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…

Eight is Enough: A Series of Surprises from Some Bracket Busters

In the midst of running everyone down memory lane last time I didn’t get to share any current obsessions (mainly as I knew less than a tenth of you would even get to the end) so in honor of making it to the Elite Eight this weekend, thought I’d pop in with a comparable number of modern loves captivating my ear holes. First up comes a track from Mitski’s most recent album, her seventh, last year’s The Land Is Inhospitable and So Are We. It made a bunch of folks’ year end lists and while the album hasn’t knocked me over, the opening track certainly did. It’s this lovely, subdued little thing until it explodes with this technicolor choir that rattles the heavens at the end, which is really unexpected and gave me chills the first few times I heard it. (I had a similar reaction to the title track off Waxahatchee’s new one, which she saves for her closer — but more on her in moment.) It’s an excellent way to start the album, though it sets an almost impossible bar for everything that follows, one they largely fail to clear (in my eyes, at least). I really enjoy this one, though. Give it a spin here:

We’ll move to the aforementioned Ms Katie now and her latest album, Tiger’s Blood, which came out this week. It’s her sixth overall — her first since 2020’s excellent Saint Cloud, which landed at #8 on my year end list — and it stays in the same sonic vein as that one. Same producer (Brad Cook), same incisive, introspective lyrics, same warm, country-flecked vibe. And while that one was something of a surprise (Ms Katie’s always had a sharp eye and sharper tongue, writing from an extremely vulnerable, yet honest, place, but the overt country flourishes were a bit atypical compared to earlier outings), this time she settles deeper into that comfortable world like a well-worn pair of slippers after a hot bath. She’s joined by a few friends — Spencer Tweedy’s her drummer now, for one — but it’s singer/guitarist MJ Lenderman who’s the real revelation here. He was brought in to sing this one, the lead single, and apparently the impact was so obvious he stayed for an additional three. His unusual phrasings as he harmonizes with Ms Katie don’t make sense on paper, but in practice work perfectly, and his four songs form the backbone of the album and are among its best songs. None moreso than that first one, which has been stuck in my head for weeks now. (Although that aforementioned title track, which also gave the ‘Gum author chills, is coming close.) Check out another gem of a love song from Ms Katie, “Right Back To It,” here:

We’ll leave the country and its vibe behind for a moment (don’t worry, we’ll be back for both shortly) and jump across the pond for the latest from the enigmatic UK singer/songwriter TomMcRae. He’s back with his ninth overall and his first in seven years (2017’s Ah, the World! Oh, the World!) and while that one found him dabbling a bit more with world music influences (the Graceland style vibe that showed up on several songs), this one has him almost fully immersing himself in it as he goes all Aznavour. That’s because for some reason he decided to record a mostly French album — both in language and co-conspirators (at least 11 French musicians guest with him here), which is a far more unexpected turn than Ms Katie embracing country.  (She was never shy about her southern roots, but I never picked up any Gallic glimmers to McRae’s work…)  I honestly thought I’d skipped to the wrong album at first — but then you hear McRae’s unmistakable voice and know you’re in the right place, whether he’s speaking your language or not. It takes some getting used to — mainly because I don’t speak French (one of my many, many failings), so the songs’ meanings are opaque — but musically it’s well made and enjoyable. McRae does throw us dim-witted pagan Anglophones a few bones with some English-based tunes, one of which is another characteristically lovely love bomb that will leave you weak in the knees. Talented as he is with his embrace of other styles and languages, this is what I first fell in love with him for, the dark, beautiful, and mournful, and this is another great example — just plaintive piano, heartbreaking/broken lyrics, and another glittering duet. Give “Lover’s Souvenir” a spin here:

We’ll stay in the UK and shift slightly north to the land of my ancestral Scots for yet another surprise, this time the return of a member of one of my overall faves after nearly six years away. Said member is Billy Kennedy, former guitarist for the much beloved Frightened Rabbit, which broke up after the heartbreaking suicide of frontman Scott Hutchison in 2018. (I’ve written about his passing several times over the years and can’t believe it’s only been six years…) In the aftermath of that horrible event Kennedy, like several of his bandmates, took a long time away to heal and figure out what he wanted to do with his life. Kennedy decided he wanted to get trained as a well-being practitioner (aside from losing Scott, he’d also struggled with mental health issues of his own), but recently decided to reenter the music world. He started writing and recording some songs, the first of which came out a month or two ago, and it’s a lovely little tune sung to another, scarcely more than Kennedy, his acoustic, and his aching, accented heart. (“I can’t retract the words I said to you. I think about them most…days go by so slow when you’re not there…”) There’s word he’s working on a full album, but even if he just graces us with this one it’s great to see one of the lads back in the limelight. Check out his return here:

We’ll bounce back to the States and another pair of twinned tunes, this time for a duo of southern(ish) songs that’ve been spinning on repeat lately. The first is from the Queen Bee who released her massively hyped/awaited Cowboy Carter album yesterday and while it’s really not a country album (there are definitely country elements, but it strikes me more as an artist playing with the pieces rather than creating a true “by the numbers” rendition of their own, similar to Kanye playing with soul samples or house beats back in the day — you’d never describe those albums as true “soul” or “house” albums as they, like this, are their own things…) it’s still got some pretty catchy tunes. “Sweet Honey Buckiin,” which chops up the Patsy Cline classic “I Fall to Pieces” before galloping down a number of different roads, is an exciting ride (“look at that horse, look at that horse, look at that HORSE...”), but my current fave is the lead single (and much more traditional) “Texas Hold ‘Em.” It’s got the finger-picked intro (which is reminiscent of Madonna’s similar ride to the rodeo 20-odd years ago, “Don’t Tell Me”), the primal thumping footstomp beat, and the irresistible earworm refrain with its “CHOOS!” and demand to meet her on the dancefloor in the most Queen Bee way possible. It’s super catchy and one of the rare true “country” tracks among the 27 — I’ll take it, though, just like she says. (To the floor, in my least b#$ch fashion…) Enjoy it here:

The back half to this buddy film is a more traditional country artist, Tyler Childers, and a song that’s already been covered by a ton of artists and hailed as a modern classic. I came to it courtesy of Josiah and the Bonnevilles who included their version of it on their aptly named Country Covers album that came out last year. I’d liked it on the album, but it wasn’t til I saw frontman Josiah Leming play it in concert this week, just him and his acoustic, that it really grabbed me by the ears. So much so that when I got home I couldn’t get the chorus out of my head (“well it’s just two hours to get there babe, I can make it back in ’bout an hour or so…”) and kept thinking about how half the crowd was singing along like they’d been doing so for years.  As a result I decided to track down the original and found that while Childers wrote the song, he’s never actually formally recorded it himself — and apparently never will (at least in the studio). For whatever reason he’s decided to let others do the singing for him — aside from the occasional live version he does, one of which is this incredible version he did a few years back. I’m not sure who he’s harmonizing with or what the circumstances are for the show, but by the time he gets to the closing refrain I’m almost laid out on the floor every time.  (“Every back road had a memory and every memory held your name…”) Beautiful, heartbreaking stuff — give it a listen here:

We’ll close with a less emotionally devastating duo and a pair of tracks from some long-time faves. The first comes from Black Rebel Motorcycle Club and their recently released Black Tape EP, which sports a quartet of tunes recorded at the same time as their last album, 2018’s Wrong Creatures. It actually came out at the same time as that album, buried as a cassette in that one’s box set, but only made it to the majority of us once it hit the streaming services a month or so ago. Similar to that album it’s a bit hit or miss, but the ones that work do so nicely, as with the opening “Bad Rabbit,” which is vintage BRMC. It loads up on the fuzz blasted guitars and thundering beat, but really shifts into overdrive as the song changes tempo time after time, slowing to a sinister crawl before blasting off again like that titular hare and taking you along for the ride. It’s a really good track, well suited for cranking up with the windows down. Check it out here:

Last but not least comes the long awaited return of the Orwells who dropped their latest album, Friendly Fire, on Christmas, which made the day that much better for fans like yours truly. It’s the band’s fifth and it finds them still in the same lounge act vibe they first debuted on their fourth album, 2019’s self-titled (and released) outing, but adds in a bunch of new flourishes that sound crazy on paper (acoustic guitar? PIANO?!?) yet still somehow work. Now this is another band I’ve written about a lot over the years — most recently surrounding the allegations that broke them up and caused them to self-release these last two albums, as their label (and seemingly everyone) dropped them. The band has been quiet the past few years, but they’re on the road again now, having done a west coast and now east coast tour — as well as a brief trip through the midwest, though notably NOT playing in the one place you’d most expect them to — here — as it’s both where they’re from and the largest place IN the midwest — so part of me wonders whether they’re blacklisted here and unable to play. I almost rented a car to go see them in Milwaukee, but backed out at the last minute (the price and having tickets to a separate show that night sealing the deal), though I went back and forth about it until the very last minute. (I REALLY want to see them play this new stuff live to see how it fits with their older, more raucous fare.) I’m hoping they’re just tuning up for a grand reunion back home soon, but time will tell.  In the meantime I’ll keep enjoying the new album — different though it is from their earlier stuff — and tracks like this one, which are catchy in their own right.  Give it a listen here:

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

Wandering Through the Whiplash — The Best Music of 2023

If this year had a slogan it was about the unbreakable attraction of opposites. What goes up must come down. For every action there must be an equal and opposite reaction. It’s darkest before the dawn. It was a year constantly characterized by its yin yang duo of ephemeral excellence and the persistence of pests. Where every moment of happiness was accompanied by two or three confounding cotravelers — like getting a free plane ride to somewhere nice and having to sit between someone who takes off their socks and someone who starts yammering on about buttered sausage. (While also behind someone who immediately leans their seat back.) It often reminded me of that old joke about Pete and Repeat, sitting on a log. Pete falls off, who’s left? Over and over again… It was a year that tested limits and often felt like there was no refuge safe enough to avoid all the incoming missiles. This was the year the cracks started to show and I wondered whether it would all come crashing down again.

Last year’s themes centered around rebuilding — “Rebuilding, relearning, reorienting — just plain remembering” in year one of my potentially quixotic quest to put Humpty Dumpty back together again. Year two felt a lot like those rebuilding years in the sporting world (we’ve got at least five of those going here right now, so plenty of parallels to check myself against) — progress on a few fronts, but continued frustration on a majority of others as those seeds start to take root, but haven’t matured enough yet to start fully bearing fruit. And so we flitted back and forth between bright spot and dark, fun and frustration, optimism and despair, like some princely Monarch working his way through a field of prairie flowers in the spring.

The endless seesawing affected every aspect of my life. Prestige projects at work that my teams brought back from the grave time and again still ended up leaving (or sticking around at a much smaller scale). This led the company to constantly teeter between “are we going to make it” and “we’re all getting fired” to “I think we’re ok?” on both fronts. (A level of certainty that’s as comforting as a jack in the box sitting silent in front of you after cranking on the lever for 45 minutes.) Those illusions of security getting dashed by not one but TWO rounds of layoffs, including the most recent — and worst! — batch a mere week ago. (Merry Christmas one and all!)

Even my normally uninteresting health turned into a neverending carnival of ridiculous ailments. My teeth turned into those of a meth addict, requiring a handful of crowns and root canals after spontaneously dying. The ‘rona finally found me after managing to avoid it for three years, highlighting just how lucky I was because I’d likely have been toast if I didn’t as it pounded me for a good chunk of the year. I lost half my hearing for a month and a half. My foot randomly started hurting and required steroid shots and funky footwear to finally (mostly) correct. My lungs got destroyed with a barking cough that persists to this day, despite it being over six months since I got hit. There was a good stretch of the year where I hobbled around like an old man without a walker, limping on a bad foot, unable to hear out of half my head, while my teeth throbbed like the bass at hell’s worst disco.

These ongoing annoyances were thankfully balanced by the small bounty of brilliance that constantly flows from my beloved city by the lake. New restaurants, breweries, and bars were discovered to recommend to visitors and work into my routine. The flurry of fests in the summertime, which found one of my overall faves Built to Spill playing in the street mere blocks from my house in a true pinch me moment. Or Bay brats Spiritual Cramp playing on a rainy Sunday and knocking back the clouds (and crowd) with their energy. Or the Hives inexplicably playing a room the size of my studio and blowing everyone’s face off with their endlessly enjoyable antics (and songs). Or those three magical nights with MMJ at the fairytale Chicago Theater, which gave us over eight hours of music (and months of lovely memories) and drove all of us into the stratosphere.

There were boatloads of books as I continued my resurgence with reading, crushing dozens over the course of the year as it remained part of my morning workout ritual. New page turners from King or lovely, immersive older ones from Harris, Ruiz Zafon, and Vazquez.  I continued my obsession with WWII, diving into the mostly overlooked Pacific side of things this time and again marveling that we managed to win the war. I spent a ton of time in Spain rabbitholing on ETA and the civil war again, trying to understand how/why we sat on the sidelines for the latter as the fascists did a dry run for what would turn into the aforementioned world war. (Not just because it was interesting, but because it might turn out to be relevant as thoughts of surprise coups or people otherwise undermining democratic institutions stop seeming so implausible. Even moreso if they started talking about opponents as vermin who are poisoning the nation’s blood again. Not that they ever would…)

There were outstanding shows like Peaky Blinders  (sweet geezus, I still can’t stop thinking about it) and Patria (a haunting, powerful watch — the opening scene remains seared in my memory) and equally impactful movies. (The Endless Trench and Argentina, 1985 being but two of many that took me back to my grad school roots and floored me.)  And above all, as always, there was loads and loads of good music.

The seesaw action of the year impacted us here, too — for every excellent arrival or discovery there were an equal number of disappointments from some normally reliable sources. Whether long time loves like Shakey, the Kills, Woods, both Gallagher brothers, and the National — TWICE! — or newer ones like Andy Shauf, Jungle, John Miller, and Tre Burt, seasonably solid structures were blown over by the winds and we were forced to reassess our sites of solace. At least here the bright spots outnumbered the dark ones in both volume and intensity.

Fittingly for the year we’re heading into there were 24 worthy of mention here, and in line with the aforementioned lack of reliability from the stalwarts the majority of them (15) are newcomers. (This in comparison to last year’s tally of 16 old timers and 15 fresh faced ingenues.) They cover the normal eclectic spread of genres (though no rap or electro this year, as those two continue their slide into oblivion for me) and offer a range of delights for you to dive into.

There’s a few less than last year (the lowest since 2018, in fact), but still plenty to make us optimistic for the year to come.  As in that rebuild the nine wily veterans will hopefully gel with those energetic upstarts in the offseason to give us something serious to look forward to soon. As always, they aren’t necessarily the best things released this year, just the best ones I found, so if you’ve got some more I missed — on any of the topics mentioned above — please send em my way! In the meantime I hope you find some new friends and faves within the list below — I know I sure did. Here’s hoping for some major league fireworks in year three and a run for the ages soon.

11. Generationals — Heatherhead; Beach Fossils — Bunny: we’ll start out easy with a pair of albums I wrote about together a month or two ago and who for whatever reason have remained glued together in my brain the majority of the year. Part of it’s probably their coming out on the same day, so I spent a good chunk of the summer hopping back and forth between the two. Part of it’s also their similar vibe, laid back and slightly shimmery, like the surface of the water as you float downstream on a sunny day. Regardless of the reason, these two are twinned for me, similar enough to finish the other’s sonic sentences, so it’s only fitting to keep them that way here.

The front half comes from New Orleans duo Generationals, back with their seventh full length (their first since 2019’s Reader as Detective). As I wrote before, this one is “a solid set of their strongest tricks — slick synth tracks, as well as bright, lush pop tunes, all bathed in the shimmering sheen of the pair’s gauzy vocals.” I still get echoes of Richard Swift on the poppier tracks like the opening “Waking Moment” and “Faster Than a Fever,” all soaring chorus and lush production. Meanwhile the pair’s more traditional synth tracks still slink seductively towards you — whether “Elena,” “Death Chasm,” or the Cure-like “Hard Times for Heatherhead.”

For their part Brooklyn’s Beach Fossils are back with their fourth album of original material (their first since 2017’s Somersault, which landed at #6 on that year’s list) and it finds them mining similar terrain, just a bit more wistfully this time. As I wrote before, “these guys have always nailed the laid-back, swimming feeling to their songs…and while they can instantly conjure that bright, sunny vibe, you miss out if you relegate them strictly to background ‘feel good’ music.” Traditional tracks like “Sleeping on my Own,” “Run to the Moon,” and “Anything is Anything” warrant that additional attention, while those like “Dare Me,” “Don’t Fade Away,” and “Numb” do so by evoking modern influences and peers. (Dehd, REM, and the Cure, respectively. Solid returns to form by both bands.

10. Charlie Cunningham — Frame; Flyte — Flyte; Oliver Hazard — Oliver Hazard: this slot’s for the soothsayers and a trio of albums guaranteed to calm even the most frayed of nerves. (A much needed commodity throughout the year.) Each are first timers on these year end lists — due entirely to my discovering them late and not a lack of prior quality — and two of them hail from the UK. We’ll start with the kingdom dwellers, the first of which is Charlie Cunningham, back for the first time since 2019’s Permanent Way with his third album, another elegant mix of piano, acoustic guitar, and quiet, contemplative lyrics of love and faith. Sonically Cunningham is a bit of a shapeshifter — there’s touches of Nick Mulvey (“Shame I Know”), Badly Drawn Boy (“So It Seems”), and Jose Gonzales (“Watchful Eye”) here — but his lovely, aching melodies tie all the disparate influences together well.

There’s the stately, somber lullaby of loss on “Frame” (“it’s over for us, this heart bled for all the time…so much for us, this half read lullaby was nearly enough — there’s no shame in trying…”) The haunting “Bird’s Eye View,” which roils like a slowly boiling cauldron as he sings of someone who’s left him behind. (“Slip away into the night — there’s nowhere to run, go where you hide. I wish you good luck, I’ll see you on the other side…”) The burned out testament to another on “Friend of Mine.” (“Friend of mine, I’m with you and I’ll be for all time — you’re the light in which everything resides. Where do I belong? Who should I now become? Cuz this doesn’t feel right… I love to play along, if just to survive til our moment arrives.”)

Those themes of quiet contemplation and unflinching devotion are buttressed by those of doubt and anxiety elsewhere on the album. Cunningham sings to himself to soothe his inner demons on “Downpour” (“why are you still wrapped in your head…boyhood dreams pulling you down to your knees… old fears, goodbye, you’ll surely be my downfall in good time”), as well as on “End of the Night” (“the devil, you know, he hides – I say I’m fine most days but he’s always inside me”) and “Pathways.” (“I won’t be defined by this shadow of mine, this cross to bear forever if that’s enough…”) It’s another really, really pretty album from this virtual unknown — add yourself to the in crowd and thank me later.

The back half of the British bloc comes from the London duo Flyte, returning with their eponymous third album. I’ve been meaning to write about these guys for months now, having discovered their last album a while back (2021’s lovely This is Really Going to Hurt) and falling for its mix of beautiful melodies and confessional lyrics. There were touches of the late Richard Swift in there (as on the killer “I’ve Got a Girl”), as well as loads of Laurel Canyon harmonies to really sink your teeth into. That one was all about the emotional rawness that comes in the wake of a long-term breakup (that of frontman Will Taylor).

This one seems to find him/them in a much happier place, as the songs almost glow with warmth and love. There’s the lovely little ode to another in the opening “Speech Bubble” (“let me be the pencil that holds up your hair… the long legs that stick out of the bed… Heartbreak, it takes practice, but I think I’m getting better at this… I just wanna make you happy”) and a flurry of wonderful images in the ones that follow. “Our arms are going to cradle, our hips are gonna kiss” on the defiantly upbeat “Bad Days.” “You’ll be my bedtime reminder and I’ll be your wake up call — a reason to lay down beside her and dream of nothing at all” on “Wake Up Call.” Not everything is roses and kitten kisses — there’s a touch of melancholy and fear in the song of trying to protect that aforementioned other in “Defender” (“I know that you’re behind the door spiraling away from me — it’s been worse before, I’ve got a good memory… I call your friends, they say good luck and I pretend I’m strong enough to be your defender”), but writ large this is a big, warm hug of an album.

The harmonies with bassist Nick Hill give off a mix of a Beatles and Simon and Garfunkel vibe (“Chelsea Smiles” for the former, “Perfect Dark,” “Press Play,” and “Better than Blue” for the latter) while the duets Taylor does with the female guest stars also shine — whether with Laura Marling on “Tough Love” or with Taylor’s true life partner Billie Marten on “Don’t Forget About Us.” This is another act that’s almost criminally unknown — lush, lovely stuff.

Last but not least is another band I’ve had in the queue to write about for a while, but never got around to for some reason. I found their debut 34 N. River a while back courtesy of some fan mail (Mad Dog sent me their tune “Illinois” and I quickly got into the rest of the album) and I enjoyed its mix of catchy melodies and earnest enthusiasm. Then as now the band has a bit of a Lumineers vibe to them, albeit without some of the lyrical depth or gravitas (tracks like “Saratoga” here, with its “witchy women” and “shibbity bop bops” and “oh hot damns,” or “Two x Four” with its “dosey doe’s” and “doggones” sound like a steamed up Jimmy Stewart rather than modern day adults), but the melodies are strong enough you’ll be singing along rather than focusing on those minor issues.

Tracks like “Use Me Up” or the glimmering “Northern Lights” shine, while others like the opening “Ballerina” or the aforementioned “Two x Four” are perfectly passable (and enjoyable) tunes about love and loss that mask their sadness with brightness and diffidence. (On the former frontman Michael Belazis sings “I know you left me on that Sunday, I know it’s what’s best for you…I’m not angry, I’m just through,” while on the latter he sings “brick by brick I tear you down, but I’m the one underneath it all.”)

Overall there’s an old timey, “aw shucks” wholesomeness to the proceedings that’s almost a defense mechanism, trying to distract you from some real hurt or sincerity. On “Fly Right” there’s kettles on the boil and mamas with aching feet before Belazis slips in “I don’t wanna hurt you like the way that you hurt me.” On “Let Down” there’s the almost anodyne “flying off the handle” before the “spirals and alcohol” and talk of “I watched you leave the house… and the talk of the town was about how I let you down.” On “Natalie” he sings to his “honey bee” before admitting “it’s January – the bees are dead. I withhold my love instead.” This seesawing between deflection and vulnerability undermines the impact a bit and leaves you wondering how seriously to take them — but the music is catchy and winning enough you’re willing to forget (or at least not fixate on too long) some of those other elements. Solid sophomore outing and a trio of newcomers worth some listens.

9. Cut Worms — Cut Worms; Duff Thompson — Shadow People: this slot’s for the throwbacks and a pair of artists who evoke eras long since past. Up first is the return of former hometowner Max Clarke (who for whatever reason committed the almost unforgivable sin of moving to NY), back with his first album in three years and his third overall. (His last, the double album Nobody Lives Here Anymore, landed at #6 on my 2020 list.) The recipe here remains the same — early era Everlys sound, bright, back-breaking melodies and warm guitar — but this time Clarke ditches some of the melancholy that was creeping in around the edges and instead gives us a more uniformly upbeat set of songs.

Clarke starts out on an positive note with a jaunty saloon piano and his ode to being tongue tied, imploring the object of his affection, “don’t fade out on me.” He continues the conversation in the lazy luau serenade of “Is it Magic?” (“I’ve got a love and it’s gonna be true without end”) and the infectious sock hop scramble of “Let’s go Out on the Town” (“I’ll go anywhere you like…let’s go dancin’ in the bright, bright lights, keep on dancing all night loooooong, yeah…”)

A hint of darkness creeps in along the way — whether from heartache (“when you’re broken in two, not much you can do” on “I’ll Never Make It”) or the world at large (“when it gets worse all the while, how can I just take it and smile?”) it’s a less rose-colored sense of nostalgia than before. “The summer’s almost gone, never seems to last too long and the nights that were so inviting now seem so cruel” on “Living Inside.” “I don’t mind if we’re dead, only eat to be fed…don’t they always try to make you feel so bad” on “Use Your Love! (Right Now).” “Something eating at my mind that I’m doing my best not to say. Just what all we stand to lose when at last we do depart. All the dreams you never had go like shadows in the dark. Too bad we never see em at all” on the beautiful finale “Too Bad.”

Maybe it’s because he’s coming off a double album (and/or because he’s masked some of the wistfulness that was prevalent there with these more buoyant melodies), but the impact of this one’s nine song, thirty minute duration is a bit more muted than his previous outings. That’s not necessarily a knock — I still listened to it a lot and really enjoyed the majority of its songs — but for whatever reason none of them broke me open the way some of his earlier ones did. (“Last Words to a Refugee” or “Veterans Day” off his last one, for example.) That said, this one’s still got plenty to enjoy and I’m glad there’s someone like Clarke keeping the past alive by making this type of music (even if he did defect for the dreaded Big Apple…)

Clarke’s slotmate is fellow time traveler Duff Thompson, back with his second album, Shadow People. Like Clarke it’s his first in three years (his 2020 debut Haywire is a really solid listen), a relatively brisk 30 minutes long (Thompson has 10 songs to Clarke’s nine), and also has elements of early Everly Brothers to his sound. And for whatever reason, as with Clarke, despite some really lovely melodies and solid craftsmanship the majority of this one’s songs don’t penetrate the cold, dark armor of my heart (with one noteworthy exception). That said, as with Clarke’s there’s plenty of positives to embrace and keep you coming back. (Whether the iceberg of your heart thaws or not.)

It starts strong with the lurching purr of a riff on “Just Like Me,” which bolsters the blackness of the refrain (“too many dark days are killing all my friends, messing with my friends”) before shifting to the swaying “Take it With You” whose warm refrain makes you want to hoist your pints and sing along. (“If you don’t taaaaake iiiiiit with yooooou I’m gonna bring it to you…”) As I’ve noted before, the similarity to the Walkmen’s Hamilton Leithauser is still strong, particularly as this album hits its back half. Starting with the slow burning siblings “A Little Time” and “A Long Time,” Thompson croons in laid back lounge lizard mode, while tracks like “Up and Go” and the closing “For the Moment” ride along with the jaunty abandon of the plinking barroom piano.

Aside from the ethereal stunner “Shapeshifter” — as pretty a song as you’re gonna hear this year — most of the songs don’t quite pierce through emotionally. Maybe that’s a me thing or maybe I’m looking for something that’s never intended to be there (like looking for gold dust in the canister of your vacuum or profound wisdom from the latest Jackass movie), but either way it’s ok because of how good this is at conjuring a warm, nostalgic vibe. It’s like walking into a bathroom after someone’s taken a hot shower — the picture of your surroundings isn’t totally clear, but you’re enveloped by the toasty, amorphous embrace of the steam cloud and able to lose yourself in the little you see. This is another one I’m glad is out there making music like this — not a lot like him left.

8. Young Fathers – Heavy Heavy; Shame — Food for Worms: this slot’s for the kids and a couple of acts probably not intended for dinosaurs such as myself (but I love em anyway!) They’re both from the kingdom, two of my favorite album covers of the year, and another two albums I wrote about a month or so ago, so don’t have a ton new to share — but to recap, Scotland’s Fathers are back for the first time in five years (2018’s Cocoa Sugar landed at #10 on that year’s list) and similar to their previous outings this is another exciting, interesting listen.

As I wrote then, this one’s “another jewelry box full of influences and opulence” — from the excellent opener “Rice” with its bounty of African drums and chanting choruses to the throbbing pulse of “Drum” and “Holy Moly” that throw everything into the pot and shine.  Or the twitchy “Shoot me Down,” which jitters and shakes before blossoming into a TV on the Radio style track midway through. These guys remain unlike almost anyone else out there right now, which is very much a good thing.

For their part London’s Shame are back with their third album, their first since 2021’s excellent Drunk Tank Pink, which landed at #11 on that year’s list. As I wrote before, “nothing’s changed since then — they’re still dishing out taut post-punk gems, balancing furious rippers with moodier, more expansive jams.”

Tracks like “Six Pack” and “Alibis” represent the former, while songs like “Yankees” and “Adderall” showcase the latter, letting the band slowly build the tension before blowing things apart. (Guitarists Sean Coyle-Smith and Eddie Green deliver a particularly enjoyable run at the end of “Yankees,” to cite but one example.) The opening “Fingers of Steel” splits the difference and offers a slightly looser, more soaring vibe that’s reminiscent of bands like the Japandroids, while the slow burning “Orchid” calls to mind At the Drive In when it blooms at the end. This one’s a lean, mean delight from a recent fave and a pair of albums from bands that kids of all ages should enjoy.

7. RF Shannon — Red Swan in Palmetto; Angelo de Augustine — Toil and Trouble: this slot’s for the denizens of the darkness and a pair of albums that seem to soundtrack the shadows. Neither is particularly menacing or dangerous, but for whatever reason both albums call to mind the murky mysteries that occur at night rather than those that appear in the full bright of day. Both are first-timers on my year end lists and recent winners/discoveries from the sister site’s beloved ‘gram competition, #fridayfreshness. They’re also two more albums I wrote about a month ago, so will offer a quick recap in lieu of a full dissertation.

For his part Shannon is back with his third album and he sets the mood early with the sultry, sinister opener “Palmetto,” which smolders like a brush fire and could easily soundtrack the opening credits of some gritty detective show. The album is filled with alluring images and mysterious characters — the blue tattoo of a shape that goes on forever, stalking wild cats through an alley full of silhouettes on lead single “Abalone,” with its Andrew Bird style backend. Good mother Mary with her dancing boots in “Dublin, Texas.” The man with a salt dime in his left boot, jack vine in his hand on “Casinos in the Wild.” It’s all shadow and shade and disembodied spirits in the night, as in the stately “Cedar Perfume” (with its lovely notion of a chorus and a love that’s evergreen) or the luxurious “Raindance #11.” (“Let’s go out tonight and we’ll dance out in the street…”)

As I wrote before, “Shannon is something of a shapeshifter, effortlessly exuding a range of styles” including country (the slide guitar on “Midnight Jewelry,” the fiddle on “Dublin”), folksy ballads (“Raindance,” “Cedar Perfume”), and even glimpses of modern bands (Dire Straits on “Casinos,” Wilco on “So Down Low.”) Somehow it all works, held together by Shannon’s warm whisper and excellent melodies — really good stuff.

de Augustine earns his spot with his fifth album, which routinely calls to mind beloved favorite Elliott Smith. As I wrote before, his twin-tracked voice and whispered delivery perfectly capture Elliott’s spirit and sound, as do his cryptic, slightly elliptical lyrics, “which shift like sand on a dune depending on the way the winds of your mood are blowing — always a hallmark of Elliott’s best.”

There’s the frustration and despair. (“I cannot explain to you or anyone else. Like a dog that’s been suffering you need to put me down – I dare you to put me down” on “Naked Blade.”) The arm’s length defensiveness and “Angeles”-style open of “Blood Red Thorn.” (“On my own, I don’t need no one…oh my love, someday you’ll find your home. Life on the run is enough to wear one down.”) The heartache and plaintive poetry on “Song of the Siren.” (“All my thoughts come back to you like they did from the start…the love I knew, vocal and violent, uncontrollable like the inferno.”) The suffering and sarcasm of the closing title track. (“I’ll believe in anything if you take away all this pain…toil and trouble my only delights — I don’t know where I went wrong.”) There’s even hints of extreme darkness as on “I Don’t Want to Live, I Don’t Want to Die.” (“I keep a Colt 45 in my drawer if I change my mind – unpredictable, syringe and spoonful, eyes were blazing fire.”)

It’s a powerful potion when it all comes together — so much so that you almost forget you’re not listening to some unearthed trove of lost Elliott songs. The lush melancholy of “Dwomm” being but one of many gems, delivering an opening verse that is an absolute backbreaker. (“Despite all agency I’ve lost the path to love. I can read the silence on these walls that were put up. Though love is vilified it always hangs around. If you let me in someday I’ll never let you down.”) Beautiful, wrenching stuff.

6. The Nude Party — Rides On; Graveyard — 6: this slot’s for a pair that on their surface have nothing to do with each other, but everybody needs a buddy, so here we are — strange year, strange bedfellows, as we described at the top, after all… Back with their third album (their first since 2020’s Midnight Manor) the six-piece from Carolina continue nailing their homage to British Invasion bands with another batch of really catchy tunes. Along with one of the quintessential signatures of that era, the opening “Word Gets Around” adds a dash of danger behind its “bah bah baaaaahs” as frontman Patton Magee warns “I control what you hear — believe me, your nose ain’t as clean as yer ear.” (He later offers proof as a little bird has chirped about a former/current love coming out of a bathroom stall with a partner — never a good sign.)

It’s not all infidelity and mild menace, though — the effervescent lead single “Hard Times (All Around)” and “Hey Monet” quickly follow that one up and lighten things up a touch. For the former, aside from nailing the early era Stones sound (as they do so often here and on previous albums) it has such an infectious groove you joyfully ignore the ubiquity of the titular woes Magee is singing about. Meanwhile the vintage organ on the latter — which adds cow bell on top of another seriously strong groove, one infectious enough to get even the most stoic Mod moving — calls to mind bands like the Kingsmen or Standells.

This diversity runs throughout the album, both in influences/homages and instrumentation. There’s the warm neo-soul vibe of “Sold Out of Love,” which would be a welcome addition to a Houndmouth or Nathaniel and the Night Sweats set, and the Roger Miller vibe of “Tree of Love.” The weary slide guitar on “Midnight on Lafayette Park” and the plinking piano on “Polly Anne.” All of these ride alongside some incredibly vivid images — the white laced (VERY RED) cherry red knee high boots on “Cherry Red Boots,” or the old vaquero named Alfredo who rides bulls in Mexico on the title track.

It’s a really rich affair, one whose overarching feeling is one of unavoidable joy — particularly on the front half. It slows down a bit at the back with the swampy blues of “Hoodoo,” the solitary lament “where do the good times go when it’s all bled you dry” on “Stately Prison Cell,” or the mournful harmonica on the closing “Red Rocket Ride” (with its “fourteen megaton trillion dollar bomb to blow em all to kingdom come.”) In total, though, Magee and the boys have given us another set of really good songs with a load of flourishes to keep your ears satisfied for months to come.

For their part, acting as the Oscar to the Carolineans’ Felix in this aural Odd Couple, are one of two sets of Swedes on the list this year, storming back with their aptly titled sixth album (their first since 2018’s Peace) and another delicious dose of heavy sludge to pummel our ears and brains. In the five years they’ve been away the band appears to have mellowed just a smidge, offering us their most bluesy, mild mannered set of songs yet. (Mostly.) In addition to the slight shift in sound, it’s also a somewhat leaner affair with only nine songs to sink our teeth into, but they cram a lot in to every minute.

The band has always been something of a chameleon — at least if said animal’s sonic palette consisted solely of elements from the thundering greats of hard rock and metal — and they pack in a range of them again here. They start slowly, luring you in with the breezy blues of opening “Godnatt” before smashing you in the gourd with one of the best one-two combos of the year. There’s the fist in the air fury of “Twice” (“woke up this morning and I felt recharged — I’m in the graveyard getting tuned, hitting hard”) followed quickly by the ominous lurch of “I Follow You.” (“I’m in the wrong place at the very wrong time… there’s no time to sit this one out.”) These two amount to the most undeniably upbeat slammers on the album (the Sabbath-styled stomp of “Just a Drop” being the only other addition), but the overall focus on slower, more muted material still leaves plenty to enjoy.

There’s the bluesy Cream vibe of “Sad Song” (sung by guitarist Truls Mörck instead of frontman Joakim Nilsson, whose voice definitely has more of a Jack Bruce tenor to it). The soul-inflected smolder of “No Way Out” with its cooing choir of backup singers. The Zeppelinesque closer “Rampant Fields.” (“Since I’ve Been Loving You” style Zep, not “Levee.”) Despite lacking more of their characteristic juggernauts than normal, this is still a really enjoyable album.

I was lucky enough to see them live this year in their only US performance (Nilsson apparently is a bit averse to flying) and the weather perfectly suited the slower material — it was outdoors and windy AF that night so the songs picked up an additional hint of menace as gales blew the band’s hair (and riffs) helter skelter across the festival grounds as the storms rolled in, the skyline standing vigil in the background bathed in full moon. It was an awesome night and cool to see this part of the band’s repertoire flexed a little more since they’re definitely more known for the bangers. Hopefully it’s not another five years before we get another batch of tunes, slow or otherwise.

5. The Bones of Jr Jones — Slow Lightning; Josiah and the Bonnevilles — Endurance: this slot’s for the southern side and a couple of acts who evoke the sound and feel of life below the Mason-Dixon Line (even though one lives about as far north of it as you can get). Call it folk, call it Americana, call it country, I just call it good, and think you’ll do the same. We’ll start with the northerner — back after a brief pause following his excellent EP two years ago (the aptly named A Celebration, which landed at #10 on my year end list), upstate NY’s Jonathan Linaberry returns with his first full length in five years (2018’s Ones to Keep Close) and gives us a satisfying balancing act of those two outings.

Here Jones buttresses the haunting, ethereal tunes from the EP with a hearty helping of the uptempo tracks from those earlier albums. It works pretty well — personally I prefer those soul-chilling crawlers from his EP, which have a lush, pastoral feel that sound almost out of time (similar to Shakey Graves’ early stuff, where they feel like unearthed relics rather than modern material), but Linaberry’s got an ear for melody and can get things going on the uptempo tracks. (Think slightly less rambunctious BPF — particularly with the odd reliance on skeletal drum machine beats here, which sap some of the strength from the songs — but in person he can really get things cooking as he tours with a human behind the cans…)

In terms of the latter tracks there’s the funky grumble of “Heaven Help Me,” the cocksure chug of “The Good Life” (“I don’t care, I’m dancing with myself…I’ve seen the biggest dreams die out on the street — honey that ain’t gonna be me…there’s lightning coursing through these veins…”) and the shuffling, almost Margaritaville vibe of the title track. There’s the bare-hearted lyrics and jubilant “whoos” that punctuate the opening “Animals” (“I’m just a lover boy always wishing on a star…won’t you please just walk me home cuz I don’t know the way and I’d love some company…”) and the hand clap spiritual style of “I Ain’t Through With You,” each of which work well.

When the quieter stuff finally arrives it holds your attention all the more — from the stoic banjo of “Blue Skies,” the chilling howl of “Preservation” and its stately successor “The Flood,” (which sings “I ain’t trying to raise the dead” before slowly blooming into a bleary electronic buzz) this is what makes Jones so special. His voice on these tracks has a haunting, hollowed out bleakness to it that stirs something primal inside, like some ancient folk tune speaking of greater truths. (See the plaintive, plinking bar piano of the closing “Baby, Run” for one further example.) And so while part of me wishes these tunes made up the majority of the album (similar to the previous EP) it’s an all-around solid effort from one of my favorite recent finds. (And a heck of a nice guy in person, too.) Definitely check him out!

On the back half we have the actual southerner, Tennessee’s Josiah and the Bonnevilles, back with their second album of the year and third in the past two. (Their first, the aptly titled Country Covers, was full of the myriad singles they’d released recently in that vein, while last year’s equally on the nose 2022 was their last of original material.) This one returns to the latter with a pair of songs dealing with some of the mundanities of regular life — life on the job and longing for “Another Day at the Factory,” as well as suffering through the effects of a “Kentucky Flood.” (“This ole holler used to be my home and underneath that water is everything I own…now this lake in the middle of nowhere says there ain’t none of that no more” from the latter.)

There’s more typical, universal fare, too — the smoldering send off to someone who’s left him behind on “Burn.” (“If it’s the last damned thing I do I’m gonna burn this body down. I never really got over you I just learned to do without.”) The beautiful “Blood Moon,” which sings of a love (or at least connection) still in progress (“tell me that you’ll never leave, even if it’s a lie. I’ma double down on what I said in the morning light….nothing lasts forever, ‘cept maybe you and I”) while “The Line” tells a tale of unrequited love, as both parties traipse across that titular barrier. (“I drew myself a line between your heart and mine. A pretty little line, tells me I’ll be fine if I stay here on my side.”)

The band’s country side comes out most clearly on the album’s back half and its songs about the South and the Lord. “Keeping Love Alive” and the lovely love letter to their native state, the aptly named “Tennessee Song,” speak to the former (“if it runs like it’s never gonna die then it probably comes from the South” and “treasure of the world, home sweet home to me,” respectively) while the oddly affecting ode (at least for an atheist) to his mom/aunt/grandma on “A Gold Cross on a Rope Chain” and the brisk “God Made a New Chord” handle the latter. (“I just drove off, I was 17 and a day, left her holding on to her only claim to fame.” (The titular implements from the former.))

Frontman Josiah Leming channels the ghost of Tom Petty frequently here with his arresting first lines, sketching simple and straightforward images that grab you immediately — “when I think of you I think of growing old easy. Settling down real early in the evening, on a twin-sized mattress in the middle of a snowstorm” on the closing “Basic Channels.” Or “I’m lit up like the 4th of July — you’re out with one of your pretty guys who never worked a day in his life” on “Holy Place.” There are some slight missteps (the odd time traveling “Any Time or Place” with its lyrics of WWI and building the pyramids), but writ large his songwriting has gotten sharper, forming an even more solid accompaniment to his already excellent melodies. I’ve really become a big fan of these guys — really strong set of songs.

4. Guided by Voices — La La Land/Welshpool Frillies/Nowhere To Go But Up; Wilco — Cousin: this slot’s for the stalwarts and a couple of beloved bands who not only don’t seem to be slowing down in their old age, but somehow getting more prolific. For the lads from Dayton this constitutes their fifth year in a row landing on my year end list (they landed at #6 in 2022 and #13 the year before) and the third time in that span they’ve released a trio of albums in a calendar year. This time around it’s La La Land, which came out in January, Welshpool Frillies from back in July, and Nowhere To Go But Up, which came out the day after Thanksgiving. Similar to recent years/outings it’s another set of good to very good songs, made all the more improbable because theyjustreleasedanalbumfivemonthsago/thisistheirthirdalbumthisyear/theireigththepastthree/theirfortiethyearasaband.

It may be a product of having been out the longest and thus having the most time to sink in, but La La Land is the most consistent of the three — from the opening “Another Day to Heal” and the sinister growl of “Instinct Dwelling” to back half tracks like “Face Eraser,” the guys can still dish out straight down the middle rock songs with the best of ‘em. Meanwhile tracks like “Cousin Jackie,” “Caution Song,” and the closing “Pockets” highlight shimmering guitar chords almost explicitly designed to make you strike poses akin to 2021’s It’s Not Them. It Couldn’t Be Them. It Is Them when you hear them. (And album midway point “Slowly on the Wheel” is another classic GBV epic that builds to an ever-satisfying flourish.)

Welshpool has a bunch of winners, too — opening “Meet the Star,” the furious churn of “Romeo Surgeon,” and the effervescent seesaw riff of “Why Won’t You Kiss Me” all sizzle, as do latter half tracks like “Awake Man” and “Seedling.” Slower burns like “Cruisers’ Cross” and the melancholic melt of “Better Odds” shine too, adding some soaring refrains beside Dr Bob’s croons. (And despite being brand new, early winners from Nowhere include “The Race is on, the King is Dead” and “Stabbing at Fractions.”)

Unsurprisingly these guys were my top band for second year in a row on the Spots’ year end review — with a listen rate higher than 99.5% of global subscribers again! — but with so much material to get through it’s really not that unexpected, particularly when it’s of such high quality.

As for Wilco it’s more of the same – another really solid set of songs, released right on the heels of another album. (Last year’s double album Cruel Country, which landed at #11 on my year end list.) Similar to their slot mates these guys almost release TOO much music — to the point where I worry I’m losing my objectivity or the ability to fully connect with the songs because they’re constantly being obscured by new things. It’s a bit like the snow that’s falling outside right now — it’s covering things I otherwise quite enjoy looking at, but the bright layer on top makes me forget them for a while and pay attention solely to the fresh things sitting atop the pile.

The last album showed this in small scale — lots of good songs, which got a bit overshadowed by the good enough — but it applies in the broader sense here as well. Tweedy is a prolific, daily writer, as I suspect GBV’s Dr Bob is. They do it out of habit, they do it as a ritual, they do it to make sense of what’s happening or to go someplace better. Tweedy for his part wrote a book on it (the predecessor to this year’s pleasant mixtape memoir World in a Song) where he convinced readers that writing a song isn’t this lightning in a bottle channeling of distant spirits (or at least it’s not only/always this). Sometimes it’s as mundane as brushing your teeth or making coffee in the morning — it’s just something you do, a habit you form on a daily basis to the point that you don’t even think about doing it anymore, it’s almost automatic.

The downside of all this production, though, is at times the polish a track receives is lower than it would otherwise be. Not that these are rough, unprofessional songs — they most definitely are not — but as with a stone that’s pulled prematurely from the tumbler, what’s lost is that high shine and glimmer that otherwise appears if you left it in there to roll around a little longer. And that absence manifests itself mostly in terms of emotional resonance here — I still haven’t fully connected with all the songs off Country and now I’ve been pulled into processing these. As this continues to happen over the years it becomes harder to fully digest things in the way I used to on earlier albums (classics like Summerteeth or Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, for example.) It’s why I can’t really name more than a couple tracks off last year’s album (“A Lifetime to Find,” “Hearts Hard to Find,” and “Tired of Taking it Out on You” come to mind immediately), but the rest run together a bit. Same with his solo album, which came out a year prior. Or Ode to Joy the year before that. They’re all quite pleasant (each of them made my year end lists, for example), but what I find myself lacking more and more is that deep click of connection with the songs.

There are a few that hit immediately here — the soaring closer “Meant to Be,” for example, which is an instant classic — but several of the others are going to take a little longer to achieve that deeper resonance. Lead singles “Evicted” and “Cousin” are upbeat bubblers (even if I don’t quite understand what Tweedy’s getting at, at least in the latter), while the shimmering “Sunlight Ends” and swirling beauty “A Bowl and a Pudding” serve as solid offerings in between. (I also quite like the opening combo of “Infinite Surprise,” with its trademark noise and tumult that build to a climax before segueing to the disarmingly warm sounding song about gun violence, “Ten Dead.”)

Writ large there are worse problems to have, that’s for sure — I’d much rather have too many songs to listen to than none ever again (a la Rage or Portishead, for example), but part of me feels like I’m not able to do justice to everything these guys (and GBV) are offering. That’s a fight I’m willing to keep waging, though — so keep it coming. In the meantime bask in the pleasant rays and try to find that more profound level of attachment before the next batch from both arrives.

3.  The Hives — The Death of Randy Fitzsimmons; Spiritual Cramp — Spiritual Cramp: this slot’s for the sh#$kickers and a pair of albums that were adrenaline shots to the jugular, able to immediately boost your spirits and energy and get you bouncing around the room in delight. First comes the riotous return of the beloved band of Swedes, back from the dead after a whopping eleven years away. It opens in irresistible fashion with the almost theatrical buildup to the simple, yet surgically sharp riff of “Bogus Operandi” before blowing the doors off the album and running wild. (The buildup is even more delicious live, as they’ve been opening their sets with this one on tour, working the crowd into an immediate frenzy.)

They quickly follow this eruption with the blistering “Trapdoor Solution,” the seductively slithering bass line on “Countdown to Shutdown” (with its jubilant “WHOOOOOOs” punctuating the proceedings), and the pep rally claps of “Rigor Mortis Radio” and “Crash into the Weekend” (both of which are unfailing party starters that positively sizzle.) The boys add some new wrinkles along the way — there’s the horns on “Stickup” and “Smoke and Mirrors,” which sports a marching band feel and felicity, and the slightly cinematic surf rock tinge of “What Did I Ever Do To You?” — but the bulk of the material remains their vintage punk and its undeniable blasts from the back of the garage.

Frontman Howlin Pelle Almqvist remains the perfect field marshal for the assault and the textbook definition of what you want a rock star to be. He’s 45 and been away for over a decade, but still acts like he always has onstage, preening and pogoing throughout the set, unleashing a barrage of high kicks while twirling the mic like it was in flames, and his antics remain hilarious. (I’ll admit to having stolen his over the top entreaties to the crowd for applause lately, furiously seesawing his arms front to back like he’s directing an airplane towards the jetway.) Almqvist actually smacked himself in the head with the mic so hard at one show it drew blood, but rather than be cowed he turned it into fuel for the rest of the show and the image was emblazoned on T-shirts for sale a few shows later. (The band’s merch/media game remains flawless — follow them on the ‘gram for additional proof/laughs.)

Neither he nor the band have lost a step in the time away, coming in guns blazing and leaving everything they’ve got on the album/stage. I got to see them in a room for maaaaaybe 150 people recently and the entire band was soaked in sweat by the time they were done, and it’s like this for every show I’ve seen of theirs — it’s honestly one of the more impressive demonstrations of stamina you’ll see. (And the crowd singing the bass line of “Hate to Say I Told You So” while he sings over it remains one of the coolest moments of the year.) Hands down one of the most consistently good times the year had to offer.

One need look no further for a second than this all out sprint of an album. With ten songs clocking in at a scant 26 minutes, this one makes its intentions clear from the outset — “I wanna know whose side you’re on,” frontman Michael Bingham blasts in the opening “Blowback.” If that side happens to be filled with folks standing around, overthinking their life choices and whether or not to cut loose, they’re about to get bulldozed. This one’s a hedonistic, almost nihilistic romp about living for the moment that’s virtually impossible not to move to (frantically).

The lyrics hit the aforementioned notes early and often and paint the picture of a protagonist who’s not quite well — there’s odes to flashy materialism (“I want the biggest house on the block with a yard” in “Slick Rick” (yeah baby say my name)) and maxing out your credit cards and living in debt on “Rick” and “Talking on the Internet.” There’s tales of going through a stranger’s drawers and rifling through their things on “Clashing at the Party.” Of getting into fights and lying to his wife on “Catch a Hot One.” Of always stressing and looking for trouble on “Better Off This Way” (or being stressed/bored/melting down/freaking out on “Can I Borrow Your Lighter.”)

It may not be the most embraceable or aspirational album as a result (“outta my way or I’ll burn you down” on “City on Fire”), but the songs are so damned catchy you almost don’t care (or even realize, in most cases) what Bingham’s saying. I got the chance to catch these guys live at one of our many neighborhood summer fests and it was every bit as exhilarating in person. (Bingham almost had to berate the crowd to loosen up at first — it was a rainy Sunday afternoon, so not entirely unwarranted with all the puddles and precipitation — but folks got the message and started churning around pretty quickly.) Like its slot mate, this one’s built for speed and one heck of a good time.

2. Queens of the Stone Age — In Times New Roman…; Cory Hanson — Western Cum: like its predecessor this slot’s another one for the rockers, but where the previous one was characterized by a need for speed, this one’s more about power. The last one was a pair of Formula One cars zipping around the race track whereas this is a set of muscle cars set to thunder you down the highway. The previous pair pummeled you with a flurry of jabs to dazzle your defenses, whereas these two unleash a series of haymakers to leave you breathlessly seeing stars from the canvas. We’ll start with the veterans and the return of the beloved sleaze of the Queens.

It’s been a tumultuous six years since we last saw these guys, riding high on the rollicking Villains (which landed at #7 on my year end list). Aside from the global chaos that’s continuously ravaged our screens and resolve since that point, frontman Josh Homme has had to deal with a very public (and very messy) divorce from his wife, which has involved numerous restraining orders and allegations of abuse. (The latter of which appear to have thankfully been dismissed as unfounded.) Unsurprisingly it’s resulted in a heavier, darker set of songs that are less dancey than the vibe at times on Villains, but no less captivating.

The allusions to his misery are there from the outset — “I don’t give up, I give in — there ain’t nothing to win…and you’re caught in the middle of what you made…empty hole where the empathy used to be” on the opening “Obscenery.” “We’ll never get back to where we were — stare into oblivion, oh it hurts…thought we were equals…” in “Negative Space.” Hold me close I’m confused, I don’t wanna go out. I told myself I could do this, but I’m having my doubts” on the killer closer “Straight Jacket Fitting.” It’s a less guarded, jokey version of Homme’s persona than we’ve seen before and it’s really effective. (There’s still some of his customary adolescent humor and puns — “rizzum jizzum” on “Obscenery,” indifference towards “what the peep hole say” on the song of the same name —but thankfully these are minor aberrations this time.)

Per usual the not-so-secret weapon for the band is thunder god Jon Theodore whose drumming here is absolutely vital. Pick almost any song and Theodore’s beats immediately grab a hold of you and draw you in. Sometimes funky, sometimes just brutal, they’re constantly engaging and get you tapping along (even if you aren’t a subpar drummer such as myself). The syncopated stutters midway through “Time and Place” or “Negative Space.” The ominous, slinky swing on “Carnavoyeur” or the closing epic “Straight Jacket.” The pure punishment of “Paper Machete” or “Emotion Sickness.” It adds a power to the proceedings that’s both pulverizing and primal, like an unavoidable heartbeat pounding in your ears after fleeing an assailant. (Or climbing a flight of stairs, depending on your circumstance/health. Stop judging me, damnit!) The force of Theodore’s kick drum here is absolutely ferocious — he’s possibly the first person since the late great Bonham whose idle toe tapping registers as seismic activity and can spark a tsunami in coastal areas.

For his part Homme remains one of the most undeniably cool people on the planet. He’s sadly left his swashbuckling phase behind and is back in his standard baby duck mode, but that more innocent appearance is belied by another set of searing riffs (his one on “Carnavoyeur” is a definite fave, just a couple notes but guaranteed to split your brain apart) and his Elvis-era hip swivels routinely make half the crowd (men and women alike) swoon. (I’m lookin’ at you, Allen…)

I listened to this one obsessively over the year (it comically comprised all five of my “Top Song” spots in my Spotify review) and was even better live. (Special shout out to their lighting guy whose elements on tour are always excellent accents to the songs instead of ancillary afterthoughts. A rare, but well-deserved salute.) These guys remain ferocious faves.

For his part LA’s Cory Hanson represents another newcomer to the list (but not the last, yet!) and a leggier, looser version of the rock their slot mates were dishing out. In a year that was a bit all over the place — it was one of the first times that I didn’t have an immediate, hands down winner for the top spot, for one thing — this was one of the few constants, an album I returned to repeatedly while others were more contained in their influence and enjoyment. (Unsurprisingly, it was also the closest to that top spot for the bulk of the year.) Stumbling upon Hanson was easily one of the year’s best discoveries — I found this and his 2021 Pale Horse Rider and constantly bounced between the two — and this one was emblematic of the year’s erraticism.

Lyrically, it’s a bit out there. He sings about solid gold binoculars and a snowman’s tears on the opening “Wings.” About “Nosferatu lost in his castle” on “Persuasion Architecture.” Of “submarines the size of sardines” in “Horsebait Sabotage” and the cocaine taped to your balls swinging around in the darkness on “Ghost Ship.” Hanson himself is a bit of an odd duck — I got to chat with him briefly before a show here and left it a little confused, almost like I was talking to someone from another planet.

But none of those things matter. They are mere pebbles bouncing off the armor of this rampaging rhino of an album. If you like guitar — and especially its classic rock deployments — then this is an absolute must listen. This album rules. It rules SO much. It is an epic love note to the power of power chords and the transcendence of soaring solos. Almost all of its songs have exhilarating dive bombing guitar sections that show off Hanson’s and the band’s considerable prowess. And as a result you will find yourself time and again muttering “FUUUUUU&*inghell” to yourself or anyone around you and bobbing your head in unison.

The proto-punk open of “Persuasion Architecture,” which starts at a furious pace before blossoming into a more laidback country vibe with pedal steel and back again, is but one example. The harmonics play in “Horsebait,” which foreshadows the furious solos and slowly segues into the wonderful weirdness of “Ghost Ship.” The delirious ten minute epic of “Driving Through Heaven,” which just keeps topping itself with one incendiary run after another before dropping us into the blissful close of “Motion Sickness.” It’s a fantastic album — weird warts (and terrible title) be damned. If you’ve ever thrown up horns or played air guitar to a tune, you owe it to yourself to listen to this album immediately. You won’t be disappointed.

1. Gregory Alan Isakov — Appaloosa Bones; Dean Johnson — Nothing For Me Please; Free Range — Practice: this slot’s for the soft-spoken and a trio of albums that aim for the heart. Two of them are newcomers and their perch at the top is a bit of a surprise — not because they’re not excellent albums. All three of them are delicate wonders that will almost certainly drive their arrows into your core. Moreso because if left on their own I’d probably have slotted them further down the list. But when I look back at the year with ALL its ups and downs, that battered but undying need for refuge and something that resonated emotionally — to things like hope, beauty, and love in lieu of frustration, disappointment, and anger — is what put them at the top. The three performed an unspoken relay race for the heart, quietly passing the baton from one to the other without losing a step, keeping the sunnier side of my nickname alive amidst a year full of shadows.

The one running anchor was Isakov’s, coming out in August and captivating my ears for the months since. It’s his first in five years (2018’s Evening Machines, which landed at #8 on my year end list) and per usual it captures the openness and feel of the west — there’s foxes and horses, coyotes and watchmen with torches, the skies flickering with lightning and the wind rustling past your ears. “Sweet heat lightning falls — blue crack of light and that’s all, calling you to sing” on the song named for said electricity. “Come midnight we’ll all be dreaming, it’s the owl who owns the evening” on “Terlingua.” “One day the waves will forget the ocean and wander their way to the shore…. One day these mountains will tire of standing, drop their shoulders into the sand” on “One Day.”

As usual Isakov juxtaposes those with songs (and images) of the heart. “Remember when the engine quit? You sparked up, began to grin — you and all your silver linings” on “Terlingua.” “Our love is untested, never arrested, slipping through our city fingers. Always dressed up, but never picked up” on “Watchman.” “Finally found us some good love, let’s see if it lasts” and “glad you found me when you did” on “Silver Bell” and the title track, respectively. There’s the lovely ode to unrequited love in the closing “Feed your Horses” (“Your crooked heart has left you to roam, looking for love, you forget to come home. I’ll wait for you, darling, like grain in the ground”) and the desolation of the hauntingly beautiful “Miles to Go.” (Something about the image of sitting heartbroken and/or homesick in a sad, empty hotel bar just wrecks me every time.)

I was lucky enough to get to see him perform twice this year and each time brought me to tears multiple times throughout the set. Isakov and his band just cast this intoxicating spell that renders the crowd almost paralyzed — they spend most of the show lowly lit or performing as silhouettes, encouraging folks to focus on the music rather than some on stage spectacle or show. It’s one of the rare instances where I actually spent the majority of the show with my eyes closed, just following the songs as they swirled around us, chasing those images around the dark night sky and succumbing to their spell. It was a bit of a magical feeling, both times it happened, and the album invites you to a similar experience at home. Close your eyes, lay back, and let this one wash over you.

Running second in the aforementioned relay was Johnson’s debut and the story here’s almost as good as the album. Comprised of songs written over the last twenty years, this is a magical little thing. Despite working as a musician in the Seattle scene that entire time (he’s the guitarist in Sons of Rainier and performs as a solo act in the area), some combination of laziness and fear (of imposing on others to help him, of failure, of such open hearted material, etc) Johnson refused to actually record the songs until 2018 (using listmate Duff Thompson as producer, no less) and then refused to put them out until five years after that. Whoever we have to thank for finally convincing him to do so deserves a holiday ham the size of a Volkswagen because this is a truly wonderful set of songs.

The lovely, languid opening track — another of the prettiest things you’ll hear all year — conjures the sights and sounds of the titular cowboy roaming on the range. (“Cattle calls and canyon walls, the jangle of spurs… Sunset over rolling hills, ghost rider sky…”) Things don’t remain that tranquil for long as the majority of the subsequent songs showcase the scathing honesty and bitterness of the heartbroken, balanced brilliantly with a mix of melodies that will make you want to weep at their beauty.

It starts immediately with the next track — “Darlin, you’ll never know in my heart the fire glows. You will not find one sign that you are always on my mind” in “Acting School.” “The past is dead, I made my bed, I’ll get it thru my head” on “Old TV.” “Back here it’s certain that no love will ever last” on “Possession.” “Too much and not enough — close enough to tear each other up” on “Shouldn’t Say Mine.” “I let my memories come in and dance with your shadow again” on the song of the latter name. “Now I know that all you said was written in the sand” in the smoldering “Annabelle Goodbye.” (One of the few with traces of anger in it.) “Eternity, I guess it’s not for me — find me the ledge” on the title track. (Which also sings about vampires?) Or the true hammer blow to the heart, “If true love hopes you’re happy, babe, I guess my love is false” on “True Love” — OOF.

It’s a time-honored trick to mask bitterness or heartache behind a blanket of bright sounds and sunny energy, but Johnson does it in devastating fashion here. The Everly Brothers were masters at it and Johnson channels their ghosts here frequently, both in sound and substance. (He name checks them in “Old TV,” just to make the influence crystal clear.) He does the departed proud, giving us a modern set of songs that extend their legacy while also speaking to the most universal of human experiences, love and loss.

Last but not least is the one that started things off, almost exactly a year ago in the dark days of winter, and did so fittingly from the same city as yours truly. It’s the debut album from hometowner Sofia Jensen, who happens to be an 18 year old kid, which only makes this album all the more impressive.

Musically it’s a lovely, muted album, one that rewards attentive listening and quiet contemplation as the lyrics of heartache and loss sink in. It’s the latter bit that’s so remarkable, though — to see someone so young address these weighty topics with such care and maturity is quite an accomplishment.

It starts with the lush pedal steel on the opening “Want to Know” (“don’t go back when you’re still the same — your intonation pushes me away”) and continues with the stately shuffle of “Keep in Time.” (“I long to feel that again, not pretend that I’m blending in with nowhere to end.”) There’s the unrequited ache of “For Me To Find” and “Forgotten.” (“Imagine that you’re reaching out a hand — you pick me off the ground and understand that I’m holding it together for as long as I can” and “To think you fought something conceived so naturally, to think I felt something believed so beautifully,” respectively.)

There’s the jaded bitterness of someone twenty years her senior on “All my Thoughts” and “Growing Away.” (“Maybe you’d tell me about how close you got to saying sorry — that’s just something I think about when I’m dreaming” and “Even when you’re out to get me, never thought that you wld come to regret me,” respectively.) Or the blurry fog of unrequited (or broken) love in “Running Out,” the title track, and the closing “Traveling Show.” (“Walking out in a daze where every color just looks the same,” “What did I see when the landscape blurred? This sound surrounds me — it took too long to realize I want you around me,” and “The day when all the colors seemed to turn, it felt enough and I just came undone,” respectively.)

For someone to sing with such delicacy about these things is feat enough, but to do so with such lovely melodies — and to do so before you’ve hit your twenties — is even more so. Really, really excited to see where she takes us in the future. For now, enjoy the heck out of this one.

That’s all for now, amici — happy holidays and we’ll see you in the new year!

–BS

 

Battle of the Band(camp) — A Holiday Hit Parade

In honor of the long weekend and my fervent hope that we can celebrate the titular labor by not doing any — the eight of you fair readers, and most certainly myself — I thought I’d drop in with some recommendations to hopefully incentivize that activity and soundtrack your lazy days. And since this week was Bandcamp Friday thought I’d offer some of the highlights from the horde of treasures I managed to stash away — thirty albums and two hundred bucks worth by the time I was all done! (Don’t worry, we won’t do anywhere close to that many — remember: it’s a no work weekend!)

First up comes last year’s album from Josiah and the Bonnevilles, the aptly named 2022. These guys were the product of another Spotify spillover, coming on after listening to one album or another recently (I think it was either Isakov’s or Oliver Hazard’s new ones, which are fair comparisons) and I was immediately drawn to their hooky melodies. The backstory on the band is its founder, lead singer and songwriter Josiah Leming, dropped out of high school to tour the country, living out of his car while doing gigs, and eventually was noticed nationally when he became a contestant on American Idol.  He didn’t make the cut, but was given a record deal anyway (heck of a consolation prize!), however when his debut failed to make waves (2010’s Come on Kid) the label dropped him.

Undeterred Leming moved back to his native Tennessee, added guitarist Stephen Johnson and bassist/percussionist Josh Nyback as the aforementioned Bonnevilles, and eventually shifted their sound to a mix of spare, simple folk and unobtrusive country.  It works really well — Leming’s pinched, nasal delivery has a touch of early Dylan to it and the band’s songs toggle effectively between those two genres, highlighting the allures of both without succumbing to some of their cringier elements (particularly those of the latter).  The album is a mix of singles they released throughout the year, some originals and some choice covers that appear both here and on the again aptly titled Country Covers album they released around the same time. (Their Taylor Swift cover of “Anti-Hero” appears on both, alongside covers of tracks from Bon Iver, Kate Bush, and Glass Animals on the latter.)

Two of my favorites come one a piece from those aforementioned categories — the first is an original, one that lies more in that traditional country vein, both lyrically and tonally. It’s another song about lovin’ n’ losin’ and that duo’s perennial pal alcohol, this time remembering when the narrator used to fall in love without it. It’s a solid, forlorn little ballad that’ll have you singing along in sympathetic misery (just as the best country tunes always do). The second comes from the cover category and similar to Swift’s appears on both the band’s albums last year. It’s a cover of Justin Bieber, of all people, and their really nice version of his song “Ghost.” Existential questions around what my liking this song means aside (am I a Belieber now? Do I need to register with the local police or something?) it’s a really nice song, whether you know its origins or not. Check both of them out here:


Next comes a track from recent #fridayfreshness champ Duff Thompson and his 2020 debut album Haywire. Thompson won the competition on the backs of the first single from his upcoming sophomore album Shadow People (due out Oct 27) and this was a compelling enough listen to drive me down the rabbit hole to his other material, which amounts to this album at this point. Based on the little I can find it seems Thompson began his musical career as a producer, only starting to perform as a solo act in 2016, but those early outings encouraged him to keep writing original material, which culminated in a really nice debut a few years later. On it he draws from some of the best elements of his native New Orleans, with his music being described as “a swampy blend of folk, pop, and garage rock.

You clearly get hits of all those flavors on the album’s brisk 10 track, half hour duration and its brevity definitely leaves you wanting more — a positive sign for the upcoming October release. Thompson’s voice reminds me a bit of Richard Swift’s and Hamilton Leithauser’s and his channeling of those guys’ warmth and (at times beleaguered) charisma carries you through what often sounds like a relic of another era, as his weathered voice and production give the songs a vintage feel far beyond their modern origins. Two of my favorites straddle the folk/pop and garage rock divides mentioned earlier and serve as bookends to the album — the former yielding the dusty opening gem “Sleight of Hand” and the latter the rollicking, foot stomping finale “The Long Haul.”  Give the pair a listen here:


Last entry from the highlight reel is the 2019 debut from Utah quartet The Backseat Lovers, When we Were Friends. I found these guys thanks to a recommendation from one of the Sunbeams, Doc, who amazingly doesn’t even remember making said suggestion. (When I told him I was really digging the rec he made he was stupefied — didn’t recognize the song, denied that it was him, and still has no recollection even when I showed him the conversation to jog his memory (Public Service Announcement — drinking on the job is a dangerous pastime, kids, and not something you should EVER do — even if you only work at a tech startup and not as a paramedic or pilot or something…)) His amnesia actually makes finding these guys seem even more fortuitous — like the cosmos used him to channel this information to me for whatever reason — and I’m grateful for their intervention as I’ve really enjoyed listening to them the past few months.

The band formed five years ago when lead singer/guitarist Joshua Harmon and guitarist Jonas Swanson met while waiting in line for an open mic night in their hometown Provo, Utah. The pair hit it off, decided to form a proper band rather than continue their solo efforts, and added drummer Juice Welch and bassist KJ Ward to the mix shortly thereafter.  The four began practicing and writing their own material, winning a local battle of the bands later that year before self-releasing their debut EP Elevator Days by year’s end. They continued writing and recording, performing in and around Utah before self-releasing their aforementioned full length the following year. The early stuff reminds me a lot of Catfish and the Bottlemen and the Districts — full throated, high energy anthems with big bleeding hearts — while their more recent material (last year’s Waiting to Spill) is a little more subdued and experimental, giving off more of a Radiohead vibe at times.

It’s these early songs that are most irresistible to me and two of my current faves are “Kilby Girl” and “Sinking Ship.” The former is pure Catfish — just a huge, straightforward track about a 19 year old with a fake ID and a nose ring with all the necessary angst that you’d imagine. The latter gives off more of a Districts vibe with its slowly building tension, erupting with an absolutely epic ending that is great on album, but even more spectacular live. (I was really surprised at how good the band is live — the albums are undeniably solid and catchy, but I was floored at how much they open up when I caught them at Lolla recently and the songs become these enormous, leggy things. Super impressive…) Both are worth repeated listens — give em a spin here:

 


We’ll close with a handful that didn’t make the cut for the Bandcamp massacre, as they were uneven and/or slightly disappointing affairs, but still have a few tracks worth listening to. In no particular order:

    • The Country Westerns’ sophomore album Forgive the City doesn’t pack the punch of their solid debut, finding the trio stuck in a somewhat monotonous Replacements-style rock mode, but I really liked this one, which is more in line with their earlier material — check out “Speaking Ill of the Blues:”

    • Similarly disappointing was Noel Gallagher’s latest from his High Flying Birds enterprise, Council Skies, and while a lot of the big, sweeping cinematic feel is gone from their last album, there’s still a few that capture that compelling vibe — give “Pretty Boy” a listen here:”

    • Up third is the latest from Mapache, Swinging Stars. This one may be less monochromatic than the previous two albums in this list, but it lacks a cohesive sense of self, which is its downfall — there’s songs in Spanish, instrumentals, country songs, folks songs, songs that sound like the Beatles. It jumps around too much for its own good, which takes away from some strong songs on their own — my current fave is “People Please:”

  • And last but not least is a track from Justin Vernon (aka Bon Iver’s) solo album Hazeltons, which just got released on the Spots. It apparently comes from 2006 with the lead/title track serving as the genesis of the sound he would perfect on the amazing For Emma, Forever Ago. Other tracks are more in line with his more eclectic (some might say annoying) later material, but there are a handful of quiet, contemplative songs on here worth a listen. None moreso than that opening salvo, though — check out “Hazelton” here:

That’s it for now, my friends…
–BS