by Brent Sallay

REISSUES!!! You love ’em. Heck, we love ’em. They’re bigger, better, and less British. They’re like a presidential election recount, only more fun. This last month saw more reissues than we can shake a stick at, much less find someone competent enough to do them all justice. And so, without further ado, RED presents…the next best thing! (Kind of sort of reviews of some of the better albums from this year, alongside their forebears.)

Spirit They’re Gone, Spirit They’ve Vanished
Avey Tare and Panda Bear
Fatcat

Danse Manatee
Avey Tare, Panda Bear and Geologist
Fatcat

Here Comes the Indian
Animal Collective
Paw Tracks

It’s a lot easier to judge an album when you have a band’s entire back catalogue to compare it to. If the Animal Collective (comprised of four members who refer to themselves as Avey Tare, Panda Bear, The Geologist and Deakin) had put out their most recent offering, Here Comes the Indian, with no fair warning, I’d like to think that the world would have turned in on itself and started eating nothing but pudding, but then, I pretty much think that all the time anyway.

No, my point is that looking first at the album’s roots can greatly enhance the experience of Here Comes the Indian. And oh, what’s this? A hot spanking new reissue of the band’s first two albums in one reasonably priced double-album format? Tell me more!

Coming out of nowhere a scant three years ago, Avey Tare and Panda Bear’s Spirit They’re Gone, Spirit They’ve Vanished deserves a place among such other modern psychedelic classics as The Flaming Lips’ The Soft Bulletin, Boards of Canada’s Music Has the Right to Children and Mercury Rev’s All Is Dream.

On standout tracks like “April and the Phantom,” “Someday I’ll Grow to Be as Tall as the Giant,” “Chocolate Girl,” and others, Avey Tare’s twisted fairy-tale vocals are almost constantly on the verge of being drowned out by a barrage of keyboards and feedback, with nary an electric guitar in the mix. That Avey Tare and Panda Bear could sound this hardcore using only wire brushes and acoustic guitars is a testament to, well, awesomeness.

The group’s next album, Danse Manatee, took things in a radically different direction, all but abandoning the melodies and (at least somewhat) coherent lyrics of its predecessor. It was a decidedly more primal affair, with several moments of brilliance (like “Little White Glove” and “In the Singing Box”), but lacking something overall.

Fortunately, Here Comes the Indian, released in June, has found the missing piece. The album still owes more to Danse than Spirit, but what was missing in mood and cohesiveness is now back in spades. Heavily effected vocals and highly contrasting dynamics create some moments as gorgeous as anything off Sigur Rós’ Ágætis Byrjun and others as scary as Xiu Xiu’s A Promise.

Long story short: If you like it harsh and noisy (and I’m talking about music, ya pervert), but also tend to kneel at the altar of Lennon and Bowie, you owe it to yourself to give Spirit a try, and then see where that takes you. And since the double-disc reissue is running at just $15, you might as well just clear a space for both past releases on your solid gold CD stand, right alongside all these other albums I’m about to tell you to buy.

Cedars
Clearlake
Domino

When Cedars first came out in February, I was impressed by the press it was getting, and even more impressed by the actual album. It had such clever melodies and poignant lyrics, not to mention a British accent that wasn’t even fake! But I was resolutely disgusted by the price: something in the neighborhood of $19. That’s right, friends—the dreaded import CD.

Oh sure, imports are fine, if you’re just trying to show how much better you are than everyone else just because you shelled out $30 for the one extra track on the Mexican version of In Utero. But we can’t all afford solid gold CD stands. And so I waited. And sure enough, my stinginess was rewarded, not that much later actually, just last month, when Domino Records released the album stateside for…what’s this? $10? And what’s this? A bonus track? Now, that’s what I’m talking about.

But I know what you’re asking: Does the album hold up to the drama of its acquisition by one faux-spare-changed critic? Well, yeah! You’ve got your heartfelt by-way-of-Radiohead lyrics, your catchy British rock riffs, and a mood that befits the inspired cover art.

It’s a strong-rooted, fully fledged album with a darkness looming always overhead. It’s one of those rare albums that catches its hooks in you right away and never lets go. And that, friends, is a thing you just cannot put a price on.

Mass Romantic
The New Pornographers
Matador

Electric Version
The New Pornographers
Matador

The New Pornographers, another collective (meaning they have to pay a gratuity when they all eat out at Denny’s), got their name from a certain politician’s condemning of the entertainment industry, a move which really put a lot of musicians in their places, and which caused actual pornographers the world round to re-evaluate their careers and look for ways to win back the respect and business of their respective representatives in Congress.

But apart from the lewd-but-still-OK-for-BYU album cover for Mass Romantic, which was just released for the first time in the States last month (all good and remastered, even), the members of The New Pornographers are all about something else entirely. I’m talking about hot, non-stop guy-girl action. And by action, I mean singing. (Come on, sicko. What were you thinking?) I’m talking about infectious melodies. I’m talking almost sickeningly catchy pop-rock songs way too cool for the radio.

Are you game? Try giving “Execution Day” or “The Mary Martin Show” from Mass Romantic a spin. Or “The Laws Have Changed” or “It’s Only Divine Right” from Electric Version. It’ll make you feel all gooey inside.

Clearly, Mass Romantic was deemed good enough by some guy in a suit somewhere to see a reissue. And not to pee on his parade or anything, but I’m going to go out on a limb and say that the awesomeness factor is in even fuller effect on this year’s Electric Version—a fact which will hopefully result in its being reissued every five months or so, just so I can keep on talking about it and you can keep right on buying copies of it. I mean, come on, you’re good for it, right?
brent@red-mag.co

Great Wall
Paul Oakenfold aka Oakey
Reprise

I've just discovered two reasons why you shouldn't review CDs in the library. First, the guy next to you in the computer lab will always have too much cologne on. Secondly, when you start to rock out, even just a tiny bit, people stare at you. Great Wall, Paul Oakenfold's 2003 mix release, totally makes you do that involuntary head-nodding thing. Even though people are staring at you and wondering, “Is that girl having a seizure?” you can’t stop.

Well, maybe I could stop for a million dollars. Oakey's new two-disc compilation not only includes a fly mix of Madonna's “Hollywood,” but contains a track by the ever-amazing Bjork and one by Depeche Mode’s Dave Gahan. The first disk is classic Oakenfold. It gradually builds into a damn fine melodic example of trance. The second disc makes you feel hypnotized. For trance virgins, Great Wall is a perfectly pleasant, not to mention commercial, introduction. But for those hardcore fans (can you consider a trance fan to be hardcore?) there isn't anything really fresh or new.—HH