At the behest of a message board cohort, I saw three completely unfamiliar bands at Great Scott in Allston on Saturday night, a rare occurrence for nowadays. The Swimmers, an indie pop/rock band from Philadelphia, played first. I should have known by the press quote heralding their “strident cheerfulness” that the law of diminishing returns would be in full effect, but I watched most of their set before turning my body and my attention toward the third period of the Bruins–Hurricanes game. All I could think about with regard to their music was the slew of promotional CDs I received six, seven years ago containing a similarly nondescript blend of enthusiasm and instantly forgotten songs. It almost frustrated me that I couldn’t remember a specific band name for comparison’s sake, but that ultimately seemed more appropriate.

The Young Republic, an eight-piece from Boston, occupied the middle slot. With two violinists, a keyboardist, a bassist, a drummer, a flautist, a pedal steel player, and a singer/guitarist, there was certainly enough going on, but the lead vocals and guitar tended to dominate the mix to the detriment of the whole. Most of the songs hit the intersection of Glossary’s alt-country and Belle and Sebastian’s layered indie pop, but occasionally they’d veer into ill-advised guitar freak-outs which boiled down to hyper-strumming high on the fret board with little regard for tone or texture.

When I went to get specifics on the band, I was pleasantly surprised by their MySpace page. No, not by the music, but by the presumably self-penned press blurb. I almost missed reading completely ostentatious one-sheets, but given the number of participants onstage, I’m not particularly surprised that they chose this route. I’ve highlighted my favorite parts.

Outside of Boston, they have enjoyed success courtesy of college and public radio, internet blogs and their parents. From Dylan veined folk songs to Gram Parsons country to Beatles inspired rock n’ roll, The YR takes each tune and deliberately and delicately adds instrument upon instrument, with keen ears for harmony, color and counterpoint to create music that aims more towards the 60’s pop music giants (Wilson, Lennon, McCartney) and the luminaries who overshadow even them (Mozart, Beethoven, Debussy, Stravinsky) than their indie rock contemporaries. They are at heart, a rock band, but it is perhaps a willingness to stretch into new musical territory that sets them apart from the rest of the pack. “She’s Not Waiting Here This Time,” the centerpiece of their latest effort YR 7 calls for a full string orchestra, twenty voice mixed choir, a trumpet soloist and a classical percussion section along with the full time players. A sprawling eight-verse folk song at its core, it may be the most ambitious and complex DIY recording project to date and a sign of things to come for the band.

This section of their press kit beautifully documents this inflated self-worth:

They study music with passion and are unafraid to write, arrange and perform with a skill that has been greatly devalued by most current rock acts. Their original sound is based off traditional folk and rock styles infused with classical sophistication and sensibilities - they can handle most genres. As popular indiedom passes through their periphery in flaming whirlwinds of dust and smoke, the young men and women of The Young Republic pay little mind to this fleeting fanfare as they concentrate on their own extraordinary work.

This tangent obviously goes beyond the show report, but I don’t understand why bands feel the need to write about themselves in this way. Bands can and should be inspired by music beyond the boundaries of contemporary indie, but being so adamant against the acknowledgment of the influence of your peers is ridiculously off-putting. I remember seeing a flyer for a Mercury Program show in Champaign which had a long paragraph not only listing their influences, but heralding their importance in contrast to the band’s own genre, something like “Though lumped in with the burgeoning post-rock crowd, the Mercury Program draws their influence from the avant-jazz of the 1960s and ’70s, particularly the works of….” Sure. You’re too good for post-rock. We get it. Go play another post-rock song, dudes. I could tell that the Young Republic liked bands outside of the contemporary scene, much like the Mercury Program wears a lot of its direct jazz lineage on its sleeve, but neither band transcends its timeframe enough to merit such open contempt for the reality of their condition. It’s a fine line to walk—no one wants to list only the latest, “greatest” acts—but being so self-conscious only serves to underscore your own limitations.

Back to the actual show. Mako closed to a thinned-out crowd. Picture Morrissey fronting a heavy-ish ’90s alt-rock band (they say Hum, but I wasn’t feeling that comparison) and that’ll cover it. There seemed to be a fundamental disconnect between those two elements that wasn’t reconciled before I left halfway through their set to venture back to Somerville (a thoroughly frigid hour-long walk), but I kept thinking about how easily Shudder to Think’s Pony Express Record could have been a complete disaster. I can imagine Mako putting out a solid record in a few years (unlike the other bands, they haven't released anything to date, so it's still very early), but the material I heard just seemed too disjointed. I wonder if the need for immediate coherence is an effect of the MySpace era of instant consumption.

This particular line-up did little to persuade me to drop eight bucks on unknowns more regularly, but if I do it’ll probably be at the more experimentally oriented (and perhaps more important, much closer) P.A.’s Lounge. I may very well have reached the point in my concert-attending career when I give up on seeing unknown acts entirely, but I’m still hoping to be proven wrong one of these days.

I had a brief internal debate between seeing Mission of Burma at the Paradise and Pinebender at Great Scott, but the higher-ranking band on my best of 2006 list won out. Having seen Pinebender in three cities in Illinois (at the Fireside Bowl in Chicago with Engine Down and Taking Pictures, at the Prairie House in Bloomington with the Botanists, and at that hookah bar in Champaign with Denali), I know quite well that they come off better live than on record, earning their “drudge” sub-genre with a loping pace and stomach-churning baritone guitar.

Blanketeer opened up, but since I had a chance to talk indie-rock shop with notorious baby killer Scott Peterson, I didn’t pay too much attention to their keyboard-centric blend of indie lite. I remember talking about how rare it is for me to sit through the entirety of an unknown opening band’s set nowadays, but Blanketeer’s MySpace page made them seem innocuous enough.

I moved to the front of the stage for Pinebender’s set, which started with “Simp Twister” from Things Are About to Get Weird. Hearing this slow-burner gradually rise above the din of the crowd until it finally kicked in and grabbed people’s attention was quite amusing, since Pinebender’s affection for high volume levels noticeably ended a few conversations. “Begin Here” and “Mask Tree” were the pre-“Parade of Horribles” highlights. I can’t underscore how well that song comes off live. Both guitarists get lengthy solos, but drummer Dennis Stacer’s vicious beat is the band’s secret weapon. As much as the fourteen-minute-long song should be always the set-closer, I wanted them to play another one so I could request the twelve-minute-long“There’s a Bag of Weights in the Back of My Car.” They didn’t. I talked to Stephen for a while afterward and insisted that they should play four song sets from now on, and he said that they consider doing so from time to time. I also asked if there were any plans to press the other albums on vinyl (Things Are About to Get Weird just got a super limited pressing on double vinyl—grab it soon), but it seems unlikely.

The Big Sleep headlined with their metropolitan brand of post-rock, primarily recalling a looser version of Trans Am’s Futureworld. I specified metropolitan with either Brooklyn (their actual home) or Los Angeles in mind, since there was a certain trumping of style (aesthetic) over substance (songs) that I couldn’t fathom coming out of the Midwest. Vocals occasionally stumbled out over the Krautrock grooves and wiry guitar riffs, but it was effectively an instrumental set. Unless they pull Scott McCloud from Girls Against Boys on board, they should drop the vocals. Enjoyable enough, but not something I need to listen to at home.

I received my copy of Isis's In the Absence of Truth 2LP from Robotic Empire yesterday. I managed to get one of only 299 copies of the violet vinyl, which is both attractive and sought-after on eBay, selling for forty to eighty dollars. Does anyone think I should hold onto this particular copy rather than put it on eBay and buy the (likely) black vinyl copy from Newbury Comics?

I felt lucky to receive that package, since mailing packages to my apartment is a game of chance against thieves. I've had a few packages stolen, so I typically try to mail things to my parents' house, but I had forgotten to do this with the Isis LP. The best story that I have about stolen mail is from this Christmas. I was anticipating a package from Amazon from my sister-in-law, so when I got back to the apartment and saw an Amazon box in the garbage can, I pulled it out. To my surprise, someone had unwrapped the Sealab 2021 DVD, put it back in box, ignored the other present, and threw the box away. It's one thing to open up a package, steal its contents, and sell them, but whatever thought process must've occured, perhaps "I already own this season" or "I really wanted Love Actually," is just baffling. The story gets better, though. Later that day I went downstairs and saw that someone had stolen the garbage can from our entranceway, throwing its contents onto the floor. Who does this sort of thing?

I had even put up a sign saying not to leave packages for me the day that the Isis LP arrived, but it was still sitting there when I got back from class.

My attempt to listen to the entire contents of my iPod on random without skipping hit a snag: the necessity of charging. Once iTunes loaded, I said goodbye to my old random playlist. I had 167 songs down before iTunes intruded on my fun, but I realized that I could sort by last listening date, which made it easy to grab the rest of the songs, put them in a playlist, and shuffle that playlist. The purity of iPod Chicanery has been lost, but at least I can still continue with the project.

I'm currently near the end of song 193, John Coltrane's "Locomotion." Here are the recent trends, highlights, and lowlights of note:

Biggest Rebound: After almost nothing happened in the first few minutes of Múm's "Sunday Night Just Keeps on Rolling," a horrible condition for late-night driving, I almost reconsidered my fondness for Yesterday Was Dramatic—Today Is Okay. But as I remembered that Múm songs have a tendency to begin with little or fall apart halfway through, "Sunday Night" started to gain steam, helping keep me awake until I reached my destination.

Stealthy Long Song: I seemed to recall something being amiss with the Rolling Stones' "Going Home" (from the US edition of Aftermath, but it wasn't until the three-minute mark that I picked up my iPod and recognized that eight more minutes remained. Not necessarily a bad thing, mind you, but I don't expect eleven-minute jaunts from the Rolling Stones. I leave that to Tarentel.

Best Pairing: Hearing Múm's "Smell Memory" (my favorite track from Yesterday Was Dramatic followed by Clark's "Roulette Thrift Run" made particular sense in terms of genre, but following up the ebb and flow of the former with the emphatic pulse of the latter just clicked. "Roulette Thrift Run" wasn't my favorite song from Body Riddle, but this combination helped it step out from the shadow of "The Autumnal Crash," "Ted," and "Frau Wav."

Surprise Appearance: I drew an absolute blank when Solbakken's "Relaxing Yourself to Death" came on, but then remembered that I had put the excellent Klonapet on, drawing from the strength of "Love Interest," "Space Bordello," and "Dung." My blank might have been due to how Solbakken is Dutch, but sounds like late '80s/early '90s Boston indie rock (Volcano Suns, Flying Nuns).

Breakthrough: I've always appreciated Television's Marquee Moon, but when "Elevation" came on, I didn't think about that and actually, you know, enjoyed it. Tom Verlaine's vocals have always bothered me a bit, but considering how many contemporary bands do a similar style of slightly unhinged vocals, I've probably had that impulse tempered since I last pulled out Marquee Moon.

Worst Timing: I considered blowing off this entire project on Monday when I needed something to drown out the din of nearby conferences at my office but not something that featured prominent vocals. After listening to Accelera Deck's "Passerine," which worked well with Debord's The Society of the Spectacle, I tried (and failed) to listen to Echo & the Bunnymen's "Bring on the Dancing Horses" while retaining any knowledge of the text. Seeing that Bottomless Pit's excellent "The Cardinal Movements" was up next, I opted to put away the iPod and save that song for the ride home.

When I purchased my 8gb iPod Nano back in October, I recognized that my listening habits would change, since the switch from my 40gb Creative Zen Touch required a significant paring-down of my listening pile. My initial idea was to only include my favorite albums and recent acquisitions, but my usual habit of listening to all of the music on shuffle proved this inclination to be a mistake. Sure, I loved almost all of it, but I got overly skip-happy in routine searches for the perfect song for a given moment.

After dumping a number of standards (roughly five gigs of them), I filled the remaining space with records I hadn’t heard in a while (Arab Strap’s Philophobia, Glossary’s This Is All We’ve Learned about Living, Dis-’s The Historically Troubled Third Album), records I knew I would (cough, should) like but had never heard all the way through (Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy’s I See a Darkness, Wire’s Chairs Missing and 154, DJ Shadow’s Preemptive Strike, Fugazi’s Red Medicine), and a few different genre excursions.

Most of my iPod listening occurs in the car, so it didn’t take long for this new digitized stack of records to suffer my “next song, please” habits. After a disappointing hour of driving, I decided that I would re-shuffle the songs and listen to all 1164 of them in that order, all the way through. No skipping. I’m not listening to my iPod exclusively, only when I regularly would.

This project started on January 11. I’ve managed to listen to 113 songs in that period—most of them have been in the car, but walking and reading have also been accompanied by the whims of my consumer electronic device. In retrospect, I would have liked to update every day that I listened to my iPod (I’ll try to update more regularly now), but here are the high and low points so far:

Best Reward: I’d heard Will Oldham before, particularly enjoying Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy’s Master and Everyone, but I hadn’t given much attention to I See a Darkness despite its critical acclaim. But when the title track came on while driving down Cambridge Street, I was captivated. I wanted the next traffic light to stay red until the song finished and the rest of the record to play in order. Neither of these happened, but “I See a Darkness” is still the best song that I’ve heard thanks to this endeavor. The entire song is remarkably affecting, but the best part is when Oldham says “buddy” in the second verse.

Most Trying Song: Accelera Deck’s “As Always” came up on the drive back from Boston College on Tuesday night, a poor time for a very gradual, fourteen minute swell of processed guitar. The first half of Pop Polling has great songs, whereas the second half (which closes with “As Always”) is more structurally and sonically severe. Perhaps worse than the first eight minutes of exceptional quiet that begins “As Always” is the knowledge that the jarring noise of “Sunskull” still waits in the wings.

Excellent Old Favorite: The math-rock riffs and monotone sarcasm of “Do All of the Good Ones Have Muslim Names?” mark one of the best moments on The Historically Troubled Third Album, which sounds like it could use a mastering job. I don’t run into too many Dis- fans nowadays, but that record holds up well in the songwriting department.

Best Stretch: Juno’s “When I Was in ____” came on during the final part of my drive to campus on Wednesday. “The French Letter” and “January Arms” made up much of my drive home. I was almost disappointed that these songs weren’t spread out over the entire span. Almost.

Begrudging Acceptance: After hearing the title track from Emperor Tomato Ketchup, I thought “Stereolab sounds like a car commercial for socialists.” “Cybele’s Reverie” is still great, but I doubt I’ll ever be able to sit through an entire album.

Worst Timing: Tarentel’s “For Carl Sagan” came on part of the way to Chestnut Hill this morning and I knew that I wouldn’t make it through the entire song before parking. After removing the key from the ignition I realized that I had the final four minutes of feedback to listen to at a later time. Splitting up the entire arc of that song ruined the listening experience—who wants to come back to the closing waves?

Best Timing: I walked home from MIT Friday night to the aching mock-closure of Pavement’s “Fillmore Jive.” Guitar solos flooded the crisp evening air.

One of the biggest hurdles for my top twenty of 2006 and the subsequent 2CD mixes (which are done, by the way—I’ll post track listings and pictures soon) was the leak of the new Eluvium record, Copia. I’d never listened to Eluvium, but since this particular record leaked at the same time as the new Explosions in the Sky (All of a Sudden I Miss Everyone), I grabbed it and found that it far surpassed the EITS album. Consequently I tracked down all of the other Eluvium releases and found myself drawn to those records more than many of my candidates for year-end honors.

Eluvium, a one-man project from Matthew Cooper, started out closer to the ambient branch of post-rock—muted instrumentation gliding into carefully crafted waves (listen to from 2003’s Lambent Material and “New Animals from Air” from 2005’s Talk Amongst the Trees) and occasionally swelling into feedback. But Eluvium’s 2004 release An Accidental Memory in the Case of Death chose a much different course, opting for a solo performance of neoclassical piano suites instead of layers of studio trickery. These songs, particularly the title track and “The Well-Meaning Professor,” do an excellent job of being playful with recurring themes, heightening the tension when necessary, and letting the compositions breathe. I typically don’t listen to much classical music, but when I do it’s quite minimal (Arvo Pärt’s Alina, for example), so An Accidental Memory is actually a bit busier than usual. After Talk Among the Trees and a solid, if unspectacular 2006 EP, When I Live by the Garden and the Sea (highlighted by “I Will Not Forget that I Have Forgotten”), Copia fulfills the promise of An Accidental Memory’s neoclassical designs with fuller arrangements, populated by traditionally classical instrumentation (strings, brass), not the occasional shoegaze-derived guitar marking earlier releases. When the absolute grace of the brass opener “Amreik” leads into the intertwined layers of the album’s epic, “Indoor Swimming at the Space Station,” it’s hard not to imagine spending the full hour with Copia. “Prelude for Time Feelers” encapsulates the album’s modes and strengths—piano figures lead into gradually accumulating layers of instrumentation, building subtle crescendos and then whisking such drama away. The literal fireworks punctuating “Repose in Blue” close the album, contrasting with the serene framework set below.

Copia has even seeped into times and situations I traditionally devote for up-tempo rock music, namely walking and driving around Boston. “Indoor Swimming at the Space Station” could play continuously underneath my daily activities with no resistance.

Copia officially comes out February 20, but Temporary Residence has hinted about a forthcoming vinyl release, so I’m going to put off pre-ordering or purchasing the CD. It seems less likely that the other Eluvium albums will be released on vinyl anytime soon, so I figure I’m safe getting those on CD. Right?

I’ve finished my top twenty records list for 2006. Yes, everyone in the blogosphere beat me to it, but I actually enjoy determining the records, writing about them, and designing the layout. Granted, the layout may look like an Old Navy advertisement, but I still prefer it to the eyesore I chose for 2005’s list. Between that design decision and the possibility that my top pick may have actually been released in 2005, I probably shouldn’t be self-promoting too heavily, but I like my now-standard fifty word descriptions and I do recommend every album on the list, even though it feels like a down year overall.

The artwork for my accompanying year-end 2CD mix isn’t finished yet, but if you’d like to hear selections from these records and other candidates, send me an e-mail (sebastian at newartillery dot com) with your mailing address. Thirty-five songs carefully whittled down for flow and fit in some handmade LP style packaging could be in your mail box shortly if you e-mail me or if I already have your address.

Those discs will likely reveal some of the runners-up for this list, but Maps and Atlases’ Trees, Swallows, Houses EP, The Radio Dept.’s Pet Grief, Elanors’ Movements, The Timeout Drawer’s Alone EP, and Cursive’s Happy Hollow are other noteworthy 2006 releases. Why didn’t they make it? Respectively: too busy for its own good, single-oriented, short life span in the listening pile, better release last year, and weak as individual parts.

As much as I herald purchasing physical copies of music*, grabbing Pinebender's new album Working Nine to Wolf on its official day of release without having heard any of the songs in advance (studio versions, at least) was a trip back to my high school purchasing habits. I've typically been fortunate to "find" such albums and know whether they're worth picking up long before the release date. Adding to this nostalgia, I even pulled my Discman out of a bin so I could listen to the CD on my drive over to campus.

Thankfully for my sanity, but unfortunately for Pinebender, the drive from Harvard Square to Boston College doesn't take a full hour, so I still haven't been able to hear the album in its entirety. This situation doesn't mean I'm incapable of recommending the disc, however, as "Parade of Horribles" joins the list of stunning Pinebender openers, possibly even surpassing reigning champion "There's a Bag of Weights in the Back of My Car" from Things Are About to Get Weird. "Parade" infuses Pinebender's stock of monolithic riffs and glacial drumming ("drudge") with a blues-informed sense of heaviness, both in sonics and in lyrical content. It was hard not to think of the title and "Relive this / Every November" in a political context after voting, but the overwhelming, palpable sense of dread certainly isn't limited to my voting district. Between these fourteen minutes and the twelve minutes of Tungsten74's "Waltz," space may become precious on my year-end discs.

* This practice usually occurs as follows: Enjoy album, see if vinyl is forthcoming, wait for vinyl release if possible, purchase in store if available, wait for large order from Parasol if it's not. I almost picked up Nina Nastasia's On Leaving LP in addition to the Pinebender CD, but decided to wait until I also grab both Norfolk and Western releases from this year on vinyl, Paik's Magnesium Fire DVD, Chin Up Chin Up's This Harness Can't Ride Anything, and the new Isis full-length LP. Sounds like it will be an expensive post-Christmas order.

Since Michael Dahlquist's unfortunate, untimely, and unnecessary passing last summer, my affinity for his work in Silkworm has only grown. The band showed no signs of losing steam, growing bored, or interpersonal tension, and likely could have put out excellent records until their grandkids started their own bands in tribute. It didn't surprise me when Tim Midgett and Andy Cohen decided to forge ahead with a new band, but I nevertheless approached Bottomless Pit with a slight bit of apprehension. Would I be able to get over Dahlquist's absence? Would they?

My answer didn't come with Bottomless Pit's performance in Boston this past Friday, which I missed in part because of that apprehension (but mostly because of the inflated Boston ticket price for headliners Magnolia Electric Company), but with the band's posting of four songs on their web site. Recent memory can't produce a hand-hits-forehead moment like this one. These songs are superbly crafted and as moving as anything Silkworm recorded. Judging from the elegiac sweep of "Human Out of Me" and the restained optimism of the 1980s New Order vibe of "The Cardinal Movements," Tim Midgett takes this turn as a chance to reflect upon the past, musically and personally. "Those dreams are neverending / I know it's always hard to hear," Midgett sings with stoic grace. Andy Cohen's "Dead Man's Blues" lurks and seethes with his usual vigor, highlighting his interplay with newfound guitarist Midgett, while sighs "I saw the connection there / On the way down / Missed our connection there / On our way down" before a surge of cathartic guitars. The new rhythm section—former Seam drummer Chris Manfrin and .22 bassist Brian Orchard—fills in admirably, trading off Dahlquist's enormous footprint and Midgett's expressive bass lines for a more streamlined approach.

My soundtrack for reading in the BC library has typically been Tarentel's aptly titled singles compilation, Ephemera. Unlike their recent work, in which texture and atmosphere form the backbone of many songs, early Tarentel tracks (namely this compilation and the stellar From Bone to Satellite) build songs up from the smallest available pieces, whether a stray bit of feedback or a softly picked note, gradually forming sturdy, expressive post-rock songs and letting them evaporate into the original miasma. "The Waltz" might be the finest of these tracks, a crescendo so glacial one might not even notice the arrival (or departure) of the drums.

That said, the second track on the new-ish Tungsten74 album, Binaurally Yours (see comments section of previous entry), happens to be titled "Waltz." And you know what? It destroys that Tarentel song. Absolutely kills it. Everything that I've loved about Tungsten74 has been distilled into twelve-and-a-half minutes of psychedelic, progressive post-rock, cabinets stocked full of carefully controlled feedback and surging melodies. The biggest potential caveat for a shorter, digestable Tungsten74 record is that it risks crippling their foremost strength—a compelling tendency to wander headlong into huge expanses of sound—but "Waltz" represents the best possible result of this shift from the epic travels of the two-disc Aleatory Element. All I'm capable of doing right now is replaying the section from the 9:20 mark until the end of the song, over and over, jaw agape from both the locked-in groove and the swirling layers of its aching yet propulsive melodies. It wouldn't be fair to expect two full discs of songs this tightly crafted, but Tungsten74 is at work on another album.

I'm both mad at myself for not hearing this album earlier and thrilled that penciling in a spot for this record in my year-end list was completely warranted.