Music For Mom: Misty, Maxinquaye, and More

I’ve been spending more time posting over at the other site lately (Fuddge’s bet to write less more is proving hard to shake), but didn’t want to neglect my duties here for too much longer, so thought I’d pop in with a few recs. And since it’s a day that encourages taking a moment to look back to celebrate all our mothers have done for us, thought we could share a little of that shine for a few albums who have done their fair share over the years as well.

First and foremost being Father John Misty’s debut, Fear Fun, which turns ten this year. As described nicely in this article from Stereogum, this marked one of many reinventions by the man behind the mask, Josh Tillman.  He’d spent years releasing quieter, darker singer/songwriter style albums as J. Tillman (give Singing Ax a try to start) before leaving that behind to become the drummer for Fleet Foxes right as they began their ascent into indie stardom. In the midst of all that, Tillman decided to blow it all up again, walking away from the fame to assume the persona he’s donned for five albums over the past ten years, that of the aforementioned Misty.

This in turn has spawned several internal recalibrations of which Misty would come to the forefront on the various albums — whether it’s the romance-addled ladies man or exhausting blowhard and know-it-all to now showtune spinning revivalist apparently? — but it’s never been more perfectly in tune than on this debut. Tillman gives us glimpses of those other aspects of his persona here, but they’re never as overblown or insufferable as they can get on those later albums. (This is not to say these subsequent albums are all terrible — I Love You, Honeybear landed at #5 on my list in 2015, while God’s Favorite Customer did the same in 2018.)

It works here because everything isn’t turned up to 11 and Tillman isn’t yet living with his head fully up his own ass — the weariness, the sarcasm, the silly swagger in spite of it all, even the simple admission that every man (including the only son of a ladiesman) needs a companion.  It’s lovely and endearing in a way that his later attempts all too often miss the mark on — in large part because the sincerity hasn’t yet shifted to a schtick. He seems to be singing from the heart instead of his overactive (and I would argue overconfident) head and it’s why this remains such a fantastic listen 10 years in.

“Funtimes in Babylon,” “Hollywood Forever Cemetery Sings,” “Misty’s Nightmares 1 & 2,” and “Well, You Can Do It Without Me” remain classics in his catalog and I vividly remember when I was traveling in Jordan years later and one of the album’s songs strangely (and irrepressibly) came to mind. I was hiking through Petra, admiring the mind-frying beauty on display throughout, as the sun was starting to set. It was a windy day and something about the pitch of the wind’s howl sounded just like the ethereal wail from “This is Sally Hatchet.” Once my mind made that connection, every gust of the wind tearing through the canyon reminded me of that song and I spent the remaining hour or so making my way back to the car with that eerie moan running through my head (the song’s slight hint of danger matching that of the darkening skies). It was a strange connection, but one that felt appropriate in a place so isolated and out of time. Tillman can manifest both these elements to his detriment at times, but when he keeps them in check like he does here he’s unstoppable.

Enjoy that otherworldly wail from one of my faves, “Sally,” here:

Another album that’s gotten a nice retrospective recently is Tricky’s  Maxinquaye, which was written about well by Pitchfork. It follows the trend of the previous album in two ways — it was a debut (one which would prove to be even more impossible to follow and match on subsequent outings) and it sounded so original and unique it could have been unearthed at that ancient place in Petra for all we knew. (That latter part is something that did continue on subsequent albums — for better or worse, no one really sounds like Tricky — and when it works (as it so often does here) it’s incredible.) And while the two share those things in common, how this singular achievement came to be was very different.

As noted previously, Tillman had years of experience as a solo act under his belt, which helped inform his pivot to the Misty persona (an homage to the old Seinfeld adage of “if every instinct you have is wrong, just do the opposite” perhaps). Tricky, on the other hand, didn’t have that body of work and muscle memory to rely on (or reject) — aside from hanging around with the Massive Attack lads (first as part of the Wild Bunch and then for the recording of their classic Blue Lines, his contributions being heard most compellingly on the title track with his still sizzling verses) he was a clean slate. Which makes the end product all the more impressive — as the article describes, Tricky was essentially just making it up as he went, chasing the sounds in his head and trying to translate them to record, often to the frustration of those around him.

What he manages to capture is a smoldering, sensual mix, equal parts sexy and sinister that owes no small debt to the interplay between Tricky and Martina Topley-Bird (another neophyte that Tricky plucked off the streets to magical effect). The dynamic between the pair is irresistible, like mixing two volatile chemicals and waiting for the kinetic response. (This was no manufactured studio effect either, but something that spilled over into real life as the two have a child together.) This swirling tension grabs you from the outset and scarcely lets you go, with some absolute hammer blows dealt before the end.

The opening quartet of “Overcome,” “Ponderosa,” “Black Steel,” and “Hell is Around the Corner” cement the album’s impact immediately, casting an almost impossibly high bar to maintain. That the album comes close more often than not is a testament to its quality and why it remains a favorite for fans of this genre nearly 30 years later. (ie trip hop, as administered by giants like Massive, Portishead (who use the same Isaac Hayes sample as “Hell” on their “Glory Box,” sparking the first of many “who did it better” debates between that band and Tricky over the years), and others.) Later tracks like “Aftermath,” “Brand New You’re Retro,” and “Strugglin'” keep the momentum going, but by that point it’s almost all icing.

That opening salvo was enough of a head wrecker to catapult Tricky into the limelight and the plaudits for the album were something he struggled with mightily in the coming years. He increasingly turned to the grittier, more paranoid side of his sound, becoming less embraceable and more insular as the albums wore on. (Pre-Millenium Tension and Nearly God released the following year have several good tracks, but as Topley-Bird left the fold and Tricky navigated things on his own, the songs got rougher sounding and more claustrophobic, suffocating the sensuality and heat that had made his earlier work shine.) Thankfully we’ll always have this one to come back to — check out “Ponderosa,” an absolute mind-melter of a song that I’ve listened to a ton lately (it’s incredible on headphones and substances):


We’ll close with a couple quick hits that’ve been piling up on my browser tabs. First comes a cover from Kevin Morby (whose new album is out soon — get excited!) of the elusive cult-favorite Bill Fay. The Dead Oceans label is doing a series of releases covering old Fay songs and Morby’s is a good one of his “I Hear You Calling.”  Morby explained his interest in a statement, saying, “Bill Fay exists as a secret handshake amongst us musicians. Those of us familiar with his body of work are obsessed with it. When I first heard him, years ago, I felt as if I was rediscovering something I had lost and had long been looking for.” It’s an apt description that sums up the found treasure feeling I had years ago when I stumbled on him. I was turned onto Fay thanks to Jeff Tweedy who used to cover Fay’s “Be Not So Fearful” beautifully in some of his solo shows and it remains one of my favorites. Morby’s is a nice addition to the canon and a good reason to go check out Fay if you haven’t already — give it a listen here:

(And just cuz I like you, here’s Tweedy’s version too):

Sticking with the found treasure vibe, Folk Implosion recently surfaced for the first time in 19 years with some new tracks (and the promise of more to come), which was a very pleasant surprise.  They still sound the same (another pleasant surprise) so I’m very excited to see what else they turn out. (The Kids soundtrack was obviously excellent, but some of the tracks on One Part Lullaby are pretty great, too, including the smoldering “Kingdom of Lies,” which is a long-time fave.) No word on when the rest of the songs (or album) will be out, but in the meantime we can enjoy the lead single “Don’t Give it Away” here:

(And cuz I can’t help myself, here’s “Kingdom,” too):

Next comes the latest single from Andy Shauf who continues his torrid pace of recording and releases. This time it’s a double single, fronted by the lovely “Satan,” which is a great little tune in spite of the sinister title. No word on whether this is building towards a bigger release or a standalone (Shauf’s surprise EP/LP Wilds landed at #10 on last year’s list) but nothing seems off the table these days, so hopefully he’s got an album coming soon. In the meantime, give the latest one a ride here:

And we’ll close with a longer listen, the recent mini concert that beloved Jesus and Mary Chain did on French TV that I stumbled on now that YouTube serves as my cable. Its magic algorithm suggested it as part of my nightly perusing and I’m glad it did because the boys deliver a pretty fiery set (in spite of the subdued, almost antiseptic surroundings). They sound great throughout, but particularly on their version of “Darklands,” which really jumped out. Give the whole thing a listen and then check out the original underneath. Solid stuff from the stellar Scots.


Until next time, amici…
–BS

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…

Welcome Home: The Best Music of 2020

When I think back on this year — this strange, uneasy year — several things spring to mind. There was the fear of the unseen and the stomach-churning disbelief that came from watching numbers rocket higher and higher as the months wore on. (“One million new cases in FOUR DAYS?! How is that even possible?!”) There was the constant low grade anxiety packed into previously thoughtless activities and the neverending risk-gain analysis required as a result. (“Should I go buy groceries or have them delivered to the house? Can I workout in my basement rather than go to the gym? Do I REALLY need to hangout with Socks and Fudge or should we just drink beer over Zoom?”)

There was the head-wrecking plasticity of time — the work week blurred into the weekend, days merged into months without distinction, and were it not for the rising and setting of the sun I’m not confident I could distinguish between day and night with any accuracy. (Was this year really only 12-months long? I feel like I missed a global edict and we extended the calendar for some antiquated reason based on farming schedules like daylight savings. And are we sure there are only seven days in a week right now? I’d attempt to prove it but I’ve lost the ability to count higher than the number of hands currently on my keyboard…) And yet it also feels like this year has flown by — like I just started the new job, like the world is still trying to figure out what to do with this virus and how to respond — somehow managing to be both the most interminable and ephemeral year on record.

And there was the staggering variety and volume of loss — of jobs, of lives, of simple life experiences. There’s now over 5M people unemployed, with over 700,000 applying each week. There’s over 300,000 dead from the virus, with nearly 20,000 dying each week. (That’s the equivalent of nine 747s crashing every single day.) There’s missed holidays with the family, lost nights out with friends, and the inability to even go for a run without a mask on. There’s the closure of beloved bars and restaurants and the shuttering of shops near and far. (RIP Granville’s, Chupa, Rock & Roll Hotel, U-Hall, and so many more.) And there’s the slew of missed shows to think back on — front row seats for an acoustic Nathaniel, floor tickets for a Rage reunion with RTJ as openers, getting to see Carseat play their fantastic new album or watch Idles start a fire with theirs.

All of this has added up to a tremendously trying year and as a result the overwhelming instinct this year has been to find solace and comfort, refuge and respite. With rare exception, almost everything that captivated my ears this year seemed oriented towards the creation and protection of those things. That’s not due to a dearth of things to be angry about — we just recapped a dozen things that should spark a response and spike your blood pressure (oh yeah — there was an election too!) — but with one notable exception the overwhelming majority of the music that kept calling to me centered on maintaining a much mellower mood.

That applied to the personal and professional spheres, as well, not just the music that filled them. So looking back on this “year” what I’ll remember most (assuming the pandemic doesn’t fully turn my brain into pudding) are things like listening to Prine on the patio (or 60s era Willie) while I hammer away at the laptop with a snoring pooch in my lap. Going on long adventure hikes with Mad Dog and the Rizz to enjoy some fresh air and break the solidifying shutdown routines. Starting each day with the Tweedys to laze in their living room and bask in their banter (and songs). Ending the day once a week with Morbzahatchee (and early on with Death Cab Ben) for more singing and smiles. And the numerous times I turned to these albums below to soundtrack those moments (and countless others in between).

Say what you will about this year — exhausting reminder of the old adage “it can always get worse,” unequivocal champion of the shittiness Olympics (take THAT, 2016!) — there was a lot of good music that came out, serving as much-needed life preservers for us to cling to in these tumultuous seas. Compared to last year’s list there are 8 more entries overall (18 to 26, respectively) and surprisingly the majority of them are first time appearances. Where these lists traditionally tend to balance out between old favorites and new, this one skews far more heavily towards the latter with a whopping 17 noobs to 9 measly dinosaurs, respectively. (Not counting folks going solo from bands who’ve appeared here before.)

In a year where almost everything was upended and discovery was a constant companion — of personal resolve and resistance (mentally, physically, and financially), of new habits and routines (puzzling, gaming, and working from home), of the depths of our collective compassion or indifference (towards those hit hardest by the pandemic, towards systemic racism and injustice, or towards the ever-inclusive cagefight that is modern politics), and (possibly most importantly) of a vaccine, one that will hopefully combat COVID and get us back to a new version of normal soon — this seems fitting and an alternate anthem for the year. In the wake of all that it seems only natural these things would spill over to the music we spent our days with, particularly when those other themes — solace and comfort, refuge and respite — probably had never been as primarily important to us before.

So take a look and listen to the bounty of great tunes below — may they give you as much back as they did me this year. Here’s to hoping 2021 gets us closer together and closer to normal than 2020 did. Stay safe, sane, and separated in the interim, my friends… — BS


15. Tre Burt — Caught it From the Rye / Gerry Cinnamon — The Bonny: this slot’s for a couple of harmonica-wielding first timers, one a soothing folkster from Sacramento, the other a full throated belter from the highlands. Starting with the former, I discovered Burt this summer and have enjoyed his brisk 30 minute debut a lot in the intervening months. His voice bears the wear and tear of your old man’s winter coat, scuffed up but still warm and comfortable, and his melodies stick with you once the songs have faded. Highlights include the title track (“Caught it From the Rye”), “What Good,” and two reprises from his debut EP, “Franklin’s Tunnel” and the gutpunching “Only Sorrow Remains.”

As for Mr Cinnamon, I found the native Glaswegian late this spring and have spent many months returning to his sophomore outing, which walks the line between traditional folk songs and raucous barroom anthems, both sold convincingly with his untamed energy and accent. In a year where so much left you feeling downcast or disoriented, Cinnamon’s songs actually manage to rouse you into a bit of a fervor. It’s one of the many shames this year to have missed seeing him perform these at a festival, singing them out loud along with hundreds in the open air and sunshine. Doing so solo at the house works just as well — try gems like the title track (which sounds like something my ancestors in the old world might have sung), “Dark Days,” “Sun Queen,” and the killer “Canter.”

14. Catholic Action — Celebrated by Strangers / Silverbacks — Fad / Idles — Ultra Mono: we’ll keep the trend of the previous slot going, both in terms of first-time entrants for the year-end list and hailing from the UK. (We’ve got three quarters covered — you gotta want it, Wales…) We’ll start where we ended with another batch of Scotsmen (Glaswegians to boot) and the sophomore album from Catholic Action. As I wrote this summer, these guys are the spiritual children of Franz Ferdinand, all cheeky attitude and infectious groove, and that spell hasn’t diminished in the intervening six months. Similar to their debut, it’s just a fun bunch of songs — from opener “Grange Hell (South London in D)” to later tracks like “Yr Old Dad,” “People Don’t Protest Enough,” and the deliriously irresistible “One of Us,” these guys are guaranteed to make you move. (Which as my watch continually reminds me is apparently important.)

Speaking of moving, we’ll shift to the emerald isle for another buoyant affair, this time the full-length debut from Irish five piece Silverbacks. I’ve written about these guys several times before, thanks to a handful of really strong singles released up til now. (Only a couple of which show up here.) Bolstering those familiar faces come some interesting divergences — a trio of instrumentals (one of which actually isn’t throwaway, the lovely “Madra Uisce”) and a pair of more new wave tracks sung by Emma Hanlon (vs traditional vocalists Killian and Daniel O’Kelly). They show the band’s range nicely, but their undeniable strength is still the songs bearing their traditional triple guitar attack and their jittery, catchy riffs — tracks like the aforementioned singles “Dunkirk” and “Pink Tide,” along with “Drink it Down,” “Muted Gold,” and the freight train “Just in the Band.”

Hitting with the proverbial power of said locomotive comes the final member of this slot, British punk band Idles. Here for the first time with their third album, Ultra Mono, this was one of the rare releases to address the endless outrages swirling around us this year, from racial injustice to gentrification, gropey guys, and more. You can argue with the lyrical effectiveness of the attacks, which alternate between nonsensical word collages and simple sloganeering (and whether this is deliberately done tongue in cheek as suggested in songs like “Mr Motivator” and “The Lover” or inadvertently remains at best unclear if not wholly beside the point). What you cannot deny, though, is the power and catchiness of the songs, which have always been the band’s strong suit. Part Jesus Lizard war machine, part vintage British punks, it’s on balance a solid set of songs — with tracks like “Reigns,” “Danke,” the blistering duo “War” and “Kill Them With Kindness,” and lead single “Grounds,” which sported my hands-down favorite line of the year (“I say what I mean, do what I love, and fucking SEND it…”) it felt good to get a little fiery.

13. Mt Joy — Rearrange Us / Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever — Sideways to New Italy / Woods — Strange to Explain: this slot’s for bands who routinely conjure the shine of our sunny friend in the sky (and the namesake of everyone’s favorite blogger), brightening otherwise dreary days with their music. First up is the sophomore album from Philly band Mt. Joy (named after a proverbial place I think ALL of us hoped we could find this year), returning for the first time since their self-titled 2018 debut. That album was pure, unadulterated sunshine — positive sentiments wrapped in a hippie hemp blanket, their melodies and cheer strong enough to win over even the most calcified, jaded hearts. (Not speaking about anyone in particular here…) This one allows a few storm clouds to darken the horizon (lyrics occasionally touch on things like depression and adultery this time around) without sacrificing the underlying optimism. Songs like “My Vibe,” “Death,” “Strangers,” and the beautiful “Witness” all glow, warming the windshield as you glide on down the highway.

Another band built for the open road is Australia’s RBCF who are also back with their sophomore album, their first since their 2018 debut, Hope Downs. Thankfully the Blackouts haven’t changed the formula that landed them at #13 on that year’s list — sturdy triple guitar attack, swirling riffs and jangly chords, all built to make you move. (When it works this well, why change it?) Songs like the opening “The Second of the First,” “Falling Thunder,” “Cameo,” and lead single “Cars in Space” are like shots of adrenaline straight to your beleaguered heart, while tracks like “Not Tonight” and “The Cool Change” balance things out with some of the referenced chill. (The former of the two sporting my new favorite term for ice cube.) Another solid outing from this scrappy batch of newcomers.

Lastly comes the similarly evocative Woods (back for the first time since the overly cheeseball 2017 Love is Love), though the locale they call to mind is often tougher to pin down. At times pastoral homestead, others a spaced out dreamscape, this one bridges the gap between the ethereal aspects of the latter and the lush warmth of the former. Calling to mind the slinky, almost African rhythms of their 2016 album City Sun Eater in the River of Light (which landed at #5 on 2016’s list) it’s a solid return to form by these favorites. Songs like the title track, “Next to You and the Sea,” “Where do You go When You Dream,” the propulsive jam “Fell so Hard,” and the lovely lullaby “Just to Fall Asleep” are all highlights.

12. X — Alphabetland / Magnetic Fields — Quickies: this slot’s for those showcasing the benefits of brevity, albeit using two VERY different palettes. The former takes the sounds of revved up rockabilly and singsong harmonies that made the LA punks famous and brandishes them again to terrific effect. Back for the first time in 17 years and the first in 35 with the original lineup, the band fires off 10 rapid winners in a brisk 27 minute sprint to the finish. (The spoken word piece at the end is forgettable.) The interplay between frontman John Doe and frontwoman Exene Cervenka’s voices has always been a signature, and their breathless delivery of numerous lines get stuck in your head again here. Guitarist Billy Zoom’s riffs remain pristine, rattled off with the effortless flair of someone who’s been at it for close to 40 years, and DJ Bonebrake’s drums haven’t lost any of their pop. Songs like “Water & Wine,” “Strange Life,” “Goodbye Year, Goodbye,” or the pair of old tunes finally properly recorded (“Delta 88 Nightmare” and “Cyrano De Berger’s Back”) all smoke. This one’s every bit as good as the band’s early classics.

The Mags return for the first time in three years with yet another concept album, this one requiring all songs be under three minutes long. (Previous themes required all songs have fuzzed up guitars or start with the letter I, to name just two recent ones.) Beyond that frontman Stephin Merritt was free to roam and he covers a ton of ground over the course of the album’s 28 songs. Visiting castles (twice), spinning yarns about Shakers, bikers, Jesus, and Beelzebub, celebrating historic tits (not what you think) and outstanding coffee, or simpler things like his favorite watering hole or his musical neighbors. Merritt’s limitless imagination and wicked sense of humor are both on display, presenting some of the best material since the band’s unparalleled classic, 69 Love Songs. The highlights are almost too numerous to recount — “The Day the Politicians Died,” “When She Plays the Toy Piano,” “(I Want to Join a) Biker Gang,” “Let’s Get Drunk Again (And Get Divorced), “I Wish I Were a Prostitute Again,” “The Best Cup of Coffee in Tennessee,” “My Stupid Boyfriend” (which is laugh out loud funny). They all shine, full of Merritt’s characteristic heart, humor, or wonderful melodies — a great return to form.

11. Doves — The Universal Want / Bright Eyes — Down in the Weeds, Where the World Once Was: this slot’s for a pair of improbable reunions from bands I’ve really enjoyed over the years, but who’d been in hibernation for a good chunk of time, seemingly gone for good. Thankfully they’ve returned, both with lavish, kitchen-sink style albums that add layers to their signature sounds. Doves add the least flourishes between the two, but have been away the longest so get to go first.

Back for the first time in 11 years, this trio of Britons ALWAYS sound stately on their albums, so saying they’ve added the least flourishes is a bit like saying the latest Aston Martin is underwhelming because it doesn’t fly or have a pool in the back. These guys just OOZE opulence, their albums always feeling like the back of that aforementioned car (“Hey, there’s a pool!”) and despite being away for over a decade return without missing a beat.

The band’s ability to immediately create a mood — dark, slightly disorienting, but DAMN if it doesn’t sound good — is undiminished, thanks in large part to frontman Jimi Goodwin’s signature swooning delivery. (Honestly, he could be singing about something as basic as his breakfast and it would sound luxurious. “I ate a baNAAAAAAAAAAHnaaaaaaaaah and some POOOOOOOOOOORRiddddddddddge!”) Songs like “Broken Eyes,” “For Tomorrow,” “Prisoners,” “Cycle of Hurt,” and lead single “Carousels” are just huge, soaring songs — as majestic and glittering as their older material. I’ve never understood why these guys were always bigger in the UK than here — just rich, rewarding stuff.

Gone for a mere 9 years, Bright Eyes are another band that slipped away into the night and were seemingly forgotten. Frontman Conor Oberst remained busy, releasing several solo albums and pairing with other artists like Phoebe Bridgers for side project Better Oblivion Community Center, but the rest of the band (Mike Mogis and Nate Wolcott) were much more quiet. So it was a surprise when there was news they’d signed to a new label (“why does a dormant band need a label?”), which was quickly followed by talk of reunion shows and ultimately an album. And it’s a good one — an ambitious, reach for the stars type outing where everything is taken up a level.

Oberst recruited some ringers to record with — Chili Peppers bassist Flea and Queens thunder god Jon Theodore on drums, pairings almost as unexpected as the reunion itself, but like every other embellishment here they’re not overpowering or out of place. And there were a lot of the latter — bagpipes, orchestras, a full choir — but somehow they only add to the richness of the songs. Tracks like “Dance and Sing,” “Calais to Dover,” “Comet Song,” and the trio of singles — “Mariana Trench,” “Persona Non Grata,” and “Forced Convalescence” all shine as a result. Similar to their slotmates, we might not have needed these albums, but damn if I’m not glad they arrived anyway.

10. Built to Spill — Built to Spill Plays the Songs of Daniel Johnston / My Morning Jacket — The Waterfall II: this slot’s for some long running bands opting to run in place for a minute rather than charge forward with some new material, utilizing two of the four universal indicators for “we’re taking a bit of a break right now.” (Not represented — greatest hits or live albums, or the fabled ultimate phone-in signal, the live album of OTHER people’s greatest hits.) Thankfully they’re both entirely pleasant outings, so no real complaints here.

First up are my beloved band of Idahoans who opted for a cover album this time around. For a band known for sticking inspired selections in their sets or even doing entire cover shows from time to time this isn’t a huge stretch, but instead of compiling studio versions of their best picks (I’ve seen em do everything from the Smiths and REM to CCR, the Kinks, and Elton John over the years) they opted to do an entire album from just one artist. And not any artist, but cult indie fave Daniel Johnston — known in part for his weird, at times childlike qualities (and lyrics).

Aside from sharing a similarly shaky, nasal voice, it’s not an obvious fit — sure, frontman Doug Martsch often sings of dreams and the occasional brontosaurus, but he’s primarily known for his incredible guitar heroics, with parts flying wildly through the stratosphere before snapping back into place with mind-wrecking force. So stripping back to a three piece, silencing the solos and largely sticking to a strum while singing about dogs and fish seems a strange choice. Somehow it works, though, and the sweetness sometimes buried in Johnston’s lyrics are allowed to shine. Songs like “Tell me Now,” “Honey I Sure Miss You,” and “Heart, Mind, and Soul” are pleasant throwbacks to the sock hop era, while the tandem of “Life in Vain” and “Mountain Top” surpass the originals.

For their part of the equation, MMJ decided to mine their archives and put out an album of previously recorded material rather than hit us with some new songs. It’s not a traditional outtakes set, filled with one off demos or rarities scattered from throughout their career, but rather an entire album they decided not to put out until now. Originally recorded as part of the 2015 Waterfall sessions, the band initially debated releasing the material all at once, but for whatever reason balked. Thankfully they finally decided to share the other half of those sessions and the fully restored duo work nicely when played back to back.

This one’s got some quintessential blissed out moments (frontman Jim James can still surreptitiously kneecap you with the beauty of his voice or the sweetness of his sentiment) — tracks like the opening “Spinning my Wheels,” “Feel You,” and “Welcome Home” are all soft-spoken gems, while “Climbing the Ladder,” “Wasted,” and the funky “Magic Bullet” show the band flexing their jammy muscles. Had really looked forward to seeing them play this stuff live — there’s something perfectly symbiotic between these guys and summer festivals. Thanks yet again, 2020…

9. Jeff Tweedy — Love is the King / Matt Berninger — Serpentine Prison: this slot’s for a couple old favorites stepping out on their own, temporarily leaving the comforts of their beloved bands (Wilco and the National, respectively) to uphold one of the pandemic’s primary edicts, that of isolation. For Tweedy this is nothing new — he’s been sporadically taking breaks from the band to do solo tours for years, and truthfully I enjoy those shows even more than the full family affairs. (No offense to the guys — there’s just something about the intimacy of Jeff and an acoustic guitar that is incomparable. Watch Sunken Treasure if you need convincing…)

He’s also released two official solo albums the past two years alone (2018’s Warm and 2019’s Warmer, which landed at #15 and #9 on my year-end lists, respectively), so it’s only natural he’d use all the free time he received from not touring this year to record some more material. (Oh he also wrote another book AND did a nightly hourly livestream at the start. I think he probably also built a couple cabins and dredged some nearby waterways in between just to kill time.) Though he changed up the title this time (it could easily have been Warmest), the material is in line with those previous two outings, as worn-in and comfortable as the robes and pajamas he so frequently appears in on those livestreams. Songs like “Opaline” and “A Robin or a Wren” are country-fried goodness, while tracks like “Bad Day Lately,” “Save it For Me,” and the beautiful ode to his wife “Even I Can See” (yet again making all the rest of us look bad in comparison) are hushed gems.

For Berninger this is the first time he’s given it a go on his own — there have been one-off tracks here and there and the El Vy side project, but this is the first time he’s hanging a shingle entirely of his own. Initially intended to be a covers album, he went into the studio with producer Booker T (sadly sans MGs) and instead ended up recording an entire album of originals. (Allegedly the covers that started the fruitful sessions still exist and will be released later.) The interplay between the two is noticeable on a number of tracks, albeit subtle — there’s no Booker T of old whipping folks into a funky frenzy (although picturing Berninger trying to do so is comical to envision, like your kind uncle rattling off some Death Certificate-era Cube in an attempt to look hard), just understated keys gliding lightly through the background to buttress the songs.

Lyrically Berninger stays with what he does best — songs about relationships and instrospective flagellation — all sung with his cabernet-soaked baritone. Tracks like the opening “My Eyes are T-Shirts” (great line), “Loved so Little,” “Take me Out of Town,” and “Collar of Your Shirt” are all subdued beauties, well-matched by the trio of solid singles, “Distant Axis,” “One More Second,” and the title track. A really strong outing top to bottom — hopefully he brings some of this focus back to the band and gets them back to basics after their disappointing last album.

8. Waxahatchee — Saint Cloud / Kevin Morby — Sundowner: this slot’s for two independent faves who somehow prove even more enjoyable together. Ladies coming first (both in courtesy and release order), we’ll start with the latest from Ms Katie who’s back for the first time since 2017’s Out in the Storm. Having previously dealt with the pain and insecurities surrounding love and loss, giving us three excellent albums bursting with vulnerability and quiet honesty, that album was all fiery guitars and full throated resilience, letting everyone in earshot know she had finally found her footing and was no longer going to be dominated by those ghosts — which while great from a personal perspective was not what drew me to her music. Thankfully she seems to have come out of that phase of overt trumpeting and settled into one of more comfortable confidence, giving us an album that exudes warmth and beauty. Songs like the title track, “Fire,” “The Eye,” and “War” all shine, while the twin singles of “Lilacs” and “Can’t Do Much” rank among the finest things she’s written.

For Morby’s part he continues his prolific pace of release, having just put out the full length Oh My God last year. (It landed at #7 on that year’s list.) Similar to Ms Katie’s previous, that album marked the first time I didn’t unabashedly love the material — there were some divergences in tone and technique that gave me pause, but while hers proved too powerful and uniform to win me over, Morby surrounded his with enough characteristic winners to have that album make the cut. Thankfully there’s no concessions or worries necessary this time around — it’s just an album of some beautiful songs. Recorded before his previous one, Morby decided to sit on the songs until the time was right — which turned out to be the world slowing down and his moving back to Kansas with Ms Katie in tow. Similar to her latest, that comfort and warmth permeates almost everything it touches here — songs like the title track, “Valley,” “Campfire,” and “Provisions” positively radiate with them, while “Don’t Underestimate Midwest American Sun” is an absolute gem and one of the best things he has written.

I spent a ton of time with these two over the course of the year and really enjoyed ending the night with them once a week at the beginning of the lockdown listening to their livestream (and then subsequently watching them individually play each of their albums in full). Their banter was pleasant, their songs always excellent, and getting to spend an hour or two basking in their clear love for each other was a necessary remedy to the outside world steadily tearing itself apart. It’s only fitting that sentiment spilled into their songs, yielding some of their strongest, sweetest material to date. And while it’s easy to love the music, what makes these two special is they just seem like good people — extremely talented, yes, yet humble, humorous, and personable — the kind of folks you’d like to spend hours virtually hanging with in their livestreamed living room. I STILL have an alert that pops on my phone every Thursday to check and see if they’re resuming their so-called rodeo. Sadly they’ve yet to return, but in the meantime we’ve thankfully got these albums to keep us warm.

7. Guided by Voices — Surrender Your Poppy Field / Mirrored Aztec / Styles We Paid For: in a year where there was so much upheaval, so many confusing experiences and terrible firsts, it was nice to have at least one reliable thing to count on, something as steadfast and unrelenting as the virus’ case count and death toll — only positive! That comes to us from our old friend Dr Bob, who may not be able do anything to cure us of the disease, but CAN do a lot to improve our pandemic playtime. That’s because — yet again — the beloved band of Ohioans are back with another album — THREE of them. Which would sound impressive or improbable if they didn’t do the exact same thing LAST year! THAT trio of albums landed at #5 on the year-end list and while they’re down a couple spots this year that doesn’t mean the quality has diminished at all — it’s mostly due to the exceptionally strong stuff sitting at the top, which invariably is going to crowd solid outings like this down a touch.

By their own insane measure, this year’s hat trick is slightly down in overall numbers — while each year sports three albums, there are a fraction as many songs this year — 48 to 78 (which admittedly is a stupid amount of material in comparison to every OTHER band, but this is what happens with the bars these guys set for themselves). The final piece of the triptych just arrived a few days ago, too, so it’s too soon to really tell how it compares to last year’s triple. (Early listens are positive, though, albeit similar to the final album last year, it’s probably the weakest of the three.)

That means the majority of the year was spent with the first two albums, and those definitely held up to repeated listens. There’s just a TON of good songs — it’s honestly mind-boggling how Dr Bob and the boys keep coming up with this much stuff month to month, let alone year to year. (And I will NEVER understand how the fu#$ they remember all the words/chords to play this stuff live for 2-3 hours at a time. I can’t remember why I walk into rooms these days…) Tracks like “Year of the Hard Hitter,” “Arthur Has Business Elsewhere,” “Physician,” “Man Called Blunder,” “Bunco Men,” “To Keep an Area,” “Please Don’t be Honest,” “Haircut Sphinx,” “Thank You Jane,” and the unofficial pandemic anthem, “I Think I Had it. I Think I Have it Again” are all classic GBV. Even songs that initially underwhelm get under your skin as snippets of Dr Bob’s lyrics get stuck in your head — things like “Cul-de-Sac Kids,” “Stone Cold Moron,” or “Whoa Nelly” will now just pop into my head and I’ll find myself singing them to whoever might be around (usually just the Rizz). “[S/he’s a] STOOOOOOOOOOOONE COOOOOOOoooooold MOOOOOOoooorooooooon! Get out of my WAAAAAAAAAAAY!” Just a ton of enjoyment as always here…

6. Cut Worms — Nobody Lives Here Anymore / Andy Shauf — Neon Skyline: this slot’s for a couple first-timers that I discovered thanks to Spotify’s spot-on suggestion algorithm, which was on a tear earlier this year. Thanks to the lockdown keeping us stuck in place, the need to get away was a growing concern as time (but not much else) oozed onward. Some turned to travel shows on Netflix, some wandered down memory lane looking at old photos, while I found myself time traveling to earlier eras musically to stave off the stasis. One of the more frequent vectors for that was Cut Worms, a discovery from the first month of the pandemic. And while just discovering their debut album would have been a sufficient enough win in any year, let alone this one, learning that they had a new one coming out — and a double album to boot! — was almost as good as it could get. (Like hearing there were three effective vaccines good almost…)

Frontman Max Clarke doesn’t change the recipe here — it’s still spot-on early Everlys sound, all shining melodies and warm guitar, leaving you in a luxuriant swoon in the wake of his ethereal voice. It’s just PRETTY. Almost debilitatingly so, like seeing someone so hot they short-circuit your brain and make you forget how to speak. There are over a dozen they-don’t-make-em-like-that-no-more style songs here, meticulously crafted and delicate as a Faberge egg. Some of the melodies are almost painful they’re so lovely — songs like “Last Words to a Refugee,” “All the Roads,” “Walk With Me,” and lead single “Veteran’s Day” are all backbreakers in that sense, the melodies matched by the sharpness of Clarke’s lines, which pierce the skin despite the delicacy of his delivery. (“Need another lifetiiiiiiiiiiiiime, baaaaby…to get to all the things that need sayin’…”) This is as vintage as it gets and every bit the treasure as that dusty bottle of decades-old wine you unearthed in the cellar — drink it in and enjoy the glow…

For his part Shauf takes you a decade or so later to a Paul Simon of the 70s sound on his fifth album, a brisk 35-minute gem that nails Simon’s narrative songwriting and sing-speak style of delivery. Covering the exploits of a single night out, this is the second album in a row that Shauf dedicates substantively to a specific theme (his last outing revolved around a night at a party, 2016’s aptly named The Party.) And while the thought of 11 songs about a night at the bar (the titular Neon Skyline) might seem suffocating or bland, Shauf finds plenty to keep you interested.

As he hails from Saskatchewan there’s no debaucherous tales to titillate or offend, just unrequited love, banter among old friends, and jokes about bad accents and missing jackets. It’s an eminently Canadian affair — polite, pleasant, and charming in its earnestness. Shauf’s voice works as effectively as Simon’s at drawing you in and his signature clarinet warms up a number of the songs here, as improbable as that might sound. (Honestly, it’s almost a revelation the first time you hear it — alien, haunting, yet somehow still warm and inviting.) It’s not a novelty, though — similar to someone like Andrew Bird with the violin it’s used judiciously yet effectively, becoming an integral part of the overall sound. The trio of “Where Are You Judy,” “Clove Cigarette,” and “Thirteen Hours” are excellent examples, as are the buoyant “Try Again” and “Fire Truck” towards the end. Leaves you wanting more every time you listen…

5. Nathaniel Rateliff — And It’s Still Alright: released before the world shutdown, this was the first album I knew would be showing up at year’s end and was the front runner for a long time. Coming out waaaaay back in February, this marks a return to pre-Night Sweats Nathaniel — softer and more introspective, working on his wounds with his acoustic guitar in hand — but with a few more flourishes this time around. The substance is still the same — the tried-and-true stalwarts of love and loss — but what’s new is what surrounds them: sweeping orchestral sections, forlorn horns, and the occasional choir. It all adds up to a grander affair than before, while still representing the most naked, heartfelt album of the year.

Dealing with the loss of both his marriage and his best friend, there’s a number of songs that sound upbeat despite the emotional damage — the sauntering “What a Drag,” the soaring title track and “Mavis,” the resilient “Expecting to Lose” with its ebullient doodood-d-DOOOOOOd-d-dooos in the chorus. They all serve as effective counterpoints to the more devastating quiet songs, the ones whose music matches the mood as Rateliff addresses the agonies head-on. Tracks like “Tonight #2,” “You Need Me,” “Kissing Our Friends,” and the resolute “Time Stands” each bear a lovely melody alongside some pointed, painful lyrics.

Nothing tops the album closer, though, in power, prettiness, or pain. Written as an ode to his aforementioned friend, the departed singer/producer Richard Swift, it’s an absolute sledgehammer of a song, one that reduced Rateliff to tears in one incredible performance I saw this year. (Don McLean crying at the end of “Vincent” marks the only other time I’ve seen a singer brought to tears by one of their own songs.) It’s as clear an indicator as you can get that his healing is still a work in progress and you empathize and applaud him for his openness and honesty, as well as his ability to make something so lovely as tribute in spite of it.

4. Muzz — Muzz: this was one of the year’s most unexpected surprises, a return of components from some of my favorite bands, specifically Interpol’s frontman Paul Banks and the Walkmen’s former drummer Matt Barrick, here with indie hopscotcher Josh Kaufman. Together the trio delivered one of the year’s best debuts, an endlessly engaging album that exemplifies easygoing. If the previous album was emblematic of the year’s emotional anguish, this one was all about staying calm, cool, and collected — the absolute epitome of “chill.”

Scarcely raising his voice above a 3, Banks spends the majority of the album murmuring in your ear, lulling you into a foggy state of bliss somewhere between waking and dream. Tracks like “Chubby Checker,” “Summer Love,” and “Patchouli” or the excellent bookends “Bad Feeling” and “Trinidad” all radiate, their lovely melodies inducing a red wine warmth and glow. These serve to emphasize the rare eruptions like lightning tearing through an otherwise darkened landscape — the galloping “Knuckleduster,” the majestic “Red Western Sky,” or the simmering “How Many Days,” which boils over at the end in a fiery guitar freakout. Each reminds you of the guys’ previous bands without disrupting the album’s overall vibe, rather filling out its richness and reward.

The band also recently released a covers EP, which upholds the tenor of their full length outing, sporting a solid version of Mazzy Star’s classic “Fade Into You” and an outstanding one of Arthur Russell’s “Nobody Wants a Lonely Heart” that surpasses the original. They’ve definitely landed on a winning combination here — let’s hope these guys stick together and keep recording. This is excellent stuff…

3. Car Seat Headrest — Making a Door Less Open: if the last two entries represented opposing sides of the emotional spectrum, one tumultuous, the other tranquil, this one slides squarely in the middle and maps its effervescent peaks. Arriving just as the lockdown was settling its jaws into the globe, frontman Will Toledo and company are back with their first batch of new songs since 2016’s excellent Teens of Denial and what should have been the album of the summer. In any normal year going to hear this live would have been one of the hotter tickets in town, captivating concert-goers with its infectious melodies and soaring spirit, a self-assured danceparty waiting to happen. Instead, like everything else we were left to enjoy it from the confines of our homes, attempting to approximate that communal release from our couch.

For the second album in a row, Toledo leans more towards the electronic elements that filled his 2018 remake of his earlier Twin Fantasy album vs the lo-fi indie guitar of Denial. And while that departure made Fantasy harder to swallow on initial listens, it’s a lot easier to accept this time around now that we know what to expect. Toledo fills a number of songs here with droning keys and samples — from opening “Weightlifters” to “Hymn (Remix),” “Deadlines (Thoughtful),” and the closing “Famous,” the songs seethe with jittery energy like your appendages after four or five espressos.

Others are more straight-forward — the vibrant singles “Can’t Cool Me Down” and “Martin,” the affirmational “There Must be More than Blood” and the anthemic “Life Worth Missing.” All shine, but no Car Seat album would be complete without at least one massive earworm, a song whose buildup and climax are so satisfying they border on exhilarating. Denial had “Drunk Drivers/Killer Whales,” Fantasy had “Bodys,” and this one has “Deadlines (Hostile),” a song I must’ve listened to about a hundred times this year and yet never failed to have me shouting along at the end. Another solid outing from Will the Wunderkind…

2. Run the Jewels — RTJ4: aside from the unending pandemic and the lack of live music, the real reason the previous album didn’t rule the summer was because just after its release, video of George Floyd’s murder in Minneapolis came out and the country exploded in protest — at a man’s excruciating extinguishing under authority’s knee (8 minutes and 46 seconds of absolute agony to watch), at years of systemic racism and injustice that enable things like that to happen, and at the overall deluge of difficulties that hit people this year, sparking a sense of righteous indignation and outrage that spilled into the streets around the world. Arriving a mere one week later, THIS album — with its focused fury and awakened anger gave folks the music they were looking for and the soundtrack to the summer.

As I mentioned way back at the top, this album was the noteworthy exception to the rule this year — while there was a seemingly inexhaustable list of things to be angry about, almost no one except these guys manifested it musically and tackled those topics head-on. Mike and El proved they were up to the task for everyone, though, dropping all the dick jokes and jocular asides scattered across their previous outings for an unflinching, unapologetic assault on everything from racism and slavery to resistance and religion here. It’s an absolute steamroller of an album, again arriving at the perfect moment and representing the best the pair have offered to date. (Their 2017 album also had impeccable timing, released in the aftermath of the 2016 election and capturing some of the national bleakness and despair that resulted — that one landed at #2 on 2017’s list, while their 2014 album landed at #4.)

This one sports a murderer’s row of hard-hitting highlights — from the opening one-two of “Yankee and the Brave” and “Ooh La La” to “Holy Calamafuck,” “Ju$t,” and “The Ground Below,” Mike and El are unsparing, endlessly pummeling you with their verses and their thundering beats. There’s no skimping on the side dishes, either, with some top shelf talent helping them out — from DJ Premier and Pharrell to Zach de la Rocha, Josh Homme, and Mavis Staples, among others. It all adds up to an unrelenting tour de force, one built around the hammer blow centerpiece that is “Walking in the Snow,” which addresses the aforementioned Floyd murder with undeniable power. Another outstanding outing from one of modern rap’s few bright spots…

1. Pottery — Welcome to Bobby’s Motel: having come through the previous four stages of tumult, tranquility, exhilaration, and indignation, we arrive at the end and the thing that will ultimately get us across the finish line — pure, unadulterated adrenaline. This is the album I listened to more than anything else this year by a country mile. (As evidenced by almost each of its 11 songs being in my 2020 Wrapped playlist on Spotify.) Whenever any of those previous stages threatened to tip out of balance and overwhelm, this album was there to give you the energy to keep going — to push thru the pain or manage the anger, to snap out of the fog or keep driving towards that daydream future — the one where you can dance amongst friends, drink amongst strangers, and deliriously drift back and forth between the two.

I found these guys by fluke, seeing the name of their upcoming album on Stereogum and thinking it was a funny way to introduce people to my house, thanks to the moniker of my alter ego. (That and the comedically cheesey cover art, with all its finger gun and mustachioed glory.) Once I heard that first song, though, the gloriously gonzo freak fest that is “Texas Drums Pt I & II,” I was in. Part early day Talking Heads, part weirdo preacher whose choir keeps imploring you to “play those fuckin’ drums for me,” it commanded your attention and got you moving. The rest of the album operates the exact same way, switching styles and speeds like they’re a band possessed.

From the rapid fire drum roll on the opening title track, you’re off on a breathless, joyous sprint for the next 40 minutes. The songs are chameleonic, shifting grooves and melodies two to three times a piece, giving things a fever dream sense of intensity and color. Your temperature fluctuates as frequently as the tempo, oscillating between hot heaters, cooooooooool waaaaaaaaater, and “ooh that’s nice” spaces in between. It’s one of the many regrets this year not getting to see these guys perform this album live — in my head it would be the most frantic, festive variety show you could conjure. Tracks like “Hot Heater,” “Down in the Dumps,” the aforementioned “Drums” and “NY Inn” would all sizzle, while songs like “Reflection” and the swooning gem “Hot Like Jungle” would give you a second to catch your breath and bliss out. Hands down the most reliable good time of the year, this one’s meant to be consumed in its entirety — over and over again…

Double Shot Saturday — Andy and a Bunch of Punks

Phew — quite a week we just had there. As the wider world slowly started to shut down — professional sports, music festivals and concerts, marathons, movie theaters, and parades, travel to or from entire continents, etc — it was only fitting that I was concurrently closing up my current job, home to so many heartaches and frustrations over the years. (Nothing says “post-apocalyptic disaster” better than a career in the USG…) So for the first time in nearly a decade as a non-government stooge (and only the second time in nearly 15), I thought I would stop in as a regular human and highlight some new discoveries. (Maybe that’s what’s been holding the readership down all these years!)

There have been a bunch recently — most of the loud, punky variety thanks to my mood as I was winding down my service — but we’ll start with the soft one, a Saskatchewanian named Shauf.  Andy Shauf, to be exact, and I stumbled on him thanks to a recent recommendation list from Esquire.  I didn’t like anything else on said list, but was really happy to find this one.  Back with his fifth album overall, Shauf’s latest follows the model of his previous one and focuses all of the songs on a single theme — his last one was songs about one night at a party, told from the perspectives of the various attendees (aptly titled The Party), while this one centers around one night at a bar, the titular Neon Skyline.

It’s a simple concept, but one that works well as you bounce between the lives and eyes of the various individuals. Shauf’s narratives (and melodies) are at times reminiscent of Paul Simon’s, while others call to mind my beloved Elliott Smith.  Add to that Shauf’s thick Canadian accent (“I’m soary I’m from another port of the country,” instead of “sorry”/”part,” for one example) and his penchant for throwing in clarinet (he grew up playing the instrument, among many others, in his family’s Christian rock band) and you’ve got quite a charming, interesting mix.  It works well, though — both those albums are top to bottom winners, as are his earlier ones.  Warm, calming, and oh so pretty — exactly what we need to take the edge off weeks like the last.  Start with the Simon-y lead single “Neon Skyline” and see if you get similarly hooked, and then jump to the more Elliottesque “Alexander All Alone” from his last one:

For you fellow Dylan Thomas fans not quite ready to go quiet into the night, there’s a trio of brasher bands I came across to fuel your fury (or fever, if you’re infected with corona).  First comes one I got to too late, the defunct LA post-punk band Corners. I came across their debut (and unfortunately only) album, Maxed Out on Distractions, when its lead single “Against It” slipped into my Spotify feed.  It’s a great tune, all jangly guitars and nervous energy, and that got me to explore (and ultimately enjoy) the entire album.  Over the course of its too brief 30 minutes it calls to mind Joy Division moodiness and Rapture-like freneticism, which unsurprisingly makes for a great listen, so it was a real bummer to learn they broke up back in 2016. Seems like the four members grew apart over their two years of touring for the debut and wanted to focus on their solo projects instead of sticking with the band, so this is all we’ll be getting. (They somewhat strangely put out a four track EP last year with leftovers from that 2014 recording session, but nothing else seems forthcoming.) Thankfully we’ve at least got this — start with that first single, “Against It,” which is reminiscent of that Joy Division sound before jumping in “The Spaceship” and riding it to the Rapture:

Next comes another California punk band, this one hailing from the northern part of the state in San Francisco, and another throwback to that 70s sound, albeit more on the early side when The Clash and Sex Pistols were raining fire on everyone. Spiritual Cramp is the band, and while the name may be terrible, the music sure isn’t.  Mixing the aforementioned influences with more modern ones like the Hives, their debut album Television is a blast.  It puts their first two EPs alongside six new tracks (two of which are covers — one from the Pistols, the other from Billy Bragg, oddly enough) and there are a ton of winners in there.  “Television” and “I Feel Bad Bein’ Me” really bring out those Clash reggae elements and driving beat, while “Upset Stomach” and the eponymous “Spiritual Cramp” surface those Hives-ian elements. And then there’s lead single “The Erasure,” which is something else entirely (lead singer Michael Bingham’s mumbled vocals and the bouncing beat almost call to mind early Talking Heads).  It’s a winning mix — start with the lead single and then jump to the burning flame of the band’s name:

Last stop on the Discovery channel takes us to the Emerald Isle, which is fitting with St Patty’s Day right around the corner. The band is another crummily named one — Girl Band — but similar to the others, the quality of their craft is high.  These guys take elements of LCD Soundsystem (frontman Dara Kiely sounds a lot like James Murphy, while their best songs are eminently danceable) and smash them into the noise punk pieces of bands like METZ, which works really well.  The band has released two full lengths — 2015’s Holding Hands with Jamie and last year’s The Talkies — which are solid, if sometimes meandering affairs.  Their first EP, the aptly named The Early Years, though, perfectly captures their sound — fully focused, no fucking around, it’s buttressed by two monster tracks — “Lawman” and the techno cover “Why They Hide Their Bodies Under my Garage?”  Both of them sport infectious beats to draw you in, as well as minute-plus noise-filled freakouts to drive you away, before bringing you back home at the close.  They’re both irresistible, building to a frenzy that’s almost impossible to ignore — off-putting noise explosions or not. Kiely does nothing more in the latter track than hypnotically chant the song title with increasing intensity before unleashing in exhilarating fashion at the end — it’s fantastic. Check both of em out and see for yourself:


We’ll close back in familiar territory with a couple recent releases from some old friends — first comes Kevin Morby with a couple tracks from the recording sessions from his last album, Oh My God. (Which landed at #7 on last year’s list.) There’s nothing drastically different here — just the same winning formula that’s made him such a favored find the past few years — and there ain’t nothin’ wrong with THAT! Check out “Gift Horse” here:

Next comes the latest from Woods, fresh off their supporting role on David Berman’s outstanding Purple Mountains album last year (which landed at #2 on my list). It’s the first single from their upcoming album — Strange to Explain is due out in May — their first since their disappointing 2017 cheeseball, Love is Love. Thankfully this sounds like a return to their more normal fare — still a little folksy, but less overtly hippie dippy than that last one. Let’s hope for more of the same come May!  In the meantime, check out “Where do you go When you Dream?” here:

Up third comes the second single from former Walkmen frontman Hamilton Leithauser’s upcoming album.  Since we last checked in we’ve gotten a release date and title from Ham — The Loves of your Life will be out April 10 — and another song to enjoy. Seems like we’re going to be in for another lush, winning album based on the first two tracks.  Check out “Isabella” and relish Ham’s wondrous, timeless voice:

We’ll stick with Walkmen alum for this next one, too, and the intriguing new side project for that band’s former drummer, Matt Barrick.  Teaming with Interpol frontman Paul Banks and indie hopscotcher Josh Kaufman (he’s played with Bonny Light Horseman, the National, Craig Finn, etc), they’re calling themselves Muzz.  And while the name doesn’t necessarily make a ton of sense (short for muzzle? slang for a morphine buzz? nickname of their best friend Pete Remuzzi?) the music sure does.  Channeling the more languid, laid back vibe of his former band’s later days, Barrick and Co stretch out luxuriantly on the lead single “Bad Feeling.” There’s no word on a broader album yet, but I’m sure hoping one is coming — check out the appetizer here:

And we’ll close where we started, back in the midst of a tumultuous global crisis and at the end of a long, frustrating chapter in my professional life.  What better soundtrack than the newly reunited Rage for such fare? I’ve been listening to these guys a lot lately, thanks in part to the news of their upcoming tour (which, assuming the world doesn’t end I shall be attending), but particularly as I wrapped up my service to Uncle Sam and finally decided to leave.  The first time I tried this ten years ago I left feeling a lot more optimistic — I’d suffered less battle damage, was moving back to my favorite place on earth and planning to get married, and while disappointed the job didn’t work out, I didn’t feel as let down — it was more unfortunate than anything else.  My walkout song therefore mirrored those sentiments — the joyous climax of the Pumpkins’ “Rocket” perfectly captured that feeling of breaking free from what was holding you down and shooting off into the blissful expanse of the unknown.

This time, I’m a lot angrier.  I’ve got ten more years of incessant battling, ten more years of frustration, bitterness, and disappointment — and the resulting damage they’ve inflicted — coursing through my arteries. Ten more years of momentary highs and major letdowns clogging my brain. The analogy I’ve kept using is one of an abusive relationship — you still care about/love the person (or in this case, place), still feel like just maybe it’ll be better tomorrow, maybe it’ll be that thing you fell in love with and felt so fulfilled by again, that thing that formed such a large part of your persona and an even bigger part of your life.  If only they would stop ignoring you, or worse, beating the ever-loving shit out of you.  Over. And over. And over.

Just like those relationships, though, at some point you reach a point where you know that’s likely not going to happen.  Where you know you have to put yourself, your happiness, and your safety first.  Where you finally decide you no longer want to deal with that and walk away.  (And that in walking away you are not a quitter, or a pussy, or avoiding work because it’s hard, but have done everything you possibly could to salvage things and it still wasn’t enough — and that’s ok — because some things aren’t fixable, and some things aren’t yours to fix.)

Just like those relationships, everybody’s tolerance is going to differ and so, as a result, will their breaking point.  I reached mine this year — and then a hundred times over again — so knew it was time to go.  That chapter came to a close yesterday — with a final toast from the person I respect most from my time there — before playing this walkout song as I drove away from the building.  It aptly captures my current mood and comes courtesy of the aforementioned Rage — for as Zach sings with increasing intensity and anger, I ain’t gonna work on Maggie’s farm no more…

Until next time, amici… (BTW, added another location to the travel pages on the right — Philly in tha house!)

–BS