Building Nothing Out Of Something, 180G Black Vinyl LP
It's just a matter of time until a West Coast punk band with the name of "The ______s" releases an album called For Nick Cater. It's just a matter of time until an indie rock collective devoted to resurrecting the sound of Led Zeppelin arises in Olympia, Athens or D.C. It's just a matter of time before Superchunk releases an album with "keyboards and loops and stuff." It's only a matter of time before Dan Fogelberg is somehow dubbed a misunderstood genius in Chicago's avant-pop circles. Rock music has sunk to some pretty low levels recently.
But lately, I've experienced a little metanoia; the thin jaded layers that built up in 1999 have flaked away. Chalk those layers up to loitering in the grime of mid-20's doldrums. I'm just in love with music. This is why I eat hotdogs and oatmeal and type until 4:00am instead of cutting up cadavers at Emory. And what sort of angel-driven crane has pulled me up from the quagmires, you ask? A handful of bands. One of which, of course, is Modest Mouse.
I've listened to Modest Mouse grow progressively better and more profound since their 1996 debut, This is a Long Drive for Someone with Nothing to Think About. I read Pitchfork's official "weirdest interview ever" with Modest Mouse before I was even on the staff. I've witnessed Isaac Brock scream into his guitar pickups inside a packed bar in Atlanta while my then-girlfriend got sick and fainted. But it wasn't until Building Nothing Out of Something slipped into my possession that I became convinced that Modest Mouse, strangely, might be saviors. -Pitchfork