Jim James and his bearded crew became the year’s mightiest rock band by embracing indie, Southern and hippie rock, but also by transcending what those categories mean. The dadaist punch lines hit their marks, but Lil Wayne’s greatness lies not just in what he says, but in the way he says it ”“ the virtuoso variations in mood and meter, tone and timbre that mark the MC, as much as any singer, as one of 21st-century pop’s great vocal stylists. The most eagerly anticipated hip-hop album of the decade is also the best, from the joyously silly Auto-Tune-on-steroids chart-topper, ”˜Lollipop,’ to the uproarious ”˜Dr Carter,’ in which Wayne dons scrubs to revive moribund hip-hop. “Next time you mention Pac, Biggie or Jay-Z/Don’t forget Weezy Baby,” croaks Lil Wayne, and he earns that audacious boast. His enraged growl in the piano demo of ”˜Dignity’ ”“ “In the next room a man fightin’ with his wife/Over dignity” ”“ sounds like he’s ready to jump right in. Like any night on his Never Ending Tour, each track is a fresh portrait of Dylan at the crossroads, cutting new roads in rhyme, tempo and emotional emphasis: the introspection of ”˜Most of the Time,’ the looming apocalypse of ”˜Ring Them Bells’ and the heavy weight of ”˜Ain’t Talkin’.’ The veering tempers of Dylan’s medicine-rattle rasp are a wonder to themselves. This is one of Dylan’s most consistently gripping albums, even though it is a roundup of outtakes and orphaned songs, many cut for the haunted triumphs Oh Mercy and Time Out of Mind.
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Tell Tale Signs ”“ The Bootleg Series Vol 8
“We could build an engine out of all your rising stars.” On Dear Science, the sky’s the limit. “Ball so hard, we’ll smash the walls,” shrieks singer-guitarist Kyp Malone. And then there’s ”˜Lover’s Day,’ the greatest hipster booty call ever recorded, in which TVOTR greet millennial terror with the oldest form of transcendence. Producer-guitarist Dave Sitek has streamlined and deepened the band’s fusion of doo-wop, punk and soul there are swooning ballads, wind-whipped funk and even a Tom Petty bite. But amid the fear and loathing, there was defiance: “No bombs are falling on me for sure,” sang Tunde Adebimpe he also called this “the age of miracles/The age of sound.” These Brooklynites greeted the historical moment with awe ”“ and responded with art-rock party music.
The year’s finest rock record was also the one that sounded the most like America in 2008, with infernal visions of war and economic desperation.
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