When I think back on this year — this strange, uneasy year — several things spring to mind. There was the fear of the unseen and the stomach-churning disbelief that came from watching numbers rocket higher and higher as the months wore on. (“One million new cases in FOUR DAYS?! How is that even possible?!”) There was the constant low grade anxiety packed into previously thoughtless activities and the neverending risk-gain analysis required as a result. (“Should I go buy groceries or have them delivered to the house? Can I workout in my basement rather than go to the gym? Do I REALLY need to hangout with Socks and Fudge or should we just drink beer over Zoom?”)
There was the head-wrecking plasticity of time — the work week blurred into the weekend, days merged into months without distinction, and were it not for the rising and setting of the sun I’m not confident I could distinguish between day and night with any accuracy. (Was this year really only 12-months long? I feel like I missed a global edict and we extended the calendar for some antiquated reason based on farming schedules like daylight savings. And are we sure there are only seven days in a week right now? I’d attempt to prove it but I’ve lost the ability to count higher than the number of hands currently on my keyboard…) And yet it also feels like this year has flown by — like I just started the new job, like the world is still trying to figure out what to do with this virus and how to respond — somehow managing to be both the most interminable and ephemeral year on record.
And there was the staggering variety and volume of loss — of jobs, of lives, of simple life experiences. There’s now over 5M people unemployed, with over 700,000 applying each week. There’s over 300,000 dead from the virus, with nearly 20,000 dying each week. (That’s the equivalent of nine 747s crashing every single day.) There’s missed holidays with the family, lost nights out with friends, and the inability to even go for a run without a mask on. There’s the closure of beloved bars and restaurants and the shuttering of shops near and far. (RIP Granville’s, Chupa, Rock & Roll Hotel, U-Hall, and so many more.) And there’s the slew of missed shows to think back on — front row seats for an acoustic Nathaniel, floor tickets for a Rage reunion with RTJ as openers, getting to see Carseat play their fantastic new album or watch Idles start a fire with theirs.
All of this has added up to a tremendously trying year and as a result the overwhelming instinct this year has been to find solace and comfort, refuge and respite. With rare exception, almost everything that captivated my ears this year seemed oriented towards the creation and protection of those things. That’s not due to a dearth of things to be angry about — we just recapped a dozen things that should spark a response and spike your blood pressure (oh yeah — there was an election too!) — but with one notable exception the overwhelming majority of the music that kept calling to me centered on maintaining a much mellower mood.
That applied to the personal and professional spheres, as well, not just the music that filled them. So looking back on this “year” what I’ll remember most (assuming the pandemic doesn’t fully turn my brain into pudding) are things like listening to Prine on the patio (or 60s era Willie) while I hammer away at the laptop with a snoring pooch in my lap. Going on long adventure hikes with Mad Dog and the Rizz to enjoy some fresh air and break the solidifying shutdown routines. Starting each day with the Tweedys to laze in their living room and bask in their banter (and songs). Ending the day once a week with Morbzahatchee (and early on with Death Cab Ben) for more singing and smiles. And the numerous times I turned to these albums below to soundtrack those moments (and countless others in between).
Say what you will about this year — exhausting reminder of the old adage “it can always get worse,” unequivocal champion of the shittiness Olympics (take THAT, 2016!) — there was a lot of good music that came out, serving as much-needed life preservers for us to cling to in these tumultuous seas. Compared to last year’s list there are 8 more entries overall (18 to 26, respectively) and surprisingly the majority of them are first time appearances. Where these lists traditionally tend to balance out between old favorites and new, this one skews far more heavily towards the latter with a whopping 17 noobs to 9 measly dinosaurs, respectively. (Not counting folks going solo from bands who’ve appeared here before.)
In a year where almost everything was upended and discovery was a constant companion — of personal resolve and resistance (mentally, physically, and financially), of new habits and routines (puzzling, gaming, and working from home), of the depths of our collective compassion or indifference (towards those hit hardest by the pandemic, towards systemic racism and injustice, or towards the ever-inclusive cagefight that is modern politics), and (possibly most importantly) of a vaccine, one that will hopefully combat COVID and get us back to a new version of normal soon — this seems fitting and an alternate anthem for the year. In the wake of all that it seems only natural these things would spill over to the music we spent our days with, particularly when those other themes — solace and comfort, refuge and respite — probably had never been as primarily important to us before.
So take a look and listen to the bounty of great tunes below — may they give you as much back as they did me this year. Here’s to hoping 2021 gets us closer together and closer to normal than 2020 did. Stay safe, sane, and separated in the interim, my friends… — BS
15. Tre Burt — Caught it From the Rye / Gerry Cinnamon — The Bonny: this slot’s for a couple of harmonica-wielding first timers, one a soothing folkster from Sacramento, the other a full throated belter from the highlands. Starting with the former, I discovered Burt this summer and have enjoyed his brisk 30 minute debut a lot in the intervening months. His voice bears the wear and tear of your old man’s winter coat, scuffed up but still warm and comfortable, and his melodies stick with you once the songs have faded. Highlights include the title track (“Caught it From the Rye”), “What Good,” and two reprises from his debut EP, “Franklin’s Tunnel” and the gutpunching “Only Sorrow Remains.”
As for Mr Cinnamon, I found the native Glaswegian late this spring and have spent many months returning to his sophomore outing, which walks the line between traditional folk songs and raucous barroom anthems, both sold convincingly with his untamed energy and accent. In a year where so much left you feeling downcast or disoriented, Cinnamon’s songs actually manage to rouse you into a bit of a fervor. It’s one of the many shames this year to have missed seeing him perform these at a festival, singing them out loud along with hundreds in the open air and sunshine. Doing so solo at the house works just as well — try gems like the title track (which sounds like something my ancestors in the old world might have sung), “Dark Days,” “Sun Queen,” and the killer “Canter.”
14. Catholic Action — Celebrated by Strangers / Silverbacks — Fad / Idles — Ultra Mono: we’ll keep the trend of the previous slot going, both in terms of first-time entrants for the year-end list and hailing from the UK. (We’ve got three quarters covered — you gotta want it, Wales…) We’ll start where we ended with another batch of Scotsmen (Glaswegians to boot) and the sophomore album from Catholic Action. As I wrote this summer, these guys are the spiritual children of Franz Ferdinand, all cheeky attitude and infectious groove, and that spell hasn’t diminished in the intervening six months. Similar to their debut, it’s just a fun bunch of songs — from opener “Grange Hell (South London in D)” to later tracks like “Yr Old Dad,” “People Don’t Protest Enough,” and the deliriously irresistible “One of Us,” these guys are guaranteed to make you move. (Which as my watch continually reminds me is apparently important.)
Speaking of moving, we’ll shift to the emerald isle for another buoyant affair, this time the full-length debut from Irish five piece Silverbacks. I’ve written about these guys several times before, thanks to a handful of really strong singles released up til now. (Only a couple of which show up here.) Bolstering those familiar faces come some interesting divergences — a trio of instrumentals (one of which actually isn’t throwaway, the lovely “Madra Uisce”) and a pair of more new wave tracks sung by Emma Hanlon (vs traditional vocalists Killian and Daniel O’Kelly). They show the band’s range nicely, but their undeniable strength is still the songs bearing their traditional triple guitar attack and their jittery, catchy riffs — tracks like the aforementioned singles “Dunkirk” and “Pink Tide,” along with “Drink it Down,” “Muted Gold,” and the freight train “Just in the Band.”
Hitting with the proverbial power of said locomotive comes the final member of this slot, British punk band Idles. Here for the first time with their third album, Ultra Mono, this was one of the rare releases to address the endless outrages swirling around us this year, from racial injustice to gentrification, gropey guys, and more. You can argue with the lyrical effectiveness of the attacks, which alternate between nonsensical word collages and simple sloganeering (and whether this is deliberately done tongue in cheek as suggested in songs like “Mr Motivator” and “The Lover” or inadvertently remains at best unclear if not wholly beside the point). What you cannot deny, though, is the power and catchiness of the songs, which have always been the band’s strong suit. Part Jesus Lizard war machine, part vintage British punks, it’s on balance a solid set of songs — with tracks like “Reigns,” “Danke,” the blistering duo “War” and “Kill Them With Kindness,” and lead single “Grounds,” which sported my hands-down favorite line of the year (“I say what I mean, do what I love, and fucking SEND it…”) it felt good to get a little fiery.
13. Mt Joy — Rearrange Us / Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever — Sideways to New Italy / Woods — Strange to Explain: this slot’s for bands who routinely conjure the shine of our sunny friend in the sky (and the namesake of everyone’s favorite blogger), brightening otherwise dreary days with their music. First up is the sophomore album from Philly band Mt. Joy (named after a proverbial place I think ALL of us hoped we could find this year), returning for the first time since their self-titled 2018 debut. That album was pure, unadulterated sunshine — positive sentiments wrapped in a hippie hemp blanket, their melodies and cheer strong enough to win over even the most calcified, jaded hearts. (Not speaking about anyone in particular here…) This one allows a few storm clouds to darken the horizon (lyrics occasionally touch on things like depression and adultery this time around) without sacrificing the underlying optimism. Songs like “My Vibe,” “Death,” “Strangers,” and the beautiful “Witness” all glow, warming the windshield as you glide on down the highway.
Another band built for the open road is Australia’s RBCF who are also back with their sophomore album, their first since their 2018 debut, Hope Downs. Thankfully the Blackouts haven’t changed the formula that landed them at #13 on that year’s list — sturdy triple guitar attack, swirling riffs and jangly chords, all built to make you move. (When it works this well, why change it?) Songs like the opening “The Second of the First,” “Falling Thunder,” “Cameo,” and lead single “Cars in Space” are like shots of adrenaline straight to your beleaguered heart, while tracks like “Not Tonight” and “The Cool Change” balance things out with some of the referenced chill. (The former of the two sporting my new favorite term for ice cube.) Another solid outing from this scrappy batch of newcomers.
Lastly comes the similarly evocative Woods (back for the first time since the overly cheeseball 2017 Love is Love), though the locale they call to mind is often tougher to pin down. At times pastoral homestead, others a spaced out dreamscape, this one bridges the gap between the ethereal aspects of the latter and the lush warmth of the former. Calling to mind the slinky, almost African rhythms of their 2016 album City Sun Eater in the River of Light (which landed at #5 on 2016’s list) it’s a solid return to form by these favorites. Songs like the title track, “Next to You and the Sea,” “Where do You go When You Dream,” the propulsive jam “Fell so Hard,” and the lovely lullaby “Just to Fall Asleep” are all highlights.
12. X — Alphabetland / Magnetic Fields — Quickies: this slot’s for those showcasing the benefits of brevity, albeit using two VERY different palettes. The former takes the sounds of revved up rockabilly and singsong harmonies that made the LA punks famous and brandishes them again to terrific effect. Back for the first time in 17 years and the first in 35 with the original lineup, the band fires off 10 rapid winners in a brisk 27 minute sprint to the finish. (The spoken word piece at the end is forgettable.) The interplay between frontman John Doe and frontwoman Exene Cervenka’s voices has always been a signature, and their breathless delivery of numerous lines get stuck in your head again here. Guitarist Billy Zoom’s riffs remain pristine, rattled off with the effortless flair of someone who’s been at it for close to 40 years, and DJ Bonebrake’s drums haven’t lost any of their pop. Songs like “Water & Wine,” “Strange Life,” “Goodbye Year, Goodbye,” or the pair of old tunes finally properly recorded (“Delta 88 Nightmare” and “Cyrano De Berger’s Back”) all smoke. This one’s every bit as good as the band’s early classics.
The Mags return for the first time in three years with yet another concept album, this one requiring all songs be under three minutes long. (Previous themes required all songs have fuzzed up guitars or start with the letter I, to name just two recent ones.) Beyond that frontman Stephin Merritt was free to roam and he covers a ton of ground over the course of the album’s 28 songs. Visiting castles (twice), spinning yarns about Shakers, bikers, Jesus, and Beelzebub, celebrating historic tits (not what you think) and outstanding coffee, or simpler things like his favorite watering hole or his musical neighbors. Merritt’s limitless imagination and wicked sense of humor are both on display, presenting some of the best material since the band’s unparalleled classic, 69 Love Songs. The highlights are almost too numerous to recount — “The Day the Politicians Died,” “When She Plays the Toy Piano,” “(I Want to Join a) Biker Gang,” “Let’s Get Drunk Again (And Get Divorced), “I Wish I Were a Prostitute Again,” “The Best Cup of Coffee in Tennessee,” “My Stupid Boyfriend” (which is laugh out loud funny). They all shine, full of Merritt’s characteristic heart, humor, or wonderful melodies — a great return to form.
11. Doves — The Universal Want / Bright Eyes — Down in the Weeds, Where the World Once Was: this slot’s for a pair of improbable reunions from bands I’ve really enjoyed over the years, but who’d been in hibernation for a good chunk of time, seemingly gone for good. Thankfully they’ve returned, both with lavish, kitchen-sink style albums that add layers to their signature sounds. Doves add the least flourishes between the two, but have been away the longest so get to go first.
Back for the first time in 11 years, this trio of Britons ALWAYS sound stately on their albums, so saying they’ve added the least flourishes is a bit like saying the latest Aston Martin is underwhelming because it doesn’t fly or have a pool in the back. These guys just OOZE opulence, their albums always feeling like the back of that aforementioned car (“Hey, there’s a pool!”) and despite being away for over a decade return without missing a beat.
The band’s ability to immediately create a mood — dark, slightly disorienting, but DAMN if it doesn’t sound good — is undiminished, thanks in large part to frontman Jimi Goodwin’s signature swooning delivery. (Honestly, he could be singing about something as basic as his breakfast and it would sound luxurious. “I ate a baNAAAAAAAAAAHnaaaaaaaaah and some POOOOOOOOOOORRiddddddddddge!”) Songs like “Broken Eyes,” “For Tomorrow,” “Prisoners,” “Cycle of Hurt,” and lead single “Carousels” are just huge, soaring songs — as majestic and glittering as their older material. I’ve never understood why these guys were always bigger in the UK than here — just rich, rewarding stuff.
Gone for a mere 9 years, Bright Eyes are another band that slipped away into the night and were seemingly forgotten. Frontman Conor Oberst remained busy, releasing several solo albums and pairing with other artists like Phoebe Bridgers for side project Better Oblivion Community Center, but the rest of the band (Mike Mogis and Nate Wolcott) were much more quiet. So it was a surprise when there was news they’d signed to a new label (“why does a dormant band need a label?”), which was quickly followed by talk of reunion shows and ultimately an album. And it’s a good one — an ambitious, reach for the stars type outing where everything is taken up a level.
Oberst recruited some ringers to record with — Chili Peppers bassist Flea and Queens thunder god Jon Theodore on drums, pairings almost as unexpected as the reunion itself, but like every other embellishment here they’re not overpowering or out of place. And there were a lot of the latter — bagpipes, orchestras, a full choir — but somehow they only add to the richness of the songs. Tracks like “Dance and Sing,” “Calais to Dover,” “Comet Song,” and the trio of singles — “Mariana Trench,” “Persona Non Grata,” and “Forced Convalescence” all shine as a result. Similar to their slotmates, we might not have needed these albums, but damn if I’m not glad they arrived anyway.
10. Built to Spill — Built to Spill Plays the Songs of Daniel Johnston / My Morning Jacket — The Waterfall II: this slot’s for some long running bands opting to run in place for a minute rather than charge forward with some new material, utilizing two of the four universal indicators for “we’re taking a bit of a break right now.” (Not represented — greatest hits or live albums, or the fabled ultimate phone-in signal, the live album of OTHER people’s greatest hits.) Thankfully they’re both entirely pleasant outings, so no real complaints here.
First up are my beloved band of Idahoans who opted for a cover album this time around. For a band known for sticking inspired selections in their sets or even doing entire cover shows from time to time this isn’t a huge stretch, but instead of compiling studio versions of their best picks (I’ve seen em do everything from the Smiths and REM to CCR, the Kinks, and Elton John over the years) they opted to do an entire album from just one artist. And not any artist, but cult indie fave Daniel Johnston — known in part for his weird, at times childlike qualities (and lyrics).
Aside from sharing a similarly shaky, nasal voice, it’s not an obvious fit — sure, frontman Doug Martsch often sings of dreams and the occasional brontosaurus, but he’s primarily known for his incredible guitar heroics, with parts flying wildly through the stratosphere before snapping back into place with mind-wrecking force. So stripping back to a three piece, silencing the solos and largely sticking to a strum while singing about dogs and fish seems a strange choice. Somehow it works, though, and the sweetness sometimes buried in Johnston’s lyrics are allowed to shine. Songs like “Tell me Now,” “Honey I Sure Miss You,” and “Heart, Mind, and Soul” are pleasant throwbacks to the sock hop era, while the tandem of “Life in Vain” and “Mountain Top” surpass the originals.
For their part of the equation, MMJ decided to mine their archives and put out an album of previously recorded material rather than hit us with some new songs. It’s not a traditional outtakes set, filled with one off demos or rarities scattered from throughout their career, but rather an entire album they decided not to put out until now. Originally recorded as part of the 2015 Waterfall sessions, the band initially debated releasing the material all at once, but for whatever reason balked. Thankfully they finally decided to share the other half of those sessions and the fully restored duo work nicely when played back to back.
This one’s got some quintessential blissed out moments (frontman Jim James can still surreptitiously kneecap you with the beauty of his voice or the sweetness of his sentiment) — tracks like the opening “Spinning my Wheels,” “Feel You,” and “Welcome Home” are all soft-spoken gems, while “Climbing the Ladder,” “Wasted,” and the funky “Magic Bullet” show the band flexing their jammy muscles. Had really looked forward to seeing them play this stuff live — there’s something perfectly symbiotic between these guys and summer festivals. Thanks yet again, 2020…
9. Jeff Tweedy — Love is the King / Matt Berninger — Serpentine Prison: this slot’s for a couple old favorites stepping out on their own, temporarily leaving the comforts of their beloved bands (Wilco and the National, respectively) to uphold one of the pandemic’s primary edicts, that of isolation. For Tweedy this is nothing new — he’s been sporadically taking breaks from the band to do solo tours for years, and truthfully I enjoy those shows even more than the full family affairs. (No offense to the guys — there’s just something about the intimacy of Jeff and an acoustic guitar that is incomparable. Watch Sunken Treasure if you need convincing…)
He’s also released two official solo albums the past two years alone (2018’s Warm and 2019’s Warmer, which landed at #15 and #9 on my year-end lists, respectively), so it’s only natural he’d use all the free time he received from not touring this year to record some more material. (Oh he also wrote another book AND did a nightly hourly livestream at the start. I think he probably also built a couple cabins and dredged some nearby waterways in between just to kill time.) Though he changed up the title this time (it could easily have been Warmest), the material is in line with those previous two outings, as worn-in and comfortable as the robes and pajamas he so frequently appears in on those livestreams. Songs like “Opaline” and “A Robin or a Wren” are country-fried goodness, while tracks like “Bad Day Lately,” “Save it For Me,” and the beautiful ode to his wife “Even I Can See” (yet again making all the rest of us look bad in comparison) are hushed gems.
For Berninger this is the first time he’s given it a go on his own — there have been one-off tracks here and there and the El Vy side project, but this is the first time he’s hanging a shingle entirely of his own. Initially intended to be a covers album, he went into the studio with producer Booker T (sadly sans MGs) and instead ended up recording an entire album of originals. (Allegedly the covers that started the fruitful sessions still exist and will be released later.) The interplay between the two is noticeable on a number of tracks, albeit subtle — there’s no Booker T of old whipping folks into a funky frenzy (although picturing Berninger trying to do so is comical to envision, like your kind uncle rattling off some Death Certificate-era Cube in an attempt to look hard), just understated keys gliding lightly through the background to buttress the songs.
Lyrically Berninger stays with what he does best — songs about relationships and instrospective flagellation — all sung with his cabernet-soaked baritone. Tracks like the opening “My Eyes are T-Shirts” (great line), “Loved so Little,” “Take me Out of Town,” and “Collar of Your Shirt” are all subdued beauties, well-matched by the trio of solid singles, “Distant Axis,” “One More Second,” and the title track. A really strong outing top to bottom — hopefully he brings some of this focus back to the band and gets them back to basics after their disappointing last album.
8. Waxahatchee — Saint Cloud / Kevin Morby — Sundowner: this slot’s for two independent faves who somehow prove even more enjoyable together. Ladies coming first (both in courtesy and release order), we’ll start with the latest from Ms Katie who’s back for the first time since 2017’s Out in the Storm. Having previously dealt with the pain and insecurities surrounding love and loss, giving us three excellent albums bursting with vulnerability and quiet honesty, that album was all fiery guitars and full throated resilience, letting everyone in earshot know she had finally found her footing and was no longer going to be dominated by those ghosts — which while great from a personal perspective was not what drew me to her music. Thankfully she seems to have come out of that phase of overt trumpeting and settled into one of more comfortable confidence, giving us an album that exudes warmth and beauty. Songs like the title track, “Fire,” “The Eye,” and “War” all shine, while the twin singles of “Lilacs” and “Can’t Do Much” rank among the finest things she’s written.
For Morby’s part he continues his prolific pace of release, having just put out the full length Oh My God last year. (It landed at #7 on that year’s list.) Similar to Ms Katie’s previous, that album marked the first time I didn’t unabashedly love the material — there were some divergences in tone and technique that gave me pause, but while hers proved too powerful and uniform to win me over, Morby surrounded his with enough characteristic winners to have that album make the cut. Thankfully there’s no concessions or worries necessary this time around — it’s just an album of some beautiful songs. Recorded before his previous one, Morby decided to sit on the songs until the time was right — which turned out to be the world slowing down and his moving back to Kansas with Ms Katie in tow. Similar to her latest, that comfort and warmth permeates almost everything it touches here — songs like the title track, “Valley,” “Campfire,” and “Provisions” positively radiate with them, while “Don’t Underestimate Midwest American Sun” is an absolute gem and one of the best things he has written.
I spent a ton of time with these two over the course of the year and really enjoyed ending the night with them once a week at the beginning of the lockdown listening to their livestream (and then subsequently watching them individually play each of their albums in full). Their banter was pleasant, their songs always excellent, and getting to spend an hour or two basking in their clear love for each other was a necessary remedy to the outside world steadily tearing itself apart. It’s only fitting that sentiment spilled into their songs, yielding some of their strongest, sweetest material to date. And while it’s easy to love the music, what makes these two special is they just seem like good people — extremely talented, yes, yet humble, humorous, and personable — the kind of folks you’d like to spend hours virtually hanging with in their livestreamed living room. I STILL have an alert that pops on my phone every Thursday to check and see if they’re resuming their so-called rodeo. Sadly they’ve yet to return, but in the meantime we’ve thankfully got these albums to keep us warm.
7. Guided by Voices — Surrender Your Poppy Field / Mirrored Aztec / Styles We Paid For: in a year where there was so much upheaval, so many confusing experiences and terrible firsts, it was nice to have at least one reliable thing to count on, something as steadfast and unrelenting as the virus’ case count and death toll — only positive! That comes to us from our old friend Dr Bob, who may not be able do anything to cure us of the disease, but CAN do a lot to improve our pandemic playtime. That’s because — yet again — the beloved band of Ohioans are back with another album — THREE of them. Which would sound impressive or improbable if they didn’t do the exact same thing LAST year! THAT trio of albums landed at #5 on the year-end list and while they’re down a couple spots this year that doesn’t mean the quality has diminished at all — it’s mostly due to the exceptionally strong stuff sitting at the top, which invariably is going to crowd solid outings like this down a touch.
By their own insane measure, this year’s hat trick is slightly down in overall numbers — while each year sports three albums, there are a fraction as many songs this year — 48 to 78 (which admittedly is a stupid amount of material in comparison to every OTHER band, but this is what happens with the bars these guys set for themselves). The final piece of the triptych just arrived a few days ago, too, so it’s too soon to really tell how it compares to last year’s triple. (Early listens are positive, though, albeit similar to the final album last year, it’s probably the weakest of the three.)
That means the majority of the year was spent with the first two albums, and those definitely held up to repeated listens. There’s just a TON of good songs — it’s honestly mind-boggling how Dr Bob and the boys keep coming up with this much stuff month to month, let alone year to year. (And I will NEVER understand how the fu#$ they remember all the words/chords to play this stuff live for 2-3 hours at a time. I can’t remember why I walk into rooms these days…) Tracks like “Year of the Hard Hitter,” “Arthur Has Business Elsewhere,” “Physician,” “Man Called Blunder,” “Bunco Men,” “To Keep an Area,” “Please Don’t be Honest,” “Haircut Sphinx,” “Thank You Jane,” and the unofficial pandemic anthem, “I Think I Had it. I Think I Have it Again” are all classic GBV. Even songs that initially underwhelm get under your skin as snippets of Dr Bob’s lyrics get stuck in your head — things like “Cul-de-Sac Kids,” “Stone Cold Moron,” or “Whoa Nelly” will now just pop into my head and I’ll find myself singing them to whoever might be around (usually just the Rizz). “[S/he’s a] STOOOOOOOOOOOONE COOOOOOOoooooold MOOOOOOoooorooooooon! Get out of my WAAAAAAAAAAAY!” Just a ton of enjoyment as always here…
6. Cut Worms — Nobody Lives Here Anymore / Andy Shauf — Neon Skyline: this slot’s for a couple first-timers that I discovered thanks to Spotify’s spot-on suggestion algorithm, which was on a tear earlier this year. Thanks to the lockdown keeping us stuck in place, the need to get away was a growing concern as time (but not much else) oozed onward. Some turned to travel shows on Netflix, some wandered down memory lane looking at old photos, while I found myself time traveling to earlier eras musically to stave off the stasis. One of the more frequent vectors for that was Cut Worms, a discovery from the first month of the pandemic. And while just discovering their debut album would have been a sufficient enough win in any year, let alone this one, learning that they had a new one coming out — and a double album to boot! — was almost as good as it could get. (Like hearing there were three effective vaccines good almost…)
Frontman Max Clarke doesn’t change the recipe here — it’s still spot-on early Everlys sound, all shining melodies and warm guitar, leaving you in a luxuriant swoon in the wake of his ethereal voice. It’s just PRETTY. Almost debilitatingly so, like seeing someone so hot they short-circuit your brain and make you forget how to speak. There are over a dozen they-don’t-make-em-like-that-no-more style songs here, meticulously crafted and delicate as a Faberge egg. Some of the melodies are almost painful they’re so lovely — songs like “Last Words to a Refugee,” “All the Roads,” “Walk With Me,” and lead single “Veteran’s Day” are all backbreakers in that sense, the melodies matched by the sharpness of Clarke’s lines, which pierce the skin despite the delicacy of his delivery. (“Need another lifetiiiiiiiiiiiiime, baaaaby…to get to all the things that need sayin’…”) This is as vintage as it gets and every bit the treasure as that dusty bottle of decades-old wine you unearthed in the cellar — drink it in and enjoy the glow…
For his part Shauf takes you a decade or so later to a Paul Simon of the 70s sound on his fifth album, a brisk 35-minute gem that nails Simon’s narrative songwriting and sing-speak style of delivery. Covering the exploits of a single night out, this is the second album in a row that Shauf dedicates substantively to a specific theme (his last outing revolved around a night at a party, 2016’s aptly named The Party.) And while the thought of 11 songs about a night at the bar (the titular Neon Skyline) might seem suffocating or bland, Shauf finds plenty to keep you interested.
As he hails from Saskatchewan there’s no debaucherous tales to titillate or offend, just unrequited love, banter among old friends, and jokes about bad accents and missing jackets. It’s an eminently Canadian affair — polite, pleasant, and charming in its earnestness. Shauf’s voice works as effectively as Simon’s at drawing you in and his signature clarinet warms up a number of the songs here, as improbable as that might sound. (Honestly, it’s almost a revelation the first time you hear it — alien, haunting, yet somehow still warm and inviting.) It’s not a novelty, though — similar to someone like Andrew Bird with the violin it’s used judiciously yet effectively, becoming an integral part of the overall sound. The trio of “Where Are You Judy,” “Clove Cigarette,” and “Thirteen Hours” are excellent examples, as are the buoyant “Try Again” and “Fire Truck” towards the end. Leaves you wanting more every time you listen…
5. Nathaniel Rateliff — And It’s Still Alright: released before the world shutdown, this was the first album I knew would be showing up at year’s end and was the front runner for a long time. Coming out waaaaay back in February, this marks a return to pre-Night Sweats Nathaniel — softer and more introspective, working on his wounds with his acoustic guitar in hand — but with a few more flourishes this time around. The substance is still the same — the tried-and-true stalwarts of love and loss — but what’s new is what surrounds them: sweeping orchestral sections, forlorn horns, and the occasional choir. It all adds up to a grander affair than before, while still representing the most naked, heartfelt album of the year.
Dealing with the loss of both his marriage and his best friend, there’s a number of songs that sound upbeat despite the emotional damage — the sauntering “What a Drag,” the soaring title track and “Mavis,” the resilient “Expecting to Lose” with its ebullient doodood-d-DOOOOOOd-d-dooos in the chorus. They all serve as effective counterpoints to the more devastating quiet songs, the ones whose music matches the mood as Rateliff addresses the agonies head-on. Tracks like “Tonight #2,” “You Need Me,” “Kissing Our Friends,” and the resolute “Time Stands” each bear a lovely melody alongside some pointed, painful lyrics.
Nothing tops the album closer, though, in power, prettiness, or pain. Written as an ode to his aforementioned friend, the departed singer/producer Richard Swift, it’s an absolute sledgehammer of a song, one that reduced Rateliff to tears in one incredible performance I saw this year. (Don McLean crying at the end of “Vincent” marks the only other time I’ve seen a singer brought to tears by one of their own songs.) It’s as clear an indicator as you can get that his healing is still a work in progress and you empathize and applaud him for his openness and honesty, as well as his ability to make something so lovely as tribute in spite of it.
4. Muzz — Muzz: this was one of the year’s most unexpected surprises, a return of components from some of my favorite bands, specifically Interpol’s frontman Paul Banks and the Walkmen’s former drummer Matt Barrick, here with indie hopscotcher Josh Kaufman. Together the trio delivered one of the year’s best debuts, an endlessly engaging album that exemplifies easygoing. If the previous album was emblematic of the year’s emotional anguish, this one was all about staying calm, cool, and collected — the absolute epitome of “chill.”
Scarcely raising his voice above a 3, Banks spends the majority of the album murmuring in your ear, lulling you into a foggy state of bliss somewhere between waking and dream. Tracks like “Chubby Checker,” “Summer Love,” and “Patchouli” or the excellent bookends “Bad Feeling” and “Trinidad” all radiate, their lovely melodies inducing a red wine warmth and glow. These serve to emphasize the rare eruptions like lightning tearing through an otherwise darkened landscape — the galloping “Knuckleduster,” the majestic “Red Western Sky,” or the simmering “How Many Days,” which boils over at the end in a fiery guitar freakout. Each reminds you of the guys’ previous bands without disrupting the album’s overall vibe, rather filling out its richness and reward.
The band also recently released a covers EP, which upholds the tenor of their full length outing, sporting a solid version of Mazzy Star’s classic “Fade Into You” and an outstanding one of Arthur Russell’s “Nobody Wants a Lonely Heart” that surpasses the original. They’ve definitely landed on a winning combination here — let’s hope these guys stick together and keep recording. This is excellent stuff…
3. Car Seat Headrest — Making a Door Less Open: if the last two entries represented opposing sides of the emotional spectrum, one tumultuous, the other tranquil, this one slides squarely in the middle and maps its effervescent peaks. Arriving just as the lockdown was settling its jaws into the globe, frontman Will Toledo and company are back with their first batch of new songs since 2016’s excellent Teens of Denial and what should have been the album of the summer. In any normal year going to hear this live would have been one of the hotter tickets in town, captivating concert-goers with its infectious melodies and soaring spirit, a self-assured danceparty waiting to happen. Instead, like everything else we were left to enjoy it from the confines of our homes, attempting to approximate that communal release from our couch.
For the second album in a row, Toledo leans more towards the electronic elements that filled his 2018 remake of his earlier Twin Fantasy album vs the lo-fi indie guitar of Denial. And while that departure made Fantasy harder to swallow on initial listens, it’s a lot easier to accept this time around now that we know what to expect. Toledo fills a number of songs here with droning keys and samples — from opening “Weightlifters” to “Hymn (Remix),” “Deadlines (Thoughtful),” and the closing “Famous,” the songs seethe with jittery energy like your appendages after four or five espressos.
Others are more straight-forward — the vibrant singles “Can’t Cool Me Down” and “Martin,” the affirmational “There Must be More than Blood” and the anthemic “Life Worth Missing.” All shine, but no Car Seat album would be complete without at least one massive earworm, a song whose buildup and climax are so satisfying they border on exhilarating. Denial had “Drunk Drivers/Killer Whales,” Fantasy had “Bodys,” and this one has “Deadlines (Hostile),” a song I must’ve listened to about a hundred times this year and yet never failed to have me shouting along at the end. Another solid outing from Will the Wunderkind…
2. Run the Jewels — RTJ4: aside from the unending pandemic and the lack of live music, the real reason the previous album didn’t rule the summer was because just after its release, video of George Floyd’s murder in Minneapolis came out and the country exploded in protest — at a man’s excruciating extinguishing under authority’s knee (8 minutes and 46 seconds of absolute agony to watch), at years of systemic racism and injustice that enable things like that to happen, and at the overall deluge of difficulties that hit people this year, sparking a sense of righteous indignation and outrage that spilled into the streets around the world. Arriving a mere one week later, THIS album — with its focused fury and awakened anger gave folks the music they were looking for and the soundtrack to the summer.
As I mentioned way back at the top, this album was the noteworthy exception to the rule this year — while there was a seemingly inexhaustable list of things to be angry about, almost no one except these guys manifested it musically and tackled those topics head-on. Mike and El proved they were up to the task for everyone, though, dropping all the dick jokes and jocular asides scattered across their previous outings for an unflinching, unapologetic assault on everything from racism and slavery to resistance and religion here. It’s an absolute steamroller of an album, again arriving at the perfect moment and representing the best the pair have offered to date. (Their 2017 album also had impeccable timing, released in the aftermath of the 2016 election and capturing some of the national bleakness and despair that resulted — that one landed at #2 on 2017’s list, while their 2014 album landed at #4.)
This one sports a murderer’s row of hard-hitting highlights — from the opening one-two of “Yankee and the Brave” and “Ooh La La” to “Holy Calamafuck,” “Ju$t,” and “The Ground Below,” Mike and El are unsparing, endlessly pummeling you with their verses and their thundering beats. There’s no skimping on the side dishes, either, with some top shelf talent helping them out — from DJ Premier and Pharrell to Zach de la Rocha, Josh Homme, and Mavis Staples, among others. It all adds up to an unrelenting tour de force, one built around the hammer blow centerpiece that is “Walking in the Snow,” which addresses the aforementioned Floyd murder with undeniable power. Another outstanding outing from one of modern rap’s few bright spots…
1. Pottery — Welcome to Bobby’s Motel: having come through the previous four stages of tumult, tranquility, exhilaration, and indignation, we arrive at the end and the thing that will ultimately get us across the finish line — pure, unadulterated adrenaline. This is the album I listened to more than anything else this year by a country mile. (As evidenced by almost each of its 11 songs being in my 2020 Wrapped playlist on Spotify.) Whenever any of those previous stages threatened to tip out of balance and overwhelm, this album was there to give you the energy to keep going — to push thru the pain or manage the anger, to snap out of the fog or keep driving towards that daydream future — the one where you can dance amongst friends, drink amongst strangers, and deliriously drift back and forth between the two.
I found these guys by fluke, seeing the name of their upcoming album on Stereogum and thinking it was a funny way to introduce people to my house, thanks to the moniker of my alter ego. (That and the comedically cheesey cover art, with all its finger gun and mustachioed glory.) Once I heard that first song, though, the gloriously gonzo freak fest that is “Texas Drums Pt I & II,” I was in. Part early day Talking Heads, part weirdo preacher whose choir keeps imploring you to “play those fuckin’ drums for me,” it commanded your attention and got you moving. The rest of the album operates the exact same way, switching styles and speeds like they’re a band possessed.
From the rapid fire drum roll on the opening title track, you’re off on a breathless, joyous sprint for the next 40 minutes. The songs are chameleonic, shifting grooves and melodies two to three times a piece, giving things a fever dream sense of intensity and color. Your temperature fluctuates as frequently as the tempo, oscillating between hot heaters, cooooooooool waaaaaaaaater, and “ooh that’s nice” spaces in between. It’s one of the many regrets this year not getting to see these guys perform this album live — in my head it would be the most frantic, festive variety show you could conjure. Tracks like “Hot Heater,” “Down in the Dumps,” the aforementioned “Drums” and “NY Inn” would all sizzle, while songs like “Reflection” and the swooning gem “Hot Like Jungle” would give you a second to catch your breath and bliss out. Hands down the most reliable good time of the year, this one’s meant to be consumed in its entirety — over and over again…