On Sunday, the New York Times ran an article about Jim O’Rourke, an underground overachiever who, in addition to recording his own solo music, has played in Sonic Youth and Gastr Del Sol, and worked in various other capacities with Wilco, Joanna Newsom, and Superchunk.

His latest project is the new solo album The Visitor, a recording that, at times, features as many as 200 tracks of instruments.

As one might imagine, an album such as this would require quite an intricate mix, which is perhaps why The Visitor will only be available on CD and vinyl—no digital download.

Here’s part of the Ben Ratliff article from NYT:

He’s taking a stand against the sound quality of MP3s; he’s also taking a stand in favor of artists being able to control the medium and reception of their work.

“You can no longer use context as part of your work,” he said, glumly, “because it doesn’t matter what you do, somebody’s going to change the context of it. The confusion of creativity, making something, with this Internet idea of democratization …” he trailed off, disgusted. “It sounds like old-man stuff, but I think it’s disastrous for the possibilities of any art form.”

He’s not the first artist to attempt a download pushback. But is he a part of the vanguard or a dying breed?

Anyone looking for an argument in favor of globalization would do well to consider Cyminology, a promising new jazz quartet made up of musicians from Germany, France, and India. The group’s cross-border reach also extends into Iran, where Cyminology’s leader, singer Cymin Samawatie, spent summers as a youth. The daughter of Iranian parents, Samawatie writes lyrics and sings in Farsi, the Persian language widely spoken in Iran. And, if Farsi-language jazz isn’t cross-cultural enough for you, Samawatie’s wordless vocal on “Naagofte,” one of the tracks on Cyminology’s ECM debut As Ney, is reminiscent of the Brazilian singer Flora Purim. What could’ve been multi-culti mush is actually a crisp take on a familiar format: the piano-bass-drums trio fronted by a female vocalist. Were it not for the lyrics and a Middle Eastern tinge to the melodies, Cyminology might sound like an American band that was raised on Keith Jarrett and Nina Simone records. The appeal is, in other words, borderless.

Cyminology performs Friday, 5/15, at 7:30 p.m. at the Fairfax Community Church, 11451 Braddock Road, Fairfax, Va. $10-12. (703) 745-1030.

If I wrote about a record on this list for publication, I’ve included an excerpt below. If not, I’ve tried to find a good excerpt from another writer, someone I admire. There are no audio samples, because: A) I’m old (mid-thirties) and I don’t even own an iPod and; B) every time I try to teach myself something new on the computer my infant son tells me, in his own baby-rageous way, that I should give up. Happy holidays.

1. Meanderthal, Torche (Hydra Head)

Pitting Torche toe-to-toe with Rihanna may be reaching (people are still grousing about the time Decibel’s resident genius/ heathen Kory Grow dropped Missy Elliot’s name in a Nachtmystium review), but even at its most skittering, math-y moments (“Little Champion”), Meanderthal has a rhythm made to shake rumps. Shame on me, shame on us, we won’t get fooled again. Maybe it’s time to start booking the arena tour. Hello, Cleveland!

—Nick Green, May 2008 issue of Decibel

2. Black Sea, Fennesz (Touch)

One gets the sense that, even as he slouches toward easy listening, Fennesz is wary of making music that is too beautiful or unblemished. There’s a cold, clinical aspect to Eno’s ambient music that’s missing from Black Sea. It’s not just the fact that you can hear Fennesz’s acoustic guitar or imagine him sitting in the space where it was recorded. It’s all of the digital pockmarks and instrumental imperfections combined. Perhaps more than any other Fennesz record, Black Sea exemplifies the kind of ambient music that’s never so seamless that you forget it was made by a human being.

—Brent Burton, Washington City Paper

[More below the jump!]

3. Krallice, Krallice (Profound Lore)

One of the biggest surprises of the year is that Mr. Spazzy Fingers himself, Orthrelm and Ocrilim guitarist Mick Barr, can not only play a riff for longer than, say, a second, but also write some of the most epic and tuneful black metal you’re likely to hear. Along with Wolves in the Throne Room’s 2007 triumph Two Hunters, the self-titled debut from Barr’s new band Krallice suggests that the future of black metal might lie right here in the United States.

—Brent Burton, January 2009 issue of Decibel

4. The Bees Made Honey in the Lion’s Skull, Earth (Southern Lord)

Someday [Dylan] Carlson’s post-hiatus music could mean as much to country as Earth 2 means to metal. If that day ever comes, two things are for certain. One, Carlson will by then have moved on to some other mimimalist-informed plateau. And, two, Earth’s latest will be revered as a classic, the sort of record that true believers refer to only cryptically, as if to speak of it in a less-than-exclusive fashion—acronyms, abbreviations, hushed tones—might somehow break the spell. Carlson’s made that record before. Who’s to say he hasn’t done it again?

—Brent Burton, Washington City Paper

5. Litany of Echoes, James Blackshaw (Tompkins Square)

At its best, his sumptuous new album, “Litany of Echoes” (Tompkins Square), conveys a stark and ancient feeling, like something handed down through the ages.

—Nate Chinen, June 22, 2008 New York Times

6. January, Marcin Wasilewski Trio (ECM)

It takes nerve for a young trio to create music of such stillness, such patience. The fact that these three have played together since they were teenagers is audible in the way they trust the epiphanies they collectively come upon. January is an album to keep coming back to, if not for new answers, then for deeper questions.

—Thomas Conrad, September 2008 issue of Jazz Times

7. The Ruiner, Made Out of Babies (The End)

Arriving on the heels of [Julie] Christmas’ stint with Battle of Mice and [Brendan] Tobin’s tours with Red Sparowes, the Brooklyn group’s new disc features uncommonly well-written post-punk. The band has always excelled at Shellacked riffs and Zepped grooves, but on The Ruiner they’ve brought melody to the fore, a songwriting development that allows Christmas to show off her range.

—Brent Burton, October 2008 issue of Revolver

8. Pyramids, Pyramids (Hydra Head)

Perhaps no other debut in recent memory has astonished us as much as that of Denton, TX-based mystery group Pyramids. Bewitched by their exquisite choral arrangements and beatific post-rock whorl, we spent most of the year convinced that the band was comprised of ex-Mare dudes who had moved down from Canada, changed their names and decided to fuck with us (blast beats + choral vocals = amazing) just ‘cause they could. We were wrong, of course, but that doesn’t make Pyramids’ textural ecstasy any less compelling.

—J. Bennett, January 2009 issue of Decibel

9. Assassins: Black Meddle Pt. 1, Nachtmystium (Century Media)

[Nachtmystium frontman Blake] Judd’s giant step—his change you can believe in—is best measured in synthscapes, jazz solos, and songwriting that transforms underground music into mainstream metal. The genius of Assassins has everything to do with the music itself. Judd doesn’t sing about inclusiveness. He just plays it.

—Brent Burton, Washington City Paper

10. Magnificent Fiend, Howlin Rain (American)

Had Bob Dylan sung over these Hammond-drenched grooves, baby boomers would be falling over themselves to call it his best in years. And they’d be right. Dylan, of course, is a better lyricist, but, as an instrumentalist and composer, [Ethan] Miller has tapped into the same mashup spirit that defined Dylan singles like “Subterranean Homesick Blues” and “Like a Rolling Stone.”

—Brent Burton, Washington City Paper

Wednesday night was opening night for Washington National Opera’s production of Handel’s Tamerlano. The Playbill claims that all of the tickets to this baroque opera are sold, but that doesn’t mean that it was a full house. By the beginning of Act Three it was obvious that there had been a sizable exodus—due no doubt to the role of Tamerlano, which was originally performed by an alto castrato and performed last night by countertenor David Daniels (pictured above).

Daniels is impressive in this role, but the high-pitched countertenor sound is odd to modern ears. (I swear I heard some muffled giggles when he was doing his trills in the third act; perhaps some of these folks were remembering Adam Sandler’s Operaman character from Saturday Night Live.) Let’s just say that bass-baritone Andrew Foster-Williams—who plays Leone, the smallest of the opera’s six roles—brought some much-needed heft.

Cherkis and I tackled Carneal’s first trio of recordings almost a year ago in City Paper (“Griot Grand” and “Interview with Jack Carneal”).

Now Carneal’s got a fourth Yaala Yaala disc, a self-titled release from Yoro Sidibe, a Malian hunter and musician who is “around 70.” The album came out last week.

According to Drag City, the Chicago label that distributes Yaala Yaala, “the grooves are as uplifting as any pep talk could be. They’re low and hypnotic — and after an hour of them shaking and rattling, you too will be loose and ready for what may.”

Given that there’s no music on Yaala Yaala’s MySpace page, we’ll just have to take their word for it.

A friend just pointed out this post from Jessica Hopper’s blog, in which the blacklist-happy music writer goes after Chicago black-metal band Nachtmystium. The problem? Well, Hopper thinks they’re racist and homophobic.

Now, I loved Nachtmystium’s last album from 2006, an arty slab of psychedelic metal called Instinct: Decay. But I don’t go around doing due diligence on every band I like, so I’d never read any interviews in which frontman Blake Judd uses questionable language, or expresses questionable ideas.

But I decided to Google Nachtmystium and “Zionist conspiracy” and got nothing but Hopper’s blog. (Googling “Nachtmystium” and “Zionist” gets you here.) I didn’t bother with the f-word, because it seems clear enough that the guy is upset with message board lurkers, not, um, gay people.

Now, I’m not going to condone what Judd said, but, if Hopper’s going to call out poor Stephin Merritt for not liking rap, then perhaps she will understand that–as Faulkner once said about the South–some of us like despite, not because of.

Not only does he interview Frederick, MD’s Joe Bussard, a 78 collector who has been the subject of several Washington City Paper features (Eddie Dean’s and Andrew Beaujon’s), but he also makes some worthwhile points about American folk music and its pursuit (whether by collectors or those making field recordings).

Most interesting to me—especially having grown up around adults who, in the ‘70s and ‘80s, were still in the thrall of the fifties folk revival—is how many of those musicians, such as Robert Johnson, who—especially since the ‘60s—has been written about in mythical, almost god-like terms, owe their legend to serendipity.

Bilger writes:

“Fame in folk music can be less a matter of talent than of opportunity, [down-to-Earth folk revivalist Art Rosenbaum] said. People talk about the Delta blues because Charley Patton and Robert Johnson were from Mississippi. But if H.C. Speir hadn’t opened his music store in Jackson we might talk about Georgia Blues instead.”

And then there’s the whole issue of authenticity—finding artists untouched by the modern world. This is like manna for folk-hunters. (When Leadbelly came to New York, Bilger writes, noted folklorist John Lomax “told him to put on prison stripes.”) But Bilger notes that even some of ye olde biggies might not stand up to present-day standards:

“When John Lomax first recorded the blues, the genre was newer than hip-hop is today, and both Leadbelly and Robert Johnson learned songs from records.”

None of this invalidates a good song (and Johnson, especially, wrote quite a few), but it would seem to invalidate the collecting and compiling concept that anything that’s old and, um, folky is worth transferring and cleaning up. Some recordings you’ve never heard of because they just weren’t very good.

SFJ writes: “There are many educating angels out there, and I owe several kind people a lifetime’s tuition, but, good Lord, record-store employees can be grumpy. And scary. And insulting. And make you feel like never ever going into a store again. And that’s relevant.”

It is relevant. We’ve all had these High Fidelity-type experiences and if you think of this stuff in small business terms–as opposed to cultural terms–it’s especially baffling.

I certainly don’t welcome the demise of record stores, but here are some questions to think about, once again in small business terms…

Will the stores that are left over have to work much harder for your money?

Will they have to do things to differentiate themselves from the vast resources of the internet?

Will they be much happier to see you walk through the door?

I think the answer to all three is ‘yes.’ Is this a tragedy? Not at all.