This year was something of an experiment. One that started with a massive leap of faith and morphed into a daily exercise in making sure the pain that jump caused (and continues to) was worth it and not wasted. It was an example of endless iteration and tinkering, of living one’s own words and leaning into the opportunities life presented vs fixating on the mental plan you may have had (#improvrules), of trying to make sense of what was still standing and salvageable amidst the wreckage and what was lost forever. It was a year that started with a separation and a pair of invasions — one peacefully of my beloved Chicago, the other horrifically and cruelly of Ukraine — and ended with a sad stalemate in both.
“Things that died in the fire…” That phrase came to mind repeatedly the past three years — whenever a restaurant closed or a business shuttered, whenever a person passed or a relationship shattered, whenever an old way of thinking or doing was made obsolete by the realities of the new COVID world. It would pop in my head with a sad, bitter finality as I updated my internal tally sheet and I’d take a moment to remember what was lost. It became something of a ritual — a far too repetitive one as the body count for all of these things became mountainous — but one that was mostly kept at arm’s length, able to be brushed past in most cases with a solemn shake of the head. Until this year, that is. This year I joined the ranks of those whose doorstep the damage darkened firsthand and spent the year making sense of it.
If last year’s themes were “interruption and incompletion, balanced by hope and healing,” this year was all about rebuilding. Rebuilding, relearning, reorienting — just plain remembering. What did you used to be — when you were young, when you were on your own, when you were in a place that didn’t poison you (or piss you off) at least once every single day? What did you like to do — to start the day, to end it, or to fill the free time in between? Who were you before things went sideways and are there any elements of that you think are worth — or even able — to be resurrected? Grappling with these questions became a daily exercise, part of my workout routine alongside the regular weights and runs, with the goal of besting the King’s horses and men and putting Humpty Dumpty back together again. (Fittingly Google’s search phrase of the year was “can I change,” another inspiring little clip worth a watch.)
For me attempting to answer them meant digging in the archives — literally, closing down a storage locker I’d stupidly been paying for for over two decades and unpacking boxes that had sat untouched since the Twin Towers still stood and Pops was still alive. Slowly going through things — at least some of which dated back another two decades — to see what was worth saving, what was worth selling or giving away, and what might hold secrets about that first question on what I used to be (or even better, who my parents/grandparents used to be before they all passed)? It could be (and still is — cuz I sure ain’t done) a bit overwhelming at times — seeing faces long since gone in a hundred plus photo albums, seeing things you’d created/written before your world started getting destroyed piece by painful piece, and instinctively slotting each of those pieces on that terrible timeline. (“Oh this was right after this, no wonder it’s so sad” or “oh boy — this is right before that, shame that happiness and optimism is going to get eradicated in a few days/weeks/months.”)
That exercise led to more digging and more deciding — what do I do with this insight or item I just found? Is it worth incorporating to the new routine (or new version of myself) or should I let it go and try something else? I started going back into my ancestry again, using my old detective skills to further map my family tree and unearth missing relatives instead of terrorist networks and kingpins. I started reading again each morning, tearing through a slew of old books that were sitting in those boxes and finishing more than I had in the last few years combined. I started plowing through restaurants and breweries I hadn’t tried and reconnecting with old favorites that were finally at my disposal again (breakfasts of cold deep dish and hot tamales were a frequent fave). I started dreaming again — something I hadn’t done for so long the first few times it happened I’d wake up and think it might be a sign I was getting sick. Each of these experiences was turned over and assessed — scrutinized like a jeweler staring through their loupe, weighing the various flaws and features — and while that person tends to focus on the former to ensure they don’t overpay for paste, I tended to focus on the latter and the positives these discoveries brought to light.
Some things worked out better than planned, some not at all (the initial plan to shuttle back and forth never materialized and despite repeated attempts I’ve literally had one instance of reconnecting with anyone from my old circle in person this year — friends or family who still live here). Rather than stew or lament these developments, though, I did what I (and so many others) always do — I made lemonade. I leaned into those improv rules I always talk about and went with what was presented. I supplemented the gap of the old guard with less intimate, more frequent linkups with dog owners I see at the park. Or with folks from the softball team I stumbled onto or those at the corner bars as I reestablished a weekend ritual of tipping a pint or two in some of my favorite holes. (One of which allows Rizz to tag along, who loves hamming it up at the bar.) And while they may not have been what I’d hoped or expected in some cases, they’ve been solid stand-ins to build upon. (“Yes and…”)
Almost every one of these moments this year (and dozens of others) were backed by a single sensation as loud and unavoidable as a trumpeter’s fusillade — gratitude. For being back in the place I love after over 20 years and having it not just live up to, but often exceed, my constant daydreams. For interacting with a nameless range of nice people day to day — who look you in the eye and (gasp) don’t ask what you do for a living, but instead how you’re doing. (?!?!?!?!!) For my softball league and our post-game hangs at the Corner Bar. For my weekend walks running errands or exploring while listening to Smartless and laughing like a loon. (The number of times I had to look like an absolute nutcase to passersby were near infinite, which only made me laugh harder.) For my neighborhood and the walks I’d take with the Rizz, looking at the fantastic holiday decorations that would crop up throughout the year (a surprising number of which have hilariously stayed up since Halloween, only to morph into “merry” ghosts/skeletons/witches with their Santa hats, garland, and lights). For having snow! More than once every six years and more than six millimeters each instance. Even for stupid stuff like my new Waterpik. Over and over again I found myself shaking a kissed fist towards the sky in overwhelming, satisfied thanks.
As always these insights and events were mirrored by a range of comparable gems unearthed in the music world. I started every single day with it, listening with a cup of coffee while I puzzled and slowly woke up — a COVID ritual I’ve kept up for three years now. I burned through over 46k minutes on the Spots, according to my year end review (a really enjoyable treat every year — so hats off to them), plus an unknown number listening to old stuff I already own. My archetype according to the Spots was adventurer — someone constantly searching for new songs and bands, characterized by “exploration, variety, and uniqueness.” I’d say that was a pretty fitting description for both sides of the fence this year — personal and musical — and it shows in the contents that follow.
It’s a bit of a boom year with 31 acts arriving on the list compared to 26 for each of the previous two years. They shake out into tiers again, with the top three albums being the ones I listened to (and connected with) the most, by a pretty healthy margin. The next tier comprises the albums in slots 4-6 and both the top tiers were predominantly filled with reliable old faces I could turn to over and over again (there’s only one first-timer in there, in fact.) The last batch encompasses slot 7 and above and is largely filled with exciting new faces, ones that thrilled me in bursts before being supplanted by another new discovery. In the end, though, it’s almost a wash — the total breakdown is 16 old timers who’ve made these lists before and 15 newcomers, the closest margin in years.
It feels fitting for year one of a rebuild — something we’re sadly all too familiar with here with our sports teams. You don’t want to cut too much of what got you to this point, relying on some of those old faces to form a foundation to build around, while hopefully energizing them with the surge of new blood you bring in. Same goes for the effort to rebuild Humpty Dumpty — you’re going to need a mix of old and new pieces to even attempt to repair the damage (or to change yourself, as folks employing the Google search will know). And while we may not be where we want to be yet in that endeavor, we’ve made some solid progress, and as all good Cubs/Bears/Hawks/Bulls fans perpetually think (logic and/or data be damned) there’s optimism for what the coming year may bring. So say hello to the familiar faces below and get excited to meet the newcomers — let’s hope the sparks fly and we can build some more momentum to make year two really memorable.
Enjoy, my friends…
–BS
12. Peter Matthew Bauer — Blossoms; Mr Sam & the People People — People People People People!; Bonny Light Horseman — Rolling Golden Holy; Dehd — Blue Skies: we’ll start out with a bit of a sonic hodge podge, both in terms of the four bands represented here, as well as within their respective albums. First up comes the third album from former Walkmen bassist/organist Peter Matthew Bauer (who thrillingly are reuniting for a few shows this year that I now have multiple tickets to as they kept adding shows before the one I’d already bought for opening night) and it was a pleasant discovery earlier this year. Bauer’s pinched voice is reminiscent of his former band’s frontman Hamilton Leithauser at times and whether it’s the signature sound of his keys on tracks like “Skulls” or the urgent drumming and guitar on the title track and the closing “Chiyoda, Arkansas, Manila,” there are moments that definitely remind you of that former outfit’s sound. Others, meanwhile, call to mind the music of another Peter — Gabriel, in this instance, with a more world music vibe as heard on tracks like “Knife Fighter,” “Mountains on Mountains,” and “East.” It all adds up to a really nice listen.
Up next comes the debut album from New Orleans’ Sam Gelband (the titular Mr Sam) and his band of happy ruffians, the People People. They were a discovery from the weekly #FridayFreshness competition over on the site’s ‘Gram page and one of the few whose album lived up to the promise of that initial single. (There are a few others on this list, too — so buckle up.) This one’s tough to pin down, sonically — there’s elements of honkytonk jams and Laurel Canyon sunshine, but the mood and tone are simple — positivity, warmth, and a mission to luxuriate in the little things. Whether that’s the morning cup of coffee, a few minutes with a loved one, or even Conan O’brien (yes, that one) this one defies the popular books and sweats the small stuff, almost to an absurd degree, but it mostly works. (Even the aforementioned ode to the former late show host, which I wanted to hate (and still do a little) has a melody that’s too pretty to completely ignore, in spite of the ridiculous lyrics.) The title track, “Get up Early,” and “Hey You!” are unfettered blasts of brightness while “Pictures of Us” and the closing “Sal” are quieter, prettier fare. Earnestness this unrestrained doesn’t always work, but I much prefer it to unfeeling/insincere artifice and respect the effort. Here comes the sun…
Speaking of, another album blessed with healthy doses of said stuff is the second album from indie folk “super group” Bonny Light Horseman, which sports Fruit Bats’ Eric D. Johnson, Muzz’s Josh Kaufman, and folkster and frequent indie vocalist Anais Mitchell. It takes the concept of their debut, which found them reinterpreting folk standards with Johnson’s and Mitchell’s lovely harmonies floating over top, and instead does so over original material this time. What worked so well there again shines here — the pair’s voices intertwine really well and Kaufman is a talented, if understated musician adding just the right accompaniments to the mix — and there’s a number of really nice tracks to enjoy. Opening “Exile,” “California,” and “Summer Dream” are all lush, lovely affairs, while “Gone by Fall” and “Someone to Weep for Me” are slightly sadder (yet still pretty) tunes. The lyrics’ repetitiveness grates after a while on some of the tracks, but all in all there’s more pluses than minuses here.
Last up comes the fourth album from hometowners Dehd, their first since 2020’s Flowers of Devotion. That was one I stumbled on in my annual scanning of others’ year-end lists and I found myself enjoying their surf rock guitars and xx-style harmonies between singers Emily Kempf and Jason Balla. This one’s got more of the same, only at a more abbreviated clip — that one had several songs that stretched out past the 4-minute mark while this one scarcely has one that tops 3. That doesn’t mean the songs sound half-baked, though — they’re super hooky in spite of their brevity and the pair’s harmonies alternate between slightly snotty and sweetly sincere. “Bad Love,” “Clear,” and “Window” are full-throated winners while tracks like “Memories” and “Waterfall” are more subdued, swimming songs. Lots of good stuff in here.
11. Wilco — Cruel Country; Arcade Fire — WE; Kevin Morby — This is a Photograph; The Smile — A Light for Attracting Attention: this slot’s for slightly imperfect outings from old faves. There’s not a lot to say about these guys that I haven’t said 100 times already over the years — they’ve each shown up on previous year-end lists multiple times (four times a piece for Wilco and Arcade Fire, five times for Mr Morby, and once for Radiohead — a reflection of how infrequently the latter release music, not the quality of their albums, obviously) and there’s nothing wrong with these albums either — the emphasis is decidedly on “slightly” here — but for whatever reason they didn’t captivate me as much as previous outings did. That’s likely due in part to how this year shook out and the constant hopscotching I did as referenced in the lead, but also a bit due to the material here — these are albums from folks who have been around a loooooooooong time and as a result they’re not pushing any boundaries. This is the sound of seasoned pros in their comfort zone — still really good stuff to be had, just not my favorite from any of them, but that shouldn’t deter folks from listening to these albums as there are some really great songs amidst the so so.
For Wilco the band are back for their eleventh studio album (not including numerous side projects and collabs) so it’s not surprising they’re well-ensconced in a canyon-sized groove at this point. This outing finds them trying on some country-style sounds for a double length album (hence the reference in the title) and the knock here is not on the experiment or its effectiveness, but on how similar the songs start to sound by the time you get through all 21 of ’em. That similarity cuts both ways — on the plus side it gives you a cohesive experience front to back (although the country bit does toggle in and out, really only impacting maybe half the songs), but on the down side it can kind of wash over you and have the listener tune out by the time it’s finished — so guess it just depends what mood you’re in when it comes time to listen.
And while having a slightly more aggressive editor might’ve helped some, there’s plenty of great tracks to be had here — “Hints,” “Ambulance,” “Tired of Taking it Out on You,” “Hearts Hard to Find,” “A Lifetime to Find.” They’re all really solid songs and have plenty of comparable friends on the album — plus a few that could probably been left for a B-sides collection. Don’t let that dissuade you, though — judicious use of the skip button here and there won’t hurt anyone’s feelings.
Another example in need of a few skips is the sixth album from Canada’s Arcade Fire — an album that got more problematic as the year went on. Unfortunately this only partly has to do with the band’s recent tendency to be ears deep up their own asses, trying too hard to be meaningful or deep or funny and forgetting the simple pleasures of their earlier albums, but now those frustrations are joined by the series of sexual harassment allegations that emerged against frontman Win Butler. Those reports first led tourmate Feist and then Beck to leave the band’s tour and again raised the difficult question of what we’re supposed to do when artists whose work we enjoy are accused of wrongdoing. (A question that’s been even more inescapable in recent weeks as former fave Kanye has become indefensibly toxic and offensive with his series of anti-Semitic comments and pro-Hitler nonsense.)
For his part Butler denies the allegations and says all encounters were consensual, but it casts a definite pall on the music and makes it difficult to know whether to punish the other six members of the band by refusing to discuss it at all or anxiously do so in heavily caveated pieces such as this. (I’ve obviously opted for the second path again, but dutifully restate the obvious in doing so — sexual harassment, racism, sexism, anti-Semitism, bigotry of all forms: they’re all inexcusable, guys. FFS — how many times do we have to go through this nonsense…)
The album itself has its flaws, as I wrote about this summer — it suffers from “the same bloated sense of self-importance that’s plagued recent efforts, the one that forces you to qualify every statement/thought you have about them (“I like this song, but…” “I liked that album, but…” “I like the band, but…”), but there are enough good lines, hooks, and melodies that it kept me coming back. “Anxiety II,” “Lightning I/II,” and “Unconditional I” are all really catchy songs, and they improve their surroundings over time. (Notable exception being “Unconditional II,” which I still skip every listen.) As with the others on the list, it’s definitely not their best, but you’ll miss out on some goodness if you avoid it completely.
Up next is the latest from Kevin Morby who’s back with his seventh album (his previous landed at #8 on my 2020 list) and it’s another solid outing. Morby wrote each of the tracks during lockdown, holing up in a hotel in Memphis to escape a cold winter in his hometown Missouri, and reportedly polished them with an eye for his eventual return to the stage. Thankfully that doesn’t mean the album is overstuffed with horns or a gospel choir (not that either of those are a bad thing in small doses — he’s actually used them both well in the past), more that the energy on several gives you the distinct impression of someone champing at the bit to be back amongst the crowd.
The title track and “Rock Bottom” are two excellent examples, both crackling with a joyous buzz, while songs like “Bittersweet, TN” (sporting a lovely duet with Erin Rae) and “It’s Over” showcase Morby’s slower, more soothing side. Some of the lyrical allusions and similes are a little clunky at times, serving as unfortunate (albeit momentary) distractions, but on the whole it’s another strong outing from one of the Midwest’s best. If you haven’t paid attention to him yet, you’re definitely missing out.
Last up is the debut from The Smile (or the tenth album from Radiohead, depending on how you view this one) and as I wrote about this summer, this sounds a LOT like a Radiohead record — aside from Thom Yorke and Jonny Greenwood’s signature sounds, it’s produced by longtime helmsman Nigel Godrich and a lot of the tracks could easily be mistaken for B-sides from earlier albums, which makes this “a bit like breaking off a long relationship and starting to date someone with the same hair color, clothing, and physique as your ex.”
Not sure what the impetus is or what this means for the flagship band, but in the meantime we get to enjoy an album full of some really good songs. Tracks like “The Opposite,” “The Smoke,” and “A Hairdryer” all sizzle, while “Pana-Vision,” “Open the Floodgates,” and “Skrting on the Surface” showcase the vintage soothing cool of Yorke’s croon (the first two with him sitting alone at the piano, which is always a bucket list fave). As Yorke sings in the penultimate song, “We Don’t Know What Tomorrow Brings” (for life or the regular band), but in the meantime we’ve got Radiohead-lite to keep us company.
10. Cola — Deep in View; Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever — Endless Rooms; Aldous Harding — Warm Chris; Fontaines D.C. — Skinty Fia: this slot’s for some quirkiness from the kids in the kingdom and a quartet of albums that were short, yet sweet listens. For the Canadian Cola it’s the debut album from the former members of Ought and it’s a really good half hour of knotty post-punk songs. The mood is slightly dark and the lyrics somewhat opaque (bits about solars and righting stones alongside cryptic bits about consumerism and technology (I think?)) It’s all delivered in frontman Tim Darcy’s unblinking deadpan, which suits the material well as it deepens the intrigue.
The riffs remind me of early Strokes at times, as on “At Pace” and “Gossamer,” while others call to mind Spoon (“Met Resistance” and “Fulton Park”) or that amorphous Joy Division element that’s a little darker and groovier once Ben Stidworthy’s bass takes charge. (Excellent singles “Blank Curtain” and “Water Table” serving as two great examples.) It’s a really tight little album — looking forward to more from these guys.
Up next comes the third album from the scrappy pack of Australians RBCF, their first since 2020’s Sideways to New Italy, which landed at #13 on my year-end list. (Their debut two years prior also landed at #13 on my list.) The band’s thankfully done nothing to change their formula since then — they still deploy a “sturdy triple guitar attack with swirling riffs and jangly chords, all built to make you move” as I wrote then — and we get another sterling set of examples on this album’s 11 songs. (Opening instrumental “Pearl Like You” is a pleasant, but unnecessary prelude to the jangly “Tidal River” with its lurching groove and defiant refrain (“Ceiling’s on fire, train’s leaving the station, it’s January and we’re on vacation — take your complaint to the Uuuuuuuunited Nations…”))
There’s the dreamy, leggy riffs at the end of “Open up Your Window,” the breathless runaway truck speeding downhill on “The Way it Shatters,” and the furious, irresistible swirl of “My Echo.” (One of my most reliable go-to’s this year for a fist-pumping pick me up.) I don’t often know what they’re singing about — there’s lots of mentions of rivers and lakes and canyons and the like — but I’m certain I don’t care. These guys show how infectiously powerful a guitar band can still be these days, wielding one of the fiercest (and only) three axe attacks out there, their tightly interlocking parts diving all over the place like a swarm of drones. It’s a fantastic treat to behold — one I regularly do. These guys thankfully show no signs of slowing down.
Coming in from the island next door is Kiwi Aldous Harding, back with her fourth album. (Her first since 2019’s Designer.) Her voice is something of a chameleon, at times husky and assured, others wispy and vulnerable. Still others she sounds like a frog-throated foreigner singing in a thick, sultry accent like Nico, as on “Staring at the Henry Moore,” “Passion Babe,” or the utterly odd yet oh so catchy closer “Leathery Whip.” Aside from the range of voices and characters she conjures, she also has some nice lyrics to latch onto. “Passion must play or passion won’t stay” as on “Passion Babe.” “One day you won’t have to prove your love in any other way – but not today” as on the plaintive piano ballad “She’ll be Coming Around the Mountain.” “I’m a little bit older, but I remain unchanged and the folks who want me don’t have the things I’m chasing– no way” as on that strange “Whip.”
Her more vulnerable moments find her in the throes of love, recounting the “11 days in the city surrounded by stars” as on lead single (and one of my year’s faves) “Fever” or cooing to a love in powerless exasperation when they make “that impossible face” as on the title track. This one came out of left field for me, but I’m really glad I found it — it sounds like literally nothing else out there, in all the good ways.
We’ll close by heading to the palace and the land of kingdom HQ, which is where we find the Fontaines, back with their third album (their first since 2020’s A Hero’s Death.) It finds the London-based lads from the Emerald Isle less abrasive and leaning into the downtempo, dreamy drones they started deploying so effectively on that last outing and it hits you from the outset with the hypnotic and haunting opening track “In ár gCroíthe go deo” (sung partly in Gaelic). It’s a fantastic song, one that set the tone for the rest of what’s to come and is still captivating dozens of listens later. From the swimming guitar of “Big Shot” to the stately and seductive single “Roman Holiday,” there’s an icy cool to the proceedings that works really well. (“I will wear you down in time. I will hurt you, I’ll desert you — I am Jackie down the line” on the track of the latter phrase’s name.)
These serve as powerful contrasts to the moments the boys decide to amp things up — tracks like the funky title track with its galloping beat and Cure-style riff (the trancelike “I Love You” also sports a nice little Cure riff, serving as a brief cool down right before the epic closer “Nabokov” brings things to a furious boil one last time.) That last track is definitely one of the highlights (they did a smoldering performance of it on Seth Meyers) with its rumbling groove and swirling guitars that devolve into a glorious stew by the end. These guys just bleed cool…
9. Joe Purdy — Coyote; Christian Lee Hutson — Quitters; The Lumineers –BRIGHTSIDE: this slot’s for a trio of albums of minor key heartache, two-thirds of which come from newcomers to the list. First up is new New Mexican Joe Purdy, who I spent a lot of time listening to this year – more than 99.9% of the folks on the Spots, according to my year end recap! He’s quietly prolific (he released four albums this year if you count the three outtakes compilations he put out) and I didn’t realize how much catching up there was to do since I lost the thread on him a few years back. There were half a dozen albums from the back half of the 2000s that I’d missed (this is what led him to be my most listened to artist this year), but then the releases started to become a bit more sporadic. Two years between them. Four years. Six years between this one and the last, a stretch broken by a brief stint as an actor (in 2018’s lovely American Folk, whose soundtrack he did a few songs for as well). It seemed like Purdy was trying to find himself a bit and it turns out he had a bad case of writer’s block that was jamming him up. To fix it he took his dog to the desert, recorded a bunch of demos around the campfire, and liked that experience so much he moved to Taos, New Mexico the following year (last year) to build the momentum and finish them up.
Those recordings form the bulk of what we hear here (this and the three outtakes albums) and while he may have liked the songs he found out by that fire, he hasn’t done much to gussy them up. All ten sound as intimate and confessional as if Purdy was singing them to you by that fire (or sitting quietly on his porch, strumming out his heartache with just his dog and the breeze to listen). The album and several of the subsequent songs start with the sound of that breeze or a hushed quiet, really heightening the effect that Purdy is sitting right next to you, softly (and maybe reluctantly) pouring his heart out to you. The mood and lyrics both conjure a sense of loss — almost all of the songs are about the departure of a lover and/or a sense of trust and optimism.
From “Loving Arms” and “Girl Like You” to Where you Going” and “I Will Let You Go,” these are plaintive, ACHING songs, ones that hit all the harder because of how understated his delivery is. Purdy cuts the dourness with brief moments of levity (“Spider Bite,” which finds him hallucinating and bruised from said bite, or doing an excellent impression of Roger Miller to call out an unfaithful lover on “Heartbreak in the Key of Roger Miller”) but they’re only momentary breaks in the melancholy. The rest is just you, Purdy, and his dog sifting through the ashes of his broken relationship. It’s dark, yet beautiful stuff. Plenty of good tracks here and on those companions to nurse a wounded heart.
Next up comes the fourth album from LA’s Hutson, which serves as a bookend to his 2020 major label debut (the aptly titled Beginners.) It’s another batch of slightly funny, slightly sad stories that are chock full of really good lines. (And melodies.) “I’m a self-esteem vending machine” and “if you tell a lie for long enough then it becomes the truth — I am going to be OK someday, with or without you” from “Rubberneckers.” The uncertain ambiguity of Hutson (or his protagonist) “peeking thru the bandages to see if I can handle it — I hope I don’t remember this, I hope I don’t forget again” on “Endangered Birds.” The lovely notion that “pain is a way you can move through time and visit people that have gone in your mind from “Strawberry Lemonade.” Or the encouraging (or ominous — I choose the former) foreshadowing of “something big is coming, don’t know what it is yet” from “Cherry,” which served as something of a motivational mantra this year.
Apparently a huge fan of one of my all-time faves, the Elliott influence is evident everywhere here — the dual-tracked vocals, the quietly plucked guitar on “Black Cat” and the pleading question “what if I don’t want it anymore,” which can be read a dozen different ways depending on your mood at the time, as on so many of Elliott’s best. It’s an effective homage to a departed great rather than uninspired thievery and Hutson carries the legacy on well. Pals Conor Oberst and Phoebe Bridgers produced the album and it sounds great, but the lyrics are the real stars here. Another solid set of memorable songs to enjoy.
Last up is the latest from the Lumineers who return with their fourth album, their first since 2019’s aptly named III, which landed at #3 on that year’s list. It’s a little tough to make sense of initially — unlike the last one there’s no overarching construct guiding the songs (other than all-caps titles, which I guess is something) and maybe it’s because of how ambitious that one’s was that this one feels somewhat slight in comparison. Whether it’s that missing motif or the spartan arrangements here — often just frontman Wesley Schultz on a piano or guitar for the majority of the song — this one almost feels like a collection of demos vs a fully realized studio outing. (The somewhat repetitious nature of some of the lyrics as on “WHERE WE ARE,” “BIRTHDAY,” and “REPRISE” doesn’t help.)
And yet in spite of these things the album kept getting stuck in my head. It was on those return visits that you started to appreciate the subtler things — the flourishes when bandmate Jeremiah Fraites finally comes into the songs, which fleshes them out and gives them added heft. The impact of the band continuing to explore some of the darker moods and topics as on the previous album (substance abuse, poverty, broken homes and hearts, all relayed in luxuriant, melancholy tones). The contrast of these elements with the band’s Beatles influences, which shine through proudly as on tracks like “BIRTHDAY” and “A.M. RADIO,” work well, as do signature moves like the piano-driven gem “ROLLERCOASTER,” which is the high point of the album for me. Might not be their best effort, but still plenty of good stuff here from the kids from Colorado. (The B-sides “a little sound” and their reinterpretation of the Cure classic “Just Like Heaven” are equally worthy of repeated listens.)
8. Plains — I Walked With You a Ways; Elizabeth Moen — Wherever you Aren’t; Julianna Riolino — All Blue: this slot’s for the country queens and three really catchy affairs. We’ll start with the debut side project from one of my faves, Katie Crutchfield (aka Waxahatchee), who pairs with pal and occasional touring mate Jess Williamson on a one-off (at least for now) outing as Plains. The backstory is they’re both kids who grew up on country tunes and wanted to reconnect with that part of themselves again, so recorded an album full of them. It’s a natural fit as their recent material has veered in this direction (most notably on Ms Katie’s last album, the excellent Saint Cloud, which landed at #8 on my 2020 list) and the pair’s voices harmonize beautifully across the album’s ten tracks.
It’s bookended by images of candles (the titular summer sun melting them in the opening track while the narrator clings to one’s guttering light in the closing gem and title track — a lovely little gut punch) and sports some wonderful lines aside from the aching harmonies. (“I remember the air when I drove out of town, crying on the highway with my windows down” on the whalloping “Abilene,” as well as “she swore like a dry county welder,” one of my favorite lines of the year on “Bellafatima.”) The Katie-led songs are unsurprisingly my faves (her voice in full thunder is just one of those that grabs you and won’t let go) so tracks like lead single “Problem With It,” “Easy,” and “Last 2 on Earth” shine, but Williamson more than holds her own and the songs where the two trade verses shimmer with a radiant heat. (“Line of Sight” and “Hurricane” being two excellent examples.) Here’s hoping they don’t leave this one by the side of the highway…
Next comes one of two in this slot discovered during the weekly Friday Freshness competition on the site’s ‘Gram, both of which were late-year additions to the list. And while I may not have had as much time to spend with them as some of the other albums, I’ve been doing my best to make up lost time, listening to them endlessly since their release. Moen’s is the most recent, dropping in November (her third overall) and it’s almost worth including on the strength of its closing track alone. It’s a bit of an anomaly on the album, with Moen sounding more like Lucius and Feist while delivering some absolutely wrenching lyrics about a lost love. (The devastating opening line of “You will never be a stranger in a crowd, I could describe every inch of you, even now” sets the bar and it only gets more painful from there.)
The majority of the preceding time Moen reminds me of another southern-inflected powerhouse of a voice, that of the great Brittany Howard, and the vibe in several of the songs is undeniably of early Shakes. Just try to fight the groove they establish on songs like “Headgear,” “Synthetic Fabrics,” or the irresistible “Emotionally Available” (which I honestly want to hear Brittany sing if she/the Shakes tour again. It’s so good…) Slower, more R&B tracks like “Soft Serve” and “Clown Show” work as contrasts to the more uptempo tracks, but it’s those chest bursting, windows down songs where Moen is just belting the lyrics out that prove impossible to ignore. (“Differently” and “You Know I Know” being two other excellent examples). A super little album from another hometown pal.
The second example from this slot’s Friday Freshness winners comes from Canada’s Riolino and is a slightly more subdued affair in comparison. She’s less roadhouse barn burner than regal theater queen — which is not to say this is a wimpier, wispier affair (her voice reminds me of Dolly a lot, actually, who NO one in their right mind would accuse of being weak) — just that there’s a quiet elegance to her approach that would seem out of place in a dingy dive.
Riolino still belts it out once she gets going — tracks like “Lone Ranger,” “Why Do I Miss You,” and “You” all sizzle — while more introspective tracks like “If I Knew Now,” “Hark!,” and the chicken-fried instant classic “Queen of Spades” serve as nice contrasts to the uptempo tracks. Similar to her slotmates, she too closes with an understated gem, the quiet wallop of “Thistle and Thorned,” which has Riolino pouring her heart out over a simple acoustic guitar. It’s a great tune and a nice close to another really solid album. Excited to hear what she has in store for us in the coming years.
7. Wilderado — Wilderado; Caamp — Lavender Days; Vance Joy — In Our Own Sweet Time: this slot’s for the lovers and a trio of albums that aim straight for the heart, exploring the many aspects of amor with an unflinching (at times uncomfortable) earnestness. First up comes the debut from the Tulsa band Wilderado and while it might technically have come out late last year, I’m still including it here. (The Spots has it dated as 2022 so feel like we’ve got some backing here). Regardless of when it came out it’s an earworm of an album, full of nice guitar work, bright energy, and meaty hooks that get lodged in your brain. Opening track “Stranger” and “Mr Major” have big singalong sections that are tough to refuse, while “Surefire” and “Worst of It” have a leggy War on Drugs feel that works well.
As with anything that’s more pop oriented don’t expect to constantly be blown away by the lyrics (“drying out like a histamine?” as in “Surefire”), but the hooks are what you’re here for and they give us some really good ones. Revved up anthems like “Head Right” and country pop “Outside my Head” are head back belters, while quieter, more introspective fare like “Help me Down” and the lovely, subdued “Window” balance the attack and shine. It’s not all good times and glimmer — references to mental health and getting back to a better state are scattered throughout, as on “Astronaut” and “Head Right” — but they mostly keep it light, feeding us a steady stream of winning melodies to latch onto and enjoy. (Ironically it was a slow, emotive acoustic version of the latter that led me to this album and not the bright, high energy pop that’s everywhere here.) The band confesses “I’m a sucker for some harmony” in “Surefire” and they don’t disappoint the rest of us that share that sentiment — a solid little album.
Up next is the third album from Columbus trio Caamp and they haven’t done anything to change their formula this time around — it’s twelve more songs of warm positivity and love that waltz amongst various Americana and folk styles. The album actually works best when listened to in pieces — frontman Taylor Meier’s breathy delivery can grate as the album wears on and the lyrics can be a little clunky at times, similar to the slot’s previous album — but individually the songs stand up well and showcase some really nice harmonies and melodies. Opening “Come With me Now” with its repetitive refrain builds to a blissful banjo break courtesy of Evan Westfall, “Lavender Girl” is a bright folk blast, and “Snowshoes” delivers a warm little hoedown towards its tail end.
The band jumps around a bit musically, trying their hand at bluesier fare (the smoldering “Fever,” which sports guest appearances from faves Nathaniel Rateliff and the aforementioned Katie Crutchfield in its booming chorus), country vibes (“Apple Tree Blues”), and pure pop (the soaring “Believe”). The album’s slower moments shine brightest for me, though — whether its “The Otter” with its tale of being overcome by love, the sentiment of love lost (but assuredly to be found again per the narrator) on “All my Lonesome,” or the lovely closer “Sure Of” whose opening lines raise a nice little thought that I like quite a lot. There’s a lot to enjoy here — small sips are the name of the game.
Last up is the aptly surnamed ambassador of love and joy from Australia, Vance Joy, who’s back with his third album, his first since 2016’s Nation of Two, which landed at #6 on my year end list. At this point you have to imagine Joy can write love songs about anything (I honestly can’t imagine how jarring it would be to hear him sing something negative or angry. It’d be like seeing Tom Hanks cuss out a waiter and call them a fucking dummy.) And while lyrics as unabashedly gooey as those in “Every Side of You” or “Looking at me Like That” (“when you’re this close, every touch is amplified — I don’t know when we’ll be here again, so I memorize every inch of your body, show me every side” on the former or “every time you love me, every time you take my hand — can you tell I’m praying you won’t stop looking at me like that?” in the latter) could come off as overheated and ridiculous, you can tell Joy is being totally and utterly sincere. (Part of me pictures him sitting at his kitchen table in the morning cooing odes to his waffles and coffee mug. )
It’s that sincerity (along with genuinely pretty melodies) that earns him a pass as he pens love letters to places and people around the world. There’s odes to Barcelona and northeastern Spain in “Daylight” and “Catalonia” (the latter of which should soundtrack a tourism video for the region or a La Liga ad for those teams), there’s beating heart anthems like “Missing Piece” and “Boardwalk” (and the lovely ode to his wife “This One”), and the pure pop perfection of tracks like “Clarity,” which is tailor-made for festivals, girls pumping their fists while on their boyfriends’ shoulders as the crowd sings and dances along.
Joy lives in a different world than I do (than most of us, I suspect) but it’s a world I want to believe exists — one of unbridled, undeniable warmth and love — and one I can maybe be a part of again one day. Listening to his albums is almost like PT for me — something that feels silly that I subject myself to in order to rehabilitate a damaged muscle (in this case my hardened heart) and to convince my cynical self that an existence like this is possible. I might not always believe it, but I’m glad to have the reminder and motivation.
6. Guided by Voices — Crystal Nuns Cathedral and Tremblers and Goggles by Rank; The Black Keys — Dropout Boogie; Built to Spill — When the Wind Forgets Your Name: this slot’s emblematic of the old adage “if it ain’t broke…” and more solid submissions from some stalwarts of the site. First up comes the indefatigable boys of Dr Bob, back with yet another multi-album year under their belts. They’re taking it a bit easy on us this time, only giving us TWO albums after dropping three on us in each of the previous two years. (Although they did release a rarities compilation, too, and have another new album due out in January, so maybe they did keep the streak going.) That slight dip in productivity thankfully doesn’t indicate any dropoff in quality as these guys continue their ridiculous hot streak, dropping another twenty-plus songs on us to enjoy. (Last year’s entries landed at #13 on the year end list.)
Sludgy dirges “Eye City” and “Climbing a Ramp,” the sparkling “Never Mind the List” and “Come North Together,” and the soaring “Excited Ones,” “Mad River Man,” and title track are all highlights from the first release, while the second one somehow sports even more. There’s the fuzzy thunder of opening “Lizard on the Red Brick Wall,” the knotty, shifting song suites “Alex Bell” and “Focus on the Flock,” and vintage crunchers like “Unproductive Funk” and the (half) title track, which build to a pair of booming refrains. I know I shouldn’t be surprised anymore — that someone could release this much material every year, let alone this much GOOD material (these are their 34th and 35th albums — an absolutely absurd number) — but I still am. These guys are amazing (and yet still somehow unknown to the masses). Pour yourself a double and enjoy…
For the Keys’ part they’re back hot on the heels of last year’s Delta Kream (which landed at number #12 on my list) and it finds them recapturing the laidback vibe on display there. The main difference between the two is this one’s return to original material in lieu of covers (although not all of the songs are written by Pat and Dan — they share writing credits on half the album’s tracks), but the spirit of collaboration and comfortable, well-worn grooves is evident across both. From the funky stomp of lead single “Wild Child” to the glimmering soul of “It Ain’t Over” (or “Baby I’m Coming Home,” which captures both) the guys sound totally relaxed, like they and a bunch of friends just got together and had fun playing music. That energy comes through the speakers, giving us one of the more reliable good time generators on the list this year.
There’s a hearty helping of vintage, swampy blues, too — squarely in the band’s wheelhouse and something they do better than almost anyone (and have for a very long time now). From footstompers like “For the Love of Money” and the aptly named “Burn the Damn Thing Down” (which threatens to do so to your speakers/house/head on every listen) to more stately, smoldering grooves like “Didn’t I Love You,” “Happiness,” and “Good Love” (which features legendary ZZ Top frontman Billy Gibbons) the guys are firmly ensconced in their comfort zone. There may “only be so much you can do as a bluesy twosome singing about lovin’ and losin’,” as I wrote this summer, but that don’t mean it ain’t still really fun to listen to…
Also returning to original material after an album full of covers — one which also landed them on my year-end list — are beloved band from Idaho BTS, back for the first time since that album covering the late Daniel Johnston. (It landed at #10 on my 2020 list.) It’s their tenth album overall and while it finds frontman Doug Martsch feathering in some new sounds to the mix — a Cyndi Lauper-style riff on “Elements” (it reminds me of “Time After Time” every listen) or a reggae vibe on “Rocksteady” — it mostly sticks to their old trademarks of Martsch’s shaky, nasal warble and fiery guitar. His guitar heroics on “Spiderweb” and the epic, ripping closer “Comes a Day” are phenomenal and remind you why Martsch is just magic — both are guaranteed to be setlist staples for a while. (Ones I hope to see live in person soon, having missed them the last time they came through town.)
Lyrically Martsch delivers some of his stickiest lines in years — “I’ve come to realize time’s all wrong — answers materialize then they’re gone” in “Gonna Lose.” “It don’t matter what they say, I’m gonna break my heart someday” in “Fool’s Gold.” “The blind can’t see, the deaf can’t hear — finding out what is my greatest fear. You wanna move around, you want stay still, you wanna have a life, but not too real” on “Understood.” And that’s just the first three songs. There are tons on here that get stuck in your head on a rotating basis and bring you back for more. “I don’t want to be constantly taking these long hard looks at myself” on “Rocksteady.” “I’ll open up for you, but I’m not a parachute — can’t keep you from falling” on “Alright.” “I am not a shirt, I am not a shoe — you don’t ever have to put me on. And for the record, I am not a record — don’t put me ooooooon,” as well as this classic rhetorical question, “Isn’t there something we can bide besides our time?” on that epic final track. Martsch said he wasn’t very motivated during the recording of this album, but you sure can’t hear it — some really solid songs again from Idaho’s finest.
5. Band of Horses — Things are Great; Alt-J — The Dream: this slot’s for former list members who had slipped into the ether a bit and are back with a solid return to form after several years (and/or albums) away. First comes the more surprising of the two, South Carolina’s Band of Horses. Back with their sixth album — their first in as many years — these guys had been in a somewhat steady decline since their excellent first two albums. (The second of which landed at #4 on my inaugural list/post in 2007.) There frontman Ben Bridwell’s earnest lyrics paired perfectly with the band’s high energy, roots rock sound. Unfortunately those lyrics got more forced and tension in the band led to several lineup changes and them losing the thread a bit in the subsequent years, by Bridwell’s own admission. Thankfully they seem to have found it again on this one — though it unfortunately sounds like it took a divorce, depression, and panic attacks to bring Bridwell there to reconnect with the honest, heartfelt lyrics of old.
There’s simple, unemotional lines that shine (“hot dinner on a souvenir plate, the part of town where the money ain’t… we don’t want help, don’t want take handouts…” on “Warning Signs”) and a whole host of painful ones that do as well. “You deserted me in the hard times — home is here now. It’s too latе to turn it around” on “In the Hard Times.” “Feelin’ the walls around me closin’ in, trying to make it til the morning” as he fights to regain his old seat at the table on “In Repair.” Fighting panic attacks (and what he says as a result) after winning that loved one back in “Aftermath.” (Also after falling down the stairs with his kid, which apparently really happened and must’ve been a VERY scary moment, as referenced in the same song.) They use the time-honored trick of deceptively bright melodies and energy to distract from the darker material and it keeps this from being a crushingly depressing listen (the appearance of cops at the house and the anxiety that causes on “Lights,” or the closing postcard from the lovely sounding Coalinga, where things are great – “Yeah, things are great in a cow-shit smelling hellhole called Coalinga” (book your tickets now!) being two of the non-relationship focused sunbeams.)
The lion’s share of the songs deal with that divorce, though, and the anguish it causes makes for some really compelling songs (and lyrics). “I’ll keep living in the frame where you left me, love, I’ll keep picking up the pieces of us…Space gets smaller, cash is shorter, past is catching up” on “Ice Night We’re Having.” “I couldn’t hide it — it’s been a hell of a hard time… I’m unwell, I’m unhappy all the time” on “You are Nice to Me.” It’s really unfortunate to hear how much he’s apparently struggled, but it’s made for some really identifiable, embraceable songs as you sympathize (or empathize depending on your life experience) with Bridwell. Really solid return to form.
For their part Britain’s Alt-J are back with their first album in five years, their last being 2017’s disappointing Relaxer. (Their first two remain faves, though – their debut landed at #4 in 2013 and their follow up landed at #3 the following year.) As for their latest, as I wrote this summer, it’s a maddening affair — “At turns brilliant and others an eye rolling exasperation,” this is easily the year’s most vexing album. On the one hand you’ve got the idiotic lyrics and subject matter that sully several of the songs — from Coke (“Bane”) and coke (“The Actor”) to crypto (“Hard Drive Gold”) and cased meat (“U&ME”), these are just a few of the things that pop up on the album and make you wonder whether you’re being pranked. And while I haven’t figured out how to purge these from the album (or my memory) yet, the good news is they got a lot less annoying as the year went on. (Except “Gold,” which I still skip every time.)
These offenses are offset by the album’s beautiful melodies and production, which turn out to be its saving grace. I can’t overstate just how pretty and potent those two are — this is easily the best headphones album I listened to this year, with an avalanche of little details to bury you in (even today I heard something I hadn’t before, despite dozens and dozens of listens — the music box twinkling of “Yankee Doodle Dandy” at the end of “Philadelphia”), and the impact of the album’s sincere, sweet moments only intensified as the year wore on. Whether it’s telling someone he’s happier when they’re gone on the song of the same name, admitting he’s coming apart a bit in “Losing my Mind,” or talking about a love at first sight in “Powders” (perhaps the same one he’s trying to get over in the powerhouse “Get Better”) these moments of unguarded honesty are quiet devastators and the highlights of the album. This one definitely has its flaws, but the upsides are too good to be missed.
4. Silverbacks — Archive Material; Wet Leg– Wet Leg: this slot’s for a flippant, finger in the air attitude and the year’s most reliable dose of instant energy. A guaranteed good time, I put these two on whenever I needed a jolt to get going again or just to jam at the end of a long day/week. The ‘Backs are back with their sophomore album (their debut landed at #14 on my 2020 list) and it came out almost exactly a year ago at this point. It was the first thing I fell for, listening repeatedly through the coldest part of the Chicago winter, but because it came out so long ago it got buried in the snowdrifts at some point and I almost forget about it completely. Every time I almost did, though, one of its lines or riffs would come back to me and I’d be sucked right back in. Like today, for example, it was the opening title track with its slightly ominous groove and gleeful shouting about digging in the mysterious archive that got it spinning again. (“At a proper nine to fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiive, whilst digging in the archiiiiiiiive….AAAAAAARRRRCHIIIIIIIIIVE!” deedoodoodoooooo…der-der-DER-DER!)
Other times it was the simple joy of shouting along with the titles of the tracks when they came up in the songs, as on “They Were Never Our People,” “Recycle Culture,” or “Econymo.” Or the swirling guitar magic of “Rolodex City” and the bratty funk of “Different Kind of Holiday” (which also let you gleefully shout “sliiiiiiiiiiiide to the leeeeeeft” and “same toooooooown but a different kind of holiday!” respectively — there’s lots of gleeful shouting to be had here. It’s fantastic…) Or the thundering riffage of “Wear my Medals,” three minutes that will leave you flat no matter how often you hear it. Even the slower burns work really well, like the closing “I’m Wild.” (These guys may be known for their knotty, nervy interlocking guitars, but their secret weapon is singer Emma Hanlon who takes the lead here and brings several other tracks to new heights when she jumps in.) This one is a total blast, one that’s stood up to a full year of listening without ever letting me down.
Turning to Wet Leg, the hype machine was working overtime for these two this year — they appeared on every late show, music rag, and festival bill you could think of, but thankfully they more than live up to the billing. The “f#$k off” attitude is multiplied tenfold from their slotmates and it adds even more punch to their already infectious attack. From singing about sitting on the shays long (all day long), trying to escape parties with lasagna (but no free beer), or chastising men for fantasizing about them, these ladies are absolutely ruthless and I love it. Note: they do NOT care if you’re in a band (or on the ‘Gram), do not want to marry you, or hang with you while you get blazed spooning mayonnaise. (Side note: they DO want to take you to the supermarket and if they fuck this up they WILL take you down with them.)
The two toss off sharp, scathing, and occasionally hilarious lyrics throughout the short 36 minute duration (“Would you like us to assign someone to butter your muffin?” off “Chaise Longue” remains one of my favorite lines of the year), but besides all the bratty bravado they’re just as vulnerable as the rest of us. Whether it’s dealing with boredom (“I Don’t Want to Go Out”), body image issues (“Too Late Now”), or self-doubt (“Being in Love”) they show flashes of defenselessness that’s endearing before the force fields go back up and they’re back to destroying anyone dumb enough to step in their path. (One need only listen to “Loving You” for a textbook example of the old adage “a woman scorned.” Absolutely withering…) A great debut — can’t wait to see what the two lasses from the Isle of Wight cook up for us next!
3. Mt Joy — Orange Blood: back with their third album are Philly band Mt Joy, returning with their first since 2020’s Rearrange Us, which landed at #13 on that year’s list. It finds the band back in more upbeat, optimistic territory for the most part, having explored slightly darker subject matter in their last one. (That one’s lyrics dealt with depression and adultery, among other things.) It’s obviously a significant level up for them in terms of placement, but they aren’t doing much different sonically, which is a definitely good thing. There’s still their customary blend of warm, sunny music and bright, winning melodies — which might be why it was such a consistently enjoyable listen throughout the year, as I found myself in a better mood day to day having returned to my beloved city by the lake.
There’s the cozy embrace of the title track, which winds along like the song’s duo on their interstate acid trip, the glimmering yacht rock vibe of “Phenomenon,” which coos to a prospective love, “So, if you’re gonna lie to me, give it to me sweet, give me something every memory needs” (a great line), and the joyful “Johnson Song,” whose ode to the loudest band he’s ever heard sounds like the tape was left to melt in the sun. (Perhaps dropped there accidentally by the improper tambourine playing or terrible dancing referenced in the song.) There’s also a handful of nods to the bud, which amplifies the good time vibe — an “itty bitty hit of weed” and its escapist powers show up on the lovely “Lemon Tree,” while frontman Matt Quinn tries to go “up up up” and tries holding on in the otherwise down (yet lovely) “Bang.” (They also rhetorically touch on the reefer asking, “Don’t it feel good? Don’t it feel alright to get a little stoned and push the mess aside?” on the track named after the initial question. (Answer? No. It feels fucking incredible...))
As on the last outing there’s still a few clouds that slide over the sun, with some deceptive songs of heartbreak (I love the image from the otherwise bouncy “Roly Poly” of someone rattling around your brain like the titular bug, a maddening sensation I certainly can identify with) and tracks that glancingly touch on gun violence (I think) and the environment, as on the aforementioned “Bang” and “Ruins,” respectively. (The latter’s image of “this old engine, it just gliiiiiiiidеs throuuuuugh the ruuuuuuins” is one I love.) The clouds don’t tarnish the mood for long, though, as the overarching vibe here is of bright, upbeat positivity, all loving warmth and sun.
The star for me is the stripped back seduction of the closing “Bathroom Light,” which is partly about a hookup in the can, but also about allowing yourself to be open to those improbable, maybe abnormal or “off” moments your daytime brain might veto because they don’t fit your notions of what’s acceptable or “right.” Aside from sporting a lovely melody I think the song makes a fair case for the value of my mantra of playing by improv rules as much as you can. “I don’t question it, I don’t mess with it, I just go, go graaaaaab iiiiiiiittttt.” (I also love the line “Cause someday we must return the movies in our brains, and thеse moments we can’t fake — yes, the angels never leak the expiration date.”) It’s a really nice close to another really nice album from these guys.
2. Andrew Bird — Inside Problems: hometown fave Bird is back and unsurprisingly finds himself on another year-end list, and while the number next to the title has him at 2, for all intents and purposes this one could just as easily have earned the top spot as I listened to it a TON over the course of the year. Bird is no stranger to these lists, having appeared on one with every album he’s released since our inaugural post fifteen years ago. (#9 in 2016, #5 in 2012, #5 in 2009, and #3 in 2007.) He’s clearly on a hot streak and this one finds him well within his comfort zone, drawing on all of his characteristic tricks to masterful effect.
There’s still his trademark mix of violin and whistles dancing merrily amidst another batch of beautiful melodies, as well as references to boulders and Sisyphus from his last album (2019’s My Finest Work Yet, which landed at #1 on that year’s list). There an old-timey track that sounds like an extension of his excellent album last year with Jimbo Mathus (These 13, which landed at #8 on my year-end list) — “Faithless Ghost” with its images of screen doors, kitchen floors, and silver combs. His love of numbers shows up several times (despite claiming he “was never one for maths” in “The Night Before Your Birthday”) — there’s the invitation to “pick a random number, making sure it’s prime” (and between 1 and 109)” on “Fixed Positions” and the steadily escalating counting on “Eight,” which finds Bird coming as close as he ever does to jamming out with its hefty six and a half minute duration and raucous tail end. His love of literary references and poetic, yet somewhat impenetrable lyrics are back, too, as on “Lone Didion” (Joan, who he name checks in the punny title and quotes later in “Atomized”) or the Caribbean-inflected “Stop n’ Shop.” (“Thought the wall was a gun and that the gun was a flag, that the flag was a truck and that the truck a mighty bird of prey.”)
When he’s not being elliptical (or elusive, depending on your perspective) Bird paints some wonderfully vivid pictures (“Every Saturday night she came in with him. Table six in the back, tall beer and a gin. Now she comes in alone, Lone Didion” on the aforementioned track of the same name) and there’s an encouraging joy and optimism on display throughout. Whether celebrating the awkwardness of adolescence (there’s references to teenage/juvenile plumage on the majestic title track (“Every inch of us — every inch of us — every inch of us a walking miracle”) and to “never mind the braces (love you anyhow)” on the snappy “Make a Picture”) or generally singing the praises of a loved one (“I could counnnnnnnt the waaaaaaaaays I looooooooove youuuuuuuu” on “Birthday” with its almost 60s garage-style shouted chorus backing things up) it’s a lovely, uplifting listen.
It all culminates with the outstanding closer “Never Fall Apart,” which continues Bird’s pattern of putting some of his prettiest tracks on right before you walk out the door. (“Three White Horses and a Golden Chain” from his album with Mathus and “Bellevue Bridge Club” from Finest being his two latest examples.) This one is one of his best, with its knee-buckling melody and chest-bursting entreaty to “strike up the band” and “neeeeeeeeeever faaaaaaaaall apaaaaaaart agaaaaaaaaain.” Could just as easily be a theme song for humanity coming out of the COVID crisis as it is an encouraging song to a significant other. Great song, great album, great artist — another flawless winner from an absolute fave.
1. Spoon — Lucifer on the Sofa: back with their first album in five years (2017’s Hot Thoughts, which landed at #9 on that year’s list) Austin’s Spoon show they haven’t lost a step and start things with a bang, a thrilling surprise cover of Smog’s “Held,” which has a taut urgency and fire compared to Bill Callahan’s looser, brighter original. The band make the song their own, imbuing it with a sense of danger that’s totally captivating, and follow it with the equally combustible single “The Hardest Cut,” which aside from sporting a furious, knotty solo run from guitarist Alex Fischel also showcases possibly the best little guitar effect since Radiohead’s chunka-chunka scratch on “Creep.” (The distorted one chord hitch here, slammed over and over into the body of the guitar rather than played, just SLAYS.) And it’s off to the races from there.
These first two songs capture the indelible mood of the album, one of absolute confidence and power. The band has never been one you’d describe as sheepish or overly angsty — frontman Britt Daniel exudes a perpetual sense of middle finger in your face flippancy — but as I’ve written about them before, the thing that’s stopped them from conquering hearts and minds (or at least mine) is “there’s a distance and detachment to everything they do that prevents you from fully embracing them.” All too often it’s “brain food, not heart smart sustenance.” And while that “curtain of interference” has plagued some of the recent releases (although not enough to stop them from making the list three previous times) that is definitely not the case, here. Whether it’s the sauntering “The Devil and Mr Jones,” the ebullient “Wild,” or the equally uptempo “On the Radio,” this thing has fu#$ing SWAGGER. Fischel’s and Daniels’ guitar parts swing, the latter roars on the mike with zero posturing or preening, and perpetual secret weapon Jim Eno’s drumming is a thundering, shapeshifting delight.
Even the softer stuff works flawlessly, in part because of how straightforward and sincere they are this time around. Daniels sings straight up love songs — LOVE SONGS! — instead of the more cryptic, elliptical allusions to it he’s made so many times in the past. (Or still does occasionally here, as on the sultry “Astral Jacket” and title track.) Listen to him on songs like “Satellite” or “My Babe” — the former finds him pouring out his feelings without deflection (“You got them that love you, got them that you adore. I see angels above you, but I know I love you more”) while the latter has him belting out the chorus, “I would get locked up, hold my breath, sing my heart out, beat my chest for my babe.” You can almost picture him pounding on his pecs as punctuation as he does, it’s so unvarnished and intense. It’s irresistible. This album and Bird’s were easily the two I traded turns with most frequently over the year, and it was this one’s unabashed “fu#$ yeah” energy that gave it the slight edge. Easily my favorite since their classic Girls Can Tell — this one’s a blast.
