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The Pitchfork 500

Edited by Scott Plagenhoef and Ryan Schreiber

Fireside Books

ISBN: 978-1-4165-6202-3

Pitchfork is a long-running website and important part of the internet’s coverage of pop music – especially that of the indie persuasion. While its output has included plenty of off-the-wall writing experiments and a fair amount of glib sniping, record store owners (those that remain) and music fans alike take Pitchfork’s cast of tastemakers very seriously. Indeed, for a certain segment of the industry, a high rating on the website’s 1-10 scale (anything above an 8 is doled out abstemiously) is cause for rejoicing. In particular, several artists   of an adventurous bent – Deerhunter, Animal Collective, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot-era Wilco among them – have benefited from the Pitchfork’s attention.

Plagenhoef, Schreiber, and a host of contributors (most regulars for the website) share their enthusiasms with wit and frequent musical insights. The collection helps to put a number of pop styles, cultural movements, and signature artists into historical perspective while never getting weighted down in “us vs. them” hipster bluster. Indeed, the tone often hews closely to the breezy, smart, and funny prose of the website’s best reviews.

Despite ostensibly being a “best of” collection, The Pitchfork 500 features both sides of Pitchfork’s personality. Although the focus is on the songs one should seek out, there’s also a bit of trashing here and there; pp. 155′s list of career-killing songs being a signature example. Slaughtered sacred cows include latter day Liz Phair, the Beastie Boys, and Billy Corgan.

As Nick Hornby astutely pointed out in High Fidelity, one record fan’s “top 5″ list will inevitably be quickly countered by another’s rebuttal of said list. However, the chief virtue of Pitchfork 500 is not that it will settle any arguments about which songs deserve special merit – it will likely cause more disagreements than it quells – but that it is one of the best conversation starters for music geeks since Hornby’s novel. Along the way, it’s likely to give many music lovers ideas as to how they might best fill their music collection to the brim; in my estimation, a cause for celebration.

Megapuss

Surfing

Vapor Records CD

The old adage “you can’t judge a book by its cover” applies equally to album cover art. If one were to rate Surfing solely on its visual components, its marks would be middling at best. It consists of Zappa-esque potty humor and naked hirsute band members cavorting with sharp implements. The music itself however, is far more promising, some provocative song titles notwithstanding.  

Devendra Banhart has made a name for himself as a solo artist, but his collaborations here with drummer Gregory Rogove and members of the Strokes revel in alt-folk spontaneity and psych rock jamming. The title tune, “To the Love Within,” and the sparsely adorned but oh-so-lovely “Another Mother” are particularly engaging.

There’s a freshness and vitality to the music-making here, suggesting that Banhart thrives in this more relaxed atmosphere and did well to take a break from the whirlwind ride of industry hype. So, if it takes a bit of visual silliness to bring the band into this creative space, I for one am willing to indulge them – to a degree. But next time, Devendra, keep your clothes ON!

D. Rider

Mother of Curses

Tizona

Best known for his work with U.S. Maple, Todd Rittman has formed a new band: D. Rider. Its debut release is filled with heady experimental rock signatures: explosive percussion, handmade instruments, alternately wailing and jangly guitars, and portentous bass-lines. The Chicagoan trio mixes this with Windy-city post-rock features; in particular, judicious use of cornet and saxophone and minimalist layerings.

Upon occasion, a balladic character inhabits Rittman’s cryptic, long-breathed vocals; crystal clear vocal harmonies also populate the most fetching portions of Mother of Curses. Indeed, the singing serves as a stark contrast to the often noise-laden character of the accompanying instruments. The whole doesn’t quite cogently cohere, but its spiky juxtapositions and somber-hued vamps take out rock in often fascinating directions.