The Top 200 Albums of the 2010s (Part 20: 10-1)

10. Propagandhi Victory Lap (2017)
File Under: Punk Rock

My write-up for Victory Lap at the top of my Best of 2017 list is probably my worst piece of music writing I have attempted in the last five or so years. I wrote 2,340 words on that one album in an attempt to capture my feelings. I got carried away, I tried to say too much. It was an honest endeavor. When it comes to Propagandhi, I have a million thoughts racing through my head. At some point in the last decade, they transcended from a band I greatly enjoy to a band I deeply love. I don’t just want to chat about Propagandhi, I want to devour every word, every riff, every snare roll, every bass run, and pontificate on it for hours (and yes, there is a Prop-cast for that – the essential Unscripted Moments – to make me feel a little less lonely). Propagandhi are a band that makes me feel things. Propagandhi are the kind of band that have changed how I want to write my own music. They are a band that makes me want to reconsider my own politics and worldview. Even if you don’t know my musical taste, there’s a good chance that there is something you know about me that has been influenced by Propagandhi. Their music runs through my veins. 

So I can’t really just talk about Victory Lap. I want to talk and talk and talk. I want to talk about how the album is Propagandhi in conversation with their past selves  – literally in the case of “Letter To A Young Anus” but also spiritually in the case of the title track (a sequel to 2005’s “A Speculative Fiction”) and the vastly underrated “Tartuffe.” I want to talk about the mind-melting musical dynamics of “Cop Just Out Of Frame” and “When All Your Fears Collide.” I want to talk about how many times Chris Hannah does a righteous rock grunt on the album. I want to talk about how somewhere along the line both Hannah and bassist Todd Kowalski really learned to sing. I want to talk about how “Adventures In Zoochosis” has made me sob on multiple occasions. When I try to put the words together, they feel inadequate. When I try to find like-minded people in my life, I feel like an island. All I’ll say is that I hope, one day, you will experience this band and this special album the way I do. I hope that people can extricate the band from their skate punk past and hear them as they are now – punk’s smartest and most deeply feeling band. Ever. Period. I feel lucky to have connected so much to this band. You should be so lucky too. 
Also Recommended: War On Women Capture The Flag (2018)

The Top 200 Albums of the 2010s (Part 19: 20-11)

20. Jeff Rosenstock WORRY. (2016)
File Under: Punk, Pop Punk

WORRY. was released less than a month before the election of Donald Trump, but it sounds like an album by someone who had already absorbed the entire hellscape of the coming four years.”Born as a data mine for targeted marketing and no one will listen up until you become a hashtag or a meme,” Jeff Rosenstock warns on the foreboding “To Be Ghost…,” heeding the coming storm of algorithm victims regurgitating conspiracy theories and misinformed hate speech into your social feed. Next comes the hammer: “But hate’s not a fad that dies with it virality.” Fucking oof. 

That heavy, suffocating dread is everywhere on WORRY., an album by modern punk’s most vigorous upstream swimmer (he was in a ska band in the mid-2000s!) that crossed over through sheer force of will. Rosenstock summons the cultural fault lines – mainstreamed lies, gentrification and the ensuing displacement, police brutality, digital addiction, “the Amazon days…the binge-watching age” – with a disarmingly loose and wide-ranging punk epic that sounds as tossed off and fun as it is deadly serious. Essentially, Rosenstock is what happens if Ian Mackaye grew up a Fat Wreck kid. On WORRY., Rosenstock devours the whole of punk history and barfs it all back up in glorious technicolor, building a song suite that frantically speeds through roid rage D-beat, cornball ska, Reggie & The Full Effect emo-pop piss takes and the kind of showtune-level bigness that would make Broadway stars Green Day jealous. It’s a sweaty, breathless endeavor that wears its urgency proudly on its sleeve and it remains one of the most unsettlingly relatable albums I’ve ever heard. By navigating the personal and the political in tandem, Rosenstock acts as a voice to the eternally disenfranchised – those overly online, cash poor, opportunity-strapped would-be do-gooders who observe an increasingly divided and horrifying world and are overcome with a wave of hopelessness. On WORRY., Rosenstock doesn’t stand in defiance to pain; he weeps openly, clings desperately to his loved ones, throws a temper tantrum and lets his voice crack when the truth finally descends on him (“I’ve had a baaaad year”). It’s devastating, but also one of the most deeply human records I’ve ever heard.    
Also Recommended: Jeff Rosenstock POST- (2018)

The Top 200 Albums of the 2010s (Part 18: 30-21)

30. Fucked Up Dose Your Dreams (2018)
File Under: Hardcore Punk, Experimental

After the relatively staid Glass Boys in 2014, Toronto’s beloved hardcore boundary destroyers Fucked Up were ready to get weird and wild again. Dose Your Dreams exists to disrupt the Fucked Up template, which is really saying something for a band so restless and progressive. With musical leader Mike Haliechuk (10,000 Eyes) at the helm, Dose Your Dreams makes sure it never settles in one spot for too long. The result is an album the exhausts every creative consideration, leaving no stone unturned until the album keels over in a state of absolute overindulgence. Singer Damian Abraham leads the charge, as always, with raging epics like “Raise Your Voice Joyce” and “I Don’t Want To Live In This World Anymore,” but it should be noted that both tracks include saxophone solos, strong indicators that this is no “punk-by-numbers” album. From there, Abraham’s voice begins to bleed into the background, allowing a host of new voices to emerge to ensure greater synergy between the idea of the songs and the reality. To be sure, Dose Your Dreams is as much in spiritual conversation with Pretty Hate Machine and Loveless as it is with You’re Living All Over Me and Zen Arcade. To that end, Dose Your Dreams absolutely overreaches – a hallmark of the genre-spanning double album – but those draggier moments are met head on with some of the most exciting and well-executed experiments of the band’s career. Before Dose Your Dreams, Fucked Up knew how to do big and blown-out. But it’s finally with this album that they really begin to understand the full scope of their capabilities.
Also Recommended: Jennifer Castle Angels of Death (2018)

The Top 200 Albums of the 2010s (Part 17: 40-31)

40. Anderson .Paak Malibu (2016)
File Under: R&B, Hip-Hop

Hip-hop and R&B have always had a tenuous relationship. To many, R&B’s doe-eyed sentimentality has always clashed with rap’s hard-as-nails braggadociousness. Think of the backlash LL Cool J once received for “I Need Love’s” shameless balladry – buddy had to start acting like a boxer to get his cred back. Of course, there have been several artists to break down those barriers, but Anderson .Paak in particular has a uniquely effective skillset for weaving naturally between the two poles. Raised on G-Funk but embodying the spirit of Bobby Womack or Al Green, Paak crosses the divide with effortless personality and a gritty ebullience. Paak took a few years to find an audience, but on his dazzling breakthrough, Malibu, he seems undeniable, as if his star would ascend even without the Dr. Dre co-sign. “Without You” proves that Paak can deliver bars, but the brunt of Malibu, save for a few guest spots, carries the spirit of hip-hop more than it delivers its trappings. Instead, Malibu plays around funk stickiness with the free-for-all spirit of a jam band (Paak is a singing drummer after all). Malibu holds a steady pacing, calmly cruising at high speeds with precious few blips. Every song is designed to be a potential favorite – that is until the next one comes around. That quality makes the album’s final quarter feel like giddy leap of genre hybrid perfection, with “Come Down” riding a particularly infectious funk groove, “Celebrate” laying back over the album’s finest hooks and closer “The Dreamer” summing up the album’s vibe with a communal cookout. On Malibu, Paak is the most sought after person in any social circle, an easy-going charmer with the right song for any moment. 
Also Recommended: Anderson .Paak Ventura (2019)

The Top 200 Albums of the 2010s (Part 16: 50-41)

50. Paramore Paramore (2013)
File Under: Emo, Pop

Listen, I knew the day would come that the micro-generation behind me would swoop in and try to put some respect on emo’s mid-aughts hair metal phase. Conceptually, I totally understand. You had to be in the moment to properly understand the importance of a movement. The fact that I could never quite get on board with the likes of Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance and Panic! At The Disco has more to do with my age than taste. Still, it’s a tough pill that these bands are remembered fondly and that my disdain is pure Old Man Yells At Cloud. So thank God for Paramore, a second-tier third wave set whose early work holds up well and, more importantly, were able to level up considerably with a savvy and wide-ranging pop pivot on their impeccable self-titled record. Inter-band disputes were the name of the game during the four year gap following 2009’s Brand New Eyes, but the album’s difficult conception proved to be worth it. Paramore’s infectious shimmer and sonic expanse not only opened up doors in terms of critical reception but mass acceptance as well, with “Still Into You” and the Grammy-winning “Ain’t It Fun” both going Double Platinum (and with good reason). Outside of the massive singles, Paramore boasts pop-punk rippers (“Anklebiters,” “Be Alone”), ukulele interludes that avoid cloying (“I’m Not Angry Anymore”), vocal showcases for powerhouse singer Hailey Williams (“Daydreaming”) and stunningly potent ventures into post-rock (“Part II,” “Future”). For a band that I would have easily dismissed only a couple years earlier, Paramore makes itself undeniable. Paramore is so many things at once – a fabulous rock record, a exuberant pop spectacle and, perhaps most unnerving, a fierce and convincing defense of third wave emo’s artistic viability. I may still be an old man yelling at a cloud, but Paramore makes me feel young again.
Also Recommended: Ariana Grande thank u, next (2019)

The Top 200 Albums of the 2010s (Part 15: 60-51)

60. Donnie Trumpet & the Social Experiment Surf (2015)
File Under: Hip Hop, Jazz

The one thing I’ve learned about Chance The Rapper over the past few years of his ascendent star power is that a little of Chance The Rapper goes a long way. All that goodie-two-shoes, edgeless, Kanye-cosigning evangilirap has an increasingly limited appeal. One pass through Colouring Book or The Big Day is enough to give you a throbbing toothache. Surf, an album by Chance’s band Donnie Trumpet & the Social Experiment (which includes Chance, but also Nico Segal, Peter “Cottontale” Wilkins, Nate Fox and Greg “Stix” Landfair Jr.), portions out the Chance exposure in far more manageable chunks. Instead of Chance the Star, we get Chance the Co-Star, a top billing performance in a decidedly ensemble piece. Make no mistake, the Chance we get on Surf is terrific, Chance in his peak form, but the way that Surf pivots the spotlight is truly its defining attribute. It’s still all sunshine and lollipops, but it’s far more interesting to hear that from seasoned hands like Busta Rhymes and Erykah Badu and riveting newcomers like Noname and Kyle (who crushes on standout “Wanna Be Cool” with such choice lines like “If a cool guy’s cool in the middle of the forest, man, nobody fucking cares”) than being hit over the head with the same perspective. Also, the name on the album belongs to Donnie Trumpet (who has since changed his moniker to just “Nico” because of dingus president reasons), which means the album is as much an instrumental enterprise as it is a lyrical one. While not quite the jazz-rap odyssey that the same year’s To Pimp A Butterfly was, Surf does a great job of further tempering the sugary sweetness of it all with extended musical interludes that, while not exactly thrilling, help create space on the album. This judicious use of resources allows the album to build up to “Sunday Candy,” Chance’s gooiest, sappiest exercise in hook overload. Too many “Sunday Candys” and the album, like the Chance albums to come, would collapse under the weight of its preciousness. Instead, “Sunday Candy” feels like a victory lap, a towering, warm-hearted culmination of goodwill to cap off an album that earns it.
Also Recommended: Chance The Rapper Acid Rap (2013)

The Top 200 Albums of the 2010s (Part 14: 70-61)

70. Miho Hazama Dancer In Nowhere (2019)
File Under: Jazz, Classical

Miho Hazama’s background includes formal training in both classical and jazz composition. On her third studio album, 2019’s dazzling Dancer In Nowhere, the Japanese-born composer explores the range of sound and ideas within these twin poles with meticulous precision and wide-eyed creativity. With her 13-piece ensemble (called”m_unit”), Hazama covers significant musical ground, ranging from big band, third stream, bebop, fusion and film scores that nod to Ennio Morricone and re-imagine John Williams. The result is an album of constant movement, both restless and methodical. Each band member is given a significant opportunity to flex. Individual and collective contributions emerge from the mix as if Hazama were casting an audio spotlight to give proper respect to the range of the songs and the talent of the players. Highlight “Somnambulant,” which earned Hazama the Charlie Parker Jazz Composition Prize in the 2015 BMI Jazz Workshop, is an especially astounding feat as Kavita Shah’s sings a somber melody that would fit snugly on the Once Upon A Time In The West soundtrack before the song settles into a lovely rhythm and sax meditation. The song twists and turns from there until Lionel Loueke enters with a guitar solo so righteous it’s as if Eddie Hazel’s mama died. The 10-minute song traverses through modes of musical expression, acting as a microcosm of the album as a whole. On Dancer In Nowhere, Hazama and her cohort embark on a journey of ideas and expression. The result is consistently dynamic and surprising, a major statement no matter the style. 
Also Recommended: Jaimie Branch Fly Or Die (2017)

The Top 200 Albums of the 2010s (Part 13: 80-71)

80. Miguel Kaleidoscope Dream (2012)
File Under: R&B

The 2010s saw R&B take a very deliberate step away from unchecked histrionics. The emergence of the likes of Moses Sumney, Solange Knowles and Frank Ocean, not to mention the return of D’Angelo, showed that there was an appetite for the kind of R&B performer who respected melody, who showed their capacity by staying within the lines and did more by moving around less. Upstart R&B/pop experimentalist Miguel is a fabulous vocalist, but on his breakthrough Kaleidoscope Dream, he keeps the wayout vocal flexes to an absolute minimum, putting greater spotlight on the songs themselves, which are all absolutely wonderful. Kaleidoscope Dream captures Miguel finding his voice as an artist, a far more important step than simply being a big voice. On his 2010 debut, All I Want Is You, Miguel showed tremendous promise but little confidence or vision. Kaleidoscope Dream feels like another thing entirely, laying down a foundation of psychedelic flourishes that adds personality and dimension to Miguel’s vision. Opener “Adorn” delivers a modern slow jam classic with more energy and life than anything I’ve ever heard from Frank Ocean (who emerged in tandem with Miguel). Elsewhere. “Don’t Look Back’s” robust build grinds to a halt to reinterpret the Zombies’ deathless “Time Of The Season” as a lusty vamp,  “Pussy Is Mine” – once again, very lusty – takes The-Dream’s ball and runs away with it, and “Do You…” playfully turns a simple guitar slink into a stunning, dance-ready bass run. Kaleidoscope Dream achieves all of its goals and artistic reaches at the highest level. It is a work of tremendous ambition that never warbles out of place and never loses its easy appeal.
Also Recommended: Miguel All I Want Is You (2010)

The Top 200 Albums of the 2010s (Part 12: 90-81)

90. Big K.R.I.T. 4eva Is A Mighty Long Time (2017)
File Under: Southern Rap

Ever since his 2010 breakthrough, K.R.I.T. Wuz Here, Big King Remembered In Time has been branded a Southern Conservative. Sorry, that should say Souther Rap Conservative – key difference there. Each subsequent Big K.R.I.T. release has been met with a collective shrug of “same old, same old.” Check the Pitchfork review of K.R.I.T’s most recent album K.R.I.T. Is Here, where the writer barely summons enough energy to roll out of bed and write “K.R.I.T. Iz Here captures K.R.I.T. the same as he always is: perfectly likable, admirably sincere, predictably dependable and dependably predictable” – oof. But reputation and reality don’t have to be the same thing. Case in point is K.R.I.T’s sprawling, dynamic 2017 double album 4eva Is A Mighty Long Time, an album that delivers comfort food and big surprises in equal measure. Split into two distinct sides, titled “Big K.R.I.T.” and “Justin Scott” respectively, 4eva cleverly distinguishes between K.R.I.T’s two primary aesthetic instincts. Trunk-rattling bangers define the “Big K.R.I.T.” side, with guest spots from T.I. and UGK tying K.R.I.T. to a rich tradition of Southern rhyme spitters. If this portion of 4eva lacks ingenuity, it’s because that’s not the m.o. Tracks like “Big Bank” and “Subenstein (My Sub IV)” are primarily focused on banging as inexplicably hard as possible. The “Big K.R.I.T.” side scratches an itch, but it’s on the lush and reflective “Justin Scott” side that the album upsets the order of K.R.I.T’s “predictable” reputation. Slathered with heaps of soul (“Everlasting”), gospel (“Keep The Devil Off”) and jazz (the Robert Glasper-assisted “The Light”), 4eva’s back half boasts a level of musical ambition on par with To Pimp A Butterfly. Big K.R.I.T. may still struggle to shake the dismissals of his music, but 4eva Is A Mighty Long Time doesn’t slink away so easily. It is a work of tremendous craft, care and ambition, and a hearty rejoinder to the very notion that K.R.I.T. only travels in the middle of the road.
Also Recommended: Big K.R.I.T. K.R.I.T. Wuz Here (2010)

The Top 200 Albums of the 2010s (Part 11: 100-91)

Since we’ve hit the halfway point, I wanted to pop in with a quick check-in. One, we’re a 100 albums in, so it’s too late for me to turn back now, even if there’s a sense of futility to it all. I’m terrible at self-promotion and I know that spilling thousands of words over a bunch of random albums isn’t exactly the peak of marketability, but I really do crave engagement. That said, I also know that this list basically only exists for my own desire to write it. People tend to scan lists and try to spot the albums they already know. I know because I do it too. We do not like people telling us what to like. All I hope is that you spot something new that catches your ear. I’m sure you already like s a few things on here, but if there are gaps, don’t be reluctant to fill them. The joy of discovery is better than the joy of confirmation.

We’re about to embark on the top half of the list. I don’t know if there’s a clear demarcation between the list’s bottom and top halves. I’d say we’re now entering the territory of the albums I would generally consider 9s, while the bottom half was largely comprised of 8s (the 10s kick in somewhere around the mid-to-low twenties). At this point, these are albums I’m a little less eager to “graduate” from. I generally want to stick with these a lot longer. I find there’s more to play with on the coming albums, something more satisfying and more rewarding. I hope you find the same as well.