Shock and Awe — The Best Music of 2024

This was a year where words often failed me.  For someone who’s spent a good chunk of his life writing, whether for newspapers or online outlets, this was a troubling, frustrating reality. Whether anyone ever reads what I write is usually beside the point (which is a good thing because I’ve seen the data and they most definitely do not) — most times I do it to help sort out my thoughts and test my stance, while also capturing that moment so I can remember it later. (Spare brain cells being a scarcity these days, alongside non-gray hairs and undoughy body parts.) Time after time this year, though, that ability to make sense of what was happening and put it in words — in a way that wasn’t repetitive or rambling or just a series of “WTF?!”s — failed me.

Between the constant stupidities at work or their ever-profligate pals in the real world, this was a year of stunned silence and screaming in isolation.  Of unbelievable surprises and illogical outcomes. Of hopeful glimmers and then gutwrenching tsunamis of anger and despair. Of staring blankly at your screen or fighting the urge to leap through it to strangle someone on the other side. (Often howling into your coffee mug as an alternative in order to preserve your cool demeanor…) It was a patchwork of prolonged punishment and temporary reprieve where no single salve was sufficient to soothe the damage, but rather a brief stop in your search for salvations in a futile effort to stem the continuing carnage. If last year was about the two steps forward, two steps back cycle of a rebuild in its second year, this year was about the “burn it down and start all over” temptations when it stalls out completely in year three.

The siren song of the scorched earth approach applied to both work and the real world where a continued inability to make meaningful progress on almost any front, despite years of trying, training, and tinkering, made the urge to invoke the nuclear option almost inescapable. You want to keep throwing stuff on our plates while continuing to fire good people (or let them leave) and not hire any reinforcements? Cool. You want to let the folks left continue to make promises (and problems) they have no ability to deliver or fix and not hold them accountable? Lovely. You want to torch every trace of merit, integrity, and logic and just let chaos reign? Can’t wait to see your face when it’s your house that gets burned down amidst the mayhem.

In the face of all that frustration I turned deeper and deeper to the comforts of my cave — both the literal one of my cozy apartment with the Rizz, and the broader one of my beloved city by the lake, reveling in their many delights.  I dug deeper into history — still more Spanish Civil War, but also some Indian independence and Portuguese dictatorship rummaging to round things out. I devoured books on some of my favorite sports, teams, and figures (the ones on calcio, the Bears, and Bourdain being among my favorites), as well as modern classics. (wonderful read…) I watched dozens of documentaries and shows to try and block out the present. (Chicago’s red summer and Somos being among the most affecting.) And as always I focused primarily on escaping into music, going to a number of excellent shows (returns from the Raveons and Soul Coughing being among the best) and spending hundreds of hours listening at home.

That constant search for solace impacted the music, as well, as I frantically scurried from band to band like a fighter fleeing mortars as he flits from foxhole to foxhole. My wrapup on the Spots called me out for this again, highlighting the number of artists and albums I blazed through rather than spend significant chunks with any one entity (a handful of noteworthy exceptions presented as always below…), but all that effort has yielded a bumper crop of good listens for the eight of you as a result. In contrast to last year’s 24 albums we’ve got nearly twice that total this year with a whopping 38 things to sink your teeth into. As is typically the case it’s a pretty even mix of old timers and newcomers, with this year’s tally tipping slightly towards those old friends — there’s 22 of those to reacclimate yourself with, leaving 16 fresh faces to get to know for the first time. (Last year we did the reverse and leaned into the latter with 15 vs 9 oldies.)

There’s a load of the aforementioned surprises here, too — sometimes from old dogs learning new tricks (or simply showing up alive for the first time in decades), sometimes from the young pups you never would expect to fall for. (Color me hot to go…) Thankfully almost all of them are of the positive variety this time, so there’s no need to scurry away like that soldier fleeing incoming fire. Take your time and relax — revel in the hours of good tunes (and equal amounts of rambling from yours truly as I extol their virtues) in front of you below. As always, these aren’t necessarily the best things released this year, merely the best things I found and connected with, so if you’ve got others I missed don’t hesitate to send em my way.  It’s been a real bruiser of a year, so let’s battle what’s to come the best way I know how — by turning to the tunes and letting the melodies carry us away. Here’s a batch to get things started…

16. Shovels & Rope — Something Is Working Up Above My Head; Mr Sam & the People People — Again! Again!: this slot’s for the sunnier side and a pair of acts I almost left off because of how chronically crabby I’ve been this year. Their albums are full of positivity and love, two things I had trouble believing in thanks to the difficulties of my days (and the overall trend of the planet this year…), but I have enough of a heart left to know I shouldn’t penalize them for my inability to meet them where they’re at. If nothing else it’s a great incentive to try and get there, back to a place where squishy songs about love and odes to enjoying the simpler things in life don’t make me roll my eyes in disbelief. The odds seem a little stacked, particularly after November, but as a lifelong Chicago sports fan I know hope springs eternal, whether history, logic, or what’s in front of you on the field says it should.

The first of those sunny songbirds is a bit of a surprise, the return of a band I lost touch with over the years (one of many on the list) — this one I first fell for over a decade ago with their debut, the aptly titled O’ be Joyful, which landed at #13 on my list in 2013. It comes courtesy of the husband and wife duo from Charleston, Shovels & Rope, back with their seventh album and first in two years. What immediately grabbed my ears was the darker, edgier fare here — a handful of the album’s singles ditched the rainbows and puppy dog vibe and showed a new side to the band, one that matched my mood while also piquing my interest.  Two in particular — the punky, pep rally stomp of “Piranhanana” and its equally fiery friend “Colorado River,” which rages menacingly like that waterway’s rapids — remain my favorites on the album, but they’re joined by cuts like the Spoon-sounding opener “Something is Working” with its sinister edge and plunking piano and the throbbing pulse of “Two Wolves,” which carry that vibe along nicely.

Those four are balanced out with the pair’s more traditional, sweeter fare — the swooning “I’d be Lying” and its equally earnest “Te Amo,” the sock hop  sheen of “Double Lines” and the spiritual “Dass Hymn” — as well as the pinnacle of those styles, a literal love song about puppies. The latter was actually my gateway to the rest of the softer stuff, as I’m a) a blubbering baby when it comes to dogs and the thought of losing them (that Stapleton song still makes me tear up whenever I hear it) and b) a huge Gregory Alan Isakov fan, so far be it for me to disregard all three of them when they’re telling me to listen. My bitter, cynical side still bristles a bit at some of them, but by and large it’s a good album full of songs and one worthy of your time. (Whether you’re a hard-hearted monster like myself or a more normal human being.)

Their slotmate is New Orleans’ Sam Gelband (the titular Mr Sam) and his band of happy ruffians, the People People, back with their sophomore album two years after their debut. (Which landed at #12 on my 2022 list.) Both albums find Gelband coming across like a modern day Mr Rogers, full of positive affirmations and optimism as warm as a cozy cardigan. (Plus a load of “gees” and “oh me oh mys” that are about as out of place as if you dropped a starry eyed Jimmy Stewart into Washington these days (to call on yet another famous Mr…))  Gelband sings of “turning guilt into kindness (hip hip hooray, you made my day in your own way!)” on “Go Baby Go (Part One).” He reminds us “You’ve got to give what you’ve got, don’t let the getting get the best of you” on “Go Baby Go (Part Two).” He even sings of “filling one’s head with peanut butter and dreams” and seeing all the goodness in your surroundings on the closing “Monkey Business.”

Even the mildly melancholic gets a positive twist, with an “aw shucks, buck up, buckaroo!” attitude about giving it all to someone you love (happily) and showing them the love that’s in your heart, whether it’s warranted/reciprocated or not. (As on “Happily” and “You Are Kind,” respectively.)  What saves it all from being too schmaltzy and kept me coming back was the music — the barbershop harmonies on “Every Time Everybody” (which reminds me a bit of “Everyday” by Buddy Holly). The Exile-era Stones of “Ask” and its amped up cousin “(Part Two).” The simple plucked guitar on “Now That I Know You” and “Monkey.” It’s a bit like another entry later on in this list where if you’re able to not fixate on the words it rewards you with some lovely melodies and tunes to enjoy. For as Sam would I’m sure be the first to tell you, it doesn’t have to be perfect to be just what you need (buckaroo!)

15. The Decemberists — As It Ever Was, So It Will Be Again; The Felice Brothers — Valley of Abandoned Songs; Asylum on the Hill;  this slot’s for a pair of bands that have bedeviled me over the years.  Bands capable of incredible and beloved output, but also able to drive me insane with their inability to contain their worst impulses — to the point that I shut off the stereo or walk out in a huff. The Decemberists’ transgressions have been more multifaceted over the years — both bands lose me when they veer too far up their own a##es, making their esoteric wordplay and imagery a “break out the encyclopedia” exercise rather than a unique element in an expertly balanced cocktail alongside tenderness and sincerity. (The Felices make this worse by trying to be funny, cracking jokes to an audience of one hand to prove they’re the smartest kid in the room — but more on them in a moment.) The Portland natives have added to this error by going full prog (the still scarring nightmare that was Hazards of Love) and dance pop (following in the synthy shoes of fellow former beloved Belle and Sebastian’s late stage metamorphosis), rather than stay true to what they do best over the years. Thankfully both bands are on their best behavior here, keeping those egregious impulses to a minimum and thus delivering some of their best material in years.

For the Decemberists it marks their first album in six years and that awkward experiment in reinvention (which was a bit like your dad piercing his nipples and getting really into ecstasy when he’s well into his 60s) and what they offer this time is possibly the most perfect encapsulation of their career. It serves as something of a “best of” compilation of the aforementioned eras, unspooling along a similar trajectory, starting with their quirky folksier fare. There’s songs about tramps and chambermaids, hayrakes and reapers, malaria and burial grounds.  (And that’s just the first three songs!) There’s more country-tinged tunes a la The King is Dead (which landed at #7 back in 2011) with the wonderful “Long White Veil” and “The Black Maria,” and there’s quaint, quiet ballads like “All I Want is You,” one of the best things they’ve ever written.

The back part of the album gets into those more troublesome times, but thankfully only for a song or two this time around. They jumble the sequence a bit, giving us the bloated, proggy bombast of “Joan in the Garden” as the closer (how this was released as a single remains a mystery to me with its nearly 20 minutes of nonsense) while tracks like “Born to the Morning” represent the more artificial forays to the dancefloor.  Thankfully the first two thirds of the album are strong enough to counterbalance the mixed bag mediocrity of the last third (I actually kinda like the gleeful “America Made Me” and the Fleetwood Mac-ish riff of “Tell Me What’s On Your Mind.”)

For the Felice Brothers they’re returning after three years away with a pair of new albums. (I know technically one of them came out right around Christmas of last year, but because it was/is a Bandcamp-only release I didn’t find out about it until early this year and thus think it’s worth including here.) Their last, 2021’s From Dreams to Dust, was either their 11th or 13th overall, depending on how you count (the past is always something of a jumble with these guys, whether it’s the content of their lyrics or their back catalog) and it was another mixed bag medley of the egregiousness I mentioned at the top — full of both excellent tunes (“Valium” remains one of their best) and the aforementioned jokiness that unnecessarily undermines otherwise sturdy melodies or messages. (“Inferno” and its allusions to Jean Claude Van Damme and Kurt Cobain being a perfect example, marring an absolutely lovely little tune.)  As with their slotmates, though, they’ve kept those impulses in check here, which is even more impressive as it means keeping it together for two full albums. (A bit akin to a Crossfit junkie not mentioning that obsession a single time on a flight from JFK to Singapore.)

Both were apparently going to be “internet only” outings — the “official” release Valley starting as a series of demos and outtakes scattered from across the years that frontman Ian Felice decided to pull together in a single spot. Until Bright Eyes’ Conor Oberst heard them and decided to start a label to put them out, that is. Tracks like “Younger as the Days Go By” and “It’s Midnight and the Doves are in Tears” work great on the creative, transportive side of the ledger with lyrics about boxcars, birds, and the station at the end of the line, while “Stranger’s Arms” and “Flowers by the Roadside” serve the more sentimental side with swooning piano and softly strummed guitar. The Bandcamp-only Asylum has a similar mix of winners, with “Teeth in the Tabloids” and “Birds of the Wild West” representing the former and “Candy Gallows” and “Abundance” the latter.  I had the chance to see these guys live again this year in a space the size of a big living room and their coziness and charm really came to the forefront.  All in all a really nice reminder of how singular and special these two bands can be when they’re on their best behavior.

14. The Heavy Heavy — One of a Kind; Duff Thompson — Shadow People II: this slot’s for a pair of throwbacks and relics of another time, one of which I’ve written about this year and one I haven’t. The former refers to the full length debut of Brighton band the Heavy Heavy, otherwise known as guitarist Will Turner and keyboardist Georgie Fuller. As I noted before, the band’s retro sound of Motown meets Laurel Canyon goes down easy and they give us another dozen songs here of rose-colored wonder to revel in. Sonically the band they most resemble are the Mamas and the Papas with their bounty of beautiful harmonies balanced atop “simpler time” lyrics  and that sensation remains strong here. And despite some of the lyrics’ simplicity what shines through most are those wonderful harmonies and melodies, as well as the earnestness with which they deliver them. These guys have nailed the music, energy, and vibe of that era and that rings true in person, too, with them transforming one of my favorite little spaces into a warm, cozy haven for peace and love during their set. If you let yourself focus on the music and the mood, it’s really tough not to respond to what they’re sharing.

Their slotmate is the one I didn’t write about — this year, at least, as I’ve done so several times in the past — and he’s back with a companion piece to last year’s Shadow People, which landed at #9 on my year end list. Thompson offers us another nine tracks from the same recording sessions, this time sharing the louder, heavier half of the proceedings. There’s plenty of familiar elements to enjoy — the Everly-style harmonies, the pinched howl that so often resembles Hamilton Leithauser — as well as the subtle playing and voice of fellow musician Steph Green that makes the whole thing glow.  The comparisons to Ham remain high with Thompson channeling the submerged leviathan sound of his main band the Walkmen more than ever this time, showcasing the swampy guitar and under the water murk of their early tunes.  From the haunting “Fog II” to the elegantly sashaying “Echo” or the jangling arpeggios of “You Don’t Know,” the memory of that beloved band is alive and well here.

Other tracks like the jaunty jamboree “Stranger” and the moody doo wop on “Girls” bolster the timeless sensation Thompson has perfected, like he’s unearthed priceless relics from another age. (He’s also captured some of my inner thoughts, as with the opening line of “It’s Good” — “I don’t like too many people and you know it. I would rather be at home hanging with my darling” [and/or dog].)  I had the pleasure of seeing both Green and Thompson on tour together earlier this year and his performance was a revelation, one of the most impressive displays I’ve ever seen live as he played no less than three instruments at once in addition to singing — guitar with his hands, drums/tambourine with his feet, and harmonica/voice with his mouth. I stood there agog for more than half the show, unable to understand how he was doing it all and haven’t stopped thinking about it for months. This guy is ultra talented and one of my favorite discoveries of the last few years.

13. Gold Star — How to Shoot the Moon; Christian Lee Hutson — Paradise Pop. 10; Bright Eyes — Five Dice, All Threes: this slot’s for a trio of sad sacks and some darker, downtrodden discs. Two of them are from returning artists, so we’ll start with the newcomer, Austria-born and LA-bred Marlon Rabenreither, otherwise known as Gold Star. I discovered him almost a year ago as a #FridayFreshness champ when he released the first single from this album, which then inexplicably took nearly the rest of the year to arrive. (It just dropped the week before Thanksgiving!) It’s his fifth overall — his first since 2022’s Headlights USA — and he’s ditched the more synthetic elements of that one (namely the drum machine and keyboards) and returned to the late 60s sound of the Byrds and the open air balladry of his early albums here.

Rabenreither got his start opening for Lucinda Williams who encouraged him to write more from his perspective and he’s taken that guidance to heart, offering personal tales that still feel relatable to outsiders.  This is a more uniformly somber affair than those earlier outings, dealing with such heavier topics as addiction and anxiety, the “wild eyed and restless,” the “born to lose.” There’s the stately shuffle of “I Think you Should Know.” The smoldering “Searchlights” with its nervous tale of near death. The exhausted ode to companionship “Look Around You,” which builds to an exhilarating conclusion for both the song and the broader album. 

Aside from his lyrics Rabenreither’s voice and delivery have a Dylanesque quality to them (or his modern day scions like Kevin Morby), particularly on tracks like the galloping “Wild Boys” and its equally exuberant “Fade Away,” the album’s two unapologetic rockers. Like lightning, red wine in a Dixie cup, and/or the wildfire in your veins (to quote the latter) or “the rush, the flood, the vein, I am the high, the lonesome, the tracks and the train” on the wonderful “With You,” Rabenreither can bring the heat when he wants to.  Outside those two noteworthy exceptions the album captures the feel of looking out the window on a winter day with nothing but bare trees and damp dreariness around you, but it’s done with a determination and resilience rather than depressing sense of defeat. Another really solid album from one of my favorite recent finds.

Up next is the fifth album from LA’s Christian Lee Hutson, his first since 2022’s Quitters, which landed at #9 on my year end list.  Similar to his slotmate it’s a more somber affair than usual and something of a heavy listen. Where his last album was full of slightly funny, slightly sad stories (all channeling the spirit of my beloved Elliott with his dual-tracked vocals, quietly plucked guitar, and shapeshifting lyrics), this one is a more uniform meditation on heartbreak and reconciliation. Take the line from the opening “Tiger,” for example — “In my imagination I’m sitting on the fence between the life we almost had and whatever’s coming next…I will always be the one that got out of your way…” Or the one from “Water Ballet” with its wonderful guitar work — “I see you getting better, wish we could have done it together (when I was your man I got it all wrong, stuck in a trance disconnecting the dots…)”  Or the more uncertain ones from the countrified “Candyland” and “Autopilot” — “What makes you so sure you want me back, I remember how it felt” and “finally finding myself — am I gonna lose you?,” respectively.  There’s a stark vulnerability on display that’s particularly poignant without the levity lightening the load.

Aside from the beautiful melodies Hutson continues to nail Elliott’s lyrical plasticity where a song’s meaning can change based on your mood. “Somebody use to love me, I ran away from it — sometimes I think it was the happiest I’ve ever been… Got a second chance at the nightmare of my dreams” on “Fan Fiction.” “You left the honeymoon suite at the last resort, you finally moved on and I’m proud of you for it. A bad habit is hard to lose, a good person isn’t easy to choose, but you can’t keep a good man down — I know you’re gonna figure it out” on “Forever Immortalized.” Hutson goes deep and channels Heatmiser Elliott when he includes a pair of rockers, which are something of a revelation, cranking the defiance and fury up along with the amps. He sings, “Jock Jams in the pickup truck, warm sangria in a Dixie cup. In a mirror universe time is moving in reverse — I’m gonna turn my life around” on the fiery closer “Beauty School” (which has a rare dose of humor, too — “I can shake pennies from the dollar tree…”) He follows that with, “Holding back, leaning in, and all of it hurts. Nothing changes nothing works. No you can’t touch me yet, I can watch my own back” on the equally combustible “Carousel Horses.” It’s an interesting addition to his repertoire and serves as a momentary reprieve from the melancholy, however beautiful it may be.

Last up is the return of Conor Oberst and his Bright Eyes bandmates, back for the first time in four years. (Their last landed at #11 on my year end list.) That one was the product of a long hiatus and surprise return after nine years away, finding the band reveling in their reunion with both high profile guests and an “anything in sight” approach to instrumentation. They’ve gone with a similar strategy here, demonstrating a tad more restraint this time around — that one had Flea and thunder god Jon Theodore, in addition to bagpipes, a full choir, and orchestral flourishes. This one has Cat Power, Matt Berninger, and Alex Orange Drink (lead singer of the Brooklyn band The So So Glos — had to look that one up…) and while bandmates Mike Mogis and Nate Wolcott are still taking a kitchen sink approach to the songs (there’s mariachi horns, banjo, and whistles, among other items), it has a less celebratory feel this time.  That’s because frontman Conor Oberst is not in a good headspace right now.

Four years ago he was out touring the band’s album in addition to a separate one from his side project with Phoebe Bridgers, Better Oblivion Community Center. The latter endeavor reportedly led to a romantic relationship between the two, but whether it was with her or another someone broke Oberst’s heart, as a number of the songs here talk about lost love and broken relationships. And to make matters worse there’s rumblings his long-time struggles with substances have gotten out of hand as well, culminating with a number of sloppy performances where Oberst was slurring his words and forgetting lyrics that ultimately forced the cancellation of their recent tour. (The official reason given was voice issues.) This is why Mogis and Wolcott’s lovely instrumentation now seem almost intent on distracting from the disaster, like someone tap dancing and jazz handing to make passersby look away from the person sunken and sobbing in the corner.

It’s a tall order, as this is easily as dark an album lyrically as the band has released. (Which is saying something, as Oberst is known for “bright and sunny” like I’m known for “chatty and carefree.”) There’s songs about his unease with the perks of success (“Bells and Whistles”), about suicide and environmental disasters like wildfire and water shortages (“El Capitan”), as well as breakups, betrayal, and the general difficulty being alive (“Capitan,” “Bas Jan Ader”) — and that’s just the first three tracks!  It doesn’t get much brighter after that. Oberst’s lengthy list of complaints includes puritans, prophets, half the Bible and major gods (so let’s just say “all organized religion?”), small talk, love songs, stadiums, sleeping, dreaming, and himself, as rattled off in one of the many uplifting tunes “Hate.” He also has gripes with societal indifference (“Trains Still Run on Time”), Elon Musk (“All Threes”), and our ultimate demise. (“The Time I Have Left,” “Tin Soldier Boy”) That broader fixation on dying, heartache, and self-loathing resonate loudly and really lend to the worries folks have raised in response to this album. It could just be poetic license, but the sincerity and sadness that emanates all too often here (“maybe if the sky aligns…I could have you one last time” on the aptly named sunbeam with the bleary horns “Tiny Suicides” or “I’m so bored of these intrusive thoughts coming after me, sick of my own voice, screaming right beneath my teeth…I can’t be what you need me to be” on “Rainbow Overpass”) makes you hope he gets the help he needs and pulls out of it soon.

12. Nathaniel Rateliff & the Night Sweats — South of Here; Jeremie Albino — Our Time in the Sun: this slot’s for the soul and a couple of Sunday singers set on getting you moving, if only to keep the devil at bay and your idle appendages from doing his dirty work. First up is the return of the beloved Nathaniel with his big heart and bigger voice, back for the first time since 2021’s The Future, which landed at #14 on my year end list. That one found the band in a bit of a tug of war between his two personas — the booming, boisterous soul man of his first two outings with the Night Sweats and the hushed heartbreaker of his four solo albums.  It was a somewhat uneasy peace, one that was feeling its way about a bit for the proper balance as it toggled tone and tenor from song to song, but it worked on the whole thanks to the quality of Rateliff’s songwriting and his ever earnest delivery. (To say nothing of his band’s excellent accompaniment, which always erred on understatement rather than ostentatious embellishment.) This one continues that trend, treading the line between the two worlds again (only doing so within each song’s confines rather than across them) in what ultimately might give us the best of both worlds.

Thematically we find Rateliff restless and searching for change — “Can I get out of my head? I wanna feel different now” on the opening “Goliath.” “How was I to ever know it could get so bad? I want to feel something, honey, I want to feel something good” on “Heartless.” “Wouldn’t it be nice to see me gettin’ somewhere? I ain’t  growing at all…I’m just up against a wall and I wanna be free” on the Paul Simon-esque “Remember I Was a Dancer.  “I used to do it all, but I ain’t got the mind now. Just feel tied up and used” on the sonically triumphant “Used to the Night.” “I’m lost, but not abandoned but it’s hard for one to know — maybe go back home, remember who I was” on the Band-sounding title track.

Across the majority of the songs you can feel him flailing, trying to find his footing (and/or a sense of meaning).  He sings about his apparently difficult upbringing (“my childhood left me so broken” on “Heartless,” “Was gettin’ nowhere, life was taking its time and I was staring out the window just wasting mine. All I wanted was peace and calm” on “Everybody Wants”) and about finding yourself (and salvation) in another. (“I couldn’t find the light myself, it led to falling down the stairs…and not a lesson lеarned” on the irresistibly buoyant (and the most characteristically Night Sweats of the songs) “Cars in the Desert.”) There’s a palpable sense of frustration and angst, but it never comes off as maudlin or insincere, no matter how bleak it may seem.

There’s always at least one song where Rateliff ditches the frog in his throat croon and reminds you what a powerful voice he has and this time it’s on the ferociously defiant “Call Me (Whatever You Like)” where he sings of resilience in spite of the doubters and the damage (while simultaneously blowing the doors off the studio with his delivery). It’s a momentary reprieve as the darkness and doubts creep back in on the closer with the energetic horns contrasting the lyrics of time making fools of us all (and I’m feeling it now) before cutting out abruptly like the Sopranos finale. It’s actually a fitting end for an album whose instruments often obscure the darker sentiments, which while definitely not a new trick is an interesting one here when it’s New Orleans style brass being beaten back by melancholy, like a storm consuming a second line.  It’s an interesting metamorphosis, from jubilant early albums full of joy and ribaldry to more mixed bags of sour and sweet of late (which should probably not come as a surprise, as the forces of joy have been vanquished all over lately…), but a journey I’m glad to take with them nevertheless.

Rateliff’s counterpoint in this slot is a much more upbeat affair and a stark contrast to those aforementioned rain clouds, hearkening back to those happier early albums. It comes courtesy of recent #FridayFreshness champ Jeremie Albino and my discovery of the Toronto native’s latest album, which was recorded by Black Keys frontman Dan Auerbach and released on his Easy Eye label.  It’s his fourth overall (he’s done three solo and one with singer/songwriter Cat Clyde since his debut in 2019) and he’s come a long way since his days of busking on Toronto’s streets to make a living.  Albino’s style is a throwback to the soul sounds of the sixties, full of studio sheen and swooning lyrics about love and yearning, and vocally he actually sounds a bit like Auerbach. That’s not a knock — aside from being an obvious Auerbach/Keys fan, I imagine this is more akin to how you subconsciously mimic the mannerisms of the people you’re around, droppin’ consonants and pickin’ uppa twang, depending on the scenery — and even if it was, Albino packs so much into this one’s dozen tracks there’s plenty of things to like.

There’s the Stax sounding soul of the opening “Don’t Mind Waiting,” which channels the spirit of the beloved Big O, and the jazzy “Since I’ve Been Knowing You,” which is as sweet sounding as its midnight kisses. There’s the serene sway of “Let me Lay my Head” and the majestic, punchy horns on “Time in the Sun.” The plinking, honkytonk piano on the rollicking road trip “Rolling Down the 405” and the smooth, sensual “So Many Ways to Say I Love You.” The anthemic “Give it to Me One Last Time” (which I’d love to hear slotmate Nathaniel take a crack at) and the island sway of “Hold me Tight” (which if Jack Johnson hasn’t stolen for his set yet he’s missing out). All of that is on top of the swampy stomp of “Dinner Bell” and the smoldering guitars of “Struggling with the Bottle,” which are the two most obvious echoes of the Keys.  It’s a really good album, one that’s extremely difficult to not succumb to and forget what you were doing — what better reason to grab a partner and have a little sway? (Remember those idle hands…)

11. Devarrow — A Long and Distant Wave; Heart Shaped Rock; the Dead Tongues — Body of Light: this slot’s for a pair of two album mimics who were also #Fridayfreshness champs over on our ‘Gram site this year. The first is the better of the two, not just because both his albums were stronger top to bottom, but also because his music reminds me of so many favorite artists over their duration. Singer/songwriter Graham Ereaux (aka Devarrow) may hail from the tiny coastal Canadian town of Moncton, but his music spans the continents and generations. There’s the island inspired freakout at the end of “Heart Shaped Rock.” The surf rock guitar on “Half of You.” The mandolin and bass on “Race Car Driver.” There’s echoes of the classics — the Elton John jangle of “Else,” the McCartneyesque “In Time” — as well as modern acts like Wilco and the Shins.

The first album is chock full of the former — listen to the solo at the end of “Getting Old,” the sleepily dissonant “In Time,” and the anthemic closer “Hard Times Coming” and tell me you can’t hear Nels Cline playing those parts — while the second album leans more towards the latter. From the Shins style whistle on the opening “Lightning Bolt’ to the borderline delirium on “Together Again,” “Holy Ghost,” and “Talking Shit,” it’s as if Ereaux is James Mercer’s Canadian alter ego. Lyrically there’s a focus on the simple things — on morning rituals and breakfast of bacon and eggs on the aforementioned “Lightning.” On taking time to tell yourself you’re ok on “Likewise.” On showing gratitude for good fortune (“I am thankful that I am happy”) on “Falling into Pieces.” On appreciating and loving those you have around you as you never know when they’re going to be gone, as on the plaintive piano ballad “Pictures.” It’s a really good mix of songs and styles, one I reveled in often this year.

Ereaux’s slotmate is Appalachian singer/songwriter Ryan Gustafson (better known as the Dead Tongues) who recently recorded and released his sixth and seventh albums in his native North Carolina and they hearken to the environment from which they were born. Gustafson’s lyrics border on the poetic, creating vivid images with his spare, direct style. “Breakfast is beer, some cigarettes, some tears, and the morning after pill — someday it’s gonna get real” on the majestic tale of heartbreak at the start of the new year “Dirt For a Dying Sun.” “Young, kind, and reckless with a smile on your face, a gold and pearl necklace and a shirt made of lace. It all came to surface, a bittersweet taste, I was out in the darkness, some nothing kind of place” on the lovely lament “Fading Away.” “Goddamn it’s a thin line between here and the other side, ‘tween truth and lying, a laugh and crying” on the closing “Hard Times, Sore Eyes.”

There’s a theme of longing, leaving, and the passage of time across the two sets, the songs often littered with references to the nature one suspects surrounds him in his rural Carolina home — “there’s a change and a stillness in your eyes like looking through a spring full of melted ice” on “Dreamer.” “Rain on the ocean or the calling of the waves, riptide and vertigo pulling us away” on “Daylily.” Vocally Gustafson continues to remind me of Ryan Adams and his mix of melancholy and beauty frequently calls to mind his early work (only without the guilt caused by the alluded to’s later actions). There’s some really solid songs in here, even if the second album veered into spoken word and the avant garde more than I liked. Worth keeping an eye on these two.

10. The Black Keys — Ohio Players; Kings of Leon — Can We Please Have Fun; Vampire Weekend — Only God Was Above Us; Cage the Elephant — Neon Pill: the next two slots are for the return of elder statesmen and a slew of acts who have a) made appearances on this list a number of times over the years, meaning they’re some of my favorite acts and b) firmly entered their “don’t rock the boat” phase, meaning they’re not going to do anything overly surprising to turn away their legions of dedicated fans (though one in particular pushed that boundary more than I would have expected). Instead they’re going to stick to the recipe that got them to this point in their careers, which is obviously something of a double edged sword as the music can start to sound stale after this many years, the equivalent of a paint by numbers project in art class. That said, there’s a reason people still shell out hundreds of dollars to see the Stones every time they go on tour — that recipe generates some tasty fu#$ing tunes, no matter how many times you’ve heard em — so there’s no shame in acknowledging that’s the phase each of these bands is in. I enjoyed each of these albums a bunch over the year and wrote about a number of them earlier, so will spend most of the time focusing on the ones I didn’t (just so I don’t get accused of being stale!)

The first four we’ll fast forward through as I wrote about each of these albums earlier in the year. The Keys were the ones that pushed the envelope the most, opting to farm out songwriting responsibilities of all but one song to a pair of unlikely scribes — Beck and Noel Gallagher.  As I wrote earlier, the Beck songs sound sorta like Beck songs, the Gallagher ones like his High Flying Birds, and the sole Pat/Dan song sounded not like their trademark blues rock but like their 2009 hip hop side project Blakroc, a move that overall could have gone horribly awry. Almost in spite of those odds, though, it mostly worked — the songs are pretty catchy, the hooks meaty and memorable, and I found myself going back to the well a bunch over the year.  Same for the Kings’ outing, which found them trying to capture the album’s titular feeling and mostly succeeding, thanks to the bouncing bass lines of secret weapon Jared Followill.  For the second outing in a row the bassist was the key to the album’s allure, offering a number of riffs that got stuck in your head and had you humming them later.

With Vampire we found frontman Ezra Koenig reuniting with his bandmates on their fifth full length after recording their previous album all by himself.  (And Haim, for some reason.) Hopefully it’s a coincidence that it also finds him far less sunny and optimistic, rattling off lyrics filled with fatigue, futility, and a growing “f#$k it” attitude. The band disguises these depressions under their trademark blanket of sunny-sounding melodies and delirious energy, echoing both themselves and 90s one hit wonders in the process. It’s a surprisingly honest and embraceable set of songs (something that has always plagued the band) and a shift I hope they keep up in the years to come.

Last but not least comes Cage with their sixth album, which continues the band’s sonic evolution towards the more synthetic, 80s-inflected vibe started on the last one. It also carried forward the focus on more serious subject matter, trading the prior album’s lyrics about divorce for ones that chronicled frontman Matt Shultz’s tumultuous last few years of addiction, arrest, and rehab. Despite the darker material and songs full of disorientation and regret, Shultz’s honest and mature take on things (along with the band’s customary knack for hooky melodies) made this one a good listen.

9. Guided by Voices — Strut of Kings; X — Smoke & Fiction; the Orwells — Friendly Fire: part two of this slot’s for another trio of bands back on yet another year end list, only a somewhat brasher batch than the previous four.  Keeping with the overarching theme of the year, each of them also represents something of a surprise, though for completely different reasons.  We’ll start with the most frequently appearing of the bunch, Dr Bob and the beloved boys from Dayton, GBV. They’re on the annual list for an astounding sixth year in a row, though for the first time in that span it’s only for a single album (surprise!). For whatever reason the band decided to only put out the one album this year — and they didn’t cheat by releasing any side projects either — so for the first time since 2018’s Space Gun we had just a single set of songs to concentrate on and enjoy.  And while the year and its incessant distractions/calamities conspired against that a little as noted in the intro, I still spent plenty of time with this one over the course of the year.

The shapeshifting mini-epic “Show me the Castle” starts things with a bang, giving us another patented blend of crunchy riffs, tempo shifts, and opaque lyrics to savor. That momentum is carried by later tracks like the bright, fist-in-the-air righteousness of “Fictional Environment Dream,” which calls to mind other high energy classics like “I am a Tree” and “My Future in Barcelona” and segues seamlessly into the strutting “Olympus Cock in Radiana,” another of the album’s tempo shifting, mini-epic winners. (Others include “Serene King” and “Cavemen Running Naked,” the latter of which contradicts its title and ominously lumbers between Cure-style glimmers and scrap metal shredding riffs.) The band’s clearly still having fun, throwing in little flourishes here and there just to keep things interesting — from the horns on “Bicycle Garden” to the synths lurking in the back of “Timing Voice” and “Bit of a Crunch,” it’s almost like the band is checking to see if you’re paying attention, playfully adding these atypical elements with a wink and a grin.  If you don’t like (or are unfamiliar with) the band, this album probably won’t change your mind, but for those of us who long ago dedicated ourselves to Dr Bob’s School of Medicine and Musical Rehabilitation, it’s another much appreciated dose of therapy.

Sharing this slot is another seasoned veteran, the LA four piece X, who are back for the first time in as many years after their unexpected, triumphant return on 2020’s Alphabetland, which landed at #12 on my year end list. That album was something of a miracle — the first time in 17 years they’d put out an album and the first time in 35 they’d done so with the original lineup — so it was a bit bittersweet to see them reemerge this year with their ninth album, as it was accompanied by the announcement that it would be their last. (Surprise!) Thankfully they’re going out strong, capping a legendary career with another winner.

Coming as it does on the heels of the final curtain it finds Exene and the gang in a contemplative mood, reflecting on their career and their lives the last four and a half decades, but listening to it now there’s an alternate interpretation that keeps popping to mind. The band released this months before the disaster in November, but it’s almost like they were foreshadowing that event (and what it’s going to take to survive it).  “Let’s go round the bend, get in trouble again” on “Sweet Til the Bitter End.”  “Stay awake and don’t get taken, we knew the gutter was also the future” on “Big Black X.”  “I still hurt a little bit, but there’s no cure for this” on the propulsive title track.  It may be mere coincidence, but it’s compelling nonetheless — like watching A Wizard of Oz with Dark Side on. (“You stood your ground, a smile upon your face. You raised your chin to the sky…said, ‘I’ll be here. I’ll be free.,” almost as if trying to convince themselves on the opening “Ruby Church.”)

Guitarist Billy Zoom remains in top form (as does the entire band honestly), ripping off chicken fried slabs of delectable rockabilly, while effortlessly shifting to more elegant, wistful runs on slower songs like “The Way It Is” and its lament to leaving. (“I know you have to go…have to set you free. That’s just the way it is…”) For their part frontman/woman John Doe and Exene maintain their perfect pairing, their voices contrasting each other flawlessly as when they’re whipped into a lather in the howling chorus on tracks like “Winding up the Time.” Seeing them in such good form it’s a shame to know we’re not going to hear from them again, but thankfully we’ve got these ten tunes to keep us company over the coming years.

Last up comes the latest from the hometown Orwells, back for the first time in six years with another album released with zero fanfare and the band still firmly in lounge lizard mode, adding even more unheard of elements to their sound than before. (Surpriiiiiiiiise!!!) As on that last album (which landed at #8 on my 2018 list) there’s still piano/synths showing up — on the opening “The Consumer,” “Absent Friends,” and “Taken Back” — and frontman Mario Cuomo still croons more than he crows, but the band also throws in things like acoustic guitar and strings (?!?) here as on tracks like “Love Refused.” It’s not as jarring as you’d expect, as it’s subtly embedded in the broader, laid back vibe they’re purveying, but cognitively it still takes a moment to settle in — this is the same band whose guitar-driven, beer-soaked performances and bratty, infectious songs made them a runaway personal favorite, right?

Dealing with this new incarnation is a bit like confronting Mike Tyson if he were to come back to fight in his 60s (oh wait…) and while it may not be the version I love and want the most, as on the last album I find it hard to completely ignore. The songs, while more subdued than normal, are still pretty catchy and work their way into your head well past last listen.  Guitarist Dominic Corso still delivers some solid hooks, as on the slippery solo from “Consumer” or overall on “Amy” and “Downtown.” (The latter being one of the two most traditional, old school Orwells songs on the album, alongside “USA” — upbeat, energetic, and real tough not to move and sing along to as the chorus kicks in…)

Lyrically Mario is a bit tougher to parse than on prior outings.  There’s an abused woman in Kansas in “USA.”  There’s an anonymous spender in the opening “Consumer” with a new car, girlfriend, and dead end job. (“Built a home and bought a lover…”) There’s an ailing friend or lover addicted to pills on the ballad “Caroline.” An unrequited love on “Love Refused.” (“I see in blue that your face is wet and no flowers could fix this mess…”) This mix of characters make for interesting imagery and contemplation, but it also makes it difficult to connect with songs in the same way as the past as some of the emotion is missing from Mario’s delivery, like he doesn’t quite know the protagonists either. (Or is telling the history of another country’s formation when he’s never visited or experienced the events firsthand.)

Not putting himself front and center is an interesting change for someone who so clearly loves the spotlight (“‘you’re a narcissist,’ said the narcissist” on “Bar Fly”) and it’s tough to tell when he slips into the song and sings as himself this time. There are moments that seem certain, as in “Amy” where he balances bravado (“don’t act like you’ve never played me”) with the vulnerable (“let me have your babies, I need some commitment”) or on “Bar Fly” where he adds in some melancholy (“gotta keep the children jumping…wasted all my perfect days, but I think I’m happier”), but others it’s tough to tell.  Is he the messianic menace of “Evil Ed?” (“You will never еver find yourself in harm, I’m your god, I’m your leadеr, I’m your tender loving arms.”)  Or the jilted narrator on “Absent Friends?” (“Never again shall I wait on a friend, I can shake on the hand
it’s a shame you’re a friend…”) They leave us uncertain, closing the album with a title track that mirrors their masterpiece’s epic conclusion “Double Feature” and stretches for a solid six minutes. They seem to allude to themselves and their new status in it (“face the facts, it’s the second act — the good years go fast, the good ones go fast…We’re turning into why the genre has died…”) before shifting to a cinematic close, leaving us with a wordless walkout akin to the music playing over the credits as the audience files out of the movie theater. 

It will be interesting to see what comes next for the band — they went on a brief eight city tour earlier this year (notably NOT playing here, despite it being where they’re from) and then promptly disappeared. They haven’t posted a thing on their social media account since March, Mario has released a solo album of his own and seems to be doing Hollywood-type stuff out in LA, but there’s been no news of additional shows or when the next album (which has already been finished apparently) will come out. And so we sit in limbo, chilling in the dark at the back of the bar, listening to the tamer (yet still catchy) tunes of this version of the band, hoping the old one will return in a blaze of glory rather than offer us scarce glimpses as reminders, like a tattoo peeking out from under the sleeve of a suit coat. Maybe that version is gone forever and like their other slotmates (Kings, Keys, etc) this is what’s in store for the coming years, but part of me will always hope the old Mario/Evil Ed comes back to lead the cult.

8. Friko — Where We’ve Been, Where We Go From Here; Silverbacks — Easy Being a Winner; Dehd — Poetry; Chappell Roan — The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess: this slot’s for the kids and a four pack of scrappy upstarts that keep this crotchety old man feeling younger than his grizzled, grouchy age. The first comes from a pair of hometowners on their debut album, a gangbusters little blast that stops you in your tracks multiple times over its brief half hour duration. It starts strong with a trio of tunes that grab you by the ears with their furious guitar and full-throated vocals and only gets better from there. Fans of early Radiohead will eat this one up as its fiery barrage of hooks and melodies (and frontman Niko Kapetan’s voice) often evoke Sir Thom and the lads. The songs’ cryptic lyrics verge on being incantations, their lines repeated like they’re core components to casting a spell in conjuring class, and the effect is almost hypnotic.  “Too old, too bold, too stupid to move I guess we’re caught in the wrong side of the shoe again” from the title track “Crimson to Chrome.”  “It never gets better it only gets twice as bad (cuz you let it) so you better get numb to it” on “Get Numb to It!” Or the eleventy billion chants of “chemical” on the feisty song of the same name.

It’s an energetic, forceful punch in the face, one offset brilliantly by the trio of quieter songs that almost steal the show. The mournful strings of “For Ella,” the plaintive piano on “Until I’m With You Again,” and the solemn strum of guitar on the closing “Cardinal” are lovely moments of respite that shine with Kapetan’s naked sincerity. (Another high point is the Mellon Collie Pumpkins vibe of “Statues” that straddles the two tempos.) Everything here is sung with the unguarded earnestness and conviction only achievable by those closer to their teenage years than a mortgage and colonoscopy and it’s an excellent debut and listen.

We’ll stay at home for the next band, too, with fellow Chicagoans Dehd back with their fifth full length, their first since 2022’s Blue Skies, which landed at #12 on my year end list. Thankfully it finds them continuing the sound of their previous outings, full of surf guitar solos and xx-style harmonies between singers Emily Kempf and Jason Balla. They appear to be on a bit of a roll, packing the album with fourteen sassy, sprightly songs about bad boys in fast cars, rough and tumble men who are hard to love (or their cousins, tough and rumble men with a little bit of danger) as on “Dog Days,” “Hard to Love,” and Mood Ring.”

There’s a sweetness hiding behind the tough talk and tattoos, as on previous outings — wearing the titular accessory for protection on “Necklace” and noting “love’s all around you” on “Don’t Look Down.” Describing yourself as abnormal/alien before noting all you need is yourself (amidst the uplifting chants of “hope my love can take me higher”) on “Alien.”  Professing to another that you’ll leave the light on for them (every day, every night, it won’t be a problem) and that your heart belongs to one (and that one is only you) as on “Knife.” Similar to their slotmates/neighbors from the Chi, there’s an unjaded earnestness on display that’s only possible from kids who think of the app rather than their expiring biological clock when someone says “Tik Tok.”  Between the swimming guitar and sincere sentiments they make everything feel as easy and breezy as they sing on “Pure Gold.”  

It’s not all starry eyed success stories, though, as the album closes with a pair of songs from the other side of the ledger, singing about heartache as on the otherwise shiny “Magician.” (Telling yourself to “keep it keep it together you belong to another — love was different yesterday”) and the excellent closer “Forget” with its majestic, dissonant swirl and its admissions of having problems letting things in and asking another to stay. (Missing them more than it seems and acting tough as a defense…) It’s a poignant punctuation mark on another really solid outing. These guys are definitely in a groove.

We’ll float across the pond and head to the UK for our third album in this slot.  I’m sure you heard the hype, a well-loved (including by me) post-punk band from Ireland returned with a new album this year, one that pushed the boundaries of their sound and people’s conceptions of who they were as an act. Their multi-vocalist rotation took us beyond the confines of their edgy triple guitar attack, offering moodier slow songs and instrumentation, and music critics couldn’t stop themselves from gushing, with several calling it their best outing yet.  Only it wasn’t the album from Fontaines D.C., which was something of a letdown for me.  It was from the unheralded (but excellent) Silverbacks.

It’s their third time appearing on my year end lists and their third album overall (their previous two landed at #4 and #14) and it starts with a model of democracy in action.  Similar to slotmates Dehd they rotate vocals between several singers, but they go one better than my hometowners and do so among three different singers, kicking the album off with a trio of songs helmed by each of them in succession. As usual it remains a family affair, only now moreso than ever as brothers Daniel and Kilian O’Kelly split the writing duties (Daniel had previously been the primary/sole songwriter on their last two) and Kilian having married fellow singer Emma Hanlon, who remains the band’s secret weapon. Vocally Daniel continues to call to mind Franz Ferdinand’s Alex Kapranos, particularly on tracks like the opening “Selling Shovels” or “Spinning Jenny” with its jagged guitar riffs and oh-so-danceable groove.

In addition to the vocal variety the band also flexes its muscles musically, throwing in a number of new instruments to further broaden their sound. There’s the feedback and radar pings at the end of “Shovels.” The knotty, country tumbleweeds of guitar on “Look at All You’ve Done.” The delicate piano flourishes on “Flex ’95” and the wheezing clarinet on “Something I Know,” the latter of which adds an ominous element to a killer bass line from newcomer Paul Leamy. (Alongside Hanlon’s bewitching, ethereal vocals and drummer Gary Wickham’s groovy backbeat, which rolls into a funky freakout at the end.)  Despite clocking in at almost the exact same amount of time as its predecessor, several of the songs feel longer as the band drops the vocals and stretches out, dedicating the back half of them to extended jams that really whip things into a fervor — from the title track to “No Rivers Around Here” and aforementioned gems like “Shovels” and “Something,” these guys earn all the praise that went to their countrymen and deliver another excellent album worthy of far more consideration and acclaim.

We’ll close with probably the biggest surprise — because it technically came out at the end of last year, because I’m probably as far from the album’s intended demographic as possible, but most importantly because of how much I love most of these songs. I may not be a particularly big fan of pop (nor teenaged, female, or queer), but when you put songs like “Red Wine Supernova” or “Pink Pony Club” on I’m belting out the words like a bear in Boys Town and couldn’t care less.  These are some of the most irresistible songs you’re going to encounter, a bunch of pitch perfect pop songs that make you take notice no matter your background.

Aside from being able to construct intoxicating hooks that can make a mass of humanity sing to the heavens, Roan also writes some excellent lines. (She has a few clunkers — getting it hot like Papa John’s, for one — but the hits far outnumber the misses here…) Whether singing about heartache (as in “Casual”) or heartbreak (as in “My Kink is Karma”), Roan gives credence to the old adage about a woman scorned. (The latter is a withering takedown that just happens to also be a delight to listen to…) The full-throated singalongs may garner all the attention (“Hot to Go” and “Super Graphic Ultra Modern Girl,” amongst the aforementioned), but it’s the album’s quartet of slower songs that nearly steal the show.  From the aching “Coffee” and “Kaleidoscope” to the mournful and slightly more upbeat ode to her home state of Missouri in “California,” Roan captures the powerful, universal sensations of heartache and homesickness.

She’s on another level though with “Picture You,” a masterful ode to masturbation that’s possibly the brightest of the albums many (red wine) supernovas. It starts with a sigh and slowly builds from there, adding strings and three minutes of naked yearning and vulnerability that ultimately results in a torch song for the ages. It’s an impressive feat — the showiest gem in her resplendent tiara — and a sign of her notable talent.  She’s already followed this up with the monster single “Good Luck Babe” (which will show up again two slots later on the list) so this is only the start for this newcomer.  Can’t wait to see what else she delivers.

7. Sierra Ferrell — Trail of Flowers; Hurray for the Riff Raff — The Past is Still Alive; The Lostines — Meet the Lostines; Abby Webster — Livin’ by the Water: the next two slots are for a little southern hospitality and an octet of acts who call to mind the slower, simpler way of life below the Mason Dixon line. We’ll split them up speed dating style, guys on one side, girls on the other, and per usual it’s only courteous to start with the ladies. This half focuses on the southern belles who captivated my ears, drawing me back to their albums time and again.  All four were a winning mix of folk and country and all four were written up earlier in the year, so similar to the lads we’ll do a light recap in lieu of a retread, letting you read the full links at your leisure. The first of the femmes is West Virginia’s Sierra Ferrell whose fourth album showcased a bounty of musical styles, born out of her years of rough living as a nomadic rail-rider. Back in her twenties she bounced between Seattle and New Orleans as a struggling busker and this album hopscotches genres like she used to cross state lines, giving us an excellent mix of country, bluegrass, and more modern fare. Somehow it all fits together despite the ever shifting tones and colors, in no small part thanks to the strength of Ferrell’s voice and her winking sense of humor.

Our second artist is New Orleans’ Alynda Segarra, better known as Hurray for the Riff Raff, whose ninth album was recorded in the wake of her father’s passing, a loss that left her looking backwards and employing the introspective folk style and confessional lyrics that characterized her excellent early albums. It’s one of three albums on this list bearing the imprint of Bright Eyes’ Conor Oberst (he duets with Segarra on one of the many highlights here) and a much more personal listen than Ferrell’s, full of the resilience and vivid imagery that’s characterized Segarra’s best work. It’s a bruised, but brilliant album, one as heartfelt and sincere as you’d expect for someone dealing with the death of someone so dear.

The back half of the slot is reserved for a pair of newcomers making their full length debuts, the first of them also hailing from Segarra’s Big Easy (one of four on the list), the duo known as The Lostines. I love the thought of these women meeting over a campfire there one night, as the seamless, spine-tingling way their voices fit together seems like some sort of supernatural spell born out of flames. They pulled out the stops on their debut,  throwing everything from guitars and strings to theramin, fiddle, and piano — as well as guest appearances from Mr Sam and the People People and the Deslondes — into the pot as accompaniments for their angelic voices. Those voices are the undisputed stars, calling to mind forbears like the Everly Brothers or modern day disciples such as Lucius, and it leads to an excellent listen.

The final debut is probably my favorite of the four albums here — no small feat as you can tell from what I’ve already written. It belongs to the self-described recluse from Livingston, Montana, Abby Webster, whose recently found confidence led her to release this wonderful batch of songs after years of holding back. As I wrote before its mix of country and folk (as well as more introspective ballads) shines, but what sets it apart is the acid sense of humor Webster subtly slips in to some of the songs. She takes chunks out of both herself and her misbehaving mister several times, crafting vivid mental images on everything from the simple pleasures of nature to relationships in varying degrees of solidity. The humor, the melodies, and the imagery made this a home run of a debut, one I hope she follows up with more soon.

6. Red Clay Strays — Made by These Moments; Charley Crockett — $10 Cowboy; Visions of Dallas; Josiah & the Bonnevilles — Country Covers II;  Yes Ma’am — How Many People How Many Dogs: this half of the slot’s for a quartet of cowboys, each worth a whole lot more than a mere ten dollars. Half of them I’ve written about before, so as we’ve done elsewhere we’ll offer only a recap of those, opting to spend our time focusing more on the pair who haven’t gotten their due here til now.  We’ll start with the more raucous and recent of the two, the Mobile quintet Red Clay Strays. Their sophomore album was a high energy star of the summer, marrying frontman Brandon Coleman’s gruff voice and lyrical focus (on God, gittin’ down, and other country stalwarts, both of which remind me of Chris Stapleton) with the ripsh#$ riot that is his backing band, who call to mind Lynyrd Skynyrd when they let loose. The band does a nice job balancing the Stapletonesque slow songs where Coleman’s soulful swoon can shine with the best of the aforementioned legends’ triple guitar attack, letting loose a fury as potent as the titular twisters they helped soundtrack.

They’re balanced by the more stately showman from the Big D, Mr Charley Crockett, who continued his relentless release schedule with a pair of albums, his thirteenth and fourteenth in nine mere years. The first of the two was another fantastic blend of country, blues, and soul songs, all sung with his customary Cash-style baritone and swagger. His second was a split between original songs and covers, giving his spin to songs from legends like Townes Van Zandt and Bob Dylan to lesser known artists like Hoyt Axton and Bobby Pierce. There’s loads to latch onto between the two, making it only fitting he’s finally starting to see some more mainstream recognition as a result — Cowboy earned Crockett his first Grammy nomination and he also took home the coveted Sunshine Captivation Award for being my most listened to artist, per my Wrapped recap on the Spots. (Ending the two year streak of GBV) Crockett’s as consistent as they come, live or at home, so do yourself a favor and check him out in both.

Mirroring both Crockett’s prolific nature and his approach on the last of the two albums, Tennessee’s Josiah Leming follows up last year’s excellent Endurance (which landed at #5 on my list) with another batch of remakes, giving us his second album of country reinterpretations in as many years. This time around he decided to bring a few friends, splitting the album between solo efforts and communal affairs, which broadens the appeal even further. As he showed the last time, Leming has an impressive knack for reinventing the originals, making them sound almost unrecognizable and (more importantly and impressively) unthinkable inhabiting anything but their new western wear. Last time he pulled that trick on everyone from Justin Bieber and Taylor Swift to Bon Iver and Creed. (That’s right, that Creed.) This time he again tackles massive pop stars like Chappell Roan and Billie Eilish, as well as relative unknowns like Braden Bales. He also hits seasoned indie darlings like Wilco and David Gray, as well as older artists like Patty Loveless and Harry Nilsson. Despite the wide-ranging source material, he again does justice to each of them, inviting his listeners to explore the originals and understand his inspiration.

One of those reasons is his time on tour and a number of songs serve as mementos from the road and his rather remarkable year.  He did shows with everyone from Wilderado (who join him on the aforementioned Nilsson song) and Trampled by Turtles (who join him on an excellent rendition of John Denver’s “Rocky Mountain High,” which they rightly performed when they were together at Red Rocks) to the much loved Gregory Alan Isakov this year. (He covers his “Stable Song” to close the album.) It’s been great to see someone so genuinely grateful and earnest succeed in such a fickle, often unfriendly world and his star only continues to rise. I’m a huge fan of this guy — just pop this one on and hit the road.

We’ll close with one of the year’s quieter surprises — not in terms of content, which is as subtle as a hand grenade in a telephone booth (more on that in a moment), but rather its discovery.  I blindly stumbled on this one as I was running through my rolling lists for one of the year’s Bandcamp Fridays, checking out my favorite artists’ pages to see if any rare material had come available that I could snap up and support them by buying. Turns out these guys had posted their fifth full length late this summer with little to no fanfare (their last landed at #8 on my year end list in 2021), so I giddily snatched it up and haven’t stopped listening to it since.

It picks up right where that one left off, offering ten more pitch perfect slices of Bayou bliss to revel in.  (They are the last of our N’awlin’s-based bands, and quite possibly my favorite…) Per usual, frontman Matthew Bracken comes in hot, bursting through the front door two hours after your holiday party began and then proceeds to kiss your wife, chug from the punch bowl, and grab his guitar to whip up a frenzy in the living room with a barrage of high energy gems that show you NOW the party has started. Despite any of those theoretical affronts I challenge anyone to be offended (or resist). Bracken’s rapscallion brand of winking jokiness is still intact — “Listen here baby, gonna make me sick — won’t ya come on over and sit on my…..couch” from the opening “Bad Dog Blues,” or “Jumped on an alligator —  thought it was your mom…I rode that gator to the promised land” on the irresistible “G Burns.” As is his infectious sense of instrumentation, which throws his native town’s mixture of fiddle, banjo, and upright bass into the gumbo in heaping handfuls.

Similar to his last album he closes with a cooldown, this time in the form of the stately lament “Paradise Lullabye.” It sets aside the bacchanalia for a moment of real introspection, singing with a sincerity that slices through its jovial surroundings and hits you in the chest. (“Work in a small town I don’t like, work 40 years just to die…the way that I’m goin I ain’t got nothin but hell on my side.”) When he howls after each refrain you can feel his heart aching, providing another poignant close to what otherwise is easily the most reliable good time of the year. Instant party starter…

5. Wilderado — Talker: heading into the top five we separate ourselves from the pack a bit with a batch of albums I spent a disproportionate amount of time with — not that any of the aforementioned were flashes in the pan, just that I could draw these ones from memory while I might need a prompt or two for some of the others.  First up is the Tulsa trio Wilderado, back with their sophomore album two years removed from their excellent self-titled debut, which landed at #7 on my 2022 list. Every bit the earworm as that debut, this one had a number of teaser singles released throughout the year (at least four before the official album drop this fall), which got me to keep coming back to its songs about smoke and the open road repeatedly.  Frontman Max Rainer sings of driving down the westbound looking for someone to waste his time on in “Simple.” Of floating down the freeway on the  closing “What Was I Waiting For?” or finding a love (and hotel) on the carousel of love in “Bad Luck.”  “Smoke my way to a better man” on the opening “Talker” and combating loneliness by getting higher than most on song of same name. There’s an easygoing effortlessness in evidence as you find yourself singing (or humming) along and I spent months with this one’s winning tunes.

Per usual they throw in some quality love songs, such as “In Between” (which originally was a duet with the National’s Matt Berninger) where Rainer contemplates how long his partner will stay with him or the slightly melancholic “Longstanding Misunderstanding” with its admission “Can’t remember what I was demanding, all I know is I want you home.” The band will often borrow at least one of those first two elements (the driving or the smoking) to match up with the loving, such as on “Waiting on You” (“I’m driving all night cause it’s what I said I’d do, I wanna make it to my city and lie down next to you”) or the literal (and figurative) high point, “Sometimes,” which sings about hiding his high (but not his heart) from his significant other. (“Just between you and me there’s no place I’d rather be than back at home…what I know is when the wind starts to blow, I’m gonna love you so…) They throw a few musical wrinkles into the mix, from the Kings-sounding “Tomorrow” to the Pixies-like squall of “After All,” but for the most part this is a straightforward, solid follow up to their debut.  Hopefully lots more like this in their future.

4. Jesus Lizard — Rack; Jack White — No Name: this slot’s for probably the biggest surprises of the year and a pair of returning favorites, neither of which I expected to see on here again. Both were years beyond when they last put out anything of note (one at all, the other of anything resembling his old quality), but they both returned with a vengeance this year with music that was as vital and irresistible as in their prime. The first is from our final batch of Chicagoans and the return of the beloved Lizard, back with their first new album in nearly two and a half decades (?!?). After that much time away, despite the occasional (and excellent) reunion show, there was little reason to believe these guys were ever going to put out new music again. So when I heard the first single and how good it was, my biggest fear was that it was a fluke and the rest of album wouldn’t live up to that example. Thankfully the guys repeatedly dissuade you of such foolish notions, offering 11 songs that show them at their ferocious former best. 

From the playful pugilism of the opening “Hide and Seek” (the aforementioned single), which pops its head up like a kid in the titular game to punch you in the face before ducking out of view again, the guys let you know from the outset they’re not here to mess around. Frontman David Yow is in top form, bellowing and barking like a rabid dog throughout. He howls “the pain is returning” on the smoldering “Armistice Day,” gleefully wails “we saw this coming” on its successor “Grind,” and screams “I’M FORECASTING STUPID” on “Is That Your Hand?” (Making each of them appropriate theme songs for the coming year…) He builds the tension as the quietly menacing psychopath on “What If” before wielding the queasy anxiety of Alexis, which sports some of his most unhinged deliveries as he moans like the titular persona wrapped around the toilet in agony on the bathroom floor. He follows this quickly with the amped up anarchy of “Falling Down,” which has him frothing at the top of his lungs alongside another buzzsaw riff from guitarist Duane Denison and a ferocious rhythm from drummer Mac McNeilly and bassist David William Sims.

Despite each of the members being in their 60s the guys deliver with more energy and precision than a band a third their age. Tracks like the chugging locomotive of “Lady Godiva” or later tracks like “Moto(r)” and “Dunning Kruger” (with its ripshit solo from Denison) show they haven’t lost a step.  They seem to be having fun here, as on the snarling closer “Swan the Dog,” which sports a demented REM-style mandolin (if you funneled it through a fu#$ed up funhouse first) and lyrics about Yow busting a nut and going on a killing spree (and opening a bakery?)  This sense holds up in person, too, as I caught them during a blistering homecoming show that again found Yow surfing in the crowd from the opening song before they blasted through nearly two dozen songs over the two hour show.  Let’s hope this has lit a spark in them that they’ll continue to mine, cuz they seem to have plenty of napalm left in the plane.

Sharing this slot with them is the prodigal son Jack White, an artist I used to think was unassailable based on his work with the mighty Stripes (whose final album IckyThump showed up waaaaaaaaaaay back on the inaugural list/post at the old site in 2008!) Since that time, though, he’s almost intentionally driven his old audience away through a series of erratic solo albums and prickly press sessions (not to mention underwhelming live performances, even when he plays the old tunes). So it was almost unbelievable when I put on his sixth solo album, almost out of a sense of duty to see if any of the old magic was there, and I was immediately and unequivocally floored.

From the opening strains of “Old Scratch Blues” you can almost feel the difference — the slightly ominous little solo, which slowly pulls you into the crunching buzzsaw of White’s riff fifteen seconds later, followed by him barking at the listener “Jackie said she warned you, so tell me how you’re gonna be” as if he’s testing you to see if you’re ready for (and/or worthy of) what’s about to transpire. By the time he shouts “this machine is out of order, it stole my quarter, now there’s nothing left to take from me!” and the beat thunders in a second later your doubts are pulverized and you’re salivating for more.  White doesn’t let up for the subsequent twelve songs, offering us non-believers a bounty of bangers to revel and rejoice in.

When he gives his old squeal towards the end of the second song and starts howling “ARE YOU FEELING BLESSED?!” you not only hear a conviction and fire that’s been absent for years, but a feeling he’s having fun again — and he’s definitely not alone. (That maniacal squeal shows up several more times throughout the album, as do those pinch me moments of “I can’t believe how fu#$ing good this is!”) White rattles off a series of monsters, each more delectable (and undeniable) than the last, spitting his slogans with a venom that reflects our reality — “the world is worse than when we found it” on the slippery stomp of “It’s Rough On Rats (If You’re Asking)”  “I’m here to tear all the walls down…to tear down the institution…You need to see me right away so I can fix this” on the thundering “Archbishop Harold Holmes.” “Therе’s nothing left to sacrifice, time is tight” on the blistering speed punk of “Bombing Out.” The world is burning and the end may be near, but he’s not going down without a fight.

White has always had an element of Zeppelin to his work, both in sound and impact (soooooo, so heavy…), but this time he lets any attempts at artifice go and openly channels the band, offering up riffs so thick and juicy Jimmy Page would flick his plectrum in pride. (Listen to “Morning at Midnight” and tell me you don’t echoes of the Led-gends…) I’m not sure what brought him to this point — a dare? An eff you to the fans? (“If those idiots want rock, I’ll give them rock…”) An honest admission of missing the past and wanting to recapture the magic?– but I couldn’t care less.  All I need are songs like the rawking righteousness that is “Tonight (Was a Long Time Ago)” to forget my troubles and bliss out for a bit. (I DARE you to not respond to that beat and start pumping your fist/doing Diamond Dave karate kicks when it’s on…) I can’t imagine he’s going to repeat himself after this, but that’s ok — this should keep us satiated for at least the next five years.  Instant classic.

 

3. IDLES — Tangk: keeping with the mood (and sheer power) of the pair from the previous slot comes the return of the British punks IDLES, back with their fifth studio album. It’s been three years since their last one, the pummeling Crawler, which landed at #3 on my 2021 list, and they offer up another killer mix of ripsh#$ ragers and cooler, moodier fare. Things get off to a fiery start with the rambunctious “Gift Horse,” whose combustible chorus has frontman Joe Talbot howling “WHOOOOOOOOO! Look at it GOOOOOOOOOOoooooooo!” with joyful abandon. (And you likely doing so by his side.)  Somewhat surprisingly it’s one of the rarer moments of unbridled energy as the album finds them expanding on the slower, more muted songs they began playing with on the predecessor.

There’s the eerie trip hop of “Pop Pop Pop” (which got a pretty cool remix recently with a guest verse from the Motor City madman Danny Brown) and the smoldering, swampy “Roy.” The skittering “Grace” and the throbbing murk of “Monolith” with its small sax outro. The barren (and beautiful) ballad “A Gospel,” which sports piano and Talbot delicately crooning. The album is supposed to be a series of love songs (it’s the ‘fing, as Talbot tells us several times), so maybe that explains the slightly softer sound, but don’t expect gushy tunes to coo to your lover (unless you have a far more interesting relationship than I). Even in the aforementioned tracks the band takes the theme and filters it through their gritty lens. Some of the sentiments are straightforward (“she’s a freight train man watch her swing” as on “Pop”), others more abnormal (“It feels like Hall & Oates is playing in my ear
every time my man’s near” on the song named after that duo), but per usual you don’t come for lyrical platitudes or depth.

This is a band that’s built on feel and how songs like the aforementioned “Gift Horse” and “Oates” or back half bangers like “Jungle” and “Gratitude” (or even the LCD teamup “Dancer,” which I hated at first, but have since come around on) make you respond. These guys specialize in primal, primitive responses and sometimes (as in our current climate of neverending indignities) that’s all you really need. That effect is even more pronounced in person, as I got to see them live again this year, turning the theater into a whirlpool of flailing fists and pogoing heads. This one was a reliable companion throughout the year, always there to amp me up and let off some steam when work and the outside world were proving to be too much.  I’ve got a sneaking suspicion there’s more in store the coming four…

2. Waxahatchee — Tigers Blood: finishing a very close second comes the second album in a row from Ms Katie, aka Waxahatchee, in the guise of a country chanteuse. (Third if you count the album she did with Jess Williamson as Plains, which landed at #8 on my 2022 list.) As fans of her know, she started her career off more on the indie side of things, giving us three excellent albums full of naked vulnerability, lo-fi heartache, and quiet honesty, but after 2017’s fiery Out in the Storm she shifted to this new sound, one born out of the music of her youth and her upbringing in Alabama. It’s worked marvelously, exuding a comfortable confidence that continues to envelop the listener like a warm, weighted blanket, and she shows no signs of slowing down here with another dozen near-flawless tracks.

It’s been four years since her last outing, the excellent Saint Cloud (which landed at #8 on my 2020 list), and she seems to have perfected that one’s formula in the time away. Sonically it’s like no time has elapsed, as if they kept recording in that session and only belatedly released the rest of the songs, though she has added at least one new element to the mix this time, that being critics darling MJ Lenderman who lends his voice to at least four tracks on the album. He’s the secret weapon this time around, somehow providing even more sparkle and shine to a crown already studded with jewels. His voice blends perfectly with Ms Katie’s, adding a nice contrast to her pristine alto and a richness to the overall feel. (The best of the four being the slice of perfection that is “Right Back To It,” a flawless love song and instant classic that represents this album’s “Lilacs” or “Can’t Do Much.”)

Lyrically she remains on point, singing with an openness and precision that’s rare these days. “I make a living crying it ain’t fair and not budging… I don’t see why you would lie, it was never the love you wanted” on the opening “3 Sisters.” “What you thought was enough now seems insane” on “Evil Spawn” and “You play the villain like a violin” on the muted “Crimes of the Heart.”  “You’ve been proving yourself wrong with or without me here. You don’t look around, you don’t check the score, you cause all that trouble then you beg for more…” on “The Wolves.” And while she may be unsparing to old flames and friends, she always saves her sharpest thoughts for herself. “I’m an outlaw in the court of strong opinions… my failure’s legendary, babe. I get caught up in my thoughts for lack of a better cause. My life’s been mapped out to a T, but I’m always a little lost” in the stately, shimmering “Lone Star Lake.” “I left your heart of glass in my unmade bed… if I’m not back soon don’t come looking for me” on “Crowbar.”  “I get home from working hard, honey. State the obvious and watch it work its way in” on “Burns Out at Midnight.” 

Sometimes she’s funny (“you drive like you’re wanted in four states”), sometimes she’s sweet (“365,” “Right Back To It”), sometimes she’s just poetic. (“I take a sip of something I can barely taste, dull as dusk”) As on its predecessor there’s a feeling of comfortable, joyful warmth throughout, like those quiet moments around loved ones at the holidays when you look around the room and silently smile with gratitude.  She closes on a high note (maybe the highest) and the masterful title track, which is another duet with Lenderman, one that almost manages to surpass the aforementioned perfection of “Right Back.” This one has more bitter notes, but it’s the sharpness of the imagery and their spine-tingling presentation that makes it a perfect punctuation point on another near flawless album. When the army comes in on the final chorus, quietly singing “it might bring me something, it might weigh me down,” you can’t help but join in the uncertainty and sing along.

1. Palace — Ultrasound: every year since I’ve been doing this there’s a clear and away favorite, an album I keep returning to no matter how many times I’ve been there before (or how long I’ve been away), and one I know almost instantly upon finding that it’s going to end up sitting atop this list come year’s end. This year may have been closer than most (Ms Katie’s was that good and frequently visited), but this one gets the edge because it was wrapped in a broader sense of discovery that excited and sent me rabbit holing for good chunks of the year.

I stumbled on these guys courtesy of my ‘Gram-merly rituals, crowning them #FridayFreshness champs way back in October of last year.  That was after they’d released the second EP of songs that would form the spine of this eventual album, representing over half its eventual tally.  I’d never heard of them before, but immediately fell for their dreamy, lush mix of Boxer Rebellion, Coldplay, and the like, and spent the next few months listening to everything they’d put out. I quickly became a fan, so by the time the rest of the album was released earlier this year I attacked it ravenously and have continued to do so over the intervening months. (It was my most listened to album on the ‘Spots and held three of my top five songs.)

It’s the band’s fourth overall (though they’ve got a handful of equally excellent EPs under their belts as well) and was a much needed oasis of calm, cool, and beauty in an otherwise tumultuous, bruising year.  They set the tone with the opening “When Everything Was Lost,” which belies the swooning beauty of the sound with lyrics like “I dreamt it was different…and now everything is fucked.” (Making it the unofficial theme song of 2024.) Subsequent gems like “Son,” “Rabid Dog,” and the closing “Goodnight, Farewell” continue the spell, lavishing you with their lovely, luxurious shine. The album was written in the aftermath of frontman Leo Wyndham’s loss of his child in a late stage miscarriage, so that sense of grief and despondency — already perfectly suited to the moment we’re living through in this country — hits even harder once you know the backstory. (Try listening to the latter song with its closing refrain of “I’ll never forget who you were” over and over again without being moved now…)

In spite of that terrible experience there are moments of brightness and positivity scattered throughout. There’s the joyous energy of “Bleach,” which highlights domestic pleasures like dying your hair and substance-fueled dance parties with your loved one. There’s the simple bliss of being in that person’s presence and hoping you make them proud on the song of the same name. (“Your head on my chest is sweeter than I’ve ever known — the night’s still young, just stay forever.”) There’s the quiet resilience of “How Far We’ve Come” with its affirmations to ride out the rockiness. (“I’ll hold my head up, straight spine, and pray we’ll be just fine.”) It’s a really good album, full of really pretty tunes, and one I thoroughly enjoyed (and continue to) throughout the year. Don’t sleep on these guys…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enjoy, my friends…
–BS


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Ye: The Heartbreaking Work of a Staggering Jeen-Yuhs

I’m slowly coming out of my annual end of year hibernation (mandated by state law in 37 of the 50 United States to give folks a chance to recover from my endless babbling during the traditional “best of” list) and had a chance to watch the new documentary on Kanye, jeen-yuhs. The three-part doc is streaming on Netflix and it focuses primarily on a yet to explode Kanye as captured by filmmaker/friend Coodie who was given basically unfettered access to film anything and everything going on at the time.

To situate you in the chronology of Ye, at this point Kanye had established himself as a coveted producer of beats (it picks up right after he’s done “H to the Izzo” for Jay-Z), but the film shows a restless, relentless Ye dissatisfied with the newfound success as he struggles to record his debut album as a rapper (NOT a rapper/producer, a label we see him bristle at when someone tries to pay him a compliment (“that’s like calling someone the ‘best kid rapper.'”)) This struggle encompasses the majority of the first two parts and shows a number of exhilarating moments in the process — seeing Mos Def literally jawdropped after trading verses with Kanye backstage (planting the seeds of what would become “Two Words.”)  Seeing Pharrell leave the room, mind blown after hearing “Through the Wire” for the first time (and then coming back to give some incredibly encouraging/heartfelt feedback.) Seeing his mom pause and grin, tongue in teeth, after she’s name checked in “Hey Mama” (having just rapped the song line for line with Kanye prior to that point.)

It smashes some serious nostalgia nerves as you remember not only how good his music used to be — how many “oh SH$%” moments his music used to generate on a regular basis, often several times in a single song let alone the entire album —  but also what it was like to hear these things for the first time.  Before he got enormous, before everything he did was (or tried to be) a Historic Event. It was just about the songs and being heard.  Saying something profound or memorable because he was being sincere, not because he was trying to.  (The latest Kanye kerfuffle over killing a Claymation Pete Davidson in his video being just the latest evidence of Kanye thinking he is the smartest and/or funniest person in the room at all times and what happens when one/both of those are no longer true.)

And it’s because we’re seeing this Kanye that the film resonates emotionally. You feel his frustration (and maybe a little judging scorn) when the too cool/indifferent New Yorkers around him cannot be troubled to listen to his music. (Chicago doesn’t have rap – New York has rap. Why don’t you go back to the cornfield, little boy?) The scenes of him literally going door to door at Roc a Fella records, coopting the inhabitant’s stereo to put on his demos and rap at them, are both wrenching and inspiring as they are completely unimpressed — time after time after time.  You feel the momentary embarrassment when Scarface calls him out for putting his retainers on the studio desk (he’s constantly taking them out to rap at people — usually unsolicited — which becomes something of a running joke early on) before the chest-thumping joy at leaving him almost speechless after listening to the first verse of “Family Business.” (Seeing him shaking his head, quietly muttering “Incredible…” is one of the high points of the film for me.)

And you feel a fraction of the pain he must have felt after losing his mother so suddenly.  His mom was one of the biggest surprises here, not having seen much of her previously — but to see the pair’s incredibly close relationship, to see her immense pride and how visibly happy it made him every time they were together, to see how her words and advice cut through in a way that not many others’ seemed to.  She seemed like a remarkable woman and it makes you wonder how much of the unraveling in recent years was due to her premature passing. (Her reaction to hearing Kanye bought an expensive piece of new jewelry instead of a house was hilarious — initial motherly disappointment over a wasteful/unnecessary purchase, until she sees it in person and then LOOOOOOVES it.) Almost every scene she’s in is warmed by her presence and it’s after her death that you start to see things coming apart.

This part of the Ye timeline is handled by the third piece of the documentary and it’s almost unwatchable by the end.  There’s the Taylor Swift incident, the nonsense with Trump, the presidential run, the dive into religious proselytizing, the insatiable egomania and increasingly incoherent diatribes. Compressed into the final 90 min you forget just how many eye-rolling, concerning episodes there have been over the years and how numbed to them we’ve become.  Two scenes stand out from this span — one a slightly joking encounter where Rhymefest calls Kanye out for referring to himself as a genius (“that’s for somebody else to call you — who are you to call yourself a genius?!” he asks when Kanye is offended someone didn’t call him one). Kanye sort of laughs the exchange off, but you can tell this is when the ego is starting to run more unchecked than previously in the film and it causes some concern. (Like seeing a truck picking up speed downhill and swerving towards a playground.)

The other is when Kanye’s giving one of his non-sensical rants to a room full of silent “listeners” (one of whom is Justin Bieber who stares straight ahead at the TV like a puppy will be shot if he gives any indication he’s listening/agreeing to what’s filling his ears) — Coodie turns off the camera, cutting Kanye off in mid-sentence. It’s a jarring moment — sort of like the final episode of the Sopranos where you’re like “wait did my TV just die?” — and it happens at least one more time before the final credits. It’s an incredibly powerful indication of how far off the rails things have become (do you know how bad it is for your own cameraman — a guy shooting a movie about you — to say “mmmmm we’ve got enough. Don’t need any more footage of you right now…”?!) but I found myself fighting the urge to do the same by the end. It’s just too overwhelming — you (like Coodie) can tell this person needs help and is seemingly unable (or unwilling) to do so, so there’s no joy or merit in watching them continue to spiral out.

It ends on that note, having caught us up to the tumultuous present, and it leaves you without any easy answers. There are zero indications things are getting better in Camp Kanye — musically, personally, etc — and so the frustration and empathy the film evokes are unlikely to diminish anytime soon. (One can only fathom what the next head shaking episode is going to be anymore…) And yet at least part of the film’s intended goal was achieved — to remind us of the Vision and Purpose (the first two episodes’ titles) that captivated us and made him a global phenomenon. If he has yet to experience the final chapter’s Awakening (not to Christianity as you suspect he’d argue, but to how his behavior harms both himself and those around him) you hope it finds him soon.


We’ll close with some light cleanup (so I can close some of the umpty gump tabs I’ve got open on my iPad) and some songs that’ve been piling up during hibernation.  First comes one of the songs that Courtney Barnett did for the Apple TV+ show Harriet the Spy, “Smile Real Nice.” It’s an upbeat return akin to her earlier material (plenty of guitar available here!) and is a good listen:

Another femme fave doing music for an Apple TV+ show is Waxahatchee, who contributed songs for its El Deafo, which is based on the best-selling kid’s book. It’s a bit of a poppier turn for Ms Katie (not like the country-tinged elegance from her last one) but it works well — check out “Tomorrow” here:

Up third is another contribution to the Hollywood machine, this time by the National who did songs for the recent Cyrano movie starring Peter Dinklage. It’s a simple, lush piano ballad a la the band’s Boxer era, which is something even superfan Oddge can’t quibble with. Check out “Somebody Desperate” here:

Speaking of piano, the lead single from Regina Spektor’s upcoming album Home, before and after (due out in June) is a lovely little track. Similar to the National it calls to mind earlier, simpler efforts (back when her big booming heart was firmly planted front and center). Hopefully there’s more like it on the album when it arrives — check out “Becoming All Alone” in the meantime:

Next comes the latest single from Christian Lee Hutson’s upcoming album Quitters, which was produced by friends Conor Oberst and Phoebe Bridgers (due out 1 April).  It’s a bright sounding song, simple drum machine percussion and Hutson’s warm, somewhat throaty voice, but it sports some poignant lyrics that really drive it home. (“If you tell a lie for long enough then it becomes the truth. I am gonna be OK someday — with or without you…”) Give “Rubberneckers” a listen here:

Up next is the latest from Radiohead side project The Smile (starring frontman Thom Yorke and guitarist Jonny Greenwood along with Sons of Kemet drummer Tom Skinner). The band famously performed as a surprise during last year’s Glastonbury streaming event, but hadn’t surfaced until recently with their first single “You Will Never Work in Television Again.” It’s still unclear if there will be a full album or not, but in the meantime we can at least enjoy these — check out “The Smoke” here:

And we’ll fittingly close the same way we started — with a tune from here at home and the latest from the Cool Kids.  These guys remain somewhat hit or miss for me (their debut The Bake Sale remains a fantastic old school throwback though), but they’re back with a TRIPLE album — two solo albums and one as a pair — and hopefully lead single “It’s Yours Pt. 2” is an indication of what else to expect. Besides name checking the Wu classic it finds Chuck and Mike back in a laidback flow with a solid beat to boot this time around. It works well — see what you think here:

That’s it for now — until next time, amici…
–BS