As is my tradition (see: 2005, 2006) I will now tell you about my favorite albums released in 2007. I know of no other blog in existence that offers such a feature.

Wilco
Sky Blue Sky
When I picked this album up, it wasn’t at all what I expected. It didn’t at all resemble the dissonant, fractured experimentation of their last two albums (Yankee Hotel Foxtrot was great, A Ghost is Born, not so great). Instead, what I heard was a relaxed, rehearsed-sounding band running through some great choppy tunes that could have been recorded in 1971. It sounded like a band, not a barn in outer space. Some great guitar work, scraggly harmonies, and hopeful lyrics helped this album bloom after repeated listenings. It also boasted my favorite song from 2007 (see below). Definitely worth picking up.

Dan Wilson
Free Life
Dan Wilson is the lead singer for Semisonic (currently on hiatus), and fresh off a Grammy-winning stint as co-songwriter on the last Dixie Chicks last album. While I haven’t loved everything Semisonic’s ever done, I’ve always enjoyed his songwriting and the local angle is a strong pull for me. He recorded the album with producer Rick Rubin, and it features a ton of great musicians: Nickel Creek, John Hermanson, Gary Louris from the Jayhawks, and Sheryl Crow, among others. The tracks are pretty organic - lots of piano, acoustic guitars, slide guitar, and harmonies, and most of it was recorded live. The album is probably 2 or 3 tracks too long, but it’s an otherwise refreshing, rootsy run through some very pretty songs. (On a side note, this is probably the lamest, most dull album artwork I came across this year.)

Collective Soul
Afterwords
This is not a great or important album at all. It is, however, solidly produced and catchy as hell. It’s likely that this ended up getting popped in on my drive home more than any other album of 2007. There just aren’t that many song-oriented rock groups around anymore who aren’t pushing some hipster angle. As odd as this sounds to say, I really dug the new Collective Soul album.

Radiohead
In Rainbows
I’m sure this ended up on a lot of “best of ‘07″ lists as almost a knee-jerk reaction in what was otherwise a shallow musical year, but I was really pleased with this album. Like most people, I downloaded it from their website for cheap ($5), and spent the next couple days with it on my headphones. I was blown away by a couple of the tracks right away (Bodysnatchers, Jigsaw Falling Into Place), but some of the slower songs took a while for me to wrap my ears around. At this point, there really isn’t a track I don’t dig. Like all of their work post-1999, it’s a haunted, atmospheric collection, but unlike much of their recent work, the lyrics are relatively straightforward, sometimes disarmingly so. I would definitely recommend picking this one up and living with it for a while. It’s their best since Kid A.

Little Massive
Vincent of the Wild West
This one requires a bit of a backstory. Back in 1998, I got turned on to an obscure British trio called Arnold. Through a bit of online research, I learned that two of the former members of that group had formed a similar spin-off band called Little Massive. I found some audio samples, and was happy to hear that the essence of what I loved about their music was still alive - a hazy, unforced beauty that didn’t stress the flubbed notes and didn’t overplay its hand. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find a way to get the album delivered to me in the States. I eventually found the email address of Rob, one of the members of Little Massive, and asked him how I might procure a copy. He was nice enough to send me the disk (along with a solo album of his) for free. This blew my mind, and was certainly my favorite music moment of ‘07. In the interests of free publicity for this guy, I’m making mp3s of my two favorite tracks available for a short time only. Both are heartfelt and unfocused in the best way possible.
The Light
If You’re Going to Cry

My Favorite Songs of 2007
(for you impatient, iTunes-addled jerks who don’t understand that the album is the true musical artform)

Arnold: Down (free download!)
Derek Webb: This Too Shall Be Made Right
Patty Griffin: Trapeze
Robert Plant & Alison Krauss: Your Long Journey
Travis: My Eyes
Paul McCartney: That Was Me
Dan Wilson: All Kinds
Radiohead: Bodysnatchers
Jars of Clay: Winter Skin
Fountains of Wayne: I-95
Trampled By Turtles: Valley
Collective Soul: Adored

And my favorite single song from 2007…

Wilco: What Light- A beautiful, uplifting gospel song from a broken man. Pick it up now and thank me later.

I’m in Rochester. It’s Christmas Eve morning, and I’m bored.

I’m not Kevin, but let’s roll.

—–

Bridgette and I have a second job working with adults with developmental disabilities, and this time of year always reminds me of a particular gentleman we worked with, a man we’ll call Bowflex. Now Bowflex was a difficult guy to work with, because he would constantly obsess over food. We’d often catch him in his bedroom having just eaten a couple raw peppers or a full jar of peanut butter, which I can only assume resulted in a gastrointestinal suprise or two.

After food, Bowflex’s second-greatest love was Christmas. Throughout the year, he would waddle up to me, and with his raspy lisp inquire, “Santa’s coming?”
“No, Bowflex. It’s April. Stay out of the fridge.”
“SHUT UP, BITCH!” (this was a favorite phrase of Bowflex when he was frustrated.)

Now that it’s Christmas Eve, I find myself wandering around the house lisping “Santa’s coming!” Bridgette is in no way annoyed with this.

—-

Yesterday we had the opportunity to drive up to central Minnesota and celebrate Christmas with my extended family. Awkward pauses were abundant as I sat with my rural cousins and opined on the ascendancy of Ron Paul’s candidacy. Then we drank a bunch of beer.

Also, through our gift exchange, I won a meat and cheese tray.

We met at my grandmother’s assisted living apartment complex. Hanging from the wall of the dining hall area was my favorite Christmas decoration of all time:

It’s emaciated, tortured Santa! Look, they’ve broken his bones already, and crushed his will to survive. Santa will be surely be dead by week’s end! Hang his lifeless carcass on your wall to celebrate a medieval Christmas!

—-

Another story about Bowflex: Bridgette was at his house one day and he was frantically sniffing the couch cushions. When she asked him what was wrong, he told her, “I smell cancer!”

—-

Rochester is close enough to Iowa that the television stations here are littered with ads from the presidential candidates. Having Christmas greetings shoved down your throat from John Edwards, Mike Huckabee, Barack Obama, and Hillary Clinton as they wax poetic next to bloated Christmas trees and swelling music is enough to make one want to take the holiday off this year.

Nevermind. I’m sure they and their handlers really mean it.

—-

One of the fun things about going home is getting the chance to dig through old dressers and boxes and find old crap of mine that I can use to bother my wife. This year, I was lucky enough to happen upon my glasses from 8th grade.

I’m sure you will be shocked to learn that I garnered little interest from girls during that period in my life.

—-

Merry Christmas, readers. I hope all you guys can find a nice, peaceful way to celebrate this year, away from the Bowflexes and John Edwardses of the world.

God bless!

And so, here we are.

The winter solstice has arrived. December 21st. The dawn of the damned.

On this, the shortest day of the year, we free men are forced to cower in fear. Our weakening sun will meekly appear around 9am before quickly scurrying away like a squirrel bleeding mortally from its anus. A thousand-year reign of darkness will then set upon the earth, and we mortals will fall under the dominion of lump-bellied trolls, with their moistened snouts and lazy eyes. These twilight creatures will pause from their rat-feasts only to give rousing salute to their queen, the archwidow Nancy Pelositron.

Setting out as a ragtag band of scouts in search of a food source, we will be forced to confront this grim new world order. Giant hissing centipedes will slither away from the beams of our flashlights while the naked pleasure-trolls will writhe invitingly in an attempt to lure away weak-willed members of our army of men. Slowly our numbers will dwindle, as men follow their vain desires unto death and other scouts vanish into the shadows, torn asunder by rabid, sharp-toothed moongoblins.

Finally, when I am the lone remaining man, I will encounter the Gray Witch herself, Nancy Pelositron. In an act of sheer desparation, I will pull the pin from my last hand grenade and lob it into the meter-wide orifice between her teeth. Diving beneath a troll corpse for cover, the blast of the explosion will be muffled by her soft brain tissue and titanium skull. The tortured screeching of the nethercreatures will howl across the prematurely dark skies, and I will wipe my face off with satisfaction, knowing I have secured one more solar cycle for humanity.

With steeled resolve, I will then return to the shelter and inform my fellow refugees of their newfound freedom. We will celebrate with whisky and horse nog, and all will be made right.

How do you like me now?

Time for another JLP celebrity update!

What’s up with Jim Varney? Where’s he been lately? You know who I mean - the Ernest P. Worrell guy.

America fell in love with Jim Varney back in the 1980s when he starred in a string of quirky commercials using his catchphrase, “Know what I mean, Vern?” He parlayed this goodwill into a series of increasingly depressing “Ernest” movies that tested America’s patience and made a modest splash on the direct-to-VHS market.

Really though - what’s Jim Varney been up to lately? It seems like he’s acting less and less these days. It’s really a shame. He does funny voices that I enjoy.

What’s that? Jim Varney died seven years ago?

Yikes. Nevermind. I guess I should stop holding my breath for “Ernest Goes to the Gulag” or “Ernest Becomes an Underground Pit Fighter”.

In other news, 16 year old Jamie Lynn Spears, sister of the now-shamed Britney Spears and mega-hot star of her own Nickelodeon sitcom, remains a paragon of virtue and purity.

What is your password?

Mine is proftickles37. Just kidding! That isn’t really my password!

Really, it’s oxfeast4.

Now tell me yours. Is it your initials, followed by your birthdate? Is it your father’s middle name, followed by the number of apples you’ve eaten today? (If that’s how I did it, my password would be clarence8.)

Why won’t you tell me your password? Don’t you trust me? Look in my eyes. I need to know your password. I would like to log into your email account and rummage through your trash folder. This is very important to me.

You’re a real jerk, you know that? You’re distrustful, deceitful little troll of a person. Your face is pockmarked and you smell like yogurt. I wish I didn’t have to say these things to you, but I do, because you won’t just tell me your password.

By the way, I was kidding before. My password is actually gnomecrotchX.

Just one more week until Christmas is here!

That means there are only a few more days to purchase gifts thereby earning the favor of children. One last chance to polish the tree ornaments and genuflect before the nativity set. One moment to reflect before we must permanently silence the infernal bleating of the diseased Yule-Goat!

Come now and frolic with me in the newfallen snow, as pure as a young Danish boy! Together we will run to the enchanted emerald mines where we will gather precious stones to make earrings that we can sell at stands outside the Minnesota State Fair! Then, using magical frosting, we can secure ourselves inside a windowless gingerbread house to seal our suicide pact!

The memories of past Christmases are strong this time of year. Feasts of candied plums and cranberry meth. Sharing empty holiday sentiments with frostbitten, mentally ill homeless people. Opening presents ‘neath a roaring fire and a ragingly incontinent dog. Unsolicited, wheezing harmonica recitals performed at 3:15am by my drunken father. It truly is the most wonderful time of the year!