The Best Goddamn Albums of 2006

by The Goddamn Rattlesnake

Two thousand six. Time to commence the obligatory recount of memories.  Sweet times.  Sour times.  Drunk times.  Sober times.  I tell you this: oh six definitely had... some times.  And now, some best times.  Here are my ten best records of 2006, full of sweet jams and outstanding emotion, passion and talent, intelligence and intent, warm feelings and cold memories, all ingredients that make up the albums you feel are truly the best.  And my best?  In no particular order...
 

Bonnie "Prince" Billy - The letting go

Self indulgence.  Somehow this term has become somewhat taboo in the world of musical recording.  Some blame hair metal.  Blazing guitar acrobatics and powerfully powerless power ballads.  Others think bling blang hip hop is what destroyed the idea that it's ok to be proud of one's self.  Flaunting your sacks of diamonds and hoes is apparently a bad thing.  I don't care.  Personally I feel if you have what it takes to indulge then by all means wade in that shit.  Although when self indulgence is not your usual m.o. just dipping your toe in can prove utterly disastrous. But.  Sometimes it can produce magnificent results.  Take our lo-fi friend Will Oldham.  Known for stripped down yet crisp arrangements, his idea of indulgence was to simply take a trip to iceland.  Hire an orchestra.  Pick up some background singing lady.  And write the best jams his skinny little heart could produce.  See?  Easy.

Boris - Pink

Japan makes me nervous.  Everything is so cute and bright and neat and well  designed.  And then there is the flipside: the whole samurai business, the downright disturbing porno industry.  The place is an island full of booby traps.  Boris is no exception.  When I met these folks I was the tallest person in the room (5’8”).  They were all giggly and smiling. Then they proceeded to melt everyone’s flesh with inconsiderately loud vibrations of sound.  Even this record is a booby trap.  Little.  Pink.  Precious.  Though once you put it on you feel like you just ate a spicy tuna roll laced with mescaline. 

Ghostface Killah – Fishscale

I'm a fan of any artist that is smart enough to give a nod to their forefathers. Too many genres of music go through trend after trend producing mass market imitators and ole faithfuls selling out just to get a piece. Rarely does one come around and recognize that (for the most part) those who blazed these trails, which cookie cut competitors gingerly stroll down, usually had it right.  Then there are those of the Ghostface mold. Consistently on point.  No need to change what has always worked and wowed. I guess talent like Ghostface must sit around thinking, “How can I make everyone else look even more like a chump?” Oh, I know. I’ll bust out some old Stax recordings, some BDP tapes, maybe a Parliament lp. And do my fucking homework.

The Friends of Old Time Music - The Folk Arrival 1961-1965 box set

The friends of old time music were a bunch of kids like you and I putting  on small shows in various venues around nyc in the early 1960's.  This may not sound that special.  But there is one big exception between these guys and you and your fashion conscious friends. Instead of booking three local noise bands and your roommate as an ipod dj, they rallied up some of the most important folk, blues and bluegrass pickers to ever walk this thick planet and proceeded to school everyone on what music is and how it should be properly performed.  Luckily for us…they recorded the whole damn thing. Three records of heartbreaking performances.  This is the real deal.  No bullshit. Roscoe Holcomb.  The Stanley Brothers.  Bill Monroe.  Mother Maybelle.  Dock Boggs. Hobart Smith.  Piles more. The only thing that makes me mad about this most beautiful compilation of musical holiness is why it took 40 years for anyone to put the fucker out? 

Death Breath - Stinking Up the Night

Remember when metal was tough?  When only metalheads listened to metal.  When they screamed and grunted about dead stuff and evil things and other shit worth screaming about.  Well apparently only a handful of people know how to play metal like it's supposed to be played.  And unfortunately for us the last time anyone of these people actually got down and scared the neighbors was a good 15 years ago.  But, fortunately for us, one of those fellas decided to start playing metal again.  And it is as brutal as ever. Nicke andersson.  One time drummer of my personal favorite death metal acts, Entombed, got together some friends and some Jackson Kelley pros and some solid state marshall half stacks and few spiked gauntlets and dropped the most death metal death metal record  since we  were still afraid of russian invasion and thought Chuck Norris was our only hope.

Johnny Cash - American V: a Hundred Highways

Posthumous record releasing is a bizarre phenomenom that has been plaguing our society.  No matter who the artist, their afterlife recordings are the talk of the town.  Fanatical fanatics spend precious time analyzing lyrical foreshadows, as if the musician in question was so in tune with their own mortality that they just couldn’t help but be compelled to write their own epitaph in the guise of a pop ditty with a three part harmony and a sax solo.  Frankly, the trend makes me nauseous.  Except for the case of mr. cash.  He could posthumously go on tour and I’d be the first to buy tickets.

Matt and Kim – self titled

I was in band with matt (he was known as wes back then) a number of years ago.  We used to play a lot of shows and parties and get drunk and have a good time.  The strange thing is that he never owned his own guitar.  He always used mine.  It was bizarre.  I mean we practiced and played a lot, but he never had his own guitar.  I never had a problem with it.  Just found it a little odd.  It was kinda annoying that I had to be responsible for it and often times even set up his gear for him and bought him new strings.  I even had one of my guitars that he was playing get stolen (no fault of his) and let him start playing my other guitar.  This went on for over two years.  Pretty strange huh?  anyway.  I am pretty sure that he owns at least one of his keyboards… oh…what?…I’m sorry…you don’t know who I am talking about?  Loser.

Andre Ethier - Secondathallam

Hello my name is Andre Ethier.  I create piano driven pop rock songs with a strong folk presence and warm production.  You may find it interesting that I was born, raised and still reside in Canada even though my music has a heavy traditional American rock influence.  I suggest that you attempt to enjoy this record during a slow evening sipping bourbon and smoking hand rolled cigaretttes while sitting on a bar stool or driving at a moderate speed, down the interstate, enroute to a familiar (or non familiar) destination, with the one you love (or the one you used to love), stoned.
p.s. I really like ‘the band’.  

Willie Nelson – Songbird

Willie Nelson will always and consistently be down for anything.  Like a true gentleman.  So when the man with about 70 amazing records and 3 ok ones was asked to team up with the man (Ryan Adams) with about 10 ok records and 1 amazing one (Heartbreaker) I am sure he said something along the lines of… “Alright man.” So here is the deal.  Mr. Nelson is backed by Mr. Adam’s band, ‘The Cardinals’ and his own harmonica and organ players, while Ryan puts on his producer’s hat and they proceed to make some real sweet jams.  This record had some Willie originals, a couple Ryan originals and a pile of covers.  Basically, Willie sounds as sweet as ever and the band is pretty tight.  Sometimes all you need for a record to make you happy is satisfaction.  I am satisfied.  And happy.

Leaders – Dream Driving

Some people release records.  Some people release albums.  Leaders have unleashed a goddamn experience.  This is what happens when you ‘make’ music instead of just ‘play’ music.  Nothing about this band is accidental.  Conceptually conceived in all aspects.  Painstakingly particular right down to the poor lug at the pressing plant that had to line up the art on the cd tray up with the disc itself.  Proving even those who may never even hear this record are effected by it.  After all is said and done on their end, what do you suppose they have left us with?  Well. I will tell you.   The leaders have left us all with a memorial hangover.  As if they entered our sleeping quarters late one night, all whimsically and sandman-like, and invited us on a mini van tour of how and why we all need to chill the fuck out and enjoy our selves.  Sometimes that involves a little foot tap.  Often times a little head bag.  Maybe a quick day dream.  But most certainly a smile. It's ok.  You don’t need to thank them.  They have already thanked themselves.  On record.  It's true.  Literally.  Track two.  See for yourself.

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