Any strummy folk act (as opposed to a tarantula-fingered, alternate-tuning prog folk act) has to deal with the fact that countless musicians have used these chord progressions and mostly likely melodic phrase fragments before; the trick is to tie your words to the notes through conviction, metrical trickery, or sheer alchemy. AAJ do pretty well with this; “Ladykiller” follows classic earworm-construction rules, and there are a few nice arrangement/production details throughout, like the “what the hell is that?” sound that decorates “Dylan Cook’s Theme Song.”

Any band of this ilk worth its salt ought to be able to offend all of its listeners at least some of the time. They get me by deploying the “c”-word for shock value in one tune, and not in the British sense. Like the “n”-word, it’s too thermonuclear for it to matter whether it’s used satirically or not, and it makes me cringe a bit, especially coz they also detonated it in the otherwise unreservedly awesome “We Didn’t Come Here to Rock,” a seemingly sincere song about how asshole rock critics should just shut the hell up from 2009’s Can’t Maintain, which I’ve also been listening to lately.

Note: Candy Cigarettes, Capguns, Issue Problems! and Such is a reissue of the 2005 LP Candy Cigarettes and Capguns combined with the 2006 EP Issue Problems!

Ed’s Redeeming Qualities themselves played two sets, the first short and a little shaky, the second longer and a little miraculous. A couple of decades and and a transgender experience notwithstanding, it felt a lot like the other Ed’s shows I’ve seen. The songs, obviously, are the same — their odd mix of warmth, humor, out and out creepiness, and elevating the banal through close observation is intact and, I’d argue, timeless. But their presence and performance were also remarkably congruent with my memories: gruff Neno, tossing out wry asides between, even during, songs; Dani (once Dan)’s slightly but endearingly wobbly tenor (um, meso soprano?) and remarkably anchoring ukulele; Carrie’s precise enunciation, odd but impeccable timing, and face-splitting grin — they were all there.

The crowd for the old-person-friendly 6pm show was dense, rapturously enthusiastic from what I could see, and provided some of the most on-key audience singing I’ve ever heard.

On January 1st, 2008 I finally finished my “not quite the best of 2006″ mixes. Yes, six. The most recent addition to make the list was The Electric Kisses, a perfect fusion of Dirt Bike Annie and The Kiss Offs, who I discovered in December 2007. The month isn’t even over, but if I made the mixes now I’d have to find a way to cram in “The Competition” from Remember That I Love You.

I can’t claim to be cool with respect to anti-folkie Kimya Dawson. I’ve had a vague sense for years that I should probably listen to her old band The Moldy Peaches, and I had a copy of Hidden Vagenda already, but it was the movie Juno that set me off on a Dawson mega-binge.

Dawson’s music is featured throughout the film, which makes perfect sense: she writes and plays exactly the music you’d expect Juno’s character to write and play. It’s usually (but not always) smart and sarcastic, and it’s longer on heart than on technical chops.

I worked my way through Dawson’s catalog in more-or-less chronological order, and I convinced myself that smidges of puerile humor and deliberatley ragged performances were an essential part of her formula — that they provided a counterpoint without which Dawson’s confessional lyrics might seem a bit too intense. Maybe they also helped to distract the picky listener from Dawson’s limited stylistic and vocal range, too.

But Remember That I Love You downplays the scatological humor considerably, and ups the competence quotient considerably. It’s not high fidelity and it doesn’t evince finicky perfectionism or anything — the harmonies on “Loose Lips” are as loose and one-take as anything else on her albums. But crucially, none of the songs sound made-up-on-the-spot, and there aren’t any how-deep-is-your-fandom endurance tests like the latter half of I’m Sorry That Sometimes I’m Mean’s “Sleep.” (I wonder if any wag reviewed that record with the phrase “…to the listener”?) A shade less spontaneity and comic relief certainly makes for Dawson’s consistent release; thanks to songs like “I Like Giants,” “12/26,” and the aforementioned “The Competition,” it’s also probably her strongest.