The Pancake final

Då har det blivit dags för de sista två låtarna från vår Amsterdamkorre, två låtar som betydde lite mer än allt annat under förra året. Visst är det fantastiskt att musik kan få människor att bli så lyriska och skriva såhär initierade texter bara för att några få några svenskar som snubblat in på min blogg ska få möjligheten att kanske upptäcka något nytt, eller se en vinkel man missat, ge en låt ännu en chans osv.

I morgon ska jag berätta om den andra filmen någonsin som fick fått mig att gråta.

2. Radiohead – Bodysnatchers
Writing about Radiohead is not an easy task: evading clichés is about as simple as not getting your ass kicked after calling Vinnie Jones’ mother a prostitute in his face. Still, Bodysnatchers is a fantastic song, and deserves a try to say the least.

When I saw these dudes live the day after my birthday, the very riff of this song alone – as far as I remember, that was all there was to it at that time – was just about the best birthday present I could imagine. For the record, I say ‘just about’ because Patrik fainting before my eyes the day before is the undisputed highlight of my recent birthday history. Kudos, homie.

Anyway, I’m dead serious when I say that once I heard the new Radiohead album was coming, this magical guitar riff was all I could dream of. Of course, I was completely psyched when I discovered that the second song on the album started with it, and turned out to develop into something gloriously up-tempo. Try sitting still to this one, I ask you: even Stephen Hawkins gets his rocks off to this song.

For their standards, Radiohead have made Bodysnatchers a fairly conventional rock song, guitar solo and all, and like most of the album it is stripped of the most experimental tendencies of their previous outings. Obviously, this has led to criticism here and there, but I have to disagree with anything in that direction: when all your experimentalism is taken for granted, it is actually way more ballsy to simply rock the fuck out. And let’s face it, this song does so more than anything in a long, long time.

1. I’m From Barcelona – We’re From Barcelona
How could I not put any Swedes in the number one spot? The cliché goes that all good art comes from feeling fucked-up, and although Pete Doherty tries to uphold it, reality laughs him in the face. Most of the artists high up in this list seem to be having a ball, really – although M.I.A. never actually seems happy with anything. In a time when getting rich from being in a band is more of a utopia than anything else, I guess people join one just to have a great fucking time.

I’m From Barcelona surely does: their live performances are more of a religious experience than simply another gig. In an endless sea of balloons, these twenty-odd oddballs are quick to just invite the audience into the band during gigs, become the audience themselves, and in the end manage to nearly eradicate any boundary between those two. After all, most of them just stand around dancing and singing backing vocals – and the crowd does exactly the same.

This is mainly possible because of their talent for laying insanely catchy, bizarrely uplifting pop songs out on the table: my impression is that their main objective is to write songs that can be sung and clapped along with within the first minute. We’re From Barcelona is the absolute highlight of their work up till now – getting there is about ten seconds – intertwining marvellously massive vocal harmonies, glockenspiel playfulness and Van Morrison-ish brass section into an irresistible, heavenly three minutes. I’m definitely not kidding when I say I can listen to this song all day and still fail to not sing or dance along to it.

As mentioned before, every moment of musical greatness needs some interpretive quality and opportunity for consistent fascination. For I’m From Barcelona, it’s not only the immensely intricate orchestration, subtly hiding amazing guitar licks and trumpets in the background, but mostly the message they spread. At first, the songs on their album Let Me Introduce My Friends seem rather trivial and nonsensical: they seem to deal with, well, goldfish, being ill, tree houses, and stamps. These are of course only illustrations they use to make their real point: whatever the fuck happens, sooner or later you’ll be hanging out with your friends, travelling to sunny locations, or whatever the fuck, and things will be okay again. Sometimes, small things like a collection of stamps or a comforting word are all it takes to lift you up.

I can’t really think of any artist since the Happy Mondays at least who has managed anything remotely as jubilantly positive, and unlike the Manc boys, they don’t even need any pills to get there. This band might just be the best live act I’ve ever seen, and has shaped 2007 for me like nothing else. I’m From Barcelona is a revolution. If that isn’t convincing enough for the number one position, I guess nothing is.