Sitting down to try and make sense of this past year as part of my annual exercise in reflection feels a bit like that old Indian adage about the blind men trying to describe the elephant. There each man has a hold of a different part of the animal and accurately describes that component, but things fall apart when they try to put those pieces together. Things devolve into arguments as each is sure their take on things is correct and the others are lying or mistaken. The moral of the story is to recognize that one’s piece of the puzzle — while accurately understood and described — may be but a limited slice of the overall reality and that multiple things can be true at once. (ie your description of the trunk may be just as valid as mine of the tusk, but neither of us have a clue what the f#$k it all means.) So while I feel confident about some of the things that happened this year — vaccines, promotions, resumptions, and relocations — I can’t quite put them together in a way that makes sense.
If last year’s themes were “solace and comfort, respite and refrain,” this year’s were interruption and incompletion, balanced by hope and healing. Part of the reason I think putting this proverbial elephant of a year together is so difficult is because those two pairs were in an ongoing battle with each other throughout the year, a disjointed disparity that ruined any sense of cohesion, progress, or peace being created. For every thing that arose to give us much needed hope about the days to come — the aforementioned vaccine (THREE of them! Available in abundance so that everyone in this country who’s not a conspiracy-addled buffoon could get them! For free!), the resumption of live shows and plays (and sports! With people in the stands!), the ability to meet with friends and family (indoors! Without masks! After flying to new locations even!) Every time one of these popped up, the former pair quickly crept in to darken the sunshine or block it altogether.
Thought those shots were enough? Just kidding — here come the variants! Enjoying those shows/games? Sorry — we’re gonna cancel those by the dozens again! (“This just in — more variants!”) Relishing reconnecting with colleagues and loved ones, staring at their maskless faces in person instead of over Facetime or Zoom? Tough taters — time to cover those hot air holes again and retreat to the safety of our video veils! (Back by popular demand — THE VARIANTS!) Every single time there was a reason to celebrate, to believe we’d turned the corner and were finally going to generate some much-needed momentum — to usher in that fabled second coming of the Roaring 20s with all its drunken debauchery and sex-soaked shenanigans — you’d wake up again on your couch, still in the same sweatpants you’ve been wearing for the past year and a half, slightly confused about whether you’d dreamt that sliver of sunshine or not.
It’s because of all this stop/start inconsistency, as well as the unrelenting toll of those variants (52M cases and over 835k deaths in this country — more than double what we had at this point last year), that the final piece was so urgently felt — the need to heal. It was Google’s search theme of the year for good reason (the ad for it is pretty moving if you haven’t seen it already) — after so many glimmers of hope and so many causes for concern, the primal, desperate need for relief was felt by almost everyone.
The disorientation became almost overwhelming after awhile and things started to devolve into arguments over those elephant parts — “Things are getting better!” “Things are getting worse!” “This is almost over!” “This is never going to end!” “We can make it!” “We’re kidding ourselves!” And so it’s no wonder that folks found themselves looking for how to cope and how to heal in the midst of all that. For some it meant diving deeper into their pandemic refuges while trying to resume some of their “before times” rituals. For me it meant a move back to my beloved city by the lake in an effort to remove a persistent point of annoyance/disdain and (foolishly? Futilely?) try to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.
There through it all, as always, was the music. Somewhat unsurprisingly for a year that in so many ways felt like a carbon copy of the previous one, this year’s list has the exact same number of entries as last year’s — 26. Of those, this year’s crop inverts the balance of old timers to newcomers with this year’s skewing much more heavily to familiar faces (maybe in part a reflection of that desperate need for reconnection after so much distancing). 16 of the 26 bands here have appeared on previous years’ annual lists, while only 10 are first-timers — although for the second year in a row, the top spot went to one of those debuts. (And man, is it a good one…) The list shakes out in tiers — the top one holding the first three albums, representing clear and away the best things I listened to this year, the next one with the subsequent three albums, which I also listened to a bunch, and the last holding the remaining 20, which were all good but a step below that middle tier.
It feels fitting for a year with such clear demarcations between its component parts. And while we still may not be where we want to be overall — still at home, still in those sweatpants, still waiting to get on with our lives and leave our fears (and maybe one day our masks) behind — it’s worth reminding ourselves of the progress we’ve made this past year and the reasons we have to hope. Of the things we managed to get done in spite of the setbacks and the things we can plan (however tentatively) to get done in the coming year. Of the people we used to be and who we hope (time/luck/variants permitting) to become once more. In the meantime we can look back to the music that helped us through — helped brighten the dark days and heighten the bright ones, helped dampen the disorientation and bring delight to the delay, and helped give us hope for what’s to come. It still might not make sense, but if we remember the pieces we hold are but part of the whole and that we need each others’ elements to make it all work, we might yet put this elephant of a year — and ourselves — back together.
Enjoy, my friends — I hope to see you out there this year… –BS
16. Milky Chance — Trip Tape; Jungle — Loving in Stereo: this one’s for the dancers and a duo of duos that makes you want to let down your hair a little. Despite the hopeful expectations this year would mark the start of the Roaring 20’s second coming, it didn’t shake out that way (yet) but hese two didn’t let that get in the way, giving us the opportunity to have a few of those carefree moments at the house (or in the car) instead. Both are supplied by Europeans on a bit of a comeback — Germany’s Milky Chance are back with their first album since 2019, but truthfully I’d lost interest after their infectious 2013 debut Sadnecessary. This one makes it easy to get back in the water, though, serving up inspired covers of some well-known songs while also offering original material in between. (It’s billed as a mixtape and not an official album, but whatever you call it it’s pretty good.)
The covers are really interesting selections — Bad Bunny’s “La Noche de Anoche,” The Weeknd’s “Save Your Tears,” Dua Lipa’s “Levitate.” Even perennial karaoke stalwart “Tainted Love” by Soft Cell shows up. In every case but the latter I think I prefer the reenvisioned version — and even that one was close. (Honestly for a song I’ve heard eleventy billion times it’s laudable how original their rendition for that one sounds, allowing you to hear something new in the source material.) Originals “Cold Summer Breeze,” “Love Again,” and “Lights Out_Demo” stand solidly alongside, holding their own with the more well-known tunes. These guys are really good at creating that laid back bouncing groove that was in short supply this year.
England’s Jungle know a thing or two about that as well, offering tracks that toggle between getting you to create a disco in the den or soundtracking some spring cleaning. That duality can be somewhat self-defeating as on their previous album, 2018’s uneven For Ever. Their songs always sound good — bright and sunny, with just enough studio polish to make them gleam — but their surface-level substance invites their being relegated to the background if the balance is off, innocuous to the point of being ignored. That’s what happened on this one’s uneven predecessor, but the pair manage to avoid that fate here, giving just enough beyond their feel good vibe to keep them in the forefront of your mind.
The album starts out strong, running through four upbeat winners in a row — lead single “Keep Moving” (which is irresistible), nu disco winners “All of the Time” and “Lifting You,” and the irrepressibly sunny “Romeo” (which manages to succeed in spite of some eye rolling lyrics). The back half takes us out of the disco and reminds me more of Sault’s recent albums at times — sonically, at least. Where Sault explicitly and unflinchingly tackles issues of race and oppression in their songs (with stunning power at times), Jungle more often opts to avoid those things lyrically as it would harsh the mellow, typically touching on them elliptically if they do so at all. It works well when they do so, though — tracks like “What D’You Know About Me?” and “Goodbye My Love” have more weight than most of their surroundings (a potential invitation to try more of this in the future), while “Fire” and “No Rules” give glancing blows to the topics (maybe?) instead of employing the direct approach of the former pair. The duo quickly return to safer terrain with tracks like “Truth,” “Talk About It,” and “Can’t Stop the Stars” to close the album out, almost like they scared themselves with the touchier material. Which I suppose is ok — with as divisive as things have become in recent years, you can’t expect everyone to be as fearless as acts like Sault. Sometimes escapist soundtracks are just what we need…
15. Courtney Bartnett — Things Take Time, Take Time; John Andrews & the Yawns — Cookbook: these two represent a slight letdown compared to excellent earlier material, but both grow on you and get you to embrace their quieter, more monotone palette over time. (Ironically, Barnett’s album cover is exactly that, nine different shades of blue.) Interestingly it’s the third album for both — Barnett’s first since 2018’s Tell Me How You Really Feel (which landed at #14 on that year’s list) and Andrews’ first since 2017’s Bad Posture — so maybe that, plus the exhausting times we’re living in, inspired/required a change from what came before.
For Barnett it finds her stretching her already lackadaisical sound even further, pulling the mood (and some of the words) like warm taffy. Her normally riotously wild guitar is largely absent here, making a brief appearance at the end of “Turning Green,” but otherwise tamed on tracks like “Before You Gotta Go,” “Take It Day By Day,” and “Write a List of Things to Look Forward to” (all winners, the latter even Obama-approved) or supplanted outright by synth/piano as on “Sunfair Sundown” and “Oh the Night” (both lovely, languid tunes). This absence and the resulting mood of melancholy are what take a moment to adjust to, as Barnett’s fiery guitar and flippant attitude are two of her hallmarks, but once you make the shift and open your ears to what’s here it’s an enjoyable listen.
Same holds true for Andrews — his previous albums had evoked the dreamy, psychedelic sounds of the late 60s British Invasion (think Yardbirds, Kinks, etc), while this one finds him embracing early 70s AM radio (think Laurel Canyon, California sunshine). Similar to Barnett it takes your ears/brain a minute to adjust their expectations, but once you do this is a damned pretty album, one that makes you want to lay on the floor (preferably in a wedge of that aforementioned sun) and just bliss out for its duration.
The opening “New California Blue” could serve as a concise summation of what’s to come with each of its three words — New. California. Blue. — and it’s a lovely, lazy track. The following trio of “River of Doubt,” “Ain’t That Right?,” and “Try” carry that vibe along gloriously into one of the album’s two instrumentals before shifting slightly to the perfect little folk tune “Early Hours of the Morning,” the album’s centerpiece and gem. The final two songs “Easy Going” and “Keep on Dreaming” battle to see which can put you into a beautiful dream before the album rides out on the movie credits overlay “Thankyou.” It’s a bit different than what I’d expected, but damn if it isn’t a lovely surprise.
14. Nathaniel Rateliff & the Night Sweats — The Future; Parquet Courts — Sympathy for Life: this slot’s for the hybrids and a pair of albums from favorites that sound more like their alter egos than the ones being billed. Nathaniel is back with the Night Sweats for the first time since 2018’s Tearing at the Seams (which landed in the top spot on that year’s list), but instead of sounding like a return to the classic soul sound of their first two albums, this one sounds more like a solo outing with a few flourishes (with a few notable exceptions). Which is by no means a bad thing — I’m a big fan of his more intimate solo stuff, as evidenced by his wonderful And It’s Still Alright landing at number #5 on last year’s list. It’s just when you bill it as a Night Sweats album, you expect something a little different — a big, booming sound full of blaring horns and sweaty urgency whipping you into a fervor.
What we find here for the most part are solo songs with a few embellishments, giving us something in between the two states — not quite the confessional solo stuff, and not quite the jubilant soul party either. In the end it doesn’t really matter — Rateliff is a good enough songwriter that you fall for the songs and his melodies even though they feel somewhat stuck in that sonic limbo. Things get off to a good start with the powerful wallop of “The Future” and “Survivor” (which find Nathaniel singing the absolute SH#$ out of the song) before it transitions to a string of songs from the other side of the fence — the stately “Face Down in the Moment” and its successor “Something Ain’t Right,” the lovely “Baby I Got Your Number,” and the Graceland-era Simon-sounding “Oh, I.” They’re all solid songs on their own — just more akin to his solo work — but they’re interspersed with more traditional Sweats-style material, such as the lush “What If I,” the excellent “I’m On Your Side,” and the powerhouse finale “Love Don’t.” (The latter two of which again find Rateliff absolutely BOOMING out the vocals — it’s incredible.) Whichever side of the psyche is singing, this is another winning set of songs from Rateliff and crew.
For the Courts — back for the first time since 2018’s Wide Awaaaaake!, which landed at #3 on that year’s list — this album definitely feels much more like a Parkay Quarts outing than something from the flagship enterprise. The Quarts are the more schizophrenic, experimental half of the band’s personality, even less concerned with “songs” and the expectations of their fans than the Courts are (which is saying something for a band as known for their flippant sarcasm as these guys). If the Courts are Dr Jekyll, the Quarts are the unhinged Mr Hyde, bouncing between catchy “normal” tunes and oddball (at times unlistenable) tangents multiple times over the course of their albums.
I’ve always viewed the Quarts outings a bit like the band’s geyser, coming in between every album or two as they do, regular as clockwork — it was the band getting in a room to make a bunch of noise and blow off some steam before returning to the rigor of their regular job and the restrictions of being Parquet Courts. They’ve blurred the lines between the two before — as on 2015’s noisy instrumentals EP Monastic Living, which was released as the Courts but decidedly a Quartian affair — but never on a full length album as they do here. And unfortunately as on the EP the name alone can’t change the end result — a mild disappointment overall tempered by some dazzling highlights.
The regular Courts songs represent the latter, with Obama-approved “Walking at a Downtown Pace,” “Black Widow Spider,” “Just Shadows,” and the delirious “Homo Sapien” shining bright. The Quarts songs find the band channeling Talking Heads, which they pull off rather well — “Marathon of Anger,” “Plant Life,” and the title track all sound like alternate universe Fear of Music tracks — but the spacy meandering diminishes the potency of the aforementioned tracks after a while. They go out on a high note, though, with the absolutely stellar “Pulcinella,” whose slowly simmering groove builds to a hypnotic conclusion and is an immediate favorite. A good not great return overall, but with some outstanding moments in between.
13. Guided by Voices — Earth Man Blues, It’s Not Them. It Couldn’t Be Them. It Is Them; Ty Segall — Harmonizer: this slot’s for the restlessly prolific and two outfits who could almost fill a music store all on their own (and seem intent upon trying). For frequently appearing fave GBV, they took it easy on us this year and “only” released a pair of albums, their 33rd and 34th — the early year Earth Man Blues and its back half brother It’s Not Them. It Couldn’t Be Them. It IS Them. (a nice winking nod to the common reaction to seeing the news they’re releasing new music again.) (Note — the “only” refers solely to the GBV moniker — they spent the middle of the year masquerading as Cub Scout Bowling Pins and releasing that debut album, so the overall volume was actually the same as last year — and three times most band’s output.)
Earth Man was meant to be something of a concept album — a musical about life in elementary school (the John H Morrison noted on the cover being the school frontman Bob Pollard attended as a kid) — but if you ignore that stated aim and just focus on the songs (which is relatively easy to do as I never really picked up on that narrative arc, despite numerous listens during the year) it’s right in line with other recent outings — mostly good with a handful of excellent tracks to balance out the oddities (which end up growing on you in the end anyway). Tracks like “Made Man,” “The Batman Sees the Ball,” “Dirty Kid School,” and “Test Pilot” all sport solid riffs that should make them welcome additions to the notoriously epic live shows, while the same holds for songs like “High in the Rain,” “Dance of Gurus,” “Black and White Eyes in a Prism,” and “My (Limited) Engagement” from It IS Them. I say it nearly every year, but it boggles the mind both how easy they make creating this many good songs seem, as well as how they remember how to play them without an extensive cheat sheet live. These guys are just relentless…
Harmonizer finds Segall continuing to stray from his vintage era garage rock material to mine his more esoteric impulses, offering a psychedelic synth trip that somehow works pretty well (despite my long-standing disdain for said instrument). It’s a rather eclectic mix, in line with 2018’s Freedom’s Goblin with its rapid hopscotching around. Tracks like the front half of “Pictures” and all of “Play” showcase bright, soaring riffs bound to soundtrack a car commercial or sports broadcast soon, while the hypnotic meltdown at the end of the title track (which previously calls to mind U2’s “Numb” with the heavily distorted guitar) could do the same.
Besides the adrenaline rush riffs of his classic era, Segall’s other signature is just how HEAVY he can sound (explored more directly in one of his many side projects, Fuzz) and songs like “Waxman,” “Whisper,” and the thundering “Erased” highlight that irresistibly. (The latter could/should accompany a Braveheart-style charge into battle while “Whisper” is one of my favorite overall songs this year.) I may still miss the sweaty songs erupting from the garage (my persistent favorite), but this is a pretty winning change of scenery, too.
12. The Black Keys — Delta Kream; Black Pistol Fire — Look Alive: this slot’s motto is “if it ain’t broke” and a pair of albums that find long-time faves (both bluesy twosomes) laying in the cut. Not necessarily phoning it in (because that implies a lack of craft or sincerity), but more embracing the moment of where they’re at in their careers and reveling in it vs pushing their sound into any new terrain. (Merry Christmas to all — no synths!)
The Keys lean hardest on the armrest, giving us an album of their favorite blues covers from artists such as Junior Kimbrough, John Lee Hooker, and RL Burnside. It’s their tenth album — their first since 2019’s cheesily named (yet solid musically) Let’s Rock!, which landed at #6 on that year’s list) — and whether it’s merely to celebrate that milestone or a reflection of having been a band for nearly twenty years and knowing you no longer need to do what’s hot/cool to survive, the band clearly is in their comfort zone here. They’ve done something similar before — on 2006’s Chulahoma, which again found them covering Kimbrough tunes (he got the whole EP that time vs only half the songs here) — but this time they’ve broadened their sound, bringing in session musicians (guitarist Kenny Brown and bassist Eric Deaton, who both recorded with Burnside and Kimbrough) to fill things out. It works well, adding additional heft (and street cred) to the songs, recorded without rehearsal in a single sprint of a day.
That lack of preamble or preparation gives the entire album a loose, convivial warmth — like a bottle of brown passed amongst friends — and it served as a great soundtrack to driving through the Arizona desert this year, the songs slowly unwinding like the landscape. Tracks like lead single “Crawling Kingsnake,” “Louise,” and “Stay All Night” radiate an easy groove, while “Poor Boy Long Way From Home,” “Coal Black Mattie,” and “Sad Days, Lonely Nights” are vintage dive footstompers. They even reprise “Do the Romp” from their debut (yet another Kimbrough cover), a fitting homage to both where they’ve come from as artists and where their hearts lie as fans.
For their part BPF sticks closest not to the sound of their debut — which similar to the Keys was a much rawer, more fiery rendition of the blues — but to that of their past few albums. Both bands spent the first chunk of their career in that primal, unadorned mode (for the Keys it lasted 4 albums, BPF 3), but eventually both bands branched out a bit, exploring slightly new sonic terrain and adding additional elements to their signature sound. For the Keys it was psychedelia and soul (as on Brothers and the exceptional Attack & Release), whereas for BPF it was a more cinematic feel, which gave the songs a bit more polish and a LOT more heft. They’ve spent the back half of their career in this mode, and it works well for them.
It’s the pair’s sixth album overall (their first since 2017’s Deadbeat Graffiti, which landed at #5 on that year’s list) and similar to their last two has a number of tunes that just FEEL huge, sweeping songs destined to be the backdrop to a number of things on the small and silver screens. The opening title track is a textbook example, tailor-made to punch through walls, bad moods, and passive resistance with equal force and ease. Latter tracks like “Wildfire” and “Hope in Hell” (two favorites) establish a slinkier vibe before building things to a frenzied eruption, while “Level” does so even more forcefully, flattening you like a runaway truck. (Honestly — TRY not to get caught up by the machine gun snares at the end…) The pair hearkens back to their roots on tracks like “Pick Your Poison,” “Holdin Up,” and “Black Halo,” straightforward stompers that give those who prefer the early days something to savor as well. A perennial fave to see live, I’d love to see this album open up on stage — works pretty darn well even on our stereos, though…
11. Shame — Drunk Tank Pink; The Sueves — Tears of Joy: this pair’s for the punks, one straight ahead smokers the other slightly more restrained post-punk dynamos. Both deliver in their own way, though, and form the perfect complement for when you want it loud, brash, and built to thrash. For Shame it’s the follow up to their 2018 debut, Songs of Praise, which found them doing much the same as here — serving up tightly coiled tracks that often explode in a flurry of fireworks, thanks to Charlie Forbes’ furious drumming, Sean Coyle-Smith and Eddie Green’s dueling guitars, and frontman Charlie Steen’s over the top antics. (Glued together, as in all bands, by the ever-overlooked bassist — Josh Finerty here.)
The London lads have sharpened their attack in the time away and pack an even bigger punch this time around — from the powerful push-pull shifts on tracks like “Born in Luton,” “Water in the Well,” and “Harsh Degrees,” which stagger and sprint like an often winded meth head, to all out blitzes like “March Day” and “Great Dog,” the album delivers numerous moments that leave you breathless. None moreso than the epic hammer blow “Snow Day,” which continues to amaze after many months of listening.
The Sueves are much more of a mystery. There’s not much about them out on the intertubes, other than they’re from Chicago, this is their third album, and their guitarist used to be Max Clarke from Cut Worms. (Which is actually how I found them — he posted something about the album’s release on the ‘gram and said he used to be in the band, so naturally checked em out. Suffice it to say I was QUITE surprised to hear songs that were as loud and unrestrained as his current ones are quiet and contained, the difference between getting pelted by eggs and admiring a Faberge one in a museum.) Sonic/mental dissonance aside, the album is pretty great, tearing through 12 songs in just over 30 minutes.
They bring to mind bands like Thee Oh Sees and Bass Drum of Death (two boisterous faves), or even shades of Ty Segall in his garage rock phase. Tracks like “Funeral Hugs,” “Alexxxa,” and “He Puts Down” are so hot they almost raise blisters, while ones like “Mop Bucket” and “Deflect the World” almost saunter out of the speakers, daring you to say something and chance getting pummeled. “Deal” is the standout amongst stars for me, delivering one of the most satisfying muted “chicka chickas” since maybe Radiohead’s “Creep.” I couldn’t tell you what frontman Joe Schorgl is shouting about half the time, but I can guarantee I don’t care. Meant to be enjoyed in a packed, sweaty bar, these guys bring the heat. Turn it up…
10. The Bones of JR Jones — A Celebration; Andy Shauf — Wilds: this slot’s for the ones who technically shouldn’t be here. Not because they’re inferior quality-wise (they most definitely are not), but because they’re technically not albums. In a year where nothing’s seemed to go according to plan or adhere to any rules (and since no one reads this thing anyway) I figure why not — they were definitely two of the best things I listened to this year, so they’re in!
For Jones (aka singer/songwriter Jonathan Linaberry) it’s the first thing we’ve heard since 2018’s Ones to Keep Close and in order to record it he decided to leave his place in New York and venture into the Arizona desert for inspiration. He definitely found something worth holding onto as the open air seems to have made him lean into the quieter, folksier side of his sound (all but one of the tracks – the TV on the Radio reminiscent “Bad Moves” – would be perfect to hear while sitting around the campfire). It’s a wise move as they’re some of his most affecting songs yet, their potency far belying the softness of their sound. The title track, “Keep it Low,” and “Like an Old Lover” are kneebuckling beauties, songs that make you just want to lay on the floor and let them blanket you in their warmth, while the opening “Stay Wild” has a lush, pastoral feel that’s perfect for a drive to nowhere with the windows down. “Howl” was, and remains, my favorite amongst the flawless bunch, as haunting as the titular sound riding the wind to your campsite.
Shauf’s falls closer to album length at least in terms of songs — there’s nine of ’em here, each a characteristic entry in his cinematic style, painting vivid pictures about the cast of characters he conjures — but it lasts only 26 minutes, so like all good EPs definitely leaves you wanting more. Shauf just released his last album a year ago (the excellent Neon Skyline, which landed at #6 on my year-end list) so it was a surprise to see him back with this many songs so soon. He has described them as a collection of demos, ones originally intended to explore the Skyline’s barflies a year or so later, but rather than keep working on that concept he scrapped it and opted to release the sketches now. (Which while slightly disappointing from an academic perspective — his thematic albums are so entertaining and rich, it would have been interesting to see what the crew was up to — doesn’t diminish our ability to enjoy them now.)
Calling them demos or sketches is a bit misleading as they are in no way half-finished or unpolished, they’re simply more thematically diverse slices of Shauf’s universe, full of his gifted storytelling and lovely melodies. We revisit Judy the vexing ex several times (in the album’s bookend title tracks and “Television Blue”), we learn more about the car crash from Skyline (this time focusing on the victim in the stately march of “Jaywalker”), and we get some unconnected songs — songs that don’t directly address any of Skyline’s main characters, yet are equally lovely and beguiling. (“Spanish on the Beach,” “Green Glass,” and “Believe Me”) It’s another winning mix from one of my favorite finds the past few years, whether album or EP.
9. John R Miller — Depreciated; Tre Burt — You, Yeah, You: this one’s for the singer/songwriters and a pair of really good ones, both happy discoveries in my pandemic-fueled musical meanderings the past few years. It’s Miller’s first album since 2018’s The Trouble You Follow, which I stumbled on earlier in the year thanks to a suggestion from the Spots and quickly wore out. Thankfully I found it right as he was beginning to release singles from the upcoming album and each built on the quality of the previous — the straight down the barrel “Lookin’ Over my Shoulder,” the swaying “Coming Down,” the smoldering “Shenandoah Shakedown,” and the pristine “Faustina.” Miller’s country-fried voice and winning melodies get you singing along quick to his tales of perseverance and woe.
It’s not all sadness and despair — “Old Dance Floor” is a good old fashioned hoedown while tracks like “Borrowed Time,” “Half Ton Van,” and “Motor’s Fried” use smirking shots of humor to lighten the proceedings. The latter and “Back and Forth” are actually two tracks from Miller’s debut, rerecorded here with additional flourishes and a solid duet to take them to the next level. It’s the album’s melancholic moments that really hit home, though, as on the closing “Fire Dancer” — the slightly forlorn quality in Miller’s voice heightens the sincerity and lets you know that while he may be pushing through (or cracking jokes) he’s feeling it.
Burt’s album works much the same way — lovely melodies buttressing lyrics that dance between deflective humor and gutpunched emotion. It’s a fast follow up to last year’s debut, Caught it from the Rye (which landed at #15 on my year end list), but shows no sign of sloppiness or haste, instead adding a little polish to the recipe established there. Burt’s warm, ragged voice and unembellished acoustic remain perfect complements the solid storytelling in his lyrics, which is somewhat to be expected as he’s on the late great John Prine’s label, Oh Boy — straight shooting and sincerity are simply part of the package.
He does Prine proud again, though, juxtaposing judicious humor as on “Bout Now,” “Me Oh My,” and “Funny Story” with stabs of sadness as on “Sammi’s Song,” “Solo,” and “Tell Mary.” His duets on tracks like “Ransom Blues” and “Dixie Red” also call to mind Prine’s pairings with female vocalists like Iris DeMent, Lucinda Williams, and Emmylou Harris and it works every bit as effectively, burnishing the bedraggled with a little bit of beauty. (Kelsey Waldon and Amelia Meath are the ones who show up here, elevating several of the album’s tracks.) No sophomore slumping here — just 12 solid songs to warm your ears with.
8. Jimbo Mathus & Andrew Bird — These 13; Yes Ma’am — Runaway: this slot’s for the transportive time machines and a pair of albums that take you far from your current location — either back a century or to a slightly more modern day footing, but definitely somewhere down south. For Mathus and Bird it’s a reunion of sorts, having played together back in the 90s as part of the equally antique sounding Squirrel Nut Zippers. (I actually met both of them after one of the Zippers shows and each was quite polite to this sweaty, awkward kid…) This time they leave out the brass and the bombastic zeal, giving us a baker’s dozen songs on an album that is just painfully pretty top to bottom.
It’s a mix of folk songs, hymns, and spirituals, all written during the pandemic, but sounding like unearthed treasures from some long lost time capsule. It’s in part due to Bird’s fiddle, which always sounds like a relic from another era, but also the imagery used in the songs’ lyrics — horses, devils, and talk of burying one deep all show up. It all hearkens back to a simpler time, one where you might hear these songs coming out of an old radio while you sat in your wooden chair (as shown on the album cover) or sing them call and response style at the town jamboree. It’s an intoxicating trick — “Sweet Oblivion,” “Dig up the Hatchet,” and “Jack o’ Diamonds” are are more uptempo knee slappers while “Red Velvet Rope,” “Stonewall (1863),” and “Bell Witch” showcase the pair’s outstanding harmonization, which raises the hair on your arms at times. The album’s quieter moments are its most potent, though, hushed little knife thrusts that slip the blade straight into your heart — “Encircle My Love,” “Beat Still my Heart,” and “Three White Horses and a Golden Chain” are devastating beauties and three of my absolute favorites. This was one of the first albums that came out this year — almost exactly a year ago at this point — and I’ve kept listening to it the entire time with no downturn in enjoyment.
For their part Yes Ma’am keep things slightly more modern (although not much — just enough to get us to a time where trains and river riding were king), but otherwise very much in line with their slotmates. Where Bird and Mathus wove a more subdued, seductive spell, sloooooooowly pulling you down with their softer sound and harmonies, Yes Ma’am’s hits you square in the chest, getting your pulse racing almost instantly like a shot of adrenaline. They scarcely let you rest for the subsequent 11 songs, offering only momentary reprieves at the beginning of the tracks before uncorking another shindig in each one’s back half. (The noteworthy exception being the closing title track, “Runaway,” which is as lovely as it is uniformly calm.)
It’s the band’s fourth album (I think — Bandcamp has two, while the Spots has three, with one overlap), but whatever the number the quality and consistency can’t be denied. I first saw these guys when down in New Orleans — something I forgot until I stumbled on them again this year, recognized a couple of the tracks, and then saw a photo of them performing on the street in the exact same spot I saw them before. Frontman Matt Costanza’s exuberance radiates through his voice and the rest of the band mirrors his zeal with their infectious playing. From uptempo winners like the opening “Tell Me” to “Leaving Blues,” “Brush Your Teeth,” and “Banjo Blues,” the band is quite adept at whipping you into a frenzy. Meanwhile slightly more stately songs like “Hellhound” and “Blue For You” (along with the killer closer) show they’re not a one trick (or tempo) pony. Really glad to have rediscovered these guys…
7. Houndmouth — Good For You; The Wallflowers — Exit Wounds: this slot’s for a return to form and a pair of bands I’d let go from the ranks in recent years. For Houndmouth it had been a disappointing departure, one sparked by the abyssmal change of their third album, 2018’s Golden Age, an over-polished upending of their rustic, rootsy sound full of — you guessed it — SYNTHS. (Cue gasps and thunderclaps.) After loving their warm, inviting first two albums so much, this was akin to your significant other shaving their head, getting nipple rings, and saying they’re now nihilists without warning. Thankfully, whatever urges, advice, or mania were driving those decisions have since been disregarded on this lovely return to their old sound.
Similar to their first two albums, it’s busting with big hearted, full throated winners — tracks like “Miracle Mile,” “McKenzie,” “Jackson,” and “Las Vegas” are all uptempo, bright beams of light, but it’s the slower songs that are particularly resonant here. The opening title track, the smoldering “Make it to Midnight,” and the equally stately “Goodbye” and “Ohio” are quiet little devastators, as potent as they are pretty. None moreso than “Cool Jam,” the crippling heart of the album that cut way too close to the bone for me this year, but is an absolute gem of a song. Really glad to see these guys back in the fold…
The back half of the slot marks the year’s biggest surprise musically. Like half the globe I loved the band’s second album (the world dominating Bringing Down the Horse) and mostly liked their follow up, but lost the thread somewhere around album four and thought that our time together was through. Nothing malicious, no ill will, just a mutual breakup for a pairing that had run its course. The band kept recording, dropping albums every couple of years while frontman Jakob Dylan shuffled lineups and simultaneously recorded solo stuff. Meanwhile I kept doing whatever you call this. (“Living?”) So it was completely unexpected to have our paths cross again all these years later.
It’s been nine years since the band’s last album (their longest gap to date) and almost 20 since I listened to anything they’d put out, but I saw it pop up in the new release list and thought I’d give it a spin. (Actually I saw its terrible cover and thought a) “this looks like something that should be on an Oakenfold mix tape” and b) “the Wallflowers are still around?!?”) I’m really glad I did because it’s got some really good songs. Dylan’s voice remains as scuffed up and seductive as ever, pulling you in close to listen to his laments on songs like “Maybe Your Heart’s Not in it,” “Darlin’ Hold On,” “I’ll Let You Down (But I Will Not Give You Up),” and “The Daylight Between of Us,” like a bartender in some half empty bar. Tracks like “The Dive Bar in my Heart,” “Roots and Wings,” and “I Hear the Ocean (When I Want to Hear Trains)” are more uplifting affairs, while “Move the River” is the powerhouse in the middle with a massive chorus that’ll have you booming along in defiance.
6. We Were Promised Jetpacks — Enjoy the View: back for the first time since 2018’s The More I Sleep the Less I Dream (which feels like it just came out, but somehow is already three years old –thanks a lot, COVID…), one of my favorite bands of merry Scotsmen are back to deliver another dreamy disc full of tunes. That one found the band leaning hard into the woozy, surreal vibe suggested by the titular state — swelling, sweeping guitars that conjured an almost ethereal feel — and this one (their fifth, the previous landing at #4 on that year’s list) finds them mining similar territory.
The band had always dabbled with this type of song before (“Sore Thumb” off their sophomore In the Pit of the Stomach and “Disconnecting” from the follow-up Unraveling are two of my favorites), but Dream found them maintaining that vibe for almost the entire album. Same applies here — from the gossamer opening track “Not Me Anymore” to later offerings “What I Know Now,” “If It Happens,” and the hypnotic gem of a closer, “Just Don’t Think About It,” this is a band that knows how to nail the epic swell.
Jetpacks’ other hallmark is fiery, furious guitar, led primarily by guitarist Michael Palmer and frontman Adam Thompson, whose ferocious roar gives a number of songs almost overwhelming power. (Particularly live, as some of the songs nearly bowl you over with their force.) Thankfully both are still here and healthy as ever, their slightly less frequent appearances only adding to their potency. The pair punctuate the glimmering aura with some signature style tunes — “All That Glittered,” “Don’t Hold Your Breath For Too Long,” and “I Wish You Well” showcase them at their best, while all-out sprints like “Nothing Ever Changes” show bassist Sean Smith and drummer Darren Lackie pouring gasoline on the fire. These guys have shown how to expand their sound while continuing to play to their strengths better than most. Another solid offering from a pocket fave…
5. Kings of Leon — When You See Yourself: this is another band that’s expanded their sound over the years (maybe a little less smoothly and sincerely at times than the previous band), but despite some growing pains have hit their stride and still turn out quality songs. At this point Kings have long since left behind my favorite incarnation of the band — the irresistibly fiery and raw version from their first two albums, Youth and Young Manhood and its follow-up Aha Shake Heartbreak — and since then they’ve spent the subsequent 16 years and six albums covering most of the flames with blankets of studio polish and sanding down all their rough edges. The end result hasn’t worked for everyone, but it has spawned a number of universal anthems and I think on balance has been far better than their growing chorus of detractors imply.
Similar to the last band, Kings’ previous album found them leaning into the more ethereal (some might say synthetic) elements that they’d played with on earlier outings and they’ve doubled down on them in this. The last one, WALLS, struck critics (and a fair number of fans) as somewhat forced at the time (I still enjoyed it — it landed at #13 on 2016’s list), but the similar sound here feels a lot more comfortable and organic this time around. From the pulsating “100,000 People” to gauzier songs like “A Wave,” “Time in Disguise,” and “Fairytale,” the shimmer and sheen feel more warranted than before, the band more confident in what they’re trying to achieve. (Bassist Jared Followill sounds particularly inspired, offering some of his best lines on the album, an unsung highlight for sure.) “Supermarket” and “Claire & Eddie” are laidback little ditties, while the bright, bouncing title track, the furious “Echoing,” and lead singles “The Bandit” and “Stormy Weather” show the band can still bring the heat when they want to. Lyrically frontman Caleb Followill earns a few eyerolls as he sings about subjects that can seem a little forced (climate change, for one), but they’re minor infractions forgiven thanks to the strength of the music and melody surrounding them. This was another early year entry that I listened to a bunch in the coming months — a really solid batch of songs.
4. My Morning Jacket — My Morning Jacket: the final band in this tier of frequently appearing faves is also the oldest and based on that status as elder statesmen it’s ironic that they’re the ones who released a self-titled album this year. That move is normally reserved for debuts — or at least early career proclamations (“We. Have. ARRIVED! Take heed and notice, all ye who pass…”) — so for a band with 22 years and eight studio albums already under their belts, it’s a bit of a surprise to have their ninth serve as that statement. It makes more sense when you learn what state the band was in leading up to this, though.
Turns out the fears and suspicions of a band in turmoil sparked by last year’s release of The Waterfall II (which landed at #10 on last year’s list) — an album of outtakes as a companion to the 2015 original after five years of no new material — were warranted. The band was on the verge of breaking up and had no intentions of recording another album, but playing a pair of pandemic shows at Red Rocks made them reconsider the former, while the studio jam sessions they decided to have shortly afterward made them reconsider the latter. And thus the decision to name the album showcasing that recaptured joy and rekindled sense of purpose after the band makes total sense — and you hear both elements clearly throughout its 11 song, hour long duration.
It works almost like an MMJ show in miniature — the opening “Regularly Scheduled Programming” serves as a fitting start to both the album and their live shows, addressing the near two-years-and-counting interruption to our normal lives and attempting to get back to the titular topic. (This was the first song I heard at the first show I went to this year after the longest stretch without live music I’ve had since I started going to shows 25+ years ago. The communal sense of relief, release, and exhilaration was undeniable and something I will remember for a long, long time…) Immediate follow-up “Love Love Love,” “Lucky to be Alive,” and “Penny For Your Thoughts” represent the bright, energetic songs that get everyone in the crowd singing along, while “Out of Range, Pt 2” and “I Never Could Get Enough” represent the “Jim jams” that get everyone to shut up, showcasing frontman Jim James’ otherworldly voice as it rockets towards the heavens from a sea of silent, awed onlookers.
The album also captures some of the epic, spine-tingling moments you get at the band’s live shows (these guys are on the short list of bands I see every time they come to town — particularly if they’re in the open air — and they NEVER disappoint). Tracks like “In Color,” “Complex,” and “Never in the Real World” pull off that rare feat, replicating some of the mind-melting fireworks sparked when the band cuts loose and leaves you speechless. The lyrics can be a little simple and sloganeering at times (Pitchfork savaged the album for that), but similar to IDLES’ album last year (which they ALSO destroyed) when things are as out of control as they have been the past few years, sometimes boiled down and basic is best (or at least, all you can manage). And in that case a “back to basics” album with music as good as this is exactly what we needed.
3. IDLES — Crawler: in a year characterized predominantly by music that seemed aimed to soothe or heal (rightfully so — because…damn…) this was one of the few that fired from the opposite end of the spectrum, tapping into the collective frustration and anger to deliver a Molotov cocktail of an album. The brash Brits are back quick on the heels of last year’s Ultra Mono (which landed at #14 on that list) and it finds them continuing the trend of the last few slots of bands experimenting with adding elements to their sound before expanding that trend on the subsequent album. For IDLES that meant adding a few spacier, slower songs on Mono to counterbalance all the frothy uptempo punk tunes, as well as some electronic effects and distortions to add even more edges to their already spiky sound and it worked well. What they’ve delivered here, though, represents such an extraordinary leveling up it’s stunning, particularly in such a short amount of time.
Instead of attacking societal issues as on the previous three albums (rape, racism, politics, toxic masculinity) frontman Joe Talbot (aka “Good Joe,” to differentiate him from the dummy I work with of the same name) turns his gaze inward here, centering the album largely around his personal history. He sets the stage ominously with the opening “MTT 420 RR,” which poses the question (both to himself and to us), “are you ready for the storm?” In his case this is a reference to the storm of hardships and pain spawned by a car crash he suffered while high several years ago, which he touches on in several songs. (In “420,” as well as on the aptly named “Car Crash,” one of the album’s many standout tracks.) The cycle of substance abuse that caused said crash also comes up several times, as on the Howitzer blast “The Wheel,” which references both his and his mother’s struggles and is one of the band’s best songs (bassist Adam Devonshire’s notes strike a primordial nerve deep in the brain that is irresistibly powerful); the aptly named “Meds,” which gleefully implores the listener to “medicate, meditate, medicate;” and the eerie “Progress,” which finds Talbot precariously teetering between not wanting to get high (for fear of letting folks down) and not wanting to come down (for fear of feeling worse). The refrain is of damage (as crooned on the uncharacteristic lead single “The Beachland Ballroom”), which fits both for the album and the year itself.
The album closes with the duo of “King Snake” and “The End,” the former a withering self-assault that finds Talbot starting with the line “I’m the duke of nothing” before getting progressively more unsparing in his self-flagellations, while the latter finally finds him letting up a bit and giving himself a break, ending the album with the full-throated, optimistic roar of “in spite of it all, life is beautiful.” Both the additional focus lyrically (which removes some of the sloganeering that Pitchfork and others have unfairly eviscerated the band for) and the heightened heft musically (drummer Jon Beavis deserves a nod for adding some jungle-style rhythms to his customary pattern of beating the absolute sh#$ out of the kit) make this an absolute juggernaut of an album — easily their best to date.
2. Manchester Orchestra — The Million Masks of God: carrying on the theme of the last few slots, this album again finds the owning band deepening the explorations dabbled with on the previous outing to positive effect. For Manchester the exploration was on 2017’s excellent A Black Mile to the Surface (which landed at #8 on that year’s list) and was probably the most fully formed of the aforementioned bands’ efforts. That album was pretty comparable in terms of sound and feel to this one — what’s deepened this time around is the lyrics around a more focused theme. Fear not, we still touch on many of frontman Andy Hull’s favorites — death, uncertainty, loss, love — but this time they’re centered around a single event, in this case the death of guitarist Rob McDowell’s father. So while each of these topics showed up on Black Mile (and almost all other Manchester recordings to date), there they were sparked by a range of different stimuli vs here by this one sad event.
Hull remains as introspective and unsparing as always in his handling of the material, letting neither himself nor the focus of his attention off the hook, oscillating between simmering anger, uneasy self-doubt, and pleas for love and understanding. So whether he’s “arguing with the dead” as on lead single “Bed Head,” the angel of death on the song of the same name, or a significant other/himself on almost everything else, it covers a lot of terrain emotionally. As a result, this one smashed a number of nerves that were similarly frayed on this end this year (albeit more enjoyably and beautifully) — the frustration and disdain for having to repeat oneself (“over and ooooooveeeeer…”) on “Bed Head” and “Dinosaur,” the fear and fog of letting go as on “Obstacle” and “Way Back,” the sadness and isolation caused by a lack of reciprocity (“baby do you want me/love me/are you with me?” “No, no, no…”) as on “Telepath,” one of two songs this year that would nearly break me every time I heard it.
Hull knows whether it’s the pain and disillusionment brought on by the end of a relationship through death or one done in by distance, damage, or divorce, the sentiments are largely the same, and while these feelings were brought on by a single event for him, he treats them generally enough in the lyrics that we can all find a piece to identify with and share. It’s a testament to his skills as a songwriter, made all the more resonant by his ethereal voice, which along with Jim James’ might be one of my overall faves. I turned to this one a lot over the course of the year — maybe not as much as I normally would due to the rawness of the emotions and how close they hit to home — but it’s another really solid album from these guys. Hoping to hear how they treat it live at some point soon…
1. Lord Huron — Long Lost: each year the decision for what the top album will be is a no brainer, something that clicks in the brain at some point as obvious and that certainty solidifies with every subsequent listen. For me, it was this one — this absolute beauty of an album from Lord Huron — which was something of a surprise. I’ve always enjoyed their music, finding its mix of elegant etherealism and warm Americana soothing, but they’ve always been relegated more to the background for me vs something I focus on actively while listening. That couldn’t be farther from the case with this one, their fourth, which felt like the songs were stolen from my head instead of some fictional old time revue (the structural conceit of the album). This one hits you time and again, straight in the heart, and it’s pretty to the point of being painful at times.
The lyrics deal (per usual) with love and loss as the narrator grapples with the passage of time, the decisions he’s made, and whether what’s left in the wake is salvageable or spent, but their clarity and power land like never before. Frontman Ben Schneider takes a page from Tom Petty’s playbook and rattles off a rash of outstanding opening lines — “If you ever want to see my face again I want to know…if forever gets lonely take my hand” from “Mine Forever;” “I’ve been lost before and I’m lost again, I guess” from “Love Me Like You Used To;” “I get by, but I’m tired of myself and I doubt that I ever will find someone else” from “Drops in the Lake;” “All messed up with nowhere to go, I stare at myself in the mirror alone” from lead single “Not Dead Yet;” or “So much to say, but my words mean nothing, a life spent talking when my epitaph would do. Wasting my days with my mind on the future and my past like a chain that won’t ever let me go” from closing “What Do It Mean.” These lines (and many that follow in those songs) are so poignant, so evocative, it’s tough to pick a favorite.
Two in particular stand out, though — one serving as a personal theme song that encapsulates my tumultuous time in DC (which thankfully finally reached its end), the other a painful glimpse of my potential future. The former is the majestic, melancholic “Twenty Long Years,” which sports so many lines that could be bumper stickers for my time on the hill — coincidentally the exact same duration as the titular span — it’s uncanny (and a bit unnerving). The latter is the absolutely devastating “I Lied,” which showcases a breathtaking duet with Alison Ponthier as she and Schneider sing to each other about a relationship gone awry. It’s an amazing song — the other half of the aforementioned duo that nearly reduced me to tears each time I heard it — and a high point on an album that’s full of them. This one’s their masterpiece…
