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1) and 2) Massive Attack: Protection (Virgin, 1995) and Mezzanine (Virgin, 1998). So much of my mid-90s was soundtracked by the Bristol trip-hop scene. As much as I loved these records at the time, they don’t resonate with me as a whole the way they did at the time (and the way Portishead’s Dummy still does), although several songs are still immensely mood-inducing.

3) Thalia Zedek: Been Here and Gone (Matador, 2001). Zedek has one of the awesomest voices in indie-rock, and I do miss Come.

4) the Decemberists: Her Majesty (Kill Rock Stars, 2003). My favorite Decemberists album overall is probably Picaresque, but Her Majesty certainly has a few of my all-time favorite Decemberists songs on it.

5) Josh Ritter: the Animal Years (V2, 2006). Ritter is such an under-rated songwriter, and this is probably my favorite of his releases. I always get a chuckle out of the fact that my mentioning his song “Girl In the War” in my “Best of 2006” round-up for the Washington Post‘s Weekend section got me mentioned on newsbusters.org, a blog dedicated to “exposing and combating liberal media bias”, for my (and I quote) “liberal/radical picks”. Ha! Sure, my political views are probably apparent in some of my writing, but c’mon, people– I’m just a music critic!

This week’s summary will brief, because there is much to be read/written still today. In chronological order:

1) and 2) Galaxie 500: Today (Aurora, 1988) and On Fire (Rough Trade, 1989). It’s impossible for me to capture G500’s influence and impact here, especially when I am short on time, as I am today. These are outstanding albums, and it’s a crime that they appear to be out of print, both individually and in box set form. The song “Tugboat” still absolutely slays.

3) Love Spirals Downwards: Ardor (Projekt, 1995). There was a time when I was really into all of those Projekt/”love” bands– Lovesliescrushing, Love Spirals Downwards, Love Is Colder Than Death (the latter was not on Projekt). There is still something about Love Spirals Downwards’ ethereal dream-pop that is so captivating.

4) Cat Power: Moon Pix (Matador, 1998). You know, I am genuinely glad that Chan Marshall has gotten over her stage fright. But there’s something still so charmingly awkward about Moon Pix that her later albums have polished out; these songs sound as though she’s performing them as she always did back in those days– face completely covered with her hair as she stared awkwardly at the ground. I still remember vividly the Cat Power concert I saw in the late ’90s– she was obviously in complete agony standing in front of all of us, and I remember her mumbling things about how we didn’t even know who she was. It was a trainwreck of a performance– we wanted to hear the music, but we also just wanted her not to be so miserable up there. And this was in a small room in a house, with maybe 30-50 people in attendance. I can only imagine what some of her bigger shows were like at the time.

5) Fridge: the Sun (Temporary Residence, 2007). I would love to see these guys again. I would also love to be able to connect with Four Tet as much as I do with Fridge.

This week’s non-writing listening, in roughly chronological order:

1) Ednaswap: Wacko Magneto (Island, 1997). I was in the mood to listen to Ednaswap this week because I thought I was reviewing a record with a cover of “Torn” on it. And then I realized that that review isn’t due for another few weeks (whoops!). This isn’t the original version of “Torn”; that honor belongs to Ednaswap‘s 1995 self-titled debut. But the band re-recorded that song for this album and turned it into a gut-wrenching, anguished performance. And then Natalie Imbruglia made it an almost-cheery pop song, and Ednaswap never got the big break that they so deserved. Chief songwriters Anne Previn and Scott Cutler have continued writing together (most notably, “Listen” from the film Dreamgirls), but they were really at their peak on this Ednaswap album– and “Torn” isn’t even the best performance here. Previn’s desperate shouts on “More”, her near-taunts on “YDWIBE” (‘you don’t want it badly enough’), and the skidding-off-the-tracks energy of “Stop Counting” all make this one of my favorite major-label albums of the late 1990s.

2) Holly Williams: The Ones We Never Knew (Universal South, 2004). Folksy, pretty ballads from Hank Williams’s granddaughter.

3) Jucifer: If Thine Enemy Hunger (Relapse, 2006). First concert of 2009: Jucifer. First concert of 2010: Jucifer. Coincidence? I think not! Seriously, though, there’s such a disparity between Jucifer’s melodic, powerful metal albums and the sheer wall of sound that emits from the tower of amplifiers behind this duo live. The contradictions don’t end there; frontwoman/guitarist/vocalist Amber Valentine is charmingly girly, with her vibrant minidresses and flowing wigs— but when she opens her mouth, she emits the most stunningly guttural growls. I have seen them three times in the past year (and before that, in 2000 on their tour with Enemymine), and while I do greatly prefer their studio sound to the earsplitting tornado that is their live attack, I also love watching a performance by people who fully and completely embrace what they’re doing. Photos by my pal Brandon for the Washington CityPaper can be seen here.

4) and 5) Beach House: Beach House (Carpark, 2006) and Devotion (Carpark, 2008). Is it cheating to count two albums that I listened to in preparation for something I’m writing this week? Who knows. It’s always so nice to get lost in Beach House’s stunning swirling watercolor sound.

One of my goals for this year is to listen to five albums every week beyond what I’m reviewing. The “beyond what I am reviewing” clause didn’t get added until late this week, so I have an exception granted for this week’s list. I haven’t decided yet if I’m going to blog about my 5 albums every week or not; I’ve been keeping a list of everything I listen to since April of 2001, so you can always check in there to see what I’ve been piping into my earbuds.

With that said, here are my thoughts on what I listened to this week, in roughly chronological order:

1) Scratch Acid: the Greatest Gift (Touch & Go, 1991). My love for this group is no secret: in addition to the Cobain-adored Scratch Acid, these guys were members of some of my all-time favorite bands (the Jesus Lizard, Rapeman). This album (really, a compilation of all of their recordings from 1982 to 1986) was the perfect way to end a particularly rough week at work.

2) Phish: Lawn Boy (Elektra, 1989). I know that listening to Phish is probably even less hip than listening to the Grateful Dead, but I listened to this album a lot back when it first came out. That was probably less because I enjoyed it than because I (with my contrarian nature) would listen to just about anything that wasn’t on mainstream radio at the time. Hadn’t listened to this one in about 15 years, and it surprised me how much I remembered it (especially the uber-catchy “Bouncing Around the Room”)– these songs are poppier than most people give them credit for. Probably won’t be in my regular listening rotation, but it was a nice blast from the past.

3) Codeine: the White Birch (Sub Pop, 1994). Slow and bleak, this is the perfect album to listen to on a winter’s day that looks a lot like the cover photograph. It would be more perfect only if it were actually snowing outside.

4) Vic Chesnutt: About to Choke (Capitol, 1996). I was going to write a post about the musicians that died in 2009, since there were a ton– Michael Jackson, Mary Travers, Jack Rose, Rowland S Howard, Lux Interior, Jay Bennett, Les Paul, Ron Asheton, and Jerry Fuchs, to name a few. But Vic Chesnutt‘s death on Christmas Day hit me particularly hard; I’d been listening to his music since the mid-90s, and I have always loved his songs. There’s a story I heard once about how when Michael Stipe produced Chesnutt’s first two albums, he carried him up the stairs to the studio since there was no wheelchair entrance– I don’t know if that’s an urban legend or whether it’s actually true, and it doesn’t much matter: Chesnutt persevered despite his paralysis, and words cannot express how sad I am that he’s no longer with us. I count myself truly lucky that I got to see him live once (October of 2004), and I kick myself for staying home the last time he came through town; too many other shows that week seemed like a good enough excuse at the time, but I wish I’d made time to go to that show. I remember at the show I saw how he could make us chuckle with his exceedingly bleak humor (“when I ran off and left her, she wasn’t holding a baby; she was holding a bottle and a big grudge against me”). I’m pretty sure that About to Choke is my favorite album of his, even if Drunk has a few songs that are even more exceptional (most notably “Supernatural” and “When I Ran Off and Left Her”).

5) Vetiver: Tight Knit (Sub Pop, 2009). Listening for a review, which should be out in about a week. I liked this more than I thought I would; I saw this group open for Joanna Newsom and Devendra Banhart in June of 2004, and I was so impressed with Newsom and Banhart that I sort of forgot about Vetiver. But this is a solid folk album; I wish it didn’t sound insulting to say that it makes for great background music, because I don’t mean that in a negative way: this album is an exceedingly pleasant listen, even if it doesn’t grab your attention with look-at-me! flash.