Cold Temps, Cooler Finds — A Sample from the Subarctic

Growing up in Chicago as a kid forced to go to church I joke that while my Sunday mornings were spent having to listen to things I didn’t believe in, I actually passed that time worshiping at the temple of 23, thinking about the latest dazzling exploits of the two Hall of Fame heroes who wore that number and played for my two favorite teams. (Ryno for my Cubbies and MJ for my Bulls.) So with that number number in mind, it felt fitting to jump in with the first post of the year — on a weekend when one of whose bearers was celebrated in a ring of honor ceremony, along with his teammates and several former greats. When two great Americans (or one great and one solidly acceptable) are celebrated over a three day weekend. (Myself and MLK.) And when your reward for having stumbled back to this darn corner of the internet shall be two sets of three things worth listening to — the first of which were culled from one of my favorite annual traditions, scanning everyone else’s year-end lists.

We’re off to a good start so far after last year’s disappointing harvest (I think Charley Crockett was the only new acquisition I made then) and there are several acquisitions I’m working through as we speak. That needn’t delay me from sharing the first batch of winners, though, so we’ll kick things off with a find from the fan mail bag and an entry from Marinara’s list. It’s from Australian duo the Teskey Brothers who released their third studio album The Winding Way, their first in four years, this past summer. I’d heard of the brothers before but didn’t know they’d released another album, so was happy to get the nudge from our pal down in Texas to go check it out. Thankfully it finds the brothers firmly in “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it mode,” doling out another batch of really catchy time warp songs.

For those unfamiliar with the brothers, they specialize in Stax-style soul songs and blues, with frontman Josh Teskey sounding so much like the late great Otis Redding, it’s insane. Making the trick even more surprising is that the Teskeys are white boys from Melbourne, not big, burly giants of the American south singing from a place of Jim Crow segregation and pain. Those differences aside, there’s a lot of other similarities to embrace — lush, rich production with big, booming choruses, soulful lyrics of love and positivity, all sung in that glorious gravely rasp. It’s a pretty remarkable thing, to hear an album that sounds like it could easily have been unearthed in a time capsule from the 60s rather than recorded 50-odd years later. Two highlights that show what’s in store nicely are the album’s first two singles — the bright, buoyant “This Will be Our Year” and the soaring entreaties of “Ocean of Emotions.” Check out both here:

Up next comes a find from several lists (Allmusic and the ‘Gum, among others) and the debut album from Austin’s Being Dead.  This one’s another bit of time warp trickery, giving off shades of the Mamas and the Papas with its fantastic harmonies while layering in the eclectic, occasionally funny antics of the B-52s (sung partly by a guy who sounds like the lead singer of the Rapture.) That quirky mix grabs you from the outset, “merging surf rock, freak pop, and frantic punk….[that] toes the line between jest and sincerity,” according to their Bandcamp.

That’s a pretty accurate assessment as this album skates through those influences repeatedly across its thirteen tracks, often delving into several of them within the same song. (As on the opening tandem of “The Great American Picnic” and “Last Living Buffalo,” the latter of which concludes with  band members Falcon Bitch and Gumball reacting to the death of said animal in an over the top (yet entertaining) display of agony and shock.) It gets a little too avant garde and weird at times on the back half for me, but there’s plenty of goodness prior to then to keep you coming back. In addition to the aforementioned, these are two of my current faves — “Muriel’s Big Day Off” and the title track. Give em a spin here:

Last but not least of the newfound trio comes from one of the dudes at the dog park who’s been touting Vermont’s Noah Kahan for the better part of the year and his third album, Stick Season. The album originally came out in 2022, but Kahan spent last year issuing big name re-recordings of some of its songs with stars like Kacey Musgraves, Hozier, and even Post Malone, which generated a significant amount of buzz, propelling the album back to the forefront and a string of sold out tour dates. It even landed him on SNL where he performed the album’s biggest hit (an absolute knock out of an earworm and the album’s title track) and one of the six additional songs he added to the album in an expanded 2023 edition. (The almost equally catchy “Dial Drunk.”)

Keeping with the trend of the previous two artists, Kahan calls to mind several other artists as you listen — whether it’s bands like the Lumineers or Mumford and Sons on tracks like “All my Love” and “Orange Juice,” or Young the Giant or Maroon 5 on ones like “She Calls me Back” and “New Perspective,” Kahan hops among influences pop and folk alike and delivers a consistently winning set of songs. Two highlights among many include the opening “Northern Attitude” (which gives me glimmers of Peter Gabriel, as well as some of the others) and that endlessly catchy title track. See what you think here:


For the second trio we’ll shift from newfound artists to a few from established acts that surfaced again recently, courtesy of live performances I was lucky enough to attend. We’ll start with one from Lucius who I caught opening for Gregory Alan Isakov at one of the two otherworldly performances of his I saw last year. They’re a band that’s fallen off for me in recent years (as they’ve veered into Sunshine’s dreaded Synth Zone), but I still love their debut and think the harmonies of lead singers Jess Wolfe and Holly Laessig are about as perfect as you could ever want, enough to draw goosebumps on the regular.

Case in point being their rendition of the Kinks classic below that happened to pop in my feed after the show — they didn’t perform it, but I strangely DID wake up with it in my head the morning after, so maybe YouTube has achieved mind-reading capabilities now. This version is from nine years ago, but it’s still a stunner, just the two of them singing across a single mic to each other:

Up next comes one from hometowner Andrew Bird who I got to see during his annual holiday Gezelligheid residency again where he performs a series of shows at this anomalous old world church nestled at the foot of all the skyscrapers. It can be a pretty magical thing — this lovely church all dolled up for the holidays while Bird and his musicians play amongst the candles and lights to a reverent audience in the pews. Unfortunately as so often happens he got a little overly jazzy for my tastes, deconstructing songs to the point they were almost unrecognizable at times (Bird is one of those vexing cases where I love his albums — he’s shown up on my year-end lists repeatedly over the years — but I’ve been disappointed by him live too many times to keep trying anymore), but he did at least one song straight and it was a real winner.

It was a deep cut from 2012’s Break it Yourself (which landed at #5 on my year end list) and featured Bird singing alone on guitar to powerful effect. Simple and understated, yet potent. Give it a listen here:

We’ll close with a hybrid of the two sections — a new discovery from an element of an established act — and the solo work of My Morning Jacket guitarist Carl Broemel. Despite loving that band and his contributions to it (and knowing all about frontman Jim James’ solo outings over the years), I never knew that he also recorded on the side — both by himself and with bands like the Futurebirds. At least until night three of that epic run at the Chicago Theater a month or two ago (easily one of the best stretches of my year, as noted in the year-end post).

That was when he surprisingly stepped to the mike during the encore and started singing a tune. Not only did I not recognize the song, the sight of someone other than James singing was noteworthy on its own — but the song was good, his voice was winning, and then he tore into one of his customary soaring solos and sent the whole thing into the stratosphere.

It turns out the song was from his second solo album (of FOUR?!), 2010’s All Birds Say, which was my gateway into the rest of his material. It’s pretty interesting to hear those textbook MMJ runs in songs sporting a voice that’s not James’, but it works well once you get acclimated and he’s got plenty of good tunes across the albums. Aside from the song he sang that night, I’ll throw in an extra from my subsequent spelunking and a track off the most recent thing he’s done outside the band, the 2019 EP with friend Eric Hopper, Brokenhearted Jubilee. Give both a listen here:

Enjoy the long weekend, amici!
–BS

The Humpty (Dumpty) Dance — The Best Music of 2022

This year was something of an experiment. One that started with a massive leap of faith and morphed into a daily exercise in making sure the pain that jump caused (and continues to) was worth it and not wasted. It was an example of endless iteration and tinkering, of living one’s own words and leaning into the opportunities life presented vs fixating on the mental plan you may have had (#improvrules), of trying to make sense of what was still standing and salvageable amidst the wreckage and what was lost forever.  It was a year that started with a separation and a pair of invasions — one peacefully of my beloved Chicago, the other horrifically and cruelly of Ukraine — and ended with a sad stalemate in both.

“Things that died in the fire…” That phrase came to mind repeatedly the past three years — whenever a restaurant closed or a business shuttered, whenever a person passed or a relationship shattered, whenever an old way of thinking or doing was made obsolete by the realities of the new COVID world. It would pop in my head with a sad, bitter finality as I updated my internal tally sheet and I’d take a moment to remember what was lost. It became something of a ritual — a far too repetitive one as the body count for all of these things became mountainous — but one that was mostly kept at arm’s length, able to be brushed past in most cases with a solemn shake of the head. Until this year, that is. This year I joined the ranks of those whose doorstep the damage darkened firsthand and spent the year making sense of it.

If last year’s themes were “interruption and incompletion, balanced by hope and healing,” this year was all about rebuilding. Rebuilding, relearning, reorienting — just plain remembering. What did you used to be — when you were young, when you were on your own, when you were in a place that didn’t poison you (or piss you off) at least once every single day? What did you like to do — to start the day, to end it, or to fill the free time in between? Who were you before things went sideways and are there any elements of that you think are worth — or even able — to be resurrected? Grappling with these questions became a daily exercise, part of my workout routine alongside the regular weights and runs, with the goal of besting the King’s horses and men and putting Humpty Dumpty back together again. (Fittingly Google’s search phrase of the year was “can I change,” another inspiring little clip worth a watch.)

For me attempting to answer them meant digging in the archives — literally, closing down a storage locker I’d stupidly been paying for for over two decades and unpacking boxes that had sat untouched since the Twin Towers still stood and Pops was still alive. Slowly going through things — at least some of which dated back another two decades — to see what was worth saving, what was worth selling or giving away, and what might hold secrets about that first question on what I used to be (or even better, who my parents/grandparents used to be before they all passed)? It could be (and still is — cuz I sure ain’t done) a bit overwhelming at times — seeing faces long since gone in a hundred plus photo albums, seeing things you’d created/written before your world started getting destroyed piece by painful piece, and instinctively slotting each of those pieces on that terrible timeline. (“Oh this was right after this, no wonder it’s so sad” or “oh boy — this is right before that, shame that happiness and optimism is going to get eradicated in a few days/weeks/months.”)

That exercise led to more digging and more deciding — what do I do with this insight or item I just found? Is it worth incorporating to the new routine (or new version of myself) or should I let it go and try something else? I started going back into my ancestry again, using my old detective skills to further map my family tree and unearth missing relatives instead of terrorist networks and kingpins. I started reading again each morning, tearing through a slew of old books that were sitting in those boxes and finishing more than I had in the last few years combined. I started plowing through restaurants and breweries I hadn’t tried and reconnecting with old favorites that were finally at my disposal again (breakfasts of cold deep dish and hot tamales were a frequent fave). I started dreaming again — something I hadn’t done for so long the first few times it happened I’d wake up and think it might be a sign I was getting sick. Each of these experiences was turned over and assessed — scrutinized like a jeweler staring through their loupe, weighing the various flaws and features — and while that person tends to focus on the former to ensure they don’t overpay for paste, I tended to focus on the latter and the positives these discoveries brought to light.

Some things worked out better than planned, some not at all (the initial plan to shuttle back and forth never materialized and despite repeated attempts I’ve literally had one instance of reconnecting with anyone from my old circle in person this year — friends or family who still live here). Rather than stew or lament these developments, though, I did what I (and so many others) always do — I made lemonade. I leaned into those improv rules I always talk about and went with what was presented.  I supplemented the gap of the old guard with less intimate, more frequent linkups with dog owners I see at the park. Or with folks from the softball team I stumbled onto or those at the corner bars as I reestablished a weekend ritual of tipping a pint or two in some of my favorite holes. (One of which allows Rizz to tag along, who loves hamming it up at the bar.) And while they may not have been what I’d hoped or expected in some cases, they’ve been solid stand-ins to build upon. (“Yes and…”)

Almost every one of these moments this year (and dozens of others) were backed by a single sensation as loud and unavoidable as a trumpeter’s fusillade — gratitude.  For being back in the place I love after over 20 years and having it not just live up to, but often exceed, my constant daydreams. For interacting with a nameless range of nice people day to day — who look you in the eye and (gasp) don’t ask what you do for a living, but instead how you’re doing. (?!?!?!?!!) For my softball league and our post-game hangs at the Corner Bar.  For my weekend walks running errands or exploring while listening to Smartless and laughing like a loon. (The number of times I had to look like an absolute nutcase to passersby were near infinite, which only made me laugh harder.) For my neighborhood and the walks I’d take with the Rizz, looking at the fantastic holiday decorations that would crop up throughout the year (a surprising number of which have hilariously stayed up since Halloween, only to morph into “merry” ghosts/skeletons/witches with their Santa hats, garland, and lights). For having snow! More than once every six years and more than six millimeters each instance. Even for stupid stuff like my new Waterpik. Over and over again I found myself shaking a kissed fist towards the sky in overwhelming, satisfied thanks.

As always these insights and events were mirrored by a range of comparable gems unearthed in the music world. I started every single day with it, listening with a cup of coffee while I puzzled and slowly woke up — a COVID ritual I’ve kept up for three years now. I burned through over 46k minutes on the Spots, according to my year end review (a really enjoyable treat every year — so hats off to them), plus an unknown number listening to old stuff I already own. My archetype according to the Spots was adventurer — someone constantly searching for new songs and bands, characterized by “exploration, variety, and uniqueness.” I’d say that was a pretty fitting description for both sides of the fence this year — personal and musical — and it shows in the contents that follow.

It’s a bit of a boom year with 31 acts arriving on the list compared to 26 for each of the previous two years. They shake out into tiers again, with the top three albums being the ones I listened to (and connected with) the most, by a pretty healthy margin. The next tier comprises the albums in slots 4-6 and both the top tiers were predominantly filled with reliable old faces I could turn to over and over again (there’s only one first-timer in there, in fact.) The last batch encompasses slot 7 and above and is largely filled with exciting new faces, ones that thrilled me in bursts before being supplanted by another new discovery. In the end, though, it’s almost a wash — the total breakdown is 16 old timers who’ve made these lists before and 15 newcomers, the closest margin in years.

It feels fitting for year one of a rebuild — something we’re sadly all too familiar with here with our sports teams. You don’t want to cut too much of what got you to this point, relying on some of those old faces to form a foundation to build around, while hopefully energizing them with the surge of new blood you bring in. Same goes for the effort to rebuild Humpty Dumpty — you’re going to need a mix of old and new pieces to even attempt to repair the damage (or to change yourself, as folks employing the Google search will know). And while we may not be where we want to be yet in that endeavor, we’ve made some solid progress, and as all good Cubs/Bears/Hawks/Bulls fans perpetually think (logic and/or data be damned) there’s optimism for what the coming year may bring. So say hello to the familiar faces below and get excited to meet the newcomers — let’s hope the sparks fly and we can build some more momentum to make year two really memorable.

Enjoy, my friends…
–BS


12. Peter Matthew Bauer — Blossoms; Mr Sam & the People People — People People People People!; Bonny Light Horseman — Rolling Golden Holy; Dehd — Blue Skies:  we’ll start out with a bit of a sonic hodge podge, both in terms of the four bands represented here, as well as within their respective albums. First up comes the third album from former Walkmen bassist/organist Peter Matthew Bauer (who thrillingly are reuniting for a few shows this year that I now have multiple tickets to as they kept adding shows before the one I’d already bought for opening night) and it was a pleasant discovery earlier this year. Bauer’s pinched voice is reminiscent of his former band’s frontman Hamilton Leithauser at times and whether it’s the signature sound of his keys on tracks like “Skulls” or the urgent drumming and guitar on the title track and the closing “Chiyoda, Arkansas, Manila,” there are moments that definitely remind you of that former outfit’s sound. Others, meanwhile, call to mind the music of another Peter — Gabriel, in this instance, with a more world music vibe as heard on tracks like “Knife Fighter,” “Mountains on Mountains,” and “East.” It all adds up to a really nice listen.

Up next comes the debut album from New Orleans’ Sam Gelband (the titular Mr Sam) and his band of happy ruffians, the People People. They were a discovery from the weekly #FridayFreshness competition over on the site’s ‘Gram page and one of the few whose album lived up to the promise of that initial single. (There are a few others on this list, too — so buckle up.) This one’s tough to pin down, sonically — there’s elements of honkytonk jams and Laurel Canyon sunshine, but the mood and tone are simple — positivity, warmth, and a mission to luxuriate in the little things. Whether that’s the morning cup of coffee, a few minutes with a loved one, or even Conan O’brien (yes, that one) this one defies the popular books and sweats the small stuff, almost to an absurd degree, but it mostly works. (Even the aforementioned ode to the former late show host, which I wanted to hate (and still do a little) has a melody that’s too pretty to completely ignore, in spite of the ridiculous lyrics.) The title track, “Get up Early,” and “Hey You!” are unfettered blasts of brightness while “Pictures of Us” and the closing “Sal” are quieter, prettier fare. Earnestness this unrestrained doesn’t always work, but I much prefer it to unfeeling/insincere artifice and respect the effort. Here comes the sun…

Speaking of, another album blessed with healthy doses of said stuff is the second album from indie folk “super group” Bonny Light Horseman, which sports Fruit Bats’ Eric D. Johnson, Muzz’s Josh Kaufman, and folkster and frequent indie vocalist Anais Mitchell. It takes the concept of their debut, which found them reinterpreting folk standards with Johnson’s and Mitchell’s lovely harmonies floating over top, and instead does so over original material this time. What worked so well there again shines here — the pair’s voices intertwine really well and Kaufman is a talented, if understated musician adding just the right accompaniments to the mix — and there’s a number of really nice tracks to enjoy. Opening “Exile,” “California,” and “Summer Dream” are all lush, lovely affairs, while “Gone by Fall” and “Someone to Weep for Me” are slightly sadder (yet still pretty) tunes. The lyrics’ repetitiveness grates after a while on some of the tracks, but all in all there’s more pluses than minuses here.

Last up comes the fourth album from hometowners Dehd, their first since 2020’s Flowers of Devotion. That was one I stumbled on in my annual scanning of others’ year-end lists and I found myself enjoying their surf rock guitars and xx-style harmonies between singers Emily Kempf and Jason Balla. This one’s got more of the same, only at a more abbreviated clip — that one had several songs that stretched out past the 4-minute mark while this one scarcely has one that tops 3. That doesn’t mean the songs sound half-baked, though — they’re super hooky in spite of their brevity and the pair’s harmonies alternate between slightly snotty and sweetly sincere. “Bad Love,” “Clear,” and “Window” are full-throated winners while tracks like “Memories” and “Waterfall” are more subdued, swimming songs. Lots of good stuff in here.

11. Wilco — Cruel Country; Arcade Fire — WE; Kevin Morby — This is a Photograph; The Smile  A Light for Attracting Attention: this slot’s for slightly imperfect outings from old faves. There’s not a lot to say about these guys that I haven’t said 100 times already over the years — they’ve each shown up on previous year-end lists multiple times (four times a piece for Wilco and Arcade Fire, five times for Mr Morby, and once for Radiohead — a reflection of how infrequently the latter release music, not the quality of their albums, obviously) and there’s nothing wrong with these albums either — the emphasis is decidedly on “slightly” here — but for whatever reason they didn’t captivate me as much as previous outings did. That’s likely due in part to how this year shook out and the constant hopscotching I did as referenced in the lead, but also a bit due to the material here — these are albums from folks who have been around a loooooooooong time and as a result they’re not pushing any boundaries. This is the sound of seasoned pros in their comfort zone — still really good stuff to be had, just not my favorite from any of them, but that shouldn’t deter folks from listening to these albums as there are some really great songs amidst the so so.

For Wilco the band are back for their eleventh studio album (not including numerous side projects and collabs) so it’s not surprising they’re well-ensconced in a canyon-sized groove at this point. This outing finds them trying on some country-style sounds for a double length album (hence the reference in the title) and the knock here is not on the experiment or its effectiveness, but on how similar the songs start to sound by the time you get through all 21 of ’em. That similarity cuts both ways — on the plus side it gives you a cohesive experience front to back (although the country bit does toggle in and out, really only impacting maybe half the songs), but on the down side it can kind of wash over you and have the listener tune out by the time it’s finished — so guess it just depends what mood you’re in when it comes time to listen.

And while having a slightly more aggressive editor might’ve helped some, there’s plenty of great tracks to be had here — “Hints,” “Ambulance,” “Tired of Taking it Out on You,” “Hearts Hard to Find,” “A Lifetime to Find.” They’re all really solid songs and have plenty of comparable friends on the album — plus a few that could probably been left for a B-sides collection. Don’t let that dissuade you, though — judicious use of the skip button here and there won’t hurt anyone’s feelings.

Another example in need of a few skips is the sixth album from Canada’s Arcade Fire — an album that got more problematic as the year went on. Unfortunately this only partly has to do with the band’s recent tendency to be ears deep up their own asses, trying too hard to be meaningful or deep or funny and forgetting the simple pleasures of their earlier albums, but now those frustrations are joined by the series of sexual harassment allegations that emerged against frontman Win Butler. Those reports first led tourmate Feist and then Beck to leave the band’s tour and again raised the difficult question of what we’re supposed to do when artists whose work we enjoy are accused of wrongdoing. (A question that’s been even more inescapable in recent weeks as former fave Kanye has become indefensibly toxic and offensive with his series of anti-Semitic comments and pro-Hitler nonsense.)

For his part Butler denies the allegations and says all encounters were consensual, but it casts a definite pall on the music and makes it difficult to know whether to punish the other six members of the band by refusing to discuss it at all or anxiously do so in heavily caveated pieces such as this. (I’ve obviously opted for the second path again, but dutifully restate the obvious in doing so — sexual harassment, racism, sexism, anti-Semitism, bigotry of all forms: they’re all inexcusable, guys. FFS — how many times do we have to go through this nonsense…)

The album itself has its flaws, as I wrote about this summer — it suffers from “the same bloated sense of self-importance that’s plagued recent efforts, the one that forces you to qualify every statement/thought you have about them (“I like this song, but…” “I liked that album, but…” “I like the band, but…”), but there are enough good lines, hooks, and melodies that it kept me coming back. “Anxiety II,” “Lightning I/II,” and “Unconditional I” are all really catchy songs, and they improve their surroundings over time. (Notable exception being “Unconditional II,” which I still skip every listen.) As with the others on the list, it’s definitely not their best, but you’ll miss out on some goodness if you avoid it completely.

Up next is the latest from Kevin Morby who’s back with his seventh album (his previous landed at #8 on my 2020 list) and it’s another solid outing. Morby wrote each of the tracks during lockdown, holing up in a hotel in Memphis to escape a cold winter in his hometown Missouri, and reportedly polished them with an eye for his eventual return to the stage. Thankfully that doesn’t mean the album is overstuffed with horns or a gospel choir (not that either of those are a bad thing in small doses — he’s actually used them both well in the past), more that the energy on several  gives you the distinct impression of someone champing at the bit to be back amongst the crowd.

The title track and “Rock Bottom” are two excellent examples, both crackling with a joyous buzz, while songs like “Bittersweet, TN” (sporting a lovely duet with Erin Rae) and “It’s Over” showcase Morby’s slower, more soothing side.  Some of the lyrical allusions and similes are a little clunky at times, serving as unfortunate (albeit momentary) distractions, but on the whole it’s another strong outing from one of the Midwest’s best. If you haven’t paid attention to him yet, you’re definitely missing out.

Last up is the debut from The Smile (or the tenth album from Radiohead, depending on how you view this one) and as I wrote about this summer, this sounds a LOT like a Radiohead record — aside from Thom Yorke and Jonny Greenwood’s signature sounds, it’s produced by longtime helmsman Nigel Godrich and a lot of the tracks could easily be mistaken for B-sides from earlier albums, which makes this “a bit like breaking off a long relationship and starting to date someone with the same hair color, clothing, and physique as your ex.”

Not sure what the impetus is or what this means for the flagship band, but in the meantime we get to enjoy an album full of some really good songs. Tracks like “The Opposite,” “The Smoke,” and “A Hairdryer” all sizzle, while “Pana-Vision,” “Open the Floodgates,” and “Skrting on the Surface” showcase the vintage soothing cool of Yorke’s croon (the first two with him sitting alone at the piano, which is always a bucket list fave). As Yorke sings in the penultimate song, “We Don’t Know What Tomorrow Brings” (for life or the regular band), but in the meantime we’ve got Radiohead-lite to keep us company.

10. Cola — Deep in View; Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever — Endless Rooms; Aldous Harding — Warm Chris; Fontaines D.C. — Skinty Fia: this slot’s for some quirkiness from the kids in the kingdom and a quartet of albums that were short, yet sweet listens. For the Canadian Cola it’s the debut album from the former members of Ought and it’s a really good half hour of knotty post-punk songs. The mood is slightly dark and the lyrics somewhat opaque (bits about solars and righting stones alongside cryptic bits about consumerism and technology (I think?)) It’s all delivered in frontman Tim Darcy’s unblinking deadpan, which suits the material well as it deepens the intrigue.

The riffs remind me of early Strokes at times, as on “At Pace” and “Gossamer,” while others call to mind Spoon (“Met Resistance” and “Fulton Park”) or that amorphous Joy Division element that’s a little darker and groovier once Ben Stidworthy’s bass takes charge. (Excellent singles “Blank Curtain” and “Water Table” serving as two great examples.) It’s a really tight little album — looking forward to more from these guys.

Up next comes the third album from the scrappy pack of Australians RBCF, their first since 2020’s Sideways to New Italy, which landed at #13 on my year-end list. (Their debut two years prior also landed at #13 on my list.) The band’s thankfully done nothing to change their formula since then — they still deploy a “sturdy triple guitar attack with swirling riffs and jangly chords, all built to make you move” as I wrote then — and we get another sterling set of examples on this album’s 11 songs. (Opening instrumental “Pearl Like You” is a pleasant, but unnecessary prelude to the jangly “Tidal River” with its lurching groove and defiant refrain (“Ceiling’s on fire, train’s leaving the station, it’s January and we’re on vacation — take your complaint to the Uuuuuuuunited Nations…”))

There’s the dreamy, leggy riffs at the end of “Open up Your Window,” the breathless runaway truck speeding downhill on “The Way it Shatters,” and the furious, irresistible swirl of “My Echo.” (One of my most reliable go-to’s this year for a fist-pumping pick me up.) I don’t often know what they’re singing about — there’s lots of mentions of rivers and lakes and canyons and the like — but I’m certain I don’t care. These guys show how infectiously powerful a guitar band can still be these days, wielding one of the fiercest (and only) three axe attacks out there, their tightly interlocking parts diving all over the place like a swarm of drones.  It’s a fantastic treat to behold — one I regularly do. These guys thankfully show no signs of slowing down.

Coming in from the island next door is Kiwi Aldous Harding, back with her fourth album. (Her first since 2019’s Designer.) Her voice is something of a chameleon, at times husky and assured, others wispy and vulnerable. Still others she sounds like a frog-throated foreigner singing in a thick, sultry accent like Nico, as on “Staring at the Henry Moore,” “Passion Babe,” or the utterly odd yet oh so catchy closer “Leathery Whip.” Aside from the range of voices and characters she conjures, she also has some nice lyrics to latch onto. “Passion must play or passion won’t stay” as on “Passion Babe.” “One day you won’t have to prove your love in any other way – but not today” as on the plaintive piano ballad “She’ll be Coming Around the Mountain.” “I’m a little bit older, but I remain unchanged and the folks who want me don’t have the things I’m chasing– no way” as on that strange “Whip.”

Her more vulnerable moments find her in the throes of love, recounting the “11 days in the city surrounded by stars” as on lead single (and one of my year’s faves) “Fever” or cooing to a love in powerless exasperation when they make “that impossible face” as on the title track. This one came out of left field for me, but I’m really glad I found it — it sounds like literally nothing else out there, in all the good ways.

We’ll close by heading to the palace and the land of kingdom HQ, which is where we find the Fontaines, back with their third album (their first since 2020’s A Hero’s Death.) It finds the London-based lads from the Emerald Isle less abrasive and leaning into the downtempo, dreamy drones they started deploying so effectively on that last outing and it hits you from the outset with the hypnotic and haunting opening track “In ár gCroíthe go deo” (sung partly in Gaelic).  It’s a fantastic song, one that set the tone for the rest of what’s to come and is still captivating dozens of listens later. From the swimming guitar of “Big Shot” to the stately and seductive single “Roman Holiday,” there’s an icy cool to the proceedings that works really well. (“I will wear you down in time. I will hurt you, I’ll desert you — I am Jackie down the line” on the track of the latter phrase’s name.)

These serve as powerful contrasts to the moments the boys decide to amp things up — tracks like the funky title track with its galloping beat and Cure-style riff (the trancelike “I Love You” also sports a nice little Cure riff, serving as a brief cool down right before the epic closer “Nabokov” brings things to a furious boil one last time.) That last track is definitely one of the highlights (they did a smoldering performance of it on Seth Meyers) with its rumbling groove and swirling guitars that devolve into a glorious stew by the end. These guys just bleed cool…

9. Joe Purdy — Coyote; Christian Lee Hutson — Quitters; The Lumineers –BRIGHTSIDE: this slot’s for a trio of albums of minor key heartache, two-thirds of which come from newcomers to the list. First up is new New Mexican Joe Purdy, who I spent a lot of time listening to this year – more than 99.9% of the folks on the Spots, according to my year end recap! He’s quietly prolific (he released four albums this year if you count the three outtakes compilations he put out) and I didn’t realize how much catching up there was to do since I lost the thread on him a few years back. There were half a dozen albums from the back half of the 2000s that I’d missed (this is what led him to be my most listened to artist this year), but then the releases started to become a bit more sporadic. Two years between them. Four years. Six years between this one and the last, a stretch broken by a brief stint as an actor (in 2018’s lovely American Folk, whose soundtrack he did a few songs for as well). It seemed like Purdy was trying to find himself a bit and it turns out he had a bad case of writer’s block that was jamming him up. To fix it he took his dog to the desert, recorded a bunch of demos around the campfire, and liked that experience so much he moved to Taos, New Mexico the following year (last year) to build the momentum and finish them up.

Those recordings form the bulk of what we hear here (this and the three outtakes albums) and while he may have liked the songs he found out by that fire, he hasn’t done much to gussy them up. All ten sound as intimate and confessional as if Purdy was singing them to you by that fire (or sitting quietly on his porch, strumming out his heartache with just his dog and the breeze to listen). The album and several of the subsequent songs start with the sound of that breeze or a hushed quiet, really heightening the effect that Purdy is sitting right next to you, softly (and maybe reluctantly) pouring his heart out to you. The mood and lyrics both conjure a sense of loss — almost all of the songs are about the departure of a lover and/or a sense of trust and optimism.

From “Loving Arms” and “Girl Like You” to Where you Going” and “I Will Let You Go,” these are plaintive, ACHING songs, ones that hit all the harder because of how understated his delivery is. Purdy cuts the dourness with brief moments of levity (“Spider Bite,” which finds him hallucinating and bruised from said bite, or doing an excellent impression of Roger Miller to call out an unfaithful lover on “Heartbreak in the Key of Roger Miller”) but they’re only momentary breaks in the melancholy. The rest is just you, Purdy, and his dog sifting through the ashes of his broken relationship. It’s dark, yet beautiful stuff. Plenty of good tracks here and on those companions to nurse a wounded heart.

Next up comes the fourth album from LA’s Hutson, which serves as a bookend to his 2020 major label debut (the aptly titled Beginners.) It’s another batch of slightly funny, slightly sad stories that are chock full of really good lines. (And melodies.) “I’m a self-esteem vending machine” and “if you tell a lie for long enough then it becomes the truth — I am going to be OK someday, with or without you” from “Rubberneckers.”  The uncertain ambiguity of Hutson (or his protagonist) “peeking thru the bandages to see if I can handle it — I hope I don’t remember this, I hope I don’t forget again” on “Endangered Birds.” The lovely notion that “pain is a way you can move through time and visit people that have gone in your mind from “Strawberry Lemonade.” Or the encouraging (or ominous — I choose the former) foreshadowing of “something big is coming, don’t know what it is yet” from “Cherry,” which served as something of a motivational mantra this year.

Apparently a huge fan of one of my all-time faves, the Elliott influence is evident everywhere here — the dual-tracked vocals, the quietly plucked guitar on “Black Cat” and the pleading question “what if I don’t want it anymore,” which can be read a dozen different ways depending on your mood at the time, as on so many of Elliott’s best.  It’s an effective homage to a departed great rather than uninspired thievery and Hutson carries the legacy on well. Pals Conor Oberst and Phoebe Bridgers produced the album and it sounds great, but the lyrics are the real stars here.  Another solid set of memorable songs to enjoy.

Last up is the latest from the Lumineers who return with their fourth album, their first since 2019’s aptly named III, which landed at #3 on that year’s list. It’s a little tough to make sense of initially — unlike the last one there’s no overarching construct guiding the songs (other than all-caps titles, which I guess is something) and maybe it’s because of how ambitious that one’s was that this one feels somewhat slight in comparison. Whether it’s that missing motif or the spartan arrangements here — often just frontman Wesley Schultz on a piano or guitar for the majority of the song — this one almost feels like a collection of demos vs a fully realized studio outing. (The somewhat repetitious nature of some of the lyrics as on “WHERE WE ARE,” “BIRTHDAY,” and “REPRISE” doesn’t help.)

And yet in spite of these things the album kept getting stuck in my head. It was on those return visits that you started to appreciate the subtler things — the flourishes when bandmate Jeremiah Fraites finally comes into the songs, which fleshes them out and gives them added heft. The impact of the band continuing to explore some of the darker moods and topics as on the previous album (substance abuse, poverty, broken homes and hearts, all relayed in luxuriant, melancholy tones). The contrast of these elements with the band’s Beatles influences, which shine through proudly as on tracks like “BIRTHDAY” and “A.M. RADIO,” work well, as do signature moves like the piano-driven gem “ROLLERCOASTER,” which is the high point of the album for me. Might not be their best effort, but still plenty of good stuff here from the kids from Colorado. (The B-sides “a little sound” and their reinterpretation of the Cure classic “Just Like Heaven” are equally worthy of repeated listens.)

8. Plains — I Walked With You a Ways; Elizabeth Moen — Wherever you Aren’t; Julianna Riolino — All Blue: this slot’s for the country queens and three really catchy affairs. We’ll start with the debut side project from one of my faves, Katie Crutchfield (aka Waxahatchee), who pairs with pal and occasional touring mate Jess Williamson on a one-off (at least for now) outing as Plains. The backstory is they’re both kids who grew up on country tunes and wanted to reconnect with that part of themselves again, so recorded an album full of them. It’s a natural fit as their recent material has veered in this direction (most notably on Ms Katie’s last album, the excellent Saint Cloud, which landed at #8 on my 2020 list) and the pair’s voices harmonize beautifully across the album’s ten tracks.

It’s bookended by images of candles (the titular summer sun melting them in the opening track while the narrator clings to one’s guttering light in the closing gem and title track — a lovely little gut punch) and sports some wonderful lines aside from the aching harmonies. (“I remember the air when I drove out of town, crying on the highway with my windows down” on the whalloping “Abilene,” as well as “she swore like a dry county welder,” one of my favorite lines of the year on “Bellafatima.”)  The Katie-led songs are unsurprisingly my faves (her voice in full thunder is just one of those that grabs you and won’t let go) so tracks like lead single “Problem With It,” “Easy,” and “Last 2 on Earth” shine, but Williamson more than holds her own and the songs where the two trade verses shimmer with a radiant heat. (“Line of Sight” and “Hurricane” being two excellent examples.) Here’s hoping they don’t leave this one by the side of the highway…

Next comes one of two in this slot discovered during the weekly Friday Freshness competition on the site’s ‘Gram, both of which were late-year additions to the list. And while I may not have had as much time to spend with them as some of the other albums, I’ve been doing my best to make up lost time, listening to them endlessly since their release. Moen’s is the most recent, dropping in November (her third overall) and it’s almost worth including on the strength of its closing track alone. It’s a bit of an anomaly on the album, with Moen sounding more like Lucius and Feist while delivering some absolutely wrenching lyrics about a lost love. (The devastating opening line of “You will never be a stranger in a crowd, I could describe every inch of you, even now” sets the bar and it only gets more painful from there.)

The majority of the preceding time Moen reminds me of another southern-inflected powerhouse of a voice, that of the great Brittany Howard, and the vibe in several of the songs is undeniably of early Shakes. Just try to fight the groove they establish on songs like “Headgear,” “Synthetic Fabrics,” or the irresistible “Emotionally Available” (which I honestly want to hear Brittany sing if she/the Shakes tour again. It’s so good…) Slower, more R&B tracks like “Soft Serve” and “Clown Show” work as contrasts to the more uptempo tracks, but it’s those chest bursting, windows down songs where Moen is just belting the lyrics out that prove impossible to ignore. (“Differently” and “You Know I Know” being two other excellent examples). A super little album from another hometown pal.

The second example from this slot’s Friday Freshness winners comes from Canada’s Riolino and is a slightly more subdued affair in comparison. She’s less roadhouse barn burner than regal theater queen — which is not to say this is a wimpier, wispier affair (her voice reminds me of Dolly a lot, actually, who NO one in their right mind would accuse of being weak) — just that there’s a quiet elegance to her approach that would seem out of place in a dingy dive.

Riolino still belts it out once she gets going — tracks like “Lone Ranger,” “Why Do I Miss You,” and “You” all sizzle — while more introspective tracks like “If I Knew Now,” “Hark!,” and the chicken-fried instant classic “Queen of Spades” serve as nice contrasts to the uptempo tracks. Similar to her slotmates, she too closes with an understated gem, the quiet wallop of “Thistle and Thorned,” which has Riolino pouring her heart out over a simple acoustic guitar. It’s a great tune and a nice close to another really solid album.  Excited to hear what she has in store for us in the coming years.

7. Wilderado — Wilderado; Caamp — Lavender Days; Vance Joy — In Our Own Sweet Time: this slot’s for the lovers and a trio of albums that aim straight for the heart, exploring the many aspects of amor with an unflinching (at times uncomfortable) earnestness.  First up comes the debut from the Tulsa band Wilderado and while it might technically have come out late last year, I’m still including it here. (The Spots has it dated as 2022 so feel like we’ve got some backing here). Regardless of when it came out it’s an earworm of an album, full of nice guitar work, bright energy, and meaty hooks that get lodged in your brain. Opening track “Stranger” and “Mr Major” have big singalong sections that are tough to refuse, while “Surefire” and “Worst of It” have a leggy War on Drugs feel that works well.

As with anything that’s more pop oriented don’t expect to constantly be blown away by the lyrics (“drying out like a histamine?” as in “Surefire”), but the hooks are what you’re here for and they give us some really good ones. Revved up anthems like “Head Right” and country pop “Outside my Head” are head back belters, while quieter, more introspective fare like “Help me Down” and the lovely, subdued “Window” balance the attack and shine.  It’s not all good times and glimmer — references to mental health and getting back to a better state are scattered throughout, as on “Astronaut” and “Head Right” — but they mostly keep it light, feeding us a steady stream of winning melodies to latch onto and enjoy. (Ironically it was a slow, emotive acoustic version of the latter that led me to this album and not the bright, high energy pop that’s everywhere here.) The band confesses “I’m a sucker for some harmony” in “Surefire” and they don’t disappoint the rest of us that share that sentiment — a solid little album.

Up next is the third album from Columbus trio Caamp and they haven’t done anything to change their formula this time around — it’s twelve more songs of warm positivity and love that waltz amongst various Americana and folk styles.  The album actually works best when listened to in pieces — frontman Taylor Meier’s breathy delivery can grate as the album wears on and the lyrics can be a little clunky at times, similar to the slot’s previous album — but individually the songs stand up well and showcase some really nice harmonies and melodies. Opening “Come With me Now” with its repetitive refrain builds to a blissful banjo break courtesy of Evan Westfall, “Lavender Girl” is a bright folk blast, and “Snowshoes” delivers a warm little hoedown towards its tail end.

The band jumps around a bit musically, trying their hand at bluesier fare (the smoldering “Fever,” which sports guest appearances from faves Nathaniel Rateliff and the aforementioned Katie Crutchfield in its booming chorus), country vibes (“Apple Tree Blues”), and pure pop (the soaring “Believe”). The album’s slower moments shine brightest for me, though — whether its “The Otter” with its tale of being overcome by love, the sentiment of love lost (but assuredly to be found again per the narrator) on “All my Lonesome,” or the lovely closer “Sure Of” whose opening lines raise a nice little thought that I like quite a lot. There’s a lot to enjoy here — small sips are the name of the game.

Last up is the aptly surnamed ambassador of love and joy from Australia, Vance Joy, who’s back with his third album, his first since 2016’s Nation of Two, which landed at #6 on my year end list. At this point you have to imagine Joy can write love songs about anything (I honestly can’t imagine how jarring it would be to hear him sing something negative or angry. It’d be like seeing Tom Hanks cuss out a waiter and call them a fucking dummy.) And while lyrics as unabashedly gooey as those in “Every Side of You” or “Looking at me Like That” (“when you’re this close, every touch is amplified — I don’t know when we’ll be here again, so I memorize every inch of your body, show me every side” on the former or “every time you love me, every time you take my hand — can you tell I’m praying you won’t stop looking at me like that?” in the latter) could come off as overheated and ridiculous, you can tell Joy is being totally and utterly sincere. (Part of me pictures him sitting at his kitchen table in the morning cooing odes to his waffles and coffee mug. )

It’s that sincerity (along with genuinely pretty melodies) that earns him a pass as he pens love letters to places and people around the world. There’s odes to Barcelona and northeastern Spain in “Daylight” and “Catalonia” (the latter of which should soundtrack a tourism video for the region or a La Liga ad for those teams), there’s beating heart anthems like “Missing Piece” and “Boardwalk” (and the lovely ode to his wife “This One”), and the pure pop perfection of tracks like “Clarity,” which is tailor-made for festivals, girls pumping their fists while on their boyfriends’ shoulders as the crowd sings and dances along.

Joy lives in a different world than I do (than most of us, I suspect) but it’s a world I want to believe exists — one of unbridled, undeniable warmth and love — and one I can maybe be a part of again one day. Listening to his albums is almost like PT for me — something that feels silly that I subject myself to in order to rehabilitate a damaged muscle (in this case my hardened heart) and to convince my cynical self that an existence like this is possible. I might not always believe it, but I’m glad to have the reminder and motivation.

6. Guided by Voices — Crystal Nuns Cathedral and Tremblers and Goggles by Rank; The Black Keys — Dropout Boogie; Built to Spill — When the Wind Forgets Your Name: this slot’s emblematic of the old adage “if it ain’t broke…” and more solid submissions from some stalwarts of the site. First up comes the indefatigable boys of Dr Bob, back with yet another multi-album year under their belts. They’re taking it a bit easy on us this time, only giving us TWO albums after dropping three on us in each of the previous two years. (Although they did release a rarities compilation, too, and have another new album due out in January, so maybe they did keep the streak going.) That slight dip in productivity thankfully doesn’t indicate any dropoff in quality as these guys continue their ridiculous hot streak, dropping another twenty-plus songs on us to enjoy. (Last year’s entries landed at #13 on the year end list.)

Sludgy dirges “Eye City” and “Climbing a Ramp,” the sparkling “Never Mind the List” and “Come North Together,” and the soaring “Excited Ones,” “Mad River Man,” and title track are all highlights from the first release, while the second one somehow sports even more. There’s the fuzzy thunder of opening “Lizard on the Red Brick Wall,” the knotty, shifting song suites “Alex Bell” and “Focus on the Flock,” and vintage crunchers like “Unproductive Funk” and the (half) title track, which build to a pair of booming refrains. I know I shouldn’t be surprised anymore — that someone could release this much material every year, let alone this much GOOD material (these are their 34th and 35th albums — an absolutely absurd number) — but I still am. These guys are amazing (and yet still somehow unknown to the masses). Pour yourself a double and enjoy…

For the Keys’ part they’re back hot on the heels of last year’s Delta Kream (which landed at number #12 on my list) and it finds them recapturing the laidback vibe on display there. The main difference between the two is this one’s return to original material in lieu of covers (although not all of the songs are written by Pat and Dan — they share writing credits on half the album’s tracks), but the spirit of collaboration and comfortable, well-worn grooves is evident across both. From the funky stomp of lead single “Wild Child” to the glimmering soul of “It Ain’t Over” (or “Baby I’m Coming Home,” which captures both) the guys sound totally relaxed, like they and a bunch of friends just got together and had fun playing music. That energy comes through the speakers, giving us one of the more reliable good time generators on the list this year.

There’s a hearty helping of vintage, swampy blues, too — squarely in the band’s wheelhouse and something they do better than almost anyone (and have for a very long time now).  From footstompers like “For the Love of Money” and the aptly named “Burn the Damn Thing Down” (which threatens to do so to your speakers/house/head on every listen) to more stately, smoldering grooves like “Didn’t I Love You,” “Happiness,” and “Good Love” (which features legendary ZZ Top frontman Billy Gibbons) the guys are firmly ensconced in their comfort zone. There may “only be so much you can do as a bluesy twosome singing about lovin’ and losin’,” as I wrote this summer, but that don’t mean it ain’t still really fun to listen to…

Also returning to original material after an album full of covers — one which also landed them on my year-end list — are beloved band from Idaho BTS, back for the first time since that album covering the late Daniel Johnston. (It landed at #10 on my 2020 list.) It’s their tenth album overall and while it finds frontman Doug Martsch feathering in some new sounds to the mix — a Cyndi Lauper-style riff on “Elements” (it reminds me of “Time After Time” every listen) or a reggae vibe on “Rocksteady” — it mostly sticks to their old trademarks of Martsch’s shaky, nasal warble and fiery guitar. His guitar heroics on “Spiderweb” and the epic, ripping closer “Comes a Day” are phenomenal and remind you why Martsch is just magic — both are guaranteed to be setlist staples for a while. (Ones I hope to see live in person soon, having missed them the last time they came through town.)

Lyrically Martsch delivers some of his stickiest lines in years — “I’ve come to realize time’s all wrong — answers materialize then they’re gone” in “Gonna Lose.” “It don’t matter what they say, I’m gonna break my heart someday” in “Fool’s Gold.” “The blind can’t see, the deaf can’t hear — finding out what is my greatest fear. You wanna move around, you want stay still, you wanna have a life, but not too real” on “Understood.” And that’s just the first three songs. There are tons on here that get stuck in your head on a rotating basis and bring you back for more. “I don’t want to be constantly taking these long hard looks at myself” on “Rocksteady.” “I’ll open up for you, but I’m not a parachute — can’t keep you from falling” on “Alright.” “I am not a shirt, I am not a shoe — you don’t ever have to put me on. And for the record, I am not a record — don’t put me ooooooon,” as well as this classic rhetorical question, “Isn’t there something we can bide besides our time?” on that epic final track.  Martsch said he wasn’t very motivated during the recording of this album, but you sure can’t hear it — some really solid songs again from Idaho’s finest.

5. Band of Horses — Things are Great; Alt-J — The Dream: this slot’s for former list members who had slipped into the ether a bit and are back with a solid return to form after several years (and/or albums) away.  First comes the more surprising of the two, South Carolina’s Band of Horses.  Back with their sixth album — their first in as many years — these guys had been in a somewhat steady decline since their excellent first two albums. (The second of which landed at #4 on my inaugural list/post in 2007.) There frontman Ben Bridwell’s earnest lyrics paired perfectly with the band’s high energy, roots rock sound.  Unfortunately those lyrics got more forced and tension in the band led to several lineup changes and them losing the thread a bit in the subsequent years, by Bridwell’s own admission. Thankfully they seem to have found it again on this one — though it unfortunately sounds like it took a divorce, depression, and panic attacks to bring Bridwell there to reconnect with the honest, heartfelt lyrics of old.

There’s simple, unemotional lines that shine (“hot dinner on a souvenir plate, the part of town where the money ain’t… we don’t want help, don’t want take handouts…” on “Warning Signs”) and a whole host of painful ones that do as well. “You deserted me in the hard times — home is here now.  It’s too latе to turn it around” on “In the Hard Times.” “Feelin’ the walls around me closin’ in, trying to make it til the morning” as he fights to regain his old seat at the table on “In Repair.” Fighting panic attacks (and what he says as a result) after winning that loved one back in “Aftermath.” (Also after falling down the stairs with his kid, which apparently really happened and must’ve been a VERY scary moment, as referenced in the same song.) They use the time-honored trick of deceptively bright melodies and energy to distract from the darker material and it keeps this from being a crushingly depressing listen (the appearance of cops at the house and the anxiety that causes on “Lights,” or the closing postcard from the lovely sounding Coalinga, where things are great – “Yeah, things are great in a cow-shit smelling hellhole called Coalinga” (book your tickets now!) being two of the non-relationship focused sunbeams.)

The lion’s share of the songs deal with that divorce, though, and the anguish it causes makes for some really compelling songs (and lyrics). “I’ll keep living in the frame where you left me, love, I’ll keep picking up the pieces of us…Space gets smaller, cash is shorter, past is catching up” on “Ice Night We’re Having.” “I couldn’t hide it — it’s been a hell of a hard time… I’m unwell, I’m unhappy all the time” on “You are Nice to Me.” It’s really unfortunate to hear how much he’s apparently struggled, but it’s made for some really identifiable, embraceable songs as you sympathize (or empathize depending on your life experience) with Bridwell. Really solid return to form.

For their part Britain’s Alt-J are back with their first album in five years, their last being 2017’s disappointing Relaxer. (Their first two remain faves, though – their debut landed at #4 in 2013 and their follow up landed at #3 the following year.)  As for their latest, as I wrote this summer, it’s a maddening affair — “At turns brilliant and others an eye rolling exasperation,” this is easily the year’s most vexing album. On the one hand you’ve got the idiotic lyrics and subject matter that sully several of the songs — from Coke (“Bane”) and coke (“The Actor”) to crypto (“Hard Drive Gold”) and cased meat  (“U&ME”), these are just a few of the things that pop up on the album and make you wonder whether you’re being pranked. And while I haven’t figured out how to purge these from the album (or my memory) yet, the good news is they got a lot less annoying as the year went on. (Except “Gold,” which I still skip every time.)

These offenses are offset by the album’s beautiful melodies and production, which turn out to be its saving grace. I can’t overstate just how pretty and potent those two are — this is easily the best headphones album I listened to this year, with an avalanche of little details to bury you in (even today I heard something I hadn’t before, despite dozens and dozens of listens — the music box twinkling of “Yankee Doodle Dandy” at the end of “Philadelphia”), and the impact of the album’s sincere, sweet moments only intensified as the year wore on. Whether it’s telling someone he’s happier when they’re gone on the song of the same name, admitting he’s coming apart a bit in “Losing my Mind,” or talking about a love at first sight in “Powders” (perhaps the same one he’s trying to get over in the powerhouse “Get Better”) these moments of unguarded honesty are quiet devastators and the highlights of the album. This one definitely has its flaws, but the upsides are too good to be missed.

4. Silverbacks — Archive Material; Wet Leg– Wet Leg: this slot’s for a flippant, finger in the air attitude and the year’s most reliable dose of instant energy. A guaranteed good time, I put these two on whenever I needed a jolt to get going again or just to jam at the end of a long day/week. The ‘Backs are back with their sophomore album (their debut landed at #14 on my 2020 list) and it came out almost exactly a year ago at this point. It was the first thing I fell for, listening repeatedly through the coldest part of the Chicago winter, but because it came out so long ago it got buried in the snowdrifts at some point and I almost forget about it completely. Every time I almost did, though, one of its lines or riffs would come back to me and I’d be sucked right back in. Like today, for example, it was the opening title track with its slightly ominous groove and gleeful shouting about digging in the mysterious archive that got it spinning again. (“At a proper nine to fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiive, whilst digging in the archiiiiiiiive….AAAAAAARRRRCHIIIIIIIIIVE!” deedoodoodoooooo…der-der-DER-DER!)

Other times it was the simple joy of shouting along with the titles of the tracks  when they came up in the songs, as on “They Were Never Our People,” “Recycle Culture,” or “Econymo.” Or the swirling guitar magic of “Rolodex City” and the bratty funk of “Different Kind of Holiday” (which also let you gleefully shout “sliiiiiiiiiiiide to the leeeeeeft” and “same toooooooown but a different kind of holiday!” respectively — there’s lots of gleeful shouting to be had here. It’s fantastic…) Or the thundering riffage of “Wear my Medals,” three minutes that will leave you flat no matter how often you hear it. Even the slower burns work really well, like the closing “I’m Wild.” (These guys may be known for their knotty, nervy interlocking guitars, but their secret weapon is singer Emma Hanlon who takes the lead here and brings several other tracks to new heights when she jumps in.) This one is a total blast, one that’s stood up to a full year of listening without ever letting me down.

Turning to Wet Leg, the hype machine was working overtime for these two this year — they appeared on every late show, music rag, and festival bill you could think of, but thankfully they more than live up to the billing. The “f#$k off” attitude is multiplied tenfold from their slotmates and it adds even more punch to their already infectious attack. From singing about sitting on the shays long (all day long), trying to escape parties with lasagna (but no free beer), or chastising men for fantasizing about them, these ladies are absolutely ruthless and I love it. Note: they do NOT care if you’re in a band (or on the ‘Gram), do not want to marry you, or hang with you while you get blazed spooning mayonnaise. (Side note: they DO want to take you to the supermarket and if they fuck this up they WILL take you down with them.)

The two toss off sharp, scathing, and occasionally hilarious lyrics throughout the short 36 minute duration (“Would you like us to assign someone to butter your muffin?” off “Chaise Longue” remains one of my favorite lines of the year), but besides all the bratty bravado they’re just as vulnerable as the rest of us. Whether it’s dealing with boredom (“I Don’t Want to Go Out”), body image issues (“Too Late Now”), or self-doubt (“Being in Love”) they show flashes of defenselessness that’s endearing before the force fields go back up and they’re back to destroying anyone dumb enough to step in their path. (One need only listen to “Loving You” for a textbook example of the old adage “a woman scorned.” Absolutely withering…) A great debut — can’t wait to see what the two lasses from the Isle of Wight cook up for us next!

3. Mt Joy — Orange Blood: back with their third album are Philly band Mt Joy, returning with their first since 2020’s Rearrange Us, which landed at #13 on that year’s list. It finds the band back in more upbeat, optimistic territory for the most part, having explored slightly darker subject matter in their last one. (That one’s lyrics dealt with depression and adultery, among other things.) It’s obviously a significant level up for them in terms of placement, but they aren’t doing much different sonically, which is a definitely good thing. There’s still their customary blend of warm, sunny music and bright, winning melodies — which might be why it was such a consistently enjoyable listen throughout the year, as I found myself in a better mood day to day having returned to my beloved city by the lake.

There’s the cozy embrace of the title track, which winds along like the song’s duo on their interstate acid trip, the glimmering yacht rock vibe of “Phenomenon,” which coos to a prospective love, “So, if you’re gonna lie to me, give it to me sweet, give me something every memory needs” (a great line), and the joyful “Johnson Song,” whose ode to the loudest band he’s ever heard sounds like the tape was left to melt in the sun. (Perhaps dropped there accidentally by the improper tambourine playing or terrible dancing referenced in the song.) There’s also a handful of nods to the bud, which amplifies the good time vibe — an “itty bitty hit of weed” and its escapist powers show up on the lovely “Lemon Tree,” while frontman Matt Quinn tries to go “up up up” and tries holding on in the otherwise down (yet lovely) “Bang.” (They also rhetorically touch on the reefer asking, “Don’t it feel good? Don’t it feel alright to get a little stoned and push the mess aside?” on the track named after the initial question.  (Answer? No. It feels fucking incredible...))

As on the last outing there’s still a few clouds that slide over the sun, with some deceptive songs of heartbreak (I love the image from the otherwise bouncy “Roly Poly” of someone rattling around your brain like the titular bug, a maddening sensation I certainly can identify with) and tracks that glancingly touch on gun violence (I think) and the environment, as on the aforementioned “Bang” and “Ruins,” respectively. (The latter’s image of “this old engine, it just gliiiiiiiidеs throuuuuugh the ruuuuuuins” is one I love.) The clouds don’t tarnish the mood for long, though, as the overarching vibe here is of bright, upbeat positivity, all loving warmth and sun.

The star for me is the stripped back seduction of the closing “Bathroom Light,” which is partly about a hookup in the can, but also about allowing yourself to be open to those improbable, maybe abnormal or “off” moments your daytime brain might veto because they don’t fit your notions of what’s acceptable or “right.” Aside from sporting a lovely melody I think the song makes a fair case for the value of my mantra of playing by improv rules as much as you can. “I don’t question it, I don’t mess with it, I just go, go graaaaaab iiiiiiiittttt.” (I also love the line “Cause someday we must return the movies in our brains, and thеse moments we can’t fake — yes, the angels never leak the expiration date.”) It’s a really nice close to another really nice album from these guys.

2. Andrew Bird — Inside Problems: hometown fave Bird is back and unsurprisingly finds himself on another year-end list, and while the number next to the title has him at 2, for all intents and purposes this one could just as easily have earned the top spot as I listened to it a TON over the course of the year.  Bird is no stranger to these lists, having appeared on one with every album he’s released since our inaugural post fifteen years ago. (#9 in 2016, #5 in 2012, #5 in 2009, and #3 in 2007.) He’s clearly on a hot streak and this one finds him well within his comfort zone, drawing on all of his characteristic tricks to masterful effect.

There’s still his trademark mix of violin and whistles dancing merrily amidst another batch of beautiful melodies, as well as references to boulders and Sisyphus from his last album (2019’s My Finest Work Yet, which landed at #1 on that year’s list). There an old-timey track that sounds like an extension of his excellent album last year with Jimbo Mathus (These 13, which landed at #8 on my year-end list) — “Faithless Ghost” with its images of screen doors, kitchen floors, and silver combs.  His love of numbers shows up several times (despite claiming he “was never one for maths” in “The Night Before Your Birthday”) — there’s the invitation to “pick a random number, making sure it’s prime” (and between 1 and 109)” on “Fixed Positions” and the steadily escalating counting on “Eight,” which finds Bird coming as close as he ever does to jamming out with its hefty six and a half minute duration and raucous tail end.  His love of literary references and poetic, yet somewhat impenetrable lyrics are back, too, as on “Lone Didion” (Joan, who he name checks in the punny title and quotes later in “Atomized”) or the Caribbean-inflected “Stop n’ Shop.” (“Thought the wall was a gun and that the gun was a flag, that the flag was a truck and that the truck a mighty bird of prey.”)

When he’s not being elliptical (or elusive, depending on your perspective) Bird paints some wonderfully vivid pictures (“Every Saturday night she came in with him. Table six in the back, tall beer and a gin. Now she comes in alone, Lone Didion” on the aforementioned track of the same name) and there’s an encouraging joy and optimism on display throughout.  Whether celebrating the awkwardness of adolescence (there’s references to teenage/juvenile plumage on the majestic title track (“Every inch of us — every inch of us — every inch of us a walking miracle”) and to “never mind the braces (love you anyhow)” on the snappy “Make a Picture”) or generally singing the praises of a loved one (“I could counnnnnnnt the waaaaaaaaays I looooooooove youuuuuuuu” on “Birthday” with its almost 60s garage-style shouted chorus backing things up) it’s a lovely, uplifting listen.

It all culminates with the outstanding closer “Never Fall Apart,” which continues Bird’s pattern of putting some of his prettiest tracks on right before you walk out the door. (“Three White Horses and a Golden Chain” from his album with Mathus and “Bellevue Bridge Club” from Finest being his two latest examples.) This one is one of his best, with its knee-buckling melody and chest-bursting entreaty to “strike up the band” and “neeeeeeeeeever faaaaaaaaall apaaaaaaart agaaaaaaaaain.” Could just as easily be a theme song for humanity coming out of the COVID crisis as it is an encouraging song to a significant other. Great song, great album, great artist — another flawless winner from an absolute fave.

1. Spoon — Lucifer on the Sofa: back with their first album in five years (2017’s Hot Thoughts, which landed at #9 on that year’s list) Austin’s Spoon show they haven’t lost a step and start things with a bang, a thrilling surprise cover of Smog’s “Held,” which has a taut urgency and fire compared to Bill Callahan’s looser, brighter original. The band make the song their own, imbuing it with a sense of danger that’s totally captivating, and follow it with the equally combustible single “The Hardest Cut,” which aside from sporting a furious, knotty solo run from guitarist Alex Fischel also showcases possibly the best little guitar effect since Radiohead’s chunka-chunka scratch on “Creep.” (The distorted one chord hitch here, slammed over and over into the body of the guitar rather than played, just SLAYS.) And it’s off to the races from there.

These first two songs capture the indelible mood of the album, one of absolute confidence and power. The band has never been one you’d describe as sheepish or overly angsty — frontman Britt Daniel exudes a perpetual sense of middle finger in your face flippancy — but as I’ve written about them before, the thing that’s stopped them from conquering hearts and minds (or at least mine) is “there’s a distance and detachment to everything they do that prevents you from fully embracing them.” All too often it’s “brain food, not heart smart sustenance.” And while that “curtain of interference” has plagued some of the recent releases (although not enough to stop them from making the list three previous times) that is definitely not the case, here. Whether it’s the sauntering “The Devil and Mr Jones,” the ebullient “Wild,” or the equally uptempo “On the Radio,” this thing has fu#$ing SWAGGER. Fischel’s and Daniels’ guitar parts swing, the latter roars on the mike with zero posturing or preening, and perpetual secret weapon Jim Eno’s drumming is a thundering, shapeshifting delight.

Even the softer stuff works flawlessly, in part because of how straightforward and sincere they are this time around. Daniels sings straight up love songs — LOVE SONGS! — instead of the more cryptic, elliptical allusions to it he’s made so many times in the past. (Or still does occasionally here, as on the sultry “Astral Jacket” and title track.) Listen to him on songs like “Satellite” or “My Babe” — the former finds him pouring out his feelings without deflection (“You got them that love you, got them that you adore. I see angels above you, but I know I love you more”) while the latter has him belting out the chorus, “I would get locked up, hold my breath, sing my heart out, beat my chest for my babe.” You can almost picture him pounding on his pecs as punctuation as he does, it’s so unvarnished and intense. It’s irresistible.  This album and Bird’s were easily the two I traded turns with most frequently over the year, and it was this one’s unabashed “fu#$ yeah” energy that gave it the slight edge. Easily my favorite since their classic Girls Can Tell — this one’s a blast.

 

Over and Over Again: The Best Music of 2021

Sitting down to try and make sense of this past year as part of my annual exercise in reflection feels a bit like that old Indian adage about the blind men trying to describe the elephant. There each man has a hold of a different part of the animal and accurately describes that component, but things fall apart when they try to put those pieces together. Things devolve into arguments as each is sure their take on things is correct and the others are lying or mistaken. The moral of the story is to recognize that one’s piece of the puzzle — while accurately understood and described — may be but a limited slice of the overall reality and that multiple things can be true at once. (ie your description of the trunk may be just as valid as mine of the tusk, but neither of us have a clue what the f#$k it all means.) So while I feel confident about some of the things that happened this year — vaccines, promotions, resumptions, and relocations — I can’t quite put them together in a way that makes sense.

If last year’s themes were “solace and comfort, respite and refrain,” this year’s were interruption and incompletion, balanced by hope and healing. Part of the reason I think putting this proverbial elephant of a year together is so difficult is because those two pairs were in an ongoing battle with each other throughout the year, a disjointed disparity that ruined any sense of cohesion, progress, or peace being created. For every thing that arose to give us much needed hope about the days to come — the aforementioned vaccine (THREE of them! Available in abundance so that everyone in this country who’s not a conspiracy-addled buffoon could get them! For free!), the resumption of live shows and plays (and sports! With people in the stands!), the ability to meet with friends and family (indoors! Without masks! After flying to new locations even!) Every time one of these popped up, the former pair quickly crept in to darken the sunshine or block it altogether.

Thought those shots were enough? Just kidding — here come the variants! Enjoying those shows/games? Sorry — we’re gonna cancel those by the dozens again! (“This just in — more variants!”) Relishing reconnecting with colleagues and loved ones, staring at their maskless faces in person instead of over Facetime or Zoom? Tough taters — time to cover those hot air holes again and retreat to the safety of our video veils! (Back by popular demand — THE VARIANTS!) Every single time there was a reason to celebrate, to believe we’d turned the corner and were finally going to generate some much-needed momentum — to usher in that fabled second coming of the Roaring 20s with all its drunken debauchery and sex-soaked shenanigans — you’d wake up again on your couch, still in the same sweatpants you’ve been wearing for the past year and a half, slightly confused about whether you’d dreamt that sliver of sunshine or not.

It’s because of all this stop/start inconsistency, as well as the unrelenting toll of those variants (52M cases and over 835k deaths in this country — more than double what we had at this point last year), that the final piece was so urgently felt — the need to heal. It was Google’s search theme of the year for good reason (the ad for it is pretty moving if you haven’t seen it already) — after so many glimmers of hope and so many causes for concern, the primal, desperate need for relief was felt by almost everyone.

The disorientation became almost overwhelming after awhile and things started to devolve into arguments over those elephant parts — “Things are getting better!” “Things are getting worse!” “This is almost over!” “This is never going to end!” “We can make it!” “We’re kidding ourselves!” And so it’s no wonder that folks found themselves looking for how to cope and how to heal in the midst of all that. For some it meant diving deeper into their pandemic refuges while trying to resume some of their “before times” rituals. For me it meant a move back to my beloved city by the lake in an effort to remove a persistent point of annoyance/disdain and (foolishly? Futilely?) try to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.

There through it all, as always, was the music. Somewhat unsurprisingly for a year that in so many ways felt like a carbon copy of the previous one, this year’s list has the exact same number of entries as last year’s — 26. Of those, this year’s crop inverts the balance of old timers to newcomers with this year’s skewing much more heavily to familiar faces (maybe in part a reflection of that desperate need for reconnection after so much distancing). 16 of the 26 bands here have appeared on previous years’ annual lists, while only 10 are first-timers — although for the second year in a row, the top spot went to one of those debuts. (And man, is it a good one…) The list shakes out in tiers — the top one holding the first three albums, representing clear and away the best things I listened to this year, the next one with the subsequent three albums, which I also listened to a bunch, and the last holding the remaining 20, which were all good but a step below that middle tier.

It feels fitting for a year with such clear demarcations between its component parts. And while we still may not be where we want to be overall — still at home, still in those sweatpants, still waiting to get on with our lives and leave our fears (and maybe one day our masks) behind — it’s worth reminding ourselves of the progress we’ve made this past year and the reasons we have to hope. Of the things we managed to get done in spite of the setbacks and the things we can plan (however tentatively) to get done in the coming year. Of the people we used to be and who we hope (time/luck/variants permitting) to become once more. In the meantime we can look back to the music that helped us through — helped brighten the dark days and heighten the bright ones, helped dampen the disorientation and bring delight to the delay, and helped give us hope for what’s to come. It still might not make sense, but if we remember the pieces we hold are but part of the whole and that we need each others’ elements to make it all work, we might yet put this elephant of a year — and ourselves — back together.

Enjoy, my friends — I hope to see you out there this year… –BS


Milky Chance - Trip Tape Lyrics and Tracklist | Genius16. Milky Chance — Trip Tape; Jungle — Loving in Stereo: this one’s for the dancers and a duo of duos that makes you want to let down your hair a little. Despite the hopeful expectations this year would mark the start of the Roaring 20’s second coming, it didn’t shake out that way (yet) but hese two didn’t let that get in the way, giving us the opportunity to have a few of those carefree moments at the house (or in the car) instead. Both are supplied by Europeans on a bit of a comeback — Germany’s Milky Chance are back with their first album since 2019, but truthfully I’d lost interest after their infectious 2013 debut Sadnecessary. This one makes it easy to get back in the water, though, serving up inspired covers of some well-known songs while also offering original material in between. (It’s billed as a mixtape and not an official album, but whatever you call it it’s pretty good.)

The covers are really interesting selections — Bad Bunny’s “La Noche de Anoche,” The Weeknd’s “Save Your Tears,” Dua Lipa’s “Levitate.” Even perennial karaoke stalwart “Tainted Love” by Soft Cell shows up. In every case but the latter I think I prefer the reenvisioned version — and even that one was close. (Honestly for a song I’ve heard eleventy billion times it’s laudable how original their rendition for that one sounds, allowing you to hear something new in the source material.) Originals “Cold Summer Breeze,” “Love Again,” and “Lights Out_Demo” stand solidly alongside, holding their own with the more well-known tunes. These guys are really good at creating that laid back bouncing groove that was in short supply this year.

Loving In Stereo | JungleEngland’s Jungle know a thing or two about that as well, offering tracks that toggle between getting you to create a disco in the den or soundtracking some spring cleaning. That duality can be somewhat self-defeating as on their previous album, 2018’s uneven For Ever. Their songs always sound good — bright and sunny, with just enough studio polish to make them gleam — but their surface-level substance invites their being relegated to the background if the balance is off, innocuous to the point of being ignored. That’s what happened on this one’s uneven predecessor, but the pair manage to avoid that fate here, giving just enough beyond their feel good vibe to keep them in the forefront of your mind.

The album starts out strong, running through four upbeat winners in a row — lead single “Keep Moving” (which is irresistible), nu disco winners “All of the Time” and “Lifting You,” and the irrepressibly sunny “Romeo” (which manages to succeed in spite of some eye rolling lyrics). The back half takes us out of the disco and reminds me more of Sault’s recent albums at times — sonically, at least. Where Sault explicitly and unflinchingly tackles issues of race and oppression in their songs (with stunning power at times), Jungle more often opts to avoid those things lyrically as it would harsh the mellow, typically touching on them elliptically if they do so at all. It works well when they do so, though — tracks like “What D’You Know About Me?” and “Goodbye My Love” have more weight than most of their surroundings (a potential invitation to try more of this in the future), while “Fire” and “No Rules” give glancing blows to the topics (maybe?) instead of employing the direct approach of the former pair. The duo quickly return to safer terrain with tracks like “Truth,” “Talk About It,” and “Can’t Stop the Stars” to close the album out, almost like they scared themselves with the touchier material. Which I suppose is ok — with as divisive as things have become in recent years, you can’t expect everyone to be as fearless as acts like Sault. Sometimes escapist soundtracks are just what we need…

Courtney Barnett: Things Take Time, Take Time Album Review | Pitchfork15. Courtney Bartnett — Things Take Time, Take Time; John Andrews & the Yawns — Cookbook: these two represent a slight letdown compared to excellent earlier material, but both grow on you and get you to embrace their quieter, more monotone palette over time. (Ironically, Barnett’s album cover is exactly that, nine different shades of blue.) Interestingly it’s the third album for both — Barnett’s first since 2018’s Tell Me How You Really Feel (which landed at #14 on that year’s list) and Andrews’ first since 2017’s Bad Posture — so maybe that, plus the exhausting times we’re living in, inspired/required a change from what came before.

For Barnett it finds her stretching her already lackadaisical sound even further, pulling the mood (and some of the words) like warm taffy. Her normally riotously wild guitar is largely absent here, making a brief appearance at the end of “Turning Green,” but otherwise tamed on tracks like “Before You Gotta Go,” “Take It Day By Day,” and “Write a List of Things to Look Forward to” (all winners, the latter even Obama-approved) or supplanted outright by synth/piano as on “Sunfair Sundown” and “Oh the Night” (both lovely, languid tunes). This absence and the resulting mood of melancholy are what take a moment to adjust to, as Barnett’s fiery guitar and flippant attitude are two of her hallmarks, but once you make the shift and open your ears to what’s here it’s an enjoyable listen.

John Andrews & The Yawns – Cookbook LP – WoodsistSame holds true for Andrews — his previous albums had evoked the dreamy, psychedelic sounds of the late 60s British Invasion (think Yardbirds, Kinks, etc), while this one finds him embracing early 70s AM radio (think Laurel Canyon, California sunshine). Similar to Barnett it takes your ears/brain a minute to adjust their expectations, but once you do this is a damned pretty album, one that makes you want to lay on the floor (preferably in a wedge of that aforementioned sun) and just bliss out for its duration.

The opening “New California Blue” could serve as a concise summation of what’s to come with each of its three words — New. California. Blue. — and it’s a lovely, lazy track. The following trio of “River of Doubt,” “Ain’t That Right?,” and “Try” carry that vibe along gloriously into one of the album’s two instrumentals before shifting slightly to the perfect little folk tune “Early Hours of the Morning,” the album’s centerpiece and gem. The final two songs “Easy Going” and “Keep on Dreaming” battle to see which can put you into a beautiful dream before the album rides out on the movie credits overlay “Thankyou.” It’s a bit different than what I’d expected, but damn if it isn’t a lovely surprise.

Nathaniel Rateliff & The Night Sweats - The Future | Album Review14. Nathaniel Rateliff & the Night Sweats — The Future; Parquet Courts — Sympathy for Life: this slot’s for the hybrids and a pair of albums from favorites that sound more like their alter egos than the ones being billed. Nathaniel is back with the Night Sweats for the first time since 2018’s Tearing at the Seams (which landed in the top spot on that year’s list), but instead of sounding like a return to the classic soul sound of their first two albums, this one sounds more like a solo outing with a few flourishes (with a few notable exceptions). Which is by no means a bad thing — I’m a big fan of his more intimate solo stuff, as evidenced by his wonderful And It’s Still Alright landing at number #5 on last year’s list. It’s just when you bill it as a Night Sweats album, you expect something a little different — a big, booming sound full of blaring horns and sweaty urgency whipping you into a fervor.

What we find here for the most part are solo songs with a few embellishments, giving us something in between the two states — not quite the confessional solo stuff, and not quite the jubilant soul party either. In the end it doesn’t really matter — Rateliff is a good enough songwriter that you fall for the songs and his melodies even though they feel somewhat stuck in that sonic limbo. Things get off to a good start with the powerful wallop of “The Future” and “Survivor” (which find Nathaniel singing the absolute SH#$ out of the song) before it transitions to a string of songs from the other side of the fence — the stately “Face Down in the Moment” and its successor “Something Ain’t Right,” the lovely “Baby I Got Your Number,” and the Graceland-era Simon-sounding “Oh, I.” They’re all solid songs on their own — just more akin to his solo work — but they’re interspersed with more traditional Sweats-style material, such as the lush “What If I,” the excellent “I’m On Your Side,” and the powerhouse finale “Love Don’t.” (The latter two of which again find Rateliff absolutely BOOMING out the vocals — it’s incredible.) Whichever side of the psyche is singing, this is another winning set of songs from Rateliff and crew.

Parquet Courts → Sympathy for LifeFor the Courts — back for the first time since 2018’s Wide Awaaaaake!, which landed at #3 on that year’s list — this album definitely feels much more like a Parkay Quarts outing than something from the flagship enterprise. The Quarts are the more schizophrenic, experimental half of the band’s personality, even less concerned with “songs” and the expectations of their fans than the Courts are (which is saying something for a band as known for their flippant sarcasm as these guys). If the Courts are Dr Jekyll, the Quarts are the unhinged Mr Hyde, bouncing between catchy “normal” tunes and oddball (at times unlistenable) tangents multiple times over the course of their albums.

I’ve always viewed the Quarts outings a bit like the band’s geyser, coming in between every album or two as they do, regular as clockwork — it was the band getting in a room to make a bunch of noise and blow off some steam before returning to the rigor of their regular job and the restrictions of being Parquet Courts. They’ve blurred the lines between the two before — as on 2015’s noisy instrumentals EP Monastic Living, which was released as the Courts but decidedly a Quartian affair — but never on a full length album as they do here. And unfortunately as on the EP the name alone can’t change the end result — a mild disappointment overall tempered by some dazzling highlights.

The regular Courts songs represent the latter, with Obama-approved “Walking at a Downtown Pace,” “Black Widow Spider,” “Just Shadows,” and the delirious “Homo Sapien” shining bright. The Quarts songs find the band channeling Talking Heads, which they pull off rather well — “Marathon of Anger,” “Plant Life,” and the title track all sound like alternate universe Fear of Music tracks — but the spacy meandering diminishes the potency of the aforementioned tracks after a while. They go out on a high note, though, with the absolutely stellar “Pulcinella,” whose slowly simmering groove builds to a hypnotic conclusion and is an immediate favorite. A good not great return overall, but with some outstanding moments in between.

It's Not Them. It Couldn't Be Them. It Is Them! | Guided By Voices13. Guided by Voices — Earth Man Blues, It’s Not Them. It Couldn’t Be Them. It Is Them; Ty Segall — Harmonizer: this slot’s for the restlessly prolific and two outfits who could almost fill a music store all on their own (and seem intent upon trying). For frequently appearing fave GBV, they took it easy on us this year and “only” released a pair of albums, their 33rd and 34th — the early year Earth Man Blues and its back half brother It’s Not Them. It Couldn’t Be Them. It IS Them. (a nice winking nod to the common reaction to seeing the news they’re releasing new music again.) (Note — the “only” refers solely to the GBV moniker — they spent the middle of the year masquerading as Cub Scout Bowling Pins and releasing that debut album, so the overall volume was actually the same as last year — and three times most band’s output.)

Earth Man was meant to be something of a concept album — a musical about life in elementary school (the John H Morrison noted on the cover being the school frontman Bob Pollard attended as a kid) — but if you ignore that stated aim and just focus on the songs (which is relatively easy to do as I never really picked up on that narrative arc, despite numerous listens during the year) it’s right in line with other recent outings — mostly good with a handful of excellent tracks to balance out the oddities (which end up growing on you in the end anyway). Tracks like “Made Man,” “The Batman Sees the Ball,” “Dirty Kid School,” and “Test Pilot” all sport solid riffs that should make them welcome additions to the notoriously epic live shows, while the same holds for songs like “High in the Rain,” “Dance of Gurus,” “Black and White Eyes in a Prism,” and “My (Limited) Engagement” from It IS Them. I say it nearly every year, but it boggles the mind both how easy they make creating this many good songs seem, as well as how they remember how to play them without an extensive cheat sheet live. These guys are just relentless…

Harmonizer | Ty SegallHarmonizer finds Segall continuing to stray from his vintage era garage rock material to mine his more esoteric impulses, offering a psychedelic synth trip that somehow works pretty well (despite my long-standing disdain for said instrument). It’s a rather eclectic mix, in line with 2018’s Freedom’s Goblin with its rapid hopscotching around. Tracks like the front half of “Pictures” and all of “Play” showcase bright, soaring riffs bound to soundtrack a car commercial or sports broadcast soon, while the hypnotic meltdown at the end of the title track (which previously calls to mind U2’s “Numb” with the heavily distorted guitar) could do the same.

Besides the adrenaline rush riffs of his classic era, Segall’s other signature is just how HEAVY he can sound (explored more directly in one of his many side projects, Fuzz) and songs like “Waxman,” “Whisper,” and the thundering “Erased” highlight that irresistibly. (The latter could/should accompany a Braveheart-style charge into battle while “Whisper” is one of my favorite overall songs this year.) I may still miss the sweaty songs erupting from the garage (my persistent favorite), but this is a pretty winning change of scenery, too.

The Black Keys: Delta Kream Album Review | Pitchfork12. The Black Keys — Delta Kream; Black Pistol Fire — Look Alive: this slot’s motto is “if it ain’t broke” and a pair of albums that find long-time faves (both bluesy twosomes) laying in the cut. Not necessarily phoning it in (because that implies a lack of craft or sincerity), but more embracing the moment of where they’re at in their careers and reveling in it vs pushing their sound into any new terrain. (Merry Christmas to all — no synths!)

The Keys lean hardest on the armrest, giving us an album of their favorite blues covers from artists such as Junior Kimbrough, John Lee Hooker, and RL Burnside. It’s their tenth album — their first since 2019’s cheesily named (yet solid musically) Let’s Rock!, which landed at #6 on that year’s list) — and whether it’s merely to celebrate that milestone or a reflection of having been a band for nearly twenty years and knowing you no longer need to do what’s hot/cool to survive, the band clearly is in their comfort zone here. They’ve done something similar before — on 2006’s Chulahoma, which again found them covering Kimbrough tunes (he got the whole EP that time vs only half the songs here) — but this time they’ve broadened their sound, bringing in session musicians (guitarist Kenny Brown and bassist Eric Deaton, who both recorded with Burnside and Kimbrough) to fill things out. It works well, adding additional heft (and street cred) to the songs, recorded without rehearsal in a single sprint of a day.

That lack of preamble or preparation gives the entire album a loose, convivial warmth — like a bottle of brown passed amongst friends — and it served as a great soundtrack to driving through the Arizona desert this year, the songs slowly unwinding like the landscape. Tracks like lead single “Crawling Kingsnake,” “Louise,” and “Stay All Night” radiate an easy groove, while “Poor Boy Long Way From Home,” “Coal Black Mattie,” and “Sad Days, Lonely Nights” are vintage dive footstompers. They even reprise “Do the Romp” from their debut (yet another Kimbrough cover), a fitting homage to both where they’ve come from as artists and where their hearts lie as fans.

Black Pistol Fire - Look Alive - Amazon.com MusicFor their part BPF sticks closest not to the sound of their debut — which similar to the Keys was a much rawer, more fiery rendition of the blues — but to that of their past few albums. Both bands spent the first chunk of their career in that primal, unadorned mode (for the Keys it lasted 4 albums, BPF 3), but eventually both bands branched out a bit, exploring slightly new sonic terrain and adding additional elements to their signature sound. For the Keys it was psychedelia and soul (as on Brothers and the exceptional Attack & Release), whereas for BPF it was a more cinematic feel, which gave the songs a bit more polish and a LOT more heft. They’ve spent the back half of their career in this mode, and it works well for them.

It’s the pair’s sixth album overall (their first since 2017’s Deadbeat Graffiti, which landed at #5 on that year’s list) and similar to their last two has a number of tunes that just FEEL huge, sweeping songs destined to be the backdrop to a number of things on the small and silver screens. The opening title track is a textbook example, tailor-made to punch through walls, bad moods, and passive resistance with equal force and ease. Latter tracks like “Wildfire” and “Hope in Hell” (two favorites) establish a slinkier vibe before building things to a frenzied eruption, while “Level” does so even more forcefully, flattening you like a runaway truck. (Honestly — TRY not to get caught up by the machine gun snares at the end…) The pair hearkens back to their roots on tracks like “Pick Your Poison,” “Holdin Up,” and “Black Halo,” straightforward stompers that give those who prefer the early days something to savor as well. A perennial fave to see live, I’d love to see this album open up on stage — works pretty darn well even on our stereos, though…

Shame: Drunk Tank Pink Album Review | Pitchfork11. Shame — Drunk Tank Pink; The Sueves — Tears of Joy: this pair’s for the punks, one straight ahead smokers the other slightly more restrained post-punk dynamos. Both deliver in their own way, though, and form the perfect complement for when you want it loud, brash, and built to thrash. For Shame it’s the follow up to their 2018 debut, Songs of Praise, which found them doing much the same as here — serving up tightly coiled tracks that often explode in a flurry of fireworks, thanks to Charlie Forbes’ furious drumming, Sean Coyle-Smith and Eddie Green’s dueling guitars, and frontman Charlie Steen’s over the top antics. (Glued together, as in all bands, by the ever-overlooked bassist — Josh Finerty here.)

The London lads have sharpened their attack in the time away and pack an even bigger punch this time around — from the powerful push-pull shifts on tracks like “Born in Luton,” “Water in the Well,” and “Harsh Degrees,” which stagger and sprint like an often winded meth head, to all out blitzes like “March Day” and “Great Dog,” the album delivers numerous moments that leave you breathless. None moreso than the epic hammer blow “Snow Day,” which continues to amaze after many months of listening.

Tears of Joy | The SuevesThe Sueves are much more of a mystery. There’s not much about them out on the intertubes, other than they’re from Chicago, this is their third album, and their guitarist used to be Max Clarke from Cut Worms. (Which is actually how I found them — he posted something about the album’s release on the ‘gram and said he used to be in the band, so naturally checked em out. Suffice it to say I was QUITE surprised to hear songs that were as loud and unrestrained as his current ones are quiet and contained, the difference between getting pelted by eggs and admiring a Faberge one in a museum.) Sonic/mental dissonance aside, the album is pretty great, tearing through 12 songs in just over 30 minutes.

They bring to mind bands like Thee Oh Sees and Bass Drum of Death (two boisterous faves), or even shades of Ty Segall in his garage rock phase. Tracks like “Funeral Hugs,” “Alexxxa,” and “He Puts Down” are so hot they almost raise blisters, while ones like “Mop Bucket” and “Deflect the World” almost saunter out of the speakers, daring you to say something and chance getting pummeled. “Deal” is the standout amongst stars for me, delivering one of the most satisfying muted “chicka chickas” since maybe Radiohead’s “Creep.” I couldn’t tell you what frontman Joe Schorgl is shouting about half the time, but I can guarantee I don’t care. Meant to be enjoyed in a packed, sweaty bar, these guys bring the heat. Turn it up…

The Bones of J.R. Jones Announce New EP A Celebration, Out March 19th | Grateful Web10. The Bones of JR Jones — A Celebration; Andy Shauf — Wilds: this slot’s for the ones who technically shouldn’t be here. Not because they’re inferior quality-wise (they most definitely are not), but because they’re technically not albums. In a year where nothing’s seemed to go according to plan or adhere to any rules (and since no one reads this thing anyway) I figure why not — they were definitely two of the best things I listened to this year, so they’re in!

For Jones (aka singer/songwriter Jonathan Linaberry) it’s the first thing we’ve heard since 2018’s Ones to Keep Close and in order to record it he decided to leave his place in New York and venture into the Arizona desert for inspiration. He definitely found something worth holding onto as the open air seems to have made him lean into the quieter, folksier side of his sound (all but one of the tracks – the TV on the Radio reminiscent “Bad Moves” – would be perfect to hear while sitting around the campfire). It’s a wise move as they’re some of his most affecting songs yet, their potency far belying the softness of their sound. The title track, “Keep it Low,” and “Like an Old Lover” are kneebuckling beauties, songs that make you just want to lay on the floor and let them blanket you in their warmth, while the opening “Stay Wild” has a lush, pastoral feel that’s perfect for a drive to nowhere with the windows down. “Howl” was, and remains, my favorite amongst the flawless bunch, as haunting as the titular sound riding the wind to your campsite.

Wilds | Andy ShaufShauf’s falls closer to album length at least in terms of songs — there’s nine of ’em here, each a characteristic entry in his cinematic style, painting vivid pictures about the cast of characters he conjures — but it lasts only 26 minutes, so like all good EPs definitely leaves you wanting more. Shauf just released his last album a year ago (the excellent Neon Skyline, which landed at #6 on my year-end list) so it was a surprise to see him back with this many songs so soon. He has described them as a collection of demos, ones originally intended to explore the Skyline’s barflies a year or so later, but rather than keep working on that concept he scrapped it and opted to release the sketches now. (Which while slightly disappointing from an academic perspective — his thematic albums are so entertaining and rich, it would have been interesting to see what the crew was up to — doesn’t diminish our ability to enjoy them now.)

Calling them demos or sketches is a bit misleading as they are in no way half-finished or unpolished, they’re simply more thematically diverse slices of Shauf’s universe, full of his gifted storytelling and lovely melodies. We revisit Judy the vexing ex several times (in the album’s bookend title tracks and “Television Blue”), we learn more about the car crash from Skyline (this time focusing on the victim in the stately march of “Jaywalker”), and we get some unconnected songs — songs that don’t directly address any of Skyline’s main characters, yet are equally lovely and beguiling. (“Spanish on the Beach,” “Green Glass,” and “Believe Me”) It’s another winning mix from one of my favorite finds the past few years, whether album or EP.

Depreciated | John R Miller9. John R Miller — Depreciated; Tre Burt — You, Yeah, You: this one’s for the singer/songwriters and a pair of really good ones, both happy discoveries in my pandemic-fueled musical meanderings the past few years. It’s Miller’s first album since 2018’s The Trouble You Follow, which I stumbled on earlier in the year thanks to a suggestion from the Spots and quickly wore out. Thankfully I found it right as he was beginning to release singles from the upcoming album and each built on the quality of the previous — the straight down the barrel “Lookin’ Over my Shoulder,” the swaying “Coming Down,” the smoldering “Shenandoah Shakedown,” and the pristine “Faustina.” Miller’s country-fried voice and winning melodies get you singing along quick to his tales of perseverance and woe.

It’s not all sadness and despair — “Old Dance Floor” is a good old fashioned hoedown while tracks like “Borrowed Time,” “Half Ton Van,” and “Motor’s Fried” use smirking shots of humor to lighten the proceedings. The latter and “Back and Forth” are actually two tracks from Miller’s debut, rerecorded here with additional flourishes and a solid duet to take them to the next level. It’s the album’s melancholic moments that really hit home, though, as on the closing “Fire Dancer” — the slightly forlorn quality in Miller’s voice heightens the sincerity and lets you know that while he may be pushing through (or cracking jokes) he’s feeling it.

You, Yeah, You | Tre BurtBurt’s album works much the same way — lovely melodies buttressing lyrics that dance between deflective humor and gutpunched emotion. It’s a fast follow up to last year’s debut, Caught it from the Rye (which landed at #15 on my year end list), but shows no sign of sloppiness or haste, instead adding a little polish to the recipe established there. Burt’s warm, ragged voice and unembellished acoustic remain perfect complements the solid storytelling in his lyrics, which is somewhat to be expected as he’s on the late great John Prine’s label, Oh Boy — straight shooting and sincerity are simply part of the package.

He does Prine proud again, though, juxtaposing judicious humor as on “Bout Now,” “Me Oh My,” and “Funny Story” with stabs of sadness as on “Sammi’s Song,” “Solo,” and “Tell Mary.” His duets on tracks like “Ransom Blues” and “Dixie Red” also call to mind Prine’s pairings with female vocalists like Iris DeMent, Lucinda Williams, and Emmylou Harris and it works every bit as effectively, burnishing the bedraggled with a little bit of beauty. (Kelsey Waldon and Amelia Meath are the ones who show up here, elevating several of the album’s tracks.) No sophomore slumping here — just 12 solid songs to warm your ears with.

Jimbo Mathus / Andrew Bird: These 13 Album Review | Pitchfork8. Jimbo Mathus & Andrew Bird — These 13; Yes Ma’am — Runaway: this slot’s for the transportive time machines and a pair of albums that take you far from your current location — either back a century or to a slightly more modern day footing, but definitely somewhere down south. For Mathus and Bird it’s a reunion of sorts, having played together back in the 90s as part of the equally antique sounding Squirrel Nut Zippers. (I actually met both of them after one of the Zippers shows and each was quite polite to this sweaty, awkward kid…) This time they leave out the brass and the bombastic zeal, giving us a baker’s dozen songs on an album that is just painfully pretty top to bottom.

It’s a mix of folk songs, hymns, and spirituals, all written during the pandemic, but sounding like unearthed treasures from some long lost time capsule. It’s in part due to Bird’s fiddle, which always sounds like a relic from another era, but also the imagery used in the songs’ lyrics — horses, devils, and talk of burying one deep all show up. It all hearkens back to a simpler time, one where you might hear these songs coming out of an old radio while you sat in your wooden chair (as shown on the album cover) or sing them call and response style at the town jamboree. It’s an intoxicating trick — “Sweet Oblivion,” “Dig up the Hatchet,” and “Jack o’ Diamonds” are are more uptempo knee slappers while “Red Velvet Rope,” “Stonewall (1863),” and “Bell Witch” showcase the pair’s outstanding harmonization, which raises the hair on your arms at times. The album’s quieter moments are its most potent, though, hushed little knife thrusts that slip the blade straight into your heart — “Encircle My Love,” “Beat Still my Heart,” and “Three White Horses and a Golden Chain” are devastating beauties and three of my absolute favorites. This was one of the first albums that came out this year — almost exactly a year ago at this point — and I’ve kept listening to it the entire time with no downturn in enjoyment.

Runaway by Yes Ma'am on Amazon Music UnlimitedFor their part Yes Ma’am keep things slightly more modern (although not much — just enough to get us to a time where trains and river riding were king), but otherwise very much in line with their slotmates. Where Bird and Mathus wove a more subdued, seductive spell, sloooooooowly pulling you down with their softer sound and harmonies, Yes Ma’am’s hits you square in the chest, getting your pulse racing almost instantly like a shot of adrenaline. They scarcely let you rest for the subsequent 11 songs, offering only momentary reprieves at the beginning of the tracks before uncorking another shindig in each one’s back half. (The noteworthy exception being the closing title track, “Runaway,” which is as lovely as it is uniformly calm.)

It’s the band’s fourth album (I think — Bandcamp has two, while the Spots has three, with one overlap), but whatever the number the quality and consistency can’t be denied. I first saw these guys when down in New Orleans — something I forgot until I stumbled on them again this year, recognized a couple of the tracks, and then saw a photo of them performing on the street in the exact same spot I saw them before. Frontman Matt Costanza’s exuberance radiates through his voice and the rest of the band mirrors his zeal with their infectious playing. From uptempo winners like the opening “Tell Me” to “Leaving Blues,” “Brush Your Teeth,” and “Banjo Blues,” the band is quite adept at whipping you into a frenzy. Meanwhile slightly more stately songs like “Hellhound” and “Blue For You” (along with the killer closer) show they’re not a one trick (or tempo) pony. Really glad to have rediscovered these guys…

Houndmouth - Good For You - Amazon.com Music7.  Houndmouth — Good For You; The Wallflowers — Exit Wounds: this slot’s for a return to form and a pair of bands I’d let go from the ranks in recent years. For Houndmouth it had been a disappointing departure, one sparked by the abyssmal change of their third album, 2018’s Golden Age, an over-polished upending of their rustic, rootsy sound full of — you guessed it — SYNTHS. (Cue gasps and thunderclaps.) After loving their warm, inviting first two albums so much, this was akin to your significant other shaving their head, getting nipple rings, and saying they’re now nihilists without warning. Thankfully, whatever urges, advice, or mania were driving those decisions have since been disregarded on this lovely return to their old sound.

Similar to their first two albums, it’s busting with big hearted, full throated winners — tracks like “Miracle Mile,” “McKenzie,” “Jackson,” and “Las Vegas” are all uptempo, bright beams of light, but it’s the slower songs that are particularly resonant here. The opening title track, the smoldering “Make it to Midnight,” and the equally stately “Goodbye” and “Ohio” are quiet little devastators, as potent as they are pretty. None moreso than “Cool Jam,” the crippling heart of the album that cut way too close to the bone for me this year, but is an absolute gem of a song. Really glad to see these guys back in the fold…

Exit Wounds | The WallflowersThe back half of the slot marks the year’s biggest surprise musically. Like half the globe I loved the band’s second album (the world dominating Bringing Down the Horse) and mostly liked their follow up, but lost the thread somewhere around album four and thought that our time together was through. Nothing malicious, no ill will, just a mutual breakup for a pairing that had run its course. The band kept recording, dropping albums every couple of years while frontman Jakob Dylan shuffled lineups and simultaneously recorded solo stuff. Meanwhile I kept doing whatever you call this. (“Living?”) So it was completely unexpected to have our paths cross again all these years later.

It’s been nine years since the band’s last album (their longest gap to date) and almost 20 since I listened to anything they’d put out, but I saw it pop up in the new release list and thought I’d give it a spin. (Actually I saw its terrible cover and thought a) “this looks like something that should be on an Oakenfold mix tape” and b) “the Wallflowers are still around?!?”) I’m really glad I did because it’s got some really good songs. Dylan’s voice remains as scuffed up and seductive as ever, pulling you in close to listen to his laments on songs like “Maybe Your Heart’s Not in it,” “Darlin’ Hold On,” “I’ll Let You Down (But I Will Not Give You Up),” and “The Daylight Between of Us,” like a bartender in some half empty bar. Tracks like “The Dive Bar in my Heart,” “Roots and Wings,” and “I Hear the Ocean (When I Want to Hear Trains)” are more uplifting affairs, while “Move the River” is the powerhouse in the middle with a massive chorus that’ll have you booming along in defiance.

Enjoy the View | We Were Promised Jetpacks | Big Scary Monsters6. We Were Promised Jetpacks — Enjoy the View: back for the first time since 2018’s The More I Sleep the Less I Dream (which feels like it just came out, but somehow is already three years old  –thanks a lot, COVID…), one of my favorite bands of merry Scotsmen are back to deliver another dreamy disc full of tunes. That one found the band leaning hard into the woozy, surreal vibe suggested by the titular state — swelling, sweeping guitars that conjured an almost ethereal feel — and this one (their fifth, the previous landing at #4 on that year’s list) finds them mining similar territory.

The band had always dabbled with this type of song before (“Sore Thumb” off their sophomore In the Pit of the Stomach and “Disconnecting” from the follow-up Unraveling are two of my favorites), but Dream found them maintaining that vibe for almost the entire album. Same applies here — from the gossamer opening track “Not Me Anymore” to later offerings “What I Know Now,” “If It Happens,” and the hypnotic gem of a closer, “Just Don’t Think About It,” this is a band that knows how to nail the epic swell.

Jetpacks’ other hallmark is fiery, furious guitar, led primarily by guitarist Michael Palmer and frontman Adam Thompson, whose ferocious roar gives a number of songs almost overwhelming power. (Particularly live, as some of the songs nearly bowl you over with their force.) Thankfully both are still here and healthy as ever, their slightly less frequent appearances only adding to their potency. The pair punctuate the glimmering aura with some signature style tunes — “All That Glittered,” “Don’t Hold Your Breath For Too Long,” and “I Wish You Well” showcase them at their best, while all-out sprints like “Nothing Ever Changes” show bassist Sean Smith and drummer Darren Lackie pouring gasoline on the fire. These guys have shown how to expand their sound while continuing to play to their strengths better than most. Another solid offering from a pocket fave…

When You See Yourself - Wikipedia5. Kings of Leon — When You See Yourself: this is another band that’s expanded their sound over the years (maybe a little less smoothly and sincerely at times than the previous band), but despite some growing pains have hit their stride and still turn out quality songs. At this point Kings have long since left behind my favorite incarnation of the band — the irresistibly fiery and raw version from their first two albums, Youth and Young Manhood and its follow-up Aha Shake Heartbreak — and since then they’ve spent the subsequent 16 years and six albums covering most of the flames with blankets of studio polish and sanding down all their rough edges. The end result hasn’t worked for everyone, but it has spawned a number of universal anthems and I think on balance has been far better than their growing chorus of detractors imply.

Similar to the last band, Kings’ previous album found them leaning into the more ethereal (some might say synthetic) elements that they’d played with on earlier outings and they’ve doubled down on them in this. The last one, WALLS, struck critics (and a fair number of fans) as somewhat forced at the time (I still enjoyed it — it landed at #13 on 2016’s list), but the similar sound here feels a lot more comfortable and organic this time around. From the pulsating “100,000 People” to gauzier songs like “A Wave,” “Time in Disguise,” and “Fairytale,” the shimmer and sheen feel more warranted than before, the band more confident in what they’re trying to achieve. (Bassist Jared Followill sounds particularly inspired, offering some of his best lines on the album, an unsung highlight for sure.) “Supermarket” and “Claire & Eddie” are laidback little ditties, while the bright, bouncing title track, the furious “Echoing,” and lead singles “The Bandit” and “Stormy Weather” show the band can still bring the heat when they want to. Lyrically frontman Caleb Followill earns a few eyerolls as he sings about subjects that can seem a little forced (climate change, for one), but they’re minor infractions forgiven thanks to the strength of the music and melody surrounding them. This was another early year entry that I listened to a bunch in the coming months — a really solid batch of songs.

My Morning Jacket: My Morning Jacket Album Review | Pitchfork4. My Morning Jacket — My Morning Jacket: the final band in this tier of frequently appearing faves is also the oldest and based on that status as elder statesmen it’s ironic that they’re the ones who released a self-titled album this year. That move is normally reserved for debuts — or at least early career proclamations (“We. Have. ARRIVED! Take heed and notice, all ye who pass…”) — so for a band with 22 years and eight studio albums already under their belts, it’s a bit of a surprise to have their ninth serve as that statement. It makes more sense when you learn what state the band was in leading up to this, though.

Turns out the fears and suspicions of a band in turmoil sparked by last year’s release of The Waterfall II (which landed at #10 on last year’s list) — an album of outtakes as a companion to the 2015 original after five years of no new material — were warranted. The band was on the verge of breaking up and had no intentions of recording another album, but playing a pair of pandemic shows at Red Rocks made them reconsider the former, while the studio jam sessions they decided to have shortly afterward made them reconsider the latter. And thus the decision to name the album showcasing that recaptured joy and rekindled sense of purpose after the band makes total sense — and you hear both elements clearly throughout its 11 song, hour long duration.

It works almost like an MMJ show in miniature — the opening “Regularly Scheduled Programming” serves as a fitting start to both the album and their live shows, addressing the near two-years-and-counting interruption to our normal lives and attempting to get back to the titular topic. (This was the first song I heard at the first show I went to this year after the longest stretch without live music I’ve had since I started going to shows 25+ years ago. The communal sense of relief, release, and exhilaration was undeniable and something I will remember for a long, long time…) Immediate follow-up “Love Love Love,” “Lucky to be Alive,” and “Penny For Your Thoughts” represent the bright, energetic songs that get everyone in the crowd singing along, while “Out of Range, Pt 2” and “I Never Could Get Enough” represent the “Jim jams” that get everyone to shut up, showcasing frontman Jim James’ otherworldly voice as it rockets towards the heavens from a sea of silent, awed onlookers.

The album also captures some of the epic, spine-tingling moments you get at the band’s live shows (these guys are on the short list of bands I see every time they come to town — particularly if they’re in the open air — and they NEVER disappoint). Tracks like “In Color,” “Complex,” and “Never in the Real World” pull off that rare feat, replicating some of the mind-melting fireworks sparked when the band cuts loose and leaves you speechless. The lyrics can be a little simple and sloganeering at times (Pitchfork savaged the album for that), but similar to IDLES’ album last year (which they ALSO destroyed) when things are as out of control as they have been the past few years, sometimes boiled down and basic is best (or at least, all you can manage). And in that case a “back to basics” album with music as good as this is exactly what we needed.

CRAWLER | IDLES3. IDLES — Crawler: in a year characterized predominantly by music that seemed aimed to soothe or heal (rightfully so — because…damn…) this was one of the few that fired from the opposite end of the spectrum, tapping into the collective frustration and anger to deliver a Molotov cocktail of an album. The brash Brits are back quick on the heels of last year’s Ultra Mono (which landed at #14 on that list) and it finds them continuing the trend of the last few slots of bands experimenting with adding elements to their sound before expanding that trend on the subsequent album. For IDLES that meant adding a few spacier, slower songs on Mono to counterbalance all the frothy uptempo punk tunes, as well as some electronic effects and distortions to add even more edges to their already spiky sound and it worked well. What they’ve delivered here, though, represents such an extraordinary leveling up it’s stunning, particularly in such a short amount of time.

Instead of attacking societal issues as on the previous three albums (rape, racism, politics, toxic masculinity) frontman Joe Talbot (aka “Good Joe,” to differentiate him from the dummy I work with of the same name) turns his gaze inward here, centering the album largely around his personal history. He sets the stage ominously with the opening “MTT 420 RR,” which poses the question (both to himself and to us), “are you ready for the storm?” In his case this is a reference to the storm of hardships and pain spawned by a car crash he suffered while high several years ago, which he touches on in several songs. (In “420,” as well as on the aptly named “Car Crash,” one of the album’s many standout tracks.) The cycle of substance abuse that caused said crash also comes up several times, as on the Howitzer blast “The Wheel,” which references both his and his mother’s struggles and is one of the band’s best songs (bassist Adam Devonshire’s notes strike a primordial nerve deep in the brain that is irresistibly powerful); the aptly named “Meds,” which gleefully implores the listener to “medicate, meditate, medicate;” and the eerie “Progress,” which finds Talbot precariously teetering between not wanting to get high (for fear of letting folks down) and not wanting to come down (for fear of feeling worse). The refrain  is of damage (as crooned on the uncharacteristic lead single “The Beachland Ballroom”), which fits both for the album and the year itself.

The album closes with the duo of “King Snake” and “The End,” the former a withering self-assault that finds Talbot starting with the line “I’m the duke of nothing” before getting progressively more unsparing in his self-flagellations, while the latter finally finds him letting up a bit and giving himself a break, ending the album with the full-throated, optimistic roar of “in spite of it all, life is beautiful.” Both the additional focus lyrically (which removes some of the sloganeering that Pitchfork and others have unfairly eviscerated the band for) and the heightened heft musically (drummer Jon Beavis deserves a nod for adding some jungle-style rhythms to his customary pattern of beating the absolute sh#$ out of the kit) make this an absolute juggernaut of an album — easily their best to date.

The Million Masks of God | manchester orchestra2. Manchester Orchestra — The Million Masks of God: carrying on the theme of the last few slots, this album again finds the owning band deepening the explorations dabbled with on the previous outing to positive effect. For Manchester the exploration was on 2017’s excellent A Black Mile to the Surface (which landed at #8 on that year’s list) and was probably the most fully formed of the aforementioned bands’ efforts. That album was pretty comparable in terms of sound and feel to this one — what’s deepened this time around is the lyrics around a more focused theme. Fear not, we still touch on many of frontman Andy Hull’s favorites — death, uncertainty, loss, love — but this time they’re centered around a single event, in this case the death of guitarist Rob McDowell’s father. So while each of these topics showed up on Black Mile (and almost all other Manchester recordings to date), there they were sparked by a range of different stimuli vs here by this one sad event.

Hull remains as introspective and unsparing as always in his handling of the material, letting neither himself nor the focus of his attention off the hook, oscillating between simmering anger, uneasy self-doubt, and pleas for love and understanding. So whether he’s “arguing with the dead” as on lead single “Bed Head,” the angel of death on the song of the same name, or a significant other/himself on almost everything else, it covers a lot of terrain emotionally. As a result, this one smashed a number of nerves that were similarly frayed on this end this year (albeit more enjoyably and beautifully) — the frustration and disdain for having to repeat oneself (“over and ooooooveeeeer…”) on “Bed Head” and “Dinosaur,” the fear and fog of letting go as on “Obstacle” and “Way Back,” the sadness and isolation caused by a lack of reciprocity (“baby do you want me/love me/are you with me?” “No, no, no…”) as on “Telepath,” one of two songs this year that would nearly break me every time I heard it.

Hull knows whether it’s the pain and disillusionment brought on by the end of a relationship through death or one done in by distance, damage, or divorce, the sentiments are largely the same, and while these feelings were brought on by a single event for him, he treats them generally enough in the lyrics that we can all find a piece to identify with and share. It’s a testament to his skills as a songwriter, made all the more resonant by his ethereal voice, which along with Jim James’ might be one of my overall faves. I turned to this one a lot over the course of the year — maybe not as much as I normally would due to the rawness of the emotions and how close they hit to home — but it’s another really solid album from these guys. Hoping to hear how they treat it live at some point soon…

Long Lost (album) - Wikipedia1. Lord Huron — Long Lost: each year the decision for what the top album will be is a no brainer, something that clicks in the brain at some point as obvious and that certainty solidifies with every subsequent listen. For me, it was this one — this absolute beauty of an album from Lord Huron — which was something of a surprise. I’ve always enjoyed their music, finding its mix of elegant etherealism and warm Americana soothing, but they’ve always been relegated more to the background for me vs something I focus on actively while listening. That couldn’t be farther from the case with this one, their fourth, which felt like the songs were stolen from my head instead of some fictional old time revue (the structural conceit of the album). This one hits you time and again, straight in the heart, and it’s pretty to the point of being painful at times.

The lyrics deal (per usual) with love and loss as the narrator grapples with the passage of time, the decisions he’s made, and whether what’s left in the wake is salvageable or spent, but their clarity and power land like never before. Frontman Ben Schneider takes a page from Tom Petty’s playbook and rattles off a rash of outstanding opening lines — “If you ever want to see my face again I want to know…if forever gets lonely take my hand” from “Mine Forever;” “I’ve been lost before and I’m lost again, I guess” from “Love Me Like You Used To;” “I get by, but I’m tired of myself and I doubt that I ever will find someone else” from “Drops in the Lake;” “All messed up with nowhere to go, I stare at myself in the mirror alone” from lead single “Not Dead Yet;” or “So much to say, but my words mean nothing, a life spent talking when my epitaph would do. Wasting my days with my mind on the future and my past like a chain that won’t ever let me go” from closing “What Do It Mean.” These lines (and many that follow in those songs) are so poignant, so evocative, it’s tough to pick a favorite.

Two in particular stand out, though — one serving as a personal theme song that encapsulates my tumultuous time in DC (which thankfully finally reached its end), the other a painful glimpse of my potential future. The former is the majestic, melancholic “Twenty Long Years,” which sports so many lines that could be bumper stickers for my time on the hill — coincidentally the exact same duration as the titular span — it’s uncanny (and a bit unnerving). The latter is the absolutely devastating “I Lied,” which showcases a breathtaking duet with Alison Ponthier as she and Schneider sing to each other about a relationship gone awry. It’s an amazing song — the other half of the aforementioned duo that nearly reduced me to tears each time I heard it — and a high point on an album that’s full of them. This one’s their masterpiece…

Insta’ Gratification: Neko and the Flood from the ‘Gram

One of the best albums of the past 20 years celebrated an anniversary a few weeks back, beloved Neko Case’s flawless masterpiece, Fox Confessor Brings the Flood, which came out 15 years ago this month.  Easily her best album to date at the time (and honestly, probably still — though Middle Cyclone gives it a solid fight), it built upon the undeniable strengths of those preceding outings — the honky-tonk rambles of The Virginian and Furnace Room Lullaby and the more ethereal, stately blues of Blacklisted (which has possibly my favorite of her songs on it, the devastating beauty “I Wish I Was the Moon.”) Case showcases each of those elements on Confessor, as well as gospel and more straightforward indie songs, for an album that is perfect from top to bottom.

From the moment she got started Case’s one-of-a-kind voice was always the star — able to roar with unbridled ferocity or reduce you to tears with its kneebuckling versatility and beauty. What really came into focus on this album, though, was the strength of Case’s songwriting — songs about love, death, loneliness, and loss play out vividly across the album’s twelve tracks, although the lyrics are rarely as clear as the images they evoke. “Girl with the parking lot eyes” from opener “Margaret vs Pauline.” “My true love died in a dirty old pan of oil” from “Star Witness.” “Your body, limp, beneath my feet, your dusty eyes as cold as clay” from “Maybe Sparrow.”

You can clearly picture each of those things as she sings, yet the circumstances surrounding them aren’t always clear. The songs feel like flickering images from an unknown film where you get glimpses of what’s going on as the door to the theater opens and closes, but never see the entire movie. Images of birds, lions, wolves, and more pop in and out of view, never lingering long enough to tell you the whole story.

What holds it all together is what started it in the first place — that voice. That unbelievable, unparalleled voice. Case sounds amazing on this album, balancing the mystery of those images with the unquestionable emotion she packs into her performance. The anger that simmers beneath the line “everything’s SO easy for Pauline — for PauuuuLIIIIIIIIIIIINE!” at the end of the opener. The naked desperation in her plea, “pleaaaaaaaaaaaaase, don’t let him die” at the close of “Star Witness.” The unflinching confidence when she vows,”I don’t care if forever never comes cause I’m holding out for that teenage feeling.” The full-throated anguish over the titular bird in “Maybe Sparrow.” It hits you right in the heart, over and over again no matter how many times you listen, and it doesn’t matter whether you fully understand why — the voice tells you everything you need to know.

It’s again paired with her long-time duet partner Kelly Hogan’s on several of the best songs, reminding us that somehow even something as amazing as Case’s voice can become better. (Like adding bacon to almost anything or throwing a runny egg on top — are you ever sorry they showed up?) The two’s voices are so perfectly paired it’s intoxicating, an effect that’s only enhanced when you hear it in person. I remember seeing them perform this album at my favorite dive here in town and I legitimately was nearly knocked out on my feet — it was like listening to two angels serenade each other and you were just lulled into a dreamlike state of stupor, eyes closed and smiling. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a couple hundred people be so quiet.

It was an amazing show and it — like the album — remains one of my absolute favorites. Do yourself a favor and check it out, if for some reason you haven’t already.  I could pick any of the aforementioned songs to get you started, but I think my favorite is probably “At Last.” Short, sweet, and by the time the shimmering guitar comes in at the end you’re swooning — just lovely. Give it a listen here:


As I’m sure the eight of you are already aware, there’s been a surge in nonsense over on the ‘gram lately, large quantities of it courtesy of yours truly thanks to the dare issued to me recently by the one and only Oddge. Long story short she got tore up on seltzer and corn dogs one night and in the midst of that drunken frenzy she said, “yaknowwha — you’re wasting your time writing, Sunshine. You could post something EVERY SINGLE DAY and no one would notice.” She then whipped her half-filled White Claw at me across the room, kicked over my fern, and stormed out into the night to bark at dogs and passersby.

Tough love, to be sure, but far be it from me to ignore a challenge, so I’ve been doing my best to post something over there every day, offering the people what none of them asked for — more musical selections (and ramblings) from me! I’ve been having some fun with it, posting gems from the grocery store, birthday bashes, and relics from the past, as well as the usual new finds you’d expect to see here. It’s those latter ones I want to memorialize here, in part so I don’t forget them (still don’t love the disappearing stories) and in part so I can add them to the master playlist and have them come up on Sunshine Radio.  (Which I TOTALLY know more than just me uses — totally…)

I won’t rehash what I said over there (since I ALSO know all of you have already seen them before!), but if you feel like rewatching/listening, here’s your chance to dive back in! Until next time, my friends…

–BS

    • Watch the outstanding Netflix documentary on Latin American rock, Break it All. It showcases a ton of my faves, including the Argentine giants Soda Stereo:

    • Brit band Sports Team are definitely worth a listen, sounding like “a fun, hooky mix of Franz and the Strokes:”

    • Fellow Chicagoan Andrew Bird dropped a solid new album with his old Squirrel Nut Zippers pal Jimbo Mathus that’s a good listen:

    • Old-time faves The Band just released an expanded version of their Stage Fright album for its 50th anniversary and this one’s been a revived favorite:

    • Aussie act Amyl and the Sniffers released this ripshit rocker that’s been on repeat for much of the past few weeks:

    • Love em or hate em Kings of Leon are back with a new album and this is one of its better tracks:

    • Toronto titan Drake dropped a three song EP that has this solid collab with Lil Baby:

Turkey Time 2020: A Side of Sonic Stuffing

With this year’s holidays being another victim of this strange year of separation, as many stayed home rather than potentially infect loved ones (though worryingly not enough, due to the high number of travelers reported this week), one thing that might have been too much to bear was also having to go without me — the unrequited love you never tell your true feelings (it’s ok, I know…) — so here I am to help you salvage a little joy out of these trying, tiring times.  Gather round — let’s gorge ourselves on a smorgasbord of new music as Thanksgiving tradition dictates.  Get comfy — loosen your pants and let me fill your proverbial cornucopias with a few recommendations from the previous weeks (only 27% as dirty as it sounds).

We’ll start with a few old friends, just to make everyone comfortable.  First up comes the latest from frequent attendee Andrew Bird who recently released a Christmas album, Hark — the day before Halloween. (Why not, I guess? Nothing else makes sense this year…) It expands upon the EP of the same name from last year, adding a few more original songs to mix of already pleasant traditional tunes.  (Bird also remixes a few of those traditional melodies, fusing them with lyrics of his own from other songs to interesting effect.)

One of the noteworthy new songs is this one, a cover of former Velvet Undergrounder John Cale’s solo song, “Andalucia.” As usual, Bird makes the song his own, mixing his trademark violin with his lovely voice and whistle. It may not be a typical holiday/Christmas song, but who the heck cares when it sounds this good? Slog down some nog and give it a listen here:

Next comes the latest single from faves Parquet Courts, who are prepping a 10th anniversary live stream in honor of their first show. (How has it been 10 years already?!)  Airing December 10 on NoonChorus it should be a typically enjoyable time, so get your tickets now. (One of my favorite moments of a Courts show — and it happens every time — is when Andrew, Austin, and Sean’s heads all start bobbing to one of the tunes, albeit in a totally different direction.  One will be up and down, one side to side, and the other left to right. Always makes me laugh…)

In anticipation of that event they’ve also dusted off an unreleased track, recorded at the time of 2014’s excellent Sunbathing Animal.  It’s nothing fancy — just another 2-minute gem to get you bopping.  Hopefully they’ve got more like this in the vaults (and/or a new album coming soon)!  Check out “Hey Bug” while we wait for the anniversary show:

Now we’ll move onto some new faces to fill out our virtual table, first with the lead single from London duo Sorry’s album 925.  The album itself is sort of hit or miss, a melange of styles that never coheres as well as on this track, but it’s an interesting listen when it works. This one’s the hands-down winner, a woozy mix of moody trip hop and drunken sax that’s pretty irresistible. (I particularly liked the slightly reworked lyrics from Gary Jules’ “Mad World” in the chorus.) Check out “Right Round the Clock” here:

We’ll stay in the UK for this next one, too, with another offering from a guy-gal twosome.  This pair hails from Belfast and provides a bit more sunshine compared to the club-ready darkness of the last one.  There’s not a ton out there on these guys — no bio on Allmusic, just a couple singles and no word on a full album yet.  We’ll keep our eyes open, though, and hope there’s more coming like this, a bright, poppy blast with a pretty great little slap in the chorus to temper the sugary sound (“the city still wants me, but you don’t”).  It’s a good little tune — check out “Moroccan Sun” from Dark Tropics here:

Next we’ll head stateside for a couple acts that call to mind earlier eras — first from New Jersey’s John Andrews, who heads a fictitious band called the Yawns, which remind me of fellow retro soloist Cut Worms, only with a more psychedelic haze to the sheen.  Like Max Clarke from that act, Andrews apparently played all the instruments on his debut, 2015’s Bit by the Fang.  He enlisted some help on its excellent (yet brief) follow up, 2017’s Bad Posture, which showcases this one, lead track “Drivers.” They’re both great albums — brisk, bright, and full of solid melodies.  Hopefully he’s got more stuff coming soon since it’s been a few years.  In the meantime, pop this on and bask in the glow:

We’ll close with the Moondoggies, another terribly named band bailed out by some terrific tunes (and Spotify’s excellent recommendation algorithm).  Hailing from the opposite coast, this five piece from Seattle calls to mind the Grateful Dead and Tom Petty at times over the course of their four albums.  I’ve been working their debut over a ton lately (2008’s Don’t be a Stranger), but truthfully all four of their albums are winners — a nice mix of three part harmonies, leggy guitar jams, and strong melodies.  Tracks like this one are a common showcase — give “Black Shoe” a listen here:

Until next time, amici — happy turkey bird…
–BS

And the Beat Goes On (La Dee Da Dee Dee) — The Best Music of 2019

What the fuck just happened? That’s mostly a rhetorical question – I’m up on the smorgasbord of smiles that are our current events and know I engorged myself like a feudal tsar for the holiday yesterday — but it’s also a question that’s emblematic for the year we just completed.  Because, honestly – what the fuck just happened?

If you had to tell someone about 2019, what would you say? Or worse, if you had to differentiate it from 2018, could you even do it?  Almost non-stop political nonsense? Check. Ongoing punishment and infuriation at work? Check. Equally unstoppable joy and happiness from my farting furball? CHECK. (The dog, not Mad Dog — although…) Some good concerts and gatherings with friends? Yep.  A few good trips and meals? You know it.  Attempts to get out of this glorious place successful for almost everyone but me? You know it, buddy! And so that’s why I struggle to sum up what the fuck actually happened this year – it just feels like a blur, a fuzzed up, foggy image of the one that came before it. 

If last year was about hunkering down and waiting for the thaw, finding sanctuary through separation and happiness through hermitry, this year was about perseverance and perspective, continuing to confront last year’s themes while trying to find silver linings, momentum, and your footing after falls. For unfortunately (though not surprisingly, sadly), there were many — personally, professionally, as a sentient human being alive on this planet.  The variety and bounty for all three could feel overwhelming at times. Truth be told, most days I feel I’d need a rocket to clear the sides of the ruts I’m in. That’s where the back half of the duo comes in — it wasn’t enough to merely smash through the impediments as has been the habit of recent years (just grind it out and wait for the thaw, Bobby!), there were simply too many setbacks for that.  You’d be like the plow driver blasting through snowdrift after snowdrift, one right after the other, who ends up in a ditch because they’d lost sight of the road.

No, this year required something extra, something more nuanced than brute force or capacity for punishment – perspective.  The window by my desk at work is the perfect example – if you look out it one way, all you see is dumpsters and mountains of trash.  (None of which are actually on fire, it only feels that way based on how the days go…) If, however, you shift your gaze slightly to the left, you see far better things – trees, bushes, and behind them the parking lot, which contains the car that will take me away from all the misery in a few short hours.  That’s the half I choose to focus on each day and the choice I explain to people who often come by and comment on the crummy view — you can focus on the trash, or focus on the stuff surrounding it (particularly the path away from it). That choice cropped up over and over and that mindset was repeatedly tested this year.

The trick was to find ways to make some of the losses seem like victories – continue to flail away at work, despite rising in the organization and gathering more and more support for your projects/ideas?  That’s ok, I don’t need (or want) to work for you guys anymore – time to find myself another crew.  Didn’t get the job I wanted (slash created for myself — again) overseas?  That’s alright, I didn’t really want to work there anyway – time to redouble my efforts to GTFO and get us back to the Chi. Wifey similarly frustrated with her job and the city we’re stuck in? That’s cool – she’s just about to launch her side hustle as a way of getting out of both. (And now that I’ve told all eight of my readers she’ll HAVE to stop procrastinating and launch her dang website already!)

Latching onto those silver linings and seeing those losses in slightly different terms was critical because this year the disease spread and even the things you loved most started to disappoint — be it at work, outside, or in the music world.  There were an inordinate number of albums by beloved bands that really let you down — the National, Kanye, Foals, Bon Iver, Local Natives, Brittany Howard, Silversun Pickups, the Raconteurs, Local Natives, and the absolute devastator – the synth-pop blob (and partial subsequent breakup) from titans Sleater-Kinney — to say nothing of the ones who made the list that equally tested you initially (as you will read about shortly).  That said, if you were able to find the aforementioned perspective — that elusive flashlight rolling on the floor while the monsters bear down on you in the darkness – there were an equal number worth enjoying for what they were.

That’s what you’ve got in front of you – the seventeen albums from our six newcomers and nine returnees that may not represent perfection, but show the value of that extra effort. Because aside from the top three, which are uniformly excellent (honestly I think there’s one song between the three of them I don’t really like) almost all of the remaining entries had something about them that either annoyed or disappointed on first listen.  Whether it’s pointless instrumentals or tracks that contain nothing but nature sounds, somewhat clunky lyrics or odd stylistic departures – each had something that stopped me from loving them immediately, but with time and the year’s two themes I was able to get there in the end. So essentially what you’ve got below is the audio version of the window near my desk – eleven entries that take a little work to see the right way; that may initially look more like disappointing throwaways than winning views of nature and the way home. Or in other words, pretty perfect reflections of the year that was and what it took to get through it.


14. Cage the Elephant – Social Cues: after discovering what all the fuss was about a few years ago when I caught these guys live, with their unbridled energy and giant sing-along hooks that sent tens of thousands of onlookers into a tizzy, it’s an even more jarring juxtaposition to hear the band on this album.  With its open embrace of the 80s, both in style and instrumentation (yes, the reviled synthesizer shows up more prominently here), it seems expected that I not like this album – particularly in a year where so many previous favorites had dropped disappointments – but somehow this one held up. Truth be told, I still prefer albums like Melophobia and Tell Me I’m Pretty, but this one has enough of the key Cage elements to latch onto over time.  

There are less unvarnished, high tempo guitar songs than on those outings – opening “Broken Boy” and “Tokyo Smoke” are probably the only ones that make that cut – with the bulk of the rest falling into a more languid dance groove that’ll have you swaying, arms flailing loosely like noodles rather than jumping around in a pique.  Songs like “Social Cues,” “Skin and Bones,” “The War is Over,” lead single “Ready to Let Go,” even “Dance Dance,” whose title tells you exactly what they ostensibly want you to do – they all fall into this midtempo, woozy vibe like you’re day drunk in the summer and struggling to stand upright in the heat.  It still works, though, as enough of those other elements are there (however muted) over time – the winning melodies, the infectious hooks, singer Matt Shultz’s lyrics, which despite being about divorce this time, will still have you wanting to shout them along with him.  That relationship’s demise likely informed the change in style and tone, but the band handles it well – even the quietest, most stripped back songs “Love’s the Only Way” and “Goodbye” draw you in, with scarcely more than Shultz and his wounds to keep you company.  It’s an interesting evolution, one that could have gone horribly awry, but the fact that it didn’t speaks to the band’s mettle and the merit in keeping an eye on them.

13. Guards – Modern Hymns: arriving unexpectedly like a Christmas card from your childhood neighbor is the latest from these guys, the band’s first sign of life in over six years. When we last heard from them they’d just dropped their debut album, In Guards We Trust, which landed at #17 on 2013’s list. After that, though, the band all but disappeared — absent a rogue single or two, they went silent.  I’m not sure what was going on (the venerable Allmusic’s last update has their “sophomore album expected in 2015,” so even they’re in the fog), but thankfully the band seems no worse for the wear with their return.  There’s no dramatic style change — no marimbas and ukuleles, or whale calls reverberating in the background — just another batch of bright, sunny psychedelic pop to make your eardrums smile.

From the opening “Skyhigh” to “Take my Mind,” “Destroyer,” and “Last Stand,” frontman Richie James Follin belts out one soaring sermon of positivity after another, channeling that early MGMT sound from their debut.  Tracks like “You Got Me” and “Away” add a little guitar-based edge to the mix, but nothing clouds the daylight over the album’s 11-song duration – just blue skies and sunshine for as long as it lasts. Pop it on and bliss out for a bit…

12. Chemical Brothers – No Geography: This hasn’t been a year where I’ve felt much like dancing – more like punching every person or thing I’ve encountered repeatedly in the face – but that’s not a knock on the Chems and the quality of their work.  The Brothers are back with their 9th studio album – their first since 2015’s Born in the Echoes, which landed at number 10 on that year’s list – and it’s more of a throwback to their late 90s/early aughts heyday than any of their recent outings.  Gone are the big name guest stars and more ambient explorations of the last few albums and in their stead are a back to basics mix of choice samples and simple hooks, which result in a solid (and at times stellar) set of songs to fuel your workout (or housecleaning, as the case may be).

You hear it from the outset, as the bass line from opener “Eve of Destruction” instantly calls to mind tracks like “Leave Home” or “Block Rocking Beats” from the duo’s first two albums.  This seems intentional since they reportedly dusted off the gear used to record those two albums for this one, so those touchstones are prevalent throughout.  “Eve” drops seamlessly into “Bango,” which is another vintage turn (“I won’t back down, give me my thunder” was quite a fun phrase to shout along this year), songs like “Got to Keep On” and the title track have some of the classic, cathartic breaks of yesteryear, while things like “The Universe Sent Me” harness a smoldering intimacy not normally seen from the big beat boys. (Thanks in no small part to Norwegian singer Aurora’s vocals, which burn like brushfire through the track.)

Being masters of sequencing and knowing how to work a setlist, the brothers save the best three tracks for the climax, the triple threat of “We’ve Got to Try,” “Free Yourself,” and “MAH,” which send you into a blissful tizzy before the downbeat fade of “Catch Me I’m Falling.” (“MAH” might be the best thing they’ve recorded in years, in fact – an irresistible gem guaranteed to get you jumping, no matter the time or place.)  Another solid outing from the boys from Britain – keep em coming, lads.

11. White Reaper – You Deserve Love; PUP – Morbid Stuff: this slot’s for the brash young whippersnappers and a healthy dose of good old fashioned rock and roll.  Heavy on the guitars and even moreso on the attitude, both of these are unvarnished delights for those nights where you don’t want to think about much of anything, you just want to let your hair down and thrash about a bit.  The front half belongs to the Kentucky boys of Reaper and their third album, which doubles down on the swagger and the arena style rock of the 80s. (One thing this band has never lacked has been confidence as their first album was titled White Reaper Does it Again, only to be outdone in terms of braggadocio by their second album title, The World’s Best American Band.) The rougher edges of their earlier albums have all been sanded down at this point, replaced by a high studio shine characteristic of that era’s cocaine laden polish, and it mostly works. 

Songs like the opening “Headwind,” along with singles “Real Long Time” and “Might Be Right” are head to the rafters howlers, while ones like “1F,” “Eggplant,” and the title track are buoyant, bouncing winners.  The band pulls it off thanks to their unbridled energy and absolute earnestness – what could come across as campy or insincere instead screams like a siren through the fog (or a double-necked axe cranked all the way to 11, as it were).  These guys 100% believe rock is going to save you, and they’re here to administer an enormous, life-altering dose. Frontman Tony Esposito’s nasally voice remains a polarizer, but is perfectly suited to the material, squeaking and squealing clear as day above the howling din of guitars. This one’s a textbook simple pleasure – it’s not going to light the world on fire lyrically or emotionally, but fuck if we don’t need something this purely fun, particularly these days.

PUP’s album keeps that vibe going, leaving behind some of the 80s sheen and sonic cheese in lieu of a slightly rougher, punkier feel and some sharper lyrics focused on death and depression. (The opening line is “I was bored as fuck, sitting around and thinking all this morbid stuff — like if anyone I’ve slept with is dead,” to give one example.)  Which is by no means to say this is a mopey, sad sack affair – frontman Stefan Babcock (whose high volume scream-sing is also a polarizer) retains his snarky sense of humor (the lead single off their last album was titled “If This Tour Doesn’t Kill You, I Will”), which pairs with a similar “pedal to the medal” velocity as Reaper and makes this another unvarnished blast of energy.

Lead singles “Kids” and “See You at Your Funeral,” as well as the title track, “Closure,” Sibling Rivalry,” and “Bloody Mary, Kate and Ashley” are all infectious updates to “Tour” and unbridled sprints towards the finish line. You wouldn’t necessarily expect this much spunk and gusto from a bunch of Canucks, but these guys make it seem effortless and automatic — they’re three for three at this point.  Another winning addition to the arsenal and another 30-odd minutes of pure fun.

10. Catfish and the Bottlemen – The Balance; Liam Gallagher – Why Me? Why Not.: this pairing’s for the unchanging anthemics from the island, a pair of acts from England who do what they do, don’t care if you like it, and don’t change it for anyone. Back with their third album (and their third on these lists – their debut landed at #11 in 2015 while their second landed at #10 the following year), Catfish returns from three years away sounding almost exactly as they did on previous outings.  Which as noted in reference to other bands straying from their characteristic sounds this year, is welcome news.  Some bands have the wherewithal and/or insatiable need to shed their previous incarnations like last season’s pantsuits.  Others, however, are quite happy to continue exploring the range available within their current wardrobe (“what if I pair it with this sexy new turtleneck or – GASP – this white belt!”) – Catfish fall squarely into the latter category, and thankfully for us there’s still a considerable amount of room in their closet for them to maneuver. 

The recipe remains the same – high energy, guitar driven songs with enormous, anthemic hooks powered by frontman Van McCann’s booming vocals – and the winners remain bountiful.  From lead single “Longshot” to tracks like “Fluctuate,” “2all,” “Conversation,” and “Mission,” it’s almost impossible to not get caught up in the soaring swells. It’s also almost impossible to get the band to slow down – minus the brief calm of “Intermission” and the slow open to the closing “Overlap,” the album is essentially a sprint.  Brisk, high tempo, and every bit as invigorating as an early winter jog, this one’s another solid entry from the boys in Britain.

As for Liam and his second solo album, the former Oasis frontman shows he’s not messing with the formula that earned him legions of fans across the globe – hard-charging rockers, punch you in the face attitude, and that singular voice (familiar to millions, indeed, and one of the best rock ones around). Throw in the occasional big-hearted ballad and you’ve got a winning mix – one his former band rode for well over a decade.  As on his debut (which landed at #11 on 2017’s list), Liam shows while some of the spark will always be missing when not paired with his brother (who released two solid EPs himself this year with his High Flying Birds), he’s plenty strong enough to stand on his own.

Songs like “Shockwave,” “Halo,” “Be Still,” and “The River” are all straight-ahead, pedal to the medal winners, while tracks like “One of Us,” “Once,” and “Now That I’ve Found You” find Liam in more wistful waters, singing to his family about the early days or his unvarnished love for them.  These highlight one of the distinctions between Liam and his brother – you aren’t going to get “champagne supernovas” or other lyrical flourishes to deftly describe emotions here.  You instead get sometimes clunky odes about going down as easy as a glass of wine or being someone’s mittens and coat to combat the cold.  And that’s ok – you don’t go to Liam for subtlety or nuance, you go to him for blunt, open honesty (he’s called his brother “one of the biggest cocks in the universe” – as well as a potato, for some reason – and Bob Dylan a “miserable cunt,” for example). So similar to some other entries on the list, if you take it for what it is and not what you want it to be – ie a simple, solid rock album vs an Oasis-like masterpiece  – then you’ll find plenty to enjoy here. Keep it comin’, Liam…

9. Wilco – Ode to Joy; Jeff Tweedy – Warmer: in what’s largely become the sonic equivalent of church bells ringing on the hour, Tweedy and his merry band of hometown heroes are back with more music and back on another year end list, as tireless and reliable as clockwork. For the broader band they’re back with their first album since 2016’s Schmilco (which landed at #9 on that year’s list) and their fifth overall placing on these annual wrapups. (They were #9 in 2007, the top album in 2009 and #11 in 2011.) As for Tweedy on the solo front, he’s back with the companion piece to last year’s Warm, which landed at #15 on that list. Both are solid, if somewhat subdued affairs, as warmly soporific as a half bottle of cabernet in front of the fire. 

Here as on last year’s solo outing Tweedy sings with all the force of someone facedown on the floor, whether from emotional fatigue or the aftermath of that metaphorical foray with the bottle.  Either way it fits the overall mood nicely, with songs like “Before Us,” “One and a Half Stars,” “White Wooden Cross,” and lead single “Love is Everywhere (Beware)” shimmering like heat waves in that aforementioned hearth.  Tracks like “Everyone Hides” and “Hold Me Anyway” are only slightly more energetic (though equally lovely) before simmering back into the punchdrunk haze and the same pattern holds on the solo album.  Songs like the opening “Orphan,” “And Then You Cut it in Half,” “Sick Server,” “Landscape,” and “Evergreen” are all gorgeous glowing embers, while “Family Ghost,” “…Ten Sentences,” and “Empty Head” blaze hotter momentarily before dying back down. Both albums will help beat back the blackness of the day – bask in the glow and embrace the heat.

8. Vampire Weekend – Father of the Bride; The Orwells – The Orwells: this slot marks a first – not in terms of appearance on the year end lists here (Vampire landed at number 7 in 2013 and just outside the cut in 2008 and 10, while the Orwells landed at #1 in 2017 and #8 in 2014), but in terms of making the list despite my never actually buying the albums.  The first of two such albums, I never pulled the trigger on purchasing either of these (though for dramatically different reasons) and yet still found myself captivated by them to varying degrees throughout the year.  For Vampire I shied away in part for trivial personality principles (I was annoyed at the higher than normal price point), in part because the sight/sound of HAIM members triggers me like a strobe does an epileptic (and we’ve got one on at least five songs here), but primarily because the quirky, hyperliterate indie band I used to love seems long since gone.  In its place is this weird amalgam of children’s songs and soundtrack music, and the combination of those caveats left me avoiding buying the album.

The band had experimented with the latter sound on 2013’s Modern Vampires, balancing it with their characteristic (at the time at least) island guitars and clever wordplay, but they’ve almost completely purged that old sound since then for this new direction. And so upon initial listens I rejected it like a donor kidney. I kept coming back to it, though – fragments of the already fragmentary songs would get stuck in my head on waking.  The strange children’s chorus in the opening “Hold You Now,” snippets of lyrics from “Bambina,” “Big Blue,” or “2021,” or those gorgeous melodies on songs like “Harmony Hall” and “Unbearably White.” I’d keep streaming the songs and before I knew it I’d listened to the album’s 18 songs a dozen times over.  And minus one exception (I still hate “My Mistake” and skip it every time) they’re all pretty damn good songs.  Not what I necessarily want from Vampire Weekend or anything I’m going to put on to plumb a particular mood, but whenever the songs come on, they’re always pleasant arrivals. 

That speaks to that cinematic quality the band has harnessed – similar to Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds, you’re never going to think of this when you’re mad/sad/ready to rock, but you could easily see a number of the songs playing perfectly over your random indie flick or range of commercials.  They’re not emotionally resonant on their own, tying into feelings you’re already having or sparking them anew (pick your random Elliott song for sadness or heartbreak or Rage/NIN for anger or intensity, say), but they conjure impressions of them well, similar to the difference between an Ansel Adams and a Manet. Clearly there’s merit and beauty in both, they’re just different ways to tackle a subject.  And while it wasn’t what I wanted/expected (or felt like paying for – fuck you Ezra and your $12.99 asking price.  I wasn’t married in the gold rush!) it sure was an enjoyable soundtrack to plenty of passing moments throughout the year.

As for the other half of this slot’s “streaming only” tandem, the Orwells’ album represents the year’s most problematic entry. Initially one of the biggest surprises, as I was not expecting any new music from these guys – ever – having broken up in an ignominious swirl of accusations of sexual assault and rape, I was overjoyed to see the brief mention online linking to the YouTube channel of the new material (one of the very few times I saw anything written on the album – more on that later). That initial surprise at even existing quickly shifted to surprise over what I was listening to – aside from the keyboard announcing the very first song (which may have caused as much stomach-dropping anxiety as the plane suddenly losing thousands of feet in altitude mid-flight (“FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK…”)), this was decidedly not the same band whose guitar-driven, bratty gems had made them such a runaway personal favorite.  THAT band was the spinach to my Popeye – something that flipped a switch in my brain whenever I got a taste and made me feel like I could tackle a Toyota.  THIS band…….well, this sounded like some sort of lounge act you stumbled in on in a dingy old dive bar – at least at first.

There were a couple tracks that sounded sorta like the old band – “The Boxer” and “Silver Medal” were probably the closest examples – but most of the other songs were completely different.  They either were full on crooners (“Nightclub,” “Interlude,” “Last Days in August”) or these hybrids where you could hear the guitars, but they had a more muted, nightclub swing to them vs the untamable bolts of lightning they were before (“No Apologies,” “Aisle #10,” “REC”). The image that kept coming to mind while I listened was of Michael J Fox playing the Enchantment Under the Sea dance – you know he wants to drop some unbridled, high energy Chuck Berry on you, but he’s being forced to keep it under wraps so as not to piss off Principal Strickland.  That image made me wonder whether the band was doing the same thing here, deliberately reining in their wilder impulses and “fuck you” attitude in an attempt to show some contrition (or at least fog their former image some – “what? We’re not wild boys, we’re just a wholesome little lounge act!”) in the face of those horrible allegations. 

And that’s why this entry is so problematic.  I’ve written about it several times this year already, but aside from the initial announcements of the album’s existence, virtually nothing has been written about the band or the album, and that pisses me off.  It pisses me off because of the double standard for how others with comparable claims are treated in the media.  It pisses me off because there’s nothing more ON those allegations and what, if anything, is happening with them.  It pisses me off because if they’re true and these guys were such well-known terrible people, as is often noted in the articles from the time of their breakup, the venues they regularly played at should be held accountable, too, for seemingly doing nothing to warn or protect the patrons about the danger they might be in. (How many of the girls went to the shows in places where “everyone knew” what shitbags these guys were and then found themselves in positions they couldn’t get out of?  Subways post signs about the danger of touching the third rail and nuclear facilities highlight the threat of radiation – if this REALLY was such a well-known danger, then why the fuck was nothing clearly said or done?) And it pisses me off because, despite it not being what I wanted (there’s that theme again!), I really came to like the album for what it was and would like to read others’ thoughts/analysis of it and how it came to be.

What were the recording sessions like? Was the whole band there or just portions and that’s why it sounds different?  Was it a deliberate decision to change the sound up so much or did it just happen spontaneously?  Were you alluding to the allegations in some of the lyrics or something else? (“I’m a broken record talking about my past…”; “Go ahead and keep me out of mind – no one here’s what you’re sayin’…”; “All year long getting manic with regret – never seen him this upset…”) Also (and most importantly) – WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH THOSE ALLEGATIONS? That we get no answers to any of these questions, instead just treating the album, the band, and the very serious alleged crimes like they don’t exist or didn’t happen, is extremely frustrating – particularly in an age where people talk about EVERYTHING.  Unceasingly, unintelligently, and unapologetically in most cases – but they at least talk.  Trying to ignore things like this is like trying to deny the existence of oxygen. And yet here we are – so I will continue to wonder why this band is held to a different standard and why we’re ignoring the contents of every inhalation, I will continue to wonder what the band is doing and whether they will be made to pay for their alleged crimes or be exonerated, and I will continue to listen to this album (only streaming – I still can’t quite convince myself it’s OK to buy it), enjoying it for what it is, and wonder what everyone else thinks.  Mario aptly captured my sentiments, while perhaps alluding to some of the others’ silence – “I’m only resting – still on your side, but it’s getting messy…” Indeed.

7. Kevin Morby – Oh My God: if the theme of the year was trying to meet people/things on their own terms instead of with your own preconceptions/notions, Morby’s is a case study of how/why that can be so difficult.  Back with his fifth full length, Morby is one of my favorite finds in recent years and someone I’ve written about a bunch here. Each of his previous three albums made these year-end lists – they landed at #4 in 2017, #6 in 2016, and #10 in 2014, respectively. So when I heard he was recording an album all about God (not the only perennial favorite to do so this year) I didn’t panic initially. I did, however, have plenty of expectations that initially prevented me from really embracing this album.

First, there’s the aforementioned topic, which is never going to capture my heart or mind, whether it’s Kevin, Kanye, or the King himself singing about it. Second, there’s a lyrical laziness on certain songs that’s jarringly uncharacteristic (multiple songs find Morby chanting/singing some variation of “oh my god/oh my lord” over and over again.) And then there’s all the seemingly pretentious “artistic” flourishes and twists – the sudden stop of “OMG Rock and Roll” that breaks into a choir, the spoken word talk out to the previously lovely “Savannah,” the sax and piano instrumental “Ballad of Kaye,” and the literal song about the weather, “Storm (Beneath the Weather),” which is a minute and twenty seconds of thunderstorm noises.  Each of these were minor, persistent annoyances that kept getting in the way of unfettered enjoyment, like someone howling atonally amidst a dozen carolers. (Voice immodulation is a cruel disorder – donate generously…)

Eventually, though, I began to gloss over those annoyances and find myself able to focus on the album’s many strengths – the album’s opening singles “No Halo” and “Nothing Sacred / All Things Wild” are both great, the run of “Seven Devils,” “Hail Mary,” “Piss River,” and the front half of “Savannah” are all lovely, and then deeper cuts “Sing a Glad Song” and “O Behold” close the album on a warm, winning note. They don’t absolve the aforementioned annoyances or make this into something it’s not (one of Morby’s best, for example), but for what it is, it’s pretty fantastic – another solid batch of beautiful songs, courtesy of that amazing voice and artist.

6. The Black Keys – Let’s Rock!: back with their ninth full length album (their first since 2014’s Turn Blue, which landed at #2 on that year’s list), Dan and Pat offer yet another entry in this list that established the theme.  In part because of who the band is – a favorite duo (they’ve showed up on three year end lists, including #1 in 2008 and #1.5 in 2011, aside from the aforementioned 2014) who’ve offered years’ worth of fuzzed up gems – and in part because of what I’ve been craving after the past few years of near constant punishment – pure, unadulterated rippers to blow off some steam – I was eagerly looking to this album to give me one guaranteed win.  Once I saw the title of the album (corny as it might be) I thought for sure I was safe — as you’ve seen so many times so far, though, it wasn’t that simple.  Instead of the untethered rock album I was looking for, what I got needed to be taken on its own terms and appreciated accordingly.

And what it is is essentially an audible Arnold Palmer — half a Keys record, and half an Auerbach solo album.  So while what I really wanted was just a tall, cool glass of sweet tea (fresh from the delta and the blues that inspired the band’s sound), like almost everything this year, I ended up having to take a little lemonade (which is no knock on Auerbach’s solo stuff – his last one landed at #12 on 2017’s list). Similar to that drink, though, once you get past a potential singular craving for either of its component parts, what you’re left with is still pretty damned refreshing. From the sweet tea side, the opening triple of “Shine a Little Light,” “Eagle Birds,” and “Lo/Hi,” along with later tracks like “Every Little Thing” and “Go” are solid stompers, while “Walk Across the Water,” “Tell Me Lies,” and “Sit Around and Miss You” are tasty treats from the land of lemons. The band’s time in Nashville (Auerbach’s Easy Eye studio is there) shines through on tracks like “Get Yourself Together” and “Fire Walk With Me,” which are among my favorites and are so infectious they should have a line dance associated with them. (I may have constructed one myself when moved by the tunes, which Wifey is convinced is going to spontaneously break out across the audience at a show and help us become best friends with Dan and Pat.) It’s a solid listen – maybe not what I wanted/needed, but an enjoyable collection of songs showing the band do what they do best, while also adding some new elements to the mix.

5. Guided by Voices – Zeppelin Over China/Warp and Woof/Sweating the Plague: here to challenge this year’s theme by pummeling you with sheer volume, GBV put out a remarkable SEVENTY EIGHT songs this year across THREE distinct albums. The amount isn’t really the surprise here – GBV has always been exhaustingly prolific, almost to the point you can’t keep up with them (by their own count they’ve released over a 100 albums/EPs, including four the past three years NOT including these three, and that total doesn’t count the numerous side projects and solo albums of frontman Bob Pollard that pop up with almost the same frequency as the sun). What is a little surprising is how good so many of the songs are. Normally GBV albums are a hit or miss affair, as Dr Bob definitely subscribes to the quantity over quality side of the time-honored debate. (Or to be more generous, he’s much more concerned about capturing moments in time – thoughts, melodies, performances – as they happen, rather than trying to force or mold them into something artificial and “perfect.” It’s the same as those who try to stage the perfect photo, everyone staring at the camera and smiling just so, vs those who like the candid, unannounced shots (I’ll let you guess where I fall…))

And while he may not be as good or strict an editor on the albums, he certainly is in person.  That’s why for years my way of keeping up with their prodigious output was to go see the band live – because one thing Dr Bob knows how to do is craft a killer setlist.  The band’s trademark epic performances – often barking on the heels of three hours long – contain none of the filler or weaker songs from the albums. (They actually used to have a quota system in the early days for the EPs – “two hits and four throwaways” – but thankfully that seems to have disappeared.) Live the guys come ready to deliver a knockout, every single night, which means they’re only bringing their choicest material – so if they include it in their set, you know it’s the best of what’s available. 

When I saw them earlier in the year for Zeppelin, they played several new songs that immediately caught my ear (“My Future in Barcelona,” “The Rally Boys,” “Step of the Wave”), but they were mostly mixed in with older material at that point.  By the time I saw them last month, though, there was a solid 30-40 minutes where I didn’t recognize any of the songs, but they were good so kept trying to remember lines/titles so I could listen to them later. When I looked at the setlist the following day and saw that exactly half of the show was songs from these three albums (including virtually all of Plague), that tells you everything you need to know about how the band views these things.  They see it as some of their strongest material, and listening through I can’t really argue with them. 

There are a TON of really good songs scattered across them — “Bury the Mouse,” “Dead Liquor Store,” “Cohesive Scoops,” “Photo Range Within,” “Blue Jay House,” “My Angel,” “Cool Jewels and Aprons,” “Coming Back from Now On”  — and that’s just some of the best songs from Warp!  It’s a staggering amount of goodness from any band, let alone a band that’s been going as long as these guys.  That they still have this much fire and freshness at this stage in their career is amazing – and they allegedly have at least two albums on tap for next year, so we’ll hopefully see a lot more of them soon. In the meantime, settle in and stroll through the forest of these three – it’s a hell of a hike.

4. Tool – Fear Inoculum: if GBV tested the year’s theme in song volume, these guys test it in song duration, as this puppy has some serious playtime across its six songs. Aside from the recent Gang Starr album (which despite the head-scratching mechanics of delivering an album with a vocalist who’s been dead for nearly ten years, was sadly underwhelming), the reappearance of these guys was the year’s most pleasant surprise.  It’s been thirteen years since their last album, 10,000 Days (a title that unknowingly seems to have been foreshadowing the approximate amount of time until the next one), and in the interim the band’s legions of fans endlessly speculated on whether they’d ever return or if frontman Maynard James Keenan was more content to spend his days fiddling with the grapes on his vineyard in Arizona rather than the ornate time signatures and twisted imagery of his band.  Thankfully, he opted for the latter and they came back with a doozy. They tried to fuck it up, throwing in derailers like aimless instrumentals (three of them) and the epitome of rock pretension, a standalone five minute drum solo. (It’s even more ridiculous live, with drum deity Danny Carey standing at a giant gong for several minutes, playing various rhythms with no other accompaniment, before shifting to the full kit and bashing away for several more minutes. Note — there is only one drum solo ever recorded that people want to listen to more than once – John Bonham’s “Moby Dick.” Everything else is just gratuitous, pointless racket, regardless of the skill of the drummer (and Carey is exceptional).)

That said, similar to several other list mates that challenged your ability to take things on their own terms and not get caught up in what you wanted them to be, this was both the ultimate test of and payoff for succeeding at that this year. Because while there were only six actual songs on the album once you stripped out the aforementioned nonsense, each of them was over ten minutes long, so had as many twists and turns as the California coastline to enjoy. What’s more, each of these mini epics was host to some of the most mind-shredding moments you could ask for – from the ominous open of the title track and its shivering guitar part by Adam Jones, which sizzled similar to the circuitry in your brain that was frying, to the back half explosions of almost every other song on the album – “Pneuma,” “Invincible,” and “7empest” being but three examples (the latter of which showcased both the dumbest lyrics – see? There’s that test again! – about tempests being just that (wha?), in addition to the absolute best break of the year, a visceral release that liquefies your knees and destroys your brain every single time.) Yes, Maynard’s lyrics are mostly ridiculous gibberish about warriors and spirits and other nonsensical psychobabble – but if you push past those and focus on the music, it’s an outstanding listen. Each of these songs became obsessions at some point during the year – the quieter “Culling Voices” was a personal favorite for its delicate riff and slow building smolder – and I’ve gone back and forth through the rotation about a hundred times since.  Here’s hoping they don’t wait another 10,000 days before bringing back some more.

3. The Lumineers – III: on the band’s aptly titled third album, the former trio (original member Neyla Pekarek left prior to this album to go solo) offers an ambitious set of songs exploring the lives of three generations of the fictional Sparks family, told over the course of three three-song cycles.  Loosely based on people from frontman Wesley Schultz and drummer Jeremiah Fraites’ lives, the songs detail darker material than the band is known for – alcoholism, gambling, drugs, and depression – and while the tone may be more melancholic than normal for the “Ho Hey!” kids (a merciless gang of killers back in the 30s and 40s) it doesn’t come across as cloying or maudlin. 

Schultz’s voice remains as warm and winning as ever, and the melodies the band unleashes are among their best.  (“My Cell” and “Salt and the Sea” sport particularly strong ones, among others.) Similar to previous albums, the narratives that Schultz spins are engaging, and despite the darker tone the lives of the characters here are interesting enough to keep you coming back.  From the more direct songs like “Donna,” “Gloria,” and “Jimmy Sparks” to more oblique material like the middle triptych “It Wasn’t Easy to be Happy For You,” “Leader of the Landslide,” and “Left for Denver” – these are really pretty songs dealing with some serious, real life stuff. I give the band credit – it would have been far too easy to keep churning out feel good singalongs like their aforementioned mammoth debut single.  That they’ve continued to expand upon their sound without sacrificing the quality, care, and warmth it exudes (while still offering some solid singalongs in the meantime) is testament to their craft.  Hopefully they’re back with more soon…

2. Purple Mountains – Purple Mountains: this was the year’s most unfortunate discovery.  Unfortunate not because of the quality of the music – sporting some of the most breathtaking lines of the year, whether from the sharpness of wit or eviscerating emotion (or both), this album shows how potent good songwriting can be and why it’s a commodity to be treasured, as rare as it is these days. What’s abundantly unfortunate is by the time I discovered this album its brilliant creator was gone, having been unable to find the peace or help he needed to remain among us.  And that outcome colors everything on this album – not making it a morose or gloomy affair, but more by sharpening the already scalpel fine lyrics to make them cut even deeper.  By the time you’ve made it through the album, you feel like you’ve been sliced apart like a paper snowflake, the remnants of your defenses (and intestines) scattered on the ground like so much confetti.

You know it from the opening verse, the first of many of the aforementioned kneecappers:

“Well I don’t like talkin’ to myself, but someone’s gotta say it, hell.  I mean, things have not been going well — this time I think I finally fucked myself! You see the life I live is sickening — I’ve spent a decade playing chicken with oblivion. Day to day, I’m neck and neck with giving in – I’m the same old wreck I’ve always been…”

That there are at least three or four other sterling gems (“When I try to drown my thoughts in gin, I find my worst ideas know how to swim” and the bit about the ant hill, among others) – and that’s just THE FIRST SONG – shows you just what an amazing album this is.  Pocket faves Woods provide the music, but it’s frontman David Berman’s unbelievable lyrics that keep you captivated throughout. There’s literally dozens of lines, images, and emotions packed into its too-brief 45 minutes, so potent they sear your brain like an eclipse burning your retinas. 

There’s “mounting mileage on the dash, double darkness falling fast, I keep stressing, pressing on. Way down deep at some substratum, feels like something really wrong has happened – I confess I’m barely hanging on…” from “All My Happiness is Gone.” There’s the opening lines of “Darkness and Cold” – “The light of my life is going out tonight as the sun sets in the west.  Light of my life is going out tonight with someone she just met. She kept it burning longer than I had right to expect – light of my life is going out tonight, without a flicker of regret…” There’s the devastating open to “Nights That Won’t Happen” – “The dead know what they’re doing when they leave this world behind, when the here and the hereafter momentarily align.  See the need to speed into the lead suddenly declined, the dead know what they’re doing when they leave this world behind.” Or the hilariously self-effacing “Maybe I’m the Only One for Me,” whose line “if no one’s fond of fucking me, maybe no one’s fucking fond of me” might be the best one-liner of the year.

There’s so many options you could pick any handful of lines from each of the songs and rarely find anything less than exceptional.  (Like the slew of images from “Snow is falling in Manhattan, in a slow diagonal fashion…the good caretaker springs to action – salts the stoop and scoops the cat in, tests an icy patch for traction…” for yet another example.)  Berman’s voice is one of many “take it or leave it” options on the list this year, but something about his beleaguered croak gives his lyrics even more poignancy – this isn’t some superstar, polished talent whose life seems filled with effortless glamour, this seems like the beat-up guy sitting next to you at the bar, all rumpled clothes and battered nerves, pouring his soul out for anyone willing to listen. That it ended the way it did makes it all the more tragic – tragic because of how talented he was, tragic because this will be the last thing we get to hear, and tragic because he felt that leaving was his only option.  This is an incredible way to remember him, though – drinking down the colors of the rainbow while contemplating life at the mall, saying what he soon would find — his final peace…

1. Andrew Bird – My Finest Work Yet: whether meant as a self-fulfilling prophecy, a sarcastic self-aggrandizement, or an honest self-assessment, Bird’s latest album was easily the album I listened to most this year.  This isn’t entirely surprising — every album he’s released since I started doing the blog 12 years ago has made a year-end list — #9 in 2016, #5 in 2012, #5 in 2009, and #3 in 2007 (in what was the inaugural post – the call still stands, Sunbeams…) – and he’s unapologetically one of my favorite musicians.  (Plus, he’s from the GPOE, so it’s indecorous (and usually unwarranted) to speak ill of another Chicagoan…) That title’s extra gravity and grandeur, though – whatever its motivation – accurately clues you in that these 10 songs are a little different from the ones that preceded them. 

There’s still his trademark mix of violin, whistles, and cryptic lyrics dancing merrily amidst another batch of knee-buckling melodies and harmonies. What’s new, though, is the political edge that runs throughout the album.  It’s never quite overt – everything with Bird comes with elliptical allusions and esoteric codes to decipher – but it’s threaded through roughly two-thirds of the songs, depending on how you interpret the lyrics.  Sure, his references might sometimes be dated (he calls out the Spanish civil war and J Edgar Hoover here), but his call for resistance (and civility) goes down rather easily when nestled among those lovely tunes.

So whether it’s the opening “Sisyphus,” whose mythical hero decides to “let the rock roll,” the titular “Olympians” who’re exultantly “gonna turn it around,” or the anonymous narrator in “Archipelago” and “Don the Struggle” who asks us to question the energy we invest in our enemies and how we engage one another, respectively — each are lovely reflections of the current day and age, while still asking the listener to engage them in a slightly different way. (The unifying opening verse from the latter should be every person’s morning wakeup call – “Cmon everybody, let’s settle down – we’re all just stumbling down in an unnamed struggling town.”) The apolitical love songs on the album are also outstanding – from the naked sweetness of “Cracking Codes” to the singsong juxtaposition of “Bellevue Bridge Club,” whose menacing lyrics melt under the loving sentiments (“And I will hold you hostage, make you part of my conspiracy.  You will be witness to carnage – you know there’s no you without me.” – would be a perfectly twisted marriage vow.) – they’re two of my favorites on an album overflowing with gems.  Bird may have been joking with the title, but he makes a hell of a case for taking him seriously. One of the most dependably great things of the year – fantastic album.

(What’s the Story) With Oasis, Neko, and Andrew Bird?

It being a long weekend and all, I figured I’d face the wrath of sixteen angry eyeballs if I didn’t post something for the faithful to consider, so here I am with a couple items to keep you busy on your day off tomorrow. First comes a really solid article off Stereogum on the 20th anniversary of Oasis’ B-side compilation The Masterplan. The article does a good job reminding everyone just how huge this band was in the early 90s, based largely on their enormous first two albums and their totemic “Wonderwall” and “Champagne Supernova,” which formed the soundtrack for proms and unrequited love mixtapes worldwide. (A part of me still listens for that slight drone and hushed guitar part every time I go to the beach, so deeply has that latter one been imprinted on my brain.) Aside from those albums, though, the band was also throwing out multiple B-sides that were as good or better than the main tracks — that line from the article about Oasis’ B-sides being better than most other bands’ greatest hits was a real argument back in the day, and it’s tough to dismiss when you hear songs like “Acquiesce,” “Talk Tonight,” and the title track.

Oasis in that span really was living that Midas moment where everything they did was huge — gigantic songs, iconic videos (back when those still mattered), sold out tours and festival slots to carpets of people as far as the eye could see. (Their live album — a double album naturally, as one could not contain all the hits — was titled Familiar to Millions and whether they were referring to the band itself or every word of their songs, both were applicable.) I remember seeing them back home on the Morning Glory tour and it’s still one of the loudest shows I’ve ever been at — Noel had a literal wall of amps probably 20′ high behind him in addition to the normal arena speakers and despite being in the nosebleeds my ears rang for over a week. The Masterplan was intended to capture all the moments outside those anthemic albums and it does a decent enough job, but for one-time diehards like me who remembers driving all around town to tracking down the import singles it misses some old favorites. Thankfully we’ve got the internet, so I’ve kindly collected those additions for you below — there’s simple beauties like “Sad Song” and “D’yer Wanna be a Spaceman,” as well as rockers like “Round Are Way” and “Step Out” and the soaring Beatles-like close of “Whatever.” Put with the best stuff on Masterplan it again boggles the mind — these were all B-sides, songs they felt weren’t good enough to land on the official albums! — which reinforces this paragraph’s initial point: this band was firing on all cylinders and was untouchable at this point, and would remain so for several years. That they faded some after that was inevitable, whether from the fame, the infamous infighting, or the sheer laws of the universe (what goes up MUST come down, after all…) but for this span they gave us an incredible number of huge songs. So dust off your aviators and pop the collar on your Croc polo to show off your puka shell necklace and take a trip back to a simpler time here:

Next we’ve got the latest single from the lovely Neko Case’s latest album, Hell-On, which has been a hit or miss affair for me so far. Similar to her last album, the underwhelming (at least in impact, but not title) The Worse Things Get, the Harder I Fight, the Harder I Fight, the More I Love You, Case’s lyrics occasionally veer towards the overly ornate or unnecessarily cryptic, which prevents her characteristically catching melodies and otherworldly voice from connecting the way they used to. Which is unfortunate because there are some winning moments on the album — the soaring conclusion to “Halls of Sarah,” the imagery of the line “sorry dyed my mouth gumball blue” from the song of the aforementioned color’s name, the beautiful pairing of Case’s voice with Mark Lanegan’s gruff baritone on “Curse of the I-5 Corridor.” (One of the album’s best.) Far too often those moments are buried by the aforementioned frustrations, though, and the effect is lost.

It’s not clear what’s driving the change — Case has always come across as a fierce warrior of a woman with a spirit as indomitable as that incredible voice, though her lyrics were slightly tinged by the sadness of heartbreak. Perhaps it was that glimmer of vulnerability that made her songs resonate so strongly, that juxtaposition of minor weakness with the ferocity of everything else around it. Now that it’s gone, either eliminated thanks to personal happiness or consciously buried behind the armor of cryptic lyrics as a defense mechanism, the songs often fall flat. They sound lovely enough in most cases — honestly, Case could sing that you’ve got terminal cancer and your entire family just died in a horrific bus crash and you’d probably still swoon — but the impact isn’t there like before.

This is a woman who could destroy you with a single line — think of tracks like “Star Witness,” or “That Teenage Feeling” that had several daggers thrown straight at your heart. Or “Magpie to the Morning” and “The Needle has Landed.” Or “I Wish I was the Moon” and “The Pharoahs.” Or “Maybe Sparrow” and “Vengeance is Sleeping.” Those and so many others were undeniable because of that glimmer of weakness (even when glimpsed amidst vows to harm/murder the transgressor) because you could identify with that feeling. You knew what Case was referring to and had been there before. Contrast that with recent songs about “oracles of the maritimes,” songs about God (he’s a “lusty tire fire” among other things), or songs about the last lion of England (aka Albion, because even the location we’re singing about must be obscured). It’s just not clear what Case is getting at anymore. It’s a bit like a crossword puzzle — you can figure out what the words are, but their greater meaning is missing — and that emotional vulnerability (or just the ability to connect emotionally) is sorely missed. See what you think, though, with the aforementioned track about the English lion — if nothing else it sports a pretty little video, so there’s that:

We’ll close with the latest single from fellow Chicagoan Andrew Bird, an off album track where he contrasts another characteristically lush, languid melody with lyrics comparing our combative political landscape to the Spanish civil war (which hopefully is mere hyperbole and not a true harbinger of things to come — I’m too pretty to be shot at). It’s a pretty listen, whether you agree with the sentiments or not — give it a whirl here: