Reading Rainbow: French Cassettes and Callbacks

It being a rainy, blustery day here in my beloved city of wind, I thought it fitting to do a little tidying up — not of the apartment (though we’ll maybe get to that a little later if the weather keeps up), but of the numerous open tabs on my iPad and phone. There are dozens that’ve stacked up over the punishing past few weeks, so we’ll pick the choicest cuts and give you something good to listen to/read in the coming days. Before we get to that, though, there’s one discovery to share, that of a San Francisco quartet I recently stumbled on in the Spots. Contrary to most recent discoveries, this wasn’t a spillover situation for whatever album or playlist I’d been listening to, but rather a selection from the “recommended for today” spool that pops up once in a while.

The striking cover art is what got me to choose it — a bright, lovely sketch of halved fruits that reminded me of a Wes Anderson drawing. It was the cover for the band’s second album, Rolodex, which was released in 2020 (their only other outing, Gold Youth, came out seven years prior) and it belonged to a similarly Andersonesque-named outfit, the French Cassettes. Shout out to whoever the artist that got me to click is because it’s a great little album — with its eight songs clocking in at a scant 26 minutes, it’s a brisk, bright blast, one that definitely leaves you wanting more.

Lead singer Scott Huerta’s voice reminds me of a cross between the Shins’ James Mercer and Passion Pit’s Michael Angelakos, toggling between the former’s melodic croon and the latter’s at times thinly contained exuberance. Guitarist Mackenzie Bunch’s riffs have the elegance of early Vampire Weekend tracks (check out “Dixie Lane” for one such example) while bassist Thomas Huerta and drummer Rob Mills throw down some killer grooves to round things out. (Their work on “City Kitty” being one irresistible example.) The band also sprinkles a healthy dose of Local Natives style harmonization across the tracks, such as on “Santa Cruz Tomorrow” and the lovely gem “Utah,” my current fave. Give it a listen here and soak up the sun radiating from your speakers:


Shifting to the Reading Rainbow section of the post, there were a TON of great albums celebrating anniversaries recently, which have been commemorated with solid retrospectives/history lessons (almost all on the Gum). Each of the albums are really good listens and the articles do a good job explaining either their origins, significance, or both and they’re good invitations to go back and revisit the music. Here’s a quick rundown of some personal faves, with their age in parens:

  • The Libertines’ Up the Bracket (20) — we’ll start with the brash, sloppy blast from the boys in the band, whose debut somehow turned 20 this year. If memory serves (and it’s increasingly faulty these days) this was the first show I saw on my first night in DC and it was a fitting introduction to what life would be like in that godforsaken town. I’d just driven from my favorite place on earth with a truck full of stuff, cautiously excited about grad school and the path beyond, and the literal instant I pulled in front of my house it started pouring. Like biblical monsoon, batten down the hatches and make sure the levees are still standing, which meant I and every item I frantically pulled from the truck was soaked by the time I could run it up the steps and get it inside. My roommates, feeling bad for not wanting to help (I didn’t really blame them) meekly mentioned heading to a show that night after I’d gotten everything unloaded and sat in an exhausted puddle on the floor. It was to see this band and not wanting to sit on a wet chair/sleep on a wet bed, I decided to go along. (I had also already discovered this album and loved its snotty mix of the Kinks and the Clash.)

    The show was at what would turn out to be my favorite venue in town, the Black Cat (itself a brash, sloppy blast), and despite the day’s events (or the fight we nearly got in with someone after the show, or my roommate turning out to be a pompous knob, or the lion’s share of every subsequent interaction/day in that town) it was a great show and start of that chapter. I remember Carl and Pete being the exhilarating, shabby messes they’d forever be and drummer Gary Powell just pulverizing the drums, whipping the crowd into a frenzy in those cramped, cozy confines. To this day songs like the title track, “Boys in the Band,” and the opening trio still sizzle, taking me back to that sweaty, glorious room — one of the only places I could consistently count on to not be a disappointment and/or aggravation. Long live the Cat and flawed yet thrilling debuts like this.

  • The Chili Peppers’ By the Way (20) — this was the Peps at their prettiest, their second album since the return of exiled guitar wizard John Frusciante, and as the article ably explains it forms the near-perfect midsection between the harmonies dabbled with on Californication and the more eclectic experimentation on the sprawling Stadium Arcadium. The band had always been able to tug on the heartstrings when they wanted to (reluctant though they may be to set aside their vintage funk and ham-handed machismo), but the songs here are unapologetically pretty. Tracks like “Dosed,” “I Could Die For You,” and “The Zephyr Song” are just three of several examples where Frusciante’s (and Flea’s, despite the article reminding how alienated he felt by this outing) harmonies are just knee-bucklers. They may have fallen off in recent years (to start what will be a trend for this section), in spite of yet another reunion with Frusciante and fabled producer Rick Rubin, but that’s ok — this stretch is still pretty wonderful. Close your eyes and you can almost feel the warm summer breeze in your hair while those harmonies waft out around you…
  • Spoon’s Kill the Moonlight (20) — coming out a mere year after what has long remained my favorite album from the band (although this year’s outing has posed a serious challenge to that title) this one saw the band stripping back almost everything and beginning their long, winding path away from the guitar-heavy rawness of their first few albums towards their more adventurous experimentations found on recent albums. It still exudes frontman Britt Daniels’ characteristically cool indifference and sports a handful of tracks that could easily have fit on their predecessor (“Someone Something,” “Something to Look Forward To,” “All the Pretty Girls Go To the City”), but you can hear the seeds of the later sounds that the band would explore more fully here too.

    The subdued “Vittorio E.,” the off-kilter dissonance of “Paper Tiger,” the instant classic marketer’s dream “The Way We Get By” — they all show the band flexing new muscles and seeing how it goes. (Report: it goes well.) Two of the most spartan, weird tracks are also two of my favorites — the panting “Stay Don’t Go” and the massive, distorted hand claps on “Back to the Life” are undeniably urgent winners. One of many solid albums from one of the country’s most reliable, underrated bands. (A title I think they share with Wilco, actually.)

  • Grizzly Bear’s Shields (10) — similar to the author, this remains my favorite of the Brooklyn band (it landed at number 3 on my 2012 year-end list) and what I wrote back then still applies: “Chock full of beautiful melodies, sing-along harmonies, and all-around stellar songs — but that is not to say this is an easy album to delve into. The band remains an experimental, non-traditional outfit, weaving an intricate web of skittish, jazzy rhythms, rich harmonies, and moody reverb into songs that are the equivalent of Russian nesting dolls — ornate, precious affairs that take time to reveal their full beauty.”

    That image of the nesting dolls is fitting because in spite of the immediate loveliness that confronts you on so many of the songs (“Sleeping Ute,” “Speak in Rounds,” and “Half Gate” remain powerhouses of prettiness) there’s so many other layers to enjoy wrapped around them. Singers Ed Droste and Daniel Rossen’s voices are still wonderfully delicate gems and this one remains a lovely listen. Pop it on and bliss out.

  • Beck’s Sea Change (20) — lovely in a slightly different way is this one from Beck, which is pure, unadulterated heartbreak (but no less melodic and pretty). As the article discusses, this was written in the wake of a long-term relationship’s demise and it manages to pull off a pretty mean trick. Not only did it eschew his normal hipster doofus schtick and bounty of trademark samples (his previous album was the hyper-sexxxed (and hilarious) Midnite Vultures), it went to the complete opposite end of the spectrum, opting instead for strings, solitude, and sadness, which could have alienated his entire audience.

    Over its 12 songs Beck obsessively examines every piece of emotional wreckage he finds, like an inspector combing the beach after a plane crash. And while pain this unvarnished and honest could have gone horribly, horribly wrong, veering into maudlin, cornball territory, he manages to mostly steer clear of that fate and repeatedly plunge a dagger into your heart instead. Tracks like “The Golden Age” and “Lonesome Tears” are symphonies of sorrow, while “End of the Day” and “It’s All in Your Mind” are more spartan, solitary affairs (but no less effective). “Guess I’m Doing Fine” and “Lost Cause” remain utterly wrenching gems, ones that have soundtracked my own sobs in years past. Beautiful stuff…

  • Coldplay’s A Rush of Blood to the Head (20) — we’ll stay in the land of the lovely for one more turn, this time for the sophomore outing from the British giants.  This might be a surprise appearance for some of you (those who like to jab at me for my “fussiness” or “snobbery” when it comes to music), and while these guys have gotten obnoxiously huge (and largely unlistenable) the past decade or two,  they used to make some really good music. Their debut remains a perfect little beauty and this one isn’t far behind in terms of quality, sporting a number of really good tracks. (Just try not to get caught up by the driving pull of “God Put a Smile Upon my Face” — I dare ya.)

    Unfortunately it also marks the last time they kept their worst tendencies in check — the maudlin and cornball criteria we discussed for the previous album — and didn’t blow one or both of those past Pluto in outer space. Thankfully everything’s still in balance here — frontman Chris Martin is sincerely (instead of cloyingly) sweet here on tracks like “In My Place,” “The Scientist,” and “Green Eyes,” while the swells in songs like the opening “Politik” and “Clocks” are absolutely massive, rightly helping propel their rocket ship to stardom.  We’d only get glimpses of this kind of quality on subsequent albums (and in far shorter supply), which only makes their first two that much better.

  • Wu-Tang’s Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers) (30) — another outfit whose quality and consistency decreased rather markedly over the years is the legendary Wu. Yes, this one is a classic. (A perfect 10 from the notorious gang of grouches at Pitchfork!) And their follow-up was pretty good (but not great — it could have lost about half the songs and been another banger). And then there’s that initial string of solo albums, which is pretty killer as well. (Also true, but only for a handful of the guys and then even they mostly fall off a cliff beyond that.) After that, it’s a hit or miss parade, with most of the balance falling on the latter side of the fence. Yet as with the last band (possibly the first/only time Wu-tang has ever been compared to Coldplay) that only makes those early outings hit that much harder — which is saying something for this one, as it’s already a taut, enthralling affair.

    I still remember how head-scrambling this was to hear for the first time — I’d heard  “Protect Ya Neck” first (still probably my favorite song here), but then quickly succumbed to the onslaught of noises, sound effects, and devastating verses packed in this album’s suffocating frame. It’s just bursting with classics (“and more deadly than the stroke of an axe, I’m choppin’ thru your back (swish swish) givin’ bystanders heart attacks”) and the article does a nice job giving some context and history to the affair. This one will never get old, no matter how many times you listen to it (or how far from its potency the guys ultimately ended up). The Wu is comin’ thru!

  • Parquet Courts’ Light up Gold (10) — we’ll keep the string of fantastic debuts going with one from one of my favorite bands from the past ten years, the bratty lads from Brooklyn. As I wrote ten years ago when this captured the top spot on my year-end list, this was an instant obsession — one that’s remained despite numerous listens in the intervening years.  I remember listening to the album early on when I was at the gym with wifey and blazing through it while we both worked out. I completely lost myself in it, so much so that it wasn’t until she somewhat impatiently came and tracked me down that I realized I’d listened to it twice already and we’d been there for well over an hour. I just remember the infectious energy of the songs — from the flawless opening salvo of the first two to the stretchy epic bookend at the back (the one they only recently started adding back to their sets as noted in the article) — and getting completely consumed.

    My words back then still apply — “Trashy, funny, and flat out fun, at thirty-four minutes this [is] the sonic equivalent of a meteor streaking across the sky.” Seeing the guys live while three of their four heads are thrashing in completely different directions when they’re in a groove — one up and down, one side to side, one back and forth — remains a delight every time I see them and unlike the previous few acts, their new stuff holds up great against the stellar songs in here.  “These guys represent all the joy and charm of a killer garage band — sharp, quick songs, snarled lip attitude, and lots and lots of energy.” Here’s to ten more years…

  • Interpol’s Turn on the Bright Lights (20) — we’ll close with a final classic debut and another album that remains almost as intoxicating now as it did when I first found it. (Despite two decades of heavy, heavy use.)  Similar to so many acts on this list (the Courts and Spoon being the noteworthy exceptions) the band would never again attain this level of perfection, showing only glimpses of their former glory on each subsequent album. Like those other slow fades, though, that falloff does nothing to tarnish the shine of this debut, which is pure, instant atmosphere and filled with killer tracks.

    The article calls out the appropriate touchstones — Joy Division, Echo and the Bunnymen, the Cure — and while it savages the lyrics (while I’ve never understood exactly what frontman Paul Banks was getting at on some of the songs, I’ve never really cared and still don’t) the music is unassailable.  It didn’t matter if he was shouting about 200 couches or bad girls who could read, this stuff was dark, moody, and oh so bewitching. It also was surgically sharp — while fellow scenesters the Strokes were known for their tight, interlocking guitar parts and clinical performances, Interpol took it to a whole other level.  Listening to scorchers like “Say Hello to the Angels,” “PDA,” or “Obstacle 1” you’d expect them to struggle to deliver the same performance night after night, but you can look up almost any live version and the difference between that and the studio version is negligible at best. Even slower, more expansive tracks like the opening “Untitled,” “Hands Away,” and “The New” let in just the right amount of oxygen, like those doctors precisely controlling the amount of anesthesia for a patient.

    I remember seeing them perform this album here in Chicago on my birthday (along with criminally unknown closet fave Calla as openers) and it was a perfect show (and remains in my top ten of all time). It was one of my favorite albums at the time, a head wrecker I obsessively listened to reproduced with pinpoint precision live, along with another favorite band who also killed. Hell of a birthday present to myself, hell of an album. This one is flawless…

Until next time, amici…
–BS

Over and Over Again: The Best Music of 2021

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


Milky Chance - Trip Tape Lyrics and Tracklist | Genius16. 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.

Loving In Stereo | JungleEngland’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…

Courtney Barnett: Things Take Time, Take Time Album Review | Pitchfork15. 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.

John Andrews & The Yawns – Cookbook LP – WoodsistSame 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.

Nathaniel Rateliff & The Night Sweats - The Future | Album Review14. 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.

Parquet Courts → Sympathy for LifeFor 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.

It's Not Them. It Couldn't Be Them. It Is Them! | Guided By Voices13. 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 | Ty SegallHarmonizer 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.

The Black Keys: Delta Kream Album Review | Pitchfork12. 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.

Black Pistol Fire - Look Alive - Amazon.com MusicFor 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…

Shame: Drunk Tank Pink Album Review | Pitchfork11. 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.

Tears of Joy | The SuevesThe 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…

The Bones of J.R. Jones Announce New EP A Celebration, Out March 19th | Grateful Web10. 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.

Wilds | Andy ShaufShauf’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.

Depreciated | John R Miller9. 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.

You, Yeah, You | Tre BurtBurt’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.

Jimbo Mathus / Andrew Bird: These 13 Album Review | Pitchfork8. 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.

Runaway by Yes Ma'am on Amazon Music UnlimitedFor 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…

Houndmouth - Good For You - Amazon.com Music7.  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…

Exit Wounds | The WallflowersThe 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.

Enjoy the View | We Were Promised Jetpacks | Big Scary Monsters6. 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…

When You See Yourself - Wikipedia5. 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.

My Morning Jacket: My Morning Jacket Album Review | Pitchfork4. 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.

CRAWLER | IDLES3. 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.

The Million Masks of God | manchester orchestra2. 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…

Long Lost (album) - Wikipedia1. 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…

Turkey Time 2020: A Side of Sonic Stuffing

With this year’s holidays being another victim of this strange year of separation, as many stayed home rather than potentially infect loved ones (though worryingly not enough, due to the high number of travelers reported this week), one thing that might have been too much to bear was also having to go without me — the unrequited love you never tell your true feelings (it’s ok, I know…) — so here I am to help you salvage a little joy out of these trying, tiring times.  Gather round — let’s gorge ourselves on a smorgasbord of new music as Thanksgiving tradition dictates.  Get comfy — loosen your pants and let me fill your proverbial cornucopias with a few recommendations from the previous weeks (only 27% as dirty as it sounds).

We’ll start with a few old friends, just to make everyone comfortable.  First up comes the latest from frequent attendee Andrew Bird who recently released a Christmas album, Hark — the day before Halloween. (Why not, I guess? Nothing else makes sense this year…) It expands upon the EP of the same name from last year, adding a few more original songs to mix of already pleasant traditional tunes.  (Bird also remixes a few of those traditional melodies, fusing them with lyrics of his own from other songs to interesting effect.)

One of the noteworthy new songs is this one, a cover of former Velvet Undergrounder John Cale’s solo song, “Andalucia.” As usual, Bird makes the song his own, mixing his trademark violin with his lovely voice and whistle. It may not be a typical holiday/Christmas song, but who the heck cares when it sounds this good? Slog down some nog and give it a listen here:

Next comes the latest single from faves Parquet Courts, who are prepping a 10th anniversary live stream in honor of their first show. (How has it been 10 years already?!)  Airing December 10 on NoonChorus it should be a typically enjoyable time, so get your tickets now. (One of my favorite moments of a Courts show — and it happens every time — is when Andrew, Austin, and Sean’s heads all start bobbing to one of the tunes, albeit in a totally different direction.  One will be up and down, one side to side, and the other left to right. Always makes me laugh…)

In anticipation of that event they’ve also dusted off an unreleased track, recorded at the time of 2014’s excellent Sunbathing Animal.  It’s nothing fancy — just another 2-minute gem to get you bopping.  Hopefully they’ve got more like this in the vaults (and/or a new album coming soon)!  Check out “Hey Bug” while we wait for the anniversary show:

Now we’ll move onto some new faces to fill out our virtual table, first with the lead single from London duo Sorry’s album 925.  The album itself is sort of hit or miss, a melange of styles that never coheres as well as on this track, but it’s an interesting listen when it works. This one’s the hands-down winner, a woozy mix of moody trip hop and drunken sax that’s pretty irresistible. (I particularly liked the slightly reworked lyrics from Gary Jules’ “Mad World” in the chorus.) Check out “Right Round the Clock” here:

We’ll stay in the UK for this next one, too, with another offering from a guy-gal twosome.  This pair hails from Belfast and provides a bit more sunshine compared to the club-ready darkness of the last one.  There’s not a ton out there on these guys — no bio on Allmusic, just a couple singles and no word on a full album yet.  We’ll keep our eyes open, though, and hope there’s more coming like this, a bright, poppy blast with a pretty great little slap in the chorus to temper the sugary sound (“the city still wants me, but you don’t”).  It’s a good little tune — check out “Moroccan Sun” from Dark Tropics here:

Next we’ll head stateside for a couple acts that call to mind earlier eras — first from New Jersey’s John Andrews, who heads a fictitious band called the Yawns, which remind me of fellow retro soloist Cut Worms, only with a more psychedelic haze to the sheen.  Like Max Clarke from that act, Andrews apparently played all the instruments on his debut, 2015’s Bit by the Fang.  He enlisted some help on its excellent (yet brief) follow up, 2017’s Bad Posture, which showcases this one, lead track “Drivers.” They’re both great albums — brisk, bright, and full of solid melodies.  Hopefully he’s got more stuff coming soon since it’s been a few years.  In the meantime, pop this on and bask in the glow:

We’ll close with the Moondoggies, another terribly named band bailed out by some terrific tunes (and Spotify’s excellent recommendation algorithm).  Hailing from the opposite coast, this five piece from Seattle calls to mind the Grateful Dead and Tom Petty at times over the course of their four albums.  I’ve been working their debut over a ton lately (2008’s Don’t be a Stranger), but truthfully all four of their albums are winners — a nice mix of three part harmonies, leggy guitar jams, and strong melodies.  Tracks like this one are a common showcase — give “Black Shoe” a listen here:

Until next time, amici — happy turkey bird…
–BS

Groundhog Day and the Interminable Winter — The Best of 2018

If you feel like you’ve been here before, you’re right. This year was a stutter, a jerky repetition of words and events, offering the briefest feeling of progress before being ripped right back to the beginning. It was Sisyphus with his hill or that old joke about Pete and Repeat sitting on a log and we just could not keep Pete out of the water. (Who’s left? Repeat!) So it’s only appropriate the year ends exactly the way it began — I take a much needed trip back to my beloved city by the lake, am reminded how much I love it and need to get back for good, but then have to return to Sucksville, USA where scandal is plaguing the White House, key figures are fleeing the chaos, and the government is shut down. Who said variety is the spice of life — I want more white bread and water!

If last year was about surviving the follow on waves to 2016’s avalanche of shittiness, this year was just about hunkering down and waiting for the thaw. You did what you could for a while — change jobs, change routines, try to minimize the damage and avoid another cave-in. Watch some shows, build some fires, read some books and just unplug. After a certain point, though, insanity became expecting anything different, no matter how many times/ways you tried to avoid the final outcome. That snow was just not stopping, so you could choose to exhaust yourself in a futile attempt to dig out, or just wait for it to stop and hope you still had enough feeling in your limbs to stand up when it did.

It felt like lots of folks made the same decision to just George Michael and lay there — there weren’t many big name releases during the year, just a flurry of debuts and mid-level offerings, and that sort of exacerbated that feeling of fatigue. No marquee returns or thrilling discoveries to fill you with excitement and knock you out of your funk, just a creeping numbness from more of the same, both in music and the real world. Stupid tweet or insane policy decision? Meh. Mediocre concert or middling album? Blah. I’m too tired to get worked up — I’m just going to pull the covers over my head and go back to sleep.

It wasn’t all bad — the new job (or rather the people surrounding me in it) was a daily delight, in spite of the same raft of headaches and infuriating immobility, while the new companion (the furry snugglebug currently asleep on my lap) was an overwhelming, unrelenting joy. (I don’t think there’s a better demonstration of pure love and happiness than someone getting a raging erection at the mere sight of you every day when you come home. I’ve honestly never felt more loved.) Getting to see the beloved Lizard give a flawless performance in my favorite room in town for the first time in ten years was pretty great, too. For the most part, though, it was a race to the weekend when you could hole up and hide out in your house for 48 hours — sanctuary through separation, happiness through hermitry. Anything to avoid the cycle of the last few years and spare yourself some damage.

There were glimmers of hope things might be changing. The onslaught of men doing terrible things to women thankfully seemed to slow this year — but not before it claimed one of my absolute favorite bands (and last year’s top album), The Orwells. The tidal wave of celebrities dying also ebbed — but still swallowed two personal favorites whose loss affected me for months — Scott Hutchison and Anthony Bourdain. (Even now, half a year later, it’s still difficult to listen to that music or watch those shows.) Still the snow kept falling, though, no matter how slow or sparse at times. So you sit, and wait, allowing it to silently build up around you, knowing that it has to stop soon.

This year’s crop of crooners is the smallest in years — compared to last year’s 25 and the previous year’s 27, this year has a paltry 15. There’s three Scottish bands, three Aussies, two Chicagoans, and a skinny kid from Arkansas, with an almost even split between returning favorites and debuts (old faves get the slight edge with eight acts that have shown up on previous year end lists). That scarcity feels appropriate in light of the year, as everyone waits to see the ground again so something new can grow. Despite the diminished number, though, there’s still some really solid stuff here — some moments of punky brashness to soundtrack the resistance, but for the most part the list is filled with what the year was short of — prettiness and warmth. In order to do something — ANYthing — to break the pattern of the past few years, we’re also going to change things up and go low to high this year, hopefully mirroring our future trajectory and building towards our return to the top. I hope you enjoy the ride.

And like I said last year, remember — winter only lasts so long, and the weather is warming…

————————————

jeff20tweedy_warm15. Jeff Tweedy — WARM: the most recent release on the list, it’s the latest offering from fave fellow Chicagoan Tweedy on what’s being billed as his first solo album. (I guess even though he wrote all the songs on 2014’s Sukierae that doesn’t count since his son played drums?) Regardless of categorization, it’s another solid outing from what’s turned into one of the most reliable and tireless American songwriters. (Who along with his normal companions, the ever-excellent Wilco, is also one of its best bands.) As a long-time fan — and as Tweedy outlines in his companion biography, Let’s Go (So We Can Get Back), which I hope to soon read (ahem — listening, Santa?) — this is something as a surprise, thanks to a history of fractiousness within his bands, public struggles with drugs, and a frustrating habit of warping songs until they’re almost willfully dissonant sometimes. And yet in spite of all that, he “leaves behind a trail of songs, from the darkest gloom to the brightest sun,” as he puts it on the opening “Bombs Above” — and the vast majority of them are really, really good.

The same holds here — songs like “Don’t Forget,” “Let’s Go Rain,” and “I Know What It’s Like” are instant winners, while slower, softer tracks like “Having Been Is No Way To Be” and the hypnotic “How Will I Find You?” also stick it in the net. Tweedy’s lyrics remain sharp, occasionally flashing a quiet menace that catches you off guard beneath the warm voice and pretty melodies — pushing back on folks encouraging him to revisit his substance abusing days in “Having Been” or an unnamed antagonist in “Some Birds,” sweetly crooning “I’d love to take you down — and leave you there.” Overall, though, the tone is in the title, and this album is the red brick Tweedy sings about — warm when the sun has died.

MI000442080314. Courtney Barnett — Tell Me How You Really Feel: the sophomore album from outback songstress Barnett is a trip back to the time when combat boots and flannel were king and cargo pants weren’t simply items you were allowed to wear once a year (who says youth is wasted on the young? #neverforget) Barnett perfectly captures that era’s angsty rage, sounding right in tune with previous strong female soloists of the era like Alanis Morrisette, PJ Harvey, and Tracy Bonham. What sets Barnett apart — aside from her thick, burned out accent, which makes numerous lines that much more enjoyable to sing/listen to (such as on “Nameless, Faceless” where she languidly stretches “I wanna waaaaaaaahk thru the paaaaahk afta daaaaaaaaaaaak” as if her mouth was full of taffy) — is the sarcasm and self-effacement she folds into her confessional lyrics.

On tracks like “I’m Not Your Mother, I’m Not Your Bitch” or “Crippling Self Doubt and a General Lack of Self-Confidence” you don’t have to go farther than the titles to get a sense of how she spikes her bitterness with a little levity. And in doing so she makes what could be off-putting or difficult to fully embrace (not that spending time with an angry woman isn’t enjoyable, like riding bareback on a porcupine) go down that much smoother. Tracks like “City Looks Pretty” and “Charity” are bright balls of energy, while “Need a Little Time” and “Walkin’ on Eggshells” slow things down to add a little soul. What shines through throughout is Barnett’s warmth, both in voice and personality, which keeps you coming back for more — that and that amazing accent (d-did I studdaaaaaaaaaa, maybe a liddle bit…)

HopeDownsArt-1529346058-640x64013. Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever — Hope Downs: the debut album from five more Aussies, these boys come in with a brisk ten song, thirty-odd minute winner owing equal debts to the Smiths and Television, showcasing the jangly shimmer of the former with the hypnotic, swirling guitar parts of the latter, while adding a touch of their homeland’s characteristic swagger to round things out. It’s technically their debut, though follows quickly on the heels of two really solid EPs of almost the same duration — 2016’s Talk Tight and 2017’s The French Press — and finds the band continuing to sharpen their attack.

I discovered them this year in Hotlanta at Shaky Knees and they put on a good performance — the triple guitar/vocal attack of Fran Keaney, Tom Russo, and Joe White worked really well with the three often meandering in different directions before snapping back together. Take tracks like the opening trio of “An Air Conditioned Man,” “Talking Straight,” and “Mainland,” which crackle with energy as examples. Songs like “Sister’s Jeans” and “Cappuccino City” show a slower, more languid vibe to round out the jittery sizzle. All in all a solid “debut” (or continuation of their previous EP run) — look to these guys for more in the coming years.

61J3O91OozL._SS50012. Welles — Red Trees and White Trashes: the debut album from a scrawny beanpole with a mop of wild hair from Ozark, Arkansas, this was the most unabashedly hedonistic pleasure of the year. Part sixties psychedelia, part southern blues and Seattle grunge, Welles (formerly Jeh Sea Wells) embraces the ethos of ZFG and the classic trappings of sex, drugs, and rock and roll so fully it could be comical — there are literally songs about sex (“Do You Know How to Fuck”), drugs (“Codeine”), and rock and roll (“Rock and Roll”) here — but the hooks are strong and the delivery sarcastic and self-aware enough to pull it off.

It’s a good thing he did, too — aside from those three winners, there’s tracks like the opening “How Sweet it is to Love,” “Seasons,” and lead single “Life Like Mine,” which besides being a great song has the year’s most flippant/funny question embedded as the chorus. (“How fucked up have you got to be to live a life like mine?”) As I wrote before, Welles is a sneaky good guitar player, showcasing his chops on tracks like “Hold me Like I’m Leaving” and the smoldering “Seventeen,” and his raspy roar goes well with both the lyrical content and mood of the music throughout. All in all another nice homage to the early nineties and definitely someone worth watching in coming years.

a.211. Kanye and Company — The Five Weeks, Five EP Mixtape: this one’s representative of a lot of this year. Kanye was running around saying/doing a lot, some of it great, some of it ridiculous; unfulfilled hype and unrelenting bluster were flowing in abundance, both from him and those around him; and amidst all the bombast and buffoonery there were still some moments to savor (though not as many as there used to be, and now with the question of cost thanks to what comes with them). As the eight of you already know, Kanye and friends holed up in Wyoming for five weeks last summer to go on a recording spree and what came out of it was five EPs-not-albums that had moments of greatness, but mostly felt undercooked and rushed. It accompanied another slow-moving trainwreck in public by the ringleader in chief (some portions of which occurred next to the clown commander in chief), which further heightened the backlash to the music and highlighted its flaws. And yet after the dust finally settled and we could focus on the music, we still had some pretty good tunes for our troubles.

From “Yikes” and “Ghost Town” on Ye to “4th Dimension” and the title track on Kids See Ghosts or “If You Know You Know” off Daytona, these were winners of old that had you reaching for the volume when they came on. The problem is most of what remained, like most of what’s out in the rap world writ large (or the real world, for that matter), is an underwhelming, hit or miss mess. Gone are the gods of the golden age who not only had something to say (more than their material possessions/obsessions, that is), but could also fill an entire album with those thoughts and an equal number of banging beats. Today’s “superstars” are a porridge of pale comparisons to those titans — either marrying a missive to a moldy beat or molding a monster hook to a missing message (or if they do manage to get both right, only do so once/twice vs throughout an entire album).

You might say it’s unfair to compare the Migos and A$AP Mobs of the world to forebears like Outkast and Wu-tang (or even modern Kanye and Nas to yesteryear Kanye and Nas), but that’s the cold, unavoidable reality. You watch things like Hip Hop Evolution on Netflix and remember what was possible — the number of outstanding albums from Pac, PE, Tribe, and Cube, or the untouchable debuts from Snoop, Biggie, and Dre. Try arguing that most of today’s acts fall anywhere near that level of quality or consistency, even for a single album. You can’t — and so we’re left with memories of what was, both in the genre and these guys’ previous material. That and a pretty good mixtape, in this case. Things done changed, indeed.

young20fathers20_20cocoa20sugar_20album20cover10. Young Fathers — Cocoa Sugar: back for their third or fifth outing depending on how you count, the Scottish trio of mad scientists continue their eclectic run, stitching together a wild array of sounds for the year’s most unique, exciting listen. Part hip hop, part R&B, part electro, part transmission from outer space, this one shifts styles with the rapidity of spinning the radio dial back and forth. Rather than sound scattered and chaotic, though, it feels more like a butterfly languidly flitting about the garden, sampling a thought here and a genre there. At turns lovely and loud, soulful and slamming, it also reinforces the power of the album format, rewarding the listener for digesting its twelve songs as a unit vs a series of random singles. (It also has a beautifully iconic cover, further pushing back on the disjointed, anonymous streaming life these days.)

Tracks like “Fee Fi,” “Wow,” “Wire,” and “Toy” crackle with jittery energy, while songs like “Lord” and “Picking You” are pure prettiness, shining with soulful vocals. Others fall somewhere in the middle, dancing between moods as that radio dial spins. “Tremolo” opens with an ethereal church organ before snapping almost immediately to a bleep bloop electro beat, with vocalists Alloysius Massaquoi, Kayus Bankole, and Graham Hastings sing-rapping overhead until the organ returns with a flourish a minute later, brightening the song like an old cathedral as the sun emerges from behind a cloud. Lead single “In My View” walks a similar line, slowly introducing pieces one by one before building them to a cohesive climax three quarters of the way through. It’s a powerful effect and an often thrilling listen as a result — another solid winner from these iconoclastic highlanders.

51J2B2z2yZbL._SY355_9. Mastersystem — Dance Music: Outside the near daily indignities or infuriations by those elected to represent us, one of the hallmarks of this year was an ongoing, dull drone akin to a ringing in your ears after an explosion. (That and a commensurate sense of anger and disorientation at what just transpired.) Day after day, you found yourself questioning one of three things — “what the fuck just happened?” “Am I going insane?” And “Why does no one else seem to care?” (If not all three simultaneously.) Most times it was the result of the idiotic things those people said or did in the news so you’d turn to music or other artistic endeavors for an antidote or escape, but sometimes you’d find yourself confronting those same questions there despite your best efforts.

It happened as you flipped through the channels, catching commercial after commercial about the final episodes of Anthony Bourdain’s Parts Unknown, for example, and it happened as you flipped through songs on your drive to and from work, catching song after song from the last few Frightened Rabbit albums and former frontman Scott Hutchison’s final project, this debut album. The barrage of bad news from current events was challenging enough, requiring the nightly fortitude of a recovering addict at an all you can eat bourbon and blow party, but unexpected reminders of these two’s untimely deaths were even more taxing. What the fuck just happened, indeed?

Those feelings take on additional weight on this album — in part a reflection of the wider world and a response to its exasperating events, Hutchison and his brother (along with brother duo number two-o, the Lockey brothers) drop an album that is at turns loud, brash, beleaguered, and bludgeoning. Over its brisk nine song, 35 minute duration, the Lockeys create a swirl of guitars over Grant Hutchison’s pulverizing drums, channeling the disorientation and frustration so often caused by the outer world, while brother Scott delivers some of his bitterest, bleakest lyrics yet. And that latter part is what made this album so hard to listen to for a long time — not only hearing Hutchison’s voice and remembering the awfulness of what happened, but also because his lyrics in light of that event take on a whole different meaning and twist the knife even more.

You could listen to lines like “There’s no good explanation for the road that I have taken — I used to want to fly, but now I don’t…I can’t wait to end the day, most the time; if the curtain dropped tomorrow, I wouldn’t mind” from the opening “Proper Home” and hear someone who’s content with where they’re at and could die tomorrow with no regrets. Unfortunately, you could also hear that as someone who’s all but beaten, begging for the blackness of the end. It comes up again and again — “In the race to lose I’m winning…It’s so hard man, just keeping time…if I make it to next year” on “Waste of Daylight.” “An appalling teacher, lessons learned, lost in a deep abyss. The voice gets weaker and weaker still, were we really born for this?” in “Notes on a Life Not Quite Lived.” And then the captivating, crushing closer, “Bird is Bored of Flying” — “There’s such a place as too far, there’s such a thing as too much…I’ve come as far as I can go…I’ve seen all that I care to see, become what I don’t want to be.”

Parsing these, and any countless cousins from Hutchison’s Rabbit albums, is a perilous, though unavoidable affair. Similar to when similarly troubled and beloved Elliott Smith took his own life, I found myself going back through the albums and catching lines that possibly foreshadowed the awful end. Also similar to Smith, though, who was reportedly doing better at the end than in previous years, most accounts in the wake of Hutchison’s passing talked of how happy and excited he was about this side project, eager to take to the road to show the fans what he’d been working on. The same goes for Bourdain — he had just been to Spain with his good friend Jose Andres and was in France with his best friend Eric Ripert at the end, none of whom noted anything out of the ordinary.

And that’s the danger of trying to make sense of the senseless — you can drive yourself crazy looking for cryptic cries for help in the songs/shows, just because you want the loss to be logical, the missing to have been caused by something that was missed. Unfortunately, I don’t think that was the case here — with Hutchison or with Bourdain. These were people who had lots of loving people around them who would have done anything to help if they could and who would know better than anyone if things were spiraling out of control — unfortunately their presence and their vigilance weren’t enough to beat back the feelings of pain and/or despair that these two felt. And so we’re left with their legacies — both of what they did while they were alive, and what their deaths meant to those who knew or appreciated them.

For me, it means we got one final album to enjoy Hutchison’s singular talents — another album mixing cynicism with optimism, defiance with defeat, and love with loss. We got more great lines (“It’s times like this we turn to hate as the fucks I gave evaporate” on “Teething,” for one) and several more great songs (“Notes” and “Old Team” are both winners, and the build of “Bored” is epic — by the time it gets to the end it’s a miracle Grant’s drums are still intact and you wish they had been able to have this as a setlist closer night after night it’s so good. I listened to this one obsessively the past few months.) It’s a lot more intense than regular Rabbit records, which again is probably due to the world it was made in — the big one showering down on you in the nightly news, and the small one beating down on you in the shower — but in both those aspects it’s a perfect distillation of those ingredients and a worthy capstone to a career. It still hurts to think of it in those regards — a capstone instead of a stepping stone — but like so much else that’s been happening, just or fair doesn’t seem to make much difference. So take it for what it is and enjoy it as you can — it’s a solid, sludgy little brute of an album and a fitting farewell for a flawed friend.

71ZiRPBeh2L._SY355_8. Gregory Alan Isakov — Evening Machines: after touring with his homestate Colorado Symphony Orchestra playing gussied up versions of his already pristine songs, Isakov took the last two years to write new material, his first since 2013’s outstanding The Weatherman. And what he returns with shows the benefit of that time on the road, fusing his characteristically lovely melodies with an added lushness that brings the songs further weight and beauty. You hear it from the outset with the opening “Berth” — aside from the strings that glide in midway through, there’s the symphonic swell with a minute to go that just wallops you and leaves you swooning.

The rest of the album mirrors that majesty and beauty. Songs like “San Luis,” “Southern Star,” and “Bullet Holes” are all stunners, and “Caves” is so stirring you might run through the wall in your zeal. Even softer, statelier songs like “Wings in Black” and “Chemicals” — or “Was I Just Another One,” which is so delicate it floats along like milkweed on the breeze — are winners. Isakov always sounds like he’s singing by moonlight — aside from the title’s reinforcement of that point, he asks the listener “won’t you sing me something for the dark, dark, dark” on the song of the latter phrase’s name — but this is not a cold or dreary album. It, like his voice, is warm and inviting, while also shot through with exhaustion. It’s the equivalent of a couch next to the fire after hours shoveling snow — you could stay there for hours, and in fact might never get up. Enjoy the glow.

1055067. The Boxer Rebellion — Ghost Alive: this one’s an aptly named phantom, one I missed when it was apparently released back in March only to appear like an apparition thanks to my little musical savior, Numu, which valiantly stepped into the gap with the demise of Record Bird. (Sidebar: Numu is a great little app — I highly recommend downloading it since the Bird flew the coop and iTunes is stupid and removed the “new by my artists” alerting feature.) Even the usually infallible AllMusic still doesn’t have it listed in the band’s discography, so I don’t feel bad for sleeping on it. Thankfully ole Numu helped me stumble onto it, though, because it’s another solid listen. The band’s sixth album and first since 2016’s Ocean by Ocean (number eight on that year’s list), this one finds the band returning to their roots and jettisoning the synthy sheen of their last outing (which this notorious hater of said instrument allowed under the “one and done” clause of his strict Antithesynth Laws).

It opens with lead single “What the Fuck,” which came out last September, almost precisely on the anniversary of the previous November’s events that had so many muttering that phrase over and over. (And still does on a near daily basis…) In spite of its applicability to current events it’s instead sung to an apparent lover and you can hear the venom dripping off the words despite lead singer Nathan Nicholson’s dulcet croon. The album moves to calmer waters after that — whether literally on tracks like “River” and “Rain” or metaphorically on soaring swooners like “Love Yourself,” “Here I Am,” and “Don’t Look Back.” It’s another lush, lovely affair from the London foursome — hopefully this ghost materializes for more soon.

Nation_of_Two_album6. Vance Joy — Nation of Two: the aptly surnamed Australian lovebird is back with his second album, his first since his solid debut four years ago, 2014’s Dream Your Life Away (number five on that year’s list), and despite that normally meaning a change in administration, there’s no such shift in what’s running his world. Love’s still the leader, and Joy celebrates it in almost each of this one’s thirteen tracks. Similar to his debut, Joy writes as someone still in the heated throes of a burgeoning romance, with that sense of urgency and desperation (and thus at times an embarrassing overbearing, but because of that underlying sincerity and sweetness you let it pass), and doesn’t do much to change the formula here. Which is not to say it’s a stale retread or attempt to recapture lightning in a bottle — people have been singing to/about their heart’s captors for hundreds of years, so he’s got PLENTY to work with before things get old.

Similar to some of the big hitters from his debut, songs like “Lay it on Me,” “Saturday Sun,” and “Take Your Time” are upbeat winners that work like wildfire on a crowd. I caught him again this summer and there’s something perfect about seeing thousands of people singing in full-throated unison on a sunny lawn — Joy’s one of the few acts that’s meant to be seen in full daylight and open air instead of the dark confines of a club. And while those songs live up to his last name, it’s the album’s slower stuff that really hits hard. Tracks like the opening “Call if You Need Me,” “I’m With You,” and “Crashing Into You” are all beautiful little gems. It’s a simple, yet winning recipe — warm Aussie accent and voice, sweet lyrics about love, winning melodies and hearty hooks that will have you singing along — and a ukelele. What’s not to like about that? Here’s hoping he’s got at least another four years in office.

Father20John20Misty20GodE28099s20Favorite20Customer5. Father John Misty — God’s Favorite Customer: This one marks a thankful return to form for former fave Misty who had lost me completely after the bloated, self-important bombast of his last album, Pure Comedy. That album found him endlessly sermonizing on a range of topics, half-heartedly sing-speaking long-winded lyrics that continually reminded you how smart/funny/amazing he thought he was — and if there was one thing the world needed more of this year, it was an oblivious bloviator telling everyone around him why he was the best/smartest around. Thankfully Misty jettisons the sanctimonious self-fellation for some straight-forward sincerity here, getting back to what worked so well on his first two albums. It only took a near-divorce and mental breakdown to get him there.

Thanks to that heartbreak — a separation from his wife, the Honeybear whose courtship and romance was so memorably, lovingly captured on his second album (number five on 2015’s list) — Misty stops prattling on about everyone else’s perceived inadequacies and focuses on his own. In doing so he gives us ten really solid songs — songs that showcase the sometimes dark, sometimes laugh out loud humor of his early efforts, mixed with the sincerity and self-effacement that was so sorely missing last time around. Which is not to say this is a light-hearted album — the opening song is titled “Hangout at the Gallows” and has a “chorus” line of “I’m treading water as I bleed to death” followed by a wail that sounds like he actually might be dying. After that frolic in the flowers come nine more beauties, songs about being holed up in a hotel dealing with the break from his wife, as well as reality, while possibly careening towards suicide. (“Mr Tillman,” “The Palace,” and the nakedly honest “Please Don’t Die,” among others.)

It’s not all doom and gloom — songs like “Date Night” have Misty singing with some swagger (despite lamenting within that his mojo’s gone), while “Disappointing Diamonds Are the Rarest of them All” has him juxtaposing a buoyant melody with hilariously oddball ways to describe his relationship. (“Like a pervert on a crowded bus, a glare of love bears down on us…like an oil tanker tipped at sea, this love’s contaminated me.”) The majority of the album finds him in a far more fragile state, though, probing his inadequacies in “Just Dumb Enough to Try” (“You can take what I know about love and drown it in a sink…you can take what I know about you and maybe fill a small balloon”) and even turning to the man upstairs in desperation on the title track (someone he notably doesn’t believe in, as he winkingly suggests with the “favorite customer” tag.) It’s unfortunate it took this upheaval to get such a lovely return to form, but you hope the process and pain got him to a better place (personally and professionally).

1058464. We Were Promised Jetpacks — The More I Sleep the Less I Dream: the fourth album from this excellent quartet, the boys from Scotland are back with their first album in four years (2014’s Unraveling, which I somehow missed on that year’s list — I apologize to each of you for the oversight, as it’s a great album). In line with the title, this one’s a dreamier affair than previous outings — instead of characteristically roaring guitars, they’re cloaked more in reverb this time, creating a gauzy haze for frontman Adam Thompson’s thundering howl to punch through like a siren through the fog. Opener “Impossible,” along with later tracks “Hanging In,” “Not Wanted,” and the title track (which adds an ominous edge to the dreaminess) highlight the new approach well.

There’s still some rippers — tracks like “In Light,” “Make it Easier,” and the frenetic “Repeating Patterns” are all excellent examples of just how hard these guys can hit — but overall it’s a more muted, mature affair. It works really well, though — the softer shimmer lulls you into a fugue, allowing the louder parts to land all the harder, like being awakened by a punch to the jaw. I got a chance to see these guys again when they came through town recently, headlining for the first time in the big room, and they left us wanting much more, keeping their set at almost exactly an hour with no encore, and despite the disappointment for not hearing more it reiterated two things — one, these guys are outstanding live — their enormous tempo shifts hit like monster waves crashing on your head — and two, they have a ton of great songs, of which these fit in seamlessly. A really solid outing from a real fave, these guys are worth adding to your arsenal.

Parquet20Courts_Wide20Awake3. Parquet Courts — Wide Awaaaaake!: back for the first time since 2016’s Human Performance (number three on that year’s list), the tireless band of Tex Yorkers storm in with another baker’s dozen for their catalog, this time adding a groove to their punky repertoire that was previously unseen. If the next two albums on this list are the antidote to all the awfulness around us, this one represents the attitude it often invokes first — a hearty “GOFY!” and an urge to punch you in the jaw. Recorded with hipster porn producer Danger Mouse, it’s the band’s most eclectic outing yet, evidence of both their restlessness and their producer’s kitchen sink approach to recording. And it mostly works — “Violence” marries a 70’s cop drama riff with Frontman I Adam Savage’s shouted verses before transitioning to the simmering “Before the Water Gets Too High” and the shimmering “Mardi Gras Beads,” the latter of which finds Frontman II Austin Brown crooning of love and the titular trinket.

These new wave outings are bookended by classic Courts, the opening “Total Football,” which breaks into an invigorating sprint 23 seconds in, and the irresistible “Almost Had to Start a Fight/In and Out of Patience,” which breaks into one twice during the chorus, frantically sending you running around the room before easing you into the lovely “Freebird II.” (Which sports one of the most satisfying moments of the year, shouting “freeeeeeeeeee, I feel freeeeeeeeeee, like you proooooooomised I’d beeeeeeeee” at the soaring end.) The rest of the album bounces between these modes, the vintage and the voyage — “Normalization, “NYC Observation,” and “Extinction” fall in the former camp, while “Back to Earth” and “Death Will Bring Change” form the latter. The title track is the most Mouse-ian alien of them all, something that sounds nothing like its surroundings yet somehow works (and somehow found these miscreants playing on Ellen, which has to be a sign of the apocalypse). It’s a bold move for the band, placing their more experimental impulses typically explored as the band’s alter ego Parkay Quarts right alongside their more excellent, in-character offerings as the Courts, and while I personally want more of/solely the latter, they fuse enough of that essence into the former to make it more palatable and enjoyable than it often is on those side projects. Good on em for pushing the envelope.

51oRReFVchL._SS5002. The Hunts — Darlin’ Oh Darlin’: the sophomore effort from the seven singing siblings from small town Virginia (their debut landed at number nine in 2015), this album was a precious commodity over the course of the year. It is pure, unadulterated heart — painfully earnest, beautifully crafted, and so openly loving it’s almost too much to bear, like a puppy who’s whimpering because he just wants to sleep on your lap. As with that pooch, you find yourself feeling protective of that honesty and love, so rare have they become in this current state of affairs. And so I found myself feeling similarly protective of this album, unable to turn to it too often for fear of sullying its pristinity, like a field of freshly fallen snow — that and a fear of potentially damaging myself as if staring into an eclipse, being ill-equipped for such unadulterated warmth and emotion.

It’s a pretty remarkable thing — listening to it you constantly wonder how these seven kids a) can write about such issues with the gravity of someone decades their seniors and b) how they haven’t had this amazing loveliness beaten out of them a hundred times over by now. It’s a bit like finding a dinosaur wandering around your backyard — this shouldn’t exist in the modern world. Writing this on the day of the former president’s funeral, it’s the perfect accompaniment to that backdrop, something you could picture coming from the radio in his barracks during WWII. Not only the sentiments of love and companionship, but calling each other “darlin” and “dear” in the process. This is an album that makes you miss your grandparents, as well as the way they (and the former president) talked to each other and treated folks.

The title is comprised of the album’s bookends, the opening “Darlin'” and the closer ten songs later, “Oh Darlin’,” and aside from the similar name they’re sonic companions, featuring a slightly different use of the core melody. They’re both lovely, as is everything else here — “Along the Way” and “Heaven Knows” are should-be hits in the vein of the Lumineers, “Peace be Still,” “Far,” and “Love of Mine” are uplifting winners, while songs like “Travel,” “Standing Small,” and “Years” are more stately, subdued gems. I honestly can’t say enough about this thing — the harmonies are knee-buckling, the sentiments are lovely, and the melodies are instantly memorable. Simply put, I wish there was more of this in the world — we’d be a lot better off if there were.

DIGITAL_NRNS_5x5_600dpiRGB_8705e1cb-d9e4-47c2-b934-a5e160b08630_1024x10241. Nathaniel Rateliff and the Night Sweats — Tearing at the Seams: if the previous album was all heart, this one represents pure joy. From the first time I listened to it I knew it was going to be here come year’s end, and likely at the top, so deep and instant a connection did it forge. Back for the first time since their amazing debut (2015’s eponymous album, which landed at six on that year’s list), they walk you in slowly on the lead track “Shoe Boot,” innocently shuffling along with a little drum beat and bass groove as if nothing was amiss. By the time they count in the horns twenty seconds later and blow away your resistance (and possibly bad mood), you’re done. What follows is twelve songs of soul, swing, and sunshine that borders on the spiritual at times. It hearkens back to 60s-era Stax and Motown, at times Wilson Pickett or Booker T and the MGs, others a medley of Smokey, Sam, and Otis — all without sounding derivative or hackneyed.

As the album title implies, this one’s stuffed almost to overfilling with honest, earnest emotion, updating the sound of those ancestors without merely replicating it, all while making you forget the world around you — if only for 45 minutes. It’s a blissful spin while it lasts — “Boot,” “Be There,” “Intro,” and “Baby I Lost My Way (But I’m Going Home)” live up to the band’s name as sweaty party starters, while “A Little Honey,” “Say it Louder,” “Coolin’ Out,” and “Still Out There Running” shimmer like sun off the water. Rateliff has an amazing voice, shifting effortlessly from soothing croon to stirring wail, and songs like “Hey Mama,” “Babe I Know,” and the title track show the power in the progression, leaving you (and him) a breathless heap by the end. It’s a fantastic ride, one I took over and again this year. We caught them live a couple times this year and each time it was a celebration, people reveling in the music and the band reveling in the response. Here’s to more of the same in the coming years.

A Quick One While He’s Away (Sleeping in His Tiny Bed in the Sun)

Thought I’d capitalize on a brief moment of respite in another double shift on puppy patrol where we thankfully seem to have shifted from constantly pissing and shitting on everything in the vicinity (including himself) to constantly biting everything in said space (including himself).  I’ll take the pain over the horrifying aromas at unholy hours — gladly — but wanted to highlight a couple finds before he starts needling me again and I lose a couple fingers and the ability to type.  First is the latest single from beloved songstress Neko Case whose upcoming album is her first since 2013’s disappointing The Worse Things Get, The Harder I Fight, The Harder I Fight, The More I Love You.  Case is a big favorite of mine with a voice that sounds like heaven should, so it was unfortunate that album was a letdown for me. (Her previous Middle Cyclone and its predecessor Fox Confessor Brings the Flood were far greater efforts in my book.)  We’ll see what the latest album brings — the cover art is a little odd, with Case wearing a wig of cigarettes…because…..ummmmmmmm…..why not? The song itself is a little off-kilter, too, with an eerie xylophone chiming in before the song snaps into place a couple minutes in. It’s a promising enough start, though — Case’s voice sounds fantastic and the lyrics are her characteristic blend of narrative and understated, unexpected impact, like a pillow with a brick inside (“God is not a contract or a guy… God is a lusty tire fire…;” “My voice is not the liquid waves… my voice is straight garroting wire;” “Nothing quite so poison as a promise”) Hopefully the rest of the album carries on the trend.  Check it out the title track in the meantime here:

Next is the lead single from former Talking Heads frontman David Byrne’s first solo outing in 14 years, Utopia. He’s spent the intervening time doing pretty much everything under the sun — dabbling in British electro, collaborating with St Vincent, playing all forms of world music, as well as the occasional apartment building — but nothing compares to his efforts in his former band. His latest is no different for me — even this song, which sounded so energetic and cool on Colbert (almost like classic Heads) sounds neutered in the studio. It’s too bad because based on this clip I had the track stuck in my head for half the day after the performance, so was hoping for something more. Save yourself the letdown and just watch the below:

We’ll close with the second single from the ever-restless Courts’ upcoming album, which shows the band shifting sounds yet again (they’re trying to compress Byrne’s 14+ years of experimenting into 14 months it seems), this time morphing into a straight up funk band. And as preposterous as that sounds…it kind of works! These guys can be exasperating in their almost willful defiance of giving people what they want, but if it leads to winners like this I’ll take a little more calculated rebellion. See what you think here:

Count it Down: Dynamite, Cigarettes, and Wild Little Things

While we continue to get bludgeoned under a tidal wave of disappointing news — the usual political nonsense in addition to the cascade of reports of sexual harassment by seemingly decent people: actors Kevin Spacey and Jeffrey Tambor, comedian Louis CK, chef John Besh — I thought I’d offer some refuge in the form of musical distraction before the long weekend got started.  This week turned up a couple good lists and a trio of good tracks to enjoy, starting with the former from the lads and lasses at Stereogum who must’ve been prepping for New Year’s Eve as they were counting down everything around them this week.  The two worth peeping are these guys — one running down the nine best REM songs since drummer Bill Berry left and one tallying the ten best Echo and the Bunnymen songs. It was an appropriate week for both — the 25th anniversary edition of REM’s Automatic for the People dropped this week (reason #7657 why I am officially OAF), and nothing serves as a better soundtrack to a cold and rainy week like the Bunnymen.

The lists tackle the bands from slightly different angles — for REM they mine the underappreciated late era releases, which admittedly don’t shine quite as bright as the band’s classic early albums, but as you can see from the list still have plenty of bright spots worth admiring. Their #9 ranks closer to my top vote from this era, a lush and beautiful ode that almost makes me like the titular location (ALMOST…), but they do a pretty good job with their selections and make you want to revisit the later albums.  For the Bunnymen they attack the inverse, mapping out the band’s classic early albums and absolutely nail it.  Author Andrew Holter does a great job, not only picking excellent songs and ordering them well (he’s right, his top call is a no-brainer — a magisterial masterpiece that never gets old), but his explanations and enthusiasm make for a really enjoyable read. If you’ve ever been curious about these guys (and you should, because they’re amazing), this is a great place to start.  A woefully underappreciated favorite.

As for the tunes, there were three that are worth passing on from additional favorites — an unreleased track from hometown heroes Wilco, a new single from the ever-elusive Parquet Courts, and one from the steady, smoldering BRMC.  We’ll start with the former and a track off the deluxe reissue of their sophomore album, Being There, which dropped this week with a bunch of extras including this one.  It’s a simple, straight-forward number, just frontman Jeff Tweedy and his acoustic, which as we’ve seen so many times over the years is really all you need most days. Even just getting started 20+ years ago you can hear the weariness in his voice, one that’s only deepened since then.  It’s a good addition to the catalog — give it a listen here:

Next comes the best single off yet another side project/reincarnation for the Courts, who continue their trend of saving their most consistent, flawless material for their main releases.  This one would fit in well, though, the lead track off what sounds great on paper — a collaboration with Italian composer Daniele Luppi and Yeah Yeah Yeahs frontwoman Karen O — but similar to Luppi’s previous outing (another city-focused album (Rome) with cool kid catnip on it (Jack White and Danger Mouse)) it’s less than the sum of its parts. This one still shines, though — check out “Soul and Cigarette” here:

We’ll close with the lead single from BRMC’s upcoming album and seven albums in it shows the band, which does dark and stormy better than almost anyone, hasn’t slowed a beat.  It’s a noisy little ripper in line with the rest of their stuff and has me excited to see what the rest of the album has in store. Follow on singles “Haunt” and “Question of Faith” showcase the band’s other patented mood, that of slow-burning blues, but this one’s from their raucous side, all divebombing guitars and thundering drums.  It’s a blast — check it out here: