My Week With Mono/What Went Wrong: "Art School Confidential"

" Malkovich. Malkovich Malkovich."

So there were only a few movies on our On Demand feature that I showed a slight interest in during the time I was sick, which just shows how finicky I am, because I have 5 On Demands that each holds about 100 movies. I watched "For Your Consideration" again (INSANELY underrated, needs a second viewing) and the beginning of the new "Dawn of the Dead", which I regard as the best opening to any horror film ever. At one point, I was trying to decide between "Babe" and "Final Destination" when I stumbled upon the title "Art School Confidential". Even though I usually prefer to watch old chestnuts when I'm sick, and even though "Confidential" got some seriously shitty reviews when released, I immediately selected and watched it.

Let's make one thing clear: "Ghost World" is probably one of the smartest movies made in the past decade, and it could easily be argued to be a modern classic. For a story as idiosyncratic as Enid's journey, director Terry Zwigoff and writer Daniel Clowes seem to navigate through each and every one of the trappings of the "quirky indie movie", almost impossibly. The characters are broad but never ridiculous caricatures, a la Tim Burton; Enid's awkwardness is thoroughly explored but never exploited as if she was a Todd Solondz character; and as much as I love Wes Anderson, his dialogue is always a bit too romanticized, to a point where a character's speech has no place in reality (see Klaus in "Life Aquatic"). "Ghost World", on the other hand, is very, very real. It feels vital, maybe because the direction is so crisp and the "dum! dum! dum!" score so urgent, or maybe just because I can personally relate to Enid's attitude of post-high school cynicism toward everything and everyone. No, "Ghost World" is so good because, more than any other movie in recent memory, you completely lose yourself in Enid's point of view; you see the world exactly as she does. God, Enid's dad's girlfriend Maxine does nothing particularly offensive throughout the film, but because Enid just fucking hates her, you find yourself wincing whenever she's on screen! I could mention the graphic novel, or Zwigoff and Clowe's past collaboration "Crumb", but I know very little about either, so I will say this: "Ghost World" rulez 4ever.

Well, "Art School Confidential" is Zwigoff and Clowe's follow-up, and although I wasn't expecting "Ghost World 2", I thought there was definite possibility for this to be an overlooked gem. It's not as bad as critics would want you to believe; there's a handful of funny situations, and you can see that the narrative had some real sparkle before something went wrong and we received the final product. I wouldn't even call it 'misguided', because it accomplishes its task of deconstructing the pretentious world of the art school campus and makes a point, through the awkward journey of main character Jerome (Max Minghella), of showing that the world of art can and will break down any sense of idealism an aspiring young lad may have. Yeah, but so what? This is all unmarked fodder, but it's neither pleasant nor interesting, at least in the way Zwigoff has constructed this film. You just don't care about anything on screen, and even if you think this is a smart film, it's not exactly fun to watch.

Take the two father figures of the story. Jerome's a teenager who wants to be the best artist in the world, and upon first entering art school, he seeks guidance on how to accomplish this. One of his buddies tells him about Jimmy, a middle-aged former artist who has been broken down by the system and now takes drinks between telling various people to fuck off. Jerome also tries to enlist the help of Professor Sandiford, who clearly hides his contempt for being passed over in the art world and relegated to the realms of teaching under a thin coat of insincere cheer. Jimmy tells Jerome to fuck off; Sandiford tells him to keep trying to find himself, which leads to a sort of obtuse frustration for the young lad. Jim Broadbent and John Malkovich play these roles well enough, and the audience understands that Jerome is terrified of being doomed to either one of their fates. The problem is that Jimmy is so balls-out awful that he's hard to watch, and Sandiford is too bland to feel sympathy for. Jerome just sort of drifts through his conversations with them without any reaction, and the audience does the same for the most part.

It's difficult to not compare Jerome to Enid, because they are Zwigoff's unconstituted protagonists and polar opposites. The whole point of "Ghost World" was to depict the way post-high school uncertainty can end up crippling many teenagers, even (perhaps especially) the most self-assured of us, but it never once spells this out. "Confidential" wants to poke fun at art schools, and it offers us Jerome, who's wide-eyed enough to believe that he can change the world through art, or at least get tons of ass because of it. But that's about it to him. I don't really remember anything else distinguishing about him, besides his defined eyebrows, and even those aren't too defined. He's in some pretty amusing situations, and interacts with some pretty amusing characters (Ethan Suplee's hack director is an inspired character), but nothing seems to make an impact on him, or us. Maybe "Art Sch0ol Confidential" is realistic, but unlike "Ghost World", it never congeals as anything too engrossing. It's a one-sided analysis of a concept that could have been fleshed out into something really mesmerizing. In short, it's a disappointment.

"Art School Confidential" takes a late-inning twist that doesn't really do much to salvage the narrative, but it's worth noting because it's completely insane; not exactly ridiculous, but it requires one of those "WHOA, what the hell just happened?" moments. I won't give anything away, but it involves a serial killer plotline that's totally out of place, and ends the note on a valuable statement that's jammed down our throats. That's sort of the movie though. Definitely worth watching because of what Zwigoff and Clowes have to offer, but it might be better viewed before seeing "Ghost World", just so hopes aren't too dashed.

My Week With Mono: The Beauty of "Derailed"

So when I was in the middle of my week with mono, "Derailed" was on Showtime at like midnight. That night I had planned to watch some "Flight of the Conchords" and fall asleep around 12:30, but I dunno, for some reason I started watching this. Not that there was any palpable reason to. My friend said that this movie was so bad that he fast-forwarded it and only watched the scenes with the RZA (more on that later). But I like Clive Owen, and I like the concept of Jennifer Aniston being in dramas/not always smiling, and I turned it on during the scene where Owen's character tells Aniston's character something like, "I bet I can kiss you without ever touching your lips." All right, Clive Owen. I'll play your game, at least for a few scenes.

I ended up watching the whole damn movie, because frankly, I couldn't muster the will to change the channel. "Derailed" is a preposterous, overwhelmingly stupid film, but if you tell me that it isn't entertaining, I will call you a liar. It's not a terrible movie, but it seems more ridiculous than it is because it continuously stays within the Clint Eastwood realm of look-at-me-frown, give-me-an-Oscar seriousness. I mean, Jesus, Owen and Aniston may take part in the first smile-less affair ever. But just when you think it's a humorless mood piece, in struts Bobby Digital as Clive Owen's friend named Winston, and Mr. X to the Z himself Xzibit as a muscle named Dexter. The fuck?

Anyway, so Charlie (Owen) and Lucinda (Aniston) are both married and (from what I gathered, missed the first 10 minutes) started flirting on a train. They decide to get a room at Sketchy Hotel (hearing Rachel Green say the line, 'I think... I want to fuck you' was pretty unnerving), but before they get down to bizness, a French (?) robber named Laroche (Vincent Cassel, reprising his role as smirking prick from 'Ocean's 12') waves a gun around, knocks Charlie the fuck out, and rapes Lucinda. They can't call the cops because of their cheatin' ways, and when Laroche calls Charlie asking for a couple grand, Clive Owen's brow furrows and more trouble arises.

From there, the CRAZIEST shit starts happening. There's one scene in which Laroche shows up to Charlie's house and tells his wife and kid that he's a colleague, and then when the family's out of the room, he fucking stabs Charlie and tells him to give him $100 grand. Later, the RZA is shot in the face mid-sentence. Then a prostitute propositions Charlie, and when he says no, a cop pulls up and yells at Charlie for not taking on the whore. There are two major plot twists at the end (one is fairly easy to predict, the other makes literally no sense whatsoever), and I won't reveal too much, but I will say this: Xzibit dies like a prince, and Clive Owen's character quickly transforms from a complete moron into the smartest man alive. A quick word on the RZA: ya gotta wonder how he got the part of Winston, Clive Owen's witty pal who works in the mailroom, likes hockey and "Johnny motherfucking Cash", and has killed man in prison before, but dude does a pretty good job with the role. Some would say he is even the best rapper/actor in the film, narrowly trumping Xzibit and Jennifer Aniston.

Director Mikael Hafstrom has more recently explored the limits of arty popcorn flicks in last year's "1408", which similarly had multiple asinine endings. Although that film tailed off about 45 minutes in, the entirety of "Derailed" is amazingly transfixing. I can't really explain it. The plot moves forward very quickly, never taking too long to explore any backstories or delve into Charlie's brooding psyche. These are not good qualities, but then, this is not a good movie; if "Derailed" is unaware that it is an illogical mess, it certainly recognizes that its story must unfold without any hesitation to prove effective. Charlie's problems are ever-evolving, and as he gets deeper and deeper into trouble, the audience gradually begins to pity him/root for him. It's not hard when you've somehow got an actor as mannered as Clive Owen doing whatever he can with a character constantly being put in ludicrous situations. Despite all of its flaws, when the climax approaches and Owen is getting ready to get him some revenge, you're not going to criticize its gaping flaws, you're gonna pump your fist and wait for someone to finally punch the shit-eating grin off of Vincent Cassel's face.

Man, what a great guilty pleasure, if only for this exchange:

Winston Boyko: Hey Chaz, you feeling okay?
Charles Schine: Yeah, I'm ok.
Winston Boyko: You sure? You look like you comin' down with that bug or somethin'.
Charles Schine: It's nothing.
Winston Boyko: Nothing? That's what Dick Lumberg said.
Charles Schine: Who's Dick Lumberg?
Winston Boyko: Nobody. That motherfucker's dead!

Priceless. RZA should do comedy!

My Week With Mono/TV Me: Seeing "Fight Club" For the First Time

Okay, so... okay, wait, who am I again?

So having mono completely sucks. I popped about 80 cough drops and dusted off a box o' popsicles in a week's time, just so my throat wouldn't feel terrible for a few seconds. While I was doing this, though, I managed to catch up on a handful of fairly mediocre movies that I had thus far avoided, with the help of HBO On Demand! "Fight Club" seemed like an obvious pick, and I watched it the first night or two that I was sick. Edward Norton! Brad Pitt! Beating the bejesus out of each other! And somehow, soap is involved (I had seen the poster)! Plus, ya know, David Fincher is a pretty okay director; "Seven" is an outstanding thriller, and no matter how many people tell me that the ending's dumb, I think it's brilliant. And like... "Panic Room", yeah, I guess. So yeah, "Fight Club", should be a solid pick!

Woo boy. "Fight Club" is by far the most nihilistic film I have ever seen, but not in the brutally sexy way it should have been. Honestly, I think everything about this movie was done incorrectly. The script is littered with good ideas that end up turning to shit. When Norton and Pitt start beating the crap out of each other and the other men start watching, perplexed and intrigued, genuine excitement is conjured. Most men have not been in an actual fight, and their willingness and (homoerotic) excitement to do so delves into issues of primal masculinity we honestly have not seen addressed in such a mainsteam feature before. There are things this movie can talk about. Instead, we get a gonzo cult organization being formed, lots of confusing sex (no, literally, just damn confusing), and a dead Meat Loaf. "His name is Robert Paulson," my ass; the man's name is Meat Loaf Aday, and he will do anything for love, except that.

I'm also wondering why David Fincher, a director whose other films are completely plot-driven and rarely deal with any issues besides dimly lit fun, would run through this landmine. The entire last third of the movie is a neo-political rant/trippy mindfuck, and he can't even begin to handle it. Fincher's clearly a mood guy: he enjoys playing with shadows, creaky noises, and Jared Leto's hair, and he does these things well. But because he's way outside his range, the result reflects poorly on the actors. I would never call Norton and Pitt's respective performances superb, but given that their characters are basically typified as Superego and Id, they really sink their teeth into the roles and make them entertaining. Hell, their commitment can be seen in every fight scene, where they seem to be taking a bunch of very real shots.

Pitt's character is much more stylish, but is ultimately hollow (spoiler alert: in more ways than one!) because most of the things he does are such utter bullshit. Roger Ebert's review of "Fight Club" may be the best review of his that I've ever read, if only for the lines, " 'It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything,' (Tyler) says, sounding like a man who tripped over the Nietzsche display on his way to the coffee bar in Borders. In my opinion, he has no useful truths. He's a bully--Werner Erhard plus S & M, a leather club operator without the decor." A perfect simplification of a character that may appear to be complex. Pitt does a fine job with the character, but not enough to leave him unexposed. As for Helena Bonham Carter's batshit performance, in which she talks and moves like a Looney Tune... let's just say it's been overrated by quite a few.

But no, this is not a complete "Fight Club" slam, because there is one moment at the start of the movie (the movie begins very well, by the way) that contained every inch of raw emotion the film should have tried for but never got close to again. I'm talking about the Chloe scene, by far the best scene in the film, by far the best performance in the film. Norton's character journeys through night groups of terminally ill people to leech their emotion and find something to prick his numb existence; an interesting concept, undoubtedly, and one executed nicely in "Fight Club"'s first third. Then he gets into a tizzy because Helena Bonham Carter shows up to these meetings too, even though she's clearly as healthy as he is. During one of these groups (I'm pretty sure it was for some type of cancer), a bald, gaunt, sad-looking woman named Chloe approaches the podium to muted applause:

"Well, I'm still here," she says to the crowd, including a thoughtful Norton and Carter. "But I don't know for how long. That's as much certainty as anyone can give me. But I've got good news: I no longer have any fear of death." The onlookers clap politely, and the group's leader smiles encouragingly at Chloe, who gives an appreciative nod. And then the speech becomes the most gut-wrenching in recent memory.

"But... I am in a pretty lonely place. No one will have sex with me. ...I'm so close to the end and all I want is to get laid for the last time." She looks around wistfully, and then approaches the microphone closely. "I have pornographic movies in my apartment, and lubricants, and amyl nitrite..." She speaks until the group leader grabs the mic and sternly says, "Thank you, Chloe. Everyone, let's thank Chloe."

It's just that this scene, this minor scene that has nothing to do with the rest of the film, is more affecting than anything else presented during its 2-hour-plus running time. I've only watched it once, because I don't think I could take a second time. Rachel Singer has approximately two minutes of screen time, and in that frame she crafts a character at once funny, sad, horny, desperate, self-loathing, and deeply in denial. Not only does she illustrate the general point of the film's first third, but she epitomizes the theme of whitewashed futility that hangs over the film but is never fully analyzed. The way that those last few perverse words stumble out of her mouth to show how deeply intent this poor woman is to find someone, anyone, to share a moment of happiness with overshadows all of the unfounded psychobabble pouring out of Brad Pitt's mouth. At least Fincher had the foresight to pull the reins back in the scene and give Chloe a moment or two to summarize how horrible this world can be sometimes.

The only other mention of Chloe is much later in the film, when Helena Bonham Carter mentions that she's dead to Edward Norton after engaging in some more confusing sex. Norton doesn't really care. I do, because I know that means that she's not coming back for an encore, and that I've got another hour of Ed and Brad and a tub full of twist endings. Oh well. The Chloe scene in "Fight Club" should always be remembered for lending a human touch to a film too preoccupied with its ludicrous morals. If Judi Dench got an Oscar for acting really fucking British for ten minutes in "Shakespeare In Love", Rachel Singer, a mostly unknown character actor, deserves to at least be acknowledged. Great scene, great performance, shrug-worthy movie.

Year-End Bullshit: Top 25 Albums of the Year

So it took me a while to finally post this one, and as much as I look forward to the year-end bullshit and critics' list, I'm sort of glad it's over, so I can get back to writing about Ron Howard and "The Wire". Tough list to compile, and I want to give honorable mention honors to the Beirut, El-P, Ghostface Killah, and Andrew Bird albums. 2007 was definitely a great year for music, if perhaps the worst year for rap music ever. Enjoy, feel free to comment.

25. Parts &Labor - "Mapmaker"

A fast, loud album that has the class to avoid being a messy heap of noise. The songs on "Mapmaker" are a hell of a lot of fun, and are far more subtle than they have any business being.

24. Roisin Murphy - "Overpowered"

Murphy makes a superb disco disc with the raucous beats to match her personality. It's definitely a frontloaded album, but goddamn, those first four songs are pretty unstoppable.

23. Justice - "Cross"

Took a while for me to get into this one, but it really is a top-notch dance album. It's got holes, but they're mostly due to overambitiousness; when Justice connects, though, they hit it out of the park.

22. Animal Collective - "Strawberry Jam"

An album that's maddeningly inconsistent; how the hell can you follow "Fireworks" with "#1"?? Still, there are too many fantastic tracks here to brush aside. The fact that they're evolving with each disc is admirable, and it's clear that they have the capabilities of bringing everything together for an undisputed classic.

21. Feist - "The Reminder"

An unbelievably alive album from an artist I once pegged as vanilla. The singles are still its strength, but there's really not a bum track to be found on Feist's coming-out party. As earnest as records get.

20. Fall Out Boy - "Infinity On High"

I wish I could be honest and say that I approach every album I hear objectively, I really could, but personal taste and prearranged discriminations inevitably bleed through. Admitting that "Infinity on High" is a great record was a tiring one, but necessary; I gritted my teeth, tried to stay as open-minded as I possibly could for a whiny-voiced album backed by Jay-Z, and just listened to it. If not for my damning snobbery, it would be higher on this list. Even people who hate the genre more than me have to appreciate the skill with which Pete Wentz slings hooks like the coldest of dealers, and the sheer R&B white dynamite of Patrick Stump's quivering voice. Simply put, it's a fantastic album that exposes these bastards as legitimate. Stop throwing stones at the crown, motherfuckers, and bow down.

19. Les Savy Fav - "Let's Stay Friends"

Another example of a band with immense talent deciding to stop goofing off, buckle down, and try their darndest to make a classic. "Let's Stay Friends" is a gem of a punk album, as unexpected as it is unexpectedly charming (yeah... that makes sense...)

18. Nina Nastasia & Jim White - "You Follow Me"

A collaboration album, I guess, but all of White's noodling around on his drums can't equal the performance Nastasia gives on every single song, raw emotion leaking out of her words. Best lyrics of the year, maybe. I'd also like to point out that, if any VH1-approved female singer with a well-regarded back catalogue (I'm lookin at you, Sheryl Crow!) made this album, it would win 9 Grammys.

17. The Arcade Fire - "Neon Bible"

Probably the best-case scenario for the Arcade Fire after "Funeral", "Neon Bible" is a powerhouse that does not always connect. It's still arguably the most ambitious album of the year, and a good share of these tracks - "Keep The Car Running", "No Cars Go", "Intervention" - establish these guys as unflappably good.

16. Tunng - "Good Arrows"

An album that almost all critics slept on, and for good reason. "Good Arrows" is a weird, difficult album, but not in the way you'd expect: the arrangements are challenging, the sequencing a little off, and the lyrics are terribly morose. It's a good thing that every song here is slowly, subtly mind-blowing, then. It may take a few listens to unravel, but its warm center is worth discovering, however patient you need be.

15. Battles - "Mirrored"

In essence, Animal Collective got beat by a band that outweirded them. It may be because AC is trying to become more accessible, but the fact that "Mirrored" is a force of nature should not be overlooked. Whether snorting entire rooms on "Ddiamondd" or grooving the fuck out on "Leyendecker", Battles captured a niche that seemed like it didn't need filling until 2032, when robots start recording prog albums.

14. Iron & Wine - "The Shepherd's Dog"

When will Sam Beam stop destroying my underestimations and come out with a collection of poorly conceived songs? That's right, he won't, because he knows his shit, because he has fleshed out his sound but not in a way that's distracting, because he's got the voice to match his gothic songwriting, because he's diligent enough to make sure every song on his albums is strong. EVERY song.

13. Kanye West - "Graduation"

When will Kanye get some respect? I mean, after "Graduation" becomes remembered as "the one after 'Late Registration', where Kanye beefed with 50", will anyone take the time to acknowledge how BRAVE of a release this is? For Kanye West, one of the most effervescent hip-hop artists around, to (mostly) drop the soul samples, rely on big synths, and to make a song as out-of-left-field as "Drunk and Hot Girls" -- and to do these things successfully -- is staggering. This is some left-brain semantics, and further proof that Yeezy's genius is bonified.

12. Panda Bear - "Person Pitch"

Gorgeous from front to back, "Person Pitch" is the apotheosis of the introverted "Young Prayer" and lacks the cynical underbelly of some of Animal Collective's work. Noah Lennox sounds like he's singing in the middle of a cloud, with "Bros." and "Ponytail" representing an amalgamation of everything positive in the world right now. As fun and wacky as the album cover.

11. Patrick Wolf - "The Magic Position"

Music this happy usually comes with a healthy dose of irony or from Gloria Estefan, but P-Wolf is all smiles here, and surprise, glowing cheeks are a suitable shade of rouge for the moptop. The pop songs are unadulterated gay joy, but Wolf really sinks his teeth into the ballads, which are impressive while never taking themselves too seriously. May fade over time, but "Magic Position" is perfect for here and now.

10. Burial - "Untrue"

This album will bulldoze you and cut out your heart. It is composed of darkness and voices that cut through it like slow-motion beams of yellow light. It is made from a man without an identity, and it sounds like it. It is impossible to dance to, but feels like it belongs in a club infested with people dancing to forget their complex, disturbing problems. There is so much distortion that nothing sounds human. It is brilliant.

9. Frog Eyes - "Tears of the Valedictorian"

For a collection of songs that exhibit endless energy and unpolished vocals, it's a hard to imagine how long it must have taken Frog Eyes to compose this album. That's because each track -- and especially its two towering bookends, "Caravan Breakers, They Prey on the Weak and the Old" and "Bushels" -- is so intricate that you have to notice the effort being exalted. Simply put, Frog Eyes is on fire during the entire length of this album; maybe it's because the guitar and drum work is obnoxiously good, or because Carey Mercer sounds like he's literally burning on some songs, but God, this band is unstoppable here.

8. Of Montreal - "Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer?"

Kevin Barnes seems like a complete dick, and I'm basing this on the way he seems like a complete dick during Of Montreal's live shows. Their performance at Pitchfork Music Festival led me into a fit of frustation: "Why don't they just PLAY the songs?" I asked my equally annoyed friend, watching from afar as the band passed ladle-fuls of fake blood from a big-headed gold monster into the audience. But the thing is, I was so aggravated because the songs they were playing during these shenanigans, the material being so clearly overshadowed on the live show, were the best of the band's career, and among the best of the year. A breakup record hidden under a rhinestone mask, "Hissing Fauna" is going to stand the test of time on record, even if it's disguised by gimmicks in person.

7. Menomena - "Friend and Foe"

I could write a lot of words about Menomena, about how they make superb music and how they are one of the most underrated bands in America and how their album artwork kicks ass, blah blah blah. It's pointless, I tell you. Menomena albums are not meant to be discussed, they are meant to be listened to, because every song is so simple and contains just majestic trinkets that you wanna make sure no one else has thought of such obvious ideas before. From the piano line of "Muscle'n Flo" to the opening line "What if all my enemies were dead?" to "My My", there are too many small wonders here to dissect with words. You just have to listen to it, preferably with a trusty friend, so you can lean back at particular points and exclaim, "That was awesome." It was, man. It was.

6. Radiohead - "In Rainbows"

And our heroes decided to create an album that is at once accessible and not one bit self-absorbed or demanding of their quest for perfection. These songs are not perfect, but "Hail to the Thief" effectively ended that desire by being a bit too drawn-out and pretentious. Radiohead has already mastered the universe, I guess, so the fact that "In Rainbows" is just a really solid rock album should not only be accepted, it should be recognized as an achievement that hasn't been seen since "The Bends". There aren't any "Idioteque"s here, but you just can't beat the pristine beauty of "Nude", the shimmy of "House of Cards", and the entirety of "Jigsaw Falling Into Place", not when they come from a group as admittedly smart as Radiohead. They could make eleven more albums of this caliber and I'd be a satisfied fan.

5. Deerhoof - "Friend Opportunity"

Fuck, man, "Friend Opportunity" is just a GREAT album. Excuse me while I gush about it, because, you see, Deerhoof makes me sounds like a snivelling idiot, that's how much their music grabs hold of the 12-year-old rawk fan inside of me and stunts my use of adjectives. And "Friend Opportunity" is their BEST album, by far, because they've brought together the tightness of "Reveille" and "Apple O'" and the songwriting of "The Runners Four" to make, ya know, really tight music. First three songs are fucking amazing, this is indisputable to me. "The Galaxist" and "Whither the Invisible Birds", the two slow-ish (for Deerhoof) songs, are completely gorgeous; again, indisputable. And the last four songs really stress the whole themes of loneliness and acceptance that run through the whole album. "Matchbook Seeks Maniac" = career highlight! In conclusion, Deerhoof destroys every band around it, and "Friend Opportunity" is the album their career has always been leading up to. Yeah!

4. Lil' Wayne - "Da Drought 3"

How can Lil' Wayne release something like this, a stone-cold classic, and it still feels like it's just a preview of his masterpiece? Maybe "Tha Carter III" won't be the pinnacle of Weezy's career (smart money says that it will be), but for now, be satisfied with the best mixtape since "We Got It For Cheap Vol. 2", and the best display of rapping since "Purple Haze". It's official, Lil' Wayne is the king of one-liners that would take me and you 8 years to think of, but that he conjures up in the midst of a single drug-fueled freestyle: "I'm so motherfucking high, I could eat a star," "It's a bakery here, just tryin' to get dough!", "I'm the man in this bitch/They say money talks, well... I'm the ventriloquist," etc., etc., etc. It's eerily frustrating to know that I could study literature in college for another decade, write three novels, and study the dictionary, but I will NEVER master the English language and its dynamics like Weezy F. Baby does. 2007: the year of Lil' Wayne, always and forever.

3. The National - "Boxer"

I've always wondered what the guys of The National thought when they heard "Boxer" straight through for the first time. Did they just think that it was a follow-up to "Alligator" to be very proud of? Or did they have any inkling that they had just recorded a classic record, wholly original and precise in the way it captures the uneasiness of an entire generation fumbling its way through relationships and lives that they're dissatisfied with for some unclear reason? I mean, they would have been as arrogant as all hell if they had immediately thought the latter, but they would have been correct. And the most surprising thing is that they probably could have deduced it after one good listen, as I assume so many have done. "Boxer" crafts another world for its characters to exist in, but the environment sinks in so snugly because of its details: general tales of wanting more are piqued by images of regrettable parties, out-of-touch friends, and thinking about too much about your dick. The drums ground the affair in reality, and you realize that the portrait The National has painted here encompasses everyone in our awkward society. Yeah, I think they knew that when they first heard it.

2. Bon Iver - "For Emma, Forever Ago"

I knew I loved "For Emma, Forever Ago" from the first time I heard it, but I don't think I knew how much I loved it until I heard its last song, "Re: Stacks", in its entirety. I was walking through a few inches of snow on my way back from class, and it popped up on shuffle on my i-pod. Walking alone, with only the music to focus on, I realized how utterly hopeless the song was. It made me want to curl up into a ball and rock back and forth. But, of course, this was not a bad thing; "For Emma, Forever Ago" is an album about memory, about scars, and it is as cathartic as it is hypnotic. And as sad as "Re: Stacks" is, it is one of the most personal, moving songs I have ever had the good fortune to stumble upon. Like the rest of the album, it requires a patient ear, not because it is a difficult record to traipse through, but because you might miss some of its best parts if you blink. On "Re: Stacks", for instance, the way Justin Vernon enunciates the line "That has brought me to this loss", is a shattering display of power. In the end, though, "For Emma, Forever Ago" ends with the line "Your love will be safe with me", mirroring the way in which nearly anyone who gives this obscure disc a chance will eventually grow to cherish it. Bon Iver is the reason I listen to music.

1. Spoon - "Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga"

I'm sitting here, just one more blurb to write, and this album seems to be the one I find most difficult to find words for. For the last six months or so, I have been a mascot for this album. I have talked to friends about how "Rhythm & Soul" is a literally perfect song, to my dad about how "The Ghost Of You Lingers" really is a great single, to everyone who has ever approached my soapbox about how "The Underdog" is gonna blow up on the radio and make Spoon the next Modest Mouse. I guess I was wrong about that last one (Feist had already won the mass appeal for the year, I suppose), but it's never a regrettable thing when The Best Band In the World releases their Best Album, even if it's not the great public unifier that it should be. So what can I say about "Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga" that I haven't already expressed a dozen times over? I'm not going to talk about how every song is practically flawless, about how I want to scream like a schoolgirl when the music drops out in the middle of "Cherry Bomb", about how "Black Like Me" could not end the album on a more confident note. All I will say is that Spoon, through this album and their jaw-dropping back catalogue, have just made me have a better year. I latched onto this band this year before "Ga" came out, discovering the remarkable quality of "Gimme Fiction" and "Girls Can Tell", and when their new one was released, it manhandled even my highest expectations. They're just a bunch of guys who know their shit, who aren't afraid to try new things and strip themselves of gimmicks, all while staying true to their fundamental sound. They're just a fantastic band (the best right now, in my opinion), and "Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga" is their greatest achievement. Thanks, Spoon.