Radio Exile is perhaps the best music appreciation site at the moment, and should probably account for 70% of your music knowledge. I write for them occasionally, so I got a vote and subsequently, an early look at their list of the top 10 albums of 2009. By no means do I want to steal their thunder by revealing it here, and I encourage you to take their word as gospel when they post the list in a few days. But what I’d like to do is look at a criminally overlooked 2009 album, that won’t appear there, or on anyone’s list I’ve seen, and deserves a solid listen.

Passion Pit started in Boston as a one man short-play project as a gift for Michael Angelakos’ girlfriend. It ended up a five piece outfit that released their debut full length, Manners in 2009. Their sound fits neatly into both the new indie dance-pop movement and the best of the art-synth of the 80s. Think Animal Collective sans pretension with a dash of Prince, able to fit on a mix tape with Peter Gabriel and The Black Kids, and you’ll get the idea. Sprinkle in a chorus of children, some good natured hand claps, and some messianic live drums throughout, and this things is 11 tracks of sexy. Manners is one of those rare albums that benefits from meticulous and obvious production values, and the new indie penchant for fun, up-tempo tunes that mask introspective and challenging lyrics.

But the real charm of the record comes in its attention to the lost art of mixing; that is, the order of the songs on the album, and along with album art, the only thing standing between true, vinyl worthy music and the two Lady Gaga tracks you just snagged off of Itunes (no disrespect, love). Passion Pit knows how to construct an album to make a truly artistic soundscape, one that is inescapable until the disk has run its course. Like a memorable night out, no part is misplaced. It opens with “Make Light,” the perfect indoctrination to the sound of the album, hooky and sugary without giving away the secrets ahead. This is where you’re pregaming in your mom’s minivan with the bottle of Poland Spring vodka and blueberry shnapps you stole from her. Immediately following is my pick for best track of the year, “Little Secrets” a monumental dance pop number that I dare you not to bop to in the driver’s seat. By now you’ve started making out with your buddy’s visiting cousin, and life is good. Catch your breath and try to get it up again on the charming third track before running face-first into the first obvious single “The Reeling,” a tune that would have made a perfect radio premiere for the band were it not for payola. Here is the soundtrack to walking into the club.

Tracks 5-7 are less catchy at first listen, as the hooks are less obvious, but by no means does the listener suffer through them; instead, there’s the idea of getting a deeper look into the mind and intentions of the artist. Check out the blistering crescendo on “Folds in Your Hands”; this is a man who knows he’s on fire. At this point in your memorable night out, you have already impregnated someone, and you are the man. “To Kingdom Come” (track 8 ) brings the album into a forced refocus, opening with anachronistic guitar picking and a smooth synth line, not to mention brilliant percussion work. It announces its presence as another single contender before twinkling out, and making room for a redub of the fan favorite from the Chunk of Change EP that got them the record deal. “Sleepyhead” is outrageous in both incarnations, and on Manners wears a tux to the prom instead of the hoodie and hornrimmed glasses it did before. Your night, it seems, is not going to run down, but end up in a crash wherever you happen to be standing, because you are not giving up on the good times. “Seaweed Song” is an appropriate closer, and one often performed as a slowly building, epic, album KOing anthem in live appearances. That part is like listening to “Kashmir” on your second insemination of the night.

I’m sure there are people or robots better suited to pick the best albums of the year than myself, but I would have felt remiss not sharing my personal head-bopper. Jam out irresponsibly, folks.

PS. If you trust me after checking out Passion Pit, a couple more albums that were inexplicably ignored this year:
Dirty Projectors – Bitte Orca
Camera Obscura – My Maudlin Career

(Picture ganked from Radio Exile, too. Someone needs to work on The ColourSound’s ’net PR.)

Well, sorta. The sub-genre of Power Pop and Trad Rock that is Britpop and I have a sordid history. I was hooked when The Candyskins and Supergrass rocketed out of Oxford, and hung tight through Oasis, Radiohead, Travis, Stereophonics, and Ocean Colour Scene before Radiohead abandoned the genre and Travis resigned themselves to a couple decent tunes an album. I even imported Coldplay’s Parachutes, at great expense, when I was sure they’d go nowhere in the states (turns out that was their last 100% solid effort). Just when it looked like fans of Britpop would have to search for greener pastures (sometime around ‘05), three bands emerged with phenominal debut albums that turned the genre on its head and reinvigorated it. Of Maximo Park, Hard-Fi, and Kaiser Chiefs, only KC managed a more than passable sophomore effort.

So, is it time for Britpop to return to its adolesence, in some reminiscent allusion to a time when Kula Shakers and Embraces roamed the Earth? The ColourSound (not the NYC indie space rock outfit) seem to think so. They also seem to have forgotten that Ocean Colour Scene did the whole spelling things Britishly (wrong) a decade ago when it was still cool. This is obviously beside the point, the point being content.

The songs on the band’s latest EP Reclaim, reviewed by the marvelous Shawn M. Smith here, are technically perfect Britpop… for a 1999 retread of Oasis and The Verve. In 1999 we put up with it because our only other pop option was Limp Bizkit. So, without listening to Reclaim, you already know what it sounds like (Shawn compares them to a western-influenced Starsailor if you need any further point of reference). The situation reminds me of what Levar Burton said when he heard about the last television incarnation of Star Trek, Enterprise. He said that looking backward in a science fiction show is a terrible idea, and dooms the franchise to failure. I think the same concept applies to Britpop, and while The ColourSound certainly did their homework concerning the sounds of Britpop from a decade ago, the homework was due… a decade ago.

Artists from across the pond should continue to take their cues from acts like Locksley, The Fratellis, and the Kooks; or alternatively, twee-pop outfits from Scottland like Belle & Sebastian and The Hidden Cameras, who rely more on cues from Ray Davies than from John Lennon. This is not to imply that we need more copies of these sounds; that kind of thinking almost killed Britpop early on in the decade. It is the forward thinking of these acts that should be emulated. The genre has nowhere to go but forward and, to indulge in a bit of hyperbole, courageously.

(Couldn’t find a decent youtube offering from these guys, so definitely hit up Shawn M. Smith’s review on Radio Exile to get a couple samples of The Coloursound’s music. Read the review, too.)

This has been all over the damned place today, trending on Twitter, on Radio Exile (probably the best music blog on the ‘net), and your facebook news feed. It really is spectacular, a true return to showman form for the Muppets, the pinacle of showbusiness excellence for decades, so why no Scumbag Style as well. It’s also a decent justification for YouTube upgrading to 1080p. I dig how Pepe the King Prawn and the Swedish Chef have pivotal roles, and the ending scene is pretty funny.

What I don’t understand is the franchise’s continual reliance on Miss Piggy. Drop it, dude, she’s not funny. I’d like to see Kermit nailing Janice, the guitarist from Dr. Teeth and the Electric Mayhem. It would probably piss Floyd Pepper off, if he’s not too drugged out to notice, but he should have expected it. I mean, she’s always talking about walking around naked and doing nude photo shoots. Not to mention she went through, like, half of the band. Get that rash checked out, Zoot. That sore ain’t from playing sax. Those hippy chicks are all just whores anyway.

Though you wouldn’t know it from today’s fervor, the Muppet ‘net phenominon is not new. Meticulously outlined by Worlds As Myth, a blog that puts way more work into this stuff than my lazy ass cares to, the Muppets have continued the tradition of education and comedy their late founder imagined for them, in the digital age.