Honorable Mention... #21-11
21 Decorative Feeding, Watery Love (In the Red)
20 Under Color of Official Right, Protomartyr (Hardly Art)
19 Atlantic Thrills, Atlantic Thrills (Almost Ready)
18 High Life, Brian Eno & Karl Hyde (Warp)
17 Morning Phase, Beck (Capitol)
16 The Voyager, Jenny Lewis (Warner)
15 Somewhere Else, Lydia Loveless (Bloodshot)
14 Most Messed Up, Old 97s (ATO)
13 Rips, Ex Hex (Merge)
12 Metamodern Sounds in Country Music, Sturgill Simpson (High Top Mountain)
11 Beauty & Ruin, Bob Mould (Merge)
20 Under Color of Official Right, Protomartyr (Hardly Art)
19 Atlantic Thrills, Atlantic Thrills (Almost Ready)
18 High Life, Brian Eno & Karl Hyde (Warp)
17 Morning Phase, Beck (Capitol)
16 The Voyager, Jenny Lewis (Warner)
15 Somewhere Else, Lydia Loveless (Bloodshot)
14 Most Messed Up, Old 97s (ATO)
13 Rips, Ex Hex (Merge)
12 Metamodern Sounds in Country Music, Sturgill Simpson (High Top Mountain)
11 Beauty & Ruin, Bob Mould (Merge)
Hands down the most charming album released this year, the three gals and one guy of Tacocat traffic in sunny, low-stakes, shambling ‘90s-style guitar indie rarely seen since the days of the All Girl Summer Fun Band. Totally committed, but never taking themselves too seriously, on NVM, the quartet examines such day-to-day concerns as crummy public transportation (“F.U. #8”), snow days, getting dragged to parties (the horn-abetted, palindromic “Party Trap,” from the palindromic Tacocat!), and, most memorably, menstruation, on “Crimson Wave,” which features your new favorite euphemism for that time of the month: “There are Communists in the summer house.” A keen, clever lyricist, Emily Nokes captures all the glory and mundanity of being young, half-broke and in the city.
Coming on like Bruce Springsteen gone robo-trippin’, War on Drugs frontman Adam Granduciel’s gauzy take on introspective classic rock yielded the year’s best headphones record; indeed, the album’s first half --”Under the Pressure,” song of the year candidate “Red Eyes,” “Suffering” and “An Ocean In Between The Waves” -- is a sonic rabbit hole the likes of which I haven’t experienced in years. Leisurely (most of the songs are north of five minutes), but always headed somewhere, Lost in the Dream is the sound of a confident band trusting Granduciel’s oneiric, wide-screen vision. Bonus points, of course, to the band for coming up with the year’s most apropos album title, as well.
08 "Brill Bruisers," New Pornographers (Matador)
I’m not sure how a band that counts both sui generis siren Neko Case and power pop craftsman A.C. Newman among its numbers could sneak up on anyone, but damned if, while no one was looking, the New Pornographers haven’t put together the best indie rock discography of the 21st century. (Go ahead, I’ll wait while you wrack you brain searching for a better answer. There isn’t one, though I will concede Spoon comes close.) Brill Bruisers continues the band’s commitment to unceasing excellence (unlike, ya know, all those other bands that don’t give a rat’s ass), from the instant-mix-tape-addition opening title track, to the burbling noir of “Champions of Red Wine,” to Dan Bejar’s impenetrable report from the front lines “War On The East Coast,” through to the fist-pumping closer “You Tell Me Where” (which feels like the companion piece to Newman’s “All Of My Days And All Of My Days Off,” from 2009’s Get Guilty), continued unabated. Between Brill Bruisers’ increased New Wave flourishes, and the departure of longtime drummer Kurt Dahle, there are enough new twists to keep things interesting in NP world – just don’t expect a drop off in quality.
I’m not sure how a band that counts both sui generis siren Neko Case and power pop craftsman A.C. Newman among its numbers could sneak up on anyone, but damned if, while no one was looking, the New Pornographers haven’t put together the best indie rock discography of the 21st century. (Go ahead, I’ll wait while you wrack you brain searching for a better answer. There isn’t one, though I will concede Spoon comes close.) Brill Bruisers continues the band’s commitment to unceasing excellence (unlike, ya know, all those other bands that don’t give a rat’s ass), from the instant-mix-tape-addition opening title track, to the burbling noir of “Champions of Red Wine,” to Dan Bejar’s impenetrable report from the front lines “War On The East Coast,” through to the fist-pumping closer “You Tell Me Where” (which feels like the companion piece to Newman’s “All Of My Days And All Of My Days Off,” from 2009’s Get Guilty), continued unabated. Between Brill Bruisers’ increased New Wave flourishes, and the departure of longtime drummer Kurt Dahle, there are enough new twists to keep things interesting in NP world – just don’t expect a drop off in quality.
07 Manipulator, Ty Segall (Drag City)
‘Round about the twelfth time I spun Manipulator, it hit me: Ty Segall is the 21st century’s best chance to pick up Beloved Indie Rock Hero mantle from Guided By Voices’ Robert Pollard. He’s nearly as prolific as Our Unka Bob is (and with better quality control to boot, these days) and hell if Manipulator doesn’t take the patented GBV “4-P” method – pop, punk, psych and prog – and whip up some of the finest indie rock laid to hot wax this year. At 17 tracks and 55 minutes, it’s an embarrassment of riches, and tracks like “Who’s Producing You?”, “The Crawler,” “The Hand,” “The Clock” and “The Feels” (OK, so he needs a little help in the song-titling department) are almost too generous in delivering the rocking-out goods... and then he goes and does something like pile on more guitar heroics to the end of “Feel,” 30 of my favorite rock seconds of the year. Segall is working at such a tremendous, omnivorous clip these days that my pet GBV theory may be blown to bits by March 2015 when he releases an album of piano sonatas, but for now, know that’s he doing everything he can to keep the indie/garage fires burning.
‘Round about the twelfth time I spun Manipulator, it hit me: Ty Segall is the 21st century’s best chance to pick up Beloved Indie Rock Hero mantle from Guided By Voices’ Robert Pollard. He’s nearly as prolific as Our Unka Bob is (and with better quality control to boot, these days) and hell if Manipulator doesn’t take the patented GBV “4-P” method – pop, punk, psych and prog – and whip up some of the finest indie rock laid to hot wax this year. At 17 tracks and 55 minutes, it’s an embarrassment of riches, and tracks like “Who’s Producing You?”, “The Crawler,” “The Hand,” “The Clock” and “The Feels” (OK, so he needs a little help in the song-titling department) are almost too generous in delivering the rocking-out goods... and then he goes and does something like pile on more guitar heroics to the end of “Feel,” 30 of my favorite rock seconds of the year. Segall is working at such a tremendous, omnivorous clip these days that my pet GBV theory may be blown to bits by March 2015 when he releases an album of piano sonatas, but for now, know that’s he doing everything he can to keep the indie/garage fires burning.
06 Shattered, Reigning Sound (Merge)
Reigning Sound frontman Greg Cartwright, by dint of his work with the Oblivians, ’68 Comeback, the underrated Parting Gifts and Compulsive Gamblers, long ago earned the right to do whatever the hell he wanted with the RS, and on Shattered he decided to play up the soul angle, crafting, to these ears, his best work since 2002’s Time Bomb High School. The fuzzed out guitar and chugging farfisa on opener “North Cackalacky Girl,” the strutting “You Did Wrong,” the how-is-this-not-on-Exile on Main St.?-rocker “My My” are all undeniably the work of the garage ‘n’ R&B loving Cartwright, but new flourishes -- pedal steel on “If You Gotta Leave,” a string section in more than a few places (“Never Coming Home”; “Once More”) – are a little more chill, a little more heart-on-sleeve than the past few (also very good!) Reigning Sound albums. It’s always a pleasure to see a band make the exact right sonic move at the exact right time.
05 Wig Out at Jagbags, Stephen Malkmus (Matador)
One of the first albums I picked up in ’14, Wig Out stayed with me all year. “Concise” and “focused” aren’t words that have been traditionally associated with Malkmus, either through his Pavement years, or his decade-plus as a solo act, but Wig Out found time for the charming, chiming guitar pop of “Lariat,” snarky jokes on the old-man rocker “Rumble At The Rainbo,” shaggy-dog rambling on “Independence Street,” guitar heroics on epic closer “Surreal Teenagers,” and of course a sleepy-eyed trombone saxophone solo (“J Smoov”), all in the span of 12 tracks and 41 minutes. Malkmus’ll never change the indie scene the way he and Pavement did 20 (!) years ago with Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain, but Wig Out at Jagbags is the very model of how indie rock can age cleverly, confidently and gracefully.
One of the first albums I picked up in ’14, Wig Out stayed with me all year. “Concise” and “focused” aren’t words that have been traditionally associated with Malkmus, either through his Pavement years, or his decade-plus as a solo act, but Wig Out found time for the charming, chiming guitar pop of “Lariat,” snarky jokes on the old-man rocker “Rumble At The Rainbo,” shaggy-dog rambling on “Independence Street,” guitar heroics on epic closer “Surreal Teenagers,” and of course a sleepy-eyed trombone saxophone solo (“J Smoov”), all in the span of 12 tracks and 41 minutes. Malkmus’ll never change the indie scene the way he and Pavement did 20 (!) years ago with Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain, but Wig Out at Jagbags is the very model of how indie rock can age cleverly, confidently and gracefully.
04 Third Time To Harm, OBN IIIs (Tic Tac Totally)
This list might not reflect it, but I spent a LOT of 2014 listening to trashed-out garage (kudos to Pitchfork’s Evan Minsker, who was doing the lord’s work this year with his regular “Shake Appeal” column). It was a darn good year for this stuff (see Hector’s Pets, King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard, and the Monsieurs for some choice cuts), but none was better than Third Time To Harm, the (duh) third album from the Austin, TX-based fivesome. I wrote about them earlier this year, so suffice it to say these guys just knocked an unholy brew of ‘70s hard rock and early oughts garage clean outta the park. Sleazy, sweaty and unabashedly rock ‘n’ roll, Third Time is the sonic equivalent of a cold PBR on a hot Christmas morning.
03 Parade On, Doug Gillard (Nine Mile)
If pop craftsman Gillard is known at all, it’s usually through his stint in Death of Samantha or his frequent collaborations with fellow Midwesterner Robert Pollard, but he’s got a couple of solid power pop/indie rock albums to his own name (the charming “Valpolicella,” the opening track off 2004’s Salamander has been a long time staple on my mixtapes); Parade On is easily his finest work to date. Hooks galore are the order of the day on Parade On, whether in service of pure pop nuggets like “Ready For Death,” “Your Eyes,” “Oh My Little Girl” or tougher rave-ups like “Angel X” and “No Perspective.” Meanwhile, I have no idea what the closing title track is about, but I can’t stop blaring it and pumping my fist to it, eight months after I first heard it. Of all the albums on my list this year, this is the one that most deserves a larger audience. Classic, sturdy guitar pop like this will always find a place in my heart.
If pop craftsman Gillard is known at all, it’s usually through his stint in Death of Samantha or his frequent collaborations with fellow Midwesterner Robert Pollard, but he’s got a couple of solid power pop/indie rock albums to his own name (the charming “Valpolicella,” the opening track off 2004’s Salamander has been a long time staple on my mixtapes); Parade On is easily his finest work to date. Hooks galore are the order of the day on Parade On, whether in service of pure pop nuggets like “Ready For Death,” “Your Eyes,” “Oh My Little Girl” or tougher rave-ups like “Angel X” and “No Perspective.” Meanwhile, I have no idea what the closing title track is about, but I can’t stop blaring it and pumping my fist to it, eight months after I first heard it. Of all the albums on my list this year, this is the one that most deserves a larger audience. Classic, sturdy guitar pop like this will always find a place in my heart.
02 The No-Hit Wonder, Cory Branan (Bloodshot)
Yes, Sturgill Simpson (deservedly) got the lion’s share of the critical Americana love this year, but Branan’s fourth album was a triumph of meat ‘n’ potatoes bar room rock ‘n’ roll that really got my No Depression synapses firing. I’m still not sure why so many folks slept on this record (hell, it even only managed #89 on the No Depression reader chart, which, whoa); maybe it was the self-effacing, expectations-tamping title? Trad rock’s general lack of respect in the critical community? Regardless, The No-Hit Wonder boasted a sneaky murderer’s row of great songs of love and loss: “You Make Me,” “The Only You,” “Missin’ You Fierce,” “All The Rivers In Colorado” and the devastating art-vs-commerce title track, where Branan’s titular hero “coulda been making a killing” but instead ends up living in a “tunnel underground.” Here’s hoping it’s not too autobiographical, as we need more guys like Cory Branan around.
Yes, Sturgill Simpson (deservedly) got the lion’s share of the critical Americana love this year, but Branan’s fourth album was a triumph of meat ‘n’ potatoes bar room rock ‘n’ roll that really got my No Depression synapses firing. I’m still not sure why so many folks slept on this record (hell, it even only managed #89 on the No Depression reader chart, which, whoa); maybe it was the self-effacing, expectations-tamping title? Trad rock’s general lack of respect in the critical community? Regardless, The No-Hit Wonder boasted a sneaky murderer’s row of great songs of love and loss: “You Make Me,” “The Only You,” “Missin’ You Fierce,” “All The Rivers In Colorado” and the devastating art-vs-commerce title track, where Branan’s titular hero “coulda been making a killing” but instead ends up living in a “tunnel underground.” Here’s hoping it’s not too autobiographical, as we need more guys like Cory Branan around.
01 Lazaretto, Jack White (Third Man)SPOTIFY
No comments:
Post a Comment