reminisce about Anant. When talking about him she would stare into space, with a twinkle and a grin bringing her back to that specific moment or story.

He was born Victor Anant…a Brahmin turned Muslim, leaving his family in Kerala. He worked for UNESCO for a period in Uganda and taught a journalism course. He spent much of his early years in London as a jazz critic for SPECTATOR. As I searched through his hundreds of records I found a ton of gems: Coltrane, Miles, Sonny Rollins, Coleman Hawkins. Many cats who I only knew by name like Ahmad Jamal & Art Blakey.
He also wrote for THE GUARDIAN, AMBIT, and published a few novels. One of the novels, SACRED CROW, is basically autobiographical. I’m currently searching for a superb piece he wrote after Nehru’s death for THE GUARDIAN.
He liked his tabacco and his wacky-tabacco. He said “he could see colors” when blessed by the herb’s essence. He was a dynamite cook and his love for travel caused him to seek abodes all over the world: London, Galicia, Karachi, Kuala Lampur. It was in Galicia, a town called Betanzos, near the city of La Coruna, in the north-western tip of Spain, that I last saw him. It’s an old stone house on a sizable piece of plush landscape, next door to a farm with horses, sheep, chickens and dogs running around. I was 13 or so. Right when we got there, without request from my sister nor I, he told us that he was going to quit smoking. It was out of nowhere. But being so young and innocent, we were happy that he was finally going to give up that unhealthy habit. Towards the end of our week long stay, we caught him puffin’ a stoagie… naturally we were upset he had broken his promise after just a week. During our stay he also got a little too drunk and yelled at me, which caused me to cry. Wah.
I don’t know if it was because of the broken promise and belligerence…but I kept very little contact with him after we left Spain. It was 93′ or so and he passed away in 99′. I revisited the old stone house when I was in Spain in 02′…I stayed with Raimondo and Antonia- the neighbors who own the farm next door. They were the one’s who bought the house from him, at far below it’s actual worth. I didn’t know the details of the sale of the home until just recently though.

Antonia & Raimondo bought the house from him so their daughter and her new husband could live there. Anant had agreed on a price with them along with other parts to the deal: he would be able to live in the home until the end of the year and he could stay there for awhile during future summers to come. Sounds like a good deal…He later realized that the price was quite below its actual value. But that didn’t matter to him because he had given them his word regarding the sale. But Raimondo and Tony later told him that the deal had changed and he couldn’t stay the rest of the year or return during summers. They probably realized that he would be a difficult man to accomodate and since they are farmers, this land was of vital importance to them. So he sold the home and died a week later in London.
The funny thing about Anant and his neighbors hit me after reading a few of his short stories. He constantly is writing about Galicia, Betanzos, & Raimondo & Tony- with a critical analysis. It’s interesting… it sounds feasible that they didn’t like being written about right? Maybe I’ll ask them the next time I visit…
People I met in Karachi had nothing but good memories of Anant. I commonly heard, “He was a good friend. I miss him dearly.”
I hope to read and learn more soon and later.
Here you can find a portrait, a story, and an elegy written by John Berger, for the late Victor Anant. R.I.P.

I was able to catch President Masharraf speak at the opening of a new school with 200 hundred other folks. My previous notions of the General have now been all but squashed to the ground. I had thought the basics: He came to power in a bloodless coup & he is a military dictator, which makes the US support of him the utmost hypocritcal.
But he is smart, he knows his numbers, and economic development is occurring for the people who need it in Pakistan: Everyone. Everyone I spoke with, talked highly of him. His charisma, intelligence, and verbal literacy caused my perception to alter greatly. I will now look at him with more respect, intrigue, and regard than I do for our own President.

Categories: Indian Odyssey, Nostalgic commentary
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I was last in India when I was 12, for my Navjote. This the first-communion-like ceremony for the Zoroastrian religion. It was at the Grand Hotel in Calcutta where I recited a half hour of prayers for a couple hundred people…and that was one of the last times that I ever did recite them. I recall now that I hadn’t even memorized the copious amount of prayers, but the Dustergee (priest) whom I recited them along with, had such a powerful voice, that he drowned my soft, shy voice before the crowd of people. This allowed me to get through the ceremony without any sort of embarrassment. There’s a number of other memories I have of the country…but after just stepping off the plane in the early morning, I found the most cherished one. Taking a deep breath of the Indian air for me is refreshing. Yes, its polluted and hazy, but this aspect along with so many other entities that are considered filthy are the things I really like about India and other developing countries.
I have missed this smell. Since I was 12, the only time I have gotten a nice wiff of it has been when my grandmother comes into town. No, its not her B.O. It’s when she opens her luggage up and out pops that filthy-sweet smell that knocks me back about two feet. Filthy-sweet. I’m not sure how else to describe it. But I do know it was something I was thinking about before coming here and something I was yearning to smell again.
I knew that my Aunt’s driver would be picking me up with my name on a sign. After, the guy stamped my passport and gave me the traditional Indian grin with nod to the side, I saw the guy with the sign, and I gave him a wink and a smile.
Even just driving home to my Aunt’s house, it all seemed so vaguely familiar. My senses have been so awakened since coming here. Bombay is Juhu and Cowpatty beach. Its Bandra and Colaba along with so many other bubbling, thriving spots. It’s auto-rickshaws honking profusely at the pedestrians and bicyclists, whom are barely managing to meander their way through th lanes or scurry across the street…usually to miss getting nabbed by mere centimetres. It’s the infrastructure that makes Bombay beautiful. The congestion, traffic, floods of people, and how it all seems to barely work out in the end. They say that if you can drive in Bombay, you can drive anywhere in the world. A guy I met recently added, “If you can drive in Ahmedabad and Calcutta, you can drive anywhere in the universe.”
So much contradiction, poverty, diversity, income disparity, and contrasts. It all adds up to the creation of the intense beauty of being caught in the grips of this fascinating city.
I thought that this American Desi would stick out like a bloody, sore thumb, amongst neatly manicured fingers, but if I keep my mouth shut it’s not quite the case in thi s modern metropolis. But I don’t keep my mouth shut normally. I almost find myself being very proud that I have this American accent and I feel happy with a cahnce to display it. I try not to judge others, but at times I do feel some sort of superiority- this usually doesn’t occur towards the poor, but at the rich, hip youth of Bombay. My first night in town, Melissa (my Uncle Taizun and Aunt Perveen’s daughter) took me to a hookah bar-coffee shop. The guys are quite fashionable with their hip haircuts and apt to the latest style of the States, while the ladies are astonishingly breathtaking period. Simply unbelievable. Whether in tight fitted jeans to show off their figure or in the traditional, vibrantly colored salvakameeses- I am equally in awe of either. You can say that I’ve been a tad deprived of the Indian woman, while I’ve lived the first twenty-two years of my life in Walnut Creek. What did we have like five Indians maybe out of a population of 1,200 at Las Lomas?
The café seen has sprouted up like no other in Bombay over the past few years. Small chains like “Barista”, “Mocha”, and “Café Coffee Day” are on corners of happenin’ parts of town and young people flock there as if a Bollywood star is expected to be there. No, there will be cameo appearances tonight- it’s a place to be seen for some “coffee and conversation”, as one of the slogans go

Friday morning I awoke alert at 7a.m., ready for the day. I did some yoga and push-ups on the cool marble floor of my room, and told my Aunt I was going for a run on the beach. Today, was Eid, a holiday for the nation and a celebration for Muslims. The beach was already alive with activity: kids playing soccer and cricket, adults out for a walk or jog, and behl puri or paratha vendors getting prepared for the day.
A reoccurring theme for over the past few years, is that when I move from home I feel inspired to exercise, do yoga, and my thoughts flow more fluidly. All of this initially, as my consistency in most endeavors seems to gradually dwindle.
There’s a lot more sociological analysis of Bombay to come along with some other thoughts…perhaps when I return here next week.

Categories: Indian Odyssey, Nostalgic commentary, Thoughts as of late...
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I just met Zameer, the son of my “Aunty” Haseena’s (sister of Ruxana), for the first time in quite a few years. I definitley have some fond memories of this guy and his incredible idiosyncrasies. He is a music nut and I’m looking forward to see how he takes to some of the stuff I’ve accumulated over the years. When I was in India 13 years ago I asked him to keep repeating Right Said Fred’s “I’m Too Sexy,” as we drove in his car for ice cream in Bombay. And what did I spread his way when he came to Cali around the same era? Well, it’s a little embarrassing, but this is what he said last night. “Revaz, I listen to retro man. I am compiling a library of hits from 1950-1989. And you are the one who got me hooked on that Michael Bolton song ‘Steel Bars’.” And then he proceeded to sing it so that his wife and mother knew what he was talking about. “Steel bars wrapped all around me, I’ve been your prisoner since the day you found me…” I felt that mixture of embarrassment and humor when he told me this. I swear it was 1990. I was in 4th or 5th grade and I liked that fabio looking dude along with Huey, Debbie, Hall & Oates (they are still great), Chicago, etc. Some of that 80s stuff is still fantastic, but most of it just doesn’t live like it used to. Much like how I used to love Dave Matthews and the magical feeling I would get from seeing him live…not anymore.
I like to think back to the time of when I was 12 years and the evolving that has occurred in my life so far, whether it has to do with musical tastes, styles, morals, friends, etc etc… My earliest influence had to have been my father with jazz and pop: Frank Sinatra, Glenn Miller, Gloria Estefan, Madonna, and Sammy Davis Jr. to name a few. I proceeded to listen to 101.3 and loved 80s pop for a couple years. In junior high, I started watching MTV (Dre, Onyx, Salt N’ Pepa) and listening to a lot of Gangsta Rap, which influenced my style and character a lot. Oatey and I would take the bus home from Walnut Creek Intermediate, where we would hassle the Coelho brothers and make fun of this girl with the rest of our buddies. After getting off the the bus we we go to Thrifty’s and Longs for our daily “five finger discounts.” We had a strategy that was absolutely brilliant: Our khakis were baggy enough to where we could peg the bottoms into the socks and the pants would still hang over to the sole of the shoes…We would walk in, cruise the isles and everything was for the taking- cool water cologne, baseball cards, candy, and toiletries. Any of these items could be dropped down our pants and stay unoticed by employees ’cause of the ripples in our baggy Old Navy Khaks. We would then walk back to either of our houses and make a mix tape of the latest stuff: 2pac, Too $hort, Domino, Mac Mall, Coolio, Ice Cube, Dre & Snoop, and NWA. This is where my love for making compilations all began. We would then grab some kudos, the new beats, and a boom box and bring it all out to the b-ball court. These were the days when I had some game and a great outside shot (that got lost just a couple years later)… I usually skooled fools like Oatey (haha, sucka), unless we were playing for tangible goods like a Potna Duece tape. If Oatey has something to lose, be it money at a Pa Soy Dos card game or an album, he will elevate game 10-fold.
The gangasta rap genre defined junior high and high school for me and most of my friends. For us suburban well-to-do kids, it allowed us to relate to the contradictory “oppressive/glamorous” lives of rappers from Oakland, Vallejo, and L.A. And during my ganja blowing days of high school, Mac Dre and R.B.L., helped me relate to the slangin’, gangsta minded, dont’ gimme no bammer type of lifestyle.
Independent/Underground hip-hop hit me with the swiftness post-high school. Talib Kweli’s “Train of Thought”, Zion I’s “Mind Over Matter,” Blackalicous’ “NIA,” and Atmosphere’s “Lucy Ford” all hit me in the span of a year. This is where my appreciation for lyricism, original rhyme pattern, and superb production took form. A web of people was created who were all taken back by this sudden surge of mind blowing artists. The fact that they were hidden from the mainstream and were staying true to independent record labels was what gave them even more respect and clout. Groups like Living Legends and Crown City Rockers, who could rock a show and prove themselves live gained even more. This was around 1999-2003…The years that hip-hop really expanded and brought us so much- these artists had strayed from the now regeritated “bitches, blunts, 40s” storytelling to a more conscious, positive approach…but in my opinion the dip happened shortly after. Very few of these artists have maintained a high caliber of work. Their last couple albums have either been garbage or they finally sold out for commercialism. I try to be positive about artists becoming popular, but losing the qualities that I loved you for….well, now that’s just wrong…
Luckily for me, I lived with some people in the last couple years, who revolutionized what I listen to. Even before moving to San Diego, I heard a handful of incredible albums via the Salamanca crew. My homie Alex de La Cruz gave me Radiohead’s “Kid A”, Quasimoto ‘The Unseen”, and DJ Shadow’s “Endtrucing”, all while we wandered the streets of Spain. Gabe McNatt from Texas A&M, who lived with me in Summer 03′, gave me an immense introduction into the indie rock genre with artists like Doves, Wilco, Elefant, and Grandaddy. Nathan Sizemore tossed me The Kings of Convenience, Royksopp, Tommy Guerrero, Stars, Parsley Sounds, and 50 others…
A Matt Scovill once said, “Spreading stories of travel is the currency to friendship.” This may ring true, but I think it’s “Spreading great tunes make for a endless friendship,” and this has caused me to consistently ask people, “So what what have you been listening to lately?”

Well, finally trailing far behind the footsteps of kexp.org, pitchforkmedia.com, NPR, and homies El Oso, El Moreno, and the Great Gabe McNatt… I shall now present my favorite bands/artists of 2004. I’m still a sucker for that sappy music, just like when I was 12, listening to Bolton and Bryan Adamns.

1) Death Cab For Cutie: Ben Gibbard is an incredibly original lyricist and his versatility is of the utmost. This is clearly seen by looking at all the work he has compiled during the past few years. The fusion of indie rock and electronica with his group DNTEL, led to the birth of The Postal Service, whose album “Give Up” broke into the mainstream this last year. Death Cab is his purely indie-emo rockin ‘group, which has 5 or 6 albums. The two most recent- “The Photo Album” and “Transatlanticism” are both superb and I haven’t been able to get enough of either. The tracks “Information Travels Faster” and “Title and Registration” are both work checking out. I could probably say that one of the reasons for this BLOG being called “melancholic elation” is because of them. In 2004, I became fully aware of my desire to feel melancholy almost as much as happiness. In Milan Kindera’s “Unbearable Lightness of Being” (redundant, I know Oso), the main character is walking down the street in Prague…he is feeling a longing for a former love but in the process he is also enjoying the intensity of the nostalgia and the fact of walking around as a free man in a beautiful city. I too, came to realize that melancholy doesn’t have to be a sad…it can be a joyful emotion and music can help trigger it.

2) The Kings of Convenience - These guys are a Norwegian duo and I think they are abolutely brilliant and fantastic. They are pretty mellow like Belle and Sebastian, but I find them to excel far beyond. Some people have said their voices get a little old. I understand, but completely disagree. I think thier voices are quite soothing, especially in unison, and their lyrics are exceptional. Their first album is “Quiet is the New Loud.” This is a very solid, consistent effort, but the remix album called “Versus” is what really struck me. What you basically have are excellent electronic, danceable beats done by some of the best groups in Europe (i.e. Royksopp & Four Tet) with the voices of The Kings over it. Their latest album to drop in 2004 “Riot on an Empty Street,” is another gem. It’s pretty chill for the most part, but they quicken it up with more piano, drums, and violins. Tracks like “Misread” and “I’d Rather Dance With You” (You know you wanna sing along Roch!) are brilliant.

3) The Stills - Gabe dropped by SD on his way back to College Station, Texas after going to Coachella. He threw the album “Logic Will Break Your Heart” into the car deck and I instantly dug it. They have a good rockin’ sound with nice electric riffs and lyrics like “The sordid way her loaded phrases infiltrate your skull,” on the track “Gender Bombs.”

4) Lali Puna - A German electronic group with subtle-soft female vocals. They also have incredible electric guitar riffs, bridging the indie-electronica divide. Their 2004 album is “Faking the Books.” Some of the members are also in The Notwist. S Dot sent me both their albums sometime in October and “Neon Golden” quickly grabbed me. The track “Consequence” is especially dope.

5) Air - Everytime I hear “Talkie Walkie” now it brings me back to January last year in SD. Living with Nate and Harmony was truly a fantastic experience. This album reminds me of the winter, the cold floor in the morning, turning the kettle on, and a special person in my life during that time…

6) Broken Social Scene - Another Gabe/Nate pick. This band had mad talent with their 15 members (Some from Stars who are so cool. Stars’ “Heart” should really be on here). I don’t really like the very rockin’ material on here, but preferring the chill instrumentals with soft vocals. But that’s me right?

7) The Decemberists - Hard to like the vocalists’ voice sometimes. But his lyrical originality and the orchestration of trumpets, violins, harmonicas, guitars, and drums are excellent. “The Gymnast High Above the Ground”, peep it.

Dzihan & Kamien - Austrian DJs with a 15 piece orchestra sounding like Thievery Corporation. “Gran Reserva” is their studio album and I prefer it to the “Live in Vienna” album that became pretty popular in 04′. The best thing about world electronic music like this is that it breaks through generational boundaries. Thievery, Saint Germain, and these guys both get two thumbs, a grin, and an eye brow raise from the pops.

9) The Foreign Exchange - Netherlands/US hip-hop. The most refreshing hip-hop I heard this year because th production is soulful-R&B and electronic.

10) Wilco- Gabe calls Wilco “The most important band of our time. The music we will be playing for our kids” I like that. “Yankee Hotel Foxtrot” is a masterpiece and its something that has gotten much love by me over the past few years. Folky, indie, country-y. I wasn’t really digging “A Ghost is Born” when I first got it and Oso is giving me hell now that I say I like it. “War on War”, “Heavy Metal Drummer,” and “Handshake Drugs”. Greg Paulson, what are handshake drugs?

11) Communique- Via S Dot… A fun album like what Elefant’s “Sunlight Makes me Paranoid” was for 2003.

12) Mogwai - The E.Ps album…….Steve, my neighbor in Mission Hills threw this on one late night after some beer drinking. It soon became the melancholic late night anthem music.

13) Boards of Canada - My “let’s grab cup of joe at Gelato Vera with a labtop, headphones, a pink-orange sunset over the San Diego airport, and some post-college thoughts album.” Its called “In a Beautiful Place Out in the Country.”

14) Frou Frou - Heard her first on The Garden State soundtrack, the best soundtrack from my favorite flick of 2004. She has an incredible voice and the production is of equal status.

15)m83 - The most innovative album of 2004. You” have to read about them somewhere else because I can’t do them justice.

16) Misc. Hip-hop: Maroons - “Ambush”, Mos Def - “The New Danger”, The Roots - “The Tipping Point”, and Crown City Rockers - “Earthtones”: They are all pretty solid efforts and Mos Def is the Andre 3000 of 2004 due to his creativity in this multi-genre album.

17) The Arcade Fire- I finally got their full album “Funeral” two weeks ago and am starting to finally appreciate the incredible hype it has gotten.

18) A worthy mention goes to The Shins- “Chutes Too Narrow,” Thievery Corporation-”The Outernationalist Sound,” and JohnVanderslice- “Cellar Door” (which Gabe hit right on when he said “an excellent attempt at songwriting.”

Categories: Nostalgic commentary, Visine for the ears
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