Well, it's halfway through the year and that means that all music critics are assessing the past six months' worth of records and determining which were the best; and since I like to think of myself as a music critic here's my picks, in order from last to first, from 10 to 1.
#10: Nouns by No Age
No Age are the total critical darlings of the year so far, which made me wary as I've been tricked into listening to some terrible stuff via the power of a Pitchfork recommendation. Furthermore, I thought that the band's highly regarded 2007 EP collection Weirdo Rippers was a mess that contained a few good songs and a lot of aimless, annoying noise jams. "How much could have changed with the band in just a few months?", I thought. However, I eventually caved in and gave the album a listen; in retrospect, I'm quite glad I did. The parts of the band's previous material that I didn't like (namely, the diffuse noise passages) are, on Nouns, fully enveloped into the context of their songwriting, which is memorable without being bombastic or overbearing with its hooks. No Age also utilise a fairly interesting noise/beauty contrast; they use loud, heavily distorted guitars and jagged percussion rumbles frequently but these are almost always offset by the tranquility of elements like the subdued keyboard shimmers on "Things I Did When I Was Dead" or moments like the gorgeous synth coda on "Teen Creeps". That the band keeps these elements in perfect balance so that the album is both soothing and invigorating, never too riotous but never too pillowy, is a tribute both their clever production abilities and their deft songwriting, which No Age most certainly have both of in spades.
#9: For Emma, Forever Ago by Bon Iver
I find that personal histories of recording artists, when given by critics, are usually either stupid attempts to justify their worth as artists or unnecessary baseball trivia to pad out magazine space but, in this case, the story behind the record deserves repeating. Basically, Bon Iver is one Justin Vernon's newest recording project, after the breakup of his band DeYarmond Edison in 2006, which was mostly written and recorded as he spent a winter by himself in a Wisconsin cabin. The reason I tell you this is that For Emma... bears the marks of a lonely, solitary time where complex emotions were developed and never quite resolved. Consisting mostly of Vernon's high, lonesome voice and his basic guitar strums (along with a few overdubs of various other acoustic accompaniments) the album has a timeworn quality to it (some of which must be attributed to the album's recording on very basic equipment), suggesting turn-of-the-century folk recordings without actively pursuing the same effect. Granted, Bon Iver might not be doing much new here (the sensitive-guy-with-a-guitar genre is as old as indie itself) but songs like "Re: Stacks" have a warmly inviting melancholy provided by the touch of a strong songwriter and the more truly sad moments pack a grand emotional punch befitting Bon Iver's folk and sadcore influences.
#8: Live The Storm by Disfear
Many people talk about how metal has lost its sense of fun in pursuit of more complex forms of the genre, which typically prize emotional ruination and compositional complexity over a good, old-fashioned shout-along chorus. Although I don't necessarily agree with the assessment that this automatically makes the music worse (not at least while I've got Nachtmystium's new album here with me), I often wish that metal were more upbeat while listening to Live The Storm. All I know about Disfear is that they're Swedish D-Beat veterans who recruited a new singer and a second guitarist for this record; I've never heard any of their other material but if Live The Storm is any indication Disfear might be the greatest torchbearers for Motorhead-style biker metal that are still going today. None of the material on this record bears the influence of any of the innovations in atmosphere or composition brought on by death or black metal, and that's just fine with me. Disfear make loud, angry metallic stompers powered by storming hardcore rhythms and corroded, grinding guitar textures with occasional speedy arpeggios thrown in for flavour. The songs balance their ferocity with a genuine catchiness, mostly provided by the occasional gang-chant chorus, that is altogether rare in metal today (clearly, these guys like their Iron Maiden). Singer Tomas Lindberg might decry society's ills in his lyrics (not that you could tell from his gurgle-shout vocals) but this album just makes me hyped up to punch walls and mosh, like any good classic metal record should.
#7: Hercules & Love Affair by Hercules & Love Affair
Confession time: I don't like disco, pretty much, at all. For my money, Giorgio Moroder's best work came in his new wave dance-pop era, when he started making soundtracks for movies like Scarface and Flashdance, and Gamble & Huff-style disco has always been too deliriously campy for me to take it seriously on any level. Then again, I've never really been one for dancing so I'm probably not the best judge in the world as to disco's merits. Anyway, I gave Hercules & Love Affair's debut a listen mostly out of curiosity due to its high critical standing, expecting that I wouldn't like it at all; how wrong I was. The thing that keeps pulling me back to this album, despite its lovely, breezy production and strong dramatic vocals, is the masterful songwriting on display; from the disco-fied torch song opener "Time Will" to the swirling funk of the title track to the restrained bounce of "Raise Me Up", everything here is memorable as both a set of production tones and styles (and the album is nicely varied, in this respect) and, more importantly, as good, well-written songs. It's also interesting to me how this project has seemingly brought out the best in all of its collaborators: !!!'s Tyler Pope brings funky bass to a non-obnoxious setting, Antony uses his formidable vocal chops in service of something other than the formless chamber music of his solo records, and so on. Ultimately, this record, with its airy string swoops, rattling congas, insistent bass kicks and pulsing synths, made me question whether I actually don't like disco, and it's a rare album indeed that could do that (for the record, though, "Stayin' Alive" still sucks).
#6: Rising Down by The Roots
I've always really wanted to like The Roots (they have positive social messages, they're strong instrumentalists and they just seem like really nice guys) but there's been various barriers-to-entry for me at different points in their career: at times, it was their tendency to get noodly with their instrumentation, in some cases, their pedantic "we're the saviours of rap" posturing was too overbearing, and, at certain points, main rapper Black Thought came off as an utter dead fish, devoid of all charisma. Thus, I only really liked the band in short doses, on the songs where everything came together just right ("Adrenaline", for example). All of that changed with 2006's Game Theory, an album of cold propulsion and stark sadness that cut away the fat of previous Roots albums for a record made entirely of high points (well, with the exception of the closer "Can't Stop This" but, whatever). Rising Down, although more explicitly angry and political, continues in much the same vein with songs propelled by drummer and bandleader ?uestlove's hard break beats and the icy, rotted synth tones of keyboardist Kamal Grey. Black Thought's lyrics rarely slide into political grandstanding but, whether he's voicing inner fears and concerns (as on "I Can't Help It"), offering specified stories (as on "Singing Man") or simply boasting (as on "75 Bars"), there's a dark cloud hanging over this record. Throughout, both Black Thought and the guest rappers utilize cold, near-monotone voices in giving their deconstructions of social and political ills while the drums slam and bang hard and the sythns blurt and cast ghostly trails behind them. Even the Philly-pride posse cut "Get Busy" devolves into descriptions of the dangers of city life within about eight bars. There are a few change-ups to this formula ("I Will Not Apologize" is a mid-tempo afrobeat exercise driven by guitars, "Criminal" has an unexpected blues/country tone to it and album closer "Rising Up", the record's only hopeful song, is a pretty great go-go workout) but overall this is probably going to be the darkest, angriest hip-hop release all year and I wouldn't have my Roots any other way.
#5: Vampire Weekend by Vampire Weekend
Vampire Weekend were hyped from almost the moment that they formed and this wave of praise (with its inevitable backlash) crested around the time of the January release of their debut album. People who heard the record were, for the most part, sharply divided into two camps: those who loved it and those who hated it with a passion. The people who hated it made some good points (the band's preppy image can be annoying/cloying, the ideas they were getting critical praise for were done previously, their music is, in essence, low-impact pop, etc.) but I ultimately felt that the naysayers here were either backlashing on the record simply because it had critical clout or were bothered by the band's persona, which does, admittedly, leak into their lyrics, more than their music. But, either way, I hope that were far enough out from this album's initial flurry to appreciate it for what it is: neither some saviour of music or an overrated blog-rock travesty but simply a collection of sunny, catchy, and ultimately great pop songs. Vampire Weekend specialize in a very particular kind of music that's gone out of vogue in indie land, as bands go for epic sweeps and generational anthems, and the verve with which they approach their uncomplicated pop is refreshing. Every song on this album is intensely catchy and memorable in the way that sunny 60's pop or twee 80's collage indie are; which is to say, in the way which hits the human pleasure centres for enjoyment in the quickest and most obvious ways. That said, Vampire Weekend have a lot of interesting things going on in their sound as well; the hype built up around them was, in large part, due to their use of afropop sounds but, while their circular, cleanly-toned guitars do sound distinctly African, I think that keyboardist Rostam Batmanglij's classical tones inform the music, mostly by making it sound a little more prim and proper than it already did. That's not to say that the music here is boring, just controlled, and drummer Chris Tomson adds all sorts of interesting percussion tricks to these songs to push them along, sometimes even fighting against the song's melody line with an out of place cymbal hit just to add slight conflict. Like many albums, Vampire Weekend comes off more as a collection of songs than as a fully realized statement but when those songs are as good as those contain here, I'm not going to complain.
#4: April by Sun Kil Moon
Mark Kozelek has made a career out of downtrodden sensitive guy indie-folk and April, his newest album under the Sun Kil Moon moniker, is no exception; the album is made up almost entirely of long, languid songs of introspection powered by Kozelek's weary voice and lightly strummed acoustic guitar with the occasional gleaming country guitar lick or lightly ticking drumbeat. In lesser hands, this sort of thing would be utterly insufferable but Kozelek has absolutely mastered this sort of sonic warm milk and, for the first time in a while, he shows a willingness to play with the form a little. The ghostly backup harmonies on "Lost Verses" add welcome detail to Kozelek's country-toned musings and the lights plucks of banjo on "Unlit Hallway" perk up what would otherwise be a standard melancholic folk jam but the biggest surprises on April are "The Light" and "Tonight The Sky", two songs which use ragged, Neil Young-esque electric guitars in place of the acoustics and add new dimensions to the Kozelek's words and vocals. Even with these relative experiments, the album is still dominated by songs like the light folk closer "Blue Orchids"; and that's just fine with me, Kozelek's voice always resonates with tangible sadness and his lyrics and songwriting are as good as ever. Sometimes, it's okay to stick with what you know.
#3: All I Intended To Be by Emmylou Harris
Stumble Into Grace, Harris' previous album, was produced by Malcolm Burn who created a modern ambiance, some of which was created by odd studio effects, for Ms. Harris to stretch her songwriting legs and, perhaps, connect with a younger alt-country audience. Well, the record certainly succeeded in the second area, it landed at #6 on the Billboard album charts, but, despite it's critical acclaim, I thought it uneven and somewhat awkward, Emmylou just didn't sound right in the atmosphere Burn created for her. All I Intended To Be, then, seems to be her attempt to reconnect with her roots as she hired Brian Ahern, who produced her classic mid-70's albums, to produce and chose a set of mostly covers to sing (she writes or co-writes only four songs out of the thirteen here). But 70's Harris isn't Harris as she is now and the album confirms this. A glowing set of melancholy folk with only slight country accents, All I Intended To Be draws its power from both Harris' powerfully emotive singing and Ahern's atmospheric, intimate production. The sonic detailing at work here is impeccable; from the tangle of guitar chimes which opens "Shores Of White Sand" to the country slide running throughout "Not Enough", the album sparkles with the skill of a master arranger. However, despite the beautiful production, it's Harris' voice which truly makes the record; it's true that she's lost some of her range over the years (her vocal cracks on "Kern River" don't sound intentional) but there's still a power and a warmth to that voice that just kills me, whether she's powering along "Hold On" or being more subdued on "Gold". Ultimately, All I Intended To Be is just masterful: an old pro, still at the top of her game, rediscovering what she does best with intimate, lush production to match.
#2: In Ghost Colours by Cut Copy
A lot of the records on my list have been rather downbeat in nature, which is odd given that I'm creating this list during the summer, but In Ghost Colours bucks this trend with abloom. Cut Copy were previously known to me for their 2004 album Bright Like Neon Love which I thought was an average, inconsistent dance-rock record made by a band with obvious roots in guitar-fuzz indie pop. I filed the band away and thought that I would probably never think of them again, that was, until In Ghost Colours came along. Cut Copy remind me a lot of New Order in their cross-breading of rock instrumentation and electronics but there's something more going on here. Where New Order tended towards icy and robotic with their dancefloor jams (understandable as they were all originally members goth-rock pioneers Joy Division), Cut Copy are all overflowing exuberance and effervescence, happy indie summer-pop given a dance makeover. Lead singer Dan Whitford might not have a whole lot to say but his casual delivery just adds to the swirling delirium here and his band's songwriting could stand alone as well-crafted indie-pop without the electronics if it needed to. But the dancefloor ready production, by DFA house guy Tim Goldsworthy, adds the delicious icing to the cake making compulsively danceable material out of these songs. Furthurmore, the synths and martial drumbeats just add to the warmth of the songs, setting them awash with hazy, near-psychedelic atmosphere, even seemingly cold elements like the pumped-up bass on "Lights and Music" or the vocoder on "Feel The Love" feel just right. One of the best things about In Ghost Colours is that, unlike many albums, it works as a whole as well as it does in individual pieces. It flows like a perfectly sequenced DJ set: starting off with the most uptempo stuff, moving into a cool down period (with the gorgeous instrumental "We Fight For Diamonds"), starting up again and changing things up periodically from there (including with a strange-but-invigorating country-influenced ballad called "Strangers In The Wind"). As far as summer music, you could find little that would equal this in terms of both pure enjoyment and craftsmanship, proving that sometimes details are what makes the record.
#1: Third by Portishead
People who don't like to hear electronic instruments in music often claim that, because of its ability to carefully sequence and select tones and styles, music which uses electronics heavily tends to "all sound the same". While I agree that a certain fire and grit that comes with analog recording is gone when an artist heavily uses electronic methods, the top two albums on this list prove that electronics are a musical resource as strong and legitimate as any other, mostly by sounding totally different from one another . Where Cut Copy used synths and computerized effects as a way to enhance the sunny fun of their indie-pop, Portishead create an apocalyptic atmosphere of darkness and danger on Third. For a band previously known (over ten years ago, it should be noted) for making a languid and relaxing, if slightly morose, mutation of electronica known as "trip-hop" (a label which the band despises), Third comes as a shock: it cuts away the warmth of the grooves in their previous material, mostly by removing the dusty, crackling soul samples that provided the drumbeats, letting only the darkest elements of Portishead's sound come through. What were once slightly unnerving background synth shimmers are now fully upfront attacks of jet-black electronic tone. Guitarist Adrian Utley once injected warm twangs into the songs, but now his guitar either pings unsettlingly ("Nylon Smile"), growls furiously ("Hunter") or crunches with bludgeoning effect ("Threads"). About the only thing that remains from the band's previous albums is Beth Gibbons' heavenly quavering vocals, but even those become much more darkly-tinged in these atmospheres, she sounds like she's fighting for dear life in this dark sonic maelstrom, and just barely hanging on. Furthermore, her lyrics have grown much darker; she once sang of love's redemptive power (on the 1994 song "Sour Times") but the only time she addresses a relationship here, she feels unworthy of it ("I don't know what I've done to deserve you", she sings on "Nylon Smile") and otherwise she sings of depression and mental instability with devastating effect. In fact, the only time a glimpse of light is let into her worldview is on "Deep Water", where she sings of overcoming fear, but that song (a minute-and-a-half ukulele interlude with barbershop vocal backups) is such a blatant anomaly that it hardly breaks the darkness contained here. Third is not an easy album to listen to, and I have no idea why it was released in the spring when it's clearly a dead-of-winter record, but it has a powerful emotional pull created by both Gibbons' singing and the band's musical dexterity. The songs here range from clattering garage-kraut ("We Carry On") to high-wire cabaret ("Hunter") to martial electronic stomp ("Machine Gun"), but all fit the central aesthetic: a deeply cold and unsettling combination of Black Sabbath death-gurgle guitars, eerie horror-movie synths and rattling percussion figures. Third is an album made pretty much for one, deeply depressed, mood but there's no better album for that mood this year and its moments of hard-won beauty (the free-jazz horn bridge on "Magic Doors", the shining guitar coda of "Small") feel all the sweeter when surrounded but such darkness. Third is a masterpiece in its chosen idiom; I suggest that you spend $15 and 5o minutes on it and I promise you won't be disappointed if you do.
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