Ten albums I enjoy. (as of right now, subject to change whenever)

Since maybe the dawn of time immemorial, or whenever the hell I started caring about music, I've been asked ONE specific question that I know for certain I cannot answer: "Name your top 10 albums." If I'm being honest, and hopefully I don't come off as some pompous know-it-all asshole here, this is something I absolutely dread being asked because there are so many albums I love that I genuinely don't think I could slim my choices down to ten. No, it's gotta be, like, 25 at the very least. 

Nevertheless, here I am, some random schmuck writing about how much he doesn't like being asked one stupid question. In that case, let me imagine myself in some sort of Desert Island Discs scenario where I'm some sort of castaway that is forced to take only ten albums (okay, on the show it's eight plus a book and a "luxury item" but we didn't come here to talk about those) with me for some unspecified period of time. Now that's a more interesting way to phrase that question! What are the albums I absolutely, positively CANNOT live without? The shit I personally consider essential to any solid record collection? While the answers change maybe every 15 seconds, I feel like, as of right now, the following list is a pretty solid indicator or guideline as to what I'd pick...

1) Shellac - At Action Park: this is what rock music SHOULD sound like. Huge drums, guitars that sound like they're being murdered by sheet metal, vocals that aren't always clear shouting absurd yet frank lyrics, and thumping, aggressive bass. Albini's then-newly-formed trio blast their way through ten solid cuts of post-hardcore depravity.

2) Boards of Canada - Geogaddi: conversely, this feels like it should be a blueprint for all of electronic music. Warm, fuzzy synths coupled with heavy drums; the two serving as musical double-entendres for sinister undertones representing what I think seems to be the loss of innocence. That, combined with the overarching cult imagery and the trial-by-fire tracklist allows Geogaddi to easily be the defining work of electronic music as a whole.

3) Devo - Q: Are We Not Men? A: We Are Devo!: this is just a perfect record. It's a refined version of Devo's early 70s craft, frankly fucked-up blues music with alienating synths over top. Such formula is key to Devo's initial success: it's no secret that they started sucking after focusing more on generic synth-pop songs (have you listened to Shout or Total Devo recently? Horrifying albums!). Meanwhile, every song here is unforgettable, even the really short ones leave a lasting impression.

4) Ween - The Pod: now, I'll say upfront that I don't think The Pod is Ween's biggest technical accomplishment or that it has their best lyrics or is actually their best album, but it IS probably their most unique. Born out of the dredges of sickness and Scotchgard abuse, their sophomore effort sounds absolutely nothing like what came before or after. It's a record which has no true equal; some have definitely tried, but none have come close to this album's sludgy insanity.

5) The Dismemberment Plan - Change: this is just a solid indie rock record. I feel like it's when the band finally matured enough to stop relying on being overly silly and honed their songwriting skills enough to create timeless classics that actually mean something.

6) Oneohtrix Point Never - Replica: hyperactive yet depressive nostalgia for the commercialism and consumerism of a decade that feels worlds away. Daniel Lopatin, who, here, takes a Dr. Moreau-esque role, samples all on this record: traditional instruments are scant save for "Andro", "Submersible" and "Explain". That beautiful piano that feels reminiscent of Tim Hecker's "Virgins" on "Power of Persuasion"? Michel Legrand shilling for American Express. The clusterfucks that are "Nassau" and "Child Soldier"? Strung together from bits and pieces of different vivisected ads.

7) Airport 5 - Tower in the Fountain of Sparks: where my namesake (the mighty Burns Carpenter, Man of Science) originates from, the brief reunion between Robert Pollard and Tobin Sprout that provided us one of the coldest albums of the 2000s. It's nothing but misery here, the power pop revival that some believe Pollard to be a herald of gives way to the musings of a freshly-divorced man trying to get his life back on track. Not as overt as GBV's "Dayton, Ohio - 19 Something and 5" single, but still, the themes are quite blunt.

8) Mr. Bungle - California: now for something that is the complete opposite of the last record - something so hot and dry that it'll make your mind melt into a thin, runny fluid. Mike Patton proves his worth as a songwriter here, with these lush, yet aggressive arrangements that range in tone from "Mike Love (rightfully) burning in Hell" to "morose, quiet brooding over finding out about your wife's infidelity". All these heavy songs you think would be impossible to play live (and then they did, for a time), but rest assured, this is no studio trickery.

9) Stars of the Lid - The Tired Sounds of Stars of the Lid: perhaps the only record here where the sound is clearly defined by the title. Everything here is tired, the quietly soaring epic "Austin Texas Mental Hospital" sounding like the sun slowly fading over the horizon while "Ballad of Distances" sounds like the death of some concept, a friendship or a trend, maybe, with it fading out and ending not with a bang, but with a droning whimper.

10) Steely Dan - Gaucho: the excess of the 1970s, after a long, arduous fight, dies here, stranded at the start of a whole new decade. Donald and Walter's wild stories of drugs and skeevy characters showcase the objective height of their powers as songwriters: each song goes down as smooth and sweet as honey, but with a sour aftertaste. No one did lyrics like them. 

Well, that wraps it up. For my book, I request a copy of House of Leaves, and for my luxury item, I'd like a chair. Preferably one with a soft cushion.