The decade in local music: 2001
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It's December, and you know what that means: lists. But this isn't just the end of a year, it's the end of a decade, which means even bigger lists (and an even bigger chance of pissing people off by forgetting something). Over the next two weeks, The A.V. Club will roll out year-specific lists of our favorite local albums. Is it a best-of? Not quite. We thought it would be more interesting to make it a little looser in scope, the better to highlight both some of the most well-known albums and also the ones that we love even though they've gotten a little lost in the mists of time. We've limited each artist to one album for the entire decade, and limited ourselves to no more than six albums for each year. (We were originally shooting for five, but some years were just too good.) We hope you enjoy our lists and maybe remember a few albums you may have forgotten about over the years. And if we didn't include your favorite, please keep it to yourself. (No, just kidding—share it with us in the comments.)
Atmosphere, Lucy Ford: The Atmosphere EPs (Rhymesayers Records)
The band: Now one of the major forces in indie hip-hop, Atmosphere was the first Minnesota rap group to attract serious national notice, thanks to the core dynamic between subtle, multi-layered loops, the beats of Ant (Anthony Davis), and the fiery-but-depressive, incisive, dexterous rhymes of Slug (Sean Daley).
The album: Though Atmosphere's debut album was 1997's Overcast, Lucy Ford was the first official Atmosphere album (compiling three earlier EPs) on which the Ant/Slug duo was the main focus, barring some guest production. It was also a big step forward in Slug perfecting his lyrical voice, marked by his confessional self-deprecation, everyman attitude, and keen sense of observation. Slug's introspection and focus on his personal (especially romantic) problems were already well-known enough that he joked about it on "It Goes" by saying "I need to start writing pieces about other people's problems, 'cause the strangers are starting to get worried." The day-in-the-life verses of "Like Today" are clearly drawn from his time working at the Electric Fetus record store and hanging out at Muddy Waters café, but pure autobiography isn't really Slug's aim—even though Lucy Ford herself is based on Slug's ex, he makes better use of her as a metaphorical character against which he can work out his own issues (as he notes, "it's therapy, on top of turntable riffs").
Iffy, Biota Bondo (Lightyear Records)
The band: Frontman Kirk "kjustinj" Johnson, his guitar-playing brother Kraig, and bassist Tom Merkl made their name together in the Minneapolis scene as the hard-rocking band Run Westy Run.
The album: It seems unfair that, riding the wave of Beck's Midnite Vultures and The New Radicals' "You Get What You Give," Iffy didn't have more legs. From the upbeat patter of "Double Dutch" to the sugar-coated come-ons of "Sweet Thing" and the infectious "Super Bad Girl," the disc is packed with rock riffs, airy samples, lightly funky bass lines and Kirk Johnson's freewheeling stream of consciousness poetry. Unlike Run Westy Run, Iffy was more Prince than Replacements, and Biota Bondo is an eminently pleasant listen, featuring work by an up-and-coming Martin Dosh. It's a touchstone for any Minneapolis band trying to get the kids to dance, and a reminder that for memories of a breezier, more innocent time, we'll always have the summer of 2001.
Triangle, * (File 13)
The band: Jazz bassist Amanda Warner and guitarist/tech master Brian Tester teamed up in the late '90s to charm the Twin Cities with electro-pop before taking their act to Oakland, Calif.
The album: Long before Girl Talk turned the laptop into the life of the party, Mac-toting musicians seemed sort of, well, nerdy, sometimes giving off a cold, "I prefer the company of robots" vibe. On its first LP, Triangle shrugged off such an image by balancing its portable bandmate with irreplaceable human elements, the highlight being Warner's skills when it comes to infectious, constantly moving bass grooves. Tester's programmed beats and loops are squishy instead of clinical, resulting in a danceable art-pop sound reminiscent of Talking Heads and Thomas Dolby. And if there was any trace of unapproachable geek left, the boy-girl vocals surely erase it. These days, the duo is still active on the far left-hand side of the country, but, years after Triangle's departure, we still have the old songs stuck in our heads.
Valet, The Glamour Is Contagious (self-released)
The band: Belfast singer-songwriter Robin Kyle, who moved to the U.S. as a teenager, helmed this serene indie-rock quintet. (His brother Ben, also a musician, fronts alt-country group Romantica.)
The album: A lot of press about Valet has included some nicely phrased way of calling the group lazy, probably because it sets its melancholy tunes to a safe walking tempo. But "subtle" is a better word for it. On this debut full-length, Kyle often plays a passive observer, nonchalantly mentioning crooked cops, drive-bys, and black box recorders as if they're commonplace. He borrows equally from his old and new homes: "Mental List" follows a friend who joins a car-bombing terrorist group, while "Lovelife" watches a couple "break up at the Bandbox, all for dramatic effect." Lest you think they're completely detached, the music, rich with warm keyboard tones and some sliding lap steel, provides a constant wistful glow. Valet probably could've quickened pulses if it had wanted to, but its storytelling was plenty effective when taking its time.
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