Instead of releasing one more year-end list into to the wild—snapping and snarling at other lists over just how to properly rank Hell Hath No Fury (correct answer: #20)—we just decided to go with our guts instead of our Excel tallies.
We asked more than 30 of our favorite music writers to pick just one song that sums up 2006—one fragile, downloadable fragment to drop in our time capsule, to be buried deep under the cornerstone of the PTW servers. We’ve collected all of them here as the Paper Thin Walls 2006 Mixtape, two CD-Rs worth of music soaked in signifiers and mystery, blood and sweat, existential dread and Craig Finn guest spots. Our list is not ranked, not very scientific and not exhaustive at all. But every song on it is a number one to somebody. (Or, in a few cases, the closest thing to a number one that a record label would let us post for free—sorry, Fergie!)
Besides a ringing endorsement, each song comes with a short conversation with the artist about what inspired it, how it evolved and, in one case, the creepy Hasbro toy that the chorus eerily foretold. We’ve posted all 31 MP3s, so be encouraged to download all the songs and burn them to CD (they fit very neatly on two discs). But get crackin’, since when the ball drops on ’07, our cruel, vindictive webmaster (and legal team) is dropping the free tunes as well.
So, for a year without a new Missy album, was 2006 actually any good?
Pop songs about feel-good stuff like religious redemption (“Crazy”) or the sexiness/climate ratio (“SexyBack”) were moody and apocalyptic. Our new crooners sounded minor-keyed and bummed even when talking about, say, fucking a dancer (Akon) or loving a dancer (T-Pain). Hips don’t lie, but everything else did. Disc 1: You Think It’s All Right is overflowing with the same dualities. Only, in most cases, it’s reversed: more attuned to the (still) omnipresent irony of indie types, but emphasizing the same desire for “bad” to feel like “good.” Islands ponder blood diamonds over a peppy Prince redux, the Thermals feel oppressed by religious right finger-wagging but sound downright ecstatic to say so, Oneida stare down an unspecified enemy under a cascading waterfall of triumphant krautpunk, Canadian newbie Laura Barrett turns dystopia into a kalimba lullaby. Anxiety fuels Matt & Kim’s fluorescent macropop, girl troubles inspire Peter Björn And John’s breezy vacay, and Grizzly Bear use rapturous harmonies—“You think it’s all right”—to detail a bittersweet betrayal that gave this disc its name. You had a bad day, you’re taking one down. You sing an exultant song just to turn it around. Does that make me crazy?
Disc 2: Dire, It’s Fleeting is similarly joyous, but comes from places where we typically expect anger. It’s going around: Compare how pissed Jay-Z was about racial profiling in “99 Problems” to how fun Chamillionaire makes outsmarting cops sound in “Ridin’.” Check out how Panic! At The Disco made infidelity look like an orgy. It’s a drag to be welcomed to the Black Parade... but at least it’s a fuggin’ parade! The political-minded (or self-obsessed) folks on our disc make living on a blood-thirsty, crumbling mess of a planet sound glorious—fighting angst with soaring chorus and anthemic cries. Former sludge-metal misanthrope Justin Broadrick of Jesu cops Hüsker Dü’s heavenward arc, drone-metal gloopsters Boris steal Billy Corgan’s warm embrace and metalcore gnashers Converge just sound downright emo with their nine-minute dirge. Boots Riley from the Coup clearly sounds like he gets a kick out of being nihilistic for a hot minute, and even horrific amp-molesting noisenik Prurient sounds like he’s staring at the sun. Everything’s about to explode, but there’s no reason not to do three-part harmonies—“Dire, it’s fleeting”—like the epic climax of the Melvins song that inspired Disc Two. We fly high. - CHRISTOPHER R. WEINGARTEN
Dec 18
We asked more than 30 of our favorite music writers to pick just one song that sums up 2006—one fragile, downloadable fragment to drop in our time capsule, to be buried deep under the cornerstone of the PTW servers. We’ve collected all of them here as the Paper Thin Walls 2006 Mixtape, two CD-Rs worth of music soaked in signifiers and mystery, blood and sweat, existential dread and Craig Finn guest spots. Our list is not ranked, not very scientific and not exhaustive at all. But every song on it is a number one to somebody. (Or, in a few cases, the closest thing to a number one that a record label would let us post for free—sorry, Fergie!)
Besides a ringing endorsement, each song comes with a short conversation with the artist about what inspired it, how it evolved and, in one case, the creepy Hasbro toy that the chorus eerily foretold. We’ve posted all 31 MP3s, so be encouraged to download all the songs and burn them to CD (they fit very neatly on two discs). But get crackin’, since when the ball drops on ’07, our cruel, vindictive webmaster (and legal team) is dropping the free tunes as well.
So, for a year without a new Missy album, was 2006 actually any good?
Pop songs about feel-good stuff like religious redemption (“Crazy”) or the sexiness/climate ratio (“SexyBack”) were moody and apocalyptic. Our new crooners sounded minor-keyed and bummed even when talking about, say, fucking a dancer (Akon) or loving a dancer (T-Pain). Hips don’t lie, but everything else did. Disc 1: You Think It’s All Right is overflowing with the same dualities. Only, in most cases, it’s reversed: more attuned to the (still) omnipresent irony of indie types, but emphasizing the same desire for “bad” to feel like “good.” Islands ponder blood diamonds over a peppy Prince redux, the Thermals feel oppressed by religious right finger-wagging but sound downright ecstatic to say so, Oneida stare down an unspecified enemy under a cascading waterfall of triumphant krautpunk, Canadian newbie Laura Barrett turns dystopia into a kalimba lullaby. Anxiety fuels Matt & Kim’s fluorescent macropop, girl troubles inspire Peter Björn And John’s breezy vacay, and Grizzly Bear use rapturous harmonies—“You think it’s all right”—to detail a bittersweet betrayal that gave this disc its name. You had a bad day, you’re taking one down. You sing an exultant song just to turn it around. Does that make me crazy?
Disc 2: Dire, It’s Fleeting is similarly joyous, but comes from places where we typically expect anger. It’s going around: Compare how pissed Jay-Z was about racial profiling in “99 Problems” to how fun Chamillionaire makes outsmarting cops sound in “Ridin’.” Check out how Panic! At The Disco made infidelity look like an orgy. It’s a drag to be welcomed to the Black Parade... but at least it’s a fuggin’ parade! The political-minded (or self-obsessed) folks on our disc make living on a blood-thirsty, crumbling mess of a planet sound glorious—fighting angst with soaring chorus and anthemic cries. Former sludge-metal misanthrope Justin Broadrick of Jesu cops Hüsker Dü’s heavenward arc, drone-metal gloopsters Boris steal Billy Corgan’s warm embrace and metalcore gnashers Converge just sound downright emo with their nine-minute dirge. Boots Riley from the Coup clearly sounds like he gets a kick out of being nihilistic for a hot minute, and even horrific amp-molesting noisenik Prurient sounds like he’s staring at the sun. Everything’s about to explode, but there’s no reason not to do three-part harmonies—“Dire, it’s fleeting”—like the epic climax of the Melvins song that inspired Disc Two. We fly high. - CHRISTOPHER R. WEINGARTEN