I find it curious that everyone has some kind of ‘Best Summertime Songs’ or ‘Top Summer Records’ list, yet few do the same for when winter settles in. I suppose the reasons for this are obvious, at least for those who live in or around New England; you don’t find too many ‘Shoveling Out the Car’ mixes or ‘Favorite Jams to Ward Away Frostbite” playlists on the iPod. But I have just as many records that I associate with winter as I do summer – or fall and spring, for that matter – and since my impressions of them are just as potent as the beach ball and barbecue variety, I feel like I should give these albums some shine.

Ellen Allien Berlinette BPitch Control 2003

I can’t recall exactly who or what turned me onto Ellen Allien, but when I picked up an import copy of Berlinette (2003) sometime in early ‘03, I completely disappeared into it for a good three weeks. Shy of a few early Autechre discs, I had never experienced a record like this: fifty minutes of pure mechanical rhythm, hyper-distorted and violently robotic, with tiny fragments of melody to grasp onto and not much else. Even Allien’s voice was processed with some kind of alien technology, and I used to imagine that behind her gorgeous features, just below the skin, was a complex system of cyborg-like electronics. I distinctly remember driving around Boston at night through sub-zero temperatures with the heat cranked and this record blaring out of the speakers at 130 decibels. Whether any future releases from Allien will surpass this one remains to be seen (Thrills [2005] did very little for me), but if I ever find myself cruising through an empty metropolis in the middle of a January night, Berlinette will be the only soundtrack to accompany the ride.

“Sehnsucht” – Ellen Allien 6:20 (Berlinette, BPitch Control 2003)

Björk Vespertine Elektra 2001

The very notion of someone experiencing Björk’s intimate, overlooked Vespertine (2001) in an environment where the temperature is above the freezing point is as foreign to me as a wall full of hieroglyphics. The aural equivalent of exploring the depths of an ice cave, Vespertine’s chilling textures and wondrous atmosphere are complemented only by the kind of micro-quantized, cut-and-click drum programming found here and Björk’s breathy, animated vocal. And the ghostly choir that blankets the mix like a thin layer of frost is my favorite touch. I don’t listen to much Björk these days – though truthfully, I’d never been more than a casual fan anyway – but this record still gets plenty of stereo time when the weather turns frigid.

“Hidden Place” – Björk 5:28 (Vespertine, Elektra 2001)

Boards of Canada In a Beautiful Place Out in the Country Warp 2000

I have a few like-minded friends and fellow music geeks who enjoy the sounds of Scottish duo Boards of Canada any time of year, but for me, their deranged analog synths and oddly pastoral textures sound best in cold weather. Which is odd, because there is an inherent warmth to their music that stands in contrast to the other selections on this list. Both Music Has the Right to Children (1998) and Geogaddi (2002) have become staples of the winter season, but the opener “Kid for Today” on their four-song teaser In a Beautiful Place Out in the Country (2000) is arguably the finest selection from their catalogue, a downtempo dirge with a gritty blanket of pads providing the foundation for a twitchy drum pattern, color-saturated Rhodes keys, and a snippet of an unintelligible voice in the left channel. It reminds me of those dreary February mornings when a suffocating fog slides in from the bay just before sunrise, imbuing the snow-covered farmlands on the outskirts of the city with an air of ominous mystery.

“Kid for Today” – Boards of Canada 6:23 (In a Beautiful Place Out in the Country, Warp 2000)

Broadcast The Noise Made by People Warp 2000

Broadcast is one of those rare collectives who are defined not so much by their music as in the unique way it translates to a recordable medium. I’ve always felt a twinge of guilt at the pleasure I get from listening to The Noise Made by People (2000), because the substance of the record is secondary to the way it’s presented here. It could have been a combination of vintage microphones, ancient tube amps, and withered analog tape or just a nifty Pro Tools plug-in; regardless, I was absolutely floored by the production on this album when I finally got around to picking it up one cold March evening after work. After weeks of focusing on tech-geek minutiae like the amount of springy reverb on the drums and the barely-detectable wow and flutter on certain tracks, I began to notice the quality of the songs themselves, which by then was icing on the cake. I’ve lost touch with the band over the past few years, but on those chilly winter evenings when I play this record, I always make a mental note to see what they’ve been up to lately.

“Echo’s Answer” – Broadcast 3:12 (The Noise Made by People, Warp 200)

Cannibal Ox The Cold Vein Def Jux 2001

For reasons unknown to me, I all but ignored Cannibal Ox’s debut when it was released in the summer of ‘01, eventually picking it up some six or seven months later, after the New Year. In hindsight, I’m glad I waited. El-P’s harsh electronic soundscapes would have completely turned me off on a muggy afternoon in August. I never went as batshit-crazy about The Cold Vein (2001) as most of the backpacking individuals I know, but I do remember listening to the record every morning during the week of a particularly brutal snowstorm that hovered over the city. The salt-stained pavement and brown clumps of dirty ice that remained in its aftermath perfectly coincided with my absorption of the futuristic and nightmarish sonic claustrophobia found on the album.

“Straight Off the D.I.C.” – Cannibal Ox 4:17 (The Cold Vein, Def Jux 2001)

Cocteau Twins Milk & Kisses Capitol 1996

Even the most devout fan (read: yours truly) would admit that the swan song from Scotland’s Cocteau Twins was far from their finest hour, but Milk & Kisses (1996) is one of the first records I reach for when the snowflakes begin their gradual covering of the earth. My infatuation with this band has always been slightly detrimental to my well-being and bordering on a frightening obsession, but even I’ll concede that the album has ‘contract-fulfillment’ written all over its surface. Yet underneath the glittering, borderline New-Age production and fluffy tufts of reverb on everything lies one of the loveliest records in the trio’s discography, a breakthrough of sunlight after the dreary and introspective (but no less exhilarating) Four-Calendar Café (1993) and a fine way to end their career. Given Milk & Kisses‘ somewhat brighter nature, it would probably make more sense to play it during, say, the warmer conditions of late spring, but I prefer to use it as my own personal thermal blanket when the temperature outside is nearing the teens.

“Serpentskirt” – Cocteau Twins 3:57 (Milk & Kisses, Capitol 1996)

Herbie Hancock Sextant Columbia 1973

There really isn’t anything ‘cold’ about Herbie Hancock’s phenomenal, “transitional” full-length Sextant (1973), but during the winter of 2000 I was playing bass in a local free-funk collective (did I just type that?) that used to cover “Hidden Shadows,” so I had pretty much committed the entire record to memory by the time spring rolled in. I could digress upon the brilliance of this album and its influence on modern electronic music to the point where Hancock’s best-selling follow-up Head Hunters (1974) would seem like a massive aberration in the trajectory of his career, but I’ll sum up with this: if you don’t already have it, just buy this record; forget my recommendation of the best time of year to enjoy it. Set aside forty minutes of your evening when your head is clear and any interruptions will be kept to a minimum, cue up Sextant with your favorite perception-altering substance of choice, and simply let its magic envelop you. You won’t regret it, I promise, and that’s as real as real talk gets from this site.

“Rain Dance” – Herbie Hancock 9:19 (Sextant, Columbia 1973)

Juno Reactor Bible of Dreams Wax Trax! 1997

As a morning riser who is unable to sleep in past 7:00 AM these days, I still find it hard to fathom that back when I was nineteen I was a veracious night owl. At the time I was working the front desk evening shift at a Sheraton in town, a 3:00 to 11:00 PM slot that slowly began to shift the internal mechanics of my mental clock. Within a few weeks of starting the gig I was hitting the pillow before sunrise and waking in the early afternoon, with just enough time for a shower and “breakfast” before my shift started. I can’t recall with any sort of clarity what my post-shift late-night activities consisted of then, but I do know that Juno Reactor’s Bible of Dreams (1997) was involved, most likely serving as the soundtrack to aimless drives around the freezing city at 3:00 AM. I can’t help but wince at most of the record now, as Bible of Dreams doesn’t exactly hide its age well – tracks like “Komit” and “Children of the Night” seem destined for a mid-’90s film involving computer hackers and technological conspiracies – but Juno Reactor was some slick, futuristic shit ten years ago, and I’ll crack open its case every few years or so and fondly remember those mysterious, solitary hours of the morning that dominated my waking existence.

“Shark” – Juno Reactor 9:37 (Bible of Dreams, Wax Trax! 1997)

Laika Sounds of the Satellites Too Pure 1997

The cavernous atmosphere and moonlit shadows of Laika’s Sounds of the Satellites (1997) practically scream ‘nocturnal listening environment.’ When combined with a cloudless, starry sky during the wee hours of a January morning, its emotional impact increases drastically. This band never really received their due during their six-year existence in the latter half of the ’90s, a beacon of ingenuity amid an electronic sea of flavorless IDM and trip-hop knock-offs. The dry but spacious mix on Sounds of the Satellites is decorated with skittering percussion tracks, Margaret Fiedler’s sensuous exhalations, and a cold, secluded Moog synthesizer who makes a welcome appearance on nearly every track. I’ve seen this disc for a few bucks in various used bins around town and really is worth a listen or three; time has certainly been easier on it than Sneaker Pimps or early Hooverphonic.

“Spooky Rhodes” – Laika 6:17 (Sounds of the Satellites, Too Pure 1997)