The Kingblind.com Top 15 Albums of 2007
Enjoy the list kids, See ya in 2008!! Kingblind will return in the 1st week of January. Off on vacation now!
#1) LCD Soundsystem- Sound of Silver
LCD Soundsystem's James Murphy is chiefly regarded as a man with a gargantuan record collection. Less appreciated is the depth of his songwriting, and the unsettling accuracy with which he depicts the fretful ageing hipster whose gargantuan record collection is no longer enough. Beneath the jokes in his signature tune, Losing My Edge, lurks real fear of growing old and redundant. Amid the dependably thrilling punk-funk (North American Scum) and mercurial Bowie-vs-Underworld art-techno (Get Innocuous), Sound of Silver houses two songs that pack a devastating emotional punch. Someone Great is an addictive techno elegy, with an unexplained tragedy at its shattered heart, while the spine-tingling, New Order-tinged All My Friends is the sound of midlife stock-taking in the centre of a crowded dancefloor. This is dance-rock for grown-ups: extraordinary. And our album of the year.. Hands down.
(LCD Soundsystem- All My Friends)
#2) Radiohead- In Rainbows
Before it had even arrived in the world's inboxes, you would be hard-pushed to call Radiohead's seventh album anything other than a triumph, at least of marketing. The honesty box approach meant In Rainbows was discussed in areas not usually noted for their interest in leftfield gloom-rock. It turned up in a broadsheet's economics section, while one can only begin to imagine Thom Yorke's untrammelled joy at the piece by an advertising executive, which claimed the singer's paralysed left eye was "the perfect analogy" for Radiohead's expertise in branding.
Elsewhere, the band's creative partner, artist Stanley Donwood rattled the collecting tin a bit, pointing out the album's lengthy, agonized gestation, which at one point entailed fraught discussions about splitting up. This is hardly an extraordinary state of affairs -– no Radiohead album really feels complete without an agonized and fraught gestation, in much the same way that no R&B album feels complete without an interminable thank you list in which God features heavily –but, on listening to In Rainbows, it seems surprising.
This does not sound like a band clutching their brows and wondering what to do next. The lyrics may be as neurotic as ever –you're never that far from an infrastructure collapsing or the lights going out or being eaten by the worms - but as it flows seamlessly along it sounds supremely confident, like a band who know they're at the height of their powers. There's nothing tentative even about its more experimental moments, possibly because even its more experimental moments -– 15 Step's clattering beats, the unsettling electronic pulse behind House Of Cards -– are pressed into the service of fantastic melodies: the closing Videotape proceeds at the pace of a Soviet state funeral, but the tune is so glorious, it sounds graceful rather than lethargic, dreamy rather than dreary. Radiohead sound like they're enjoying themselves, not least on Bodysnatchers, which features a geefully propulsive bass riff. In the parlance of the middle American sports stadium crowds with whom Radiohead have such a troubled relationship, it rocks.
The most heartening thing about In Rainbows, besides the fact that it may represent the strongest collection of songs Radiohead have assembled for a decade, is that it ventures into new emotional territories: their last album, 2003's Hail to the Thief, had its moments, but it was scarred by the sense that the band's famed gloominess was starting to tip into self-parody and petulance. Here, there's wit - at 15 Step's conclusion, Yorke's patented end-is-nigh keening is undercut by a childrens' chorus merrily crying "hey!" - and warmth. With its strings and swooning guitars, Nude sounds lushly romantic. So does All I Need, which, moreover, ends in a fantastic, life-affirming crescendo. Witty, romantic, life-affirming: you don't need to be an expert in the minutae of their back catalogue to know that these are not adjectives readily associated with Radiohead. But then, in the years since OK Computer propelled them to superstardom, you could say the same about the phrase "consistent album", yet that's precisely what In Rainbows seems to be. Whatever you paid, it's hard to imagine feeling short-changed.
Radiohead - Jigsaw Falling Into Place (thumbs down version)
#3) MIA- Kala
Confidence – too much of it blindsides you, too little can cripple. Cutting to the chase, there really isn't much chance of the latter creeping in here – M.I.A. pheromones into the microphone from the off, rarely leaning back for breath. And yet, the vultures circle. She inspires as much hate as love – she carries many a cross, but few seem to burden. Throw rocks at her – go on, I dare you. Tricky second album: tear up the blueprint of the classic debut, redesign from the ground up. Got a beat from man of the moment Timbaland: Timba-who? Stick it on as a bonus track. Critical accusations of global beat-mining: dust off the passport and go to everywhere you didn't last time. You've got an annoying voice: wail like a territorial tomcat over Bollywood disco. Threat of illegal downloads: put the whole album on your MySpace page. THAT, mon ami, is confidence.
The current Queen of Cool is back – and coolness is not caring what anyone else thinks. This is the second outing of Maya Arulpragasam, and 'Kala' is relatively far removed from her first – where it lacks the tightness of 'Arular', it gains inexplicable cohesion. If her debut was bathed in sunlight, her sophomore effort is drenched in a humid heat, leaving a trail of sweat-soaked speakers blown through bass. The first four songs are the DJ spinning the last fifteen minutes of the night; the rest represents the rickshaw ride home from the grimiest club that the tourists were told to avoid, backstreet shortcuts and all.
Perhaps 'Kala' seems to drag upon first listen – but after that, it is back of the motorcycle stuff. As usual, the clever production touches make such a subtle but crucial difference – holding off the drop on opener "Bamboo Banga" until she kicks in with the mantra "M.I.A. coming back with power, power" works flawlessly. The vocal production is quite simply on a higher level, and her beat selection is more or less exemplary – only one and a half songs sound a touch out of place, "World Town" and "The Turn" (the outro to the latter is hypnotic, it should have been a skit instead of a song). Diplo only handles the e-fueled rave of "XR2", and immediate come-down of the perfect "Paper Planes", Timbaland's "Come Around" is relegated to last place and Blaqstarr's aforementioned "The Turn" – otherwise, Switch and M.I.A. herself handle main bulk of the action with an impressive disregard for convention. Airdrop them in the bush (the outback wilderness of Australia) and they will find some Aboriginal adolescents to bless a chorus ("Mango Pickle Down River"); in the heart of India's Bollywood district, they'll locate a studio and provide their own hilarious take on "Jimmy Jimmy Aaja Aaja" from the absolute kitsch classic 'Disco Dancer' soundtrack (yes, Maya, I grew up with that too); Mozambique (I think... by now, only God himself knows) finds Afrikan Boy spitting a monster guest verse on "Hussel", starting off with the stuttering "If you think it's tough now-ow-ow, Come to Africa!".
There are three tracks that summarise the feel of the album, the first two being "20 Dollar" and "Paper Planes". They bring back the feeling of the mid-1990's futuristic scene so powerfully, it feels like the second coming of a 'Maxinquaye'-era Tricky, combined with PJ Harvey and early Missy Elliot – this time, with value added danceable twist in undeniable rump-shaker "Boyz". And whereas individual songs on 'Arular' worked well, such as "Galang" and "Bucky Done Gun", 'Kala' represents more of an album's album – the sum is greater than the parts, and it seems like more of a personal listen. While we all got a slice of the pie last time round, on this occasion, the listener will gain as much or as little as they put in.
And so it should be too. People reference the 'Sophomore Slump' so frequently that it seems to cripple albums before their creation – not if you've got the balls, the confidence, that semi-detached coolness. M.I.A. already dropped a classic debut – she has earned the right to experiment on her second album. It is more expansive and daring – resulting in more highs and lows than 'Arular'. Yet it is a strangely alluring and captivating album, revealing more of itself upon each additional listen. Although it seemed as though she played by her own rules on her first album, this LP genuinely throws the rulebook out of the window. It has plenty of WTF moments, but who the hell else could put an album like this together? She is now out in a field of her own – no one else is even close.
M.I.A.- Bird Flu
#4) Panda Bear- Person Pitch
The artwork of Panda Bear's third solo album is full of clues. The front sleeve is a paddling pool fantastically packed with children and animals (tiger, seal, gorilla, leopard, koala and, yes, panda). Inside the booklet, there are further brightly coloured photographs: kids on stilts facing a sky mad with fruit bats and flying foxes, a boy in a kilt and a crocodile head-dress dancing a jig, a pigtailed girl riding a gondola through a sky swirling with feathers. These images set you up for music that's tribal, ecstatic yet eerie, brimming with child-like wonder. And that's exactly what Person Pitch delivers.
In Animal Collective, Panda Bear (real name, Noah Lennox) plays drums and sings. Here, he builds a unique and refreshing sound almost entirely out of percussion and his own multi-tracked voice, influenced by teenage years singing in a high school choir. Opener 'Comfy in Nautica' sounds like the Beach Boys if they'd joined Hari Krishna. A billowing vocal roundelay interwoven with looped bell-chimes, 'Bros' starts as a mellow canter, then plunges into a spangled surge of acoustic guitars. The song sustains its rhapsodic pitch for 12-and-a-half minutes that leave the listener drained and dizzy. 'Good Girl/Carrots', another 12-minute tour de force, kicks off with bubbling tablas and baby talk, moves into a section where Lennox gently upbraids some uptight, know-it-all adversary, then skanks out under cascades of glistening sonic confetti. 'I'm Not', a skyscape of sighs and shivers, and 'Search For Delicious', braided from wobbled vocals and found sounds, both merge experimentalism and euphony. Like Animal Collective, Lennox pulls off the trick of being simultaneously poppy and abstract, winsome and deranging.
Lennox's previous album, Young Prayer, was a eulogy to his father, a literally glowing tribute recorded in the room where Lennox Snr passed away. It doesn't take much of a leap of insight to twig that Person Pitch is inspired by love and (re)birth: Lennox married a Portuguese woman, moved to that country ('a European California,' he says, laid-back and sun-kissed) and had a daughter. It's actually quite hard to imagine Lennox as a dad, though, because he looks and sounds so young. There's a boyish buoyancy to the sound of Person Pitch, a pure-hearted nobility. The album's core emotions - awe, curiosity, rejoicing, tenderness - are precisely the things that age and experience tends to erode.
At once Sixties-redolent (specifically Dylan's 'I was so much older then/ I'm younger than that now' and 'he not busy being born is busy dying') yet timeless and perennially applicable, the album's open-hearted spirit is crystallised in the chorus to 'Ponytail'. Lennox sings: 'When my soul starts growing, it gets so hungry/ I wish it never would, never would, never would stop growing.'
Panda Bear - "Comfy In Nautica"
#5) Battles- Mirrored
After a string of intermittently brilliant EPs, these hi-tech New York instrumentalists finally release their first proper full-length, and with it propel themselves into quite another league. There was always something uniquely enticing in their amalgam of machine-code guitar hooks, electronics and brainy robotic rhythms, but a new sense of warped pop suss and a constant barrage of ear-catching ideas makes Mirrored all the more surprising and addictive. The biggest change is the addition of vocals - often just wordless, dehumanised hums and whistles, as on the much-praised single Atlas, reinforcing the odd sense of Battles being as much some kind of bio-mechanical experiment as a band. The way repeated listens allow its unobvious rhythmic and melodic logic to take root is fantastically rewarding - by the time album closer Race Out reprises and mutates the themes of the opening salvo Race In, your brain might feel like it's been completely rewired. Terrific stuff.
Battles - Atlas
#6) Band of Horses- Cease to Begin
If Band Of Horses' Everything All The Time was one of 2006's best debuts, Cease To Begin must rank alongside LCD Soundsystem's Sound Of Silver as the sophomore release of 2007. The departure of Mat Brooke hasn't dented Ben Bridwell's hook-laden songwriting abilities, which marry twin loves of indie guitars and the timeless ache of country and western. When Cease To Begin rocks out it's euphoric, but there's a mournfulness shadowing each of these insistent melodies that will have you crying even as you smile.
Band of Horses - Is There a Ghost
#7) Wilco- Sky Blue Sky
Jeff Tweedy has had a lot on his shoulders lately: addiction, rehab, and the lofty expectations that come with each Wilco album. It's no surprise then that he and the band have gone back to basics on Sky Blue Sky, ditching the sonic tinsel of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot and the minimalism of A Ghost Is Born for the haunting beauty of a slide guitar. His voice is the star, though. In ''Either Way'' and ''Impossible Germany,'' he sounds like a bicentennial-era Don Henley — raspy, rich, and right in the happy zone. This may be the best Eagles album the Eagles never made.
Wilco - What Light
#8) The Shins- Wincing the night away
A lot can happen in an evening. Wincing the Night Away, for one, rewrites Shinsian history. The crystal-cut pop of the Portland, Ore., quartet's 2001 debut, Oh, Inverted World, and its exuberant follow-up two years later, Chutes Too Narrow, helped define the new millennial revolution reversing the roles of indie and major labels. Wincing the Night Away makes both albums sound like fragmented potential. Glistening opener "Sleeping Lessons" rustles and kicks the melancholic nostalgia of a Michel Gondry dream (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Science of Sleep) before its clipped acoustic strum and bramble of subconscious lyricism breaks into a rockist giddyap. Single "Phantom Limb" itches the best melody since Inverted World's "Caring Is Creepy" and "Know Your Onion," positively Pet Sounds, Rubber Soul, Heaven up Here. Its CD-single leftover, "Nothing at All," would've segued perfectly out of the syncopated chop and shuffle of "Sealegs," whose synthetic trappings merge contemporary beats with retro evocations of the Seventies. A delicate glow of regret colors "Red Rabbits," which run run runs with the equally unforgettable "Turn on Me," straight out of Greenwich and Barry and Phil Spector's "Then He Kissed Me." Its observation that "so affections fade away or do adults just learn to play the most ridiculous repulsive games" beats home bandleader James Mercer's love and hate lashings against the backdrop of nature's largesse. Cantilevered canyons of jangled minor chords stream out amongst bunnies, geese, dodos, foals, zombies, and girls of the north. Second Brit wave beats in "Split Needles," and its gorgeous antidote "Girl Sailor" extract pure Morrissey, Mercer's bitterness a romantic salve. Closer "A Comet Appears" flare like its lesser rewrite, but by then you're spent. Dawn brings relief, sleep.
The Shins - Australia
#9) Spoon- Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga
Despite the baby's-first-words title, there's not much that's new on the sixth album from college radio's favorite Austinites. Beginning with the clipped consonants and staccato feedback bursts of ''Don't Make Me a Target,'' Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga is one of those ''taking stock'' records that collates and refines everything that came before. But what an inventory of sounds they've built: an arsenal of hand claps, Motown- lifted tambourine bursts, music-hall piano lines, and bass levels that hover in the red. If it ain't broke...
Spoon- The Underdog
#10) John Vanderslice- Emerald City
Every few years, this San Francisco-based artist and producer (Spoon, the Mountain Goats) releases a carefully crafted study in contrasts: angsty lyrics enfolded in exquisite instrumentation. And John Vanderslice's sixth full-length, Emerald City, doesn't disappoint. His sob stories, many occasioned by his real-life French lover's visa difficulties, are as moving as ever. But it's his arrangements — elegiac strumming (''Kookaburra''), amped-up outbursts (''White Dove''), even a few spectral trip-hop visions (''Tablespoon of Codeine'') — that make Emerald a gleaming gem.
John Vanderslice- White Dove
#11) Pinback- Autumn of The Seraphs
There's a hilarious Internet fan video of From Nothing To Nowhere, the first song from Pinback's stellar new disc, that re-appropriates the 'dancing in detention' scene from Breakfast Club so that Molly Ringwald and the gang (a basket case, a jock, etc) are convincingly cutting a rug to the San Diego post-rock project of Rob Crow and Zach Smith instead. It could only work on this track, a driving and angular piece of dour pop that fits like clockwork with Ringwald's 80s moves.
The rest of Autumn Of The Seraphs sounds a bit more meticulous, though it's self-assured in its footing.
The carefully crafted Good To Sea, for instance, floats duelling nasal melodies over an insistent keyboard line, recalling the intro to Maps by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs or Blue Harvest's Police-poaching guitars and intricate lyrical back and forth.
John Bender would definitely dig this.
Pinback - From Nothing To Nowhere
Breakfast Club Dancing to Pinback
#12) Queens of the Stone Age- Era Vulgaris
Josh Homme is a man of many talents, but he's not quite a man of his time. He floats outside of it, sniping and sneering at it, but he's not part of it -- he's too in love with rock & roll to belong to a decade that's seeing the music's slow decline. You could say that Queens of the Stone Age keep rock's flame burning, but unlike other new-millennium true believers -- like Jack White, for instance -- Homme lacks pop skills or even the interest in crossing over (which isn't the same thing as lacking hooks, mind you), and unlike the stoner metal underground that provided his training ground, he's not insular; he thrives on grand visions and grander sound. He's an anomaly, a keeper of the flame that will never be played on Little Steven's Rock & Roll Underground because Queens of the Stone Age are too heavy, too muso, too tasteless in all the wrong ways to be commonly accepted or embraced as among the next generation of rock heroes -- which only makes them more rock & roll, of course. And if rock & roll is indeed in decline in the 2000s, Homme and his Queens of the Stone Age prove that rock & roll can nevertheless be just as potent as it ever was with each of their remarkable albums. All are instantly identifiable as QOTSA but all are quite different from each other, from the sleazoid freak-out of R to the dark, gothic undertow of Lullabies to Paralyze, a record so willfully murky that it alienated a good portion of an audience ready to bolt in the wake of the departure of Homme's longtime partner, Nick Oliveri. Its 2007 successor, Era Vulgaris, is as different from Lullabies as that was to their dramatic widescreen breakthrough, Songs for the Deaf: it's mercilessly tight and precise, relentless in its momentum and cheerful in its maliciousness. Like other QOTSA albums, guest musicians are paraded in and out, but here it's impossible to tell if Mark Lanegan contributed anything or if that indeed is the Strokes' Julian Casablancas singing lead on the lethal "Sick, Sick, Sick," because Homme has honed Era Vulgaris so scrupulously that it's impossible to hear anybody else's imprint on the overall sound. QOTSA retain some of the spookiness of Lullabies -- there's a ghostly hue on "Into the Hollow" -- but this is as balls-out rock as Songs for the Deaf, only minus the mythic momentum Dave Grohl lent that record. But Era Vulgaris isn't designed as a monolith like Songs; its appeal is in its lean precision, how the riffs grind as if they were stripping screws of their threads, how the rhythms relentlessly pulse, and, of course, how it's all dressed up in all kinds of scalding guitars, all different sounds and tones, giving this menace and muscle. If the songs aren't pop crossovers -- not even the soulful seductive groove of "Make It Wit Chu" (revived from one of Homme's Desert Sessions) qualifies it as a potential pop hit -- they still have hard hooks that make these manifestos even if they aren't anthems: "Misfit Love" digs in like a nasty Urge Overkill, "Battery Acid" is metallic and mean, blind-sided only by the gargantuan, gnarly "3's & 7's." It's hard to call Era Vulgaris stripped-down -- there's too much color in the guitar, too much willful weirdness to be that -- but this is Queens of the Stone Age at their most elemental and efficient, never spending longer than necessary at each song, yet managing to make each of these three-minute blasts of fury sound like epics. It's exhilarating, the best rock & roll record yet released in 2007 -- and the year sure needed the dose of thunder that this album provides.
Queens Of The Stone Age - "Sick Sick Sick"
#13) Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings- 100 Days, 100 Nights
You can’t really call Sharon Jones a retro soulster. She’s been at it a good 10 years longer than Joss Stone has been alive, and though her career was interrupted for a couple of decades as black music morphed, once she was discovered for real in the late ’90s, Jones — who’d paid the bills in the meantime as a corrections officer — dusted herself off and picked up where she’d left off. Her brand of Southern-fried R&B is the genuine Etta/Tina/Aretha/Irma stuff that kept Muscle Shoals, Memphis, and NOLA happening in the ’60s and pre-disco ’70s. At nearly 50, Jones has the voice of someone who has lived a life, but not so much of one that she can’t inject a sweet romanticism into her morality tales. The eight-piece Dap-Kings are the perfect accomplices: on the gospelized “Tell Me,” a ringer for a classic Stax dance-floor burner, pumping bass, Booker T. drums, and a snappy horn section lift Jones’s forceful singing through the roof. The title track’s cascading vocal, coaxed by churchy organ, is pure chitlin’ circuit, and “Humble Me” is Otis’s “Pain in My Heart” redux. Any of these songs would have been a charttopper in the day. Should be now, too, but that’s another story.
Sharon Jones & The Dap-Kings "100 Days, 100 Nights"
#14) Tegan and Sara- The Con
In 2005, twin Canadian rockers Tegan and Sara got a chance to win over an army of couch potatoes and McDreamy-eyed housewives when no fewer than five songs from their critically adored fourth album, So Jealous, were featured on the first season of ABC's medical shagathon Grey's Anatomy. Though the duo's sound was sorely missing from the soap's second season — only one track, from a pre-Jealous record, made the cut — guitarist-vocalists Tegan and Sara are back with The Con, a collection of angsty, catchy pop that's also ideal for scoring the antics of young doctors in heat.
Come next fall, Seattle Grace's plucky residents ought to be rushing through the hospital's halls saving lives to the exuberant keys of ''Back in Your Head'' or the Green Day-esque ''Hop a Plane.'' Dashing Dr. Shepherd couldn't ask for chillier tumor-removal music than ''Knife Going In,'' with its dire guitar melody, synths pulsing like a heart monitor, and lyrics such as ''Do you think I'll make it to the morning if it's written?/Stitch it up.'' And watching weepy heroine Meredith Grey finally scrap her ill-advised romance with Shepherd would certainly be more satisfying to the tune of the sanguine and expertly harmonized breakup anthem ''Call It Off.'' ''Maybe you would have been something I'd be good at,'' Tegan and Sara reflect, ''but now we'll never know.'' Then again, perhaps that's too wise a resolution for prime time
Tegan And Sara - Back In Your Head
#15) Peter, Bjorn & John- Writer’s Block
Peter Bjorn and John's third album deserves every bit of attention and hype it's received, from large media outlets right down to the lowliest blog. It's a major work of post-everything indie rock that has enough hooks, production genius, and emotional strength to make other rock acts (indie or otherwise) sound like they are just wasting everyone's time. The group's previous two albums were excellent power pop records with an excess of brains and style, whereas Writer's Block scales back the guitars in favor of subtler arrangements that deliver just as much power sonically and ups the stakes in every other way. Every song has that kind of stripped-down, well-thought-out, whatever-works production style that brings the music fully to life. Check the steel drums on "Let's Call It Off," the shh-shh-shh percussion on "The Chills," or the majestic tubular bells of "Roll the Credits" for Spectorian shoegaze production magic. Or look at the infectious single "Young Folks" for the key to why the record sounds so right. Here they added the whistling as a marker for a future instrument but realized the offhanded whistle was just what the song needed. These are the decisions that make for greatness. Sure, the songs would have worked fine with just guitar-bass-drums backing, but the arrangements are like huge hooks that catch you and won't let go. The band also isn't content to stick to a formula. From the reverberating New Order sound of "Up Against the Wall," the small group balladry of "Poor Cow," and dynamic indie rock hum of "Objects of My Affection" to the austere synth pop of "Amsterdam," each song has a unique feel that adds up to an album that works as a whole as well as a collection of great songs.
While the sound of Writer's Block is varied, the lyrical content is pretty black-and-white, focusing on the highs and (mostly) lows of romance. On the high side there's the giddy us-against-the-world "Young Folks," which is as nice a love ballad as you'll hear anywhere. Victoria Bergsman and Peter Moren's duet is enough to warm the heart of even the grumpiest romance snob. The lilting "Paris 2004," which features the perfectly sweet line "while I'm sleeping you paint a ring on my finger with your black marker pen," is also heartbreakingly romantic. The lows are as low as the highs are high. You have lovers about to break up ("Let's Call It Off," "Up Against the Wall," and "Roll the Credits"), guys feeling wistful as hell ("The Chills"), and absolutely desolate heartache ("Objects of My Affection"). Without the love songs, this would have been a very bleak listen; as it is, the balance is just right. It's pretty rare for a band to get better after being together as long as PB&J. Usually they peter out quickly and start releasing retreads or desperate attempts to make a statement or keep a record deal. Writer's Block is the work of a band at the absolute peak of its writing and performing skill. It's hard to imagine Peter Bjorn and John getting better than this. Hopefully they will, but if not, they'll always have this album to call their masterpiece. [Writer's Block was issued in the U.S. with a bonus disc containing some nice extras like the original mix without steel drums of "Let's Call It Off," a couple of non-LP songs, remixes of "Young Folks" and "All Those Expectations" (a song from Falling Out), and a fun version of "Young Folks" with Peter playing the melody on sitar ("Sitar Folks"). It's not essential listening, but it makes for a nice addition to the album.]
Peter Bjorn & John- 'Objects Of My Affection'
