my top 50 albums of 2010, conclusion
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#40-31
#30-21
#20-11
10
Smashing Pumpkins
Teargarden by Kaleidyscope, Vol. 1: Songs For a Sailor EP
Martha's Music
Generally, if a musician makes at least one record that I truly love, I will give a listen to just about anything they ever release after that, no matter how much criticism is heaped upon it. Billy Corgan’s output - especially from 1991 to 1995-was so remarkable, so consistently strong that I will take a chance on anything he puts out, no matter how many lackluster records such as 2000’s Machina or his 2005 solo record TheFutureEmbrace that entails. Often, I find, my perseverance in these matters is eventually rewarded, and it’s hard to think of a better example of that than the songs that comprise the first Teargarden EP; this record alone is my favorite thing he’s put out in fifteen years, easy. “Stitch in Time” is a gorgeous, psychedelic throwback, with baroque tarantellas on the organ and a dreamy, plucked sitar; the song is moody and intimate, as if you were hanging out in Corgan’s bedroom and he offered to play you something he was working on. On the other hand, “Song For a Son” is an utter Zeppelinesque epic, echoes of classic rock in its interludes of harpsichord and wailing twin guitar lines, and the extended, solo-ridden bridge sounds like something out of one of those old prog-rock masterpieces that took up the whole side of a slab of vinyl. And “Astral Planes” sounds like a jet taking off, righteous shredding and guitar freakouts everywhere, the bridges reminiscent of Siamese Dream with their numerous, cascading licks overlaid to infinity. Both the Teargarden EPs made my top 25 this year; I’m genuinely excited about the thirty-six songs that allegedly remain in this project, and if there was ever an argument against trying to firmly place an artist's chief works in a specific time and place, this brilliant new record is it.
9
Sufjan Stevens
All Delighted People EP
Asthmatic Kitty
Sufjan Stevens didn’t exactly drop off the face of the earth after his landmark 2005 album Illinois; he released a collection of outtakes, a box set of Christmas EPs, a commissioned audiovisual piece about the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, and appeared on numerous compilations and guest spots. But all the same, we’ve been waiting for the real follow-up to Illinois, something to continue the lineage of that record’s grand statement of polyphonic Americana, spiritual folk, and freewheeling, big-band calliope. And this… isn’t quite it, actually. (More on that below.) But when Stevens casually announced that he was dropping a new EP to the site Bandcamp with no advance notice-and then when it became apparent that this “EP” was an hour long-it seemed like Stevens was finally back in the record-making saddle again. The title track here is an eleven-minute epic that began appearing in live sets in 2007, an orchestral suite of chorale voices, guitars, horns, strings, woodwinds, synths, drums-you name it, he found a way to cram it in. And yet the whole thing is of a piece, an ode to Simon & Garfunkel’s “Sounds of Silence” that places lines like “hello darkness/my old friend” into new contexts, Stevens singing of love and death, confusion, conviction, and the human condition; it’s wholly gripping from its opening hymnal choir to the shrieking violins at its conclusion. After this undertaking, he smartly follows with two relatively brief acoustic ruminations: the lulling, plaintive “Enchanting Ghost” with its interplay of muted electric guitar and banjo, and the breathtaking, reverb-soaked “Heirloom” with its earnest picking and Stevens’ oath that “when your legs give out/just lie right down/and I will kiss you till your breath is found.” But there’s nothing else quite like “Djohariah”, a seventeen-minute ode to Sufjan’s sister that’s part gospel, part guitar jam, part sound collage, part effervescent pop; it’s absolutely mesmerizing. Of course, while People is in many ways an album onto itself, it turned out there was more to come…
8
Sufjan Stevens
The Age of Adz
Asthmatic Kitty
…on Stevens’ actual follow-up album, announced just days after People and released less than two months later. In a way, though, The Age of Adz threw the previous EP into relief; Stevens wanted to get the post-Illinois songs out as their own record before he turned his attentions to the new album, a heady, revelatory collection that combined Stevens’ polyglot orchestral Americana with more electronic elements. This collision of analog instruments and digital substrata seems perfect for the compositions that follow, conflicted and sometimes cacophonous pieces inspired by crises of self, writer’s block, and outsider art. From the spurts of binary noise and video-game bleeps that open “Too Much”, you might think you’re listening to Stevens’ experimental 2001 record Enjoy Your Rabbit, but soon the melodies become apparent, with male/female harmonies and warm, oscillating keys riding an undulating 7/4 beat. The song itself is like an exercise in entropy, becoming incrementally more chaotic until the end with its kamikaze flutes, whirling synths, and dissonant, otherworldly vocals. “Get Real Get Right”, written as an ode to Royal Robertson (whose art graces the cover), is probably the best marriage of the organic and the synthetic, with a regal horn section blending with percolating keys and the floating, ghostly vocals; meanwhile, “I Want To Be Well” is anxiety set to music, all taut angles and tightly wound energy, and when Stevens finally loses it in the ending, the usually sedate minstrel bellowing “I’m not fuckin’ around!” over and over, you may too feel like you’ve just exited a particular cathartic bout of therapy. There are tender moments too, like the gossamer threnodies of opener “Futile Devices” or the languid, retro slow-jamming on “I Walked”, but really you just feel like you’re catching your breath before the next crescendo, the next ascent. After a period where even the prospect of a new Sufjan Stevens record was beginning to look questionable, it was thrilling to see the prolific master back with two-plus hours of new material; while he acknowledges his past on All Delighted People, he’s clearly looking forward to whatever lies ahead with The Age of Adz.
7
Broken Bells
s/t
Columbia
Someday I’ll sit down and make a daydreaming list of all the songwriters I want to team up with uberproducer Brian Burton, otherwise known as Danger Mouse; it seems just about everything he touches turns to gold, whether it’s pulling Beck out of a rut on 2008’s Modern Guilt, making two highly engaging records (and one worldwide smash) of sampler-platter R&B with Gnarls Barkley, or just generally bringing new ideas to the table (Gorillaz, Sparklehorse, and I’m very curious as to what he does with the next U2 record.) So I was already intrigued when he teamed up with the Shins’ James Mercer, who himself seemed to perhaps need new direction after summarily firing half of his band; the resultant duo Broken Bells have made the year’s best radio-ready album, combining Mercer’s grand melodic talents with Burton’s clever, well-curated treatments to make intelligent, infectiously catchy pop music. “The Ghost Inside” already feels timeless; with its high-stepping, old-school hip-hop beats and handclaps, its monophonic guitars, falsetto vocals and organ lines unfolding and spreading like ivy, it would seem equally appropriate pouring from iPod speakers as it would from an old jukebox stuffed with 45s. Opener “The High Road” is melancholy and lovely, Burton’s skilled, light-handed drumming a tapestry for Mercer’s meandering, plaintive vocal, the eventual reprise that “it’s too late to change your mind/you let loss be your guide” feeling like a bittersweet lesson, a door closing somewhere. But while these were some of the year’s best singles, there’s also some more arcane moments as well; “Sailing to Nowhere” is a delicate little fugue, the music-box melodies and freeform, wandering organ creating something more akin to a patchwork soundscape than a bite-size confection, and “Your Head is on Fire” starts and ends with a buzzy bit of tropicalia, encapsulating a fragmentary ballad that combines ethereal voices and echo-drenched keys processed to the point where they resemble a bouncing rubber ball. Mercer and Burton insist that Broken Bells is their new band and not just a one-off collaboration; great news as far as I’m concerned, because although I’m always curious to hear what Burton will try next, these two clearly need to keep working together after making the debut album of 2010.
6
Kaki King
Junior
Rounder
With her fifth full-length Junior, guitarist extraordinaire Kaki King has made the full transformation from fleet-fingered acoustic alchemist to post-rock goddess, leading her trio through tunes both heavy and propulsive, dense and ephemeral, gentle and cacophonous. She still shreds like a beast; check out the monster riffs of “Death Head”, the rapidly double-picked guitar melody making counterpoint with her symphonic, multitracked vocals, the band gleefully bashing away behind her, a true headbanger’s ball. The superlative “Falling Day” puts me in mind of that iconic image from The Matrix with the cascading columns of numbers; King’s pretty noodlings overlap and tumble down in a sinuous 7/4 meter, the whole song swaying back and forth on some parabolic trapeze, hitting its highest peaks with the ascendant vocal melodies in the chorus. One of the things I enjoy so much about King’s playing is how tasteful it is; unlike so many marginally talented axe showoffs, she can employ complex techniques such as on the elliptical picking patterns of “Spit It Back In My Mouth”, a circuitous set of hammer-ons and pull-offs that gel into a cohesive, textural whole rather than an interminable prog solo. And then there are the album’s instrumentals, which are by turns subtle, surreal, and filmic; “My Nerves That Committed Suicide” mixes pastoral fingerpicking with ethereal volume-knob fade-ins, evocative of clouds drifting across an endless sky, while “Sloan Shore” seems set to a chilling noir scene, a haunting, wistful organ shimmering beneath stark, descending guitars, the music like mist turning to rainfall. While some have lamented King shying away from the more technical aspects of her earlier work, I see much maturation in the compositions and performances on Junior, a record that in many ways explores her guitar playing in greater depth and is a grand testament to King’s vast talents.
5
Jaga Jazzist
One-Armed Bandit
Ninja Tune
A Norwegian nine-piece prog-jazz outfit (is there any other kind?), Jaga Jazzist made the best record of their career in 2010; their frenzied, incredibly ambitious compositions have never sounded so alive, and there are some jaw-dropping moments on this album, both in terms of inventiveness and sheer technique. The title track is a symphonic meditation on a galloping, balletic melody, with a mixture of crisp, crystalline keys, burgeoning trumpet, fuzzed-out bass, typewriter-like vibraphone, and more arcane instrumentation lurking in the din; at some point, the track abruptly speeds up to emulate an intense celestial journey, the rapid array of synthesizers streaking across the song like shooting stars. “220 V / Spektral” is all flowering starbursts of sound, the guitars rippling tremulously, the organs shuddering in the background, the careening horns and angular drumming occasionally building structures up before the rest of the band knocks them over with their instrumental fusillades. “Toccata” is one long construction, an elaborate, rolling bed of piano and marimba setting the foundation of the piece before the group begins piling up the brass-- tuba oomphas, meandering sax, lowing French horn - and punctuating the oceanic sprawl with busy, clockwork drumming. And on the herky-jerky “Prognissekongen”, smatterings of guitar are thrown around like paint in a Pollock piece, horns bleat away, fingers dance a crazed pattern on the piano-- and then the band pulls off the most natural, organic crescendo I think I’ve ever heard, an eruption of arpeggiated, percussive keys and rapid snare-drum blasts that cycle and repeat, speeding up gradually in real-time; it’s the most exhilarating ten-second musical detour of the year. Even the quieter moments, such as the disquieting clarinet melodies of “Banafleur Overalt” or the spacey arcade warp sounds that open “Music! Dance! Drama!”, are expertly conceived, showing off the band’s musical chops and tasteful arrangements at any scope. There may be no other album more purely dramatic this year; Bandit is a dense, orchestral marathon, a buffet of sound.
4
Aloha
Home Acres
Polyvinyl
There are few bands for whom the word ‘collective’ means as much as it does for Aloha; for years the band members have lived in different cities, from Cleveland to Rochester, Chicago to DC, periodically gathering to churn out another record of effervescent, emotive indie pop tinged with elements of Krautrock, jazz, math-rock and folk. No Aloha release has ever failed to be an engaging one, but Home Acres rivals their 2002 landmark Sugar as a career peak, full of driving, energetic rock songs and stirring, melancholy balladeering. “Microviolence” sums up the Aloha musical aesthetic succinctly; a fluid 5/4 beat, austere guitar, the band’s signature, percussive vibraphone, and Tony Cavallario’s distinctive, mellifluous tenor. The song spreads its arms wide on the huge bridges, the vocal harmonies soaring, the various elements weaving around each other as if on a rotating stage; it’s positively gorgeous. “Everything Goes My Way” is a walking dream, the organ bright and stately, the guitars ringing and insistent, Cavallario’s voice warm and incandescent, while “Cold Storage” is propelled by boisterous drumming, the song shot like an arrow, bent strings on the chorus as a curve taken too fast. “Blackout” is a sweeping tidal wave, the regal piano lines floating on the surface while the bass percolates just underneath, the bottom of the sea a violent, rhythmic undercurrent as both Cale Parks and T. J. Lipple pound away at twin drum parts, the toms huge and towering. And the band has always excelled at closing tracks - “Goodbye to the Factory” on 2004’s Here Comes Everyone, “Mountain” on 2006’s Some Echoes-- and here “Ruins” is no exception, Cavallario singing impassioned couplets (“a chemical reaction if there ever was one/I try to forget/but your memory won”) over the consonant chaos, rippling organs playing counterpoint melodies, a huge, resonant ending building under the refrain “waiting for a getaway car/that never came.” Home Acres is a grandiose statement, the sound of a band bridging time and distance to make another in a string of beautiful, engrossing records.
3
Field Music
Measure
Memphis Industries
After the release of their brilliant 2007 album Tones of Town, Sunderland, England’s Field Music took the best kind of hiatus, one that resulted in not one but two excellent solo records: David Brewis recorded Sea From Shore under the name School of Language, and his brother Peter made a self-titled album under the moniker The Week That Was, both of which made my top 10 of 2008. And now they’ve reunited for Measure, an epic, twenty-song cycle of baroque, elaborate pop, jittery, melodic post-punk, and wildly inventive, theatrical indie rock. The heady dancefloor pastiche of “Let’s Write a Book” may be my favorite song of 2010; over a sinuous bassline full of subtle, hall-of-mirrors transpositions, the Brewis brothers sing in jaunty twin falsettos, the whole thing a clattery, infectious labyrinth of crisp drums, Morse-code xylophone, and synths both droning and flatulent; it stopped me dead in my tracks the first time I heard it. “Effortlessly” is pure ear candy, the guitars recalling XTC or the more melodic Rush songs, chiming chords and zippy fretwork underscoring bright, smiling vocals, while “The Rest Is Noise” is a majestic piano piece that reminds of Billy Joel’s proggier works from the 70s, the chromatic steps up the ivories regal and stirring, the patchwork coda of building, interlocking parts an absolute thrill. “Clear Water” pulls and snaps like taffy, curlicue melodies springing like Slinkies over the rollicking percussion, the snakes-and-ladders harmonies making a rich latticework, but the band can and does dial it back occasionally on a quiet ode like “You and I”, letting the listener breathe with its low, doleful vocals and wistful, sonorous strings. The unbridled creativity and prolific partnership of these two musicians produced a lot of great music in the last decade, but Measure is their finest moment, a tent big enough to hold the fount of their endless inspirations.
2
Ben Folds & Nick Hornby
Lonely Avenue
Nonesuch
For fifteen years, pianist Ben Folds has been a singularly talented songwriter, telling lyrical stories that run the gamut from wrenching tales of love and grief to smartass kissoffs full of black humor; much the same can be said of author Nick Hornby, whose wry, insightful novels find mirth and heartache all around them, often accompanied by a piece of music with special meaning for the protagonist. So it seems a perfect match to pair these two, and the resultant album is a masterwork of tone, Folds’ music and Hornby’s words informing one another beautifully. The lush, haunting torch song “Password” is a brilliant examination of loneliness, the desperate ex-boyfriend trying to guess his lover’s password and, in doing so, discovering how much he really knows about her; the song sways gorgeously over poignant organ and a pretty glockenspiel melody, while Folds croons his failed attempts and their meanings (spelling out “c-h-a-r-d-o-n-n-a-y”, “ C-h-i-c-a-g-o”, “D-e-n-i-r-o”) before he finally gets it and realizes his larger mistake. And then on the other end of the spectrum is “Saskia Hamilton”, a blistering prog-rock stomp full of Devo-esque synth, bristling, overdriven bass, and virtuoso ivory-tickling: in a fit of postmodernism, the singer has fallen in love with a woman simply from the sound of her name, and Folds belts out literalist lines to drive linguists into rapturous fits (“she’s got more assonance than she knows what to do with/she’s got two sibilants, no bilabial plosives”); it’s just incredible. The album offers up “Doc Pomus”, an ode to the famed Nashville songwriter on which Folds’ dexterous, percussive arpeggios almost sound like a player-piano, and “Claire’s Ninth”, a moving, orchestral ballad that follows the sorrow and embarrassment of a girl trying to get through a birthday dinner with her divorced parents. And kudos to Folds and Hornby for the laugh-out-loud “Levi Johnston’s Blues”, a snarky, jazz-inspired shoutalong that examines poor Levi’s plight, pulling direct quotes from his old deleted Myspace page for the fist-in-the-air chorus: “I’m a fuckin’ redneck/I live to hang out with the boys/play some hockey, do some fishin’/and killin’ some moose/I like to shoot the shit and do some chillin’ I guess/you fuck with me/and I’ll kick your ass”; in a catalog of some very funny Folds tunes, this might be the most hilarious song he’s ever penned. The two conspirators of Lonely Avenue have pledged to keep working together, and I hope this record is the beginning of a long and fruitful correspondence, a career highmark for both writers.
1
Medications
Completely Removed
Dischord
Of all the incredible music released in 2010-a year in which we were positively showered with great records, and in which I had a very hard time choosing between these top three albums, all worthy of five-star reviews and instant classics to be sure-no other record married the cerebral and the visceral, the art of ingenuity to the heart and soul of rock better than Medications’ Completely Removed, a five-years-in-the-making masterpiece that perfectly balances their supremely melodic songcraft with their knotty, Escherian ideas, making for a wall-to-wall record of blissful, incendiary jams. From the opening freeform guitar lines and vocal harmonies of Devin Ocampo and Chad Molter on “For WMF”, it’s clear that the immediacy of past records has been augmented by a greater emphasis on the studio, the musical layers growing and billowing into something simultaneously airy and symphonic. “Seasons” is full of ringing, journeyman guitar, the two singers trading lines over a song that’s sunny and propulsive, although when the bridge kicks in and the righteous, curvilinear shredding begins, there’s no doubt these are the guys who once made Faraquet such a jaw-dropping live act. “We Could Be Others” careens around its corners, a thunderous rocker with fat psych-rock chordage and a shimmering, meandering coda, while the vibraphone-riddled jazz of “Brasil ‘07” swings tenderly like a lullaby, a surprise of warm brass gilding the bridge and showing off the many dimensions of this record. And the album closes with the finest one-two punch of the year; “Postcards” is first, an insistent strut merging bubblegum vocal melodies with a New Orleans mélange of bright trumpet and crabwalk piano. But closer “Tame On the Prowl” is not just an album capper, but a study of all Medications elements past and present: Ocampo dishes out stellar, anfractuous guitar licks over a 7/4 throb of plunked keys, serpentine bass and elastic drums, and the song’s instrumental choruses are my favorite moment on my favorite record of the year, a waterfall of percolating organ battling the spindly, noodly fretwork, chorales of voices floating behind in the ether. After ten thousand words, can I just go ahead and simply say ‘hey everyone, this song, and this album, and all the music I’ve heard this year has just been really fucking awesome’?
In any event, I feel fortunate that there are so many avenues to explore music at this point in time-I get suggestions and recommendations from blogs, critics, shows, torrent shares, and that most wonderful of places, the record store. It’s never been easier to type an artist and/or a song title into Google and get streams from iLike and Last.fm, videos both official and homemade from YouTube, downloads from Bandcamp and iTunes, and a plethora of other sources. I’m also fortunate to have so much time to devote to listening to records, a practice I hope to continue as long as possible. Thanks for reading.