A.V. Club D.C.’s top 10 local albums of the '00s

The ’00s were an interesting decade for music in Washington D.C. In the previous 10 years, the local music scene—led by Dischord Records—had gained national recognition for producing some of the country’s most distinguished post-punk and post-hardcore bands. (Local musicians would often joke about how people in other cities regularly noted that every band from the District had “the D.C. sound”—characterized by angular, discordant guitars and sing-shout vocals.) D.C.’s music scene came into the ’00s with a strong early push, which included releases by bands such as Fugazi, Faraquet, Black Eyes, and Lungfish. However, by the time the decade was halfway done, every major Dischord band had either broken up or gone on indefinite hiatus—at which point, the obvious question became, “Who will pick up the torch?” In the wake of Dischord, which has been relatively inactive the past few years, the D.C. scene has seen the rise of a bevy of indie-pop, folk, and country acts like Le Loup, Deleted Scenes, Vandaveer, Casper Bangs, and Jukebox The Ghost. But how do D.C.’s fresher faces stack up against those of earlier this decade? The A.V. Club D.C. takes a look at the best local records of the ’00s.

1. Fugazi, The Argument
Dischord Records (2001)
By the turn of the century, Ian MacKaye and his bandmates were already widely considered the forefathers of the Washington, D.C., post-punk movement. Having nothing left to prove, Fugazi noticeably shifted gears with The Argument, deviating a bit from the gritty, relentless noise-rock that defined the band's sound in previous decades, and adapting an uncharacteristically melodic, expressive, and—dare we even say it—poppy aesthetic. But that’s not to say that The Argument lacks teeth—“Full Disclosure,” “Epic Problem,” and “Ex-Spectator” flash shades of classic Fugazi, swirling intricate and unpredictable rhythms around the conflicting vocal stylings of MacKaye and guitarist-vocialist Guy Picciotto. (The lyrics, of course, are still topped with hefty socio-political overtones.) Peppered between such tracks are more contemplative pieces like “Life And Limb,” “Strangelight,” and the album’s title track, proving that Fugazi can emit just as much intensity with a whisper and a melody as a scream and a scorching riff. The result is far and away Fugazi’s most accessible album (for better or worse)—and, to date, the last release from D.C.’s most beloved musical icons.

2. Black Eyes: Cough
Dischord Records (2004)
Black Eyes’ 2003 self-titled debut for Dischord Records was loaded with throbbing jams that incited dancing and singalongs from audiences during the band’s frenetic live performances. But the quintet’s 2004 follow-up, Cough, was the record that the band had been born to write. As if lashing out against the dance-punk label critics had tagged it with, Black Eyes responded with a saxophone-saturated, free-jazz-influenced sophomore effort that found the band at its most unapologetically abrasive. Sure, if you really wanted to, you could probably dance to tracks such as “False Positive,” “Fathers And Daughters,” and “Spring Into Winter” (well, parts of them, at least), but Black Eyes were going to make you work for it. To embrace inaccessibility intentionally is a bold move for any band—particularly one coming off glowing reviews for its debut. Few bands have the balls to try it, and even fewer have the creative chops to pull it off, as Black Eyes managed to do with Cough. It’s undeniably the more challenging record to listen to and enjoy—but, for those up to the task, the rewards are greater than the instant returns found in the band’s first album.

3. The Dismemberment Plan, Change
DeSoto Records (2001)
In the band’s early recordings—most notably its 1999 breakthrough, Emergency & I—The Dismemberment Plan embraced (and later embodied) D.C.’s late-'90s post-punk scene, blasting out spastic, funk-laced rock with a backhanded forget-the-world twang. But one thing has always set D-Plan apart from its contemporaries: Travis Morrison. Few, if any, post-punk frontmen have ever had a way with words quite like Morrison, penning lyrics that cut to the core of human experience in an insightful, witty tone. With the release of Change, which would be the band’s last studio recording, Morrison’s emotional songwriting and octave-expanding vocals take the spotlight, scaling down the previous album’s loud, complex arrangements. From the opening riffs of “Sentimental Man,” Change swells into a cathartic study in heartbreaks and existential funks, accompanied by just enough jagged hooks and tempo changes to remind you that this is, in fact, a Dismemberment Plan album. Though tracks such as “Following Through” and “Come Home” teeter on the verge of overly sentimental emo-pop, killers like “Time Bomb” and “Secret Curse” remind us that D-Plan wasn’t always so sensitive.

4. Q And Not U, No Kill No Beep Beep
Dischord Records (2000)
It would be nearly impossible for a band like Q And Not U to come from any city other than Washington, D.C. The band’s debut LP, No Kill No Beep Beep, channels the generation of D.C. bands that preceded it—from hardcore to go-go—but most notably the dissonant vocal and guitar patterns and capricious time changes of Fugazi. But No Kill goes beyond mere post-punk pastiche. In fact, Q And Not U seems to toy with the concept of “post-punk” throughout the album, at times tapping into the disaffecting anger of urban youth, at others dabbling in pure lighthearted silliness. The album’s first few tracks, namely “Fever Sleeves,” “Hooray For Humans,” and the catchy fan-favorite “A Line In The Sand” are masterfully arranged—often frenzied and chaotic, yet strangely danceable. Although the second half of the record doesn't keep up with the density and intensity of these opening tracks, No Kill charges relentlessly to the end, forging a sound that’s quintessentially D.C. (Full disclosure: A.V. Club D.C. City Editor Matthew Borlik played bass on this album. Freelancer John Griffith suggested and wrote this portion of the article.)

5. Wale, The Mixtape About Nothing
Self-released (2008)
From the record cover, track titles, familiar opening bass line, and initial observational quips of The Mixtape About Nothing, it’s tempting to think that Wale’s love for Seinfeld is merely superficial. But as the record progresses, Wale demonstrates both a remarkably sharp wit and thorough understanding of the show’s more subtle themes. In an effort to link the show’s appeal to black life, Wale weaves direct clips from Seinfeld through the record—George’s rant about artistic integrity, Kramer’s critique of the manipulative tendencies of women, Jerry’s description of the “perfect plan.” In “The Opening Title Sequence,” Wale rails on the commodification of rap music with a series of Seinfeld-esque “What’s the deal with…” observations. “The Grown Up” questions the role of love and commitment in manhood, with the help of Jerry and George’s memorable “We are not men” dialogue. In "The Kramer," the darkest moments of Michael Richards’ infamous racist rant fades into one of the more intriguing examinations of the “n-word” in recent pop culture memory. Musically, Wale lands somewhere between Lupe Fiasco and The Roots. The result is an ambitious, enthralling album on which the D.C hip-hop underground can proudly hang its hat.

6. Faraquet: The View From This Tower
Dischord Records (2000)
To be fair, many felt that Faraquet’s first—and only—proper full-length was somewhat of a letdown. Although the opening track, “Cut Self Not,” ranks among Faraquet’s best songs, the rest of the album struggles to maintain the level of consistency found in the band’s previous work. (Had we included reissues on this list, we would have definitely gone with Anthology 1997-98, which was released by Dischord in 2008 and includes the band’s first two 7-inches as well as Faraquet’s four songs from the split with Akarso.) However, This Tower still has its share of strong entries—particularly “The Fourth Introduction,” “Study In Complacency,” and the title track (which features drummer Chad Molter on piccolo bass and vocals). After initially breaking up in 2001, Faraquet reunited in 2008 for a Brazilian tour and one-off performance in D.C., which proved the best tracks off This Tower haven’t lost any of their luster with age, nor any of their energy in a live setting.

7. Le Loup, Family
Hardly Art (2009)
In the second half of the decade, the D.C. rock scene underwent a drastic shift away from the angsty, politically charged post-punk with which the city had become synonymous, toward more accessible, folky art-pop. Perhaps there’s no better band to represent this paradigm shift than Le Loup. With the 2009 release of Family, the band’s second full-length and first written and recorded as a cohesive unit (their debut was mostly the experimental recordings of frontman Sam Simkoff), Le Loup crafted an intoxicatingly warm and complex album. Although a far cry from the D.C. bands of yore, Family taps into everything from banjo-sprinkled country (“Go East”), to harmony-driven pop (“A Celebration”), to tweaked-out doo-wop (“Grow”), capturing a sound that’s simultaneously familiar and experimental, accessible and esoteric.

8. Lungfish: Love Is Love
Dischord Records (2003)
Assembling a good Lungfish track doesn't take much: Find one solid guitar riff, slap some backing bass and drums to it, and play it on repeat for three minutes while heavily bearded singer Daniel Higgs spouts off lyrics rife with nature imagery. So, if almost every song—and, by extension, album—follows the exact same formula, how does one distinguish a good Lungfish record from a great one? As a general rule of thumb, you can figure out how much you’ll like any one of Lungfish’s albums by listening to the first 10 or 15 seconds of each song. Love Is Love’s opening title track—easily one of the best songs in the currently inactive band’s lengthy catalog—gets the album off to a great start, and others such as “Nation Saving Song” and “No False Suns” sustain the pace until the album’s closer, “Child Of Chaos.” (Sure, technically speaking, Lungfish is from Baltimore—but when Dischord releases all 11 of your albums, you count as a D.C. band.)

9. Thievery Corporation, The Mirror Conspiracy
Eighteenth Street Lounge Music (2000)
There’s something to be said about a band that can achieve widespread recognition by merging genres that, on their own, aren’t largely popular. Sure, The Mirror Conspiracy is a lounge album, which means it’s almost by definition inoffensive and atmospheric. But in terms of its genre, the record is an absolute watershed, with compelling whiffs of samba, dub, reggae, Indian, bossa nova, and jazz. But the album’s true magic is in its adaptability to the iPod culture—tracks such as “Lebanese Blonde” and “Samba Tranquille” provide a soothing and uplifting soundtrack to any of life’s mundane chores. Before you bash Thievery Corporation for their repetitive rhythms, douchey club-rat following, and irrevocable ties to Zach Braff’s Garden State, just try to put the album through your earbuds without adding a swagger to your step.

10. El Guapo: Fake French
Dischord Records (2002)
When it comes to local bands that never received their proper due, El Guapo has to be at the top of the list. After forming in 1996, the avant-garde outfit—anchored by Rafael Cohen and Justin Moyer—went through various lineup changes, made several dramatic shifts in sound, and released a pair of albums before joining the Dischord Records roster for 2001’s Super/System. Fake French, released a year later, largely ditched Super/System’s accordion- and oboe-heavy approach to refine El Guapo's minimalist approach to electronic art-punk. Standout tracks such as “Glass House,” “Justin Destroyer” and “Pick It Up” captured the band in all of its giddy, glitchy glory. However, like El Guapo’s earlier releases, the band’s two underappreciated Dischord albums mainly fell on deaf ears—and those that did listen to it didn’t like what they heard very much. El Guapo would later change its name to Supersystem and release a pair of more dance-centric albums on Touch And Go Records, but Fake French is El Guapo at its artistic peak—albeit, a peak that most critics didn’t understand.

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