Sound Check — Geoff Carter: Self-effacing critic offers his top-album selections for 1999

Friday, Nov. 5, 1999 | 10:01 a.m.

Geoff Carter's music column appears Fridays. Reach him at carter@vegas.com

Popular-music critics are, with few important exceptions, a bunch of cheap, fat, self-satisfied, trendy, tin-eared, talentless neo-hippie buttheads. And yes, savage reader, that includes the hairy moron in the mugshot at right. When I'm writing phrases like "sonically impeccable," I'm actually thinking, "Must go home and stick my head in the microwave."

But I've got to do music critic stuff, otherwise I won't get paid (about the price of a double cheeseburger), the labels will stop sending those free CDs (all the idiotic rap-metal bands I can eat) and acquaintances will be stranded without a way to open conversations with me. ("So ... seen any good shows lately?")

I now fulfill one of my duties in that regard: my "Top 10 albums of 1999." Previously I'd just compiled my list from those by other music critics -- my own tastes running no deeper than techno, alt.country and movie scores, and besides, we music critics have to put up a united front because we have no friends. But since I'll be out of the country for the next few weeks -- lying on a Thailand beach, pondering, pondering -- there's a strong chance I'll miss reading those lists. And I'm not going to want to work ever again after I get back, anyway.

So, you're stuck with the 10 records I listened to most this year. I'm sorry you won't be able to compare and contrast my judgments of Built to Spill and Sebadoh to those by other national and local critics because I didn't listen to those records every day -- and frankly, I doubt many of them did, either. I'm not going to throw a bone to old perennials such as Paul Westerberg and Trent Reznor because they didn't quite make the nut this year. I'm not going to make any sops to Creed or Matchbox 20 because they'll be playing state fairs in just five years and I don't want you holding that over my head. And you can take your Limp Bizkit and Eminem and stuff 'em in your cakehole.

"Summerteeth" by Wilco: A big, fat pop-rock masterpiece on the level of U2's "The Joshua Tree." I wore my advance copy down in less than a month and requested an advance interview with the group's creative center, Jeff Tweedy, despite the fact that Wilco never came close to playing Las Vegas this year. I just wanted to know what shape such freaking genius took in the rearview mirror -- what Tweedy would have to say after delivering a record as thematically and sonically impeccable as "Summerteeth."

He was, perhaps predictably, modest and a bit embarrassed by the praise I lavished upon his songwriting, telling me that "A Shot in the Arm," "She's A Jar" and "ELT" were written in the back of a tour bus, and not in some nebulous dreamworld. And he had replaced the third verse of "Pieholden Suite" with a horn chart because "they said what needed to be said better than the lyrics did." To Tweedy, the new songs were a natural progression from the alt.country sound Wilco had mastered. To my ears, and not nearly enough others, "Summerteeth" is historic.

"Beaucoup Fish" by Underworld: Two words: "Push Upstairs." Two more: "Cups" and "Moaner." Righteous techno for people who love the old verse-chorus-verse.

"Anomie & Bonhomie" by Scritti Politti: I fully expect to take a lot of grief over putting this, the first record by 1980s popsters Scritti Politti (remember "Perfect Way"?) in over a decade, on my top 10 list. Hey, lookee here: This is me not caring, because you don't know what I know. Yet. (The record will be released stateside early next year). "Anomie & Bonhomie" is a honey of a disc, a sly fusion of Brooklyn hip-hop, perky lo-fi guitar rock and the earthy R&B at which Scritti's frontman, the angel-voiced Green, has always excelled. Bassist/vocalist Me'shell Ndegeocello, rappers Mos Def and Lee Majors and producer David Gamson help Green realize his best work: a record that bobs, rocks, thumps and swings like nothing else out there. Not for everyone, but those that manage to grasp it will likely hang on for life.

"Things Fall Apart" by the Roots: It's the most accomplished hip-hop record since the Fugees' "The Score," that's all. Touch its "Illadelph dynamite," and become whole.

"Surrender" by the Chemical Brothers: I dissed this brilliant psychedelic techno record when it came out. So, I was wrong. I already told you I'm an idiot. I can listen to "The Sunshine Underground" forever.

"Haunted Mansion -- 30th Anniversary" by various artists: The entire soundtrack to the coolest ride at Disneyland, next to Pirates of the Caribbean. Plus: outtakes from Paul Frees' creepy narration, and a Hammond organ rendition of the theme song that could have been recorded by the likes of the Bomboras yesterday.

"The Soft Bulletin" by the Flaming Lips: Hits two of my weak spots squarely: arrangements rich with strings and Moog synthesizers, and lyrics about scientists.

"Birds of My Neighborhood" by the Innocence Mission: Matchless, ethereal folk-rock. Their cover of John Denver's "Follow Me" lifts the soul of late country singer out of the wreckage, to the heavens.

"Out Loud" by Boom Boom Satellites: This Japanese trio bravely goes where I wish Trent Reznor had. "Oneness" was 1999's toughest techno-rock track, hands down. It's not even in English.

"69 Love Songs" by the Magnetic Fields: I shouldn't have to tell you why this three-disc, sweet-and-low pop gem is on my list. It's personal. Well, OK: for two sets of lyrics. "A pretty girl in her underwear/ if there's anything better in this world, who cares?" And, "There'll be time enough for rocking/when we're old/We can rock all day/in rocking chairs of gold." Consum e all 69 tunes in mass, and I'll see you in three weeks, which should be long enough for you to forget about this little incident