The recent passing of DMX and a bunch of album anniversaries have had me roaming around with my rose-colored glasses on lately, meandering down memory lane to revisit the songs and my life at the time I first heard them. (Cuz what else am I going to do with my free time? I may have superpowers now that I’m vaccinated, but there still ain’t many options right now…) Since I know how much joy it brings you, figured I’d share some of both to fill up your weekend, really make this one for the history books.
In honor of Terry we’ll put it in reverse and go forwards to backwards, chronologically speaking, diving ever deeper into the annals of Sunshine lore with an increasingly excellent soundtrack to accompany us. First up, then, is the recent 15-year anniversary of the Yeah Yeah Yeah’s second album, Show Your Bones. Released three years after their classic debut, Fever to Tell, the trio reportedly struggled mightily trying to decide what direction they wanted to go in for their follow-up, recording and scrapping several albums’ worth of material (and nearly breaking up) before settling on what became Bones.
Unfortunately for those of us who loved the raw, fiery sound of their debut and the preceding EP, it marked the last time you’d ever really see that band again (and even here, only in fleeting glimpses). After this album, Nick Zinner’s flamethrowing guitar licks would be largely doused by buckets of safer, dancier fare. Drummer Brian Chase, whose wild, unhinged beats could previously send even the most resistant punks into a frenzied state (look no further than gems “Black Tongue,” “No No No,” and “Date With the Night” for easy examples) would recede further into the background, invoking all the danger of his accountant-like appearance on subsequent albums. And the bleeding heart of the band, frontwoman Karen O, whose untamed shrieks and psychotic energy represented one of the signatures of the band’s early sound became more and more subdued as they kept releasing material.
Not that this — or much of what followed, actually — was bad, mind you. Just that after you’ve seen what irresistible, life-altering feats bands like this are capable of, to see them do anything else is inherently going to be a let down. And so it is with Bones. You get your last tastes of that former band on tracks like “Way Out,” “Honeybear,” and “Mysteries” (which might be the best farewell to that old version of the band, with Zinner’s frenzied guitar throwing sparks next to O’s anguished wails and Chase’s galloping beat). You also get acquainted with the band’s future on tracks like “Gold Lion,” “Phenomena,” “Cheated Hearts,” and “Turn Into,” which are at turns weirder and more straightforward than anything they’d done before.
It’s very much an album of a band in transition and for that reason never fully grabs you or brings you back. Those of us who love the early version of the band have our handful of tracks, those who prefer the later fare have their handful, but none of us are completely happy and none are going to come to this album to scratch their respective itches. It’s textbook compromise (everybody loses!), but there’s still enough good stuff here to come back to now and again. For me it’ll always be for tracks like this one, the ripshit finale of the Yeahs v1.0, “Mysteries:”
Hopping back into the Delorean we’ll jump five years further into history to revisit the release of two fantastic debuts from artists on opposite sides of the sonic (and coolness) spectrum, yet two favorites of mine nonetheless — Pete Yorn and Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. The former is heartfelt and melodic pop, the latter is dark, noisy rock. One summons the brightness and warmth of sunshine and love, the other the cold, black of shadows and death. One gets cracked on for being soft and overly earnest, the other for being inauthentic and insincere. Statements like the last ones prove my hypothesis that most people are mouth-breathing idiots with terrible taste, but will let you make up your own mind.
Yorn’s debut 20 years ago, Musicforthemorningafter, came packed with all the things that make it easy for people to nitpick — handsome, long-haired singer/songwriter bursts on the scene with a bunch of songs about busted hearts, booming hooks, and a TON of hype. He plays all the instruments on the album, which simultaneously impresses and chagrins, and he gives intimate performances that only enhance the effect, leaving onlookers gooey and snipers more steadfast in their snippiness. Only once you tune out the latter (if you ever listened to them to begin with) you realize just how good these songs are. And how many of them there are! This isn’t a scraped together affair with one or two songs surrounded by a bunch of half-baked demos — this is the quintessential classic debut, bursting with material that’s been polished to a scalpel’s precision over several years of hustling and gigs, just waiting for that elusive record deal and the potential shot at stardom.
No, this is a swing for the fences shot that absolutely murders the ball, clearing the wall by a country mile. It’s fifteen songs (fifteen!) that almost ends better than it began — and it begins with “Life on a Chain,” which is about as catchy a song as most artists hope for once in their career, let alone as the first track on a debut with 15 songs. (Yorn immediately follows that up with songs like “Strange Condition,” “Murray,” and “Closet,” which are every bit as good, just to rub salt in those other artists’ wounds.) In between booming heart anthems like those (and “For Nancy (‘Cos it Already Is),” another fave) are softer, more stripped back gems like “Just Another,” “On Your Side,” “June,” and “Sleep Better.”
It’s these latter tracks that really sunk their hooks into me all those years ago, speaking to the love-addled (and acne-riddled) fool I was. Two in particular left me routinely flat on the floor, the perfect soundtracks to my unrequited mess of a love life (and the many mix CDs made to that end) — “Lose You” and “A Girl Like You.” Even today those two immediately take me back to that time, laying in my dorm room trying to find “The Perfect Song” to break through the wall(s) of indifference plaguing me with the opposite sex. Unfortunately neither track worked, but that’s not Yorn’s fault — they’re still beautiful songs on a fantastic album. Check out “Girl” here:
The other half of this 20/20 split comes from the opposite side of the country (sunny California to Yorn’s fabled New Jersey), which is only fitting because of how dissimilar these two albums and artists are, representing opposite ends of almost all spectrums, as mentioned before. If the former hit you in the heart, this one hit you in the gut. If the former spoke to some of the ache and desperation one had in the romantic world, this one spoke to the hope and aspiration one had in the regular world — to be this mysterious, this dangerous, this flat out COOL.
And man, was this ever those things. The sound, reminiscent of faves like Jesus & Mary Chain and the Velvets before them. The look, all darkened silhouettes and black leather jackets. (Surrounded by swirls of smoke and blistering backlight on stage, further enhancing the effect.) Even the album cover was cool, looking a bit like the poster for some old film noir you might see in the early morning hours on TV. It was absolutely irresistible and borderline hypnotic — from the ominous opening strums of “Love Burns” you’re pulled in, waiting patiently for the beat to drop while the tension and danger build, and when it does it’s like being caught in the beam of one of those giant halogen lamps. You’re frozen in place, everything around you thrown into crystal clear relief, and you know trying to escape it will only invite more problems, so you stand transfixed, slowly simmering in its gaze while the album’s roar surrounds you.
That’s what it felt like then and what it still feels like now — this album just sizzles. From that opening track to successors like “Red Eyes and Tears,” “White Palms,” “As Sure as the Sun,” and “Spread Your Love,” the visceral mix of roaring guitars, bitter, almost threatening lyrics, and wave after wave of feedback almost literally fry your brain. Even more straightforward songs like “Whatever Happened (To My Rock and Roll)” cook (music about music is always a somewhat dicey proposition, but they, like JAMC, manage to pull it off effortlessly), while cooler, more subdued tracks like “Awake,” “Too Real,” “Head up High,” and “Salvation” provide the perfect counterbalance to the punishing rays.
I still remember stumbling onto these guys and immediately falling under their spell — you couldn’t tell if it was some long lost band surfacing again or some magic reincarnation of those older acts, but I loved it immediately and still do 20 years (and hundreds of listens) later. This album (and this act) remain one of my faves, even if they’ve lost some of their initial heat in recent years/outings. You can’t go wrong picking a highlight from this album, but this has always been one of my faves, particularly live, as they slowly build the menace and dread before destroying you at the end. Check out “Rifles” here:
We’ll take a brief pause in our time travel to note the passing of DMX again, whose death was a really unfortunate surprise last week. We’ll do so now because this is where X first burst onto the scene, chronologically — coming out of virtually nowhere 23 years ago to drop not one, but two huge albums in the same year (he remains the only rapper to have his first four albums debut at #1). From that point on he was virtually unavoidable for the next five years.
Fans knew from listening to his lyrics that he’d had a hard life (abuse, drugs, and prison were apparently just the tip of the iceberg, as described in these excellent homages) and unfortunately those demons increasingly got the better of him over the past few years. X had seemed primed for a potential comeback (and apparently has an all-star studded album recorded that we’ll maybe get to hear), so it was sad to learn that wasn’t in the cards.
I still remember the first time I heard him — it was at that hot mess of a festival Woodstock ’99 and I was somewhere back in the crowd, working my way to the front when this guy in orangish overalls EXPLODED onto the stage, growling, shouting, and exhorting the crowd, literally barking at us and telling us he couldn’t hear us/he was not playing. I may have heard his songs before, since they were everywhere at this point, but this was the first time I HEARD them, taking note of who this guy was in no uncertain terms as he annihilated the crowd. I was in from the opening salvo, which as I noted on the ‘gram I think I still have burns from 20 years later when he melted our faces off. Give that intro another watch or listen to its album version here (it remains one of rap’s best opening shots on album/stage), and tip your cap to the passing of one of rap’s greats…
Last stop on our magical mystery tour is for should-be Hall of Famers (honestly, how are these guys behind Todd Rundgren and Chaka Khan right now?!?) Rage Against the Machine, whose second album Evil Empire came out 25 years ago this week. This band, and these two albums, perfectly framed my high school experience and my exposure to them both at the front and the back end centered around a guy named Mike. When Mike first introduced me to the band it was our freshman year and I remember him handing me their debut CD and saying “these guys are great.” I remember looking at the guy on the cover, engulfed in flames, and thinking “ooh man, that seems aggressive” and then being almost literally blown back by the titular rage that erupted from the speakers when I actually put the disc on. It was too much for me, at the time — WAY too much.
At that time young Sunshine was still basically a child, blissfully listening to softer, safer things, like Moms’ Breakfast with the Beatles on Saturdays or Pops’ Soul Sundays with Reverend Al, Brother Ray, Sam, and Otis. Luckily, anger hadn’t really come into his life yet then. Fast forward four years later, though, and booooooooooooy was he ready. By the time Rage came back with Empire, I was an angry senior, seething at the loss of my mom, pissed at having to be in school and deal with all the nonsense surrounding college (something I didn’t really give a sh#$ about at the time, with all the jockeying for acceptance letters from prestigious places to try and impress those around you — people whose opinions I couldn’t have cared less about), so when Mike came into electronics class with their new album and started playing it on repeat, I was ready.
It was the prototypical island of misfit toys in there — burnouts and truants just looking to get an easy credit, supernerds taking refuge from the ridicule outside while building strobe lights and computers, a rebellious teacher being punished for his actions by having to deal with miscreants like us until he could finally retire. All of us packed in this room under the stairs in the basement next to the boiler room, as perfect a setting as you could pick for a posse such as ours.
And into this midst came Mike, who since the band’s debut had gone from straight-laced, clean cut kid to borderline burnout himself, rocking Zack-like mini-dreads while smoking pot and skipping class. I can’t say the transformation was caused by the band (though I’m pretty sure the hair was, in retrospect), but I can say his playing this album non-stop for almost an entire semester caused one in me. I still didn’t really understand WHAT they were so mad about (racism and injustice, sure, but talk of Mumia, Chomsky, and five-sided fistagons went straight over my head), but how that anger made them feel — from Zack’s seething howls to Tom’s frantic scratching, Tim’s lurking bass lines, and Brad’s thunderous drumming — made total sense. That cacophony was the perfect complement to my anger and would become a long-running soundtrack to similar seething over the years.
And what a tremendous racket it was. Even coming through tinny console speakers in the classroom, it was undeniable. This was when the video for “Bulls on Parade” was CONSTANTLY on MTV and I remember how unsettling it was at the time with its footage of random militants (“were these guys really trying to start a revolution/overthrow the government?!”), but even more indelible were the images of the crowd from the band’s live performance that were stitched in between. I’d never seen anything like it before — not only the violence and intensity of their response, but how it seemingly affected the entire crowd, bouncing and rippling like a cohesive wave across the entire stadium. That was the first glimpse I’d get of it and thankfully it would not be my last. (I’d see them several times over the years, including at the aforementioned festival with X, and they remain the most explosive, incendiary thing I’ve ever seen live.)
Over the course of that semester everyone in class got to know the album’s songs, whether they wanted to or not — Mike loved “Vietnow” and “Tire Me,” particularly its Jackie O line at the end, and would play them back to back over the outcries of even the most soft-spoken nerds after a while. I was drawn to the lurching “Snakecharmer” and “Down Rodeo,” which pulled at me like a riptide. And the closing “Year of the Boomerang,” with its stop/start dynamics, was one of everyone’s faves. 25 years later I still don’t understand everything they’re referencing — or necessarily agree with it when I do — but I continue to be amazed at how powerful a band this was. As I’ve noted here before, they’re the band I’ve thought about most during our tumultuous recent political history — first during the Bush reign and then even moreso during the previous administration, which dialed things up to infinity — and still consider it a bit of a shame they were only around so briefly.
This album marked the halfway point in terms of releases — they’d only put out one more of original material before the final covers album (which bucked the phone-in signal those albums can send, as they picked deep, unexpected cuts and made them sound like their own) — before breaking up and never recording together again (that we know). Tom, Tim, and Brad kept going under the Audioslave and then the Prophets of Rage monikers, while Zack all but completely disappeared, only appearing on one or two singles since. I was hoping maybe the reunion tour that got scuttled thanks to COVID might spark some of the old magic and a desire to record again, but we’ll have to wait until next year to see if that dream comes true. In the meantime we’ll have gems like this to keep us going — just like it has for the past 25. Check out “Snakecharmer” again and rock out with the rest of the basement dwellers:
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Insta’ Replay —
We’ll close with some more highlights from the ‘gram, so we can add them to the ongoing Sunshine Radio stream (always available on the Spots and in the upper right corner of the page here):
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- Check out the Joe Strummer compilation, Assembly, which pulls the best selections from his post-Clash solo work. It’s an interesting listen – the fire of his former band is nowhere to be found, but you definitely hear the reggae elements that helped create such an iconic sound when paired with their punk attitude and energy. Start with this one, “Tony Adams:”
- In honor of the Yorn/BRMC combo above, check out Burning Jacob’s Ladder who (like the former) plays all the instruments on his EP and (like the latter) “nails the sound of that band’s first two albums, all fuzzed guitar and darkened mood.” Check out “Dystopian Blues” here”
- Check out the Joe Strummer compilation, Assembly, which pulls the best selections from his post-Clash solo work. It’s an interesting listen – the fire of his former band is nowhere to be found, but you definitely hear the reggae elements that helped create such an iconic sound when paired with their punk attitude and energy. Start with this one, “Tony Adams:”
- In honor of X and rap’s rougher side, check out Gravediggaz’s debut, “where RZA of Wutang fame cut his teeth and first played with some of the elements that made that group so legendary. There’s the gritty subject matter, the martial arts elements, the wild man rapper routine that would later be perfected by ODB.” There’s even samples that will sound familiar — check out “Nowhere to Run, Nowhere to Hide:”
- And while we’re at it, just cuz I’ve had this song in my head a bunch lately, check out Kendrick Lamar’s “DNA:”
- Give a listen to Finnish find Swires whose “frontman Allu Kettunen’s voice reminds me a bit of Alice In Chains and some of his riffs call to mind Machina-era Pumpkins (both good things).” Check out “Wait and Yearn” from their debut EP here:
- Also check out Dean and the Dagumn Space Villains, who aside from an excellently ridiculous/old-timey name, also make some really pretty music. Check out “Caveman,” a straightforward little love song that knocks you out despite barely being sung above a whisper most of the time. Lovely stuff!
- And last but not least check out New Orleans’ Yes Ma’am, a throwback band (like dust bowl old) whose high energy songs are sure to get you smiling (if not dosey doing) in your living room. Check out “Squishin’ Bees” here:
That’s it for now — until next time, amici… –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 
As for Mr Cinnamon, I 
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. 
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 
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 
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 (
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 
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.
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 
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 
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 
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.
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.
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.”
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.
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.
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.
