List: The 25 Best Albums of 2017

best

Woof.

There’s certainly no need to get into how devastating and horrifying a year 2017 was. But no matter how much darkness enveloped us, the world of music was able to offer us at least a bit of solace in the form of powerful, affecting art from scores of ingenious artists. In a time when deviation from the norm seemed to be punished more harshly than ever before, the microcosm of indie rock was for once dominated by women, musicians of color and LGBTQ+ folk – from Vagabon and Girlpool to Jay Som and Julien Baker – yielding truly extraordinary music that broke down barriers and gave voice to the voiceless. Feminist anthems like Cardi B’s ferocious “Bodak Yellow” and Kesha’s rip-roaring “Woman” hit the airwaves just in time for the great reckoning of the #MeToo movement. We lost a host of luminaries, but were in turn greeted by throngs of new talent – as well as the welcome return of a few old friends (Fleet Foxes, Slowdive, and Grizzly Bear, just to name a few.)

What follows is an assortment of records that had the strongest impact on me over the past year. Albums that stunned me with their lyricism, their beauty, their complexity, their bravery. Albums that made my unending obsession with music in all its forms feel worthwhile. It’s hard to say what will be in store for us in 2018, but here’s hoping that, as we continue to fight the good fight, we’ll also continue to believe in great art – and in its power to unite us and reaffirm our humanity.

 

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25

Cigarettes After Sex

Cigarettes After Sex

Partisan

There’s an uncanny, Lynchian quality to the airy, sensual dream-pop of Cigarettes After Sex. Their full-length debut finds the group perfecting the layered slowcore/shoegaze-influenced sound they’ve been developing since its inception a decade ago. Greg Gonzalez sings in an aching, lovestruck half-whisper as he and his bandmates use jangly, echo-laden guitars and gentle drum beats to craft music that recalls Heaven or Las Vegas-era Cocteau Twins, constantly maintaining its intimacy yet managing to soar to breathtaking heights. Ten years, of course, provides time for plenty of living, and Gonzalez’s growth as a songwriter is evident. His lyrics comprise a series of quietly mesmerizing confessional tales of 21st-century love, packed with noir melodrama and self-deprecating humor. Calling an unfaithful ex “the patron saint of sucking cock” would sound unwieldy in almost any context, but when Gonzalez does so in “Young and Dumb,” it’s a wry comment on the fluid, no-strings-attached nature of the modern relationship. “Truly,” he croons on “Truly,” “know that you really don’t need/To be in love to make love to me.” Equal parts swooningly romantic and effortlessly hip, Cigarettes After Sex is a masterful exercise in passionate restraint.

 

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24

Tinariwen

Elwan

Epitaph / Anti-

The Malian outfit, now nearing its fortieth year of existence, presents on Elwan some of their angriest, most electric music yet. Jagged Saharan blues riffs slither hypnotically over rattling, argumentative percussion and throngs of backing vocalists as co-founder Ibrahim Ag Alhabib’s weary, trance-like voice laments the political and social unrest he has witnessed firsthand. “Love these days is like a mirage,” he intones on “Arhegh ad annàgh.” “It gets fainter the closer you get.” The lyrics are mournful and the music often caustic, but it never ceases to be a thing of profound power and beauty to hear these many seemingly disparate elements – which here also include contributions from Western musicians like Alain Johannes, Mark Lanegan and Kurt Vile – join together in an immaculately arranged tapestry of sound. It’s appropriate considering the band’s beginnings as a collective of grassroots rebels, joining together in the hopes that one day the peoples of the world might live in peace.

 

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23

Guided by Voices

August by Cake

Rockathon

August by Cake isn’t just Guided by Voices’ best album since Robert Pollard resuscitated the project (for the first time) in 2010 – it ranks up there with some of the best they’ve done, period. After plodding along in complacency for a near half-decade and cranking out a slew of competent but ultimately lacking records, Pollard and co. sound utterly replenished on this sprawling, 32-track set – like they’ve rediscovered the energy, joy and eccentricity that fueled mid-90’s masterworks like Bee Thousand and Alien Lanes. They leap gleefully from the brassy, Arthur Brown-esque power-pop of “5º on the Inside” to the stoner-metal mutation of “Packing the Dead Zone,” from the raucous, doom-ridden schoolteacher narrative “Substitute 11” to the tense serenity of “Sentimental Wars.” Pollard proves that his acerbic wit and idiosyncratic sense of humor haven’t entirely dulled after 30+ years and 100 LPs, and his bandmates (which this time around include Bobby Bare, Jr. and Nada Surf’s Doug Gillard) adeptly demonstrate their own songwriting chops. Whether the glorious momentum the band has established here will endure over the next 100 inevitable releases remains to be seen, but for now – goddamn.

 

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22

Charlotte Gainsbourg

Rest

Because

There are those that would relegate Charlotte Gainsbourg as an artist to a place in the shadow of dad Serge, and to them I say, casse-toi. With the darkly sumptuous Rest, her first album in six years, the multi-hyphenate permanently cements her own artistic vitality and depth of vision. Producer SebastiAn (with help from Danger Mouse, Daft Punk’s Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo, and orchestral dynamo Owen Pallett, among others) constructs delectable, scintillating walls of ominous chamber pop and foreboding disco that engulf (but by no means inhibit) Gainsbourg’s lyrics and breathy, dramatic vocals. Every second on Rest is flooded with apocalyptic drama as Gainsbourg examines the deaths of two family members (her old man and half-sister Kate Barry) and muses on the horrors of addiction. She recalls curling up next to Serge’s corpse as a teen on “Lying with You” (“Where did my kiss go when the coffin shut?/I always hear the beating of nails/You lost, I’m distraught”) and attempts to revive the spirit of “Kate” via song; “Deadly Valentine” is a skewered set of wedding vows, while “Sylvia Says” channels Plath’s “Mad Girl’s Love Song” to spellbinding effect. Gainsbourg’s welcome return to music is a thing of terrifying power; rarely has an album about death been so angry, so cool – and so effective. À votre santé, Charlotte.

 

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21

Iron and Wine

Beast Epic

Sub Pop

Sam Beam’s sixth album as Iron and Wine eschews the jazz-pop trappings of 2013’s Ghost on Ghost for something of a return to form, compiling a dozen lovely, gentle little folk tunes that strike a middle ground between the starkness of Our Endless Numbered Days and the lush orchestration of The Shepherd’s Dog. His arrangements are ramshackle yet airtight, with divergent fiddle and keyboard and guitar and drum lines joining together smoothly as one in that magical way only Beam can make possible. Right out of the gate, we’re greeted by his whispery voice, like the welcome call of a long-lost friend, as he uses his distinctive lyricism to spin yarns inspired by his own fascination with the passage of time—and all the beauty and pain it squeezes into the brief span of our lives. As he advises on the downright enchanting “Call It Dreaming,” we face plenty of hardships during our time on Earth, but we’re all still together at the end of the day—and if we seek to make the most of life, we need only take the good with the bad and chalk it up to experience (the essence of life itself). Clocking in at just under 36 minutes, Beast Epic is bittersweet, almost frustrating in its brevity—we’ve no choice but to listen close and hold on to whatever bits of luscious melody and lyric we can. Doing so, over and over, we ultimately realize that the “beast” Beam speaks of is us – this is our story, our epic.

 

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20

Sampha

Process

Young Turks

London’s Sampha Sisay made a name for himself with the soul-baring bedroom recordings that rightfully caught the attention of high-profile collaborators like SBTRKT, Drake and Solange. His debut full-length pairs the DIY star with producer Rodaidh McDonald (The xx), who helps Sisay sharpen and expand his otherworldly R&B sound. Process unleashes an enrapturing array of post-dubstep-meets-trip-hop beats, all held together by Sampha’s rich, mellifluous tenor. Each track presents an intense, vibrant snapshot of the singer-songwriter’s life – his memories of early childhood on “(No One Knows Me) Like the Piano”; his struggles with anxiety on the frigid “Blood on Me” (“They said there’s somethin’ bleedin’ in me/Somethin’ screamin’ in me/Somethin’ buried deep beneath…”); his regrets at a love that never came to fruition on “Incomplete Kisses.” This masterful, self-assured debut garnered Sampha a well-deserved Mercury Prize this year – just another reason to watch his star continue to rise.

 

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19

SZA

Ctrl

Top Dawg / RCA

It’s been a fantastic year for SZA. In addition to her SNL performance and Best New Artist Grammy nomination, she earned exposure to her widest audience yet by elevating Maroon 5’s “What Lovers Do” from dippy Top 40 detritus to among the most charming, kicky pop tunes of 2017. Still, Solana Rowe’s crowning achievement of the past 12 months likely remains her brilliant, brash studio debut Ctrl. The sultry TDE songstress seamlessly blends indie rock, neo-soul and trap into a sublime sonic confection with her hypnotic rasp as the central instrument. She tackles with ruthless confidence the highs and lows of romantic life for a “20 Something” black woman (“…all alone still, not a thing in my name…runnin’ from love…hopin’ to keep the rest of my friends…”) She snaps back at her unfaithful exes on “Supermodel” and “Love Galore” and uses “Drew Barrymore” to pick apart unrealistic beauty standards and the vast insecurities they create (“I’m sorry I’m not more attractive/I’m sorry I’m not more ladylike/I’m sorry I don’t shave my legs at night/I’m sorry I’m not your baby mama”). In “Doves in the Wind,” she and Kendrick Lamar present us with what’s easily the loveliest, most comprehensive paean to the vagina ever written, and “Broken Clocks” highlights the delicate balance between her love and work lives. SZA’s message couldn’t be clearer or more eloquently stated: our heroine is deeply unsure of herself at this juncture of life – and yet she keeps on moving forward, driven by the hope that things will eventually make sense. Ctrl‘s stirring, heartbreaking, genre-bending anthems are essential listening for the young, lost and in love – and for all who are familiar with their struggle.

 

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18

Julie Byrne

Not Even Happiness

Ba Da Bing! / Basin Rock

“Ambient folk” is a rather trendy and obnoxious-sounding descriptor, but there’s really no other way to describe Julie Byrne’s lovely, lilting arrangements. The Buffalo, NY native blends the understated style of Nick Drake and early Joni Mitchell with the aesthetic of Brian Eno’s pioneering ’70s work, channeling both into an inimitable universe of her own design. On Not Even Happiness, we hear little else other than quiet (but dexterous) guitar, bits of wispy synthesizer and Byrne’s ethereal voice – the voice of a peaceful yet restless wanderer, seeking meaning and permanence in her fleeting life and finding it through her connection with nature and with those she loves. Hers is an earthy, gorgeous world of immaculate serenity, a powerful refuge from the solid walls of noise that wedge their way into our brains daily and vie for our attention. Once you’ve settled into that world, the look of beatific bliss spread across Byrne’s face on the album cover may very well be your own.

 

17

17

The Mountain Goats

Goths

Merge

The case for John Darnielle as the finest musical raconteur of his generation is a strong one: His characters are vibrant and vividly realized, and each of his records reads less like an album than like a collection of short stories. What makes his songwriting truly unique, however, is his unparalleled knack for drawing lyrical beauty from the seemingly insignificant moments of everyday life. For the magnificent Goths – his sixteenth studio effort and his first entirely sans guitars – Darnielle draws inspiration from his youth, growing up listening to Siouxsee and the Banshees and the Cure on KROQ-FM and seeking out the company of society’s loners and outcasts. While the songs themselves are far more indie-folk than Gothic, his lyrics evoke masterfully the pain, angst, and melancholia of goth culture’s adherents – and the ever-present specter of death that fuels their black fire. From the doomy opener “Rain in Soho” to the heart-rending ballad “Andrew Eldritch is Moving Back to Leeds” (that’s the lead singer of Sisters of Mercy, kids) to “Abandoned Flesh” (an elegy for the long-forgotten Gene Loves Jezebel), Darnielle lets his narratives-within-a-narrative flow beautifully, his crackling, energetic vocals giving voice to the voiceless masses. Goths is an album about death, about life, and about the triumphs and tragedies in between – all told with an inimitable grace that could only come from a mind as introspective and brilliant as Darnielle’s.

 

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16

Kendrick Lamar

DAMN.

Interscope / Top Dawg

DAMN., Kendrick Lamar’s fourth studio album in six years, opens with an understated spoken word bit from the Compton native atop soft, funky orchestration – sounds that would fit quite comfortably on his 2015 magnum opus To Pimp a Butterfly. Immediately after, we get an abrupt shift into the barebones riot act of “DNA.,” setting the pace for much of the album’s remainder and letting us know we’re in for an entirely different listening experience altogether. Skeletal, pseudo-trap beats buzz and snap in the background as Lamar – still easily the most gifted MC working today – unleashes some of the most direct, unadorned flows of his career on boldface-titled bangers like “HUMBLE.,” “FEAR.,” and “LOYALTY.” His unmistakable voice shifts effortlessly between lethargic, understated drone and frantic near-scream as he philosophizes upon the experience of black America in 2017 and ponders his own place within its grand scheme. As with life itself, it’s tough to draw any definite conclusions from this colorful, jagged record at the outset, but piecing the puzzle together over subsequent listens (tracklist reversed and otherwise) is what makes the experience so exhilarating. Life, as our man Mr. Duckworth puts it on the track that bears his real surname, is truly “one funny motherfucker.”

 

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15

Various artists

Twin Peaks (Music from the Limited Event Series)

Twin Peaks (Limited Event Series Original Soundtrack)

Rhino

It’s only fitting that the best film of the year would have the best film soundtrack of the year. This is doubly true considering the vital role of music throughout David Lynch’s oeuvre – not least of all Twin Peaks. The long-awaited third season of Lynch’s groundbreaking soap-noir drama saw the writer-director unspooling some of his most feverish avant-garde nightmares to date for the small screen as the show transcended cinema and television to become an epic treatise on life, death, the afterlife, good, evil, and how maybe Jim Belushi isn’t such a hack after all. But as free-floating and frenetic as The Return often seemed, Lynch leaves nothing to chance in terms of sound design; every note we hear is crucial to the communication of his vision, and each of the dual soundtracks works surprisingly well as a cohesive unit. Lynch expertly books the Twin Peaks roadhouse with an array of artists both new and familiar who update the local aesthetic for a new generation, from the cinematic synthpop of Chromatics and Au Revoir Simone to the ethereal folk of Lissie, Sharon Van Etten and the Cactus Blossoms. Caustic cuts from the Veils and Nine Inch Nails sit comfortably alongside doo-wop staples as sung by the Paris Sisters and the Platters, and Lynch even makes some space for original-series muses Julee Cruise and James “James” Marshall. For the original score, Lynch reunites with his old partner in melancholic crime Angelo Badalamenti (along with engineer Dean Hurley and Chromatics’ Johnny Jewel), concocting newer, darker strains of the mutated ambient jazz that populated the original series and revisiting classic nuggets like the goofy, menacing “Audrey’s Dance.” Throw in Krzysztof Penderecki’s scathing “Threnody for the Victims of Hiroshima” as accompaniment for nuclear Armageddon, and you’re left with a listening experience that’s as glorious and disorienting a mind-fuck as the cult phenomenon that spawned it.

 

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14

Goldie

The Journey Man

Metalheadz

Over two decades removed from his 1995 masterpiece Timeless, the U.K. drum and bass hero (and recent card-carrying member of the OBE) proves with The Journey Man – his first proper record in ten years – that he hasn’t forsaken an ounce of his ingenuity or ambition since then. Goldie’s airtight, extravagantly orchestrated soundscapes remain incredibly, interdimensionally hip, and while the lightning-fast breakbeats, jazzy vocals and trancelike synths and strings that dominated Timeless still abound, his vision feels even more cohesive, and he’s rarely sounded like he’s having as much fun as he does here. Play this record at a rave or a meditation session and it won’t sound out of place. One of the most unexpected triumphs of the year, the 105-minute epic is, indeed, a Journey, but one that’s entirely worth taking.

 

13

13

Dirty Projectors

Dirty Projectors

Domino

Dirty Projectors is the kind of post-breakup album only Dave Longstreth could create. He splatters his canvas with brooding, glitchy soultronica, utterly deformed samples and spastic, warped vocal harmonies to mirror the alienated frenzy hopping around his brain. He experiments with the R&B side of his signature yelp on tracks like the slippery, chaotic “Death Spiral” and the devastatingly blunt “Winner Take Nothing,” while frothy, slow-burning opener “Keep Your Name” renders his voice all but unrecognizable as he ruminates on love’s labors lost (“I don’t know why you abandoned me/You were my soul and my partner”). His arrangements bluster and jolt in myriad unexpected directions, making for a delightfully strange and disorienting listening experience. It’s far and away the darkest release under the DP name, but at the same time Longstreth manages to let some glimmers of hope creep in, no matter how manic and twisted things get. He’s clearly having a rough time, but he’ll be okay as long as he keeps following the light.

 

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12

Homeshake

Fresh Air

Royal Mountain / Sinderlyn

“Kissing, hugging, making love and waking up and getting high”: This is the mantra that informs the woozily funky lo-fi R&B of Peter Sagar. On Fresh Air, his third LP as Homeshake, the veteran Mac DeMarco sideman crafts a succession of enticingly slick, lethargic dreamscapes as the backdrop for his subtle explorations of the fleeting highs and lingering lows of modern love. Armed with whispery, wobbly guitars; buzzing, thumping bass; and a voice that expertly treads the line between soulful release and quiet restraint (and between earnestness and kitschy throwback), he unspools scintillating melodies one after the other. Some of the album’s best moments come along in its middle stretch, when Sagar shifts into complete D’Angelo-esque soul-workout mode on tracks like “TV Volume” and “Getting Down Pt. II.” Fresh Air is an endearing and often lovely little work that provides an ideal soundtrack for – well, just read the first sentence again.

 

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11

Blanck Mass

World Eater

Sacred Bones

Benjamin John Power, one-half of UK noise-psychtronica weirdos Fuck Buttons, explores the darker side of his idiosyncratic oeuvre under the Blanck Mass moniker. With World Eater, Power presents us with a soundtrack for the hippest, most abjectly terrifying post-apocalyptic horror flick never made—as well as a grim commentary on our own tempestuous times. Opener “John Doe’s Carnival of Error,” with its faintly menacing yet soothing organ grind, serves as the disarming calm before the hellfire descends. “Rhesus Negative” is a Depeche Mode instrumental on a bad acid trip, all twinkly synths and paranoia; the percussive noises on “Please” and “The Rat” ape murderous factory equipment and clattering silverware. The seven tracks rumble, screech and claw at the barren ground, sprawling every which way but never meandering—darkly beautiful and strangely melodic. Power amps up the psychotic spectacle with his impressive use of the human voice, injecting his scorched-earth visions with chaotically spliced vocal samples and howling choirs of damned souls. It’s progressive techno at its most adventurous and thrillingly theatrical—rife with the sort of all-consuming darkness that can only precede the light of a better tomorrow.

 

10

10

The Magnetic Fields

50 Song Memoir

Nonesuch

Just because Stephin Merritt has passed the half-century mark doesn’t mean he’s stopped approaching his music like a gleeful, twinkly-eyed kid. His Tin Pan Alley-by-way-of-Kraftwerk-meets-Jonathan Richman songwriting continues to sharpen with age, and 50 Song Memoir serves to remind us that he’s both a gifted raconteur and a masterful arranger. Never one to back down from an ambitious creative writing exercise (see 69 Love Songs), Merritt chronicles the first five decades of his life over the course of 150 minutes and fifty tracks (labeled by year for your convenience).  In his unmistakable baritone, he regales us with erudite tales of his first fumbling forays into the worlds of religion (which he ultimately rejects outright, much to his Ethics prof’s chagrin), love (which he’s not so great at), and music (from the terrible bands he formed as a youngster to the first inklings of a career in electronica), stopping here and there to deliver withering jabs at his flighty beatnik mom’s good-for-nothing boyfriends. He and his bandmates descend upon a bevy of instruments ranging from fairground organ to ukulele to autoharp to any number of magnificently orchestrated synthesizer flourishes. It’s quirky to a fault, to be sure – but what’s always made the Magnetic Fields truly great is that beneath all the wry witticisms and idiosyncratic deadpannery, there’s always an unflappable sincerity – and it comes through strongest on Memoir when Merritt talks of the death of his friend Elliott Smith (“’07 In the Snow-White Cottages”) or his bouts of melancholia and suicidal thoughts (most of the album, really, but especially “’97 Eurodisco Trio”). Even “’15 Somebody’s Fetish,” ostensibly a cheeky ode to sexual kinks, eventually transforms into a touching meditation on finding a love of one’s own. It all amounts to an extraordinary celebration of the grand tragicomedy of life itself – and a wondrous, wacky, lovable glimpse into the mind and soul of one of the world’s greatest living tunesmiths.

 

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9

Jansport J

p h a r a o h

blackwhitegoldville

Every single review I’ve read of Jansport J’s freewheeling, vibrant mini-hip-hopera (my own included) has drawn connections between him and another, more legendary J. These comparisons, of course, are not without merit, as Justin Williams’ work certainly owes plenty to the seminal Donuts. But let’s look past all that for a minute and consider the remarkable ingenuity and singular vision it takes to make a record like p h a r a o h. J’s funky, heartfelt and surprisingly fluid collection of song nuggets redefines the concept of the instrumental hip-hop album itself and explores the cratedigging genre’s potential for storytelling – in this case, our story takes the form of a ride on the L-train through NYC, an opportunity to breathe in the life and personality of the city. Old school boom-bap rides comfortably alongside psychedelic keys and analog synths, with an abundance of soul samples and vocal harmonies scattered throughout. J’s dynamic use of the human voice on tracks like “Peace, Pt. I” and “12” make p h a r a o h the warmest, most organic aural experience of its kind we’ve heard in a while. Just sit back, press play, and let it take you away.

8

8

Father John Misty

Pure Comedy

Sub Pop

Josh Tillman has become something of a punching bag among the music journalism community, with the critiques running the gamut from “his facial hair looks dumb” to “he’s an arrogant, smug, self-indulgent jackass-troll who embodies everything despicable about white hipster culture.” What people seem to forget in their discussions of Tillman, however, is the music. The public’s varied opinions of the man himself don’t change the fact that he’s one of the greatest and most imaginative songwriters of this infant century. The expansive, ambitious Pure Comedy could be used as fuel for either side of the Father John Misty debate, but still, it’s a damn fine record. Enlisting the aid of legendary orchestral arranger Gavin Bryars, Misty channels the majestic strings, soulful piano melodies and prickled wit of Randy Newman and early Elton John in a series of scathing critiques on technology (“Things It Would Have Been Helpful To Know Before the Revolution”), liberal self-righteousness (“Ballad of the Dying Man”), and even the elite group of “L.A. phonies and their bullshit bands/That sound like dollar signs and Amy Grant” of which he counts himself a member (the 13-minute centerpiece “Leaving L.A”). Tillman’s attempts to cement his status as a social satirist for the millennial age vary in their success (the rather troubling “both sides” rhetoric of “Two Wildly Different Perspectives” could double as a mission statement for centrist Democrats), but when the record fails, it does so nobly enough that it’s hard not to fall in love with it anyway. At its best, Pure Comedy is a sweeping, gorgeous and deeply affecting look at the absurd state of modern humanity, as well as a call for positive change. As Tillman croons at the end of the title track: “I hate to say it, but each other’s all we’ve got.”

 

7

7

Björk

Utopia

One Little Indian

Björk is in love, and she doesn’t care who knows it. After 2015’s cataclysmic post-breakup scorcher Vulnicura, the shapeshifting Icelandic icon exhibits a complete sea change, gazing doe-eyed upon a lush, shimmering Utopia brimming with chirping birds, cosmic harps and endless romantic possibilities. Reteaming with Venezuelan producer Arca and enlisting the aid of a 13-piece flute ensemble, she unfurls intoxicating, warbling incantations over beds of shivery folktronica. It all begins with the euphoric “Arisen My Senses,” wherein the simplest show of affection – a kiss – provides the impetus for Björk’s sensual and sexual reawakening. Though she’s certainly never shied from portraying sexuality in her work, Utopia is all strap-on dicks and heart-shaped vulvae, all orgasmic bliss. By extension, it’s one of her most organic, human-sounding records – she manages to unearth the deep beauty in “two music nerds” texting and sending each other MP3s (“falling in love to a song”) on “Blissing Me,” and over the 10-minute span of the bestial nature walk “Body Memory,” she finds healing from past wounds via self-reliance (with the help of a rapturous threescore-strong choir). After the pitch-black catharsis of her previous record, Ms. Guðmundsdóttir is finally ready to live again, and both she and we are made all the better for it.

 

6

6

LCD Soundsystem

american dream

DFA / Columbia

Plenty of musicians released records this year that reflected the anxiety and anger permeating Trump’s America, but few did so with as much nightmarish, devastating clout as James Murphy on the viciously bold american dream. A reunion record in name only, dream makes it feel like Murphy’s enclave of nervous indie punks never left. It’s a recklessly catchy art-dance vision of a dystopian future that may not be so far away – a glimpse into Murphy’s personal anxieties as well as the public’s. Now pushing 50, Murphy ruminates on his inevitable midlife crisis and the cruel hands of time (“I’m just not dangerous now/The way I used to be once/I’m just too old for it now/At least that seems to be true”). And yet, LCD sound more ferocious and vital than ever, drawing from the giants of New Wave for songs as danceable as they are haunting (see the rattling, discordant Talking Head-trip “other voices” and the glitzy slow-dance waltz of the title track.) Murphy’s clarion calls on “i used to” hearken back to a time when Bono actually gave a shit, and the robotic “tonite” and the Springsteenian sheen of “call the police” stand among the most electrifying, moving performances of his career. The ghosts of the prior year’s departed loom large over the record, from Suicide’s Alan Vega on the shimmering “oh baby” to the ominously droning 12-minute Bowie tribute “black screen”; their influence only adds to the feel of heavy sobriety throughout. dream vibrantly paints a tense present and an uncertain future for both the band and the country they live in – but, as yet another giant we lost in 2016 might have put it, if we’re all going to die, we might as well just dance our lives away.

 

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5

St. Vincent

MASSEDUCTION

Loma Vista

A decade in, Annie Clark remains, from a vocal and lyrical standpoint, one of the most unique and fascinating voices in modern rock, and record no. 5 MASSEDUCTION is the most fearless, vicious and fully-realized manifestation of her twisted art-pop vision to date. Here Clark, working with a Holy Trinity of sought-after producers, takes everything great about her first four studio efforts and cranks it up to 11, resulting in a sequence towering synth-glam hymns that are both immaculately polished and miraculously avant-garde. The robotic chorus of the title track – “I can’t turn off what turns me on” – doubles as a statement of purpose, the artist herself having described its motif as “dominatrix at the mental institution.” Frenetic, unbelievably catchy cuts like Hollywood excess ode “Los Ageless” and the Sounwave-aided “Pills” – which sounds not unlike a dystopian commercial jingle – explore the many things in our absurd, overwrought world that get us off, with exquisite punctuation from Clark’s glorious voice and face-obliterating guitar shreds. But it’s not all New Wave paranoia – stripped-back ballads such as the mournful, pedal-steel driven “Happy Birthday, Johnny” and the glorious “New York” provide a new depth of meaning to her unflinchingly honest and often hilarious lyrics. Simply put, there are very few artists firing on all cylinders like St. Vincent, who has, with MASSEDUCTION, rightly earned her place among the true pop visionaries of our time.

 

4

4

Future Islands

The Far Field

4AD

The sublime theatricality of Baltimore’s Future Islands just keeps getting better with each record. The Far Field isn’t exactly a major shake-up of their signature New Wave-influenced sound, but what is different here is the trio’s ability to dig deep into the heart of their music, exuding levels of emotion and wide-eyed expression never thought possible. With help from the deft hand of producer John Congleton, the band delivers burst after burst of rapturous, euphoric sound. Sam Herring’s voice remains one of the most unique and inimitable in modern rock, and here he leaves no atom of himself unexposed, passionately bellowing about his hopes, his insecurities, his longing for connection with nature and with his fellow human beings. Bassist William Cashion and synth wizard Garrit Welmers, meanwhile, busily construct a lushly-orchestrated backdrop that intensifies and solidifies the drama of Herring’s vivid vocal performances. Like Singles before it, The Far Field is an instant classic – a collection of perfectly-executed, emphatically realized songs from three musicians with a distinctive passion not only for their craft, but for the human experience itself.

 

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3

Fleet Foxes

Crack-Up

Nonesuch

Whenever an artist returns from an extended hiatus, fans’ expectations for new music from that artist can be impossibly high. When that artist is Robin Pecknold, who crafted a pair of landmark, generation-defining indie rock records with his band Fleet Foxes before his embarkment to Columbia University, those expectations are damn-near stratospheric. Luckily, Pecknold is nothing if not a forward thinker; he took his downtime seriously and eventually rejoined the fold of the Seattle folk outfit with the life experience and introspection needed to create the most complex, daring, and reflective Fleet Foxes record to date. Crack-Up quite literally picks up where Helplessness Blues left off, with lethargic guitar and voice giving way to a sweeping panorama of sound. The album revels in what originally made the group great – the rumbling percussion, the Laurel Canyon-echo harmonies, the wildly varied instrumentation, the masterfully-navigated dynamic shifts – while also signifying a giant musical step forward. The band draws from African and Middle Eastern music to craft a familiar yet entirely new sound, abounding with reedy brass and woodwinds, thunderous piano, lively strings, flickering electronic programming, and rapid time-signature changes. The tracks sprawl and ramble, mirroring their bi-coastal creation (including, among other locations, the legendary Electric Lady Studios). Lyrically, Pecknold reflects in his own poetic, erudite way upon the turbulent climates within his country and personal life. “Cassius, Naiads, Cassadies” reflects on the cruelties of a white patriarchal society towards its “others,” from the deaths of Alton Sterling and Philando Castile (“Life makes short work of all I see…Red and blue, the useless sirens scream”) to the daily terrorizing of women (“Who turned you so against you?”) On the pastoral “If You Need To, Keep Time On Me,” Pecknold urges us to stick together as we continue to face our uncertain future. The record’s centerpiece, the gorgeous, anthemic “Third of May / Ōdaigahara,” examines the frontman’s strained relationship with bandmate Skye Skjelset and transforms into a meditation upon humanity and its shared experiences (“I am only owed this shape if I make a line to hold”). Crack-Up is beautiful and monstrous, harrowing and soothing, reckless and riveting—a monument to fearlessness in art and life. So, yeah—it lives up to the hype.

 

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Kamasi Washington

Harmony of Difference (EP)

Young Turks

The supernaturally gifted saxophonist-composer blew no shortage of minds two years ago with his sprawling solo debut The Epic. His follow-up EP is considerably shorter than its three-hour, 17-track predecessor, but Washington, virtuoso that he is, successfully packs the very same level of intensely jubilant cosmic rapture into its half-hour runtime. Playing alongside some of the brightest talents in the modern jazz stratosphere – Tony Austin on drums, Brandon Coleman on keyboard, Miles Mosely and Steven “Thundercat” Bruner on bass, et al. – Washington uses a disarmingly simple phrase-variation formula to explore seemingly every facet of human experience (“Desire, “Humility,” “Integrity,” etc.), visiting and revisiting similar melodies in radically different ways throughout six contiguous movements. The musicians are proud to share the same spotlight, and it’s truly beautiful to hear them assemble their fantastical sonic worlds together. This generous creative give-and-take is most evident on the 13-and-a-half-minute centerpiece “Truth,” which opens with a light rhythm section riff and steadily adds layer upon layer until reaching a glorious climax complete with string quartet, choir, and volcanic drum fills. Its complexity will impress jazz purists, and yet the music is so accessible – indeed, so human – that even total novices can catch the drift. Intoxicating and perfect in just about every way, Harmony makes a superb argument for Washington’s placement among jazz royalty – especially for those without three hours to spare.

 

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Tyler, the Creator

Flower Boy

Columbia

With Flower Boy, the Odd Future mastermind and one-time clown prince of alternative hip-hop is finally making the music we always knew he could make. The Stevie Wonder/Marvin Gaye-inspired neo-soul he toyed with on 2015’s Cherry Bomb comes to full, magnificent fruition as lushly orchestrated backdrops and a who’s-who of inspired collaborators buttress some of the most personal, introspective bars the 26-year-old has ever unleashed. (Of course, he hasn’t abandoned his horrorcore roots completely; he and A$AP Rocky go full mad-scientist on the raucous, braggadocio-stuffed jaunt “Who Dat Boy.”) We find him ruminating on his success and his place in the musical pantheon (“How many raps can I write until I get me a chain/How many chains can I wear ‘til I’m considered a slave?”), as well as his own anxiety and depression, doubt and isolation (most effectively on the devastating single “911 / Mr. Lonely”). Yet for all its bleakness, much of the album bears an audible joy – it doubles as a coming-out party for Tyler, whose lyrics have had fans launching “is-he-or-isn’t-he” speculations for years. They need wonder no longer upon hearing tracks like “Where This Flower Blooms” (featuring pal Frank Ocean) or the sultry love ballad “See You Again,” which burst with the jubilation (and confusion) of a man finally starting to live his own truth, his unadorned but affecting vocals mirroring the awkward, fumbling beauty of his brave, queer new world. Flower Boy is bold and beautiful – an exploration of life in all its joys, loves and fuck-ups that remains full of hope even as the darkness continues to rear its head. In other words, it’s the record the world needed in 2017. Thank you, Tyler. Keep on rocking, rolling, blooming and growing.

Honorable Mentions

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Julien Baker / Turn Out the Lights (Matador)

Neil Cicierega / Mouth Moods (Self-released)

Drake / More Life (OVO Sound / Young Money / Cash Money / Republic)

Foxygen / Hang (Jagjaguwar)

Kesha / Rainbow (Kemosabe / RCA)

Lorde / Melodrama (Lava / Republic)

Randy Newman / Dark Matter (Nonesuch)

Paramore / After Laughter (Fueled by Ramen)

Moses Sumney / Aromanticism (Jagjaguwar)

The xx / I See You (Young Turks)

List: The 15 Best Albums of 2017 (So Far)

2017 has indeed been quite a rollercoaster thus far, but it’s also been remarkably generous to us in terms of music. We’ve heard no shortage of remarkable, transcendent, intricate, gorgeous, and even hilarious work from both familiar friends and new up-and-comers. Here are fifteen of my personal favorites from among the bounteous array of record releases in the past few months. May the remainder of the year be just as kind to us, and may we all also be a little kinder to one other – God knows we need it in such turbulent times as these.

Here it is – my top 15 of 2017 (so far):

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(Sandy) Alex G

Rocket

Domino

Meet the new Alex Giannascoli, same as the new Alex Giannascoli. The prolific Philadelphia-based singer-songwriter has made a name for himself – a name that now just happens to have a “Sandy” affixed to it – by crafting his own unique, eccentric world using the simple trappings of lo-fi recording. Rocket, the follow-up to his major-label debut Beach Music, sees him continuing trends from that record while at the same time branching out from his indie-folk/rock roots into the less comfortable territories of lounge-floor jazz (“County”), hardcore noise-punk (“Brick”), and country (the frothy banjo-and-fiddle stomp of “Bobby”). The ramshackle compositions, combined with Giannascoli’s heartfelt, often tongue-in-cheek lyrics, make for a novel, charming effort that rewards indelibly on further listens – an ideal showcase for the 24-year-old’s versatility and ingenuity as a musician.

 

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Tinariwen

Elwan

Epitaph / Anti-

The Malian outfit, now nearing its fortieth year of existence, presents on Elwan some of their angriest, most electric music yet. Jagged, electrical Saharan blues riffs slither hypnotically over rattling, argumentative percussion and throngs of backing vocalists as founding member Ibrahim Ag Alhabib’s weary, trance-like voice laments the political and social unrest he has witnessed firsthand. “Love these days is like a mirage,” he intones on “Arhegh ad annàgh.” “It gets fainter the closer you get.” The lyrics are mournful and the music often caustic, but it never ceases to be a thing of profound power and beauty to hear these many seemingly disparate elements – which here also include contributions from Western musicians like Alain Johannes, Mark Lanegan and Kurt Vile – join together in an immaculately arranged tapestry of sound. It’s appropriate considering the band’s beginnings as a collective of grassroots rebels, joining together in the hopes that one day the peoples of the world might live in peace.

 

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Julie Byrne

Not Even Happiness

Ba Da Bing! / Basin Rock

“Ambient folk” is a rather trendy and obnoxious-sounding descriptor, but there’s really no other way to describe Julie Byrne’s lovely, lilting arrangements. The Buffalo, NY native blends the understated style of Nick Drake and early Joni Mitchell with the aesthetic of Brian Eno’s pioneering ’70s work, channeling both into an inimitable universe of her own design. On Not Even Happiness, we hear little else other than quietly strummed guitar, bits of wispy synthesizer and Byrne’s ethereal voice – the voice of a peaceful yet restless wanderer, seeking meaning and permanence in her fleeting life and finding it through her connection with nature and with those she loves. Hers is an earthy, gorgeous world of immaculate serenity, a powerful refuge from the solid walls of noise that wedge their way into our brains daily and vie for our attention. Once you’ve settled into that world, the look of beatific bliss spread across Byrne’s face on the album cover may very well be your own.

 

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The Mountain Goats

Goths

Merge

John Darnielle is arguably the greatest musical raconteur of the 21st century. His characters are vibrant and vividly realized, and each of his records reads less like an album than like a collection of short stories. What makes his songwriting truly unique, however, is his unparalleled knack for drawing lyrical beauty from the seemingly insignificant moments of everyday life. For the magnificent Goths – his sixteenth studio effort and his first without guitars – Darnielle draws inspiration from his youth, growing up listening to Siouxsee and the Banshees and the Cure on KROQ-FM and seeking out the company of society’s loners and outcasts. While the songs themselves are far more indie-folk than Gothic, his lyrics evoke masterfully the pain, angst, and melancholia of goth culture’s adherents – and the ever-present specter of death that fuels their black fire. From the doomy opener “Rain in Soho” to the heart-rending ballad “Andrew Eldritch is Moving Back to Leeds” (that’s the lead singer of Sisters of Mercy, kids) to “Abandoned Flesh” (an elegy for the long-forgotten Gene Loves Jezebel), Darnielle lets his narratives-within-a-narrative flow beautifully, his crackling, energetic vocals giving voice to the voiceless. Goths is an album about death, about life, and about the triumphs and tragedies in between – the kind of record that could only come from a mind as introspective and brilliant as Darnielle’s.

 

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Drake

More Life

OVO Sound / Young Money / Cash Money / Republic

Last year’s charming but lackluster Views found Drizzy at a creative crossroads, but fortunately for us, it seems he picked the road less traveled. On the sprawling, lush “playlist” More Life, he adds dancehall, Afrobeat, and grime to his ever-expanding musical palate. He’s in top lyrical form throughout, unleashing an abundance of sometimes playful, often earnest ruminations on love, success, and the thinning line between his friends and his enemies.  It doesn’t hurt, of course, that Drake gets by here with a lot of help from his friends, including Young Thug, Giggs, Skepta, Sampha, Quavo, Kanye West, PARTYNEXTDOOR, Jorja Smith, 2 Chainz, and a walloping 31 credited producers. This seemingly endless string of cohorts adds another layer of vibrancy and excitement to More Life but never steals the spotlight from the man whose name it bears. Love him or loathe him, Mr. Graham is liable to stay with us for quite some time yet.

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Slowdive

Slowdive

Dead Oceans

Thanks to the immense popularity of dreamy outfits like Beach House and Chromatics, shoegaze is perhaps more en vogue now than ever before. So it’s only natural that genre titans Slowdive would follow the lead of contemporaries My Bloody Valentine and make a triumphant comeback this year following a two-decades-plus hiatus. And as was true for 2013’s m b v, Slowdive proves that its namesake band hasn’t lost a single step in the 22 years since their last record. The lush ambient atmospherics, ringing guitars and hushed vocals of Souvlaki and Pygmalion are still very much present throughout. At the same time, we witness the band continuing to expand the dimensions of its sound through the Gothic post-punk of “Star Roving,” the hazy, disarmingly simplistic “Sugar for the Pill,” and the slow burn and fade of “Falling Ashes.” Equal parts beautiful and heartbreaking, Slowdive marks one of the most spectacular comebacks in recent memory – and perfect proof of just why the Thames Valley quartet mattered in the first place.

 

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Homeshake

Fresh Air

Royal Mountain / Sinderlyn

“Kissing, hugging, making love and waking up and getting high”: This is the mantra that informs the woozily funky lo-fi R&B of Peter Sagar. On Fresh Airhis third LP as Homeshake, the veteran Mac DeMarco sideman crafts a succession of enticingly slick, lethargic dreamscapes as the backdrop for his subtle explorations of the fleeting highs and lingering lows of modern love. Armed with whispery, wobbly guitars; buzzing, thumping bass; and a voice that expertly treads the line between soulful release and quiet restraint (and between earnestness and kitschy throwback), he unspools scintillating melodies one after the other. Some of the album’s best moments come along in its middle stretch, when Sagar shifts into complete D’Angelo-esque soul-workout mode on tracks like “TV Volume” and “Getting Down Pt. II.” Fresh Air is an endearing and often lovely little opus that provides an ideal soundtrack for – well, just read the first sentence again.

 

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Jansport J

p h a r a o h

blackwhitegoldville

Every single review I’ve read of Jansport J’s freewheeling, vibrant mini-hip-hopera (my own included) has drawn connections between him and another, more legendary J. These comparisons, of course, are not without merit, as Justin Williams’ work certainly owes plenty to the seminal Donuts. But let’s look past all that for a minute and consider the remarkable ingenuity and singular vision it takes to make a record like p h a r a o h. J’s funky, heartfelt and surprisingly fluid collection of song nuggets seeks to redefine the instrumental hip-hop album itself and explores the cratedigging genre’s potential for storytelling – in this case, our story takes the form of a ride on the L-train through NYC, an opportunity to breathe in the life and personality of the city. Old school boom-bap rides comfortably alongside psychedelic keys and analog synths, with an abundance of soul samples and vocal harmonies scattered throughout. J’s dynamic use of the human voice on tracks like “Peace, Pt. I” and “12” make p h a r a o h the warmest, most organic aural experience of its kind we’ve heard in a while. Just sit back, press play, and let it take you away.

 

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The Magnetic Fields

50 Song Memoir

Nonesuch

Just because Stephin Merritt has passed the half-century mark doesn’t mean he’s stopped approaching his music like a gleeful, twinkly-eyed kid. Never one to back down from an ambitious creative writing exercise (see 69 Love Songs), Merritt chronicles the first five decades of his life over the course of 150 minutes and fifty tracks (labeled by year for your convenience). His Tin Pan Alley-by-way-of-Kraftwerk-meets-Jonathan Richman songwriting continues to sharpen with age, and 50 Song Memoir serves to remind us that he’s both a gifted raconteur and a masterful arranger. In his unmistakable baritone, he regales us with erudite tales of his first fumbling forays into the worlds of religion (which he ultimately rejects outright, much to his Ethics prof’s chagrin), love (which he’s not so great at), and music (from the terrible bands he formed as a kid to the first inklings of a career in electronica), stopping here and there to deliver withering jabs at his flighty beatnik mom’s good-for-nothing boyfriends. He and his bandmates descend upon a bevy of instruments ranging from fairground organ to ukulele to autoharp to any number of magnificently orchestrated synthesizers. It’s quirky to a fault, to be sure – but what’s always made the Magnetic Fields truly great is that beneath all the wry witticisms and idiosyncratic deadpannery, there’s always an unflappable sincerity – and it comes through strongest on Memoir when Merritt talks of the death of his friend Elliott Smith (“’07 In the Snow-White Cottages”) or his bouts of melancholia and suicidal thoughts (“’97 Eurodisco Trio”). Even “’15 Somebody’s Fetish,” ostensibly a cheeky ode to sexual kinks, eventually transforms into a touching meditation on finding a love of one’s own. It all amounts to an extraordinary celebration of the grand tragicomedy of life itself – and a wondrous, wacky, lovable glimpse into the mind and soul of one of the world’s greatest living tunesmiths.

 

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Dirty Projectors

Dirty Projectors

Domino

Dirty Projectors is the kind of post-breakup album only Dave Longstreth could create. He splatters his canvas with brooding, glitchy soultronica, utterly deformed samples and spastic, warped vocal harmonies to mirror the alienated frenzy hopping around his brain. He experiments with the R&B side of his signature yelp on tracks like the slippery, chaotic “Death Spiral” and the devastatingly blunt “Winner Take Nothing,” while frothy, slow-burning opener “Keep Your Name” renders his voice all but unrecognizable as he ruminates on love’s labors lost (“I don’t know why you abandoned me/You were my soul and my partner”). His arrangements bluster and jolt in myriad unexpected directions, making for a delightfully strange and disorienting listening experience. It’s far and away the darkest release under the DP name, but at the same time Longstreth manages to let some glimmers of hope creep in, no matter how manic and twisted things get. He’s clearly having a rough time, but he’ll be okay as long as he keeps following the light.

 

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Goldie

The Journey Man

Metalheadz

Two decades removed from his career-defining masterpiece Timeless, the UK drum-and-bass god proves he’s lost neither the ambition nor the perfectionist’s touch that made that album great. On The Journey Man, he continually unspools vast, vividly-colored song-movements stuffed with breakneck beats, mesmerizing touches of strings and piano, and jazzy, soulful vocals courtesy of collaborators such as Natalie Williams and José James. It’s sixteen tracks and nearly two hours of hypnotic, luxurious, intelligent, and scintillating music that would feel out of place neither at a rave nor a meditation session. The Journey Man is, indeed, a journey – but one more than worth the taking.

 

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Kendrick Lamar

DAMN.

Interscope / Top Dawg

DAMN., Kendrick Lamar’s fourth studio album in six years opens up with an understated spoken word bit from the Compton native atop soft, funky orchestration – sounds that would fit quite comfortably on his 2015 magnum opus To Pimp a Butterfly. Immediately after, we get an abrupt shift into the barebones riot act of “DNA.,” setting the pace for much of the album’s remainder and letting us know we’re in for an entirely different listening experience altogether. Skeletal, pseudo-trap beats buzz and snap in the background as Lamar – still easily the most gifted MC of his generation – unleashes some of the most direct, unadorned flows of his career on boldface-titled bangers like “HUMBLE.,” “FEAR.,” and “LOYALTY.” His unmistakable voice shifts effortlessly from a lethargic, understated drone to a frantic near-scream as he waxes philosophic about the experience of black America in 2017 and ponders his own place within its grand scheme. As with life itself, it’s tough to draw any definite conclusions from this colorful, jagged, complicated record at the outset, but piecing the puzzle together over subsequent listens is what makes the experience so exhilarating. Life, as our man Mr. Duckworth puts it on the track that bears his real surname, is indeed “one funny motherfucker.”

 

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Father John Misty

Pure Comedy

Sub Pop

Josh Tillman has become something of a punching bag in the music journalism community, with the critiques running the gamut from “his facial hair is dumb” to “he’s an arrogant, smug, self-indulgent jackass who embodies everything despicable about white hipster culture.” What people seem to forget in their discussions of Tillman, however, is the music. The public’s varied opinions on the man don’t change the fact that he’s one of the greatest and most imaginative songwriters of his generation. The expansive, ambitious Pure Comedy could be used as fuel for either side of the Father John Misty debate, but still, it’s a damn fine record. Enlisting the aid of legendary arranger Gavin Bryars, Misty channels the majestic strings and prickled wit of Randy Newman and early Elton John in a series of scathing critiques on technology (“Things It Would Have Been Helpful To Know Before the Revolution”), liberal self-righteousness (“Ballad of the Dying Man”), and even the elite group of “L.A. phonies and their bullshit bands/That sound like dollar signs and Amy Grant” of which he counts himself a member (the 13-minute centerpiece “Leaving L.A”). Tillman’s attempts to cement his status as a social satirist for the millennial age vary in their success (the troubling “both sides” rhetoric of “Two Wildly Different Perspectives” could double as a mission statement for centrist Democrats), but when the record fails, it does so nobly enough that it’s hard not to fall in love with it anyway. At its best, Pure Comedy is a sweeping, gorgeous and deeply affecting look at the absurd state of modern humanity, as well as a call for some positive change. As Tillman croons at the end of the title track: “I hate to say it, but each other’s all we’ve got.”

 

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Future Islands

The Far Field

4AD

The sublime theatricality of Baltimore’s Future Islands just keeps getting better with each record. The Far Field isn’t exactly a major shake-up of their signature New Wave-influenced sound, but what is different here is the trio’s ability to dig deep into the heart of their music, exuding levels of emotion and wide-eyed expression never thought possible. With help from the deft hand of producer John Congleton, the band delivers burst after burst of rapturous, euphoric sound. Sam Herring’s voice remains one of the most unique and inimitable in modern rock, and here he leaves no atom of himself unexposed, passionately bellowing about his hopes, his insecurities, his longing for connection with nature and with his fellow human beings. Bassist William Cashion and synth wizard Garrit Welmers, meanwhile, busily construct a lushly-orchestrated backdrop that intensifies and solidifies the drama of Herring’s vocal performance. Like Singles before it, The Far Field is an instant classic – a collection of perfectly-executed songs from people with a clear and distinctive passion not only for their craft, but for the human experience itself.

 

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Fleet Foxes

Crack-Up

Nonesuch

The gap between the last and the next of a beloved artist’s records is always interminable for its fans, be it a year or a decade. But this sentiment felt doubly true for fans of Fleet Foxes, whose fearless leader Robin Pecknold disbanded the group after 2011’s generation-defining Helplessness Blues and essentially disappeared for the next half-decade. (Okay, he actually attended classes at Columbia, but hey, same thing.) Happily for us, great works of art often come from periods of isolation, and such is the case with the Foxes’ breathtaking, ridiculously great Crack-Up. At the outset, it sounds like your basic, run-of-the-mill Fleet Foxes album – reliable Laurel Canyon-influenced folk with echo-chamber atmospherics and thundering drum beats – but listen closely, and the album reveals itself. The harmonies are tighter. The songs are more complex, cinematic, sweeping, panoramic in scope (especially on lengthier song-suites like “Third of May / Ōdaigahara” and “I Am All That I Need…”). Pecknold’s songwriting is clearer and more socially-conscious – he witnesses the protests following the murder of Alton Sterling on “Cassius -” and laments the proliferation of gender inequality on “- Naiads, Cassadies.” The group even gets self-referential when a sample of a school choir performing “White Winter Hymnal” pops up. Crack-Up is everything we could have hoped for from the Foxes’ reunification; they move forward as musicians while keeping one foot firmly rooted in the sound that made them one of the greatest musical acts of the new millennium. Welcome back, boys. Stay awhile now, won’t you?

Honorable Mentions

Blanck Mass / World Eater (Sacred Bones)

Neil Cicierega / Mouth Moods (Self-released)

Foxygen / Hang (Jagjaguwar)

Steve Lacy / Steve Lacy’s Demo (EP) (Three Quarter)

Perfume Genius / No Shape (Matador)

Sampha / Process (Young Turks)

The Shins / Heartworms (Columbia / Aural Apothecary)

SZA / Ctrl (Top Dawg / RCA)

Temples / Volcano (Heavenly / Fat Possum)

The xx / I See You (Young Turks)

Album Review*: Timecop, ‘You Can’t Go Back From Where You Are Right Now’ (EP)

burning dome

(*not actually a review, just a shameless plug)

I’m going on vacation for a week, but before I leave, I thought I’d just say a few quick words about my new EP.

What’s this? An “EP”?? Oh, I see – you’ve finally decided to fulfill the stereotype of the music critic who “dabbles” as an artist? Very funny, Mr. Pretentious Writer-Person. Stop wasting our time and get back to work on those wryly comical semi-monthly music reviews, hipster scum. And by the way – where’s that best-of-the-year so far list? It’s almost fucking August now, for Chrissakes! Why don’t you just get your shit together already? Jesus, man.

To counter your argument, imaginary hypothetical detractors, this ain’t my first rodeo as far as music – making, not just listening – is concerned. Truth is, I’ve been a musician for literally over two decades (mostly vocals, though I’ve also been known to play a pretty mean harmonica/drum kit/vibraphone, etc.) This EP, however, is my first foray into the world of electronic music – a universe that has fascinated me for years, but which I’ve never really delved into fully myself. UNTIL NOW.

You Can’t Go Back From Where You Are Right Now (my first – and hopefully not last – release as Timecop) is a glitchy, atmospheric, idiosyncratic work – wow, with descriptors like that you’d think I was a music critic or something! – that draws equal inspiration mainly from IDM godheads like Aphex Twin and Goldie and ambient trailblazers such as Brian Eno and William Basinski. I like to think, however, that with this EP I’ve managed to channel those lofty influences into my own unique sound. More importantly, however, I finally motivated myself to thread together some of my experimental noodlings and happy electrical accidents into a cohesive whole. And you know what? I’m really, really impressed with how this thing turned out.

I hope you dig it, too.

Yours truly, faithfully and digitally,
Michael (aka Timecop)

(P.S. I swear to God I’ll have the best-of-2017-so-far list up here soon. I’m working on it. It’s coming. I promise.)

Timecop

You Can’t Go Back From Where You Are Right Now (EP)

Self-released // July 28, 2017

Produced by Michael Heimbaugh

Album Review: Dirty Projectors, ‘Dirty Projectors’

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Following the departure of longtime collaborator (and one-time love interest) Amber Coffman, Dirty Projectors mastermind Dave Longstreth found himself forced to soldier on as a solo artist. In the face of heartbreak and creative isolation, Longstreth did the only logical thing he could: write a new album with the most personal material he’d ever recorded, his feelings of abandonment and alienation serving as lyrical and aesthetic fodder. That album, Dirty Projectors (what else could he have called his solo debut?), is a frantic, arty, gorgeously strange breakup symphony that offers a bizarre fusion of James Blake’s brand of understated soultronica; the jittery, juicy energy of tUnE-yArDs and Age of Adz-era Sufjan Stevens; and Longstreth’s own weirded-out psyche.

“Keep Your Name,” co-written with fellow noise experimenter Tyondai Braxton, starts the record off with chiming church bells, which abruptly morph into somber piano chords over which Longstreth mournfully meditates on the end of his creative and romantic relationship with Coffman. “I don’t know why you abandoned me,” he croons. “You were my soul and my partner.” His signature spastic vocals are thick and lethargic, contributing quite effectively to the distortion of reality he is experiencing. This warped mindstate is further documented by the addition of clicking percussion; a screechy, industrial equipment-aping sample of DP’s “Impregnable Question” (“We don’t see eye to eye”); and a nervy, double-speed interlude wherein Longstreth directly attacks Coffman – and highlights their clashing musical visions –  by mocking with sonic discord the sugary harmonies she once added to his music. “I don’t think I ever loved you/That was some stupid shit,” he rap-speaks on the bridge. “We shared kisses and visions/But like KISS’ shithead Gene Simmons said/A band is a brand and it licks that our vision is dissonant.”

Musically, Dirty Projectors is one of Longstreth’s most idiosyncratic efforts to date, as well as his most heavily indebted to modern R&B. This becomes clear early on in the record when “Death Spiral” splatters a latter-day Kanye-inspired soundscape with piano glissandos, laser-zap synths, flamenco guitar, and scattered organ – all while making frequent and all-too-appropriate use of Bernard Herrmann’s Vertigo score. Longstreth sounds entirely unhinged here, shifting in and out of an broken, volatile falsetto as the loss of his love sends him on a dramatic, stormy downward descent not unlike an aerial catastrophe: “I was reborn the second before the plane became shards of glass when it crashed on arrivaI/I woke up feeling like I’m sipping on some René Descartes, and you’re Big Gulping the Bible.”

Longstreth’s postmodern soul flirtations continue throughout the record. “Work Together” finds him warbling in cadences similar to those of Justin Timberlake over a chaotic hook laden with off-kilter drums and microtonal voice samples. The pretty, deceptively sweet “Little Bubble” crosses into weepy 70s folk-pop ballad territory before proceeding to turn the very genre on its head. On the Caribbean-smooched “Cool Your Heart,” he brings Solange Knowles and guest vocalist Dawn Richard along for the ride, the latter’s smooth, melodious voice creating a perfect counterpoint to Longstreth’s anxious yowls.

One of the record’s more honest moments comes with the seven-and-a-half-minute epic “Up in Hudson.” Intricately-layered vocal harmonies, a jarringly triumphal horn section and invocations of Roberta Flack flutter across a vivid account of Longstreth’s and Coffman’s partnership – their eyes first meeting at the Bowery Ballroom and the tour dates, trysts and “slept-on floors” that followed. After the turbulence of the preceding two tracks, we get somewhat of a return to the bouncy worldbeat-influenced rhythms of yesteryear as the singer wistfully recalls what once was – or, rather, what he once thought was. But love, as he says, is a fleeting thing – it burns out, fades, rots, dissipates. By song’s end we’re left with whining guitars swirling and twisting around each other atop rattling kitchen-sink percussion, our two lovers farther apart than either could have anticipated (“Now I’m listening to Kanye on the Taconic Parkway, riding fast/And you’re out in Echo Park, blasting 2Pac, drinking a fifth for my ass/I’m just up in Hudson, bored and destructive, knowing that nothing lasts”).

As is true for many of the great breakup albums, Dirty Projectors follows an arc of sorts. Its first half is largely spent brooding over Coffman and coming to terms with the estrangement, but a turning point seems to arise in the final stretch. In the aftermath of his earlier “death spiral,” he launches into an “Ascent Through Clouds,” struggling to establish independence from the relationship (“I am not contained/In my chest or in my brain/I am energy unconstrained”). On “Cool Your Heart,” he muses further, “Last night I realized/It’s been feeling wrong to start relying, making decisions based on another person.” By the time we get to the organ-splashed, gospel-like “I See You” (on which Yeezy cohort Elon Rutberg shares songwriting creds) it feels like he’s found something resembling peace of mind, claiming, “I believe that the love that we made is the art.”

It’s safe to say that Longstreth is Dirty Projectors. Since the group’s inception in 2002 – and at present in particular – he has served as its sole constant and driving creative force. Still, much of what made records like Bitte Orca and Swing Lo Magellan special were the lovely, complex backing harmonies courtesy of Coffman (and, for a brief while, fellow band expatriate Angel Deradoorian). This time around, the vocals are all Longstreth’s, and he manages to make it work. Still, if there’s a weak spot to his sonic noodlings, it’s the notable lack of input from those gifted collaborators. (Incidentally, Coffman’s own solo effort, City of No Reply, is slated for release sometime this year, and it’ll no doubt be fascinating to hear her side of this whole rigmarole.)

This record is a guy working through his personal shit in real time. In this case, though, the guy in question is David Longstreth; as a result, the journey is compelling, affecting, and endlessly inventive. It’s intimate without being too self-indulgent, utilizing plenty of sonic bells and whistles but never suffocating the final product with them. To be sure, Dirty Projectors is a departure for its namesake, but it’s one that appears to have changed Longstreth for the better upon reaching the other side. (8.6/10)

Dirty Projectors

Dirty Projectors

Released February 21, 2017 on Domino Records

Produced by Dave Longstreth

Album Review: Foxygen, ‘Hang’


Foxygen is a band that thrives on defying expectations. After Agoura Hills youngsters Jonathan Rado and Sam France formed the duo in 2005, they putted along relatively quietly for the next six years – releasing a string of EPs as well as an hour-long space opera – before signing to Jagjaguwar. Their next two records, 2012’s Take the Kids Off Broadway and 2013’s We Are the 21st Century Ambassadors of Peace and Magic, were both critically-lauded efforts informed equally by Motown and 60s garage-psych, crackling with eccentric energy and smartass charisma. The duo faithfully evoked the past while creating music that sounded singularly of the present. Shortly after Ambassadors threatened to bolster them into indie superstardom, they split up and put out solo records, only to regroup the next year for the ambitious but tragically uneven Rundgrenian-pop behemoth …And Star Power.

With LP #5, Hang, France and Rado display their unpredictability as musicians in an unprecedented way. Eschewing the scrappy psych-pop of their previous efforts, they employ the services of a 35-piece orchestra – and they’ll be goddamned if they aren’t going to milk every last molecule of sound out of that 35-piece orchestra. The resulting vaudeville-glam fever dream (which also happens to include such illustrious guest musicians as Flaming Lip Steven Drozd and Brian and Michael D’Addario of the Lemon Twigs) blusters by in just over half an hour, banishing any and all restraint to the sidelines in its wake.

In terms of production, Hang is easily Foxygen’s most polished work thus far – the production on the backing orchestra is darn near immaculate – but it’s also their most cluttered and uneven. Lyrically, it comes nowhere near the eccentric, electric wit of Ambassadors and Broadway. France continually spouts off strings of empty crypticisms masquerading as deep truths; it’s difficult to know what to make of them other than that they seem more like placeholders that the band never bothered to change.

Then, there’s the instrumentation. There’s certainly nothing wrong with elaborate orchestral arrangements in rock; in fact, just the opposite. Myriad musicians, from Barry White to Scott Walker, from the Rolling Stones to Curtis Mayfield – even contemporary indie songwriters like Sufjan Stevens and Jens Lekman – have used strings and horns to create works of enduring beauty and power. (And personally, I practically live for such musical grandiloquence. I’m all about that shit.) However, these artists had the foresight to balance their bombastic instrumentation with quiet beauty and lyrical witticism. Foxygen’s kitchen-sink approach to baroque-pop, on the other hand, just feels like – dare I say it – a bit much? Hang may leave a lot to be desired lyrically, but what it lacks in storytelling, it more than makes up for in stupid, over-the-top rock ‘n roll extravagance that teeters a bit too much towards chintzy self-parody. It’s like a shiny, jewel-encrusted box with nothing in it. One desperately wishes the band had spent more time refining their ideas into fully-realized songs instead of hanging back in hopes that the orchestra would carry the weight. But hey, at least they seem pretty satisfied with themselves, I guess.

The upbeat “Follow the Leader” opens the album with Supertramp-like keys, and it’s roughly another four seconds until the strings leap into action, then continue full-throttle for the remainder of the song. France does his best Mick Jagger-meets Hunky Dory-era David Bowie-meets-Thom Yorke on a coke bender over the lush, dreamy orchestration. Next, vaudevillian piano (complemented by horns and harp) leads us into “Avalon” (not to be confused with the Roxy Music song of the same name), a goofy pop-rock romp in the tradition of Elton John’s 70s heyday. Loop-de-looping clarinet solos, honking saxes, buoyant scatting, a double-time interlude, and a colossal sing-along chorus ensue as France yowls such sweet nothings as “Sunset Boulevard, nightmare dreams/Take this candle off the porcelain scene…Grab your favorite sweater, we’re in for nasty weather/In the gardens of Avalon.” Um, okay.

“America,” a schmaltzy, Todd Rundgren-worshipping suite-within-a-song, is perhaps the most ludicrous offender in the sensory overload department. France’s voice, now a wobbly, warbling snarl, rides flowing woodwinds and chintzy strings into a huge, drum-laden chorus as subtle organ and harp slip in and out of the frame. In the song’s maniacal bridge, the backing musicians make rapid, jerky switches between time signatures and tempos, shifting without warning from quiet piano-prog into big-band swing into John Zorn speed-jazz. Thankfully, this ecstatic delirium marks the halfway point of the record, so you can take a breather if you need to.

It’s clear that the band is still evoking the past; they’ve just shifted their focus to the more flamboyant side of rock history. At some junctures, they prove a bit too good at such emulation; “On Lankershim” straight-up hijacks the opening to “Tiny Dancer” before turning into what sounds like an ELO song and a Little River Band song being played at the same time, and the chorus of “Avalon” gallops with the exact same cadences as that of ABBA’s bouncy, sax-laden “Waterloo.”

The spectacle rages on: France adopts a Jim Morrison growl for “Upon a Hill,” fumbling blindly for rhymes in a manner not unlike Morrison himself (“I sit upon a hill/And through the windowsill she slowly sings a song for me/And in her eyes/She hands me my disguise, mmmmmmmm“); what starts as a relatively laid-back track transmogrifies halfway through into an madcap 2/4 runaway-carousel polka. The waltzy soul ballad “Trauma” continues piling on layers, threatening to collapse under its own cumbersome weight before it abruptly stops. The song, while ostensibly about trauma, has  disappointingly little to say on the subject (“Some are big, and some are much larger…They from our mothers and fathers, among others”).

Finally, we reach the end of this overwhelming sonic journey with the hyper-melodramatic “Rise Up,” which employs Meat Loaf-like choruses lousy with timpani, harp, strings, chimes, and some pretty kick-ass French horn. The track moves into yacht-soul territory on the verses as France fixates, apparently, on Wilson Rawls’ 1961 children’s novel Where the Red Fern Grows and stumbles upon the most profound lyrics on the entire record – words that, in these harrowing times, take on a particular poignancy (“It’s time to wake up early/Start taking care of your health/And start doing all the hard things, and believe in yourself/And follow your own heart, if nothing else/And listen to your own dreams, nobody else’s will do”). Really nice thought. Would that they could have applied this kind of thinking throughout the album instead of going all crypto-psychedelia on us.

Hang is a fucking weird record, even by Foxygen’s standards. Still, there’s more than a little charm to the whole affair, and it’s easy to get swept away by the maximalistic bedlam and truly awe-inspiring musicianship exhibited in these eight songs. At its best, it’s entertaining and enjoyable; it fails in a couple places, but does so in such a noble and uninhibited way that you find yourself falling in love with it all the same. If the guys continue on this new sonic path while further polishing their songcraft, they could easily have another pop masterpiece on their hands. This may not quite be it, but it sure is a hell of a ride. (7.8/10)

Foxygen

Hang

Released January 20, 2017 on Jagjaguwar Records

Produced by Foxygen

Album Review: Brian Eno, ‘Reflection’

enoreflection

2016, man. From the election of a fascist demagogue to the most powerful office on earth to the rise of said demagogue’s antagonistic neo-Nazi supporters to the death of seemingly every beloved public figure, the year we just exited was often downright brutal, and it took a remarkably heavy toll on most of us. As always, we’re trying to optimistically hype up the new year as a fresh start, a chance to begin again – and yet, the future ahead still seems more uncertain than ever before.

Leave it to an artist as pragmatic and inventive as Brian Eno, Earth’s long-reigning ambient musician-producer laureate, to create a record that perfectly emulates that uncertainty while doubling as a meditation on both the good and the bad of the past year. Released on the very threshold of 2017, Reflection is an epic ambient journey in the form of a continuous, 54-minute track that exhibits the balance of light and dark 2016 was for much of the world.

The track begins in familiar territory, with serene, lightly buzzing notes pulsating over hazy, dark tones that whir and swirl beneath, gradually gaining prominence. As the track flows forward, the foreboding background hum repeatedly threatens to pull the listener under, only to be disrupted by a series of light vibraphone (?) hits here, an icy synth there. Eno sustains this mood for the next hour while mostly managing to capture the listener’s attention throughout. In several places, the hum itself enters the forefront, cycling back and forth between one earbud and the other. 2016 definitely felt like this at many points, with overwhelming darkness blotting out every trace of light. At other times, Eno’s signature ambient noises layer on top of one another to create a peculiar, lush tapestry of sound – the few precious moments in which we were able to gain for ourselves some semblance of peace. All in all, the track doesn’t sound drastically different from Eno’s other ambient work, but it does serve as yet another powerful testament to his genius as a producer and his ability to use repetition and a meditative atmosphere to create hypnotic, arresting worlds of sound.

Throughout his long, remarkable career, Eno has proven himself to be nothing if not a futuristic thinker, making Reflection’s apparent fixation on space hardly surprising. The track is laden with interstellar noise – metallic clangs, blurred rumbles that sound like rocket launches, UFO-like buzzes and beeps. One receives the mental image of an astronaut floating through the vast silence far above the Earth, looking down at the disarming serenity of the planet. Is Eno telling us not to worry – that none of this shit matters because we’re all literally floating through space on an enormous blue rock – that our chronic self-importance as a species means nothing in the scheme of the expansive universe aboard which we just happen to be temporary passengers? Maybe, maybe not; but the idea is certainly appealing.

And yet, for all of its astronomical underpinnings, the album itself bears a distinctly personal feel. Most of his groundbreaking ambient work in the 1970s and 80s saw him collaborating with such gifted instrumentalists as Harold Budd, Laraaji, Jon Hassell, and Daniel Lanois; however, the credits for Reflection list Eno as sole performer and producer. This is his meditation – his introspective look back at his life, particularly its most recent twelve months.

Ultimately, it’s difficult to discern from this record what Eno’s vision for our future might be. But if the supreme serenity of the ambient bloops and bleeps that seep through Reflection’s omnipresently grim synth backdrop is any indication, he appears to see faint flickers of light in the dark. The painful memory of the past is far from gone, but there is hope, however dim, for the days to come.

Like Eno’s best ambient compositions, Reflection is a minimalistic yet enticing soundscape that works as background music but also makes for a deeply rewarding close-listen. It’s one of the most inspired and darkly beautiful pieces of music he’s released in a while– and it couldn’t have come along at a better, more appropriate time. (8.5/10)

Brian Eno

Reflection

Released January 1, 2017 on Warp Records

Produced by Brian Eno

List: The 25 Best Albums of 2016

2016 has clearly been one hell of a mixed bag as far as years go, but it certainly did not disappoint in the realm of extraordinary music. This year, the art of fusing hip-hop, jazz and soul together reached an all-time apex thanks to any number of remarkable talents—Chance the Rapper, Anderson .Paak, and Solange, to name a few. We saw in 2016 the awakening of long-dormant beasts like the Avalanches, A Tribe Called Quest and American Football, as well as the rise of newer talents such as Pinegrove, Car Seat Headrest and Whitney. And we bade affectionate farewells to scores of musical luminaries, from David Bowie and Prince to Phife Dawg and Leonard Cohen.

So dense was the tidal wave of musical brilliance 2016 rained down upon us that compiling my annual best-of list was even more grueling a task than usual. There are plenty of incredible albums that I was forced to tearfully knock out of the ranks (sorry, Crying’s Beyond the Fleeting Gales), but the albums that follow are a summation of what I feel are the best of the best in a year with plenty of bests.

Read on, and enjoy my two cents. (Oh, and Radiohead-heads—by all means, feel free to cyber-crucify me for excluding A Moon Shaped Pool. I’m not sorry.)

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Death Grips

Bottomless Pit

Harvest

Where the fuck did Death Grips come from? In just five short years and six proper albums (no, I’m not counting you, instrumental compilations), the raucous experimental trio have garnered hipster accolades left and right and accumulated one of the most rabid fanbases in modern music. While Bottomless Pit doesn’t exactly break new ground for the group, it definitely proves that they have yet to run out of ideas that astound and disorient in the most dazzling possible way. MC Ride’s trademark bellows and cryptic lyrics surf atop some of the most gloriously brutal beats Outlander and Zach Hill have created, from the hellfire guitar-drum blasts of opener “Giving Bad People Good Ideas” to the future-sludge doom-and-gloom of “Hot Head” to the robotic stomp of “Bubbles Buried in This Jungle.” It’s a more-than-worthy addition to DG’s hallowed catalog—and they didn’t even have to put a penis on the cover this time.

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American Football

American Football (LP2)

Polyvinyl

On their first release since their landmark 1999 debut, American Football prove they haven’t lost a beat in those 17 years – in fact, quite the opposite. The band’s juxtaposition of gently floating guitar lines and bizarre time signatures is just as strong as ever – ditto Mike Kinsella’s sublimely understated vocals and emotive, existentially panicky songwriting. Next to its predecessor, it’s just about the loveliest record about someone’s life falling apart you’ll hear this year.

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Mike Muli

What [You] Desperately Need

Self-released

The Philly-based singer-songwriter takes us on a hypnotic trip through the cosmos on his bold debut, wherein he blends gorgeous, lilting acoustic folk with touches of neo-soul, his delicate guitar tones and crisp tenor wisely kept at the forefront, the eye of the quiet storm. Muli’s deeply poetic lyrics and arrangements invoke the spellbinding mysticism and spirituality of such troubadours as Van Morrison and Lauryn Hill while presenting a voice and artistry that are distinctly, unabashedly his own. Truly one of the most transcendent listening experiences of the year.

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Aphex Twin

CHEETAH EP

Warp

The incredibly prolific, endlessly creative Richard D. James surprised us this summer with his first music video in nearly two decades – for the broody, pulsating “CIRKLON3 [Колхозная mix],” to which a young boy in a James mask danced gleefully in distorted landscapes in the clip. The ensuing EP, CHEETAH, includes some of Aphex Twin’s most enticing latter-day compositions. It’s an arresting sequence of chilly, colorful sound experiments that betray a sense of unbridled fun and creativity in the studio – the kind James specializes in and mastered on Selected Ambient Works and Richard D. James Album. It’s a perfect balance of profound electronic beauty and haunting disorientation.

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Parquet Courts

Human Performance

Rough Trade

The garage-pop eccentrics keep all their cylinders a-churning on their brazenly confident fourth LP, seamlessly blending the band’s varied influences—alt-country, post-punk, Krautrock—into a fuzzed-out, hyper-melodic noise-fest that demands to be blasted from your speakers at max volume. A thunderous rhythm section undergirds giddy blasts of squealing guitar and the delightfully loopy, often shouted lyrics (IT COMES THROUGH THE WINDOW! IT COMES THROUGH THE FLOOR! IT COMES THROUGH THE ROOF! AND IT COMES THROUGH THE DOOR!) we’ve come to expect from the Courts. Sure, it sounds at times like four dudes just dicking around in a studio (the Wilco Loft, to be exact)—but hey, man, that’s rock ‘n roll.

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Solange

A Seat at the Table

Saint / Columbia

By far her finest work to date, Solange Knowles’ vivid, masterful A Seat at the Table was released on the heels of a series of tweets from the performer after she and her daughter were harassed by a white audience-goer at a Kraftwerk concert. Solange’s response? A beautiful celebration of blackness and all it entails, complete with intermittent recorded discourses on learning to love one’s own skin. Tracks such as “Cranes in the Sky” and “Don’t Touch My Hair” comprise some of the courageous musical statements of the decade, with Solange’s passionate, understated vocals driving the point home with devastating subtlety and strength. If I ever hear anyone refer to this extraordinary, forward-thinking artist as “the lady who punched Jay-Z in an elevator” again, there will be hell to pay.

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Isaiah Rashad

The Sun’s Tirade

Top Dawg

Top Dawg Entertainment’s current roster holds no shortage of dynamite talent—the inclusion of the Black Hippy collective alone is enough to make it a formidable force in the rap world. But if you need any proof that the new blood has just as much skill and charisma, look no further than The Sun’s Tirade. Rashad’s proper studio debut is a lush, intense and thoroughly impressive experience and an ideal highlight for the 25-year-old’s unique verbal stylings. Guest spots from TDE’s Kendrick Lamar, SZA and others propel the tracks forward, but make no mistake: this album establishes one of the most singular, fascinating new voices in hip-hop. Here’s hoping it lays the template for years of future greatness.

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The Higher Up

The Higher Up Album (HGHR)

Self-released

The Philly hip-hop duo are at the height of their powers on their latest release—their most brash and fully-realized yet. MC Mark Scott, managing to sound simultaneously raw and polished, drops dizzying torrents of science about anxiety and depression, relationships and the game itself onto producer Kye Brewin’s expertly-arranged bed of vibrant beats and rich sonic textures. The Higher Up houses some of the most underrated and finely-honed talent in indie rap, and their future shows no signs of dimming.

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Anohni

Hopelessness

Secretly Canadian / Rough Trade

The artist formerly known as Antony Hegarty hits us with a work of stark, terrifying beauty. With her unmistakable androgynous croon – flanked this time around by icy synthscapes courtesy of Hudson Mohawke and Oneohtrix Point Never – she launches a fierce attack against the many ills of our fucked-up modern world, from global warming (“4 Degrees”) to American exceptionalism (“Marrow”) to the U.S.’s unyielding war machine (“Crisis”). She lashes out at “Violent Men” and exposes the shortcomings of President “Obama.” To be sure, it’s a major departure from the beautiful baroque pop of records like I Am a Bird Now and The Crying Light, but the destination is more than worth the journey.

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Frank Ocean

Blonde

Boys Don’t Cry

The most highly-anticipated record of the year mostly failed to live up to the impossible amount of hype it received. Still, you’d be hard-pressed to find an artist more meticulous and creative than Frank Ocean. Released a mere day after the pretty but ultimately superfluous visual album Endless, Blonde traffics in variations on the minimalist neo-soul that made him a surprise superstar. It’s a subtle but rich sonic tapestry, often overwhelming in scope but never short on inspiration and heart. Sure, it’s not the groundbreaking statement channel ORANGE was, but it was never supposed to be that. Instead, you appreciate it for what it is: a grand expression of a true genius’ inner workings. 

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15

Kanye West

The Life of Pablo

GOOD / Def Jam / Roc-A-Fella

Sure, it’s not his best record (My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy), his most enjoyable (The College Dropout), or his most experimental (Yeezus), but America’s provocateur-laureate has proven himself incapable of creating uninteresting music – or, at the very least, music that provokes a whole hell of a lot of discussion and hubbub. Yeezy’s sonic craftsmanship remains unmatched, and the music of TLOP reflects its tumultuous, fussy creation (an act that seems to still be taking place as we speak). Gospel choirs, dark atmospherics, narcissistic lyrics, and a veritable fruit salad of collaborators and genre-hopping samples abound. It can be a bit all over the place and downright brutish at times, but in its best moments it serves as a poignant reminder of West’s fearless, uncompromising creative spirit.

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14

Kendrick Lamar

untitled unmastered.

Top Dawg / Aftermath / Interscope

The gifted young creator of last year’s best record has consistently shown a dogged refusal to rest on his laurels, though it would be tough to blame him for doing so. Here, he documents his insatiable work ethic by presenting us with eight tracks assembled from various previously unreleased demos, some of which date back to the aftermath of 2012’s good kid m.A.A.d city. Butterfly‘s riveting jazz-funk-soul-avant-garde amalgam continues to unfold and flourish, as do Lamar’s unfiltered, revolutionary lyrics. The end result is TPAB‘s less-polished but just as hungry kid brother – a deep, eccentric, laid-back affair (possibly even more so than its predecessor) that simultaneously soars far above the average B-sides and rarities disc to become a powerful statement in its own right. King Kunta reigns on.

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case/lang/veirs

case/lang/veirs

Anti-

In retrospect, it’s surprising that this didn’t happen sooner. This self-titled debut sees legendary country-pop chameleon k.d. lang joining forces with two of the leading voices in modern indie folk—Neko Case and Laura Veirs—to create a work of spectacular depth and beauty. You might be wondering how three such monumental personalities as these could ever share equal time and space on a single album. God knows how they did, but, happily, they pull it off, and then some—mesmerizing harmonies, richly-textured sonic landscapes that manage to exude ice and warmth simultaneously, and some of the finest songwriting any of the trio have ever crafted. These are songs that you know will stay with you the instant you hear them. More, please.

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Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

Skeleton Tree

Bad Seed Ltd.

What does one do after experiencing the unspeakable loss of a child? In the case of Nick Cave, whose son Arthur tragically fell to his death last summer, one strips an already-barebones sound back even further and pens some of the loveliest, most meditative songs in one’s extensive catalog. The Crown Prince of Melancholia sounds naked and devastated here, but ultimately hopeful; despite the grim, desperate atmosphere of most of its songs, Skeleton Tree is fundamentally a celebration of life, not a lamentation of death. Remember when Cave and the Seeds covered Dylan’s “Death is Not the End” at the end of 1996’s Murder Ballads? This is that idea applied to an entire record, with faint glints of light and love seeping into even the bleakest moments.

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Aesop Rock

The Impossible Kid

Rhymesayers

There’s no question that Aesop Rock ranks high among the most gifted MCs of his generation; however, throughout his long career, he’s occasionally fallen into the trap of favoring technical prowess over lyrical content. The Impossible Kid, however, is possibly the best job he’s done so far combining the two. On Kid, the impressive verbal gymnastics are still very much present, but the songs have more substance. Rock regales listeners with harrowing tales of childhood over some of the scuzziest, grimiest beats he’s ever utilized; even his signature detached flow carries a sort of introspective urgency. He’s never been more personal – or sounded like he’s having more fun – than he does here.

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Vektor

Terminal Redux

Earache

Ever wonder what might have happened if David Lynch had rewritten his adaptation of Frank Herbert’s Dune into a heavy metal musical? Well, it probably would sound something like Terminal Redux. As far-fetched as a 73-minute prog-metal epic about an astronaut discovering a space mineral that can grant immortality—in 2016, no less—may sound, Vektor manages to pull it all together and create the most powerful and exciting metal record in recent memory. In the telling of their grandiose tale, the Philadelphians craft a debilitating wall of sound punctuated by spine-shattering guitar solos, rapid-fire drums, and the hell-spawned screech of lead vocalist/axeman David DiSanto. From the ambient opening of “Charging the Void” to the ultra-intense show-stopper of a finale “Recharging the Void,” it’s a mightily ambitious exercise in over-the-top ridiculousness. Don’t be surprised to find yourself relishing every minute of it.

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Leonard Cohen

You Want It Darker

Columbia

In what would turn out to be the last four years of his remarkable life, the Canadian poet-crooner extraordinaire made some of the most beautiful and deeply affecting music of his career. You Want it Darker continues in the minimalistic folk-blues vein of its excellent predecessors, Old Ideas and Popular Problems, only with a mesmerizing air of darkness and holy fear that, in retrospect, feels all too appropriate. These songs are the words of a man at the edge of the abyss, coming to terms with his mortality and ready to put to rest his squabbles with his enemies and his lovers. “I wish there was a treaty we could sign,” he achingly intones on “Treaty.” “I do not care who takes this bloody hill…I wish there was a treaty between your love and mine.” At the center of even the darkest Cohen album, however, there is a certain calm, a sense of peace and hope – in this case, the pastoral strings and keys that counter the title track’s grim choir tones and Doomsday canticle. We can safely assume Cohen passed on with peace in his soul, even as the demons surrounded him.

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The Avalanches

Wildflower

Modular / Astralwerks / XL / EMI

Since I Left You, Pt. 2 this isn’t. The much-anticipated return from the Australian plunderphonic wizards features yet another breathtakingly beautiful, continuous patchwork of unearthed sounds, yes, but it’s another beast entirely from the group’s 2000 masterwork. Mixed into the funk-soul-jazz-rock alchemy this time around are colorings of psychedelia (I mean, just look at that cover) and calypso (the so-catchy-it-should-be-illegal single “Frankie Sinatra”). Adding to the Wildflower experience (and believe me, it is an experience) are a flurry of able-bodied live session musicians, from MF DOOM and Danny Brown to Father John Misty and Mercury Rev’s Jonathan Donahue. Put this shit on a sugar cube and dunk it in your coffee; you’re in for one heck of a trip.

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A Tribe Called Quest

We Got it from Here…Thank You 4 Your Service

Epic / SME

The venerated hip-hop institution closes out its extraordinary run not with a fizzle, but with a gigantic explosion. Released directly on the heels of Donald Trump’s election to the U.S. presidency, ATCQ came back with a vengeance just when we needed them most. “Gotta get it together for brothers/Gotta get it together for sisters,” Q-Tip chants on “The Space Program” as the lead in to a bristlingly brilliant, firebrand, jazz-soaked double album that updates the Tribe’s message of uplift and support for a new generation without sacrificing any of that message’s urgency. The spirit of the late Phife Dawg presides over the proceedings with his series of posthumous contributions. The affair is further augmented by guest spots from the ever-reliable Busta Rhymes as well as Anderson .Paak, Elton John, André 3000, and many more. The world needed this record. My God, did we need this record. Can you kick it, you ask? Yes. Yes, you bloody well can.

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6

David Bowie

Blackstar

ISO

On January 8, one of the world’s true musical originals released his twenty-fifth record. Three days later, he was gone. Blackstar became his final statement to listeners – and what a hell of a statement it is. As one of the most wildly experimental works of a career built upon constant left-field reinvention, it’s a disconcerting, enticing, and often gorgeous listen from start to finish. The sprawling, mystical title track; the howling sax and choral oohs of “‘Tis a Pity She Was a Whore”; the warped funk of “Sue”; the buzzy, Nadsat-screeching “Girl Loves Me”; the grand vulnerability of album closer “I Can’t Give Everything Away” – it’s all there, and it’s all magical. Appropriately, it’s also a record rife with mortality; Bowie knows death is coming for him, and he intends to go out with a bang. The beauty and fearlessness of the record is remarkable and refreshing, the kind he was always capable of and which seemed to have evaporated from his latter-day work. Just as Christ raised “Lazarus” from the dead, so does Blackstar resurrect our fallen idol in our hearts, making him live on forever despite having passed from this mortal plane. “Oh, I’ll be free/Ain’t that just like me.”

5

5

Danny Brown

Atrocity Exhibition

Warp

There’s really nothing that sounds anything quite like Danny Brown. His warped, frenetic flow, like the ravings of a mad scientist gene-spliced with an anxious dog, and his funked-up, bugged-out atmospherics make him a truly inimitable voice in ’10s rap. Atrocity Exhibition displays Brown at his most unhinged; on motley barn-burners like “Pneumonia” and “Ain’t It Funny,” he sounds very much on the verge of a nervous meltdown. His electric presence carries the record so well that all his special guests seem unnecessary (though, of course, it’s well-nigh impossible to pass up Brown hot-potatoing the mic with Kendrick Lamar, Ab-Soul and Earl Sweatshirt on the spastic “Really Doe”). Atrocity Exhibition (yes, he knows it’s a Joy Division song) is a superbly weird effort from one of the most gifted and uncompromising performers of this generation.

4

Kaytranada

99.9%

XL

One of the most ambitious debuts of this year, 99.9% is a remarkable tour-de-force that sees the young Canadian (by way of Port-au-Prince) producer blending a variety of tropes from the last four decades of EDM – from 90s house and disco to new jack swing and trip-hop – into an immaculately-produced sound that feels instantly familiar yet uniquely and undeniably belongs to him. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that Kaytra has assembled a winners’ circle of collaborators that make the affair something truly magical – we hear the dark, airy jazz-hop of Badbadnotgood on “Weight Off”; the ultra-confident rasp of Anderson .Paak on “Glowed Up”; the crisp, breathy vocals of Syd tha Kid on “You’re the One”; AlunaGeorge’s cool, club-ready aesthetic on the bright, Control-era Janet Jackson-channeling “Together.” It’s a sexy, slick, playful, lovingly-crafted record that honors its inspirations without resorting to pastiche or glib parody. If only all dance music could be this much fun.

3

3

Bon Iver

22, A Million

Jagjaguwar

People say a lot of nasty things about Justin Vernon – that he makes nonsensical, pretentious beard-folk for jaded hipsters, that he sings that high just to annoy everybody, that his sole MO as a musician is to smoke weed. Some of the cliches are somewhat true, some aren’t; either way, he can certainly take the criticism. But if one listens with an open mind and acquires the taste for Vernon’s experimental noodlings and soul flirtations, one can find worlds of unsurpassed beauty within his music. An extra leap of faith, though, is required for 22, A Million – by a longshot, the most “out-there” thing he’s put out under the Bon Iver moniker, and not exactly meant for the uninitiated. But trust me, it’s worth it. Vernon and his large cast of supporting players unleash layer upon layer of chiming guitar, ghostly vocals, and distorted samples and, yes, AutoTune (it’s actually very beautiful, you guys, seriously). Pair that with the endlessly mystifying symbolism (good luck with those song titles and that cover) and what results is a short but life-altering sequence of truly gorgeous moments. Even when the flights of fancy fall flat, they do so with such effortless grace that you find yourself falling deeper in love with the songs with each listen. Love them or loathe them, Bon Iver is still making some of the most remarkable and fascinating music of this young century.


2

Beyoncé

Lemonade

Parkwood / Columbia

One of 2016’s biggest and most refreshing surprises, Queen Bey’s fifth solo record is an uncompromising, unfiltered celebration of both blackness and black culture. The lyrics are a vivid, stunning exploration of heartbreak and redemption, and Bey’s message of rising above adversity has never carried more weight. Ever the gifted producer/tastemaker, Bey draws from a stunning musical palate on this record – jazz, funk, indie pop, gospel, and even boot-stompin’ country on the uplifting, tongue-ever-so-slightly-in-cheek ballad “Daddy Lessons.”  Its focal point, of course, is the cocky, jubilant “Formation,” on which Ms. Knowles-Carter, over thumping avant-soul beats, definitively acknowledges herself as both hero and provocateur, sinner and angel (“You know you that bitch when you cause all this conversation”). Anthemic, sweeping and bursting with a punchy brashness throughout, Lemonade is the perfect rallying cry for the Black Lives Matter movement and a gigantic middle finger in the face of impotent would-be oppressors. Slay on, Queen.


1

Chance the Rapper

Coloring Book

Self-released

Chancellor Bennett’s star-studded follow-up to last year’s Surf is a spectacular, jubilant affair – a soul- and jazz-informed, gospel-drenched celebration of life in all its triumphs and blunders, complete with choir outbursts, horn blasts courtesy of bandleader Nico Segal, and wailing church organ. Chance has been blessed beyond his wildest dreams, and he couldn’t be more humbled. His braggadocio is only in the interest of the exaltation of his Lord and Savior – and in defense of the belief that the ability to remain true to oneself is a greater gift than any earthly possession. As Surf proved, Chance has a blast just getting together with his friends and creating and performing his music. You can almost see him grinning ear to ear as he rips through tracks like album opener “All We Got” (produced by none other than his mentor, one Kanye O. West) and the absurdly fun “Angels.” Creators, take note: when an artist pours their entire heart and soul into their work, this is the end result. If KRS-One was right and hip-hop is meant to uplift the people, then this is just the record to do it. It’s a landmark musical achievement and the pinnacle thus far of the career of this already-shining young star. Even if you’re an atheist, Coloring Book will have you praising God – or, at the very least, embracing the joy and beauty of everyday life on this gigantic spinning rock we call home. You ready, big fella?

Honorable Mentions:

Car Seat Headrest / Teens of Denial (Matador)

Childish Gambino / ”Awaken, My Love!” (Glassnote)

Tim Hecker / Love Streams (4AD / Paper Bag)

King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard / Nonagon Infinity (ATO)

Okkervil River / Away (ATO)

St. Paul and the Broken Bones / Sea of Noise (RECORDS)

Sturgill Simpson / A Sailor’s Guide to Earth (Atlantic)

Teen Suicide / It’s The Big Joyous Celebration, Let’s Stir the Honeypot (Run for Cover)

Tegan and Sara / Love You to Death (Vapor / Warner Bros.)

Whitney / Light Upon the Lake (Secretly Canadian)

List: My Top 10 Albums of 2016 (So Far)

[Originally published June 27, 2016]

We’re living in an exhilarating time for music. 2016 alone has been quite the watershed year. Everyone from Beyoncé to Radiohead to Desiigner has hit us with a surprise release. Emo has been redefined for a new generation with help from bands like The Hotelier and Modern Baseball. We’ve bid farewell to titans like Prince, David Bowie and that guy from the Eagles. We’ve seen the rise of Simpsonwave (and still are trying to figure out what the hell it is). DIY punk continues to burgeon, and jazz and hip-hop are renewing their vows and rediscovering their passionate love for one another.

What fantastical happenings await us in round 2 of the glorious musicgasm that is 2016? How many more new Kanye albums will we get? Will Kanye even survive this year? Will Desiigner’s mixtape alter all known and unknown universes forever – or is he doomed to always be the guy who did “Panda”? Stay tuned to find out.
In the meantime, here are the choicest fruits of this year’s harvest thus far – an eclectic, entertaining, ingenious collection of records that span many genres but are tied together by one gigantic unifying thread: They all fuckin’ rock.
Enjoy my two cents – and feel free to violently vent any disagreements via the absurd magic of the Internet.
10

Whitney

Light Upon the Lake

Secretly Canadian

Max Kakacek and Julien Ehrlich have constructed a breezy, almost effortless collection of ten expertly crafted, folk-saturated pop tunes that recall the best of 70s AM radio. Woozy, triumphant brass, warbling keyboards and the dual falsetto of Kakacek and Ehrlich lend just the right amount of quirky psychedelic charm to summery car jams like “No Matter Where We Go” and “Follow.” It’s one of the most charming and instantly lovable records of the year – an idyllic garage-pop marriage of the minds.

Whitney – “No Matter Where We Go”

9

Sturgill Simpson

A Sailor’s Guide to Earth

Atlantic

In three short years and as many records, Simpson has transcended and redefined the traditional definition of the country troubadour. With the lushly orchestrated A Sailor’s Guide to Earth, he takes us even deeper into his strange, lovely universe. His classic, soulful croon glides over swoony beds of horn, organ and guitar as the recent new dad advises his son on how to navigate the stormy seas of life. Modern “country” singers would do well to take note of Simpson’s ability to deal with real human emotions in a way that’s never trite and always beautiful, grand and sweeping while still maintaining its intimacy. His lovely, understated-yet-grand cover of Nirvana’s “In Bloom” seems to place emphasis on the phrase “…to love someone” – a fitting summation of Simpson’s world, in which, at the end of the day, having someone to care for (and to care for you) is what matters the most.

Sturgill Simpson – “In Bloom”

8

Tegan and Sara

Love You to Death

Vapor / Warner Bros.

The Quin sisters return after a three-year hiatus following the release of 2013’s excellent Heartthrob. On Love You to Death, they continue to bring their newfound pop sensibilities to the forefront. The confusion of love and sex in the still-young millennium is explored in three-minute bursts of emotion atop bright, insanely infectious hooks on songs like the shimmering, upbeat “Boyfriend” and the stripped-back “100x.” It’s passion and pain, lust and regret, all wrapped up in a sugary-sweet, immaculately produced package. All that’s left to do is enjoy – and DANCE!

Tegan and Sara – “Boyfriend”

7

Anohni

Hopelessness

Secretly Canadian / Rough Trade

The artist formerly known as Antony Hegarty hits us with a work of stark, terrifying beauty. With her unmistakable androgynous croon – flanked this time around by icy synthscapes courtesy of Hudson Mohawke and Oneohtrix Point Never – she launches a fierce attack against the many ills of our fucked-up modern world, from global warming (“4 Degrees”) to American exceptionalism (“Marrow”) to the U.S.’s unyielding war machine (“Crisis”). She lashes out at “Violent Men” and exposes the shortcomings of President “Obama.” To be sure, it’s a major departure from the beautiful baroque pop of records like I Am a Bird Now and The Crying Light, but the destination is more than worth the journey.

Anohni – “4 Degrees”

6

Kanye West

The Life of Pablo

GOOD / Def Jam / Roc-A-Fella

Sure, it’s not his best record (My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy), his most enjoyable (The College Dropout), or his most experimental (Yeezus), but America’s provocateur-laureate has proven himself incapable of creating uninteresting music – or, at the very least, music that provokes a whole hell of a lot of discussion and hubbub. Yeezy’s sonic craftsmanship remains unmatched, and the music of TLOP reflects its tumultuous, fussy creation (an act that seems to still be taking place as we speak). Gospel choirs, dark atmospherics, narcissistic lyrics, and a veritable fruit salad of collaborators and genre-hopping samples abound. It can be a bit all over the place and downright brutish at times (see the T.Swift-dissing “Famous”), but in its best moments it serves as a poignant reminder of West’s fearless, uncompromising creative spirit.

Kanye West – “Ultralight Beam” (ft. Chance the Rapper, Kirk Franklin, The-Dream and Kelly Price)

5

Kendrick Lamar

untitled unmastered.

Top Dawg / Aftermath / Interscope

The gifted young creator of last year’s best record has consistently shown a dogged refusal to rest on his laurels, though it would be tough to blame him for doing so. Here, he documents his insatiable work ethic by presenting us with eight tracks assembled from various previously unreleased demos, some of which date back to the aftermath of 2012’s good kid m.A.A.d cityButterfly‘s riveting jazz-funk-soul-avant-garde amalgam continues to unfold and flourish, as do Lamar’s unfiltered, revolutionary lyrics. The end result is TPAB‘s less-polished but just as hungry kid brother – a deep, eccentric, laid-back affair (possibly even more so than its predecessor) that simultaneously soars far above the average B-sides and rarities disc to become a powerful statement in its own right. King Kunta reigns on.

Kendrick Lamar – “untitled 07 – 2014 – 2016”

4

David Bowie

Blackstar

ISO

On January 8, one of the world’s true musical originals released his twenty-fifth record. Three days later, he was gone. Blackstar became his final statement to listeners – and what a hell of a statement it is. As one of the most wildly experimental works of a career built upon constant left-field reinvention, it’s a disconcerting, enticing, and often gorgeous listen from start to finish. The sprawling, mystical title track; the howling sax and choral oohs of “‘Tis a Pity She Was a Whore”; the warped funk of “Sue”; the frenetic, Nadsat-screeching “Girl Loves Me”; the grand vulnerability of album closer “I Can’t Give Everything Away” – it’s all there, and it’s all magical. Appropriately, it’s also a record rife with mortality; Bowie almost seems to know death is coming for him, and he intends to go out with a bang. The beauty and fearlessness of the record is remarkable and refreshing, the kind he was always capable of and which seemed to have evaporated from his latter-day work. Just as Christ raised “Lazarus” from the dead, so does Blackstar resurrect our fallen idol in our hearts, making him live on forever despite having passed from this mortal plane. “Oh, I’ll be free/Ain’t that just like me.”

David Bowie – “Blackstar”

3

Kaytranada

99.9%

XL

One of the most ambitious debuts of this year, 99.9% is a remarkably bold opus that sees the young Canadian (by way of Port-au-Prince) producer blending a variety of tropes from the last four decades of EDM – from 90s house and disco to new jack swing and trip-hop – into an immaculately-produced sound that feels instantly familiar yet uniquely and undeniably belongs to him. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that Kaytra has assembled a winners’ circle of collaborators that make the affair something truly magical – we hear the dark, airy jazz-hop of Badbadnotgood on “Weight Off”; the ultra-confident rasp of Anderson .Paak on “Glowed Up”; the crisp, breathy vocals of Syd tha Kid on “You’re the One”; AlunaGeorge’s cool, club-ready aesthetic on the bright, Control-era Janet Jackson-channeling “Together.” It’s a sexy, slick, playful, lovingly-crafted record that honors its inspirations without resorting to pastiche or glib parody. If only all dance music could be this much fun.

2

Beyoncé

Lemonade

Parkwood / Columbia

One of 2016’s biggest and most refreshing surprises, Queen Bey’s fifth solo record is an uncompromising, unfiltered celebration of both blackness and black culture. The lyrics are a vivid, stunning exploration of heartbreak and redemption, and Bey’s message of rising above adversity has never carried more weight. Ever the gifted producer/tastemaker, Bey draws from a stunning musical palate on this record – jazz, funk, indie pop, gospel, and even boot-stompin’ country on the uplifting, tongue-ever-so-slightly-in-cheek ballad “Daddy Lessons.”  Its focal point, of course, is the cocky, jubilant “Formation,” on which Ms. Knowles-Carter, over thumping avant-soul beats, definitively acknowledges herself as both hero and provocateur, sinner and angel (“You know you that bitch when you cause all this conversation”). Anthemic, sweeping and bursting with a punchy brashness throughout, Lemonade is the perfect rallying cry for the Black Lives Matter movement and a gigantic middle finger in the face of impotent would-be oppressors. Slay on, Queen.

Beyoncé – “Sorry”

1

Chance the Rapper

Coloring Book

Self-released

Lil Chano’s star-studded followup to last year’s Surf is a spectacular, jubilant affair – a soul-and-jazz informed, gospel-drenched celebration of life in all its triumphs and blunders, complete with choir outbursts, horn blasts courtesy of bandleader Donnie Trumpet, and wailing church organ. Chance has been blessed beyond his wildest dreams, and he couldn’t be more thankful. The only enemies he has to lash out at are the devil, whom he threatens with a “swirly,” and the record labels, whom he threatens with aggressive fans in the lobby. His braggadocio is only in the interest of the exaltation of his Lord and Savior – and in defense of the belief that the ability to remain true to oneself is a greater gift than any earthly possession. As Surf proved, Chance has a blast just getting together with his friends and creating and performing his music. You can almost see him grinning ear to ear as he rips through tracks like album opener “All We Got” (produced by none other than his mentor, one Kanye O. West) and the absurdly fun “Angels.” Creators, take note: when an artist pours their entire heart and soul into their work, this is the end result. If KRS-One was right and hip-hop is meant to uplift the people, then this is just the record to do it. It’s a landmark musical achievement and the pinnacle thus far of the career of this already-shining young star. Even if you’re an atheist, Coloring Book will have you praising God – or, at the very least, embracing the joy and beauty of everyday life on this gigantic spinning rock we call home. You ready, big fella?

Chance the Rapper – “No Problem” (ft. 2 Chainz and Lil Wayne)

Honorable Mentions:

Death Grips / Bottomless Pit (Harvest)

Frankie Cosmos / Next Thing (Bayonet)

Har Mar Superstar / Best Summer Ever (Cult)

Lake Street Dive / Side Pony (Nonesuch)

PWR BTTM / Ugly Cherries (Father/Daughter / Miscreant)

Parquet Courts / Human Performance (Rough Trade)

Radiohead / A Moon Shaped Pool (XL)

Paul Simon / Stranger to Stranger (Concord)

Teen Suicide / It’s the Big Joyous Celebration, Let’s Stir the Honeypot (Run for Cover)

Thao and the Get Down Stay Down / A Man Alive (Ribbon Music)

Classic Album Review: Bjork, ‘Vulnicura’

bjork_-_vulnicura_official_album_cover

[Originally published January 1, 2016]

The old artistic adage of “beauty from pain” has become tired and hackneyed at this point, but occasionally, a work comes along that truly fits every facet of that definition. Vulnicura, Björk’s surprise ninth studio effort and her latest since 2011’s Biophilia, is one of those works. Written in the midst of Björk’s separation from artist Matthew Barney, Vulnicura is a turbulent, gorgeous masterpiece, filmic in scope and fraught with moments of pain, catharsis and healing. Some of Ms. Guðmundsdóttir’s most poignant songwriting and most awe-inspiring instrumentation can be found on this record, which stands tall among the best of an already masterful career.

Vulnicura begins with the sweeping, seven-song saga of Björk’s dissolving relationship, marked in the record booklet with the time each song was written relative to her divorce. In typical Björkian fashion, she transforms the painful tale into high art, rife with scientific metaphor and universe-speak. Album opener “Stonemilker” (“9 months before”) documents a slowly deteriorating love, suffering from lack of communication; it starts with somber string tones that gradually build into a grandiose soundscape with synthetic drum pulsing in the background as Björk coos, “We have emotional needs, oh needs, oh needs/I only wish to synchronize our feelings.”

As the record continues, we feel the relationship decay further and Björk’s desperation deepen; on the vocoder-heavy “Lionsong” (“5 months before”), she begins to ponder whether their love is even worth saving. The delicate “History of Touches” (“3 months before”) finds her voicing a soft incantation to Barney over icy choir tones, expressing a need for sexual intimacy and connection.

The 10-minute centerpiece “Black Lake” (“2 months after”) brings the chronicle to a head. Backed by a funereal string section, Björk sings as one defeated and abandoned: “Our love was my womb, but our bond has broken/My shield is gone, my protection is taken…My heart is an enormous lake black with potions.” Her initial hurt gradually expands into mourning and turns to rage; by the time we reach the turbulent drive of “Notget” (“11 months after”), the strings themselves are lashing out like wild beasts as she howls the almost sarcastic refrain, “Love will keep all of us safe from death.”

“Notget,” however, seems to mark the point where healing begins, and it continues with “Atom Dance,” which features the soulful guest vocals of Antony Hegarty. This dance is a fierce but harmonious one—despite the violence of Björk’s and Barney’s separation, they are now at peace with one another and can coexist, “dancing towards transformation” and letting “this ugly wound breathe.”

So ends the saga—but not the drama. Björk uses the album’s remaining space to discuss two other traumatic events in her life: a throat operation that left her literally speechless for three weeks (the arty meditation “Mouth Mantra”) and her mother’s coma-inducing 2011 heart attack  (“Quicksand”).

The drama of Björk’s story is augmented by virtuosic co-production from Venezuela native Arca, who previously worked with Kanye West on Yeezus and FKA twigs on LP1. Bobby Krlic (aka the Haxan Cloak) lends a hand on “Family” as well. The basic ingredients here are simple enough—strings, synthesized drumbeats, and voice—but all three producers use them to work marvels, creating a lush universe with a whole lot going on, but which still manages to sound stark and spare.

The true star of any Björk record, of course, is her remarkable voice— effortlessly transitioning between quavering wisp and impassioned cry, capable of childlike plaintiveness one moment and angsty theatricality the next. Her voice serves as the album’s uniting force, allowing her to sustain the mood of each individual track for considerable amounts of time (only two tracks clock in below the six-minute mark).

Thus, Iceland’s most famous resident triumphs once again, organizing the past four years of her life into a sprawling, artful reflection upon life itself—a reflection that reveals itself more and more with each listen. Björk’s inner anguish has, indeed, yielded a powerful work of art. (9.3/10)

Björk

Vulnicura

Released January 20, 2015 on One Little Indian Records
Produced by Björk, Alejandro Ghersi and Bobby Krlic