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Hi folks! I’ve been working on this blog for a couple months now, and I’m excited to see that people are actually reading it. If you’re just discovering my fantastical world of superlatives, or if you’ve been visiting for a while and have never told me how you really really feel, please comment and let me know what you think!
Also, if you’d like to see more of certain music or think you know of the best song in the world don’t hold out! I’ll be delighted, I promise.
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At this point, loving The Decemberists does not brand you a cool indie hip kid anymore. Jay Leno loves The Decemberists. So do all the kids next door. We’re not talking Britney Spears popular, but just the right balance between well-known and obscure that let’s you say…”I liked them before they got big.”
Well, it’s true. I did.
But the point is that they are responsible for this week’s love affair between me and my headphones. The Rake’s song is an upbeat, striking tune about a child murderer with the flair and precision that defines a Decemberists classic. The Decemberists are fantastic story-tellers and even better musicians- The Rake’s song combines both. I love the lyrics – when I listened to this album, this is the first song I repeated – but more so, I love the music. It’s catchy, well drafted, and humorous. The Hazards of Love is my new favorite album right now, but it’s The Rake’s Song that skips an extra beat in my heart and has me furiously spinning my iPod wheel up…clearly the best song in the world.
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So Girl Talk is pretty much the most awesomest. Disclaimer of the blatant, blatantly misogynistic lyrics that plague most of the sample-mixed album, this shit is amazing.
If you’re not familair with Feed the Animals, you should be. I wasn’t, and then my fantastically brilliant partner told me all about it. Girl Talk is this dude, just this regular ol’ white dude who mixes music as a DJ and does some boring computer shit during the day. He spent about two years working on this album, which is made of over 700 samples.
I love “Here’s the Thing” because of the sweet Pop 40 subervision with Kelly Clarkson’s chorus. There’s something about mashups that are so wonderfully devilish. I remember when DJ Dangermouse’s Grey Album came out and the combination of the Beatles and Jay Z was wonderfully tricky and delightfully different to my ears. That’s what Girl Talk’s entire album is like, with a beautiful stream of mixes that bring the perfect balance of too much pop to too much hip hop and colacese to a series including the best song in the world.
The whole album is free (or for donation only). Check out the hype here.
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Sorry for the delay, folks. Week from hell…
I really dig Dr. Dog. Been on my replay for about two weeks now. Had some trouble picking which song was truly The Best Song in the World, but definitely feel confident about this one.
Dr. Dog has this sort of rock/emo thing going on that I really like. Definitely a little eerie, and definitely heartful. The Ark has this great narrative, which is present in many of his songs, but is highlighted really well here. There’s this progression, matched with the sweet keyboard and guitar solos that coincides with great lyrics. Plus, a little Beatles-esque for good measure.
I seem to like songs that have some illusion to God in them. The Ark is this sor tof modern discussion from Noah to the man above. Something about this modernization of the pain and struggle and asking for faith is really powerful.
God, he called for rain. So a built an ark but no rain came. I was ashamed. Man, he called for war. So I build a gun and join the corps. But I wasn’t sure.
Hey Folks–Thought you might enjoy a voice other than my own…plus I owe you an update. Here’s a guest post from the lovely Scrumptious…
You know how you can listen to an album over and over again through the years, maybe humming along, while you drive or cook dinner or clean the house or whatever. You like it, it’s a good or maybe even great album. Maybe there are a couple of songs on there that blow you away or really speak to you.
And then one day you’re listening, you’re cooking or driving or humming along, and suddenly there’s this SONG on there, this amazing song you swear must not have been there the first fifty times you listened. Because you would have noticed. This song you would have noticed. Where has it been? Did the artist sneak into your house last night and add it somehow?
You know what I’m talking about, I know you do. Is there a word for this phenomenon? Probably not, so I’ll coin one right now. I’m calling it the “hiding track.” Not the “hidden track,” that usually inferior thing snuck onto an album but left off the liner notes. The Hiding Track. It waits for you quietly, like the magic bookshop in stories, only appearing when the time is right for you to hear it.
I had We Shall All Be Healed by The Mountain Goats, a good album by a great band, in fairly consistent once-a-month-or-so rotation from 2004, when it was released, to one night in 2008, when I was cooking dinner or driving or cleaning the house and IT appeared. I don’t even remember what I was doing at the time – you would think I would but it was more like one of those nights where you can remember everything you were doing up to a point but then there’s just a big blank spot and the next thing you know you wake up face down in a corn field surrounded by crop circles.
The song Quito appeared one night and the next thing I knew it was a month later and I was face down in a corn field with a 255-times play count on my iTunes counter.
Should I even attempt to describe it for you? It’s somehow violent and it cuts me open but it also weaves a tight, binding embrace that holds everything together. One night when I thought my heart was breaking and it hurt to breathe and I was afraid if I moved an inch I would shatter I put on my headphones and put Quito on repeat for six hours straight, lying curled on the couch unmoving.
It’s so short it’s almost a throwaway. Maybe that’s why I didn’t notice it for so many years. But there’s a kind of yearning lift to it at the end that begs to have the song begin again immediately, in a cycle of endless repetition that actually makes it infinitely long.
And then we ask, what is he even talking about, with the salmon and the bus? Obviously after 300+ listens I have plenty of ideas, but ultimately, I leave it up to you. Those lyrics are pure John Darnielle, whose magic talent is making words so poignant and recognizable on a gut level that they skim straight past your brain to pierce right into the core of you. Anyways, with those violins pushing and pulling the blood through your veins and the breath in your lungs, the words are just the pretty pictures that flash before your eyes while the sinking black tar pulls you under, under and you start to lose consciousness but it’s all good, it’s all sweet, because you’re being held so tight now by the best song in the world.
Filed under: The Best Song in the World
Okay, so I admit I have not been regular on the updating. I’ve made a pact though, so bear with me. One best song a week. I might do more, but I won’t do less. I don’t want to let my friendly readers down, but I also have a full time job, a wonderful partner (look for a future guest post!), two pet rats to take care of, and a serious addiction to strategy board games. So…once a week for now. Not that I have a staggering following, but hey, I want to do my best to those readers I do have.
Thanks folks! Don’t worry… I’m moving on!
Caskets. What a friggin’ delight. Damien Jurado was one of those artists that I listened to at first and waited for the hooks to cinch. This experience is so odd: I listen to an album once or twice. I am mostly half-heartedly listening. I don’t catch the lyrics, but I get the general gist. I usually never fall in love. (Ragoo was a delightful exception). Then, one day, on about the third listen to a song, it hits me. A surge, like a really cold blue raspberry slushie on a hot day–purple lips and all–that takes over my ears and my heart. The song is perfect. The lyrics coo into my ear. The bass line beats to my pulse, the tones sing at the same pitch as the ringing in my ears. The world melts.
Welcome to Caskets. The opening bass line is that melting, is that connection of music to joy that I search for and find in these songs I categorize. It’s hot. A beautiful combination of melacholy, curious, and frackin fantastic.
I usually don’t shill, but buy this album. Buy it because I was seriously considering putting the next track on this blog, and that’s saying something. One song that is really, truly the best song in the world and then a close competitor following it…well, that might mean a new category: best artist in the world.
But that’s another blog.
Enjoy folks. This is pretty damn sweet.
EDIT: WHAT? This guy is really phenomenal. I was looking for a good image and I found this awesome music video for Caskets. Again! not shilling, but really digging this rad piece of film. YOU WILL LOVE IT.
Instead of putting the audio link, I’m posting this vid. If you don’t like vids, just click to another tab and crank up the volume.
Filed under: The Best Song in the World
I enjoy orchestral, grandiose displays of fantastic music. It just makes things seem fun and lyrical, like we’re all in a too-bright circus, and things are meant to be bizarre and monstrous. I’ve determined that Beirut also feels this way. At least, that’s what the music says.
Zach Condon is the master of Beirut, and a twenty-two is rocking the music world more than most elder musicians I know. I could go on and on about how badass he is, but everyone else does that, so I’ll move onto my point: the best song in the world.
Nantes epitomizes all that is good and holy about Beirut. The creative instrumentals, the excellent songs, the…fascinating? lyrics. I love this song because I feel like I’ve entered a small town in Europe (maybe in Beirut, actually) and also gone into a doll making workshop where the factory people sing together. It’s awesome.
I love music that makes me joyful. Nantes, and Beirut in general, makes me joyful. Some instruments that I’ve never heard OF can’t pronounce doing awesome stuff makes me joyful. The best song in the world makes me joyful. Enjoy!
I just want to put it out there that I loved this song before Volkswagen made that Cabrio commercial. Ahem..
Nick Drake. I have fallen slightly out of love with him, but he used to be my rock. Any time, anyday, and especially when I hated every song in my music library with a deep passion but desparately needed to listen to something, Nick Drake would be there, ready to embrace me with his buttered voice and sweet acoustic guitar strums. Maybe I’ve grown up, maybe I was a little disillusioned when his family sold him out, I’m not sure. But, Pink Moon will always be the best song in the world, regardless of its creator.
Another dear friend of mine introduced me to Nick Drake in her living room in family-student housing in Riverside, CA. It was hot, we were sitting on the living room carpet, and a song from Five Leaves Left began playing from her stereo. What can I say? I was in love. I started searching for his music, and soon found Pink Moon the album, beginning with this stunning song.
But that’s not at all. My good buddy from high school, Trevor Hall, who is an incredible, heartfelt, powerful musician, had a special encore for his senior recital. After whipping through some seriously complex classical guitar, playing a beautiful rendition from his soon to be major-record-label album, he closed with a rendition of Pink Moon that still resonates in my ears this day.
And hey, that VW commercial couldn’t even ruin it. It’s actually a pretty great commercial. But probably cuz Pink Moon is just that good.
Filed under: The Best Song in the World | Tags: independent music, Peter and the Wolf, Safe Travels
This song is such a sweet experience. I first heard in when I was living in the middle of nowhere, Massuchessets. In order to get out of our middle of nowhere town to a slightly larger town (that had a bookstore, for instance) we took these long winding East Coast roads in the staff car. I had just discovered Peter and the Wolf through the wild and unweildy powers of the interweb, and was surprised to find I actually liked them. This song has stood the test of time, now that I’m back sfae in my home city, with no staff car but a rad scooter!) and many new albums churned through my ipod.
My music taste goes back and forth, and definitely has some consistency of sad, acoustic songs, but Safe Travels has this sort of child-like, joyful twist that always makes me smile. Nothing like breaking the mold to prove that you are, after all, the best song in the world.
Filed under: The Best Song in the World | Tags: Fire Snakes, Laura Veirs, Year of Meteors
A beautiful recommendation from one of the best guys in the world, my good buddy at Big Heart Videos showed me all about Laura Veirs. I love this song for it’s opening. A song with a hooked opening is difficult to find–for me, often I only love a song after I’ve heard it a few times and get cozy in it’s notes. With “Fire Snakes,” Laura had me on the first note. Her voice is both haunting and tonally interesting. Her asthetic on the song has a great blend of classical violin and guitar and almost techo-mix style drums. Not only do I love the music for what it is, but also for being a successful, creative woman artist is always appreciated. For the funk, the depth, and the good ol’ beat, “Fire Snakes” is clearly rockin out as the best song in the world.
