Hello Internet! Good to see you. I have made my annual return to my beloved blog to post my “whoops, missed the window” year-end list. I truly would love to post here more often, but if 2019 is anything like 2018 (God forbid), then maybe I’ll write a couple different things and then scrap them in a fit of self-doubt and shame. That’s kinda my new thing. But I got enough of my shit together to do this, so there’s that. If you want to get a sense of how I see the list, it’s basically this: 1-15 are the elite; then 16-25 are the also elite but I’m a little uncertain about something, like I haven’t listened to it enough or I am hearing peak level greatness, but it hasn’t registered in my bones yet; 26-39 are albums that I probably spent some time considering to be the elite, but came to my senses on; and 40-50 are the wild cards.
With that out of the way, enjoy this, the rancid belch following the feast of list season.
Lush is the kind of album that I really wish was an underrated fave that I felt compelled to lobby for. It has a sort of underdog charm that I could really sink my teeth into. Through some samey-sounding midtempo ballads, Lindsey Jordan manages to sneakily transcend with emotional transparency and an almost subliminally satisfying melodic grandeur. Lush stays in one gear, but excels in that gear nonetheless. Ultimately, however, Lush isn’t some pet project of mine. It became an indie rock phenomenon, which, in my opinion, is more than the album can bear. Then again, I’ve felt that way about an endless amount of capital-B big indie bands and albums, so I’ll just have to accept that the album and the phenomenon just don’t belong to me. Either way, it’s really quite good.
49. Pistol Annies Interstate Gospel
Consensus-defying critic Alfred Soto recently called Miranda Lambert America’s best working singer-songwriter and there’s certainly a convincing case to be made. Call me easily persuaded, but the truth is that Lambert’s solo work – particularly the fiery Crazy Ex-Girlfriend and the lovely, expansive The Weight of These Wings – really stands up among the best songwriting of the last decade or so. Lambert’s updated Trio homage, Pistol Annies, alongside Ashley Monroe and Angaleena Presley, cements this point even further. Through gorgeous vocal interplay, these three fantastic singers and songwriters detail stories of women who have really been. through. some. shit. The characters of “Milkman,” “Cheyenne” and “Got My Name Changed Back” feel less stock than completely autobiographical. After all, the three Annies really have themselves been through some shit. Marriage, kids, divorce, heartbreak, anger, defiance – it’s all here, ugly and beautiful in equal measure. Interstate Gospel is effective because it is real and intense. These songs cut straight, the hallmarks of exceptional songwriting.
Donovan Wolfington released an album and broke up in the same year. They’ll be back, because somewhere in some 16-year-old’s bedroom, this album is morphing into a classic and a true “what could have been?” scenario and the reunion dollars should start kicking in in about a decade. The cult just needs some time to grow. These kinds of bands break up all the time, and typically it’s for the best. When they break up, they become Refused. When they stay together, they become Rise Against. We don’t want another Rise Against. D-Wolf are pure baby Carson’s Venn Diagram music with their spicy blend of modern emo, indie and metal. I’m an old man now and will be a corpse by the time this album’s following snowballs into an actual movement, but mark my words: this album has all the hallmarks of a Millenial Shape of Punk to Come.
47. High On Fire Electric Messiah
How good was that new Sleep album, eh? Like, super good, right? Better than Dopesmoker? I don’t know, man, it might be. What a special year it was to have the return of such a classic lineup and with an album that good. We truly are #blessed. Here’s the thing though, you know Matt Pike’s other band? Yeah, the one that has been steadily churning albums for the last 20 years? They’re actually better. And in 2018 they released an album too and it’s actually better than The Sciences. I get it, the new Sleep record is a long-awaited return and one that was worthy of the hype. But the workmanlike High On Fire have been refining their craft for years and are, at this point, the mightier trio. It’s kind of how I think I like Better Call Saul more than Breaking Bad. So, enjoy The Sciences as much as you want, but remember that once the excitement dies down, High On Fire will still be there – steady, dependable and always prepared kick more ass than far more celebrated bands.
46. Fiddlehead Springtime And Blind
Fiddlehead are quite specifically my shit: pure Hot Water Music bros-in-arms, gruffboy post-hardcore that’s more artfully rendered but concise enough (only one song goes past the three-minute mark) to outpace its novelty. I always kind of slight these albums for being too in my wheelhouse, but Springtime And Blind really goes beyond checking boxes. These songs are forceful and urgent, but cleverly constructed, befitting both communal and intimate listens. Oldheads like me are going to be drawn to the easy comparables, but for a new generation these guys are the standard-bearers.
Metal’s most curiously underrated band return with their first full length in seven years (with an EP bridging the gap) and remain, still, curiously ignored. It’s a crowded playing field and I know there are certainly other band’s doing the sorrowful cello metal thing, but Grayceon still remain entirely set apart and unique in 2019 as it was with the ferocious All We Destroy in 2011. A key distinction, to me, is that Grayceon are less “heavy” than they are nimble. Where a similar band like, say, SubRosa, have created smothering mournful doom, Grayceon are quick and riffy, almost playful with their instrumentation. You might even want to call it prog…which is perhaps why they still feel so underappreciated. But I will always remain partial to the zip and elegance of Grayceon’s sound – guitars and cellos teaming up on staccato riffs, dancing atop quick-footed grooves. In a genre with a million soundalike bands, Grayceon have carved their own path and IV is a more than welcome return for these true originals.
44. Courtney Marie Andrews May Your Kindness Remain
A smoldering set of back of the bar country torch songs. May Your Kindness Remain has the potential to leave listeners in a pile of ash, it simply billows that much smokey air. It also helps that at least a couple of the songs on here would rank in my top 10 of the year, awash in that sad, beautiful Memphis smolder. There’s that word again. Smolder. Smolder smolder smolder…smolder.
Smolder.
“Pummel” is such an overused verb in metal and hardcore that the word has basically lost all meaning. Like, why say a band’s music is pummeling if the same adjective is used to describe Iceage or something? It’s been rendered meaningless. I think Jesus Piece understand what I’m saying, because Only Self so definitively defines the word “pummel” that it becomes objectively incorrect when used in any other context. Jesus Piece pummels. You don’t pummel. Your band doesn’t pummel. Only Jesus Piece gets to use the word now. Jesus Piece is “pummel.” Pummel pummel pummel…pummel.
Pummel.
42. Earl Sweatshirt Some Rap Songs
I was never an Odd Future guy in the slightest so I’m unlikely to become a big Earl Sweatshirt booster no matter how much he’s pushed on me, but Some Rap Songs does a couple things so right that I can’t really deny it. First is brevity, my favorite new trend in rap right now. We’re still not that far removed from the era of the 74-minute rap album, where artists showed no editor’s finesse, instead giving every dumb idea and middling track the same weight as the hits. Oh sure, I love some overstuffed rap albums (shout out to Diplomatic Immunity), but too many one-dimensional artists made bloated records and it kind of sucks for the listener. Some Rap Songs has 15 tracks, but clocks in under 25 minutes. Only two songs here extend beyond the two-minute mark. The songs simply careen into one another, no choruses, no hits – just Earl’s mumbly delivery over some fractured jazz and soul beats. And speaking of that production: I love it! Strange and off-kilter, it does decisive work while I remain mostly indifferent to Earl’s indifferent flow. It’s a stumbling sort of production, but it creates an atmosphere that, at the very least, makes for a alluring half hour of avant-rap.
41. Angelique Kidjo Remain In Light
Talking Heads’ Remain In Light is one of those monolithic albums that you just can’t fuck with. It’s too tricky, too complex, too big, too good. To attempt to re-contextualize the album seems foolhardy. And yet, Beninese singer Angelique Kidjo goes there. After discovering the album only three years ago, Kidjo dares to repurpose the sacred text. And she nails it too, not only properly honoring the source material, but adding to it, providing new shading and perspective. For those like me who hold the original Remain In Light in the highest esteem, the 2018 version is far from a slap in the face. Kidjo adds greater emotional resonance to not only David Byrne’s somewhat cerebral words but to Byrne and Brian Eno’s original afrobeat homage. Kidjo’s perspective as an African woman casts the album in a new light making a line like “The world turns on a woman’s hips” sound like an exaltation more than an outsider’s observation. And musically it’s a rush. Kidjo doesn’t necessarily re-invent these songs so much as add to them, imbuing them with an open-hearted urgency and muscularity. This is the kind of covers album that honors its source material while also shining the brightest light on its central figure, showcasing Kidjo’s ability to personalize the material and make it new again.
The classic “emo group levels up and tries to become a mid-2000s prestige indie band” album. I never really had any craving for a new TV On The Radio album, but then again, did TV On The Radio ever have a song that shreds as hard as “Lich Prince”? Nearer My God is a lot, but it’s a good a lot. Ambitious and bombastic, Nearer My God feels like an endangered species in 2018. Can you be Muse-level big without being Muse-level stupid? Foxing are perhaps too small a band to make such a self-conscious Big Statement album, what with them belonging to the emo revival ghetto and all, but Nearer My God is a “going for it” album that could really have legs. May they one day gain the ubiquity of an Imagine Dragons.
The term “Soundcloud Rap” seems endlessly mockable, and that’s before you see a picture of Lil Pump or (oh god) Lil Xan. Before listening to a second of it, Soundcloud Rap seems like the absolute shittiest thing. But it’s not really fun to dunk on a bunch of dumbass teenagers (especially when the biggest one of them all recently got shot to death) lest I come off like a stodgy old man and if Denzel Curry identifies as a Soundcloud Rapper, it can’t be all bad. At the advanced age of 23, Curry is an elder statesmen of the scene, and he makes it known on “Percs,” taking his offspring to task for making it huge for absolutely no reason: “These dumbass n—-s, and they don’t say shit ? Sound like “durr durr durr,’ you like, ‘Oh, that’s lit.’” Curry draws a line and proves over and over on the dynamic and varied TA13OO that he truly is set apart in his scene. There’s Curry and then there’s everyone else.
A quick reminder, Hot Snakes were and are one of the great rock n’ roll bands of our time. Their three album run from 2000-2004 is one of the most perfect and compact discographies of all time. Each album is timeless and holds all the way the hell up. While a reunion album of roughly the same kind of material may be undeniably superfluous, it’s no less triumphant. In fact, Jericho Sirens absolutely runs at pace with the band’s previous classics. It’s a ridiculous standard, but no doubt you scarcely heard a more convincing rock record in 2018 than this. Like the bands best work, Jericho Sirens is a snarling, swaggering and duck’s ass tight concoction of melodic bile and fury. And if it doesn’t break new ground for the band that’s because no new ground ever needed to be broken. These guys are now four for four with nary a false step. Your fave simply cannot compete.
A Jeff Rosenstock obsessive gets dumped, records some songs on his mom’s laptop about feeling like a schmuck and accidentally stumbles into making the best Reggie And The Full Effect album since…ever. While Rosenstock himself has moved onto the Grand Statement era of his career, Barely March’s Chris Keough is still in the process of bathing himself in big, bombastic, midi-drenched emo-pop for the bedroom project set. There’s everything you could want from this kind of record – enviable shredding (“Mambo No 6”), synth leads up the ying yang (“Surf Wax Antarctica”) and, oh yeah, an actual Rosenstock cover (“Bonus Oceans”). For a guy just dicking around in his bedroom, Keough has created an indelibly fun and punchy entry into the emo canon. And if you want to know how hard something like this is to pull off, check out the unconscionably cloying closer “Live Fast, Cy Young,” which highlights how bad something like this has the potential to be. The fact that Marely Barch works as well as it does is nothing short of a minor miracle.
36. Aqueduct Ensemble Improvisations On An Apricot
A couple of neighbours in Ohio have a chance meeting one day and decide to make some music together, deliberately approximating the elegiac chamber jazz of mid-80s ECM Records and come away with the loveliest strain of hushed oddness this side of the Penguin Cafe Orchestra. Apricot isn’t a big album. It’s hushed and unobtrusive, defined by bucolic textures and a simple grace. But it’s incredibly adaptable. Listen to it at night. Listen to it as you watch your kids play out your kitchen window. Listen to it in the warmth of the sun. Listen to it on a do-nothing Sunday morning. Listen to it when you accidentally mistake it for an old Eberhard Weber album. Listen to it on an icy road. Listen to it when you’re feeling jazzy but don’t want to listen to actual jazz. Listen to it when you feel content. Improvisations On An Apricot has a unique ability to get you to exactly where you’re going.
35. Kamasi Washington Heaven And Earth
Just when I’d finally began making headway with 2015’s The Epic, Kamasi Washington releases another record and – oh, good Lord – it’s longer? You trying to kill me, bruh? I guess I’ll just report back in 2022.
Yes, Washington is still the most visible jazz dude out there which means his releases get ALL THE PLAY. You don’t need me to do a big rant about how Washington is overhyped because that’s just in the DNA of the whole “No. 1 guy” thing. When you’re a critic with an audience of, like, 25-year-olds and you have to spend all your time talking about Post Malone or some shit, of course you’re going to short shrift whole ass genres like jazz by only focusing on one person. So is Washington the best jazz dude going right now? Hell no. Is the Heaven and Earth the best jazz record of 2018? Hell no. But as far as guys being the token representative of a genre, you could do a whole hell of a lot worse than Washington and in terms of 2018 jazz albums of the year, you could do a whole lot worse than Heaven And Earth, which stands as a hearty feast of interstellar spiritual jazz exercises that will continue to sustain for years to come. He may not be my dude, per se, but Washington has an undeniable X-factor and this album, even in its considerable largesse, leaves few stones unturned in the process of creating an immersive musical experience.
Anderson .Paak is such a next level performer and showman that the fact that Oxnard falls short of being an instant classic is actually a bit of a surprise. But Paak has too much of a penchant for shallow-ass lyricism. It approaches the point of distraction. He was able to overcome it on Yes Lawd! but after a couple of years you would hope there was a little bit of artistic growth. But as far as perfect sounding inanities go, Oxnard is a marvel, an overload of soulful grooves and unparalleled charisma. Paak doesn’t need to become Kendrick or anything like that, but the truth is that the ceiling really is that high. Malibu is a stellar high watermark, with Yes Lawd! and Oxnard standing as worthy placeholders, but the mind boggles at what that next level could be. Until then, more “Brother’s Keepers” and “Anywheres,” less “Headlows.”
Every time I read about some new great jazz album, it always seems to be coming out of London. This surprises me because I have a hard time picturing London being on the vanguard of anything, despite its metropolis status. To me, London is Royal Family news coverage, Coronation Street and, I don’t know, Ricky Gervais’ awful standup, so, yeah, not the highest esteem. But lo and behold, there’s this whole burgeoning jazz scene there and it’s really exciting to try and follow. The London sextet, Maisha, are poised to be a major part of this jazz renaissance thanks to There Is A Place, an ecstatic journey into the heart of spiritual jazz. Hearkening back to an era of Pharoah Sanders and John and Alice Coltrane, There Is A Place is towering without being bloated, and celebratory without being naive. The playing is gorgeous throughout and the songs are distinct, offering the listener unique ways to lose themselves. Who knows if Maisha will end up the most prominent figures in the London scene, but they certainly make tremendous representatives.
Noname’s spoken word rap thing didn’t totally work for me last time out on Telefone. I think I was just a little desensitized having enjoyed some similarly-themed albums at the time and, really, I was just super burnt out on the whole Chance The Rapper and his crime fighting friends vibe (only Chance I can truly say I enjoyed is Surf). But the jazzy, neo-soul vibe that permeates throughout Room 25, Noname’s true arrival, is a satisfying sound made even stronger by Noname’s internal musings. She’s not an athletic rapper or compellingly charismatic, but she is steady and locked in to the music around her. Room 25 is a low key thrill, sweeping and, at times, gorgeous, but it’s the subtle, graceful star at its centre that is the true surprise. Noname is no longer rap’s wallflower. Instead, she is captivating in her stillness and focus.
31. Just Friends Nothing But Love
2018: The year I gave up on good taste. If you told me a year ago that I would be falling for a band with overt Chilli Peppers/Reel Big Fish vibes (but with a modern emo flair!), I would have told you…well, something. The beauty of Just Friends is that they dare to steer into that sound and bring something good out of it with the power of their enthusiasm. This is a true tomacco album, deserving of skepticism but ultimately too much fun to deny. I spent Summer 2018 really loving this album, and although my need for it has dwindled slightly through the winter months, I guarantee I’ll be craving the rowdy horns, idiotic skits and most of all, Sam Kless and Brianda Goyos Leon’s Big Bud/Little Bud vibe in Summer 2019. This is a big, brash, dumb, lovable group hug of an album and a must for anyone who just wants to embrace some sweet tunes without worrying about applying a critical eye.
30. Andrew W.K. You’re Not Alone
Andrew W.K. has been hammering the same note since his debut, I Get Wet, flummoxed critics in 2002. His brand of puppy dog-eager candy-splatter power metal was never the most subtle sound, but it was one with a laser focus and genuine intent…which is probably why that first album baffled so many. How could something be simultaneously so ridiculous and unironic? Andrew W.K. was funny, but there was never really a joke to go along with it. The past 15 years have seen W.K. receive a sort of re-appraisal and acceptance as a genuinely positive force, albeit a cultishly adored one. Critics now seem to “get” W.K., but that hasn’t really benefited his musical output, which has been sporadic due to some legal hassles and increasingly difficult to obtain (did you know he released an album consisting solely of piano improvisations?). In that light, You’re Not Alone not only seems to represent a sort of “return to form” but also perhaps something even greater. There are no significant new tricks here, You’re Not Alone is every bit as blunt and goofy as its predecessors. But W.K.’s knack for achieving maximum uplift is perhaps in its greatest supply as these songs ride the razor thin line between fantasy-based power metal and, honest to God, contemporary worship music. Although no one would be heaping praise on You’re Not Alone for its variety in sound, there are some effective distinctions, from the theatrical bombast of “The Devil’s On Your Side” to the altar call-worthy “Total Freedom” to “Break The Curse,” an honest to goodness Melvins homage. On top of that we have intermittent motivational speeches from W.K. that, believe it or not, are actually motivational. The album feels like the fullest extension of its creator’s carefully cultivated persona. I Get Wet may have been the thesis statement, but this album feels like the actual annotated argument in favor of the party lifestyle. For those naive enough to believe that Andrew W.K. could possibly have a masterpiece in him, You’re Not Alone might be that mythical Andrew W.K. masterpiece.
We’ve known Neko Case was good for years now, as we swooned over the power of her voice on early-2000s classics like Blacklisted and the New Pornographers’ Mass Romantic. What was harder to predict was how much stronger and more powerful her work would get as she (we) aged. The run of the last decade, featuring her 2013 masterpiece The Worse Thing Get, The Harder I Fight, The Harder I Fight, The More I Love You, the 2016 collaboration case / lang / veirs, and now Hell-On, marks a strong of high points for Case as both a singer and a songwriter. Truth is, she could have settled into a tastefully bland adult-contemporary lucrative rut, but instead these albums just trounce her past work in beauty, intensity and boldness. Hell-On is Case’s densest words, with the tracks moving beyond surface pleasure, burrowing deeper within themselves and further from traditional song structures. “Curse of the I-5 Corridor,” a haunted duet with Mark Lanegan, extends past the 7-minute mark as the band whirls and churns constantly on the brink of falling apart, until it just gently collapses on itself. “Winnie” drunkenly waltzes into a monster refrain courtesy Beth Ditto (not Case) before leaping into the air with gospel fervor. These are not the moves that a staid, trusty legacy act makes. This is the musical derring-do of an artist at the peak of the powers. We’ve always been mistaken to think that Case’s skillset is in her voice. That only scratches the surface. Case’s power lies in her pen and in her courage. Hell-On should once and for all dispel the myth of Neko Case.
28. Esperanza Spalding 12 Little Spells
OK, first a gripe with online music critics: where the hell were you guys with this one??? How did I only hear about 12 Little Spells’ existence in the New Year. This came out in October and only one of y’all (Rolling Stone’s Hank Shteamer, the best music critic in the game right now) had a single word for it (he loved it BTW). Esperanza Spalding is one of, if not the most exciting musicians and songwriters in the world right now and you’re all sleeping on her?? I mean, I get it if you’re Stereogum, who missed the boat years ago and have been stubbornly refusing to pay attention ever since, but what of everyone else? Shameful.
OK, on to the album at hand. After last year’s 77-hour writing/recording experiment, Exposure, Spalding has moved on to the realm of the (high) concept album with an album dedicated to 12 different body parts. The songs are approached with varying degrees of abstraction, but with a consistent air of awe and empowerment. Sonically, the album is decidedly not about instant gratification. There are no “Good Lavas” or “Heaven in Pennies” here, immediately propulsive tracks that grab you by the collar and drag you into Spalding’s powerful orbit. And any jazz nods are made in the most subtle, unobtrusive way. This is a classic grower by nearly every metric. That’s not to say that the album lacks immediacy – the slinky “Thang,” the hypnotizing “Touch In Mine” and the relentlessly funky “You Have To Dance” would all fit on the front lines of a Best of Esperanza Spalding mix. But the album is less interested in going for the jugular than it is in sort of washing over you and keeping you bouyant with the power of its elliptical vibes. While I haven’t connected with 12 Little Spells the way I did with Spalding’s previous two outings, I find myself returning to this album over and over again, trying to unlock its riddles, satiated by the album’s curiosities and Spalding’s singular, unparalleled vision.
27. Natalie Prass The Future and the Past
Natalie Prass’ self-titled debut was the sort of left-field throwback you didn’t know you craved. With The Future and the Past, Prass opts for the former of its namesake, delivering a razor sharp compilation of lip-smacking modern pop in lieu of fancy-ass Nashville soul. Prass doesn’t have anachronism to buoy her light-as-a-feather voice here; instead, the album goes full steam ahead with absolutely urgent pop production (the kids call them “bops”). Oh sure, it gets a little too modern at times, with the Drumpfy “Sisters” amounting to 2018’s most cloying political art (it’s essentially “Pokemon go to the polls” in song form). Although give Prass credit, she’s never been afraid from taking wild swings – let’s not forget “It Is You.” But when it’s not succumbing to the now-ness of its release date, The Future and the Past buzzes with pop hooks that could appeal to both sides of a divided nation. “Short Court Style,” “The Fire” and “Never Too Late” showcase the universal appeal of this sort of airy precision, while “Hot for the Mountain” dares to shove a strange melody toward your pleasure centre. At its centre is “Lost,” a soulful swoon that would have fit perfectly on the debut and highlights how far Prass has pushed on this album. Prass started as a sort of indie-darling pop tourist, but The Future and the Past more than suggests that there’s some real longevity to her aesthetic.
The year belonged to Kacey Musgraves, but in a more just world where mainstream music outlets can hold up more than one token artist from a specific genre (hi Kamasi!), Caitlyn Smith would be sharing the spotlight as the best of country music in 2018. A true powerhouse vocalist, natural and powerful, Smith can snarl and soar with the best of them (by God, the emotion in “East Side Restaurant”), but she’s doing herself a huge favor by matching her vocal talents with her songwriting prowess. A cog in the Nashville songwriting machine, Smith has penned hundreds of songs for other people, including many major hits, but she’s saved the best for Starfire, her first big lunge for the brass ring. The key to Starfire’s success is that it’s a singer-songwriter record with a big budget, starmaking crossover sound. Like a great character actor given a lead role in a Marvel movie, Smith is a songwriter with a unique perspective and attention to detail, but she’s being cast against something huge. Sometimes it’s tougher to notice the subtle moves (“This Town Is Killing Me,” “Scenes From a Corner Booth at Closing Time on a Tuesday”), but Smith brings that same sense of craft to blown out pop spectacles like the title track and the swooning “Don’t Give Up On My Love.” There are a couple 90s reference points that could be sanded off (Sheryl Crow, Jewel), but Starfire is a major debut and a clear sign of a massive, undeniable future. Make some room for Caitlyn, Kacey.
Released on the first day of 2018, the indefatigable POST- had the temerity to never feel played out, not even once. At the point of his crossover success, Rosenstock has also transitioned into an elder statesman in punk rock, a more urgent and relevant voice than the caricatures of the past. That’s because when Rosenstock speaks his words resonate, even on an undeniably zeitgeisty album like POST- which acts as a sort of concept album about the hopelessness and despair felt by sane people following the Trump election. It’s so hard to write about this kind of topic without coming off like a total dork (remember when people were like, “Think of all the great protest music that will come out of this election”? What n00bz!), but Rosenstock has rightly built enough goodwill to do so. No one is better at speaking to anxiety and the internal struggle of empathy than Rosenstock, and the way he attempts to cope with those feelings rings so true in my life. Songs like “USA,” “Yr Throat” and “Beating My Head Against A Wall” perfectly encapsulate the internal and external struggles of processing this rotten world and the people who insist on ruining it. His struggle is specific and universal. Rosenstock is also incredibly adept at matters beyond failed political discourse, beautifully bashing out songs of longing and heartbreak with “TV Stars” and “9/10.” The greatest trick of POST- however, comes on closer “Let Them Win,” which absorbs all the preceding album’s indignities, chews them up and then defiantly spits them back into the void. “We’re not going to let them win / Fuck no!”
I got to see Tribulation live last year. The band struck a pouting, preening, gothic glam pose, complete with absurdly foppish solo turns and silky flamboyant costumes. Not exactly a typical death metal vibe, but it was completely fucking awesome nonetheless. If 2015’s ecstatically thrilling Children of the Night made significant strides in Tribulation’s navigation of the marriage between death metal grit and glam’s panache, Down Below manages to forge even further. They’re not quite at Ghost’s level of “is this serious?” showmanship (and Ghost is cool, not a diss), but they’ve really zoned in on a sort of sweet spot of sugar rush occult death metal. Every song is a nasty piece of business, but those guitars shimmer with gloss in a way I haven’t heard since In Solitude’s essential Sister. It’s the kind of middle ground that could leave Tribulation in no band’s land – too hard for the pop metal kids, to wimpy for the death metal punishers – but to me it’s a total Goldilocks situation. Down Below is heavy and brooding, but it’s also a hell of a lot of fun.
I don’t know if I can ever forgive Ariana Grande for making Pete Davidson: Tabloid Celebrity happen, but if their brief relationship was at least in part the inspiration for this astounding mega-pop album, well, I guess I can endure a couple more months of Muppet Baby Jim Norton being a thing. And also, how troubling is it that the song “pete davidson” is just insanely good. Actually, well over half of the songs here are insanely good. From Pharrell Williams’ stellar assist on “blazed” to the trap chorus of the title track to the pure pop ecstasy of “breathin,” Sweetener keeps hitting new heights. Grande’s last two years have been some of the most staggeringly difficult I’ve ever seen a major celebrity endure and Sweetener takes all of it and turns it into a staggering work of pop confessionalism. Few pop records of the last decade can match Sweetener’s emotional expanse, let alone its pop smarts.
Ah, the hubris of youth. Saxophonist Tom Barford gobbled up the Kenny Wheeler jazz prize in 2017 and turned those scholarship monies into Bloomer, a debut album that cracks with confidence and variety. While Barford is past his prime “prodigy” years, the young man is considerably ahead of the curve in terms of style and range. Here, Barford and his excellent band give a performance that is at once classicist and daringly forward looking. Right off the hop, Barford’s tenor sax jumps in the pool with Billy Marrows’ guitar and Rupert Cox’s piano to deliver a delicious interplay over an odd meter on the title track. Following the stately, lovely “Space To Dream” is “Phizzwizard,” as far-reaching a five-and-a-half minutes as I’ve heard all year, with instruments zipping in and out of frame. It only gets better with “F Step,” a strikingly funky bit of rhythmic jiujitsu that at times recalls last year’s masterful Planetary Prince, except with a dirty guitar solo that drags the song into a completely new realm. From their Barford plays with the blues and some more contemplative melodic pieces. It’s stunning that this is Barford’s first crack at a full length, because it feels like the work of a true master at play. The sky’s the limit, but if it never gets better than this, that would only make perfect sense.
21. Westside Gunn Supreme Blientele
What originally drew me to Westside Gunn’s Supreme Blientele is also what caused me to originally underrate it. In terms of albums being in my wheelhouse, you can’t do much better than a throwback Ghostface devotee repping pro wrestling’s past with dusty old soul samples. Strangely, my original brush with the album saw me sort of dismissing it as being almost too specifically for my taste and dubious of the album’s overall quality. “Of course I like it, but that doesn’t make it good, does it?” So I listened, enjoyed, then ignored.
A few months later I returned to Supreme Blientele (aka Chris Benoit aka God Is The Greatest) as a sort of inventory of the albums I listened to during the year. While I still was tickled by the attributes that clearly catered to me (once again, the Cuban Linx vibe and all the beautiful wrestling stuff), I was more taken by how the whole layout of the album went beyond just appealing to me. This album has serious legs and Westside Gunn has the kind of presence I can really get attached to. The atmosphere created by this album may be a throwback, but it hardly feels irrelevant. Quite the contrary, Supreme Blientele feels fuller and more defined than many other more popular albums from 2018. It helps that Blientele’s aesthetic is the best possible rap aesthetic. The production work by the likes of Pete Rock, 9th Wonder and Daringer is pristine dusted soul, and combined with Gunn’s high pitched flow, the comparisons to the album’s namesake are apt in the absolute best way (after all Supreme Clientele is one of the greatest albums ever made). The guest spots are sublime as well, with Jadakiss, Elzhi, Benny The Butcher and Anderson .Paak punctuating an already strong album with highlight moments. As far as all the wrestling stuff goes, well, clearly Gunn is a true head, not only providing a narrative for Chris Benoit (“Brippler Brossface,” “Sabu,” “Wrestlemania 20”) – the quintessential problematic fave of wrestling fans – but repping some other major players along the way (suggestion for the next album – “Jushin Liger”). I originally placed this album much lower on the list, but it keeps climbing up the charts. My general biases already dig it, but sober second thought boosts this album even further along. Look for this one to continue to rise in estimation.
20. The Bad Plus Never Stop II
The long-running and massively important acoustic trio, The Bad Plus, faced their first major schism last year with the departure of founding member, pianist Ethan Iverson. The split was at least somewhat rocky, but the remaining members, Reid Anderson and Dave King, have forged ahead, recruiting Orrin Evans to man the keys and recording a sequel to their first album of all original material. Already one of America’s best bands (all genres), The Bad Plus had a lot riding on this album. Was jazz going to have its answer to Jason Newsted or, *shudder* Matt Skiba? Is this the beginning of the end for the Bad Plus? The answer is a bold “No!” Never Stop II is not only a renewed statement of purpose but a confident and defiant embrace of a new path forward. Opener “Hurrican Birds” is a familiar thrill, the band hitting their marks, bouncing across a steady snare snap. “Trace” funks with grace and panache, with Evans’ surly left hand countering his melodic right. By “Safe Passage” it is clear that the new recruit is a perfect fit, adding an elegantly confident bop influence. Currently there are new jazz scenes popping up left and right, along with new names and stars to pull our attention away. What Never Stop II stands to do is serve as a reminder that few do it better than The Bad Plus and few ever will.
There was a bit of debate over Turnstile in 2018. As hardcore’s biggest up-and-comers, they were equally pegged as hardcore’s most progressive band (a hyperbole) and, according to one bad faith Pitchfork review, the poster boys for a musically conservative and vaguely problematic music scene (a weird reading that borders on being an outright lie). I don’t think Turnstile are the best of the bunch (I rep for Incendiary) nor do I think Time & Space represents a “new way” for hardcore, but I do think Turnstile are hardcore’s best bet at a crossover hit and that Time & Space represents a massive leap forward for the band in terms of songwriting and execution. In the past, Turnstile’s efforts to incorporate melody into their maelstrom came off as forced and incongruent with the song’s momentum. Here, however, Turnstile have better integrated their melodicism and mild experimentation into their perfect world Youth Crew sound. Now hooks can be found almost anywhere, from “Real Thing’s” opening shots to Brendan Yates’ searing bark riding atop a Jane’s Addiction riff on “Can’t Get Away” to Franz Lyons melodic turn on the chorus of “Right To Be.” Time & Space is the sound of a band finding their range. Turnstile have had a good sound from the very beginning, but on Time & Space they’ve harnessed it into something fuller, fresher and with the potential for mass appeal.
18. Chapel of Disease …And As We Have Seen The Storm, We Have Embraced The Eye
Death metal comes in all shapes and sizes, from the oppressively brutal to the staggeringly technical, from the melodic to, well, that damn cookie monster vocal. It’s a broad genre with very little new that’s under the sun. That being said, 2018 stands as a banner year for the genre, with death metal bands frequently branching outside of traditional boundaries (and a few just being really damn good at delivering the basics). Among the most exciting is Chapel of Disease, my biggest Bandcamp discovery of the year. Chapel of Disease are a German band who have as much in common with classic rock acts like UFO and Rainbow as they do, say, Rotting Christ or Cradle of Filth. That is to say, while metal continues to push toward the extreme outer limits, Chapel of Disease have internalized the lessons of Tony Iommi. …And As We Have Seen The Storm, We Have Embraced The Eye delivers the growly, brutal death metal goods, but they do it within an atmosphere of psychedelic rock, southern-fried licks and swaggering proto-metal riffs. A track like “Song Of The Gods” starts off with a slow riffy build akin to an Allman Brothers jam before dissolving into a sea of blast beats and tremolo picking. Same goes for “The Sound of Shallow Grey” which could have been guested by Alex Lifeson. But the work on …And We Have Seen isn’t just an homage – some metal dudes throwing on their bell bottoms for old times sake. In fact, this record feels positively forward looking. Chapel of Disease honor rock and metal’s history, but the work on this album also feels progressive and intelligent, even in its most populist tendencies. This was a bit of a late discovery for me, so I might actually be underrating is at No. 18 on the list. There is so much to like here and could be a wonderful entry point for someone new to this intimidating genre.
17. Dirty Projectors Lamp Lit Prose
Probably the least cool album on this list. A late-2000s prestige indie band? Gross. What, were Grizzly Bear too busy this year?
Scoff all you want, but I mean it. The new Dirty Projectors is really good. No, not the self-titled comeback album from last year. That stunk. I’m talking about this one. Yeah, the one you didn’t even remember existed. Yeah, the one with the annoying first single. Guys, I swear, it’s really good. Save for the absence of Amber Coffman, Lamp Lit Prose is basically everything you ever liked about peak era DP – the squiggly line guitars, the rich but somewhat “off” doo wop harms, the emotional openness, the literate white boy art pop hooks, the possibly #problematic soulfulness (How did Dave Longstreth get in with all the cool R&B kids anyway?). The Dirty Projectors you loved in 2009 and still really liked in 2012 – it’s all on here. Yes, we’re a decade out and no one listens to Animal Collective anymore, but let’s reclaim this stuff. Sure, on paper its insufferable, but when it works, it really works. So join me, won’t you. Maybe you’ll feel like an irrelevant dork stuck in the past, but the 2000s revival is nigh and this may just Exhibit A that the era never really went away, we just got distracted by Soundcloud rap or something. Embrace your age since death ultimately comes to us all. Lamp Lit Prose makes feeling old and irrelevant feel really fun.
I don’t know about you, but the whole Summer of Kanye thing was, like, really really stressful. And I honestly don’t give a shit about Kanye, who is basically irrelevant to me both as a personality and as an artist (my Kanye takes are what you would call “extremely hot”), but all the noise and blather and mostly mediocre albums were just so much to have to navigate (or navigate around, in my case) that it actually somehow made my life worse. Like, I’m not invested in the Kanye machine, but the fact that so many people are gives me a great deal of actual anxiety. Just…why? Why do we care about him? Why does he have a platform? We gave him platform after platform and all he’s done is confirm that his hubris is only outmatched by his ignorance. Way to go, Earth, you shithead. You gave him a voice and now he won’t shut up.
But this is how good Pusha-T is: he almost made it all worth it. I mean, he didn’t ultimately succeed, but for a hot second – Daytona and the ensuing ethering of Drake (another dude who can just go away for all I care) – it was a lot of fun. Daytona was the first of Kanye’s Wyoming series and it represents the closest thing that whole fiasco had to an unqualified success. Three key elements were in play here: an undeniable rap great still at the height of his powers (King Push), an undeniable producing master (the one affirmation I can give Kanye) and a mandate for only seven songs. That last piece is key. One of the best trends in rap right now is the embrace of brevity. Rap has always had a sort of “punk” spirit, so serving a punk attention span only makes sense. It worked for Tierra Whack, it worked for Earl Sweatshirt and it sure as hell works for Pusha, who benefits best from the “get in, get out” mentality. Pusha has always been such laser-focused rapper that the scaled back runtime actually feels like an extension of his personality. Daytona is efficient, precise and lacerating, just like its star. Amazingly, it’s not all great. Rick Ross adds virtually nothing of substance to “Hard Piano” and “What Would Meek Do?” serves as a reminder that a deluded idiot was involved in the making of the album, but whenever Pusha T is front and centre, the album becomes an uncageable beast worthy of an all-time great. Even with such a small portion, Daytona (with a “Story of Adion” chaser) is a feast.
Some metal bands make their mark by expanding the outer reaches of their genre, pilgrimaging across new sonic and emotional terrain, and challenging our preconceptions of the limitations of sound. Other metal bands simply wail. Denmark thrash/death outfit Xenoblight wail. Their debut album, Procreation, is a crash course in technical brutality, putting the young band on part with genre masters like Skeletonwitch and Kreator. Procreation is an onslaught of rat-a-tatting double kicks, liquid leads, burly riffs, seasick arpeggios (the best I’ve heard since Mastodon’s essential Leviathan) and singer Marika Hyldmar’s demonic blood roar. To think that this is still early days for the fiver-piece is a tantalizing prospect to consider. If Hyldmar and her band can deliver on a level this staggeringly high, the mind boggles at what some years of growth and development may bring. Until then, allow yourself to be blown away by the crisp precision of “Descension,” the blackened fastball of “Kill Yourself.” or the “all the mosh parts” instrumental splendor of “Xenoblight,” which belongs in the pantheon of great band name songs alongside “Motorhead” “Iron Maiden” and the timeless “Angel Witch.” Extreme metal’s future is bright; it belongs to Xenoblight.
14. The Beths Future Me Hates Me
Without going into too much detail, the last couple of years I’ve seen a flux of, um, similar-ish indie rock bands receive massive acclaim, only for me to excitedly give it a listen and wonder “Really? That’s it?” This happens a lot every year, but in 2018 I felt it happen at a steady rate – a modest band or artist with two or three strong tracks is given a king’s treatment and I’m left confounded by the reception. Are we that starved for indie rock’s next great band that we have to liberally dole out massive acclaim for any three track wonder? Who’s their publicist, because that person needs a raise.
Which brings us to New Zealand’s The Beths, a band who enjoyed some modest acclaim stateside, but mostly positioned with the “up-and-comer” tag. While The Beths didn’t get the kind of ink enjoyed by some of their peers, let me just say emphatically: This is it. From the first listen on, The Beths have the spark, personality and, oh yeah, the songwriting chops to make a run at whatever the hell the indie brass ring would be. Future Me Hates Me is the kind of concise all-killer-no-filler album that hardly exists anymore, full of tight harmonies, expertly-crafted hooks and pop punk energy. Singer Elizabeth Stokes imbues all this “pep” with a tuneful strain of melancholy, dissecting matters of insecurity and self-loathing. It’s the kind of pairing that could put the band firmly in the “emo” camp, but the band’s expert way with songwriting overcomes any confines one would want to put on this band. These songs are catchy and crafty, timeless hooks in an era of hyped impermanence.
13. Kevin Hufnagel Messages To The Past
Dysrhythmia and Gorguts guitarist Kevin Hufnagel has been quietly churning out solo records for a decade now and with Messages To The Past he has reached as sort of guitar shop dork Valhalla. Granted, I’m not familiar with Hufnagel’s other solo work, but Messages To The Past seems like the perfect entry point. I mean, conceptually it’s an absolute A+. Messages To The Past seems to be based on the notion of “What if Yngwie Malmsteen made an ECM record?” or perhaps better yet, “What if Pat Metheny was really into Carcass?” If that’s the kind of guitar nerd fan fiction you would subscribe to, well, congrats, you’re one of the four or five dozen people who would really dig this record. No, enjoyment of this record does not require certain prog rock credentials, but it certainly helps if you really like layers and layers of guitar. Despite Hufnagel’s death metal bona fides, Messages To The Past approaches heavy metal guitar mastery from an alternate perspective. Is serenity achievable through the power of riffs? Can one approach, say, Jan Garbarek’s chilly European sound with just a hyper-compressed guitar? Is Heavy Mellow a genre? Yes, yes and hell yes. Just look at that cover – you know this is an intergalactic voyage you are intrigued to make. Join me down this weird and spellbinding rabbit hole.
12. CupcaKKe Ephorize and Eden
CupcaKKe made me blush. When I was alone. Like, full red face and everything. The song was “Duck Duck Goose,” a mind-melting headrush of pure filth and sexual peacocking. From line one on (if you know…you know), “Duck Duck Goose” acts as a jet fueled vehicle for defiantly dirty fuck flexing. Truth be told, if it had been my first exposure to CupcaKKe, there’s a possibility that I might have meekly walked away from her and her album, Ephorize, too scandalized to go forward being the boy scout that I am, but “Duck Duck Goose” is track three on Ephorize and the opening combo of “2 Minutes” and ‘Cartoons” had already convinced me of CupcaKKe’s value. This girl RAPS. HER. ASS. OFF. Delivering attitude and dexterity in equal measure, discovering CupcaKKe was like discovering Eminem, but instead of rapping about spousal abuse, CupcaKKe says her vagina looks like an upside down Dorito (among other sexual food metaphors – mozzarella sticks, Chips Ahoy, spaghetti). The sex tracks on Ephorize and its follow-up Eden are herculean efforts of rap supremacy, but they’re only a fraction of CupcaKKe’s arsenal, who takes on trickier topics like body image issues, transphobia and autism (“A Unique Thinking Individual Strongly Matters”). Over these two albums, CupcaKKe rolls strong over varied beats that require a multi-dimensional flow that CupcaKKe seems uniquely capable of nailing. This was the year that Cardi B became a massive star, but on pure skill and ambition, CupcaKKe has already merited legend status.
11. Ty Segall Freedom’s Goblin
At this point, it probably seems impossible to get into Ty Segall. He inendates listeners with multiple albums per year and a genre term like “Garage Rock” just screams “steer clear” as loud as possible. His productivity levels continue to muddy the waters in terms of an entry point for newbies. I mean, at least Will Oldham has I See A Darkness as a sort of lighthouse to rally around. Segall’s career really has none of that, just a bunch of skronky psych solos extended across a bloated discography.
Or at least that’s what I thought at the onset of 2018. May I suggest that, over a decade into his solo run, Freedom’s Goblin might be that ideal entry point? Truthfully, I could be wrong, but as a gateway album, Freedom’s Goblin did the trick for me. It started with “My Baby’s On Fire,” an immediate sugar rush of E Street glam that hit my right in the pleasure centre. My wife randomly played it one night and it immediately piqued my interest. I played it over and over until I decided that the song was strong enough to make me check out the whole album. To my shock here was more where that came from. Sure, Freedom’s Goblin follows a template I already associated with Segall – 19 tracks, including extended jams and a lot of throwing random shit against the wall to see what sticks – but the success rate is actually staggering. Stylistically, the album is all over the map – hardcore noise attacks, swaggering classic rock, beefy grunge flare ups, old school funk grooves, menacing Krautrock dirges, power pop exaltations, nu-schmaltz weepy ballads – but the consistency is in the quality. Oh, not everything works (feel free to skip “Despoiler of Cadaver”), but at least half of these songs are full on great (including the 12-minute Crazy Horse jam), and the rest are at least lively, likable experiments like Denee Segall’s vocal turn on the fiery “Meaning.” Double albums are meant to be inconsistent and unwieldy affairs by design, but Freedom’s Goblin manages to be the most succinct summary of Segall’s raison d’etre. Anything goes and nearly everything works.
There’s the backstory of the Ehtiopian jazz organist (and accordionist!) who did some especially notable work in the 70’s and 80’s before disappearing. The predictable conclusion goes like this: collectors rediscover his music some 25, 30 years later and, shortly thereafter, discover the jazzman himself driving cab in New York in his late 60s. It’s a great, classic tale, but I give it short shrift because it is absolutely inessential to enjoying Hailu Mergia’s newest album. The narrative may be wonderful, but Lala Belu is better. You may find better jazz records from this decade, but you will be hard pressed to find another record this warm and inviting, this fun, thie alive. Lalu Belu is a loose, spirited affair, but it’s got a beating heart at its core. Jazz music is very much about play, and Lala Belu cuts to the heart of that with the ingenious opening triptych, “Tizita,” which waltzes in on Mergia’s seafaring accordion before abruptly bounding to a cut common time funk groove buoyed by some delicious piano playing and frequent space-synth interjections. Following this is bass and keyboard pas de deux that bops its way to a satisfying close. The fun rolls right on through with the catchy themes of “Addis Nat” and the percussive undercurrent of “Gum Gum,” but hits a new apex with the jaunty and ebullient title track, with its giddy bounce and cheery group vocals. It’s impossible to hear this song and not smile. All good vibes must come to an end, and Lala Belu closes things out beautifully, with the reflective, wistful “Yefikir Engurguro,” a solo piano performance imbued with great feeling and emotion. It’s a gorgeous, surprising capper to an album that is brimming with life-affirming energy, not to mention some pristine performances. So yes, feel free to learn Mergia’s amazing backstory, but know that everything you really need to know is found right here, in this special uncut diamond of an album.
9. Kacey Musgraves Golden Hour
It was often hard for me to properly reckon with Golden Hour with it being almost certainly the Publicity Push Album of the Year. Everywhere you looked in 2018 there was an article positioning Kacey Musgraves as the great new Nashville outsider, bucking the tired tropes of modern country’s stodgy old boys club with her indie rock nods, dance beats and *gasp* kinda sorta progressive politics! We’ve seen this trick before with postmodern throwbacks like Chris Stapleton and Sturgill Simpson, but with Musgraves the hype got bigger and the accolades spread even wider (Album of the Year over at Stereogum, Album No. 2 at Pitchfork). Of course, the annoying thing of positioning Musgraves in this way is that (a) it tends to dismiss country as a genre without real value (a deliberately ignorant viewpoint) and (b) it undermines a lot of terrific artists in the country scene who could stand to enjoy even a fraction of Musgraves’ hype.
Now, this would all really stick in my craw if weren’t for the fact that Golden Hour really is that good. No, this shouldn’t be the only country album you listen to (please please please check out Caitlyn Smith), but in terms of Musgraves’ artistic trajectory, this really is THE BIG ONE. I guess I wasn’t feeling like a backlash because I’ve been down since the debut, 2013’s wonderful Same Trailer, Different Park. With that album Musgraves was already showing herself to be a especially gifted songwriter, with an incredible knack for the pitch perfect turn of phrase. 2015’s Pageant Material stuck to the familiar formula of the debut with strong results, but the slightest hint that all the quippy bon mots were beginning to curdle. The miracle of Golden Hour is that Musgraves drops the cleverness and delivers something more direct and impactful. With the laconic opener “Slow Burn,” critics were giddy to draw sonic comparisons to Sea Change and Seven Swans, but beyond that, the real match is Kurt Vile, whose gentle stonerisms would settle nicely here. Elsewhere, Musgraves pushes against her genre’s boundaries on highlights “Oh What A World” and “High Horse” and expresses some real yearning with “Mother” and “Love Is A Wild Thing” (no wonder Evan Stephens Hall became obsessed with Musgraves during his Pinegrove hiatus). Musgraves doesn’t totally abandon the winking puns of her prior work, but it’s employed only sparingly – thank God – with “Space Cowboy,” “Velvet Elvis” and “Wonder Woman” representing the diminishing returns of that writing style. Still, while it may not be the defiant savior that modern country doesn’t actually need, Golden Hour is a marked leap forward for one of the great young songwriters in America today and a gorgeous collection of songs that stand among the best of the year no matter the genre.
8. Deafheaven Ordinary Corrupt Human Love
Following the release of Sunbather, the conventional wisdom was that Deafheaven were going to follow the career trajectory of their blackgaze forebears Alcest and begin inching away from traditional metal to more melodic, atmospheric structures. What a surprise, then, was 2015’s New Bermuda, an album that zigged instead of zagged, digging deeper into metal riffage and ultimately adding a sneering edge to a crossover sound. Three years later, Deafheaven have made an album that more closely aligns with the anticipated path, but luckily is no less stunning for it. While Ordinary Corrupt Human Love is a more melodic, accessible album than New Bermuda, it’s not simply a big Slowdive knockoff with some token blast beats. At this point, even at its absolute peak level – which is what Sunbather is – the traditional sound of blackgaze is a little played out for me (Stereogum keeps flaunting all these different blackgaze bands and they are all, to a band, boring as hell), but Deafheaven’s expert dynamism has only grown with each subsequent album. Instead of burrowing further into the realm of shoegaze, Deafheaven have embraced their inner arena rock god. Black metal provides such a hearty foundation for so many stylistic pursuits, but the cornball “Champagne Supernova”/Slash-alone-in-a-cornfield aesthetic on Ordinary Corrupt Human Love is a new one. And I love it. Ordinary Corrupt Human Love is a giddy new direction, full of grandeur, flair and the courage to be ridiculous. All the major tracks here are resplendent with pure showmanship, from the pop punk leads of “Honeycomb” to the absolutely godly drop on “Canary Yellow” (probably my favorite five seconds of 2018), Deafheaven continue to imbue their sound with fresh ideas and full-bodied hooks. RIP to blackgaze – black metal’s rock god moment has arrived.
7. John Hollenbeck Large Ensemble All Can Work
You ever have an album that just gets stuck in your craw? It doesn’t bang, slap or bop – it’s just under your skin and you can’t stop returning to it. Like an addiction. That’s All Can Work for me. I’m hooked on it. It’s jazz, but not in a way that I’m particularly accustomed to. It’s classical, but far more playful than I’ve ever known. It’s psychedelic, but tightly structured and focused. It’s more “active ambient” or “post-big band” if you’re into the whole labeling thing. With roughly 20 players (which is a lot), drummer John Hollenbeck has crafted an album that doesn’t do what I expect albums to do. There are covers of Duke Ellington and Kraftwerk, along with odes to Kenny Wheeler and John Taylor (whose 1977 team up, Azimuth, feels like at least a spiritual predecessor), so there is a tradition currently within the music’s DNA, but I’ll be damned if it still doesn’t feel entirely unprecedented. Maybe Philip Glass, but, you know, really fun. The unsung hero of the album is the invaluable vocalist Theo Bleckmann, who acts as an additional instrument throughout, but takes the lead on two songs that maybe help explain the album’s significant appeal. The first Bleckmann lead, the title track, sees the singer adding melody lines to sort of “found art” email snippets from recently departed band member Laurie Fink, who passed away in 2013. On the surface, the email exchanges are benign and nondescript – a “haha” here and an “OK, fine” here – but over the course of the song the build to a tribute that is at once funny, strange, sad and incredibly moving. Later, on “Long Swing Dream,” Bleckmenn takes a spoken word turn recounting a Cary Grant acid trip over on add, frequently shifting meter. Once again, stange, but deeply compelling. All Can Work is an album of rhythmic multiplicity. There are multiple percussionists, but everyone plays a rhythmic role, some are just more melodic than others. And even with those melodies, they seem to be more mutating tones and harmonies than actual hummable ditties. It’s a true group album, with every part working together, but uniquely. I have never heard anything like it. I doubt I ever will again.’
6. Screaming Females All At Once
Screaming Females have had a sort of a charmed existence. They are respected and revered without the baggage of being overhyped. We know they’re great and their discography over the last decade reflects that, with each album representing a sort of “leveling-up” for the band’s sound and scope. If 2012’s Steve Albini-produced Ugly represents the Screamales bid for punk supremacy and 2015’s Rose Mountain represents their shift toward a broader approach, All At Once puts a final “Mission Accomplished” stamp on their rock dominance. As the best power trio in the world at the moment, Screaming Females have polished their sound, turned their idiosyncrasies into clear attributes and tightened their script. Or to put it more succinctly: singer-guitar god Marissa Paternoster has never sounded better. In past albums, Paternoster had a strange, albeit effective, relationship with melody and “being in tune.” It was a part of the band’s DNA, a charming quirk that made the band immediately identifiable. All At Once is the album where Paternoster approaches the grown ups table. This isn’t a dig, or a subtle hint of selling out. All At Once is the band’s “songs” album (even more than Rose Mountain) and the songs shimmer because Paternoster is hitting her mark harder and with more authority than anyone could have rightly thought possible. Her singing is impeccable and completely unique here. And her guitar lines are focused and massively catchy. Tracks like “Black Moon,” “I’ll Make You Sorry” and “Soft Domination” stand among the hookiest tracks the band has ever put to tape, while the two-part “Chamber For Sleep” songs represent the band’s most ambitious and expansive work since “Doom 84.” Screaming Females have basically been among the best band’s working since their inception. With All At Once they have found another level and it’s a thrill to hear how the band continues to grow.
5. Rebel Wizard Voluptuous Worship of Rapture and Response
An interesting companion piece to Ordinary Corrupt Human Love. While Deafheaven peddle in the sound of black metal cast against the context of shoegaze and 90s arena rock, one man Australian unit Rebel Wizard puts things in a more historical context. Let’s remember that black metal as a genre did not come out of nowhere; the path from the New Wave of British Heavy Metal of the early 80s to black metal of the early-to-mid 90s is a relatively straight line. All you need to get from, say, Iron Maiden to Darkthrone is about four bands tops (Venom, Mercyful Fate, Celtic Frost, Bathory). Rebel Wizard’s Bob Nekrasov attempts to push those degrees of separation even closer together to create a throwback black metal record that acts in itself as a throwback. Voluptuous Worship of Rapture and Response (a glorious title only topped by track titles like “Healing The Chakras With Heavy Negative Wizard Metal” and “Drunk On the Wizdom of Unicorn Semen,” the latter of which also doubling as the album’s best song) manages to run the grandiosity and panache of NWOBHM’s peak era through the lo-fi murk and static of early 90’s Norwegian black metal. Aesthetically, Voluptuous is a trip. The soaring lead lines and riffs of Angel Witch and Diamond Head actually sound weirdly at home amid all the hiss and Nekrasov’s rabid shrieking. But more than being an experiment of juxtaposition, Rebel Wizard manages to serve both of his pet microgenres, basking in the unique joys of both the epic and the experimental, creating an album the gets the best of both worlds. Voluptuous Worship of Rapture and Response may sound like a history lesson, but it offers enough high points to become its own signpost in the canon of great heavy metal.
I know, I know. How could I?
You didn’t see Skylight pop up on any year end lists because I think the only viable choice for music critics was to completely punt on the album. Even the initial reviews of the album mostly hedged on judgment calls on its overall quality and instead discussed the album’s controversial release and whether audiences should feel OK about the album’s existence at all. On that last fact, critics came up with a resounding ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.
So let’s back up: What happened? Well, in November 2017 Pinegrove frontman Evans Stephens Hall wrote a Facebook post discussing a recent sexual coercion allegation that was made against him by someone he had been in a brief but intense relationship with. What the post lacked in clarity, it more than made up for in grounds for wild speculation. The band went on hiatus, cancelling shows and tabling their completed album. Long story short, the intervening months saw some slow snippets of info come out pertaining to a sort of extortion plot by the Punk Talks organization, lots of broken trust from basically all parties involved and a few more vague details about the nature of the Hall’s relationship with his accuser, if not more info about the actual nature of the “sexual coercion.” In the end, Hall went to therapy, received a blessing from his accuser to bring his band (and album) back into the public sphere and everyone was left just as confused as before about what happened and why it happened the way it happened. Online vitriol against Hall remains high among some parties (and other bands), but that’s how being online generally works. On the surface, it seems like the case of personal issue that got blown into the public stratosphere due to an unhealthy and dishonest outside influence, resulting in more information shared and speculated on than ever necessary – a callout culture cautionary tale, if you will.
So…should you listen to this album? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.
But if you did…
Take a time machine back to October 2017 and you’ll be looking at cultishly adored band on the precipice of a major breakthrough, zooming past their Emo Revival roots into the realm of General Acceptance! Anticipation for Pinegrove’s proper follow-up to the essential Cardinal had built to a feverish pitch and if the ensuing year hadn’t unfolded the way it did, one wonders how Skylight would have been perceived. Clearly, Skylight was meant to be a slightly more restrained effort, less anxious punk energy and more musically and lyrically searching. Typical song structures do not take shape on Skylight. Tracks like “Thanksgiving” and “Amulets” feel like mere snippets, song ideas left in their barest form, brief and elusive. Even the fan service inclusion of “Angelina” is not expanded from any of its previous incarnations, clocking in just past the minute-and-a-half mark, tantalizingly short, but perfect and complete in its way. Elsewhere (no pun intended), Hall shows off the malleability of his songwriting as “Darkness” shifts from a blissful power popper to a ruminative ballad all within the song’s 4.5 minute runtime. But these mild experiments don’t cloud Hall’s songwriting gifts and this band’s impeccable interpretations therein. Early single “Intrepid” unfolds slowly, but crescendos powerfully, while closer “Light On” gives in to the faulty alt-country tag that PInegrove has been saddled with since their breakthrough, crooning like so much yodeling kid. Highlighting the album is its title track, a lilting filigree with the most universal of messages: “Let me let go / Whatever you’re feeling is natural.”
Of course, these songs all take on a different form after all the #cancelled business, but their resonance remains powerful, if slightly tweaked. It’s still tricky to speak to the Pinegrove mess a year later, even with the increased clarity. But what is certain to me is the loveliness of these songs. Do you need permission to listen to Pinegrove? No, but it’s definitely available if you’re looking for it. Either way, Skylight delivers, even if it was a messy journey to get here.
For a band known for sweeping, high concept, double album epics, Fucked Up may have outdone themselves here. If 2014’s terrific Glass Boys saw Fucked Up existing comfortably in their progressive hardcore lane, Dose Your Dreams blows it all out, extending the band’s sound beyond even the expanse of modern classics The Chemistry of Common Life and David Comes To Life. Fucked Up exists on the fault line of creative tension between singer Damien Abraham (the hardcore traditionalist) and guitarist Mike Haliechuk (the experimentalist) and Dose feels like a greater extension of Haliechuk’s influence, so much so, in fact, that Abraham doesn’t even appear on all the album’s tracks. The classic Fucked Up sound is here in full swing thanks to towering beasts like “None Of Your Business Man,” “Tell Me What You See” and “I Don’t Want To Live In This World Anymore” (complete with a zesty sax solo), but that’s only a fraction of what the album has to offer. Suffice to say, for an album that is undeniably a hardcore record, there are more stylistic left turns here than on any other record in 2018. Amidst all the hardcore maximalism, there is the gauzy dream pop of “How To Die Happy” and the melodic prayer of “Two I’s Closed” and “Love Is An Island in the Sea;” the double shot of throwback indie rock classics in “The One I Want Will Come For Me” and “Came Down Wrong;” the electro pulse of “Talking Pictures” and the pure Dexy’s Midnight dance pop of the title track; and the industrial cloister of “Mechanical Bull” and “Accelerate.” It’s so…much (“extra,” the kids would say). And sure, maybe I don’t love those industrial tracks, for instance, but I love that they’re here. Dose Your Dreams is boundless and untethered, a freewheeling exploration into the outer reaches of one band’s capacity. It’s big, overwhelming and ceaselessly thrilling.
I was not a fan of Horrendous before this. Sure, I’d heard some exciting things on 2015’s Anareta, but I still couldn’t see what the big deal was. I was immune to Horrendous’ death metal charms. Then Idol happened. More specifically, Alex Kulick’s fretless bass happened. I’ve never heard a bass-forward metal album before, let alone death metal album, but Idol came along with its Jaco Pastorious worship and I found my jazz/metal hybrid heaven. Technical death metal can feel so unlovable and remote, but Idol ups the ante in such a way that I can’t help but obsess over the record’s twists and turns. We’re talking about the true heir apparent of death’s metal’s exalted throne to Death’s Symbolic, a metal masterpiece nonpareil…until now. Or to put it in more modern terms, Idol does for death metal what Vektor’s Terminal Redux did for thrash – a new bar set, a new shock to the system, a new future. Each riff, each jazz-infused breakdown, each slow build and fiery explosion, feels like a new ascent, the band finding another plane from which to peer down from. And it’s catchy too! “Soothsayer” – an instant classic, metal or otherwise – builds to a monumental emotional climax, while the opening sprawl of “Divine Anhedonia” breaks into a teetering monument of unstoppable fury. The miracle of Idol is that the more the album hunkers down into its idiosyncrasies, the better it gets. No song is death metal by numbers; they are wild, wooly and endlessly mind-altering. Whatever I was missing on previous Horrendous was compensated for in spades here. Idol is a classic, a masterpiece.
1. Hop Along Bark Your Head Off, Dog
Often, when it comes to my favorite album of a given year, it’s defined by a battle between my head and my heart. Does the album satisfy me intellectually, or does it appeal to me on a more visceral level? Typically it’s the heart that wins out. An album that appeals to my emotions – that makes me feeeeel – is the album that I defer to over the one that makes me think, but the best of them do both at once. Last year’s No. 1 album, Propagandhi’s Victory Lap was such an album. I was drawn in initially by riffs and song structure, but the heart of the songs revealed itself quickly.
While bearing no aesthetic similarities at all, Hop Along’s astonishing Bark Your Head Off, Dog also belongs in this category with Victory Lap, although here, the head and the heart elements of the album reveal themselves in near tandem. At once, Bark is both the knottiest, most intricately non-linear concoction on this list (non-jazz division) and its most traditionally hooky. It’s an album that shares real estate with both Joanna Newsom’s Have One On Me and Carly Rae Jepsen’s Emotion, a puzzle and a high five. The tracks on Bark sparkle with intricate instrumental and lyrical detail, dovetailing from one complex tapestry of harmony and rhythm to another, but they still manage to be mindful of their communal effect. This is a true studio effort, with small production flourishes that will dazzle you, but these songs are also written to thrive in a live setting, befitting Hop Along’s spunky emo roots. A song like “Not Abel,” for instance, stumbles in and out of abstract pieces of country, chamber pop and indie folk before it all breaks apart, leaving a straight forward (and immensely pleasurable) rock coda to drive it home. Codas are key on Bark, as they act as the ultimate calling card of nearly every song here, a hummable/screamable refrain that brings every other detail into focus. Like “Not Abel,” “Somewhere A Judge” and “The Fox In Motion” are lively, detailed compositions that change direction to extend the songs beyond the studio. It’s these moments that make this album truly a have your cake and eat it too experience. The band deliberated intended to make their expansive studio opus, but good sense and natural instinct ensured that it’s reach could extend far beyond.
Of course, one cannot sidestep the presence of singer Frances Quinlan, whose delicately ravaged voice is worth the price of admission alone. But if Quinlan’s was central to the band’s previous successes on Get Disowned and Painted Shut, it’s her work with the pen that is most stunning here. Through prose as finely crafted as the music itself, Quinlan takes on matters of death (“Don’t worry / We will both find out, just not together”), toxic influence (“Strange to be shaped by such strange men” – a repeated motif) and no shortage of Biblical allusions by way of author Karl Ove Knausgaard (“Not one word of all the time they spent growing up brothers”). Both in text and on the staff, Bark carves a curious path, with curious designs and curious revelations. Some of the puzzles remain to be discovered too. After nearly a year of parsing this record, a song like “Look Of Love” still remains elusive, the most outer reach of this kaleidoscope album. Because for all the tangible oomph that this album provides, it is best served maintaining some of its mystique. That’s the key, Hop Along’s previous albums were wonderful, but decidedly earthbound. Bark Your Head Off, Dog is more ornate, with a thousand moving parts intricately moving like some Rube Goldberg machine. That everything falls into place and still remains relatable is the kind of ineffable, mystical accident that comes along in only the rarest of moments.
VIKINGS & BEEKEEPERS 