It’s been a busy couple of weeks — parades, festivals, races, culminating with even the simple act of breathing turning into an arduous affair — but with the prospect of crawling into a long weekend thought it was time to finally surface again so the legions of fans who hang on my every recommendation could enjoy their time away without stress. (More importantly, if there’s anything as synonymous with mindless celebration and endlessly transmitting your thoughts as wisdom as this country on its birthday, it’s the unsolicited, unread ramblings I pass off as posts.) As such, get ready for your own personal fireworks display as I share some of my favorite finds of late, certain to brighten your barbecue and dazzle your days off.
First I wanted to share some reading material for those of you who may be heading to the beach for the long weekend. I recently finished Steven Hyden’s Twilight of the Gods: A Journey to the End of Classic Rock, which was one of many recent finds at my newest used book store. It’s a really fun read — Hyden (who used to write for the AV Club here and has several other books in my queue — one on Radiohead, another on Pearl Jam) systematically explains his love of classic rock by taking us on a tour of some of the biggest names in the genre. It’s part history lesson, as he talks us through dozens of legendary acts — from Springsteen and Dylan to the Beatles, Stones, Who, AC/DC, Aerosmith, Sabbath, Neil Young, the Dead, and even less respected acts like REO Speedwagon, Styx, and Phish. (Hyden says classic rock starts with Sgt Pepper and ends with NIN’s The Fragile, just to bound the debate.) It’s also part travelogue, as the topics often surface based on Hyden’s trips to the endless nostalgia/reunion tours these acts put on, part of his decades-long dedication to them, whether past their prime or not.
I almost categorically refuse to go see shows like this — the bands are often years (sometimes decades) past putting out new material (or material that’s any good, at least) and often have undergone so many lineup changes the only original entity left sometimes is the second bassist from the third album and the sound guy from the 60s. As such, they’re shells of their peak incarnations and thus almost always recipes for disappointment for me — so to hear some of the arguments from a fellow fan as to why he keeps going was interesting and enjoyable. (And I’m not made of stone — I briefly bypassed my boycott and went and saw the Walkmen recently, as I wrote about last time, and that was a solid showing from a long dormant fave.)
The whole book has that loose, engaging feel, as if you’re at the bar having a rolling debate with a similarly obsessed best friend. “Are you insane? There’s no way *** is a better band/album than ***!” or “That’s what I’ve been saying for years! *** really IS the best band/album!” (At least for me — though I am a similarly obsessed music fiend who’s spent decades writing a blog that next to no one reads, so maybe I’m the narrowly targeted demographic here…)
Sometimes he’s just debating himself — his internal dialogue over Pearl Jam vs Wilco (and subsequently Ed Ved vs Tweedy), provoked when he has to choose between which show to see as both bands are playing in his town on the same night, is fantastic. (Verdict — he chose to see Pearl Jam, but feels Wilco has the better discography, listens to it more often, and wishes to apologize to Mr Tweedy and the rest of the band as he feels guilt and remorse (though not regret) about his choice.) For the most part, though, it feels like Hyden is having the conversation with you, teeing up topics and statements almost guaranteed to generate a response.
He starts by establishing common ground, gradually growing into his potentially more provocative statements as the book carries on. Hyden’s early encapsulation of what drew him to the music is an example of the former and was particularly resonant to me — “What I loved about classic rock as a kid is it seemed to have been around forever. Classic rock was there before I was born, and I was sure that it would still be there long after I was gone. Plugging into that made me feel part of classic rock’s impermanence. Classic rock represented a continuum that had started long before me and reached all the way to the grunge bands that I loved in the present moment. It felt like the opposite of pop music, which was proudly disposable and all about the here and now. Pop was inherently nihilistic, whereas classic rock had roots that you could trace back as far as you cared to go.”
As a kid classic rock was this amorphous thing that I knew from listening to ‘CKG on the radio and from the records my mom and dad endlessly played around the house. The Beatles and Boss for mom, the Stones, Who, and Zep for Pops. Plus countless other bands whose songs I knew all the words and melodies to, but took years to eventually learn who they actually belonged to, as my parents and the radio didn’t announce every track they played. (Or they got tired of me endlessly asking “who was that? Ooh who was that?” after something caught my ear.)
It was this established lineage that first appealed to my investigative spirit — this band was influenced by this one who had this guy on their album who worked with this other artist who used to be in this other band who opened for this other gal who was the daughter of this guy and on and on it went — you just kept pulling the thread and chasing it down countless rabbit holes until something else sparked your interest and sent you traipsing down other trails. This, in contrast to popular music of the day, which seemed either manufactured in a lab or deliberately opaque (or worse, actively rejecting the things that drove them to make music in the first place).
Fittingly — as they were the first classic rock band that felt like my own as a kid, as I wrote about a few posts ago — there’s a chapter early on about Zeppelin and it’s a good example of what’s in store for the other acts that follow. There’s clever, funny observations — “Led Zeppelin IV was so cool that it wasn’t technically called Led Zeppelin IV — it didn’t have a proper title…Fans called it Led Zeppelin IV, as opposed to Led Zeppelin 4, because Zeppelin albums had the weight of Super Bowls.” Or “Most albums — even others recognized as Greatest LPs of All Time — typically…[have] at least one or two tracks that are considered filler…but that’s the thing about Led Zeppelin IV — every song is important…Side one of Led Zeppelin IV is so great that it’s actually a little dull to talk about…it’s like explaining why oral sex is an enjoyable pastime — don’t blowjobsplain, dude…”)
There’s rules and structure to the analysis — “There are two unwritten rules about Led Zeppelin IV and the first is that your favorite track must come from side two. The other law is that Led Zeppelin IV is too popular to be your favorite Zeppelin album; this is why rock critics who try too hard always make a case for In Through the Out Door being Zeppelin’s best.” (In no way, shape, or form is this last bit even remotely plausible — gun to my head I still think I pick the original, just for top to bottom brilliance and overall importance (you never forget your first love, I guess), but NO ONE can make an argument for Out Door that isn’t laughable. To riff off his earlier analogy, that’s like someone talking about all the oral sex their ‘friend’ is having and how you don’t understand the obsession/mind that you don’t get any/want it even if offered — just ask nicely and maybe you’ll get what you’re after, buddy, but please stop spouting nonsense…)
And there’s just flat out great lines (which also double as good topics for separate debate) — “‘Stairway’ is what happens when the lights are on; ‘Levee’ is strictly lights-out material, conjuring the feral sound of pure sexual and spiritual foreboding. Never in recorded history has [something] seemed so seductive and terrifying.” (FWIW I pass both this and his previous test as “Levee” has always been, and probably always will be, my favorite Zeppelin track — and not just on IV — whereas I skip “Stairway” to this day when it comes on. The haunting harmonica and those incredible, otherworldly drums — which as we know from the Bonham post was a miracle we almost didn’t get to enjoy — destroyed my brain the first time I heard them and have continued to after decades of listens.)
Hyden has similar highlights for scads more bands/things along the way, almost always inviting a response as you read — here are a few others (along with my thoughts in parens, essentially capturing the dialogue I was having with the inanimate book in my hands as I read — and people say I’m crazy…):
On the importance of albums — “I still care about albums, because I want to believe in albums…Our current world is a place where algorithms help us find an approximation of what we think we want. But the best albums deliver something you never knew you wanted. And it might take years of listening to the same record — over and over, because it hasn’t yet quite connected — before you finally get it.”
(There have been lots of these for me over the years — notable ones I remember being Portishead’s debut, which I loved the single from but couldn’t quite wrap my head around the rest of, before ultimately becoming one of my ongoing obsessions in college and overall faves. Or Nirvana’s In Utero, which I thought was good, but was so loud and raw sounding compared to Teen Spirit that it took me a while to come around to (its singing about turning black from cancer while my mom was slowly being destroyed by the same disease didn’t help either) but now I actually prefer to its predecessor.
Or NIN’s Downward Spiral, which I almost took back immediately after buying it at Best Buy and listening to it on the drive home. I loved the single there, as well, but the rest was just so different. So ANGRY. I hadn’t yet been knocked onto the path of grizzled, almost obstinate resistance and fighting that would characterize my following two-plus decades, so wasn’t ready for that level of ferocious rage. (I would be very shortly thereafter when Moms finally succumbed to her near-three year fight — then that album (and Rage’s first two — two other examples I didn’t really like/get at first) would become veeeeeeeeeeeery close friends…))
On guilty pleasures — “Now there’s even cachet associated with appreciating joyously inane mainstream culture. Which means that if you’re a forty-five-year-old man who loves Carly Ray Jepsen, you probably don’t ever shut the hell up about it. However, guilty pleasures haven’t completely gone away, the definition has just shifted. There are plenty of music opinions that you’re not allowed to share publicly without shame, it’s just that most of them have little to do with silly, frothy pop. Loving Carly Rae Jepsen is now acceptable, but loving, say, the jam-band stylings of Phish is not. I know this because I love Phish, and I can already feel you judging me about it…Phish proves that it’s possible to be well-known without being famous; for decades, they have existed in a bubble that has only slightly grazed the mainstream on a small handful of occasions. The only thing most people know about Phish is that they hate Phish.”
(I’m not a big fan (phan?) of the band — though I do still really like disc one of the double live album that came out when I was in college. And I DID spend a summer on the road serving pizza at shows on their (then) farewell tour, sleeping in the back of my Honda Civic and mesmerizing stoners with my dough tossing skills (and the stuffed crust pizza I created with them, subsequently stolen by the evil corporate henchman of Pizza Hut). And while I’m probably never going to say “hey let’s put on a Phish album” or go to another show, I appreciate the enthusiasm their fans have and the happy, joyful vibe of their shows.
Case in point, one of the shows during that summer was at a cow farm somewhere in rural Pennsylvania (or maybe New York? Or Vermont? It was a LONG summer) and as a result there was a literal mountain of cow shit right next to the camping grounds — maybe two, three stories tall and half a city block wide (or at least that’s how it looked/smelled when you sized up its impact.) It had rained (and continued to) for about 24 hours straight, turning the ground into a soupy, smelly miasma that everyone had to miserably trudge through — to get to their tents, to the port-a-potties, to the stages and back — and it was a hundred degrees outside once it finally stopped downpouring. So the conditions were miserable, every person/thing was covered in a mix of mud, sweat, and liquid cow shit (and the swarms of flies and mosquitoes prone to feed on said substances), and yet somehow almost everyone was in a great mood for the affair. People were pumped for pizza, pumped for Phish, pumped for LIFE, maaaaaan! Which taught me two very important lessons — a) some people — either thanks to their wiring, discipline, and/or sheer obliviousness — are able to be happy even in the most miserable conditions, which is something laudable to remember and strive for and/or b) marijuana is a hell of a drug, able to lift your spirits even if they’re drowning in a sea of patchouli and manure.)
On the Beatles — “Sgt Pepper is to Magical Mystery Tour what Is This It is to Room on Fire — the first Strokes album gets all the hype, but the follow-up that everyone always dismisses as crap is actually stronger.”
(I get what he’s saying here and mostly agree — both these second albums catch sh#$ for being disappointments, particularly in light of their much-hyped predecessors (although who in their right mind is going to say Room is a BAD album and dismiss it as crap?! That’s just ridiculous.) And I may actually prefer Mystery to Sgt Pepper (or at least don’t go back to the latter much, but do occasionally spin the former), but there’s no way Room on Fire is better than Is This It. At best you might be able to get me to entertain it as a close second, but there’s zero chance you’re going to get me to agree that it’s BETTER than that debut. I still have the British version of that one on a burned disc somewhere (before they re-recorded/balanced it for the US version, stripping out the rawness (and “NYC Cops”) and it’s still a near-perfect listen. So while I agree Room on Fire is a really GOOD album (“Automatic Stop” is still one of my absolute favorites) you’re out of your mind if you think it’s better than that classic.)
On Dylan — “Dylan’s methods have always been primitive and slapdash compared with the pop geniuses of his time. He gets bored playing anything more than once. He’s quick to say ‘good enough…’ For years he routinely left some of the best songs off his albums…It’s not an exaggeration to suggest…that bootleggers have had better taste in Dylan’s music than Dylan himself.” [Which begs the question] “Does Dylan intentionally make it hard for his most ardent followers to hear some of his best material? Or is it possible that he’s held back so much music because he honestly believes that the best versions of his songs don’t yet exist?”
(Dylan, for me, is something of a mystery. I understand the importance and like some of the albums/songs — Blonde on Blonde, Bringing it All Back Home, and Highway 61 are albums I listened to a bunch in college and the greatest hits albums were filled with good stuff, but nothing since the 70s ever caught me and I don’t often find myself going back even to the aforementioned ones much — but don’t get the undying devotion so many folks show. (And definitely don’t get the continued “genius” critiques — or Grammy noms/wins — for recent outings.) I guess he’s sort of like the pyramids to me — they’re iconic, they’ve been around forever, and were the site of worship to a dedicated band of followers, but they look (/sound) a little ragged now and I’ve no real interest in seeing them in person.)
On women — “Since the beginning of time, women have been the greatest rock fans. No band has ever formed with the intention of attracting a room full of guys. A guy-heavy audience is the absolute worst for rock ‘n’ roll — who wants to play for plain, basic, boring-ass dudes? Women dance. Women scream. Women look glamorous when they’re sweaty — unlike men, who just look sweaty. Women also have the best taste….Women will stand by you even if you’re considered uncool by so-called experts. They’re always the ones you want in your corner.”
(Women are great — no argument here. If you know any who love music, Chicago, and bald dudes with bulldogs and beards, let me know.)
On the irrepressible allure of Fleetwood Mac — “Just try to find an uncompelling photo of Fleetwood Mac taken at any point between 1975 and 1987. I’ve spent hours scouring Google Images in search of a single Fleetwood Mac band photo to which I am not sexually attracted, and failed every time.”
(This is an attractive band — no argument here either. Let’s drink some cranberry juice and just bliss out to “Dreams,” shall we?)
Over the course of all these conversations I very rarely was not nodding my head in agreement — I’m still not a huge Springsteen fan (though obviously respect the craft, impact, and dedication to playing 3-hour shows every night for this many years), nor do Dylan or Phish do it for me (though really enjoyed both those chapters, as cited above). The one exception probably was when he took a shot at the Prodigy (“Virtually nobody remembers them now, but for about six months in 1997, some very overexcited music critics tried to convince readers that the Prodigy were the Sex Pistols of electronic music.”) (A) I very much remember them and B) still think their ’97 album Fat of the Land i) rocks and ii) remains a classic of the genre. (And there are plenty of good tracks off their first two albums — and the follow-on to Fat — too, which actually makes them more productive than the Sex Pistols, even if those other albums didn’t shred quite as hard as that big one.)
Overall, though, whether you like the bands/artists he’s describing, I think you’ll undeniably enjoy the journey — and maybe even be enticed to go back and revisit some of these bands, just to see if maybe you missed something before. Hyden’s summation at the end on the continued importance of classic rock brings it all home nicely — “When I was a kid, classic rock was a fantasyland populated by the impossibly cool and occasionally wise, where revelatory feats of daring and moxie were perpetuated in smoky concert halls and expensive recording studios by damaged geniuses and noble fools. Inside every album lay mystery, danger, sex, laughs, and maybe a good tip or two on how to live. It was a seductive place that I never wanted to leave, even after I grew up. And, I guess, I never did.”
So the next time you see an announcement for one of those ancient acts of your parents’ adolescence coming to town, don’t scoff and speak of them derisively — think of the Stevens in the crowd (or the Phish pholk!), showing their gratitude for what they were, not necessarily what they now ARE, and if nothing else maybe give them another listen. You might remember something you’ve loved/left behind!
In honor of the 4th we’ll close with a quartet of albums getting frequent spins lately — the first of which comes from RTJ fave Killer Mike, back with his first solo album since 2012’s R.A.P. Music. It’s got a bunch of guest appearances (including from the elusive Andre 3000) and has some solid beats to back up his ever-impressive verses, but gets a bit preachy for me at times (lots of talk about the Lord and what she’s done for him). That said, there’s enough good stuff outside of that to keep you coming back for more. (On album or otherwise, Mike almost always has something interesting to say, whether you agree with him or not.) The track with fellow jewel runner El and the opening track with former Goodie Mob mate Cee-Lo are two of my faves — give both of em a spin here:
Next we’ll jump to the opposite coast and a polar opposite in terms of tone and content — from Atlanta to Seattle and from rap to folk, courtesy of singer/songwriter Dean Johnson. I posted about him over on the ‘gram a few weeks back (lead single and #fridayfreshness champ “Faraway Skies” remains a little slice of heaven) and thankfully the rest of the album is every bit as good as that opening foray hinted. It’s Johnson’s debut, and a bit of an odd one at that (apparently he recorded its nine songs five YEARS ago?!), but is well worth the wait. Johnson’s voice is great (“soothing and pure like a soak in a cool, crisp creek,” to cite myself) and his playing is as steady and stately as that cowboy on the range conjured in the aforementioned single. “Acting School” and “Shouldn’t Say Mine” are two faves on a rather flawless half hour — check em out below!
Next we’ll shift to the south and LA’s Cory Hanson whose recently released third album (the terribly titled Western Cum) just dropped and has been beguiling me ever since. In contrast to his last one (2021’s lovely Pale Horse Rider), this one finds Hanson plugging in his guitar and rattling off heroic rounds of riffage across the album’s eight songs. (None moreso than on the epic “Driving Through Heaven,” which stretches for over ten glorious minutes.) His voice is a chameleon — at times I get Chrissie Hynde, others Thom Yorke or Neil Young. As such, the songs sometimes call to mind early Radiohead or Crazy Horse, as well as Wilco, White Denim, or even Skynyrd as the guitars double or triple up their attack. And just as soon as you think you’ve got it pegged, you hear a different influence coming to the fore as it shifts off in another direction. No matter who you’re hearing, it’s a really good listen — my favorite has shifted almost daily ever since I started listening, but these two remain high on the list. Check out “Wings” and “Motion Sickness” below:
Last but definitely not least we’ll close with the one I’ve been listening to most, the eighth studio album from faves Queens of the Stone Age, which has been a bit of a grower. Initially, aside from a couple of tracks I was a bit disappointed — there weren’t as many immediate face melters as on previous outings and what surrounded them was a somewhat underwhelming mix of Homme’s corny puns (“Obscenery,” “I don’t care what the peephole say” as replacement for “what the people say,” etc) and the band’s dark carnival music. At least at first. Then this thing sank its claws into my brain and I’ve been listening to it obsessively ever since. Thundergod Jon Theodore’s drums on “Negative Space” and the closing jam “Straight Jacket Fitting” got in first, then the blistering guitar riff on “Carnavoyeur” or rollicking bass on “Peephole.” Basically everyone got a turn after that. (Though I still kind of hate “Made to Parade”) The two that grabbed me immediately remain on constant repeat, though — so give “Paper Machete” and “Emotion Sickness” a listen and get your fireworks started early:
That’s all for now — enjoy the holiday, amici…
–BS
15. Tre Burt — Caught it From the Rye / Gerry Cinnamon — The Bonny: this slot’s for a couple of harmonica-wielding first timers, one a soothing folkster from Sacramento, the other a full throated belter from the highlands. Starting with the former, I 
As for Mr Cinnamon, I 
14. Catholic Action — Celebrated by Strangers / Silverbacks — Fad / Idles — Ultra Mono: we’ll keep the trend of the previous slot going, both in terms of first-time entrants for the year-end list and hailing from the UK. (We’ve got three quarters covered — you gotta want it, Wales…) We’ll start where we ended with another batch of Scotsmen (Glaswegians to boot) and the sophomore album from Catholic Action. 
Speaking of moving, we’ll shift to the emerald isle for another buoyant affair, this time the full-length debut from Irish five piece Silverbacks. I’ve written about these guys 
Hitting with the proverbial power of said locomotive comes the final member of this slot, British punk band Idles. Here for the first time with their third album, Ultra Mono, this was one of the rare releases to address the endless outrages swirling around us this year, from racial injustice to gentrification, gropey guys, and more. You can argue with the lyrical effectiveness of the attacks, which alternate between nonsensical word collages and simple sloganeering (and whether this is deliberately done tongue in cheek as suggested in songs like “Mr Motivator” and “The Lover” or inadvertently remains at best unclear if not wholly beside the point). What you cannot deny, though, is the power and catchiness of the songs, which have always been the band’s strong suit. Part Jesus Lizard war machine, part vintage British punks, it’s on balance a solid set of songs — with tracks like “Reigns,” “Danke,” the blistering duo “War” and “Kill Them With Kindness,” and lead single “Grounds,” which sported my hands-down favorite line of the year (“I say what I mean, do what I love, and fucking SEND it…”) it felt good to get a little fiery.
13. Mt Joy — Rearrange Us / Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever — Sideways to New Italy / Woods — Strange to Explain: this slot’s for bands who routinely conjure the shine of our sunny friend in the sky (and the namesake of everyone’s favorite blogger), brightening otherwise dreary days with their music. First up is the sophomore album from Philly band Mt. Joy (named after a proverbial place I think ALL of us hoped we could find this year), returning for the first time since their self-titled 2018 debut. That album was pure, unadulterated sunshine — positive sentiments wrapped in a hippie hemp blanket, their melodies and cheer strong enough to win over even the most calcified, jaded hearts. (Not speaking about anyone in particular here…) This one allows a few storm clouds to darken the horizon (lyrics occasionally touch on things like depression and adultery this time around) without sacrificing the underlying optimism. Songs like “My Vibe,” “Death,” “Strangers,” and the beautiful “Witness” all glow, warming the windshield as you glide on down the highway.
Another band built for the open road is Australia’s RBCF who are also back with their sophomore album, their first since their 2018 debut, Hope Downs. Thankfully the Blackouts haven’t changed the formula that 
Lastly comes the similarly evocative Woods (back for the first time since the overly cheeseball 2017 Love is Love), though the locale they call to mind is often tougher to pin down. At times pastoral homestead, others a spaced out dreamscape, this one bridges the gap between the ethereal aspects of the latter and the lush warmth of the former. Calling to mind the slinky, almost African rhythms of their 2016 album City Sun Eater in the River of Light (
12. X — Alphabetland / Magnetic Fields — Quickies: this slot’s for those showcasing the benefits of brevity, albeit using two VERY different palettes. The former takes the sounds of revved up rockabilly and singsong harmonies that made the LA punks famous and brandishes them again to terrific effect. Back for the first time in 17 years and the first in 35 with the original lineup, the band fires off 10 rapid winners in a brisk 27 minute sprint to the finish. (The spoken word piece at the end is forgettable.) The interplay between frontman John Doe and frontwoman Exene Cervenka’s voices has always been a signature, and their breathless delivery of numerous lines get stuck in your head again here. Guitarist Billy Zoom’s riffs remain pristine, rattled off with the effortless flair of someone who’s been at it for close to 40 years, and DJ Bonebrake’s drums haven’t lost any of their pop. Songs like “Water & Wine,” “Strange Life,” “Goodbye Year, Goodbye,” or the pair of old tunes finally properly recorded (“Delta 88 Nightmare” and “Cyrano De Berger’s Back”) all smoke. This one’s every bit as good as the band’s early classics.
The Mags return for the first time in three years with yet another concept album, this one requiring all songs be under three minutes long. (Previous themes required all songs have fuzzed up guitars or start with the letter I, to name just two recent ones.) Beyond that frontman Stephin Merritt was free to roam and he covers a ton of ground over the course of the album’s 28 songs. Visiting castles (twice), spinning yarns about Shakers, bikers, Jesus, and Beelzebub, celebrating historic tits (not what you think) and outstanding coffee, or simpler things like his favorite watering hole or his musical neighbors. Merritt’s limitless imagination and wicked sense of humor are both on display, presenting some of the best material since the band’s unparalleled classic, 69 Love Songs. The highlights are almost too numerous to recount — “The Day the Politicians Died,” “When She Plays the Toy Piano,” “(I Want to Join a) Biker Gang,” “Let’s Get Drunk Again (And Get Divorced), “I Wish I Were a Prostitute Again,” “The Best Cup of Coffee in Tennessee,” “My Stupid Boyfriend” (which is laugh out loud funny). They all shine, full of Merritt’s characteristic heart, humor, or wonderful melodies — a great return to form.
11. Doves — The Universal Want / Bright Eyes — Down in the Weeds, Where the World Once Was: this slot’s for a pair of improbable reunions from bands I’ve really enjoyed over the years, but who’d been in hibernation for a good chunk of time, seemingly gone for good. Thankfully they’ve returned, both with lavish, kitchen-sink style albums that add layers to their signature sounds. Doves add the least flourishes between the two, but have been away the longest so get to go first.
Gone for a mere 9 years, Bright Eyes are another band that slipped away into the night and were seemingly forgotten. Frontman Conor Oberst remained busy, releasing several solo albums and pairing with other artists like Phoebe Bridgers for side project Better Oblivion Community Center, but the rest of the band (Mike Mogis and Nate Wolcott) were much more quiet. So it was a surprise when there was news they’d signed to a new label (“why does a dormant band need a label?”), which was quickly followed by talk of reunion shows and ultimately an album. And it’s a good one — an ambitious, reach for the stars type outing where everything is taken up a level.
10. Built to Spill — Built to Spill Plays the Songs of Daniel Johnston / My Morning Jacket — The Waterfall II: this slot’s for some long running bands opting to run in place for a minute rather than charge forward with some new material, utilizing two of the four universal indicators for “we’re taking a bit of a break right now.” (Not represented — greatest hits or live albums, or the fabled ultimate phone-in signal, the live album of OTHER people’s greatest hits.) Thankfully they’re both entirely pleasant outings, so no real complaints here.
For their part of the equation, MMJ decided to mine their archives and put out an album of previously recorded material rather than hit us with some new songs. It’s not a traditional outtakes set, filled with one off demos or rarities scattered from throughout their career, but rather an entire album they decided not to put out until now. Originally recorded as part of the 2015 Waterfall sessions, the band initially debated releasing the material all at once, but for whatever reason balked. Thankfully they finally decided to share the other half of those sessions and the fully restored duo work nicely when played back to back.
9. Jeff Tweedy — Love is the King / Matt Berninger — Serpentine Prison: this slot’s for a couple old favorites stepping out on their own, temporarily leaving the comforts of their beloved bands (Wilco and the National, respectively) to uphold one of the pandemic’s primary edicts, that of isolation. For Tweedy this is nothing new — he’s been sporadically taking breaks from the band to do solo tours for years, and truthfully I enjoy those shows even more than the full family affairs. (No offense to the guys — there’s just something about the intimacy of Jeff and an acoustic guitar that is incomparable. Watch 
For Berninger this is the first time he’s given it a go on his own — there have been one-off tracks here and there and the El Vy side project, but this is the first time he’s hanging a shingle entirely of his own. Initially intended to be a covers album, he went into the studio with producer Booker T (sadly sans MGs) and instead ended up recording an entire album of originals. (Allegedly the covers that started the fruitful sessions still exist and will be released later.) The interplay between the two is noticeable on a number of tracks, albeit subtle — there’s no Booker T of old whipping folks into a funky frenzy (although picturing Berninger trying to do so is comical to envision, like your kind uncle rattling off some Death Certificate-era Cube in an attempt to look hard), just understated keys gliding lightly through the background to buttress the songs.
8. Waxahatchee — Saint Cloud / Kevin Morby — Sundowner: this slot’s for two independent faves who somehow prove even more enjoyable together. Ladies coming first (both in courtesy and release order), we’ll start with the latest from Ms Katie who’s back for the first time since 2017’s Out in the Storm. Having previously dealt with the pain and insecurities surrounding love and loss, giving us three excellent albums bursting with vulnerability and quiet honesty, that album was all fiery guitars and full throated resilience, letting everyone in earshot know she had finally found her footing and was no longer going to be dominated by those ghosts — which while great from a personal perspective was not what drew me to her music. Thankfully she seems to have come out of that phase of overt trumpeting and settled into one of more comfortable confidence, giving us an album that exudes warmth and beauty. Songs like the title track, “Fire,” “The Eye,” and “War” all shine, while the twin singles of “Lilacs” and “Can’t Do Much” rank among the finest things she’s written.
For Morby’s part he continues his prolific pace of release, having just put out the full length Oh My God last year. (It 
7. Guided by Voices — Surrender Your Poppy Field / Mirrored Aztec / Styles We Paid For: in a year where there was so much upheaval, so many confusing experiences and terrible firsts, it was nice to have at least one reliable thing to count on, something as steadfast and unrelenting as the virus’ case count and death toll — only positive! That comes to us from our old friend Dr Bob, who may not be able do anything to cure us of the disease, but CAN do a lot to improve our pandemic playtime. That’s because — yet again — the beloved band of Ohioans are back with another album — THREE of them. Which would sound impressive or improbable if they didn’t do the exact same thing LAST year! THAT trio of albums 
6. Cut Worms — Nobody Lives Here Anymore / Andy Shauf — Neon Skyline: this slot’s for a couple first-timers that I discovered thanks to Spotify’s spot-on suggestion algorithm, which was on a tear earlier this year. Thanks to the lockdown keeping us stuck in place, the need to get away was a growing concern as time (but not much else) oozed onward. Some turned to travel shows on Netflix, some wandered down memory lane looking at old photos, while I found myself time traveling to earlier eras musically to stave off the stasis. One of the more frequent vectors for that was Cut Worms, a 
For his part Shauf takes you a decade or so later to a Paul Simon of the 70s sound on his fifth album, a brisk 35-minute gem that nails Simon’s narrative songwriting and sing-speak style of delivery. Covering the exploits of a single night out, this is the second album in a row that Shauf dedicates substantively to a specific theme (his last outing revolved around a night at a party, 2016’s aptly named The Party.) And while the thought of 11 songs about a night at the bar (the titular Neon Skyline) might seem suffocating or bland, Shauf finds plenty to keep you interested.
5. Nathaniel Rateliff — And It’s Still Alright: released before the world shutdown, this was the first album I knew would be showing up at year’s end and was the front runner for a long time. Coming out waaaaay back in February, this marks a return to pre-Night Sweats Nathaniel — softer and more introspective, working on his wounds with his acoustic guitar in hand — but with a few more flourishes this time around. The substance is still the same — the tried-and-true stalwarts of love and loss — but what’s new is what surrounds them: sweeping orchestral sections, forlorn horns, and the occasional choir. It all adds up to a grander affair than before, while still representing the most naked, heartfelt album of the year.
4. Muzz — Muzz: this was one of the year’s most unexpected surprises, a return of components from some of my favorite bands, specifically Interpol’s frontman Paul Banks and the Walkmen’s former drummer Matt Barrick, here with indie hopscotcher Josh Kaufman. Together the trio delivered one of the year’s best debuts, an endlessly engaging album that exemplifies easygoing. If the previous album was emblematic of the year’s emotional anguish, this one was all about staying calm, cool, and collected — the absolute epitome of “chill.”
3. Car Seat Headrest — Making a Door Less Open: if the last two entries represented opposing sides of the emotional spectrum, one tumultuous, the other tranquil, this one slides squarely in the middle and maps its effervescent peaks. Arriving just as the lockdown was settling its jaws into the globe, frontman Will Toledo and company are back with their first batch of new songs since 2016’s excellent Teens of Denial and what should have been the album of the summer. In any normal year going to hear this live would have been one of the hotter tickets in town, captivating concert-goers with its infectious melodies and soaring spirit, a self-assured danceparty waiting to happen. Instead, like everything else we were left to enjoy it from the confines of our homes, attempting to approximate that communal release from our couch.
2. Run the Jewels — RTJ4: aside from the unending pandemic and the lack of live music, the real reason the previous album didn’t rule the summer was because just after its release, video of George Floyd’s murder in Minneapolis came out and the country exploded in protest — at a man’s excruciating extinguishing under authority’s knee (8 minutes and 46 seconds of absolute agony to watch), at years of systemic racism and injustice that enable things like that to happen, and at the overall deluge of difficulties that hit people this year, sparking a sense of righteous indignation and outrage that spilled into the streets around the world. Arriving a mere one week later, THIS album — with its focused fury and awakened anger gave folks the music they were looking for and the soundtrack to the summer.
1. Pottery — Welcome to Bobby’s Motel: having come through the previous four stages of tumult, tranquility, exhilaration, and indignation, we arrive at the end and the thing that will ultimately get us across the finish line — pure, unadulterated adrenaline. This is the album I listened to more than anything else this year by a country mile. (As evidenced by almost each of its 11 songs being in my 2020 Wrapped playlist on Spotify.) Whenever any of those previous stages threatened to tip out of balance and overwhelm, this album was there to give you the energy to keep going — to push thru the pain or manage the anger, to snap out of the fog or keep driving towards that daydream future — the one where you can dance amongst friends, drink amongst strangers, and deliriously drift back and forth between the two.
1. The Orwells – Terrible Human Beings: hands-down my favorite album of the year. By a country mile. And I knew it almost from the moment it came out. One of two albums that stayed on the ‘pod the entire year and the only one I wouldn’t skip songs from by the end due to fatigue. In fact, I forced myself to stop listening to it the past month while writing this list so I could hear it with fresh ears and that choice annoyed me on a near-daily basis. Particularly because they released two excellent B-sides in that time that made me want to listen to it all over again. Each time one of its songs came on shuffle and I had to skip it, I grimaced a little. Despite listening to it in part/total literally hundreds of times this year. It still had me wanting to listen. And the crazy/amazing thing is, once I broke the holdout I couldn’t stop listening to it again. I’d wake up with a different song in my head and need to listen to it on the way to/from work (while continuing the trend even once at the office). Literally every day since the drought ended. (Including now, as I finish this post.) That alone tells you how much I love this album, if not also how amazing the non-me population will find it.
2. Run the Jewels – RTJ3: dropping for free on Christmas last year, this was the gift that kept on giving and the first album I knew would make the list this year. I haven’t had any doubts since then despite twelve months of solid listening either — it’s good from head to toe. And where previous albums found the guys in a more playful, jokey mood as wowed underdogs who can’t believe they made it to the party (as on 2014’s Run the Jewels 2, which 
3. Ron Gallo – Heavy Meta: this is the sneering thumb in the eye (or flippant middle finger) to everything around, a brash, bratty splash of water in the faces of those in power. Tall and scrawny with a shock of wild hair, like a stalk of broccoli bursting from a garden full of potatoes, Gallo is the incendiary insurgent intent on tearing everything down around him in this, his debut. His lyrics have a playful, ruthless edge to them that cuts through his fiery guitar playing: When we were young they said ‘one day, honey, you and I we’re going to share a grave’— I didn’t think it’d come so soon. Trying to please everybody, you let everyone down — you made a fool of yourself. Kids got nothing to look up or forward to. No one can stand you. Sorry not everybody looks like you. Why do you have kids? Am I beast or am I human or am I just like you? Young lady, you’re scaring me.
4. Kevin Morby – City Music; Feist – Pleasure: to start the grouped/themed section of the post, we’ll mirror the seesaw (some would say whiplash) dynamic the year followed, bouncing from moments of anger and noise to pockets of serenity and quiet to recover. And if the first three entries shy more towards the former and middle finger rebelliousness, this one’s for the soothsayers, two islands of calm in the midst of this year’s hellish storms, evoked by two otherworldly voices. I turned to them a lot over the year, for some peace and much needed quiet, but also for the reminder that things don’t always have to be so cataclysmic. These two make you want to curl up in front of the fire and forget your cares, which you just might do (say if you’re in Connecticut and foolishly decide to take the night feeding for a friend’s baby that comes at 3am instead of the expected midnight). Whether in the wee early hours or the light of day, they have a restorative power that’s undeniable, and you’ll likely find yourself calling on them often as I did.
Leslie, by contrast, is a more reclusive creature. She’s back with her first album in six years (2011‘s Metals, which was 
5. Jesus and Mary Chain – Damage and Joy; Black Pistol Fire – Deadbeat Graffiti: if the last one represented one of the calm spells, this one takes us back to the moments of agitation and noise with the unexpected returns of two favorites, one you never thought would come, the other you didn’t think would happen this fast. Both come from bands who are great at conjuring a mood and taking you out of your current surroundings (a remedy much in demand this year), the first transporting you to a corner of the night and an anonymous dark bar where this glorious, fuzzy clamor blares from the speakers, the other taking you to some deep water roadhouse in the holler where you see this incredible twosome whip you into a frenzy in the hot, humid, night.
As for the back half, the surprise comes not in the delay, but in how quickly the duo from Austin return, having last seen them just last year with the excellent Don’t Wake the Riot (
6. Alvvays – Antisocialites; Beach Fossils – Somersault: this slot’s back to blissed out oblivion and two albums I turned to repeatedly to just black everything out and find the quiet of magic hour, to quote Alvvays lead singer Molly Rankin. Both of these albums are achingly pretty, the sonic equivalent of floating downstream on a sunny day without a care in the world. It’s the second for Alvvays, the third for the Fossils, and neither does anything radically different (a point I hope others later in the list take note of), but both sharpen what they’ve shown before to almost scalpel’s precision.
The Fossils use a similar tactic, hiding some bitter pills amid the pillowy mousse of frontman Dustin Payseur’s gauzy vocals. “I know you’re gonna try and bring me down…not gonna be in town when you’re around…This year I told myself would be a better one, trying hard not to fall back onto the knife” on “This Year.” “Used to be up for anything, you were the highway star, and now all of your sparks keep moving on…that’s all for now” on “That’s All For Now.” And so on. It’s a rich, lush affair — there’s a string section sprinkled throughout, tossing gold dust on tracks like “Tangerine,” “Sugar,” and “Saint Ivy” (which also sports a flute solo — that’s right, Burgundy’s BACK, San Diego!) Even more stripped back songs like “May 1st” with its jangly guitars or “Down the Line” with its bouncing bass line sound opulent with Payseur’s vocals dancing overhead. Similar to Alvvays, this one’s brisk 35min duration ends the reverie too quickly. Hopefully it won’t be another four years before we see them again.
7. Queens of the Stone Age – Villains; Death From Above – Outrage! Is Now: we’re back for the last of the loud/quiet/loud alternations and one more for the unabashed rockers with a pair of albums from long time favorites, DFA and Queens. Both find the bands deviating from their classic sound to an extent, opting for a more polished, at times dancier feel, but both have enough moments of the old glory to keep you interested and coming back. Truthfully, these two albums have four of the tracks that I listened to most obsessively this year, songs whose breaks were so exhilarating they cut down any bad mood and absolutely blew my brain apart time and again.
As for the back half of the slot, the duo of beloved noisemakers from Canada, they aren’t showing any signs of stopping either. Back with their second album in three years, Jesse and Sebastian show that their ten-year hiatus between their debut and 2014’s return (Physical World, which 
8. Manchester Orchestra – A Black Mile to the Surface; Hurray for the Riff Raff –The Navigator: having completed the whisper/scream shuffle of the previous four slots, we’ll close this half of the couple’s skate with the last set of albums whose sincerity and earnestness are unquestionable. This pair is a little different than the previous four, in that their aim is several thousand feet above the others – in short, this one’s for the grandiose and folks shooting for the heavens. Maybe it’s in response to being “led” by someone so full of bombast that everything he does is the biggest/greatest/most unprecedented thing in human history (part of me is convinced he’s got a stool log that tracks in intimate detail the majesty of the number one’s number twos) that these two albums came out as an antidote, a form of equally self-assured (yet not self-important) expression meant to counterbalance the blowhards.
For Riff Raff their shot for the heavens takes the form of a Broadway show, the story of front woman Alynda Lee Segarra’s life growing up as a young Latina in New York. It’s a grand concept, but one that works well with its simple execution. It paints in colors and phrases, allowing you to latch on to details as she sketches aspects of the characters in efficient shorthand like most good musicals do. So after a brief scenesetter of “Entrance” it jumps straight into the ode to her hometown, introducing the charms and challenges of “Living in the City” (it’s hard hard hard) before starting in on her childhood. She’s been a lonely girl, but she’s ready for the world in “Hungry Ghost;” she’s lost her daddy, best friend she ever had in “Life to Save;” she was raised by the street, do you know what that really means in the title track. And then someone sang a song, said a prayer, and said you’re only halfway there.
9. The National – Sleep Well Beast; Spoon – Hot Thoughts: for the back half of the tandem bike ride we get to five slots of music whose sincerity isn’t so easily swallowed. Whether they just want to dance or put on a façade or are just too new to quite know whether to trust them, these albums – while containing some great songs and working well enough to land here – don’t have the unabashed heart or honesty of the previous five. Or at least leave you questioning it a little, like the rogue dissonant note that mars an otherwise lovely recital. Maybe that sensation will fade in time, but for now they’re on probation, to be eyed a little warily like an old dog does a runaway toddler.
In addition to Radiohead, the National adds in some more amped up rockers, too, which again feels a bit like posturing, the old guy who suddenly starts wearing leather and getting tattoos. The National are known for their knee buckling beauty, in both melody and their wrenching lyrics. No one puts them on to get amped up before a big game or a night at the club. Maybe a big wine tasting or a night of turning in before 9 PM. So the changes here feel a little forced at times, almost like they come at the expense of those more heartfelt moments of the past. Maybe it’s a product of the year we’ve just gone through, where open, heartfelt emotion is impossible right now, people are too bombed out and overwhelmed for that type of introspection and nakedness. Queens frontman Josh Homme said he just wanted people to dance with their new album, in part due to the harrowing experience of his friends and fellow bandmates from Eagles of Death Metal in the Paris Bataclan attack (and I can’t recommend the HBO documentary on that evening‘s events more strongly, Eagles of Death Metal: Nos Amis (Our Friends) — an incredible, harrowing account of that evening that will make you hug your loved ones and somehow love Homme even more. (Until he kicks a female photographer in the face while on stage, that is… oh, 2017, why must you ruin everything I love…))
10. Arcade Fire – Everything Now; LCD Soundsystem – American Dream: this one’s for the lovers of self who just want to make you dance. In a year full of bombast and almost insufferable self-importance comes two returns from bands who traffic in the same. The first comes from the wild pack of Canadians in Arcade Fire, the second from the band of Brooklynites in LCD Soundsystem. Both suffer from varying levels of delusion, the former weighed down by false notions of cool profundity, the latter by overestimations of being profoundly cool. And yet, they’re both still here. That’s because in spite of those afflictions there’s still plenty of good medicine within.
As for the self-appointed prince of cool, Murphy, and his band of merry men (and women) from New York, they return after a much hyped retirement six years ago only to rather rapidly decide to come back on this their fourth album. Which despite the infuriating cash grab their “retirement“ now calls to mind (a take all but confirmed by Murphy in an interview leading up to the album’s release), and Murphy’s general insufferability, the band sounds as good as ever. If previous albums were hedonistic soundtracks to the throes of being covered in sweat on the dance floor, this album feels a bit like the hangover the following day. From the hazy slowburn of opener “Oh Baby“ to later tracks like “How do you Sleep,“ the title track, and the closing 12 minute epic “Black Screen,“ there’s a gauzy, swooning feel that suffuses the album, like waking up on the couch the morning after with a black eye and a ringing in your ears. (Murphy even croons “I’m still trying to wake up” repeatedly on the track “I Used To.“)
11. Liam Gallagher – As You Were; Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds – Who Built the Moon?: this one’s for those who refuse to let things go or for an opponent to have the final word. In this case it’s the ever entertaining Gallagher brothers from Britain, formerly of 90s titans Oasis. The brothers have made a career of fighting each other whether in the band or not, and this past year sees them continuing the trend. They officially broke up Oasis in 2009 and have spent the intervening years as frontmen of two dueling bands – Liam has released two albums with Beady Eye, while Noel has notched three with his High Flying Birds. This time the ever cantankerous Liam is out on his own and as the feud between the brothers has intensified, it seems no accident that big brother Noel’s band released its album within a week or two of ole Liam. Lucky for us neither album feels as superficial or spiteful as some of the public shenanigans — both feel like they’ve got something to say or prove.
Noel takes a different tack and strays farthest from his Oasis past with an album that has none of his signature wall of guitar sound, but has virtually everything else. A horn section? Check. Soulful backup singers? Check. Indian influences and French flourishes? Check. Somehow the wide ranging and potentially over-the-top indulgence holds together, though. (Contrast this with, say, Oasis’ third album, which had a similar kitchen sink approach to it and instead felt bloated and overdone.) This has an epic, cinematic feel to it, where you can picture almost any song on the album playing on top of various scenes in a movie. A shot where the lead character is cutting loose and energetically dancing in their apartment? Cue up “Holy Mountain” or “She Taught me How to Fly.” A tense chase scene, either in car or on foot? Cue up “Keep on Reaching.” A montage of characters in various modes of travel, planes taking off and landing, cars weaving in and out of traffic while characters stare out the window of the train or the back of a car? Cue up “It’s a Beautiful World.” A shot of the lead character in the midst of a nighttime stakeout, or quietly sketching his plan to rob a bank (or maybe cleaning his gun) at a dimly lit kitchen table? Cue up “Be Careful What you Wish For” or “The Man who Built the Moon.” There are even three instrumentals if the others don’t tickle your fancy with all the words getting in the way. It all adds up to a solid listen, though, either for the movie in your head or the one you’re shooting living life – so pop this on and find your soundtrack.
12. Dan Auerbach – Waiting on a Song; The Shelters – The Shelters: this one’s for the untrustworthy time travelers and two albums that sound like they were unearthed in one of those old community time capsules or a trunk locked in someone’s basement. And while they sound great, like lost treasures, part of you doesn’t quite trust their authenticity — the part of you that knows they were made in modern day. Like Marty McFly, though, they may turn out to be well-intentioned interlopers and not the Biffs they may seem to be on the surface. Time shall tell.
The Shelters come forward from the following decade, sounding more like 60s-era British invasion and rockabilly, but evoke similar suspicions as the previous that prevents you from fully giving yourself over to the music at first. It’s not as powerful as with Auerbach – likely because this is their first album and not the latest in a long string of similar experiments — but it was heightened when I saw them live, as one member looked the psychedelic stoner part and another looked like the slicked back leather-sporting “rebel” who probably rolled in on motorcycle, all of which made it feel a little artificial. Which is not to say it wasn’t a good performance — with a triple guitar attack and songs as catchy as this, it definitely was — it just means you have to close your eyes and turn off your brain to just listen to the music.
13. Barns Courtney – The Attractions of Youth; Mondo Cozmo – Plastic Soul: this one’s the pop stop, for a pair of newcomer solo acts, both of whom I caught at Lolla in my annual pilgrimage home. Barns is a bratty Brit who writes more straightforward pop anthems, Mondo is a Philly boy living in LA who has a tougher to describe cocktail of influences on his album. As it goes with all pop songs, you’re never sure whether they’re just manufactured confection or true confessions, but both turn out some pretty irresistible little tunes on their debuts, which forces you to afford them the benefit of the doubt.
As I mentioned, Mondo is a little tougher to pin down. His voice sounds like a young Dylan at times, earnestly singing about love and spirituality, but surrounded by an array of samples and electronics flourishes that make him sound wholly modern. It works surprisingly well — the songs have an uplifting, anthemic feel to them that draws you in and gives your mood a boost. From the sleepy opening title track to follow on tracks like “Come With Me,” “Shine,” “Automatic,” and “Chemical Dream,” the overarching message is clear — don’t worry, everything will be alright. Which based on how this year has gone may seem improbable, but at least while listening to this album you think it might make a comeback someday. Just try listening to “Thunder” and not believing — it’s a rollicking, windows-down racer with a perfect line for its time: “It’s been a long fucking year that I can’t wait to leave behind.” Indeed.
14. Shakey Graves – And the Horse he Rode in On (Nobody’s Fool and the Donor Blues): having completed the bloc of sincerity and the bloc of suspicion, we’ll close with two final doses of pure, unquestionable intent – one sweet as a jug of sun tea on a hot summer day, the other as jagged and dangerous as if you threw that jug on the ground and rolled around on top.
15. METZ – Strange Peace: we’ll close with one last singleton and the perfect counterbalance to Shakey’s sweetness, ending with the sonic equivalent of a sledgehammer to the teeth. In a year that gave you almost daily invitation to raise your fists and march around to protest the latest news, this was the perfect soundtrack. Loud, brash, and filled with words that were often unintelligible and yet sparked a tremendous sense of anger, it’s only fitting that the best distillation of how our current American malaise feels would come from…three Canadians? But as with everything else these days, truth is stranger than fiction, and the latest from the lads from up north is one I turned to again and again.