The Chicago Sound 2006

If nothing else, Chicago has a lot of bands—and singer-songwriters, rappers, DJs, musicians, and any combination thereof. They’re everywhere, plastering their flyers and stickers on any open space, looking vaguely bored at shows, and wondering how to get the word out about the record they released. The A.V. Club has heard that record and many, many others like it. Here are some that stood out this year.

Russian Circles, Enter (Flameshovel)
Russian Circles’ 2005 demo showed promise, and Enter delivered: It’s an alternately blistering and airy collection of instrumental rock. Although the album is surprisingly moody, Russian Circles is at its best when it drops all restraint, like on the fantastically titled “Death Rides A Horse.” The world outside Chicago noticed, as Enter drew a bunch of accolades and landed the band on a few big tours.

Eleventh Dream Day, Zeroes And Ones (Thrill Jockey)
Most bands that have played together for more than two decades are usually well past their prime, but it’s hard to take issue with Eleventh Dream Day’s Zeroes And Ones. The band’s hooky indie rock predates the similar sound popularized by the Pixies, but unlike that band, Eleventh Dream Day still makes good music—sporadically. This was the group’s first album in six years.

Jon Langford, Gold Brick (ROIR)
Jon Langford writes music at a seemingly Robert Pollard-like pace, for numerous projects: solo, The Mekons, The Waco Brothers, Wee Hairy Beasties, The Pine Valley Cosmonauts. Unlike Pollard, Langford has the sense to self-edit, and Gold Brick’s working-man roots-rock is some of the best of his long career. The album’s cover price is worth it just for “Lost In America,” which Langford wrote for This American Life.

Psalm One, The Death Of Frequent Flyer (Rhymesayers)
After a three-year wait, Chicago rapper Psalm One finally dropped her sophomore album. Although it didn’t become the sensation everyone hoped for—a phenomenon shared by high-profile Chicago rappers Rhymefest and Lupe Fiasco this year—Frequent Flyer remains a strong album. It’s filled with the heady, down-to-earth rhymes and self-awareness that typify her hometown’s sound, and the beats from Overflo, Ant, and Thaione Davis provide the necessary hooks.

Hanalei, Parts And Accessories (Thick)
Hanalei began as a side project for Brian Moss when he still played in noisy post-punk outfit The Ghost. As is usually the case, Moss went in the opposite direction, replacing his electric guitar with an acoustic and his band with a laptop. All that changed on this year’s Parts And Accessories, where Moss re-embraced the band dynamic and a rootsier sound. It’s a perfect style for a Chicago punk rocker, as the city has a habit of pushing punks in twangy directions as they age. But that may change when Moss moves back to his native Bay Area this month, where he will once again strip Hanalei down to his voice, his guitar, and his laptop.

The Like Young, Last Secrets (Polyvinyl)
The title of husband-wife duo The Like Young’s third full-length album proved prescient: Just three months after releasing it, the band called it quits. The writing was on the wall—or, more precisely, The Like Young’s website. News updates continually related Joe and Amanda Ziemba’s frustration with touring and getting the word out. Regardless, the pair went out on a good note with Last Secrets, which packed big hooks and lots of attitude into punky, organ-infused garage rock. They will be missed.

Make Believe, Of Course (Flameshovel)
For a guy whose early band (Cap’n Jazz) redefined Midwestern emo, Tim Kinsella hasn’t had much to brag about since. If anything, the squeaky-voiced singer and his old bandmates have made their post-Cap’n Jazz groups (e.g., Owls, Joan Of Arc) outlets for growing up in public, producing uneven, if earnest, art-punk that favors pretense over portent. But when Joan Of Arc’s touring lineup re-debuted in 2003 as Make Believe, even Kinsella’s enemies forgave the woodshedding. The quintet’s second album, Of Course, is a post-emo masterpiece whose DNA binds Gang Of Four’s angular, spacious post-punk with Captain Beefheart’s free-associative inversion of rock ’n’ roll; lyrically, Kinsella battles some familiar personal-political bugaboos, but his anger’s never sounded this urgent or—dare it be said—righteous.