How does a song from a disc that hasn't yet made it to record store racks end up on Flak's best of 2001? After Reprise scuttled the release of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, the songs made their way around the Internet via various file-sharing services, a situation that Wilco didn't approve of but could do little to stop. In a sort of "if-you-can't-beat-'em" move, the band streamed mp3s of YHF via their website from the fall up until it signed with Nonesuch Records in December. The album, as released by the band, was out there to be had and is thus game for modern mixology.

"Ashes of American Flags" is one of a klatch of YHF songs that feel eerily prescient and doubly relevant in the wake of the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks. Jeff Tweedy's guitar strums and perfectly imperfect voice are the backbone of a song portraying a centerless America at the verge of apocalypse straight out of the work of Don DeLillo or Steve Erickson. The singer surveys the emotional detritus as feedback howls, electronic effects and a baying, distorted guitar lead float in and out. The song climaxes, "I would like to salute/ the ashes of American flags/ and all the fallen leaves/ filling up shopping bags." Tweedy's antenna was picking up some sort of signal from the ether, because this song, completed by mid-summer, acutely communicates the spirit of the day as the calendar turns over. Fans in the know have used the words, "menacing" and "ominous" to describe YHF. "Ashes" lives up to those adjectives.

The wait till YHF's official release on disc, scheduled for April 2002, isn't that long, but it's a shame that music this artful and affecting requires false starts and struggles to make its way into the world.
(— Wayne Lewis)

It came as no surprise that Invincible was a profoundly confused album. Whereas Michael Jackson's best work always tempered his larger-than-life ambitions with an equally strong belief in himself, on Invincible, he relied too heavily on collaborators. The result was a bloated mess.

Fortunately, though, the album does contain one bona fide classic, "Whatever Happens." The song, easily the least self-indulgent on the record, concerns two lovers, who find themselves in the most dire of straits; their world seems to be on the brink, threatening to engulf them. And Michael sings as though his own life depends on it, pleading over and over, "Whatever happens, don't let go of my hand."

A minor-key string section and a haunting whistle melody complete the ominous atmosphere, and Carlos Santana adds some stirring guitar parts. But the clear focus here is Michael. His singing has never been more effective or — believe it or not — restrained. The sharpness of his voice has always enabled Michael to communicate a sense of danger well, and an element of danger runs through such beloved songs as "Billie Jean" and "Smooth Criminal." Although by this point in Jackson's career, it has become nearly impossible to separate the artist from his art, for those fans willing to try, "Whatever Happens" stands proudly next to his finest work. (— David Zahl)

13. "Little Room" | The White Stripes
White Blood Cells | (Sympathy for the Record Industry) | :50