360 albums from the year 2000: 240 - 231

240. Lou Barlow / Rudy Trouvé: Subsonic 6

Instrumental home recorded tomfoolery, one half by Lou Barlow, one by ex-dEUS Rudy Trouvé. Of course there’s nothing really memorable here. I’ll never miss this record, but it’s a surprisingly easy listen. It just kinda floats by, inconsequential but somehow not objectionable.

239. Doves: Lost souls

This record must sound great on headphones making your way through the morning commute. It has that alone in a crowd feeling that’s probably one of the West’s most shared feelings of the 21th century. But it’s too depressing to even contemplate this as some kind of accomplishment. Now more than ever, artists should work against the tide, not describe it. Actually this gets better as it goes along, but I don’t know if it rises out of mediocrity or if I’m giving in.

At its best: Catch the sun, The cedar room

238. Ghostface killah: Supreme clientele

Each and every one of these tracks starts off amazing – funky, full of impact, hard hitting. Then… nothing much happens. The record is just not happening for me, I regret to say. And anyway, I’m really tired of casual misogynism in rap in 2000 (though I prefer it to Common). I’m not shocked, I’m just so tired of it. Even something like ‘Child’s play’ which could have been a highlight about kids and looking back to childhood, is spoiled by girls who got his dingaling hard and keep Vaseline handy… Tired of it.

237. Michael Chapman: The twisted road

Solid workmanship, dependable singer-songwriter fair. There’s nothing wrong with this record, but it will probably appeal mostly to people who know Michael Chapman from other records. I don’t, and I wouldn’t miss this record. Still, the man obviously has something, and I hope he’s managed to hit the sweet spot of inspiration at some points in his career – that would be good.

236. Cascabulho: Hunger gives you a headache

Brazilian percussion/vocals/samples/accordion-band. It’s great to hear that 70s Brazilian sound (recalling mostly Tom Zé on this album) hasn’t died out. On ‘Quando sonhei que era santo’, the modern sound of the band goes well with a classic song – is it a cover? I could swear I’ve heard it somewhere. Unfortunately, most of this coasts on beats rather than songs – making for something which in the end lies uncomfortably close to 2000s pervading world-unity-flavorless discourse (it was the time of Manu Chao after all).Nice sound, and a couple of moments where it works, but sorry.

At its best: Venderdor de amendoim, Quando sonhei que era santo, Prosa de Rio e oferenda de siri

235. Hives: Veni vidi vicious

Best appreciated live, the Hives put up an amusing front and occasionally back it up with a great track. It sure plays like a train, nobody’s asking for their 28 minutes back, but I find it hard to believe anyone will end up fulfilled. And when they try to slow down, as on Mayfield cover ‘Find another girl’, they show themselves to be the one-dimensional prank we all suspected.

At its best: Main offender, Hate to say I told you so, Inspection wise 1999

234. PJ Harvey: Stories from the city, stories from the sea

There is something to the adage that simplicity of form makes a good home for truthful expression, but let’s be honest, simplicity is often nothing more than lack of imagination. I’m willing to give Harvey the benefit of the doubt in a couple of pop-blues songs at the start of the record like ‘Big exit’ and ‘Good fortune’, and in a couple of moving slow songs at the end, ‘Horses in my dreams’ and ‘We float’. But most songs in between are just paper bags that she and Thom Yorke can’t sing their way out of. Kudos for aptly summarizing a whole school of ‘rock’n’roll’ attitude that should have been left in the 20th century in the ridiculous ‘The whores hustle and the hustlers whore’: ‘Speak to me of heroin and speed/ Of genocide and suicide, of syphilis and greed’ and most pointedly ‘Speak to me the language of violence, the language of the heart’. Quite.

At its best: Big exit, Good fortune, We float.

233. Roy Harper: The green man

The good news is: it’s still Harper as we’ve always known him, fiercely individual, poetic, great guitarist, unusual tunings. It’s all here. But, it may be a little too pure. The idea was for Harper to go into the studio alone to get in touch with his inspiration – but what I love about those 70s albums are the ideas about arrangements, the musical ambitions, the way it sounds like not much else. All of that is only present on one track, ‘The monster’. The rest are unadorned solo performances, Harper in digestible portions. The talent, but not the daring, not the ambition of his former years. Objectively still good, but compared to before, I can’t help but be disappointed.

At its best: The monster

232. Mark Knopfler: Sailing to Philadelphia

Among the things I can admit to enjoying now that I’m sufficiently grown up, is Mark Knopfler’s guitar. I loved the Dire Straits in my very early teens. It was one of those things I purged when I got really into music. I thought I knew better. When I started out playing guitar in local bands I got Knopfler jibes (where’s your sweatband? Etc) – it was an influence I tried to grow away from fast. I regret that now. Still haven’t re-purchased any of those Straits-records though.
I was looking forward to seeing what Mark got up to solo. ‘What it is’, the opener, isn’t up there with his best band work, but it’s still a fine, distinctive track. The second track is ok. After that it’s a long drive through dullsville until ‘One more matinee’, the final track, opens up into a captivating, winning melody. Finally.

At its best: What it is, One more matinee
At its worst: Who’s your baby now (goes to show just how little you can do with three chords and an autopilot)

231. Ruben Gonzalez: Chanchullo

Gonzalez is an amazing piano player. And he’s got an individual sound. There’s only one guy that sounds like that. Plus he’s got this amazing band and the record’s got that great Buena Vista production. But…
To be honest, I always felt Cuban music (which I never heard before Buena Vista) is a bit boring. They’ve got the arrangements, they’ve got some great jazz players, but I don’t think they have the songs. These tracks (and those on similar records from the franchise) just don’t have the melodies that I expect from standards. A number of them sound like long intro’s that never turn into songs (try ‘La lluvia’). The second half of this album gets wearying.
And Gonzalez has all the great side-effects of a gimmick – instantly recognizable, fun to listen to, makes your ears twitch -, but also the bad side-effects. He’s painted himself into a corner – there’s no developing his cartoon trademark sound, and it’s hard to find an emotional core in there.

At its best: Chanchullo, Quizas, Quizas