It being the country’s big day today — a country of which at least half is in an ever-escalating sense of panic and unease over the agonizingly bad performance the other night in the presidential debate and what it means for us moving forward — it felt right to pop in and set off some fireworks with a few recommendations for some recent releases. And since today is all about celebrating our decision all those years ago to not live under a monarchy (which makes the court’s decision this week to establish imperial protections all the more galling) and do so with familiar faces, we’ve got four of them who’ve shown up repeatedly here over the years.
We’ll start with the oldest of the bunch and the ninth album from New Orleans’ Alynda Segarra, better known as Hurray for the Riff Raff. Released back in February, The Past is Still Alive has been on relatively steady rotation since that point, serving as a solid return after 2022’s somewhat disjointed and disappointing Life on Earth. (Segarra’s previous one, 2017’s The Navigator landed at #8 on my year-end list.) This one was recorded in the wake of Segarra’s father’s passing and as such seems to have found her probing her past to process the grief, returning to the introspective, spare folk style and confessional lyrics that characterized her excellent early albums. Rather than try to deal with it all on her own Segarra invited some noteworthy musicians to help her out, such as Hand Habit’s Meg Duffy and Bright Eyes’ Conor Oberst (the latter of whose stately duet with Segarra on “The World is Dangerous” is one of the album’s many highlights.)
There’s images of being poor and eating from the garbage on “Hourglass” (or shoplifting to eat as on “Snakeplant (The Past is Still Alive).”) There’s descriptions of her struggles in early adulthood, characterizing herself as “a war correspondent, a wandering loser” on “Dangerous” and “becoming the kind of girl that they warned me about” on “Hawkmoon.” (While singing from the “bomb shelter of her feather bed” as on “Colossus of Roads.”) There’s also the resilience that’s characterized Segarra’s best work — declarations that “nothing will stop me now” (“Snakeplant”), “I won’t stop dreaming” (“Dangerous”), and “this year tried to kill us, baby, well good luck trying, you can’t catch me.” (“Buffalo”) It all leads to a very personal album, one that feels as heartfelt and sincere as you’d expect for someone dealing with the departure of someone so close. The album closes with audio clips of her father’s encouraging voice messages, which is a poignant punctuation mark to a really good album. Check out one of my faves (the aforementioned “Buffalo”) here:
We’ll stay with our chronological approach to things and visit the latest release from New York’s Vampire Weekend next, Only God Was Above Us. It’s their first in four years and their fifth overall (the HAIM-heavy Father of the Bride landed at #8 on my 2019 list in spite of that dreaded collaboration) and similar to Segarra seems to have found the band in a more introspective mood than usual. Where the last album — described by frontman Ezra Koenig as a solo project (one that still used the band’s moniker despite neither drummer Chris Tomson nor bassist Chris Baio appearing on it) — found him confronting elements of marriage and becoming a father, this one finds him far less sunny and optimistic, rattling off lyrics that can best be described as bleak if not outright defeated.
The album opens with the line “‘F#$k the world,’ you said it quiet” on the deceptively giddy “Ice Cream Piano,” so you know you’re in store for something a little different this time around. Koenig sings of fatigue, futility, and a growing “f#$k it” attitude in light of what’s facing him — “I know you’re tired of trying…too old for dying young, too young to live alone, sifting through the centuries for moments of your own” on “Capricorn;” “I was tired, but waking up, I was dying to try my luck…you could lose some teeth that way” on “Prep School Gangsters;” “cynical, you can’t deny it…you don’t want to win this war cuz you don’t want the peace” on the aforementioned “Ice Cream.” Koenig and the band disguise these depressions under a blanket of sunny-sounding instruments and amping them up on speed — there’s delirious piano on “Ice Cream” and “Connect,” there’s frenzied violin and guitar on “Prep School” and “Gen-X Cops.” There’s even echoes of the past, whether it’s of the band itself (the drums from their classic “Mansard Roof” being recycled in “Connect”) or their pop predecessors (the riff from 90s one hit wonders Primitive Radio Gods on “Mary Boone”). It all swirls together to create a rather compelling listen, despite the darkness of the lyrics.
Even as Koenig lists a litany of disappointing realities on the closing “Hope” — “the phoenix burned but did not rise, now half the body’s paralyzed, there’s no one left to criticize…the sentencing was overturned, the killer freed, the court adjourned, a hope betrayed, a lesson learned…” — he balances that with the encouraging entreaty, “I hope you let it go.” It’s a surprisingly honest and embraceable set of songs (something that has always plagued a band as overtly esoteric and elitist as one that names songs after punctuation marks, boarding school holiday locales, and the aforementioned architectural features), one that isn’t afraid to openly confront some familiar and sincere emotions. It’s a winning shift, one I hope they keep up in the years to come rather than revert to their distancing defense mechanisms of old. Check out one of my faves, the aforementioned “Mary Boone,” here:
Up next we’ve got the return of Nashville’s Kings of Leon, back with their ninth album, Can We Please Have Fun. It’s a fitting title for a band who’s long been accused by their critics of having sapped all the joy and enthusiasm out of what they do (as on their exceptional first two albums Youth and Young Manhood and Aha Shake Heartbreak), leaving us instead with an increasing number of instances where the band seems to be living up their own backsides and admiring their flatulence. And while there’s some merit to these critiques (those first two albums remain my far and away favorites from their catalog) I’ve mostly enjoyed their evolution over the years, admittedly rocky as it’s been at times. Their last one, 2021’s When You See Yourself, landed at #5 on that year’s list and its moodier, more ethereal vibe was a nice extension (and perfection) of sounds they experimented with on its glossy predecessor WALLS. (Easily the weakest of their outings, in retrospect, though one I still enjoy several tracks from — it landed at #13 on 2016’s list, their lowest showing to date.)
This one by contrast finds them really trying to capture the feeling from the album’s title and bring a little heat back to the proceedings. For the second outing in a row bassist Jared Followill holds the key, having largely been a secret weapon up until this point. Whether it’s with simple riffs dancing in the background as on “Nowhere to Run” or the swimmy “Split Screen,” or more prominent, earwormy runs as on “Actual Daydream,” his riffs are the ones that get stuck in your head and humming them later. The rest of the band do a solid job keeping up with his pace, adding Walkmen-style guitars to “Hesitation Gen,” a surf rock feel to the aforementioned “Daydream,” or some Aha era energy to the fiery “Nothing to Do.”
Frontman Caleb Followill’s lyrics again cause eyerolls at times, whether it’s talking about eating dinner from a can as on the opening “Ballerina Radio,” getting pumped reading muscle mags on the can or posing the nonsensical juxtaposition of a mustang and kitty on lead single “Mustang” (which we can now add to the annals of odd animal showdowns alongside eagles vs sharks (a closet fave) and tunas vs lions.) Similar to the last time, though, these ultimately are minor aberrations, carried along by the strength of the music and melodies surrounding them. (Even though the thought of any of these guys eating canned ravioli — with their supermodel wives, private planes, and big houses — is more preposterous than those fictional animal battles.) Current fave is the bouncy “Don’t Stop the Bleeding,” which has another solid little bass line and some strong vocals from Caleb. Give it a listen here:
Last but not least comes the most recent release of the four, the sixth album from Kentucky’s Cage the Elephant. It’s their first in almost as many years (their last, Social Cues, landed at #14 on my list in 2019) and it’s been an eventful span for the band. In that time they won a Grammy for the aforementioned album (their second), frontman Matt Shultz’s (and guitarist brother Brad’s) father passed away, and Matt was arrested for possession of a pair of loaded firearms at a Manhattan hotel, narrowly avoiding jail time by pleading guilty and agreeing to check into a months-long rehab program (he reportedly appeared drunk at the time of the arrest). As part of his this process Shultz and his doctors apparently determined he’d been having an adverse reaction to a prescription medication the last three years, which caused “an utter mental health crisis” and outright “psychosis” in the singer, potentially leading to impaired decision-making such as that which led to his arrest. (Shultz now credits that arrest with saving his life.)
Unsurprisingly these events are evident throughout their latest, giving us a dozen songs whose lyrics are littered with allusions to the confusion and chaos Shultz appears to have felt. Sonically it continues the synthetic, 80s-inflected vibe of their last one — bright melodies, glossy production, and shiny little hooks — but the lyrics belie a darker side, one riddled with disorientation and regret. For the former there’s the opening “HiFi (True Light)”, which has Shultz going “up, down, turn around,” while the subsequent “Rainbow” has him floating like the titular entity “up when I get down, right round.” Lead single “Neon Pill” has him “knocked down (not out).” (This track is probably the most explicit regarding his pharmacological problems, finding him “double crossed” by said substance.) “Float Into the Sky” finds him “laying down….at the bottom of the pile…floating into the sky.”
Meanwhile back half tracks like “Metaverse” and “Out Loud” start to dive into the alluded to sense of regret. The former has Shultz “all checked out” while the latter has him admitting “man I really messed up now, too afraid to say it out loud — who am I tryin’ to be?” (“on a cocaine buzz and caffeine high,” no less…) There’s references to “golden handcuffs” and a “ball and chain” on the song of the same name; acknowledgments of his “human condition” on “Shy Eyes;” “trying to put the pieces together” and “wanting the world to disappear” (while his partner lies on the bathroom floor unable to breathe) in the Strokes-y “Silent Picture;” nakedly confessing “I don’t want to play those games — will we ever be the same?” on “Same;” and describing “walking the plank just like [his] mother” on the closing “Over Your Shoulder.” It’s a surprisingly honest and mature take on things for a band normally known for its hedonistic, “heaven can wait” attitude. Current fave is the stutter stepping “Good Time,” which hearkens back to that bacchanalian band of yore (and its imperatives to “get lit”) — give it a spin here:
We’ll close with a quartet of lists to keep you busy over the long weekend. As with most lists they either intentionally or accidentally spark some strong reactions — whether by their inclusions, omissions, and/or rankings — and these have some doozies in them, so hopefully they’ll help fuel some hearty debates amongst you and yours. We’ll start slowly with the one that will probably rile the least amount of folks — if only because not enough people know/care about the band (which is a travesty as they’re one of my absolute faves, one dating way back to my childhood as described in my recent walk down memory lane). Said band is British indie icons The Smiths and the ‘Gum recently did a list of their top ten songs, which has some obvious selections but also some glaring omissions — where’s “What Difference Does it Make?” Or “Hand in Glove?” “Shakespeare’s Sister?” “Bigmouth Strikes Again?” I’d even take “William, It Was Really Nothing” over something like “Still Ill.” I know it’s tough to pick only ten songs for a band with this many great ones, but still…
We’ll move to another band-specific one next and the AV Club’s ranking of the best Zeppelin songs of all time. They went with forty for whatever reason, so while we have a little more room to maneuver they still left out some absolute killers — things like “Babe I’m Gonna Leave You.” “I Can’t Quit You Baby.” “How Many More Times.” “The Lemon Song.” “Moby Dick.” “D’yer Maker.” “The Wanton Song.” “In my Time of Dying.” I know you can’t include everything, but damnit man these songs rule. Any of them could replace something like “For Your Life” (a decent tune, don’t get me wrong, but definitely not the FIFTEENTH BEST THING THEY EVER RECORDED?!?!) and not cause any concern. I bristle a bit at the top ten, too (TWO from In Through the Out Door?!?), but overall think they mostly got it right. See which of your faves are missing and sound off…
We’ll shift now to a pair of multi-act attempts — the first trying to rank the best albums of all time (even I’m not dumb enough to try that one), while the second seeks to only quantify a single decade — and begin our descent into madness. We’ll start with the former and Apple’s list of the 100 best albums, which came out recently Unsurprisingly it’s got a slick interface and design, but those bells and whistles can’t cover up the craziness that lies within. You can always find things to quibble with in the lower half of these types of lists (Robyn? Burial? Travis Scott?), but once you get into the upper portion you’re supposed to be dialed in and dealing nothing but haymakers. And while they do a decent job making sure the masters are represented, things start to go off the rails as they get near the top. Frank Ocean and Kendrick Lamar in the top 10 of ALL TIME?! Lauryn Hill’s admittedly excellent solo album as #1?! Even having Amy Winehouse and Beyonce in there was a stretch — in the top 100, sure, but top 10?! There’s loads of insanity here, but nowhere near as much as on the next one, Pitchfork’s attempt to rank the best 100 albums of the 90s.
Overall I think they did a pretty good job — some of my all-time faves are in here (Elliott, Tribe, BTS, GBV, Modest, Portishead, the Lizard, etc), but the rankings on a lot of these are wild (The Chronic in the high 70s? Oval, Boredoms, and Godspeed You! Black Emperor in the 40s? Yo La Tengo in the 20s?!?) The omissions, though, are where things become indefensible. That there’s no Rage, Nails, or Tupac (to name just three) is bad, but that NEITHER Oasis nor Pearl Jam make the list is f#$king buffoonery — they were two of the biggest bands of the decade and the opposite side of infamous rivalries with several bands you DID include. If you include Blur, then you have to include Oasis. If you include Nirvana (twice) then you have to include PJ. Hell, you included Pulp and referenced the Blur/Pulp/Oasis competition in your writeup — you KNOW the music warrants inclusion. This one was utterly asinine the further along we went, but see if you think I’m overreacting. If nothing else I guarantee it’ll stir up some conversations…
That’s it for now — enjoy the long weekend and we’ll see each other soon. Until next time, amici…
–BS
1. The Orwells – Terrible Human Beings: hands-down my favorite album of the year. By a country mile. And I knew it almost from the moment it came out. One of two albums that stayed on the ‘pod the entire year and the only one I wouldn’t skip songs from by the end due to fatigue. In fact, I forced myself to stop listening to it the past month while writing this list so I could hear it with fresh ears and that choice annoyed me on a near-daily basis. Particularly because they released two excellent B-sides in that time that made me want to listen to it all over again. Each time one of its songs came on shuffle and I had to skip it, I grimaced a little. Despite listening to it in part/total literally hundreds of times this year. It still had me wanting to listen. And the crazy/amazing thing is, once I broke the holdout I couldn’t stop listening to it again. I’d wake up with a different song in my head and need to listen to it on the way to/from work (while continuing the trend even once at the office). Literally every day since the drought ended. (Including now, as I finish this post.) That alone tells you how much I love this album, if not also how amazing the non-me population will find it.
2. Run the Jewels – RTJ3: dropping for free on Christmas last year, this was the gift that kept on giving and the first album I knew would make the list this year. I haven’t had any doubts since then despite twelve months of solid listening either — it’s good from head to toe. And where previous albums found the guys in a more playful, jokey mood as wowed underdogs who can’t believe they made it to the party (as on 2014’s Run the Jewels 2, which 
3. Ron Gallo – Heavy Meta: this is the sneering thumb in the eye (or flippant middle finger) to everything around, a brash, bratty splash of water in the faces of those in power. Tall and scrawny with a shock of wild hair, like a stalk of broccoli bursting from a garden full of potatoes, Gallo is the incendiary insurgent intent on tearing everything down around him in this, his debut. His lyrics have a playful, ruthless edge to them that cuts through his fiery guitar playing: When we were young they said ‘one day, honey, you and I we’re going to share a grave’— I didn’t think it’d come so soon. Trying to please everybody, you let everyone down — you made a fool of yourself. Kids got nothing to look up or forward to. No one can stand you. Sorry not everybody looks like you. Why do you have kids? Am I beast or am I human or am I just like you? Young lady, you’re scaring me.
4. Kevin Morby – City Music; Feist – Pleasure: to start the grouped/themed section of the post, we’ll mirror the seesaw (some would say whiplash) dynamic the year followed, bouncing from moments of anger and noise to pockets of serenity and quiet to recover. And if the first three entries shy more towards the former and middle finger rebelliousness, this one’s for the soothsayers, two islands of calm in the midst of this year’s hellish storms, evoked by two otherworldly voices. I turned to them a lot over the year, for some peace and much needed quiet, but also for the reminder that things don’t always have to be so cataclysmic. These two make you want to curl up in front of the fire and forget your cares, which you just might do (say if you’re in Connecticut and foolishly decide to take the night feeding for a friend’s baby that comes at 3am instead of the expected midnight). Whether in the wee early hours or the light of day, they have a restorative power that’s undeniable, and you’ll likely find yourself calling on them often as I did.
Leslie, by contrast, is a more reclusive creature. She’s back with her first album in six years (2011‘s Metals, which was 
5. Jesus and Mary Chain – Damage and Joy; Black Pistol Fire – Deadbeat Graffiti: if the last one represented one of the calm spells, this one takes us back to the moments of agitation and noise with the unexpected returns of two favorites, one you never thought would come, the other you didn’t think would happen this fast. Both come from bands who are great at conjuring a mood and taking you out of your current surroundings (a remedy much in demand this year), the first transporting you to a corner of the night and an anonymous dark bar where this glorious, fuzzy clamor blares from the speakers, the other taking you to some deep water roadhouse in the holler where you see this incredible twosome whip you into a frenzy in the hot, humid, night.
As for the back half, the surprise comes not in the delay, but in how quickly the duo from Austin return, having last seen them just last year with the excellent Don’t Wake the Riot (
6. Alvvays – Antisocialites; Beach Fossils – Somersault: this slot’s back to blissed out oblivion and two albums I turned to repeatedly to just black everything out and find the quiet of magic hour, to quote Alvvays lead singer Molly Rankin. Both of these albums are achingly pretty, the sonic equivalent of floating downstream on a sunny day without a care in the world. It’s the second for Alvvays, the third for the Fossils, and neither does anything radically different (a point I hope others later in the list take note of), but both sharpen what they’ve shown before to almost scalpel’s precision.
The Fossils use a similar tactic, hiding some bitter pills amid the pillowy mousse of frontman Dustin Payseur’s gauzy vocals. “I know you’re gonna try and bring me down…not gonna be in town when you’re around…This year I told myself would be a better one, trying hard not to fall back onto the knife” on “This Year.” “Used to be up for anything, you were the highway star, and now all of your sparks keep moving on…that’s all for now” on “That’s All For Now.” And so on. It’s a rich, lush affair — there’s a string section sprinkled throughout, tossing gold dust on tracks like “Tangerine,” “Sugar,” and “Saint Ivy” (which also sports a flute solo — that’s right, Burgundy’s BACK, San Diego!) Even more stripped back songs like “May 1st” with its jangly guitars or “Down the Line” with its bouncing bass line sound opulent with Payseur’s vocals dancing overhead. Similar to Alvvays, this one’s brisk 35min duration ends the reverie too quickly. Hopefully it won’t be another four years before we see them again.
7. Queens of the Stone Age – Villains; Death From Above – Outrage! Is Now: we’re back for the last of the loud/quiet/loud alternations and one more for the unabashed rockers with a pair of albums from long time favorites, DFA and Queens. Both find the bands deviating from their classic sound to an extent, opting for a more polished, at times dancier feel, but both have enough moments of the old glory to keep you interested and coming back. Truthfully, these two albums have four of the tracks that I listened to most obsessively this year, songs whose breaks were so exhilarating they cut down any bad mood and absolutely blew my brain apart time and again.
As for the back half of the slot, the duo of beloved noisemakers from Canada, they aren’t showing any signs of stopping either. Back with their second album in three years, Jesse and Sebastian show that their ten-year hiatus between their debut and 2014’s return (Physical World, which 
8. Manchester Orchestra – A Black Mile to the Surface; Hurray for the Riff Raff –The Navigator: having completed the whisper/scream shuffle of the previous four slots, we’ll close this half of the couple’s skate with the last set of albums whose sincerity and earnestness are unquestionable. This pair is a little different than the previous four, in that their aim is several thousand feet above the others – in short, this one’s for the grandiose and folks shooting for the heavens. Maybe it’s in response to being “led” by someone so full of bombast that everything he does is the biggest/greatest/most unprecedented thing in human history (part of me is convinced he’s got a stool log that tracks in intimate detail the majesty of the number one’s number twos) that these two albums came out as an antidote, a form of equally self-assured (yet not self-important) expression meant to counterbalance the blowhards.
For Riff Raff their shot for the heavens takes the form of a Broadway show, the story of front woman Alynda Lee Segarra’s life growing up as a young Latina in New York. It’s a grand concept, but one that works well with its simple execution. It paints in colors and phrases, allowing you to latch on to details as she sketches aspects of the characters in efficient shorthand like most good musicals do. So after a brief scenesetter of “Entrance” it jumps straight into the ode to her hometown, introducing the charms and challenges of “Living in the City” (it’s hard hard hard) before starting in on her childhood. She’s been a lonely girl, but she’s ready for the world in “Hungry Ghost;” she’s lost her daddy, best friend she ever had in “Life to Save;” she was raised by the street, do you know what that really means in the title track. And then someone sang a song, said a prayer, and said you’re only halfway there.
9. The National – Sleep Well Beast; Spoon – Hot Thoughts: for the back half of the tandem bike ride we get to five slots of music whose sincerity isn’t so easily swallowed. Whether they just want to dance or put on a façade or are just too new to quite know whether to trust them, these albums – while containing some great songs and working well enough to land here – don’t have the unabashed heart or honesty of the previous five. Or at least leave you questioning it a little, like the rogue dissonant note that mars an otherwise lovely recital. Maybe that sensation will fade in time, but for now they’re on probation, to be eyed a little warily like an old dog does a runaway toddler.
In addition to Radiohead, the National adds in some more amped up rockers, too, which again feels a bit like posturing, the old guy who suddenly starts wearing leather and getting tattoos. The National are known for their knee buckling beauty, in both melody and their wrenching lyrics. No one puts them on to get amped up before a big game or a night at the club. Maybe a big wine tasting or a night of turning in before 9 PM. So the changes here feel a little forced at times, almost like they come at the expense of those more heartfelt moments of the past. Maybe it’s a product of the year we’ve just gone through, where open, heartfelt emotion is impossible right now, people are too bombed out and overwhelmed for that type of introspection and nakedness. Queens frontman Josh Homme said he just wanted people to dance with their new album, in part due to the harrowing experience of his friends and fellow bandmates from Eagles of Death Metal in the Paris Bataclan attack (and I can’t recommend the HBO documentary on that evening‘s events more strongly, Eagles of Death Metal: Nos Amis (Our Friends) — an incredible, harrowing account of that evening that will make you hug your loved ones and somehow love Homme even more. (Until he kicks a female photographer in the face while on stage, that is… oh, 2017, why must you ruin everything I love…))
10. Arcade Fire – Everything Now; LCD Soundsystem – American Dream: this one’s for the lovers of self who just want to make you dance. In a year full of bombast and almost insufferable self-importance comes two returns from bands who traffic in the same. The first comes from the wild pack of Canadians in Arcade Fire, the second from the band of Brooklynites in LCD Soundsystem. Both suffer from varying levels of delusion, the former weighed down by false notions of cool profundity, the latter by overestimations of being profoundly cool. And yet, they’re both still here. That’s because in spite of those afflictions there’s still plenty of good medicine within.
As for the self-appointed prince of cool, Murphy, and his band of merry men (and women) from New York, they return after a much hyped retirement six years ago only to rather rapidly decide to come back on this their fourth album. Which despite the infuriating cash grab their “retirement“ now calls to mind (a take all but confirmed by Murphy in an interview leading up to the album’s release), and Murphy’s general insufferability, the band sounds as good as ever. If previous albums were hedonistic soundtracks to the throes of being covered in sweat on the dance floor, this album feels a bit like the hangover the following day. From the hazy slowburn of opener “Oh Baby“ to later tracks like “How do you Sleep,“ the title track, and the closing 12 minute epic “Black Screen,“ there’s a gauzy, swooning feel that suffuses the album, like waking up on the couch the morning after with a black eye and a ringing in your ears. (Murphy even croons “I’m still trying to wake up” repeatedly on the track “I Used To.“)
11. Liam Gallagher – As You Were; Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds – Who Built the Moon?: this one’s for those who refuse to let things go or for an opponent to have the final word. In this case it’s the ever entertaining Gallagher brothers from Britain, formerly of 90s titans Oasis. The brothers have made a career of fighting each other whether in the band or not, and this past year sees them continuing the trend. They officially broke up Oasis in 2009 and have spent the intervening years as frontmen of two dueling bands – Liam has released two albums with Beady Eye, while Noel has notched three with his High Flying Birds. This time the ever cantankerous Liam is out on his own and as the feud between the brothers has intensified, it seems no accident that big brother Noel’s band released its album within a week or two of ole Liam. Lucky for us neither album feels as superficial or spiteful as some of the public shenanigans — both feel like they’ve got something to say or prove.
Noel takes a different tack and strays farthest from his Oasis past with an album that has none of his signature wall of guitar sound, but has virtually everything else. A horn section? Check. Soulful backup singers? Check. Indian influences and French flourishes? Check. Somehow the wide ranging and potentially over-the-top indulgence holds together, though. (Contrast this with, say, Oasis’ third album, which had a similar kitchen sink approach to it and instead felt bloated and overdone.) This has an epic, cinematic feel to it, where you can picture almost any song on the album playing on top of various scenes in a movie. A shot where the lead character is cutting loose and energetically dancing in their apartment? Cue up “Holy Mountain” or “She Taught me How to Fly.” A tense chase scene, either in car or on foot? Cue up “Keep on Reaching.” A montage of characters in various modes of travel, planes taking off and landing, cars weaving in and out of traffic while characters stare out the window of the train or the back of a car? Cue up “It’s a Beautiful World.” A shot of the lead character in the midst of a nighttime stakeout, or quietly sketching his plan to rob a bank (or maybe cleaning his gun) at a dimly lit kitchen table? Cue up “Be Careful What you Wish For” or “The Man who Built the Moon.” There are even three instrumentals if the others don’t tickle your fancy with all the words getting in the way. It all adds up to a solid listen, though, either for the movie in your head or the one you’re shooting living life – so pop this on and find your soundtrack.
12. Dan Auerbach – Waiting on a Song; The Shelters – The Shelters: this one’s for the untrustworthy time travelers and two albums that sound like they were unearthed in one of those old community time capsules or a trunk locked in someone’s basement. And while they sound great, like lost treasures, part of you doesn’t quite trust their authenticity — the part of you that knows they were made in modern day. Like Marty McFly, though, they may turn out to be well-intentioned interlopers and not the Biffs they may seem to be on the surface. Time shall tell.
The Shelters come forward from the following decade, sounding more like 60s-era British invasion and rockabilly, but evoke similar suspicions as the previous that prevents you from fully giving yourself over to the music at first. It’s not as powerful as with Auerbach – likely because this is their first album and not the latest in a long string of similar experiments — but it was heightened when I saw them live, as one member looked the psychedelic stoner part and another looked like the slicked back leather-sporting “rebel” who probably rolled in on motorcycle, all of which made it feel a little artificial. Which is not to say it wasn’t a good performance — with a triple guitar attack and songs as catchy as this, it definitely was — it just means you have to close your eyes and turn off your brain to just listen to the music.
13. Barns Courtney – The Attractions of Youth; Mondo Cozmo – Plastic Soul: this one’s the pop stop, for a pair of newcomer solo acts, both of whom I caught at Lolla in my annual pilgrimage home. Barns is a bratty Brit who writes more straightforward pop anthems, Mondo is a Philly boy living in LA who has a tougher to describe cocktail of influences on his album. As it goes with all pop songs, you’re never sure whether they’re just manufactured confection or true confessions, but both turn out some pretty irresistible little tunes on their debuts, which forces you to afford them the benefit of the doubt.
As I mentioned, Mondo is a little tougher to pin down. His voice sounds like a young Dylan at times, earnestly singing about love and spirituality, but surrounded by an array of samples and electronics flourishes that make him sound wholly modern. It works surprisingly well — the songs have an uplifting, anthemic feel to them that draws you in and gives your mood a boost. From the sleepy opening title track to follow on tracks like “Come With Me,” “Shine,” “Automatic,” and “Chemical Dream,” the overarching message is clear — don’t worry, everything will be alright. Which based on how this year has gone may seem improbable, but at least while listening to this album you think it might make a comeback someday. Just try listening to “Thunder” and not believing — it’s a rollicking, windows-down racer with a perfect line for its time: “It’s been a long fucking year that I can’t wait to leave behind.” Indeed.
14. Shakey Graves – And the Horse he Rode in On (Nobody’s Fool and the Donor Blues): having completed the bloc of sincerity and the bloc of suspicion, we’ll close with two final doses of pure, unquestionable intent – one sweet as a jug of sun tea on a hot summer day, the other as jagged and dangerous as if you threw that jug on the ground and rolled around on top.
15. METZ – Strange Peace: we’ll close with one last singleton and the perfect counterbalance to Shakey’s sweetness, ending with the sonic equivalent of a sledgehammer to the teeth. In a year that gave you almost daily invitation to raise your fists and march around to protest the latest news, this was the perfect soundtrack. Loud, brash, and filled with words that were often unintelligible and yet sparked a tremendous sense of anger, it’s only fitting that the best distillation of how our current American malaise feels would come from…three Canadians? But as with everything else these days, truth is stranger than fiction, and the latest from the lads from up north is one I turned to again and again.