Death Cab for Cutie—”You Are a Tourist”
#108
For a piece of indie chicken soup music, this isn’t bad. These guys know their craft, and the way all their dinky little hooks mesh together at the end is impressive. But dinky little hooks are what they remain, to go along with their dinky little ideas and their dinky little voices. The guitar figure is particularly irritating.
Johnny Cash—”Ain’t No Grave”
#112
Rick Rubin’s production, with its effect-laiden drums and atmospherics, is, to my ears, a mistake. It provides an overemphasis that not only isn’t necessary but often detracts. At least Rubin had the good taste not to overwhelm Cash’s vocals, which provide all the atmosphere this record needs and more. He sounds older than all the sins you know he only half regrets, and at times the voice betrays weakness, but he never sounds feeble or less than enraptured with the song and its message. He lived this music so deeply that death was the only thing that could sever his connection with it.
All Time Low—”I Feel Like Dancin’”
#113
The lyrics are clever in their way—when’s the last time you heard a song about a guy turning down sex so he could keep dancing? Not to mention being felt up by another guy on the dance floor: “Now I know how Ke$ha must be feeling”. But they don’t seem to know how Ke$ha sounds; their power-chord dance-pop is so old hat that this comes out sounding like Disney pop. Only the lyrics tip you off otherwise.
NKOTBSB—”Don’t Turn Out the Lights”
#114
Since I never cared much for, or even paid much attention to, Backstreet Boys or New Kids On the Block, their co-reunion doesn’t mean much to me. This record, which sounds like something Chris Brown might have cut two years ago, does nothing to pique my interest. I also have my doubts about their combined name. New Kids On the Backstreet Boys? I don’t even want to think about it.
Rej3ctz—”Cat Daddy”
#119
These guys claim to have invented every dance movement to come out of L.A. in the last few years, and if “Cat Daddy” is their evidence, I believe them. The inventiveness of this record, produced by JHawk, never stops, and in almost totally deconstructing hip-hop it moves jerkin’ to an entirely different level, one from which it can do just about anything it wants. I may well be overrating it, but right now this sounds like the best and most important record of the year. May their pockets be forever guacamole.
