Over and Over Again: The Best Music of 2021

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

–BS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Under the Avalanche: The Best of 2017

If 2016 was the year where every famous person died, 2017 was the year where every famous person that remained turned out to be a liar, a crook, or a degenerate who liked to sexually harass people (and had been doing so for years). From politicians to movie stars to comedians to the commander-in-chief, 2017 was an assault on the senses, an unrelenting freight train rolling over logic, intelligence, and integrity.  It’s almost like those famous people knew something when they started dying in droves last year – “You thought this was bad, just wait til you see what comes next!”

The pace was withering — an almost breathless, all-out sprint for the entire year. It was so fast it was almost overwhelming, both mentally and physically, like feeling gassed at the half mile marker in a marathon. During some stretches it seemed like almost literally every day there was a new revelation or story that made you say to yourself, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. This can’t possibly get any worse” or more ridiculous or more over the top, out of your mind bonkers. And then it would. Again. And again. And again.

The entire year seesawed between stories coming from the carnival of stupidity here in Washington and those generated by the downfall of leading men in other industries. (And the disappointment was almost exclusively stemming from men — so this year had the extra indignity of not only having to answer for the uncomfortable actions of those atop your country, but also for those atop your gender.) One day it would be news about tweets insulting politician x or agency y or country z, the next it would be finding out this person raped or harassed half of Hollywood. One day it would be threats of nuclear war hurled back and forth via text, the next it would be finding out this person liked to jerk off into potted plants while making women watch. And that just got you to Tuesday most weeks.

It became a war of attrition. You would just hunker down and try to get through the barrage of incoming fire to get to the weekend when you could hole up in your house and not have to pay attention to the news or deal with the people around you. When you could have a drink or two in your refuge and try to flush away memories of the previous week. All while trying to gird yourself for the next round of punishment that would start again come Monday. Between the news, the job, and the horrible place both mostly came from, it was almost too much at times. But as in war, when you’re pinned in your bunker and being bombarded, your only options are to wait for a break in fire to make a move or stand up and get blown to smithereens.

So you do what you can to survive. Limit yourself to 30 minutes of news each night unless something particularly cataclysmic has occurred. Only listen to music in the car on the way to and from work instead of talk radio.  Mute the TV in your office or keep it off all together. Leave on time and take more days off so you don’t have to deal with the idiots at work. Apply to other jobs to get the fuck out of this miserable place altogether. But 2017 would not let up. It was the protein fart in a warm, poorly ventilated room. It hung in the air like a fog, seeping through cracks and creeping around your defenses. It watered your eyes and upset your stomach. It would not be deterred.

So the news would get to you anyway, either via incredulous texts from friends and family or a push alert you couldn’t ignore while sitting on the couch. Your attempts to do the things you love to unwind all became complicated and difficult. (Like writing this blog, for example, which I’ve spent the past few weeks dictating into my iPad and emailing to myself so I can post because my computer keeps spontaneously crashing for no discernible reason. Including at least 20 times today. Aaaagh, GOFY, 2017…) Your attempts to find other jobs either went unanswered or rejected, despite being overqualified or the preferred candidate and asked for by name. Nothing you tried seemed to matter or make it better, it just kept coming. If last year was about surviving an avalanche, this year was about surviving seventeen follow on waves that kept scuttling your escape and burying you under acres more snow and debris.

As always, the music helped, and more folks than ever seemed to care about my recommendations (I think we’re up to four now. Maybe five?) which was a nice reason to keep digging. So I wanted to share some more suggestions before the next wave of snow hits and I’m stuck unable to move again. As always, these represent the best things I listened to this year, not necessarily the best things that were released. There were three that stood alone above the others (and one well above both of those), and I’ve grouped the others according to the moods or themes I’ve identified in them as in previous years.  If you’ve got more you feel are worthy, please let me know so we can all benefit.

And as for those generating the avalanches of punishment, know that winter only lasts so long and some people were born diggers. This old quote struck me as particularly poignant as I thought about the year – “It is necessary, while in darkness, to know that in oneself there is a light waiting to be found. What the light reveals is danger, and what it demands is faith. One will perish without the light… Everything in our lives depends on how we bear the light.  The moment we break faith with one another, the sea engulfs us and the light goes out.” Substitute water for snow in that metaphor and you see it makes the same point. So to the noisemakers – while you can keep trying to bury us with distractions and disingenuousness in an attempt to keep things as they are, know that some people will not stop until they get what they’re after, whether it’s the truth, accountability, or a way out of the misery to the surface for air. So keep that in mind. Winter only lasts so long, and the weather is warming. I, for one, plan to keep digging.

1. The Orwells – Terrible Human Beings:  hands-down my favorite album of the year. By a country mile. And I knew it almost from the moment it came out. One of two albums that stayed on the ‘pod the entire year and the only one I wouldn’t skip songs from by the end due to fatigue. In fact, I forced myself to stop listening to it the past month while writing this list so I could hear it with fresh ears and that choice annoyed me on a near-daily basis. Particularly because they released two excellent B-sides in that time that made me want to listen to it all over again. Each time one of its songs came on shuffle and I had to skip it, I grimaced a little. Despite listening to it in part/total literally hundreds of times this year. It still had me wanting to listen. And the crazy/amazing thing is, once I broke the holdout I couldn’t stop listening to it again. I’d wake up with a different song in my head and need to listen to it on the way to/from work (while continuing the trend even once at the office). Literally every day since the drought ended. (Including now, as I finish this post.) That alone tells you how much I love this album, if not also how amazing the non-me population will find it.

It’s got everything you need, though, particularly in a year such as this — great hooks, sharp lyrics, and an irreverent, “fuck you and everything around you” attitude that will get you bouncing around, whether you’re in public or the privacy of your home/room. It’s the sonic equivalent of Sherman’s march through the south or a raging forest fire — sometimes you just need to burn it all down and start over again new. The boys give you all of 10 seconds to get out of the way on the opening track. The drums lay out a stilted, spartan beat while the sound of a droning guitar slowly builds. And then at the 10 second mark it all snaps into focus and you see the danger flying above. The guitars begin dive-bombing your brain, with Matt O’Keefe’s air raid siren howling next to Dominic Corso’s sturdy riff. The punishment only briefly lets up as frontman (Super) Mario arrives on scene, before the guitars strike again two minutes later to finish off anything they missed the first time around. Two moments of irresistible destruction in three short minutes. And that’s just the first song. By the time you get to the album (and frequent set) closer just under 40 minutes later, the aptly named epic “Double Feature,” you’re ready to tackle a runaway elephant. (The album having just destroyed your inhibitions/ability to stand upright like said animal.) This thing is chock-full of some absolutely killer tunes –like “Kool-Aid man crash through the wall  because you just can’t help it” good. Mario and his misfit chorus shoot out song after song of infectious, invigorating rock and it’s pointless to resist — even your grandma would think this one slams.

It’s their first album since 2014 (the excellent Disgraceland, which landed at number eight on that year’s list) and they lay out their position in that opening track with as clear a credo as you could ask for from them — “all right, make it quick — good songs? Make you rich. That feeling? It’ll pass. Good boys come in last. Bad girl by my side, poppin’ pills on the fly, cold grave (go gray?) when I die.” As glib (and gleeful) a way of saying “I got mine — everyone else GOFY” as you can. And once that’s established, the boys turn their fire on everything in sight — old friends (“My friends are dead ends, where did they go? Hopeless and homeless” on “Creatures”); other trendy bands/poseurs (or themselves?) (“Have you heard that band? (Yeah I think they’re shit) And the way they dress? (Yeah they think they’re hip) And the things they say? (Yeah it’s all a bluff) And I know where they’re from… (Yeah it ain’t that rough)” on “Black Francis”); their peers (“And when they bark, yeah they don’t make a sound, this whole generation don’t make a _____” on “Heavy Head”); and the know-it-alls in authority (“Just because you took the easy way out doesn’t mean you know what you’re talking about, just because you took the long way home doesn’t mean your name is going to be known“ on “Hippie Soldier”).  There’s two songs referencing death (“Bayou” and “Creatures”), two songs highlighting the need to unplug from the daily nonsense in the news (“Vacation” and “Hippie”), a song rebelling against expectations and adulthood (“M.A.D.”), while the B-sides tackle the Heartland and broader society (“Middle America, you’re like radio/tv set/SUV/neighborhood/etc vanilla — you say you’re all for equality, but…when your kid starts to rock the boat you can pour some pills right down his throat” on “Vanilla” and “what’s so entertaining when nothing is ever changing?  The cup of hope is spilling… executive decisions… waking up screaming… Spend to get ahead to fall behind…” on “What’s so Entertaining”).  Nothing’s sacred and nothing’s safe.

Not that there’s any good solutions at hand.  The answer for how to cope with the coming apocalypse seems to be turn inwards, ride it out, and hope it doesn’t take long. “It’s fine, I’m gone in my mind. These times they left me blind. I’ll find a place to hide (and fry!)” on “Fry.” “Flip the pillow ‘til I’m fine, pull the sheet over my head, spend the next four years in bed” on “M.A.D.” “Could be a better way to right these wrongs than drinking heavily and playing songs. These possibilities that plague your mind — some better kept, some better left behind” on “Vacation.” “I’m in between happy and mean, waiting on time to stop” on “Last Call (Go Home).”  The frustration is evident (and shared), so the solution seems to be — stick close to your crew, fuck everything else, and revel in what the few of you can muster up. Not a bad remedy when so much of the surroundings are an aggravation or affront.  Popping these guys on and partying small scale seems like the perfect way to go, and I did so myself many a time.

Whether they titled the album in reference to themselves or the world around them (or both – Mario DID spit on and then wipe his ass with the Chicago flag the last time I saw them, which is nearly a capital crime in my book…) it’s a perfect choice for those around us in 2017.  I managed to see the band three times this year (including on my anniversary due to a scheduling change — bad girl by my side, indeed!) and it was the one consistent happy place I could find. Rough day at the office/on the news/at home? Close your eyes and you’re back in Chicago at a free show, with free beer, losing your GD mind in a converted warehouse while these guys destroy, otherwise known as “the single best night of my entire year” (close second being Black Pistol’s recent show in the equivalent of my living room). That exhilaration and feeling of unrestrained happiness from folks in that room — all that mattered was those four walls, the band, and the people around them — was the picture of bliss I called on time and again this year.  I ended that show soaked in sweat and beer, having found myself drawn into the floor-wide pit/party that erupted, for probably the first time in 15 years.  The album evokes a similar feeling. These guys are without a doubt my favorite discovery the past five/six years (a title shared with Parquet Courts, who I fell in love with around the same time for many of the same reasons) — and the fact that this l hasn’t shown up on a single major year end list is insanity. Pop them on and fight back against Armageddon.

2. Run the Jewels – RTJ3:  dropping for free on Christmas last year, this was the gift that kept on giving and the first album I knew would make the list this year. I haven’t had any doubts since then despite twelve months of solid listening either — it’s good from head to toe. And where previous albums found the guys in a more playful, jokey mood as wowed underdogs who can’t believe they made it to the party (as on 2014’s Run the Jewels 2, which landed at number four on that year’s list), here they’re cocksure heavyweights who will flatten anyone trying to keep them out. And they’ve got something to say this time too.

They lay down the gauntlet in the opening track “Down,” letting the competition/world know what’s to come – “You’re gonna need a bigger boat, boys, you’re in trouble. Gonna need a little hope, boys, on the double.” But hope’s in short supply here, as the songs reflect the times, and the topics are serious. “This is spiritual warfare…this is a fight against principalities and evil doers and unclean spirits” (as well the devil with a bad toupee and a spray tan) on “Talk to Me;” there’s financial inequality on “Hey Kids (Bumaye);” race, crime, and the police on “Don’t Get Captured” and “Thieves! (Screamed the Ghost);” the death of loved ones on “Thursday in the Danger Room.” Life may be “a shitnado” as El mentions on “Call Ticketron,” but the pair is ready for battle and taking no prisoners. As they explain on “Report to the Shareholders/Kill Your Masters” (“El spits fire, I spit ether. We the gladiators that oppose all Caesars”) and elsewhere on “Ticketron” (“We be the realest of the killers of the fuck shit squadron, movin’ through the streets and we lootin,’ robbin’”), the two are more focused than ever before, and the beats match their lyrical sharpness.

Despite the aforementioned subject matter, it’s not all doom and gloom though. Tracks like “Panther like a Panther” show the duo in braggadocious full flourish with Trina helping on the chorus (“I’m the shit bitch — everybody down, throw the pistol and fist.” And similarly “Stay Gold” has them rapping about their better halves, as well as their continued bromance. (“You’re gonna love how we ride to the gates on a lion, high and smiling. Me and Mike, we just think alike — we can’t stop high-fiving.”) It’s a heck of a mix, balancing the heavy with the light, but they do so effortlessly. Or to put it another way, as on the aptly named whopper “Legend Has It,” “RT&J — we the new PB&J. We dropped a classic today.” Indeed.

3. Ron Gallo – Heavy Meta: this is the sneering thumb in the eye (or flippant middle finger) to everything around, a brash, bratty splash of water in the faces of those in power. Tall and scrawny with a shock of wild hair, like a stalk of broccoli bursting from a garden full of potatoes, Gallo is the incendiary insurgent intent on tearing everything down around him in this, his debut. His lyrics have a playful, ruthless edge to them that cuts through his fiery guitar playing: When we were young they said ‘one day, honey, you and I we’re going to share a grave’— I didn’t think it’d come so soon. Trying to please everybody, you let everyone down — you made a fool of yourself. Kids got nothing to look up or forward to. No one can stand you. Sorry not everybody looks like you. Why do you have kids? Am I beast or am I human or am I just like you? Young lady, you’re scaring me.

The album is part British invasion, part beat punk, balancing Gallo’s jangly guitars and snarky lyrics with some really winning melodies. As tiresome as this year was, causing even some albums to become unlistenable by year’s end, this one joined the previous two and stayed on the ‘pod from the minute I found it. No matter when one of its songs came up on shuffle, it almost always felt right and picked up the mood, if only for its brief duration. There’s nary a bad song in the bunch — from opening track and lead single “Young Lady, You’re Scaring Me“ to follow on blasts “Put the Kids to Bed,“ “Kill the Medicine Man,“ “Poor Traits of the Artist,” and “Please Yourself,” Gallo rarely slows down. (Whether live or on the album — when I caught him at Lolla he wowed almost as much for his maelstrom of motion as for his songs/guitar.) He pauses briefly on tracks like “Black Market Eyes” and “Started a War” before ramping back up on “Can’t Stand You” and “Don’t Mind the Lion.” He released a handful of solid singles to keep the party going (“Am I Demon?” and “Sorry Not Everybody is You,” both of which are quoted above) and has another EP set to drop in the coming weeks. It’s a rip roaring good time and one heck of a way to beat back the bullshit.

4. Kevin Morby – City Music; Feist – Pleasure: to start the grouped/themed section of the post, we’ll mirror the seesaw (some would say whiplash) dynamic the year followed, bouncing from moments of anger and noise to pockets of serenity and quiet to recover. And if the first three entries shy more towards the former and middle finger rebelliousness, this one’s for the soothsayers, two islands of calm in the midst of this year’s hellish storms, evoked by two otherworldly voices. I turned to them a lot over the year, for some peace and much needed quiet, but also for the reminder that things don’t always have to be so cataclysmic. These two make you want to curl up in front of the fire and forget your cares, which you just might do (say if you’re in Connecticut and foolishly decide to take the night feeding for a friend’s baby that comes at 3am instead of the expected midnight). Whether in the wee early hours or the light of day, they have a restorative power that’s undeniable, and you’ll likely find yourself calling on them often as I did.

The first comes from ever prolific recent favorite Morby, who’s back with a more motley mix of songs than normal this time. (He’s also back after only a year away, 2016’s Singing Saw, which landed at number six on last year’s list.) Similar to slot mate Feist’s album he covers a range of terrain — there’s the sultry opening number “Come to me Now,” the punky Ramones ode “1234,” the hypnotic “Dry your Eyes,” rollicking songs about transportation (“Aboard my Train” and “Tin Can”), even spoken word interludes on “Flannery.” It (like hers) all hangs together on the strength of that voice — that amazing voice — which is warm and inviting like a steaming tub on an icy night. Put on tracks like “Night Time” and “Downtown’s Lights” (or “Baltimore (Sky at Night)” and “No Place to Fall” from his many singles released this year) and try not to be sucked in. There’s a gravity and weariness to his voice that’s irresistible — simultaneously heartbreaking and invigorating, hopeless and hopeful, depending on your mood. It’s this timeless, chameleonic quality that’s so wonderful — as is how freely he deploys it (this is his fourth album in as many years, along with a slew of singles) so there’s hopefully lots more from him on the horizon. Easily one of my favorite artists from recent years.

Leslie, by contrast, is a more reclusive creature. She’s back with her first album in six years (2011‘s Metals, which was number eight on that year’s list), but clearly hasn’t missed a step. She builds the suspense of her return on the opening title track, starting with the equivalent of a voice coming out of the fog before slowly ratcheting up the resolution with a thumping bass drum and a slinky guitar line that eventually erupts in one of her characteristic dissonant squalls before cooling back down into the blissful calm of her voice. It’s a catchy, slightly odd track that sets the tone for the rest of the album.  This segues into the naked beauty of “I Wish I Didn’t Miss You,“ which highlights her ability to lay bare her emotions with no varnish, an honesty that catches you with its vulnerability, like seeing a baby bird lying on a busy sidewalk.

The rest of the album (like the year) follows this pattern, alternating between songs whose serenity is shattered by spiky guitar parts or howls, a move that seems intended to shock you out of her voice‘s reverie to potentially appreciate it more in the aftermath, and songs whose spell is never disturbed, lulling you to sleep with her bewitching ways. Tracks like “Lost Dreams,” “Any Party,” and “Century“ all fall into the former category, while songs like “Get Not High, Get Not Low,“ “A Man is Not His Song,“ and “Baby be Simple” all fall into the latter. Feist is a sneaky good guitar player – a skill that comes out even more starkly live, as when I saw her perform this album in its entirety earlier this year – but you can hear it on songs here as well, such as the stately, bluesy “I’m Not Running Away.”  She surrounds those chops with her customary and aforementioned eccentricities, similar to on Morby’s album — there’s the repetitive chants on “Dreams,” crowd sing-alongs on “Party” and “Not His Song,” the spoken word interludes (or other sonic departures) on “Party” and “Century” – but similar to her slot mate they never overwhelm the songs. Everything is held together by her amazing voice and her refreshing openness — she has long seemed like the living embodiment of that phrase about loving like you’ve never been hurt and dancing like no one’s watching. She’s a special creature, and like that bird on the sidewalk you instinctively want to keep her close and protect her. Enjoy the journey back to the nest.

5. Jesus and Mary Chain – Damage and Joy; Black Pistol Fire – Deadbeat Graffiti: if the last one represented one of the calm spells, this one takes us back to the moments of agitation and noise with the unexpected returns of two favorites, one you never thought would come, the other you didn’t think would happen this fast. Both come from bands who are great at conjuring a mood and taking you out of your current surroundings (a remedy much in demand this year), the first transporting you to a corner of the night and an anonymous dark bar where this glorious, fuzzy clamor blares from the speakers, the other taking you to some deep water roadhouse in the holler where you see this incredible twosome whip you into a frenzy in the hot, humid, night.

For the former, it’s a return nearly twenty years in the making and a complete stunner — both that it happened at all and that the quality of the product is this good. It’s the unexpected return of fellow Scots JAMC, back for the first time since 1998s Munki, and after the shock of its even being here wears off you get to grapple with that latter, almost larger fact — that a band who hasn’t released songs in this long could come back with a near perfect album of 14 of them to keep you company. But boy did they. Showcasing everything the band does so well — from reverb-laden rockers to blissed out, moody dirges, the album is full of good tunes. (Listening to them you realize the debt that favorites like Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, the Raveonettes, and so many others owe them…) There’s tracks like the opening “Amputation,” “All Things Pass” “Get on Home,” and “Facing up to the Facts” for the former, while “War on Peace,“ “Song for a Secret,” and “Mood Rider” all serve as examples of the latter.

The band has always wrapped its noisy, brash side in a warm pop veneer and it does so again here, marrying the slightly sneering vocals of brothers William and Jim Reid with feminine counterpoints as in the past, done brilliantly here on tracks like “Always Sad,” “The Two of Us,” “Black and Blues,” and “Can’t Stop the Rock.” The brothers’ diffident lyrics are another hallmark on proud display throughout, as on another apt anthem for the year, “Los Feliz (Blues and Greens)” where they sing “God bless America, God bless the USA, God lives in America… wishing they were dead instead,” a sarcastic splash of water in the MAGAphone blasting on the daily news. It’s one of the year’s few pleasant surprises, and man it’s a good one. Plug in and bliss out.

As for the back half, the surprise comes not in the delay, but in how quickly the duo from Austin return, having last seen them just last year with the excellent Don’t Wake the Riot (number three on that year’s list). The pair must be riding a creative wave right now because the album’s 12 tracks show no signs of slippage, taking what worked so well on that album (and actually throughout their entire career) and expanding upon it. There’s still the irresistible barnburners (such as opening track “Lost Cause” and “Don’t Ask Why,“ both instant classics) as well as slower bluesier affairs (“Bully” and “Watch it Burn”), but frontman and guitarist Kevin McKeown’s solos are longer and more impressive than before — check out the runs on “Speak of the Devil“ or “Yet Again” for two blistering examples. It’s a sign of a band that knows its strengths and is intent upon flexing and stretching them a little vs doing anything radical. And it works. Really well.

In addition to the above, tracks like “Last Ride” and “Eastside Racket” are both winners, and songs like “Fever Breaks” highlight just how inexplicable it is that these guys haven’t broken big yet. It builds slowly, gradually turning the temperature up before exploding in a frenzy at the end, evoking a feeling of joy and relief as when the titular malady subsides. It’s a potent effect and one of many songs the band has that can whip you into a lather, something they do almost effortlessly. It’s even more clear in person. The pair is a powerhouse live – besides McKeown’s guitar prowess and penchant for flying around the stage/into the crowd (hence his affectionate nickname in our house, the Ragin’ Rooster) drummer Eric Owen is an absolute beast on the cans, flailing away in a tornado of hair, flesh, and what quickly become two gnarled sticks (hence his moniker of Animal). I caught them twice again this year, including once front row in what was immediately one of the best shows I’ve seen — and it’s then that the fact of their obscurity becomes even more unbelievable, as you run around like a revivalist trying to exorcise your demons. They’re incredible (and really nice dudes to boot), so show off your smarts and spread the word — there’s plenty of room in the tent.

6. Alvvays – Antisocialites; Beach Fossils – Somersault: this slot’s back to blissed out oblivion and two albums I turned to repeatedly to just black everything out and find the quiet of magic hour, to quote Alvvays lead singer Molly Rankin. Both of these albums are achingly pretty, the sonic equivalent of floating downstream on a sunny day without a care in the world. It’s the second for Alvvays, the third for the Fossils, and neither does anything radically different (a point I hope others later in the list take note of), but both sharpen what they’ve shown before to almost scalpel’s precision.

Alvvays fills their return with ten near-perfect pop songs, but Rankin tricks you a little, hiding some withering lyrics under the joyful sounding noise. She slips some absolute daggers between the ribs, coolly asking, “What’s left for you and me? I ask that question rhetorically — there’s no turning back from what’s been said” on opening “In Undertow;” “You’re the seashell in my sandal that’s slicing up my heel…and you’re getting me down down down you’re getting me down” on “Plimsoll Punks;” gleefully singing “I die on the inside every time — you will never be alright, I will never be your type!” over and over on “Your Type” (one of the best “kiss off” songs in recent memory) or “Now that you’re not my baby I’ll go do whatever I want. No need to turn around to see what’s behind me cuz I don’t care“ on “Not my Baby,” spitting the last part of the line with the weight of a boot to the gut. After all the lyrical damage, though, they close with the wrenchingly unguarded “Forget about Life,” which finds her asking “Did you want to forget about life… underneath this flickering light, did you want to forget about life with me tonight?” As naked a sentiment as coming into a room with nothing on and hoping not to be spurned. It’s intoxicating stuff, and its brisk 30 min leaves you wanting much, much more.

The Fossils use a similar tactic, hiding some bitter pills amid the pillowy mousse of frontman Dustin Payseur’s gauzy vocals. “I know you’re gonna try and bring me down…not gonna be in town when you’re around…This year I told myself would be a better one, trying hard not to fall back onto the knife” on “This Year.” “Used to be up for anything, you were the highway star, and now all of your sparks keep moving on…that’s all for now” on “That’s All For Now.” And so on. It’s a rich, lush affair — there’s a string section sprinkled throughout, tossing gold dust on tracks like “Tangerine,” “Sugar,” and “Saint Ivy” (which also sports a flute solo — that’s right, Burgundy’s BACK, San Diego!) Even more stripped back songs like “May 1st” with its jangly guitars or “Down the Line” with its bouncing bass line sound opulent with Payseur’s vocals dancing overhead. Similar to Alvvays, this one’s brisk 35min duration ends the reverie too quickly. Hopefully it won’t be another four years before we see them again.

7.  Queens of the Stone Age – Villains; Death From Above – Outrage! Is Now: we’re back for the last of the loud/quiet/loud alternations and one more for the unabashed rockers with a pair of albums from long time favorites, DFA and Queens. Both find the bands deviating from their classic sound to an extent, opting for a more polished, at times dancier feel, but both have enough moments of the old glory to keep you interested and coming back. Truthfully, these two albums have four of the tracks that I listened to most obsessively this year, songs whose breaks were so exhilarating they cut down any bad mood and absolutely blew my brain apart time and again.

For Queens there was that much ballyhooed partnership with producer Mark Ronson, a pairing that gave many fans (myself included) great pause in the run-up to the album for fear that the redheaded Elvis (a.k.a. frontman Josh Homme, the coolest motherfucker on the planet) and his band of merry miscreants would come back sounding like some glitzed up version of Bruno Gagahouse replete with soul samples and porn horns. Thankfully those worries were largely misplaced, for while the band definitely showcases Ronson‘s studio polish, they haven’t lost their signature combination of pulverizing grooves and stone cold swagger.  (They last appeared on 2013’s Like Clockwork…, which landed at number eight on that year’s list.) You hear it from the outset with lead track “Feet Don’t Fail Me,“ which takes nearly a full two minutes of buildup, chugging along like an ominous freight train before the riff drops in around the 1:50 mark and the band is off to the races. It stomps along with its heavy funk before arriving at what could be the band’s manifesto where Homme croons, “Me and my gang come to bust you loose — we move with an urgency between pleasure and agony.”

The band does that better than almost anyone, riding the line between “FUCK yeah” and “fuck ME” in song after song. Tracks like “Fortress,“ “Un–reborn Again,“ “Hideaway, and “Villains of Circumstance“ all fall into the latter category, slinking along with sinister intent, while tracks like the opener, lead single “The Way you Used to Do,” “Domesticated Animals,” “Head like a Haunted House,” and “ The Evil has Landed” (the latter two being Queens’ half of the aforementioned obsessions, with “Evil”’s break being one of the most consistently joyous moments of my year) filling out the former. Seeing people lose it live once “Evil” explodes (including myself), after Homme unleashes the hounds from 10 feet in front of you, was one of the high points of the summer. Seven albums in these guys remain the epitome of cool.

As for the back half of the slot, the duo of beloved noisemakers from Canada, they aren’t showing any signs of stopping either. Back with their second album in three years, Jesse and Sebastian show that their ten-year hiatus between their debut and 2014’s return (Physical World, which tied for number one on that year’s list) didn’t leave them with a shortage of ideas, only albums. Similar to Queens, the boys continue expanding their sound, sporting a little more polish than their signature raw punk roots, which takes a little getting used to for the longtime fan. Case in point is lead single “Freeze Me,“ which one friend described as Linkin Park-y with the nu-rock feel of its chorus and it sounds almost completely unlike their other stuff. Hearing them play it live, though, it starts to make more sense — you hear Jesse’s riff more clearly, you focus less on the keyboard, and you recognize the freak out at the end as one of their classic mashups of feedback, a killer riff, and Sebastian’s raucous drumming. (Side note, whoever was the sound engineer on this album deserves a medal because Seb’s drums sound fucking AMAZING throughout the album — super crisp, super loud, and oh so satisfying…)

Similar ventures on tracks like “Moonlight“ and “Statues,“ where Seb channels his inner David Bowie, crooning in a way we haven’t heard before, work better once you’re able to latch on to the vintage bits mixed in with the new — the crunchy feedback and killer line of “some boys cry while others fight and fuck” on the latter, the jittery riff and mind blowing kick drum explosions on the former. Even the title track takes a little getting used to with its subdued throb, quiet vocal, and processed bass line before it erupts into the fuzzed up roar of the chorus. It’s worth the work to adjust, though, not only because the new sounding stuff adds to the repertoire (and hopefully life expectancy of the band), but also because it heightens the enjoyment of the traditional stuff, making it hit just that much harder.

And there are some gems in that vein –“Nomad” is an instant classic, “Caught Up” may be the most perfect distillation of old and new (both being DFA’s half of the aforementioned headsplitters, with breaks at the end that will make you lose your fucking mind. Every. Single. Time.) and the tandem of “nvr 4vr”and “Holy Books“ at the album’s end make sure they kill you up front and kill you at the close. It’s another banger from one of my unabashed faves — I caught them live twice this year, too, including once front row, and I think my ears are still ringing several months later. Totally worth it — these guys, and the lads from Queens, just fucking rock.

8. Manchester Orchestra – A Black Mile to the Surface; Hurray for the Riff Raff –The Navigator: having completed the whisper/scream shuffle of the previous four slots, we’ll close this half of the couple’s skate with the last set of albums whose sincerity and earnestness are unquestionable. This pair is a little different than the previous four, in that their aim is several thousand feet above the others – in short, this one’s for the grandiose and folks shooting for the heavens. Maybe it’s in response to being “led” by someone so full of bombast that everything he does is the biggest/greatest/most unprecedented thing in human history (part of me is convinced he’s got a stool log that tracks in intimate detail the majesty of the number one’s number twos) that these two albums came out as an antidote, a form of equally self-assured (yet not self-important) expression meant to counterbalance the blowhards.

For Manchester it finds the Georgia boys back on their fifth album, their first since 2014’s Cope (number eight on that year’s list) and it finds them going even bigger than that album’s monster gravity. To quote the aforementioned blowhard, this is a YUUUGE sounding album, their attempt to hit stadium-level status (or at least fill those venues with a big enough sound) and it comes pretty darn close. Good enough on their own, the songs work best as a cohesive whole, similar to their slot mate. And doing so finds the band seamlessly transitioning between tracks that carry on the groove/riff of the previous for an even bigger effect (see the run from “The Alien” to “The Sunshine” to “The Grocery,” for example). Coupled with frontman Andy Hull’s incredible voice, which is borderline angelic when soaked in all the reverb, it’s an intoxicating, overwhelming spell.

Unlike their slot mate’s clear narrative arc, I couldn’t tell you what most of the songs are about here – there’s some romantic turmoil (the opening line on “The Gold” is a cannonball to the belly – “Couldn’t really love you anymore, you’ve become my ceiling. I don’t think I love you anymore”) and a couple references to his father/fatherhood (his “old man’s heart attack” on ”The Gold” and the lovely ode to his daughter on “The Sunshine”). There’s a few mentions of the supermarket, too, to further obfuscate (as an avid a cook I love that place, I’m just not sure I could write several songs about it), but short of that it’s — to quote Hull and the title track — a maze.

It doesn’t really matter though. What matters most is the mood and feeling the songs are able to evoke — and THAT comes through loud and clear. A sense of hope and belief in something greater that was a refreshing change of pace this year. And whether those sentiments turn out to be warranted or not, the joy is in the listen. And it is a joy — this is a REALLY pretty sounding album. Like knee buckling so at times. And whether it lyrically makes sense from song to song, there are moments that ring thru loud and clear — like a later line from “The Gold,” which gives the album its name and captures my sentiment from the opening metaphor perfectly: “Black mile to the surface. I don’t wanna be here anymore, it all tastes like poison.” It’s a poignant mix of emotions, a dark, moving affair that shows the band really reaching for that deeper resonance, and mostly succeeding.

For Riff Raff their shot for the heavens takes the form of a Broadway show, the story of front woman Alynda Lee Segarra’s life growing up as a young Latina in New York. It’s a grand concept, but one that works well with its simple execution. It paints in colors and phrases, allowing you to latch on to details as she sketches aspects of the characters in efficient shorthand like most good musicals do. So after a brief scenesetter of “Entrance” it jumps straight into the ode to her hometown, introducing the charms and challenges of “Living in the City” (it’s hard hard hard) before starting in on her childhood. She’s been a lonely girl, but she’s ready for the world in “Hungry Ghost;” she’s lost her daddy, best friend she ever had in “Life to Save;” she was raised by the street, do you know what that really means in the title track. And then someone sang a song, said a prayer, and said you’re only halfway there.

If Act One was coming to terms with the loss of her father, Act Two finds her doing so with her heritage. “First they stole our language… then they stole our streets, then they left us to die here on Rican Beach” on the song named after said beach. “My father said it took a million years, well he said that it felt like a million years just to get here” on “Fourteen Floors. “A little patch way up in the sky says you can leave here anytime you like and I wonder how long I’m gonna settle” on the song of the last word. “I just wanna prove my worth on the planet earth and be something…but lately I just don’t understand what — I am treated as a fool, not quite woman or man” on “Pa’lante.” It all culminates — as it should — in the “Finale,” which finds the titular girl from Act One embracing the Hispanic heritage she was questioning in the second, a fusion signified by an explosion of hand drums and Spanish beats that reluctantly take you to the curtain’s close. It’s an impressive idea and well executed, whether digested as a whole or just bite by bite on shuffle.

9. The National – Sleep Well Beast; Spoon – Hot Thoughts: for the back half of the tandem bike ride we get to five slots of music whose sincerity isn’t so easily swallowed. Whether they just want to dance or put on a façade or are just too new to quite know whether to trust them, these albums – while containing some great songs and working well enough to land here – don’t have the unabashed heart or honesty of the previous five.  Or at least leave you questioning it a little, like the rogue dissonant note that mars an otherwise lovely recital.  Maybe that sensation will fade in time, but for now they’re on probation, to be eyed a little warily like an old dog does a runaway toddler.

So without further ado, this slot’s for the restless elders and the sometimes questionable decisions made as one’s age grows (and/or one’s supply of fucks given recedes), courtesy of a pair of five pieces and frequent list attendees. The National are back with their seventh album (their third on this list, the last being 2013’s Trouble Will Find Me, which was number seven on that list) and Spoon with their ninth (also their third on this list, the last being 2014’s They Want my Soul, which was number 11 on that list) and both find the bands exploring new terrain, presenting versions of themselves that don’t quite seem right in the end. For some reason both bands veer towards the electronic and dancy, continuing the trend of every band on planet earth feeling the need to include synthesizers on their albums. (Honestly, some things are OK to write off as irredeemable and steer clear of — many have been captivating the news on a nightly basis this year – and for me one addition would be the 80s. There were all of a handful of bands from the entire decade still worth listening to — everything else was a disaster. There’s a reason people were doing blow by the bucket — it was to forget what was going on around them. So knock it off with the fucking synths already. )

Plenty of bands have done this before for some reason — everyone from U2 and Coldplay to Kings of Leon, the Strokes, and a hundred others (Belle and Sebastian, The Districts, etc) and the results are usually a disappointment. Because it’s not who the band is — it’s a marketing ploy to boost sales or stay relevant, it’s the product of boredom or doubt instead of a natural progression. And you can hear it in the music. Or see it in the performances. The band knows they’re not a rave unit. Or an arena filling riff rocker. So why are they trying to be? No one is going to confuse Spoon with Phoenix or the National with Radiohead. Nor should they. And yet both bands try to mine some of those sounds here, and it leaves us with uneven (albeit still intermittently pretty great or they wouldn’t be here) albums.

In addition to Radiohead, the National adds in some more amped up rockers, too, which again feels a bit like posturing, the old guy who suddenly starts wearing leather and getting tattoos. The National are known for their knee buckling beauty, in both melody and their wrenching lyrics. No one puts them on to get amped up before a big game or a night at the club. Maybe a big wine tasting or a night of turning in before 9 PM. So the changes here feel a little forced at times, almost like they come at the expense of those more heartfelt moments of the past. Maybe it’s a product of the year we’ve just gone through, where open, heartfelt emotion is impossible right now, people are too bombed out and overwhelmed for that type of introspection and nakedness. Queens frontman Josh Homme said he just wanted people to dance with their new album, in part due to the harrowing experience of his friends and fellow bandmates from Eagles of Death Metal in the Paris Bataclan attack (and I can’t recommend the HBO documentary on that evening‘s events more strongly, Eagles of Death Metal: Nos Amis (Our Friends) — an incredible, harrowing account of that evening that will make you hug your loved ones and somehow love Homme even more. (Until he kicks a female photographer in the face while on stage, that is… oh, 2017, why must you ruin everything I love…))

Maybe that’s what these two are feeling, too. (Although I’m not quite sure I get everyone’s urge to dance in response to all the nonsense — my impulse is to pour myself another glass of bourbon and hole up in the basement. But maybe I’m doing it wrong.) Maybe this is the bands’ Zooropa period, where they feel they have exhausted everything they can from their old personas and they try and invent new ones, but don’t quite get there on this first attempt. Maybe that means we’ve got a Pop or two in our future from them (and not a slew of watered down efforts trying to recapture their original sound after that). Or maybe they get it out of their systems now and go back to their old methods with the next release. We shall see.

Either way, as I mentioned before there is enough of the old glory on these albums to warrant their inclusion here. For the National tracks like “Nobody Else Will be There,” “Born to Beg,” and “Carin at the Liquor Store” all showcase that signature subdued, melancholic beauty, “Turtleneck” and “The System Only Sleeps in Total Darkness” channel some of this newfound energy well, while “Guilty Party” and “Dark Side of the Gym” walk the line between old, sweet sentiment and new, glammed up piano band well. Even lead single (and U2 knockoff) “Day I Die” eventually breaks you down. For Spoon tracks like “Do I Have to Talk you Into it,“ “Can I Sit Next to You,“ and “Shotgun” are all vintage affairs, while “whisperilllistentohearit” and “I Ain’t the One” work as products of their new explorations. We’ll see where both these guys end up — they’ve given more than enough reasons over the years to stick around, so hopefully it’s worth the wait.

10. Arcade Fire – Everything Now; LCD Soundsystem – American Dream: this one’s for the lovers of self who just want to make you dance. In a year full of bombast and almost insufferable self-importance comes two returns from bands who traffic in the same. The first comes from the wild pack of Canadians in Arcade Fire, the second from the band of Brooklynites in LCD Soundsystem. Both suffer from varying levels of delusion, the former weighed down by false notions of cool profundity, the latter by overestimations of being profoundly cool. And yet, they’re both still here. That’s because in spite of those afflictions there’s still plenty of good medicine within.

For the Fire, back with their first album in four years, they continue the vibe set on their last one (2013’s Reflektor, which landed at number six on that year’s list) and set about re-creating a 1970s disco again. On that album (coincidentally produced by fellow slot mate James Murphy of LCD) the band fused elements of the Caribbean with disco to get people moving, whereas here they merge the latter with more 80s-era elements in search of the same effect. It’s an uneven affair, bogged down by frontman Win Butler’s cloying and at times infantile lyrics (as well as the band’s cutesy, faux corporate iconography plastered on posters, jackets, stickers, etc in the run up to the release — get it? They’re protesting the overbearing ads and infinite content in society…by distributing their own overbearing ads and infinite content! It’s ironic!) Whether it’s reciting the days of the week in “Signs of Life” or talking about a girl who nearly committed suicide to the band’s first album on “Creature Comfort,” Butler has a way of making you roll your eyes and wanting to punch the speaker because he’s trying so damn hard. To be deep, to be cool, to be both and five things beside. (One of the lines here is the shouted entreaty “God, make me famous!” which is one of the few times he jettisons the artifice and seems sincere, although probably not intentionally.) He, much like his slot mate, is just someone it’s very easy to dislike.

And yet he, like anything redeeming from this year, is bailed out by the music. The band plays shapeshifter across the album’s 13 tracks, bouncing between the 70s and 80s and some of those era’s hitmakers as they move. They go from aping Abba on the lead single and title track to Nile Rodgers and Chic on “Good God Damn.” There’s the Tom Tom Club reprise on “Electric Blue” and the answer to the question you never knew you had of, “What would it sound like if a second line band had a Beat It-style showdown with Daft Punk?” that comes on “Chemistry” (which somehow makes sense when you know that half of the latter duo helped produce this album). So whether you impugn them for their mimicry or applaud their homage, the band sounds pretty good doing it. Assuming you tune out Butler’s lyrics and just give yourself to the groove, there’s enough here to keep you coming back. (In addition to the aforementioned songs the closing duo of “Put your Money on Me” with its rotary bass line and winning refrain and “We Don’t Deserve Love” with its fluctuating power grid throbbing in the background close things well.)

As for the self-appointed prince of cool, Murphy, and his band of merry men (and women) from New York, they return after a much hyped retirement six years ago only to rather rapidly decide to come back on this their fourth album. Which despite the infuriating cash grab their “retirement“ now calls to mind (a take all but confirmed by Murphy in an interview leading up to the album’s release), and Murphy’s general insufferability, the band sounds as good as ever. If previous albums were hedonistic soundtracks to the throes of being covered in sweat on the dance floor, this album feels a bit like the hangover the following day. From the hazy slowburn of opener “Oh Baby“ to later tracks like “How do you Sleep,“ the title track, and the closing 12 minute epic “Black Screen,“ there’s a gauzy, swooning feel that suffuses the album, like waking up on the couch the morning after with a black eye and a ringing in your ears. (Murphy even croons “I’m still trying to wake up” repeatedly on the track “I Used To.“)

Interspersed in the fog are memories of the previous evening, though, jubilant songs that will be mainstays of the setlist for as long as the band decides to stick around this time. From the sizzling “Other Voices“ to the 1-2 punch of “Tonight,“ whose jittery exhilaration steadily builds before exploding into the instant classic “Call the Police,” which captures the band at its best. And then there’s “Emotional Haircut,” which in addition to being a great (albeit completely inscrutable) little song is the single most fun thing I shouted out loud this year. Each of these are bright moments of sunshine to savor while you come back around on that couch, and they work great live, too. (I actually caught both bands live this year and the new stuff for both fit well with their older material, sounding less jarring than they may in isolation here.) As insufferable as both bands may be at times, they give you a reason to keep coming back for more. (Just like the folks in the news! Wait — no, that’s not true…)

11. Liam Gallagher – As You Were; Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds – Who Built the Moon?: this one’s for those who refuse to let things go or for an opponent to have the final word. In this case it’s the ever entertaining Gallagher brothers from Britain, formerly of 90s titans Oasis. The brothers have made a career of fighting each other whether in the band or not, and this past year sees them continuing the trend. They officially broke up Oasis in 2009 and have spent the intervening years as frontmen of two dueling bands – Liam has released two albums with Beady Eye, while Noel has notched three with his High Flying Birds. This time the ever cantankerous Liam is out on his own and as the feud between the brothers has intensified, it seems no accident that big brother Noel’s band released its album within a week or two of ole Liam. Lucky for us neither album feels as superficial or spiteful as some of the public shenanigans — both feel like they’ve got something to say or prove.

Liam stays closest to his famed former band sonically, as was evidenced by his set at Lolla this summer where he opened with two Oasis songs (never a good sign for a solo debut) before playing one of his new songs and then promptly walking off stage midway through his fourth song, never to return. Thankfully this album overcomes such inauspicious beginnings and delivers a pretty decent punch over its fifteen songs. There’s the requisite rockers — Liam still has one of the more anthemic voices so it’s nice to hear it stretch out over a bed of guitars on songs like lead single “Wall of Glass,” “Greedy Soul,” “You Better Run,” and “I Get By.” As was the case in his former band, the slower songs often packed as much (if not more) of a punch, and there are some winners in that category here too. “Paper Crown, “For What it’s Worth,” and “I’ve All I Need” are all solid, as is the quiet venom of closer “I Never Want to be Like You” (which you can’t say for sure is about his brother, but it’s tough to picture anyone else earning such ire with lines like “good luck scumbag, be home soon” and “fanboys who’d stop sweating you if they only knew.”) Whoever is earning the arrows, it makes for a compelling listen.

Noel takes a different tack and strays farthest from his Oasis past with an album that has none of his signature wall of guitar sound, but has virtually everything else. A horn section? Check. Soulful backup singers? Check. Indian influences and French flourishes? Check. Somehow the wide ranging and potentially over-the-top indulgence holds together, though. (Contrast this with, say, Oasis’ third album, which had a similar kitchen sink approach to it and instead felt bloated and overdone.) This has an epic, cinematic feel to it, where you can picture almost any song on the album playing on top of various scenes in a movie. A shot where the lead character is cutting loose and energetically dancing in their apartment? Cue up “Holy Mountain” or “She Taught me How to Fly.” A tense chase scene, either in car or on foot? Cue up “Keep on Reaching.” A montage of characters in various modes of travel, planes taking off and landing, cars weaving in and out of traffic while characters stare out the window of the train or the back of a car? Cue up “It’s a Beautiful World.” A shot of the lead character in the midst of a nighttime stakeout, or quietly sketching his plan to rob a bank (or maybe cleaning his gun) at a dimly lit kitchen table? Cue up “Be Careful What you Wish For” or “The Man who Built the Moon.” There are even three instrumentals if the others don’t tickle your fancy with all the words getting in the way. It all adds up to a solid listen, though, either for the movie in your head or the one you’re shooting living life – so pop this on and find your soundtrack.

12. Dan Auerbach – Waiting on a Song; The Shelters – The Shelters: this one’s for the untrustworthy time travelers and two albums that sound like they were unearthed in one of those old community time capsules or a trunk locked in someone’s basement. And while they sound great, like lost treasures, part of you doesn’t quite trust their authenticity — the part of you that knows they were made in modern day. Like Marty McFly, though, they may turn out to be well-intentioned interlopers and not the Biffs they may seem to be on the surface.  Time shall tell.

Auerbach gets pegged as a carpetbagger with his numerous projects – in addition to his main band The Black Keys there’s his side group The Arcs, his previous solo album as a folksy bluesman (2009’s Keep it Hid), his work producing everyone from Dr. John and Ray LaMontagne to Lana del Rey and performing with the Ettes, and now there’s this album of glossy 50s radio pop. In many ways Auerbach’s path is comparable to that other peripatetic ambler who was frontman of a brash, bluesy twosome that blew up in the 2000s (who now also finds himself playing with multiple side projects, recording/producing other people for his label, and adopting a different persona in his solo projects — Mr. Jack White). And while the paths are very similar, personality seems to be where they diverge – White comes across like a cat, cool/indifferent to people with a possibility of scratching their faces off with little/no provocation. Auerbach is very much the Labrador, all warm and loving with the possibility of licking their faces instead.

The knock on both (rightfully applied at times) is the old chestnut of if you try to do everything, you do nothing well, which isn’t right in the technical sense – all their stuff is really well done and they’re both VERY talented musicians — but is in the emotional one. As these two hopscotch from project to project and sound to sound, nothing has a chance to connect or resonate on a deeper level. It’s the equivalent of changing the radio station every six seconds or switching topics in conversation that quickly and hoping to be moved by an argument or song. The material to spark that reaction might be in there, but your odds of grabbing it are highly diminished.

That said, putting those concerns aside and ignoring the pedigree/history to just focus on the music, they are some pretty good songs. Auerbach sets out to make a pop album with dustings of country and soul and that’s exactly what you get.  He recorded with a host of Nashville studio stalwarts and doesn’t skimp on the accessories — everything from chimes to bells, strings, and backup singers make their way onto the album — and it nails the polished gleam of that era’s sound. From the opening “Waiting on a Song,” a catchy little ditty about the fickleness of creating said items, to tracks like “Malibu Man” (the carefree ways of a former city boy living on the ocean) “King of a One Horse Town” (its self-effacing, slightly melancholic twin) and “Show Me” (a challenge to a love interest) the songs sound as if from another era. (Which is of course the intent.) Auerbach shows some of the winking charm and earnestness from his early days as well on “Living in Sin” and “Never in my Wildest Dreams,” respectively, which helps take this from mere academic (or archaeological) exercise to something a little more meaningful. Auerbach clearly can write good songs, you just wish he slowed down a little bit to capture that connection to his heart or gut more instead of just his head.

The Shelters come forward from the following decade, sounding more like 60s-era British invasion and rockabilly, but evoke similar suspicions as the previous that prevents you from fully giving yourself over to the music at first. It’s not as powerful as with Auerbach – likely because this is their first album and not the latest in a long string of similar experiments — but it was heightened when I saw them live, as one member looked the psychedelic stoner part and another looked like the slicked back leather-sporting “rebel” who probably rolled in on motorcycle, all of which made it feel a little artificial. Which is not to say it wasn’t a good performance — with a triple guitar attack and songs as catchy as this, it definitely was — it just means you have to close your eyes and turn off your brain to just listen to the music.

Once you do that, you’re golden. Because the band does have some REALLY catchy songs — all polished to a blinding gleam by none other than Tom Petty (RIP) — and you can hear the elements of that man’s legendary band throughout. Tracks like “Liar,” “Gold,” “Never Look Behind Ya,” ”Fortune Teller,” and “Down” all sound like something he and the Heartbreakers could just as easily play. While others like “Rebel Heart” and “Dandelion Ridge” (or the cover of the Kinks’ “Nothin’ in the World can Stop me Worrying Bout that Girl”) nail his influences from those early British bands. It’s a fitting swan song for the beloved legend — if these guys turn out to be his true protégés it will be worth seeing what they turn up next. In the meantime, close your eyes and enjoy the nostalgia.

13. Barns Courtney – The Attractions of Youth; Mondo Cozmo – Plastic Soul: this one’s the pop stop, for a pair of newcomer solo acts, both of whom I caught at Lolla in my annual pilgrimage home. Barns is a bratty Brit who writes more straightforward pop anthems, Mondo is a Philly boy living in LA who has a tougher to describe cocktail of influences on his album. As it goes with all pop songs, you’re never sure whether they’re just manufactured confection or true confessions, but both turn out some pretty irresistible little tunes on their debuts, which forces you to afford them the benefit of the doubt.

Barns’ is an album of home run balls, towering hits that you know are gone from the crack of the bat. They just SOUND huge — opening track “Fire” starts relatively calmly, a muted drumbeat and Barns’ staid voice luring you in before the song erupts into the chorus. “Golden Dandelions,” “Kicks,” and “Rather Die” follow the same model, starting quietly before exploding with the chorus. Others like “Hellfire,” “Hobo Rocket,” and the monster lead single “Hands” start hot and continue to burn. Barns does show off a less bombastic side later in the album with the back to back beauties “Goodbye John Smith” and “Little Boy” and it’s a welcome addition. He just has a knack for the huge, soaring chorus that makes you want to sing along, though, so that ebb doesn’t last long. When I saw him at Lolla he started his set performing from a gurney because he’d broken his leg, but as shown on the latter two songs he couldn’t contain himself and stay still long and eventually was hopping around on stage with a crutch (and later without even that), making myself (and at least his girlfriend/minder who’d been pushing him around stage) nervous that he was going to take a header off stage and break his other leg. Thankfully those worries won’t trouble you in your car or in your house (and he ended the set just fine, if you were wondering), so just crank ‘em up and sing along.

As I mentioned, Mondo is a little tougher to pin down. His voice sounds like a young Dylan at times, earnestly singing about love and spirituality, but surrounded by an array of samples and electronics flourishes that make him sound wholly modern. It works surprisingly well — the songs have an uplifting, anthemic feel to them that draws you in and gives your mood a boost. From the sleepy opening title track to follow on tracks like “Come With Me,” “Shine,” “Automatic,” and “Chemical Dream,” the overarching message is clear — don’t worry, everything will be alright. Which based on how this year has gone may seem improbable, but at least while listening to this album you think it might make a comeback someday. Just try listening to “Thunder” and not believing — it’s a rollicking, windows-down racer with a perfect line for its time: “It’s been a long fucking year that I can’t wait to leave behind.” Indeed.

14. Shakey Graves – And the Horse he Rode in On (Nobody’s Fool and the Donor Blues): having completed the bloc of sincerity and the bloc of suspicion, we’ll close with two final doses of pure, unquestionable intent – one sweet as a jug of sun tea on a hot summer day, the other as jagged and dangerous as if you threw that jug on the ground and rolled around on top.

The first one’s for the former and one more for the throwbacks, this one from Austin native Shakey, who earns his spot not on a proper follow up to 2015’s excellent And the War Came (number six on that year’s list), but a compilation of EPs that had previously seen limited release on his website. The first was recorded in 2012, two years before his major breakthrough, while the second was released just after that album, but neither sounds dramatically different from what appeared on War. Per usual Shakey sounds as if he’s been dropped here from the previous century, some bumpkin from rural Oklahoma who somehow managed to find his way here and sing songs normally reserved for the confines of his porch at night. Honestly when you put this album on with its 16 tracks (and a couple throwaway joke tracks) it’s like you’re transported back to 1940s Dust Bowl and can picture these warm, scratchy tracks coming out of some antiquated radio while the wind howls outside your door.

Shakey’s stuff tends to work best as a complete whole (he’s not really a singles kind of guy) and there’s a bounty of winning tracks to warm your hearth with this winter. The imagery, like his sound, evokes days gone by — old bones and the call of the past (“The Donor Blues” and “Nobody’s Fool”), church, God, love and family (“War Horn” and “Family Tree”) and a touch of danger coming down the road (“Wolfman Agenda“ and “Seeing all Red”). Over all of it is Shakey’s incredible voice, a perfect mix of inviting warmth and rasp, and his impressive finger plucked guitar (check “Stereotypes of a Blue-collar Male“ and “Pay the Road” for two of many examples.) It’s another bunch of great little ditties and an unexpected gift to have so many finally see the light of day.

15. METZ – Strange Peace: we’ll close with one last singleton and the perfect counterbalance to Shakey’s sweetness, ending with the sonic equivalent of a sledgehammer to the teeth. In a year that gave you almost daily invitation to raise your fists and march around to protest the latest news, this was the perfect soundtrack. Loud, brash, and filled with words that were often unintelligible and yet sparked a tremendous sense of anger, it’s only fitting that the best distillation of how our current American malaise feels would come from…three Canadians? But as with everything else these days, truth is stranger than fiction, and the latest from the lads from up north is one I turned to again and again.

As mentioned several times above, whether due to an infuriating day at the office or infuriating day in the news (or both) I often found myself cranking this one on the drive home to blow off some steam. At turns sounding like a mixture of Utero-era Nirvana and Jesus Lizard (with a little At the Drive-in thrown in for good measure) this captures the best of both those bands – thudding percussion, visceral, raw guitar riffs, and howling (yet melodic) vocals.  It’s the third album for the band (their first since 2015‘s outstanding II) and while I still prefer that outing to this one, there still some tremendous pressure valves of songs here.

The opening trio alone nearly warrants inclusion on this list – “Mess of Wires,“ “Drained Lake,“ and “Cellophane“ are a brutal assault. Frontman Alex Edkins howls about being tired of losing, says he won’t do what you want, and vows that it’s all about to change, his anger as menacing as the pulverizing drums and roaring guitar. The band gives you a brief moment of respite on the droning “Caterpillar” before resuming the attack on “Lost in the Blank City” and “Mr. Plague.“ There’s one last chance for breath with the chiming “Sink” before the all-out sprint to the finish with “Common Trash,” “Escalator Teeth/Dig a Hole,” and “Raw Materials,” which sounds so much like a lost Drive-in song you can almost picture Cedric and the boys smashing thru it live. It’s a blistering thirty-odd minutes and sounded like the year felt – noisy, bludgeoning, and almost overwhelming. Here’s to never having to see 2017 again.