from The Playwright, the new graphic novel written by Daren White and illustrated by Eddie Campbell, who has previously done the Alec series, as well as From Hell with Alan Moore, and The Fate Of The Artist and Bacchus. And this image I found in his interview with Forbidden Planet:
I had this dream the other night: Picture the protagonist of some indie film as he drives in a car on a plain road in the middle of the nowhere. Either a cool new song by a not well known hip band is playing through the car’s speakers, or there’s an older song, at least 10 to 15 years old, equally hip and recognizable and slightly “ironic” and catchy is playing. The sun is low, the sky is dim. It’s either just after sunrise or just before sunset. The character is driving for a few moments before something happens…
It’s such a weird time of year, as it starts getting colder in most places, probably especially in our hearts and in our memories, and yet we cast our gaze ever backwards, trying to search our sonic amusements from the past year for value. What was important. What was worthy of being called “the best of” this odd little year that was.
I could wait forever for your answer and you could wait even longer for someone else’s answer, but here’s mine. I hope other members of Counterforce will pipe in at some point with albums/singles/music they valued in the past year, especially as we start cutting up everything of pop culture into lines to put in lists and snort up. But this is my picks, music-wise, albums either released or leaked into the blogosphere and my world this year, split unnumbered into three categories: The Best Of and Somewhere In The Middle and Albums That Let Me Down This Year. That’s probably about as clear as I can be with categories. Now, let’s take a look back…
THE BEST OF:
Grizzly Bear, Veckatimest.
Broadcast, Broadcast and The Focus Group Investigate Witch Cults Of The Radio Age.
As I’ve seen many people say online, you might like this album if the album title alone attracts your interest. Simply put, this feels like a lovely dream pop/electronica soundtrack to a 60s horror movie about wandering sonic textures hunting down pop songs that I desperately wish was waiting out there for me to discover it.
St. Vincent, Actor.
The best album produced via GarageBand with songs inspired by Woody Allen and Disney movies ever.
Mos Def, The Ecstatic.
Fuck Buttons, Tarot Sport.
Japandroids, Post-Nothing.
Phoenix, Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix.
Quite frankly, car commercial music has never sounded this good.
mewithoutYou, It’s All Crazy! It’s All False! It’s All A Dream! It’s Alright!
The Raveonettes, In And Out Of Control.
A Place To Bury Strangers, Exploding Head.
Where noise rock, shoegaze, space rock, post punk, and a truckload of dissonance all combine into a giant wall that falls down on you, crushing you. Or, exploding your head, if you will. Not a band for everyone, and definitely not an album for everyone, but if you love sonic death waves, this will be your bag.
Lisa Hannigan, Sea Sew.
I’ve been a huge fan of Hannigan’s work with Damien Rice but always disturbed that she’s been relegated to being in his backing band when her talent has always seemed up and front there with Rice’s own. And honestly, I can only watch/listen to a sad man moaning and keeping a girl down for so long. I hope this is the beginning of Hannigan conquering more and more accolades.
The Yeah Yeah Yeahs, It’s Blitz.
Oh yeah, remember that this came out earlier this year? A solid album, definitely, but not totally compelling in a long term sense, but maybe nothing can be after a mountain like “Maps.” Regardless, I think this album works as a whole and still carries several excellent cuts on it. Silly though it may be, “Soft Shock” is a personal favorite of mine.
The-Dream, Love vs. Money.
Fever Ray, Fever Ray.
Beach House, Teen Dream.
SOMEWHERE IN THE MIDDLE: Albums that are solid, but perhaps over hyped a tad. Or, albums that I like but sadly don’t love.
Andrew Bird, Noble Beast.
“Baroque pop” is how Wikipedia describes this album, and I can see it. It’s indie rock, and it’s well done, but it’s not my usual cup of tea. And I think the album reinforces that, actually, by always impressing me, surprising me with it’s mechanical beauty, but never making me feel like I am a part of it.
Mr. Hudson, Straight No Chaser.
The album is not so bad, but “Supernova,” the Kanye-produced (who also guests, of course)(and continuing his quest to either become European or just conquer European music) lead single by this British artist is my pick for what should be one of the songs of the year:
Bat For Lashes, Two Suns.
Dinosaur Jr., Farm.
Girls, Album.
Good, solid music, but not worth the hype. Praise comes too easy to some people who are not gifted with the depth of thought or true judgment.
The XX, xx.
See above, though this album has more going for it than the Girls album, I feel. Years from now, or possibly just months and days (with the way my life is going) I will quite possibly fall in love with this album. It’s simple in a way, understated, clumsy in a practiced way. There’s a nuance to it, but make no mistake: This is a album for the loneliest, horniest of hipster.
Handsome Furs, Face Control.
No longer a side project and now what feels like a good and proper musical collaboration between Dan Broeckner and his wife Alexei Perry. It fascinates me that their reference to New Order got this album delayed while it was cleared legally. There’s a beautiful rhythmic groove hatched in this album.
Animal Collective, Merriweather Post Pavilion.
This is, without a doubt, the album to take drugs to and then take your clothes off to of the year. Enjoy it with another person, but it’s still good by yourself too.
Sonic Youth, The Eternal.
La Roux, La Roux.
A shock and a revelation as far as European dance music goes. Bright, shiny, and beautifully off kilter.
Mirah, (A)spera.
…And You Shall Know Us By The Trail Of Dead, The Century Of Self.
Micachu and the Shapes, Jewellery.
Third Eye Blind, Ursa Major.
Originally entitled “That Hideous Strength,” taking it’s title from C.S. Lewis, this is a nostalgia pick that doesn’t totally betray me but there’s nothing resembling fireworks on this album. I’m probably the biggest fan in the world of their previous album and this one feels exactly like it was: six years late and the product of a long drought of writer’s block, but definitely the work of the same artist. The band will release their own version of Amnesiac, entitled Ursa Minor, at some point.
Atlas Sound, Logos.
Vivian Girls, Everything Goes Wrong.
Mastodon, Crack The Skye.
Art Brut, Art Brut vs. Satan.
It’s a crazy, fun music party until someone has the balls to challenge Satan. And this English/German indie rock band, with beautiful production by Black Francis, who take their name from Jean Dubuffet’s name for outsider art, lose to Satan, of course. But it’s a tight, clean, and highly listenable loss.
Metric, Fantasies.
Amy Millan, Masters Of The Burial.
The Antlers, Hospice.
Florence And The Machine, Lungs.
The album is decent enough, but all you really need to know is the song, “Dog Days Are Over.” Give it a listen and then tell me if I’m wrong.
ALBUMS THAT LET ME DOWN THIS YEAR: Maybe they’re not terrible, maybe they have some strong points, but like I said, they let me down.
Doves, Kingdom Of Rust.
A Sunny Day In Glasgow, Ashes Grammar.
U2, No Line On The Horizon.
Still the biggest band in the world, no matter how much it upsets your stupid sensibilities. The sad thing about being on the top though is that you can only fall down.
Julian Casablancas, Phrazes For The Young.
I’m not gonna lie, I didn’t expect much from Casablancas. This album isn’t horrible by any means, but never lives up to the possibility you felt in it’s lead off single, “11th Dimension.” The rest of the album, which references Oscar Wilde in it’s title, feels like a few normal rock songs with extra silly production layered onto them by Bright Eyes’ Mike Mogis. If I was in junior high, or at least floating around somewhere in the first few years of high school, I would probably think this was the greatest thing ever and might request it at a dance or something. And possibly adding insult to injury, I give you the song (which I actually like quite a bit) by Courtney Love that’s about Casablancas:
The Boy Least Likely To, The Law Of The Playground.
Brand New, Daisy.
Better Than Ezra, Paper Empire.
Another nostalgia pick. BTE, actually, used to be my favorite band. It’s a long story, one that started with a girl, but thankfully, at the end of the story I was left with the better of the two: the music. Now I feel like I don’t even have that. For a band that that mines a brand of “cool” and “joy” that is wonderful and easy to inhabit, I would easily recommend this band. Their previous album was slyly wonderful, as were all of their albums before that.
The Mars Volta, Octahedron.
I think I’m just over this. I appreciate music that sounds like you’re on drugs but I have grown to dislike the Mars Volta’s evolving sound into my needing to be drugs to find an appreciation groove in what they do.
Well, this has been my 2009 in music, for the most part. The best of, the solid and entertaining, and the stuff that let me down. There’s some highs and lows in here, as far as music released/leaked this year goes, but these are my peaks and valleys. What do you think? And what was your year in music like?
So, on this day in history, about 62 years ago, the US Air Force shot down and captured what was either a weather balloon or some kind of “flying disk” in Roswell, New Mexico.
Perhaps related or not so related, just over a year ago, Benjamin Light mentioned something outlandishly foolish to me. I really thought he was off his meds, no joke. But he had that kind of dangerous, scary clarity that only a nutcase can have. The kind where you don’t turn your back on them, are afraid to look them in the eye, and you pretty much agree with whatever the fuck they say just so you can get out of the room with her genitalia intact. He said to me, “I think I want to start a blog.”
And I – always the level headed one – said, “What? You’re fucking crazy.”
And he said, “No, no, trust me, it’ll be good.”
And then crazy psychotic history was made…
So here we are.
What a long strange trip it’s been, right?
We’ve talked about post peak oil, we’ve talked about Lost (like, a lot), we’ve talked about politics and the news in general. And general weirdness. We’ve talked about being cool with yourself, not so cool with yourself, and how to get laid either way. We’ve barely give you a chance to get a word in edgewise, because we’ve been talking about cats (and more cats), and things that are in bad taste, and the moon.We’ve talked about film, music, and literature at times, and everything in between. Including the stuff that’s just bullshit. We’ve talked about ourselves just a little, both with words and in video, and we’ve even talked to people we love (other than ourselves)(though this site is filthy with onanism, to be sure). Hell, we’ve even talked about talking (but mostly about ourselves, again with the onanism)!
Look at all that talk talk talking. It’s like we’ve found the nexus of the fucking universe and we’re mapping it for you.
Michael Jackson is dead and we’re still alive.
And not to brag too much, but we’ve seen a few faces and we’ve rocked them all!
Sometimes we’ve felt like we’re a bit alien ourselves, or maybe we’re transmitting to you from outer space, but we do it anyway. We do it because, no joke, there is something very seriously wrong with us and we love it.
This Recording already used the blog as a spaceship metaphor that I would love to use here, but rather than appropriate it here, I’m just gonna outright steal it. But rather than a proper spaceship, Counterforce is the fucked up. The weird one. The one that the prisoners took over and started running their own way. Like Spock and Nero and all of those pointy eared fuckers, we’re bursting through your black holes and disrupting your time stream and hopefully reality as well. Hello there, we’re from the future. We’re in your here and now and you’re our living sexy museum and we’re yours. Don’t take us to your leader, because we only care about you.
Not that we haven’t made some mistakes. Sometimes we’ve been really on our games and sometimes… well, really off them. That’s usually on me though, I’m not gonna lie. As blogonauts, we’re still learning out here in space. There’s a few less rings on Saturn because, well, we crashed into them just a little. Same with the Big Dipper. We did something inappropriate with a black hole for the same people climb Everest. Also, we found life on Mars and then accidentally blogged it out of existence. And Halley’s comet won’t make it’s way back to this solar system for a few more years than it was already scheduled to because we saw it, liked it’s style, were in kind of a naughty bad place, and now, long story short, it won’t look our way, won’t return our phone calls, and wants to take a break with the Earth. Our bad, kids.
That said, we’re still here, and even though we’re sometimes the blogging equivalent of the chaos cloud that will someday end all life on Earth, we’re also hopefully going to only get better. Help us? Tell us what you think. Tell us how much we rock, or how hard we suck. Tell us what you want to see and maybe, just maybe, we won’t poke your eyes out.
We’ve been proud so far that with us, you’ve gotten basically 6+ different blogs, some that overlap, and some that are drastically different. We’ve enjoyed it and hope you have too. My co-bloggers all wanted to be more involved in our very special 1 year birthday here, but most were busy with jobs and living sexy lives of danger and adventure. Benjamin Light has been off the grid and we eagerly await his return, and his shocked disgust at how I’ve trainwrecked this beast in his absence. And Occam’s probably not speaking to me since he realized that I stole some CDs from his house during a Lost party. And Lollipop especially wanted to remind you of how much greater the blog has gotten since she first commented and then joined us (and she’s more right than she’s wrong about that) and August Bravo wants to let you know that he’s giving up Heroes due to relentless scrutiny. Bravo, August Bravo.
This is where I wrap it up. If it was just me closing this up, I’d say something like: We’ll see you out there, space cowboys and cowgirls. But instead I found someone to put it even better than I can…
And now a special word from the desk of Peanut St. Cosmo:
hello readers! funny to think we’ve been in existence on this “series of tubes” for a year now! it feels kinda like the first rocky year of a marriage and if you make it, you figure you’ve got about six more years before the itch comes on and you’re both fucking the pool boy/baby sitter and filing for divorce. you get the idea, i give us six more years until you call it quits on us, but you’ll never find a better lay! i promise you, i’m the best you ever had!!!
but in all seriousness, i do appreciate the two of you who like my infrequent posts. thanks for stopping by 
A writer lives to see his words in print, they told us when we were young.
Then we hear that print is dead. Newspapers are dying. Books are supposed to follow along shortly after, and things like the Kindle – while still seeming like gateway technology – are threatened to be the future.
Many would make the argument that the book will never die. The tactile sensation alone will keep it alive for us. The feel, the smell, the taste, the creation of memory from all of those senses… I’m not going to argue that because the idea of holding an actual book in my hands will always be me, and what I do, but…
I’d rather do a bit of bargaining in this season of death: If I were to fully embrace electronic reading – a kindle, or a handheld whatever the fuck that comes down the line – then here’s what I want: A jet pack, a hover car, and a holodeck. In short, the future. Give me that and I’ll laze about reading my shit on a datapad, all Star Trek-esque.
The blog is the new thing, the thing that’s sticking around, they tell us.
But bloggers are universally looked down upon, by myself included. A couple of jackasses with too much money and too many stupid opinions – worst episode evar! – and given too much exposure by the unwashed retard masses. Crowdsourcing gone wild, those unwashed retard masses weaponized and turned upon the very public that created them.
Simple example: Perez Hilton.
And yet, not all bloggers are bad. The ones that transcend their simple or maybe not so simple beginnings and become the real deal. Some can write extremely well, or, even better, some think extremely well, and in the best possible way: Critically. When the going gets weird, as Hunter Thompson said, the weird turn pro. The best blogs to me aren’t the ones talking about “Why can’t my ex see that I’m a person here dammit and take me back and love me and dump the other guy because I want to cut his head off and do some weird Conan shit there and win her over and conquer an army for her love” or whatever, but become a real website, a real thing.
Hyperlinked hyperreality.
Clearly, this is just me rambling. These thoughts are just half formed. Ask me about any of this tomorrow and I may have a different take on it altogether. I contain multitudes.
Also, put simply: I don’t know what the future of journalism is. I don’t want know the future of the internet, of online writing, or the way that human beings connect and rub up against each other, be in online or in the real world, is. And I’m not qualified enough to even venture a guess.
But every once in a while I’m smart/dumb/brave/cowardly enough to not let that stop me.
Every day it seems that I’m reading about more and more blogs that are getting gifted with book deals, dropping onto them like manna from Heaven. Print is dead and we’re turning blogs into books. A small sampling:
Stuff Black People Hate, I think?
FML.
Look At This Fucking Hipster will soon be a book. (A shame, since I’d like to have seen Look At This Hipster Fucking beat it to print, but oh well.
Even Boner Party have been threatening to shit out a book version of themselves, which is scary, especially when denying claims of sexism and objectification.
GIF Party. I’m just joking about that, a joke that several others have made before me, but dammit, I believe in you, GIF Party! But I’d also love to see Fan Secrets, Fantasy Art, and Text Messes get more recognition too, if you sense a common theme there.
This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, these blogs bursting out of their electronic cocoons into the real world. That’s not what I’m trying to say. Some of these are really interesting and funny and nice distracting blogs. They’ll make cute little books and lovely gifts for friends and house warmings for people you work with. And some of them will be just plain good and interesting and I’m rooting for them.
But, let’s not forget that we live and breathe in a world where a nine year old boy wrote a book on relationships and Lauren Conrad has a three book deal. The saddest part? People are going to buy the shit out of both of those properties. Also don’t forget that Pitchfork even has a book out there and as much as we all like/don’t like (at times), they’re essentially just a blog.
I respect the people who write for free. “The real people?” Maybe. But there’s plenty of people out there who are real and paid to be as awesome as they are. And they probably deserve more money, definitely. But that’s why I respect the people who do their song and dance online for free, for the pure thrill and craft of it. But maybe they’re not weird enough, and haven’t turned pro enough. Maybe their moment in the spotlight is right around the corner. Maybe they can afford to do it while they live off an advance on a book deal.
I mean, hell, give Counterforce a book deal and we will bend over backwards to give you the sexiest, weirdest, most amazing little trinket of a book you’ve ever seen. All the blogs listed above have a very specific and hardened niche and so do we: being awesome. The book would be so good you’d have an orgasm from it. You’d lose weight reading it, food will taste better after it comes into your life, and the next day, I don’t want to spoil too much, but you’ll probably get a raise at your job.
But that’s just a given, right? Not speaking for the rest of my cohorts here, but would I like to go on to a different kind of success based on Counterforce? Fuck yeah. Offer me a job. I’m yours. I’m a wreck with a keyboard, but hey, I’m cheap and easy.
A dorky interlude: In my perfect fantasy world, a Counterforce book would be much like the Primer from Neal Stephenson’s The Diamond Age.
Of course, we don’t have the weird niche that some of those above listed blogs/books have. Or do we?
But this blog – to me, at least – started from a slightly more pure beginning. I think originally we were against something. Something undefined out there in the world, especially in the world wild web. We saw something, Benjamin Light and myself, and we were against it. Maybe it was a way of thinking, a way the world works, I don’t know, and I really don’t because obviously I’m just talking out my gorgeous ass here. But we saw something and we thought, Hey, we could do that, but more than that, we thought, Perhaps we could do that better.
I think originally we were counter to something, and slowly, very slowly, I’ve started to feel that I’m for something. Maybe not the same old thing, or perhaps a new way at looking at the same old thing. Internal or external, I don’t know. I’m very proud of this blog, some times more so than others, and I love where it’s been, I kinda like where it is, and I’m very excited about wherever it goes.
Which is really my way of saying that I’m happy to be doing this fucking thing with the people I do it with. I just hope they’ve been having a little bit of fun along the way. And I especially say this as I spy that the one year anniversary of this beast is approaching. It seems just like yesterday and it seems like it’s been years.
If you have any worries about print dying, then Dave Eggers would personally like to tell you to “buck up!”
Turn your blog into a printable zine or book!
Also, it’s NaNoWriMo month, or National Blog Posting Month. Wow, a whole month!
Anyway. Enough of this semi pomo blog post. I don’t know what’s modern anymore, let alone postmodern, let alone postpostmodern. And I especially don’t know what’s postblog.
