Brandon Flowers - The Desired Effect

Of all the words you could use to describe him, you could never call Brandon Flowers complacent. In the wake of writing arguably the breakout debut album of the 2000s, this Mormon missionary turned rock and roll frontman could easily have coasted. The Killers' Hot Fuss made a tremendous splash when it came out, slinging enough sky-scraping pop hooks and 80s throwback synths to get on the radio, but still roaring with enough memorable guitar leads to get the classic rock crowd onboard. The band's glitzy sound and off-the-wall lyrics reflected the topsy turvy nature of Las Vegas—their hometown—providing listeners with precisely the type of escape they were looking for in the politically embattled, war-torn landscapes of 2004.

If Flowers had wanted to remain a radio darling, he could have stayed there, in the musical niche he carved out for himself on his first album. No one would have said no to another Hot Fuss, and while a refusal to change would have undoubtedly resulted in a trend of ever-diminishing returns (see Franz Ferdinand), it would have at least allowed The Killers to stay on the radio and make a living in music without ever really venturing out of their comfort zone.

"Fuck that," Flowers said.

At least that's a phrase I assume Brandon Flowers must have uttered to his bandmates at some point during the ramp up to 2006's Sam's Town. Instead of writing another Hot Fuss, he ran straight in the opposite direction, ditching the glam of his debut for an unabashed, shamelessly earnest heartland rock album. Critics savaged it and many fans hated it, but in those songs was displayed Brandon Flowers' unwillingness to conform, to settle, or to attempt to please, and that unwavering commitment to his own vision has defined every album that this polarizing, big-talking frontman has had a hand in since. The Killers may be a four-piece band, but there's never been any doubt about who was steering the ship.

All of that is what makes The Desired Effect, Flowers' second solo LP and his first in five years, so remarkable. For the first time ever, it feels like the 33-year-old rockstar is loosening his grip on the wheel and letting someone else take control. That "someone else" is producer Ariel Rechtshaid, whose resume includes albums by the likes of Vampire Weekend (Modern Vampires of the City), Haim (Days Are Gone), and even Valencia (We All Need a Reason to Believe). Where Flowers' 2010 disc, Flamingo, felt like a Killers album recorded without the rest of The Killers (thanks in part to obvious producer choices like Stuart Price, Daniel Lanois, and Brendan O'Brien), this one actually seems to embrace the fact that it is a solo record. Flowers has gone on record saying that Rechtshaid pushed him a lot in the studio, and you can hear that in the songs. Case in point is lead single "Can't Deny My Love," which is up there with "Mr. Brightside" as the biggest earworm Flowers has ever written. Boasting laser-blast synths, beat-heavy production, and the year's most sing-along worthy chorus, "Can't Deny My Love" is precisely what you would hope for from the team up of a mad scientist pop producer and the guy who wrote the best radio rock singles of the 2000s.

Throughout its fleet 10-song tracklist, The Desired Effect alternates between songs that could have been on Killers albums, and songs that wouldn't have been caught dead within 1,000 feet of Killers albums. Leadoff track "Dreams Come True" straddles the line between the two, kicking off with E Street horn blasts and shooting through a Gaslight Anthem-style chorus, but ultimately reaching its climax with a wordless refrain that borrows from world music styles like Paul Simon did on Graceland. Album highlight "Between Me and You" falls more in the Killers wheelhouse as well, and could legitimately have been a b-side from Battle Born. Lyrics like "All my life I've been told 'follow your dreams'/But the trail went cold," and "These hours I'm working ain't nearly enough/And chasing every dollar girl, is this what I was born to do?" reflect that album's themes of reaching for escapism and fighting for the American Dream. Half Tunnel of Love-era Springsteen, Half So-era Peter Gabriel, "Between Me and You" is a ballad with real stakes, and one of Flowers' best songs. Bruce Hornsby shows up on keyboard to lend an air of authenticity to the proceedings, while Rechtshaid takes the song to the next level, trading his normally bombastic production style for a more subdued arrangement, but still allowing certain moments (like the electric guitar accents on the bridge) to spark with thunderous intensity.

Elsewhere, though, Flowers defers more to Rechtshaid's wheelhouse style, which is big, unabashed throwback 80s pop. Many of these songs are nearly bursting at the seams with electronic instrumentation and production flourishes, their arrangements a perfect fit for a producer with a such a maximalist, go-for-broke style. Not that Flowers wouldn't have taken these roads without Rechtshaid in the co-pilot seat. On the contrary, when we last heard from Flowers—with "Shot at the Night" and "Just Another Girl," the two new songs included with The Killers' 2013 greatest hits package—Flowers was already exploring 80s pop styles, and here, he embraces that side of his sound wholeheartedly. "Untangled Love" plays like a lost cut from Born in the U.S.A., "Still Want You" is Bowie by way of Billy Joel, and "Lonely Town" operates in the same John Hughes movie universe that inspired M83's Saturdays=Youth.

M83's Anthony Gonzalez actually produced "Shot at the Night" from Direct Hits, and his style for writing and arranging songs has clearly rubbed off on Flowers here. "Lonely Town" is so jam-packed with thick synthesizers, electronic drumbeats, multi-tracked vocals, gospel choirs, and ambient production flourishes that it seems fit to burst. "Never Get You Right" is similarly big, with swirling electric guitars, out-of-the-blue string samples, and blissfully cheesy backup vocal lines. The mixing on these two tracks in particular (provided by longtime Killers collaborator Alan Moulder) is stunning, making use of right and left channel panning for exquisite atmospheric effect. With so much going on in these songs, they could easily have become overstuffed, but Moulder balances everything perfectly, creating a swell of sound that surrounds you with its hugeness, but doesn't lose clarity in the process. Suffice to say, this is a record that demands to be listened to on a pair of good headphones (though I can't imagine how most of these songs will be able to translate live).

Beyond the production values, what ultimately makes The Desired Effect a great album (and an improvement over Flamingo) is just how dynamic it is. Everything I've discussed so far—the horn-fueled Americana of "Dreams Come True," the rain-soaked Gabriel vibe of "Between Me and You," the maximalist 80s anthems worthy of a Passion Pit record—is a style that could have easily been expanded and explored on a full-album basis. Instead of just settling for one musical niche, though, Flowers hops styles on almost every track. "Diggin' up the Heart" is synth-fueled rockabilly; "Still Want You" recalls the steel-drum, Caribbean flavor of overlooked Day & Age highlight "I Can't Stay"; and "I Can Change" is ice-cold, Antarctic new wave, featuring a cameo from Pet Shop Boys' Neil Tennant on keyboard.

Not all of these left turns will resonate with every listener. I've already seen "Diggin' up the Heart" and "Still Want You" labeled as weak points, and that makes sense: they're where Flowers sounds least comfortable. But isn't that what solo albums or side projects should be? Chances for an artist to try out less familiar and more eccentric ideas that might get vetoed by their bandmates? In that case, The Desired Effect is an unqualified success, giving Brandon Flowers the opportunities at growth and change that he didn't really afford himself on Flamingo. As a result, this seems like an album that could covert many of Flowers' detractors, though there are still plenty of moments that will appeal to Killers fans.

Album closer "The Way it's Always Been," especially, is classic Flowers, playing like a less bombastic, more stripped down version of Battle Born's climactic title track. Flowers has expressed his desire to get back onto pop radio with The Desired Effect, and there's little doubt that one of these songs will get him there ("Can't Deny My Love" is fairly easily the year's best pop single.). But for four minutes on "The Way it's Always Been," he turns inward, exploring themes of God and spirituality, home, youth, and how things change (and stay the same) over time. "I took a long walk yesterday/To a field where I used to play," Flowers sings, on the heavily Beatles-influenced bridge. "I saw myself in the corner of my mind/I was 12 years old and blind/To the big wheel and the grind." It's a refreshingly personal conclusion to an album that often scans huge and universal, and it's the perfect encapsulation of who Flowers is (and has always been) as an artist: cocky and confident enough to strive for the biggest influences and comparisons, talented enough to pull them off, and so earnest in his lyrical approach and vocal delivery that he consistently reveals the human beneath the rock star façade. Or should I say pop star?

The Killers - Hot Fuss (10-Year Retrospective)

“I got soul, but I’m not a soldier,” Brandon Flowers proclaimed on “All These Things That I’ve Done,” the best song from what was arguably the finest collection of radio singles to hit the market during the aughts. That line remains iconic and sublime even a decade later, a cocky and charismatic battlecry from a singer who sounds much more like a rock star than he had any right to sound on his debut. The confidence may have stemmed from the quality of the song itself, a sprawling, Americana-flavored rocker that reminded radio listeners precisely how big and grandiose rock ‘n’ roll could really be. Or perhaps the cocksure attitude came from the rest of the record and the wall-to-wall hits that line its tracklist. Pop staples like “Mr. Brightside,” “Smile Like You Mean It,” and “Somebody Told Me” sounded larger-than-life on the radio, but on record, sequenced one after the other (with the searing drama of “Jenny Was a Friend of Mine” offering substantial introduction), they played like the Word of God...or at very least, the gospel according to some once-legendary 1980s hit machine.

The album’s harsher critics rightfully called it top-heavy, but what they didn’t realize was that the top-heavy nature of the record was part of the point. Cluster all the hit songs on side one and make damn sure they get heard: it was the same strategy employed by nearly every act The Killers cribbed moves from here, from Duran Duran to Journey to U2. And with the help of a few Oasis-esque guitar solos, a frontman with Jagger’s swagger and Springsteen’s conviction, and a handful of the biggest hooks anyone wrote all decade, The Killers wove those moves into an album that will long be remembered as one of the definitive classics of its era.

For me, Hot Fuss was one of the first pieces of the puzzle. Leading up to 2004, I’d been a casual music listener, making mix CDs of my favorite songs and buying the occasional new album, but not really absorbing new music in any big way. That changed in the spring of 2004, when I heard a song by Snow Patrol (“Run,” of course) on a TV show and immediately fell in love with it. It was my first real interaction with the idea that there was music out there beyond what was being played on the radio and beyond the artists I had always loved as a kid. (The fact that “Run” would eventually become a pretty sizable hit in its own right is irrelevant.) I bought the whole album on a whim, after which Amazon started spitting out recommendations for new albums from bands I’d never heard of: Wilco’s A Ghost is Born, Keane’s Hopes & Fears, Modest Mouse’s Good News for People Who Love Bad News, and last but not least, The Killers’ Hot Fuss.

At this point, Hot Fuss was probably a week or two old, and singles like “Mr. Brightside” and “Somebody Told Me” hadn’t started to permeate the airwaves yet. If they had, I would have been sold right away and bought the album like Amazon was telling me to, but being the broke 13-year-old I was (subsisting on birthday and Christmas money all year round), I wasn’t ready to make that kind of investment. So I hit the trusty old Limewire, searched "The Killers," and did what I would always do back then when I wanted to sample a new artist: I picked the song with the title I liked best. That just happened to be “All These Things That I’ve Done,” which I wasn’t sold on right away, but which I liked enough – primarily thanks to the explosive guitar sound – to put it on my summer mix CD. Over the season though, that tune grew on me, with Brandon Flowers’ infectious delivery and the sheer size and scope of the gospel-infused climax converting me into a fan of the band. A couple months later, after having the singles drummed into my head via radio, TV, and VH1’s Top 20 Video Countdown, I bought the disc for real. The rest, as they say, is history.

I remember thinking very early on – perhaps even on that first night of listening to the record, blaring it on my house’s stereo while I was home alone for the evening – that Hot Fuss was one of the most exciting and kinetic albums I’d ever heard. Here was a record that didn’t just open with a one-two punch; it blasted off with a one-two-three-four-five, a run of tremendous songs that still stands as one of the best side ones to any record ever. I could wax poetic for days about those five songs and how much I listened to them throughout that fall and winter. I could write an essay about the claustrophobic desperation ringing through Brandon Flowers’ voice in the murder narrative that is “Jenny Was a Friend of Mine”; I could talk about how Dave Keuning basically invented a guitar sound all his own with the inimitable roars that kickstart “Somebody Told Me”; I could certainly cite my favorite line from “Smile Like You Mean It” – “And someone will drive her around down the same streets that I did” – and discuss how it makes me feel possibly more nostalgic than any other lyric in any other song I’ve ever heard.

Of course, though, by the nature of how these things work, the song I’m going to talk most about is the one that everyone knows: “Mr. Brightside.” Ask me to name the best pop single of the 2000s, and nine times out of 10, I would pick “Brightside.” That may seem odd, since I’ve already acknowledged another single, “All These Things,” as my favorite song on the album. However, while “All These Things” is indeed the better song, “Mr. Brightside” is unquestionably the better pop song, and that fact has made all the difference in turning it into one of the most unforgettable radio singles of the millennium so far (just ask the voters from last summer’s Grantland poll). “Brightside” owes its poppiness to a guitar riff and a chorus hook, both of which are, to their credit, sinfully catchy, but which are also standard issue elements in radio singles; in other words, they’re not what sets this song apart from the crowd. But what does make “Brightside” different? Why is this song getting the chance to go up against “Hey Ya!” in a poll for “best song of the millennium” while other, more critically admired choices are playing second fiddle?

The answer to that question isn’t necessarily easy to determine, though there are numerous possible explanations. One could be the production and the arrangement, which build a positively massive swell of sound from high-hat drumming, booming bass, walls of synthesizers, and more of Keuning’s roaring guitar. I’m personally fascinated by what Flowers does on the song, contriving one of our generation’s biggest earworm hooks from what is essentially a one-note verse melody (and a chorus that isn’t much more dynamic). Whenever I sing the song or sit down to play it on guitar, it beguiles me just how simple the melody really is. Flowers would change his vocal style around on future albums (much to the chagrin of the critical community), trading his indie-ready baritone for a full-bodied arena rock tenor, but here, he was still finding his voice, and that much shows on a song like “Mr. Brightside.”

I’ve been nothing but vocal about my continuing love for The Killers over the years – I gave their last album, 2012’s Battle Born, a more positive review than anyone else on the Internet – but I’ll be the first to point out that “Mr. Brightside” is a song that the modern version of The Killers would never be able to write. The band would try to make it bigger and more Springsteenian in scope, and Flowers would surely find a way to rewrite the melody into something with a more dynamic vocal range. Both changes would tear away what is appealing about the song, which is the unassuming grandeur of it all. “Brightside” is big and memorable, of course, but not in the way that something like “When You Were Young” is big and memorable. That song, the first single from The Killers’ underrated 2006 sophomore effort, Sam’s Town, was Bombastic with a capital “B.” It was the sound of a band trying to sound huge and getting there through sheer force of will.

But “Mr. Brightside” was never meant to fill arenas. Instead, it played as a hybrid between scuzzy 2000s indie rock (the Strokes, Interpol, Bloc Party, etc.) and 1980s new wave – a combination that a lot of people loved. In fact, the sound The Killers concocted on “Mr. Brightside,” and on Hot Fuss in general, is something that people still associate with the band. So many listeners look back at this album and say things like “I wish they would go back to their original sound” or “I wish they would make another album like Hot Fuss.” The funny thing is that, of the four records the band has released, the latter three all sound more or less uniform, while Hot Fuss stands apart, both stylistically and sonically, as a distinctly different work. In that sense, this record and its 80s centric style was actually the fluke or the curveball in the band’s discography, with the heartland rock sound of the next three albums standing more as their central wheelhouse. It’s an interesting thought that makes the massive nature of “Mr. Brightside” seem that much more accidental, like all the elements just lined up to turn it into a hit that people would still be singing along with 10 years later. In other words, the limitations and overall inexperience of the band, as well as the fact that they didn’t know what kind of music they wanted to make yet, were the factors that allowed the song to become a cultural stalwart.

The other reason that “Brightside” works so well, though, is that Flowers just goes for it. No freshman frontman, with the possible exception of Arcade Fire’s Win Butler, committed so devoutly to a song in 2004. And it takes commitment to sell the lyrics to “Brightside,” which are simultaneously cocky and vulnerable. The entire lyrical feel of the song is warped, told from the point of view of a potentially unreliable narrator (not to mention total basket case) who is losing his mind as his lover cheats on him with another man. Or maybe she’s not cheating, and it really is all in his head. Who knows? Trying to follow the song’s flow as a cohesive narrative is an exercise in futility, as Flowers jumps from one image to the next in quick succession, even if that succession may not actually be accurate or chronological. His vocal deliver crackles with nervous energy and sweaty, exhausted emotion. He’s the guy flipping out as his imagination gets the best of him, the guy who could easily turn into the killer (pun intended) that we met in “Jenny Was a Friend of Mine” (though these two songs are not, supposedly, connected). By the time we get to the end of the song, repeated histrionic wails of the words “I never,” it’s wrapped us so thoroughly in its web that we have no recourse but to hit repeat. And maybe that’s the ultimate secret to the appeal and durability of the song: it captivates and mesmerizes because, unlike many other pop songs, it’s not immediately easy to parse.

“Mr. Brightside” is the life preserver that has allowed Hot Fuss to reach classic status just 10 years after its release, but the rest of the album is far from throwaway. Many people would tell you that Hot Fuss is nothing after its first five tracks, that it’s a hugely promising debut that falls flat after its dynamite opening and gets mired in songs that are dull and unmemorable. But while the album is inarguably top heavy, such descriptions don’t pay due respect to the other charms at play here, like the Vegas-meets-U2 swirl of “Believe Me Natalie,” or the neon-light euphoria of “On Top.” The stalkerish “Andy You’re a Star” plays with homosexual themes in a similar fashion to what another 80s throwback band, Franz Ferdinand, did the same year with a song called “Michael,” while “Midnight Show” (not “Mr. Brightside”) has been cited as the narrative companion piece to “Jenny Was a Friend of Mine.” The bright and breezy “Change Your Mind” has largely been ignored and forgotten in the band’s catalog, but beyond the big hits, it would have been this record’s next obvious bid for a single. And closer “Everything Will Be Alright” tranquilizes the band’s sound for a dreary slow dance of a closer - the weakest moment of the record, but a fitting conclusion nonetheless.

Looking back over the past decade and recalling how many times I’ve listened to Hot Fuss, how many different memories it carries, it’s difficult to believe that the album is already 10 years old. I remember the day I bought this record; I remember seeing music video premieres for its songs; I remember hearing “Mr. Brightside” on the radio during a 2004 New Year’s Eve countdown of the year’s biggest hits. I remember so many things about 2004, about how this record was, as I said earlier, one of "the first pieces of the puzzle" (along with Butch Walker’s Letters, Jimmy Eat World’s Futures, Green Day’s American Idiot, Keane’s Hopes & Fears, and a few others) that turned me into the obsessive music fan I am today. I can’t believe all of that is 10 years gone. I can’t believe I was 13 or 14 when I first heard those records, and how now, I’m 23 and five weeks away from getting married. I can’t believe how quickly time passes. And I can’t believe how it seems like just yesterday that I was buying Hot Fuss from the local Wal-Mart, but how really, everything big in my life has happened since that day. But of all the things that I truly can’t believe, there’s one realization that I don’t have any difficulty with, and it’s that all of those records are still essentials to me, still get frequent play, and still hold spots in my all-time top 50. Frankly, it may not be fashionable to love records like Hot Fuss these days, but I love them all the same – hits and duds, popularity and backlash, and everything in between.

Johnny Mainstream - Ghost Broadway

Johnny Mainstream - Ghost Broadway

Self-Released, 2013
7.0/10

There’s a beautiful moment on “Stage,” the first (and arguably, best) track from Johnny Mainstream’s sophomore album—entitled Ghost Broadway—where the voices of band members Matthew Maynes and Laura Sabourin begin to trade off on the melodic line. Neither voice is perfect—Maynes sounds like Conor Oberst’s long-lost cousin, and Sabourin’s instrument radiates with quivers and shakes, occasionally even wandering off key—but when the two join together on this song, it just works. “Stage” burns with restrained longing, buoyed along by folky instrumentation, propped up by an atmospheric electric guitar line—one that feels culled directly from the Gaslight Anthem’s first record—and structured around its vocalists in a way that, for whatever reason, recalls that ‘90s radio hit you forgot existed.

And that’s pretty much the game Johnny Mainstream play throughout. Like so many bands we’ve seen lately, these guys work the throwback angle for all its worth. We get classic heartland rock--by way of Brian Fallon or Brandon Flowers, Americana flourishes--by way of I’m Wide Awake, it’s Morning, and enough booze-fueled confessionals to make The Hold Steady proud. First single, “Whiskey for Dinner,” is a propulsive, sing-along rocker, loaded with gang vocals and communal sensibility (again, Sink or Swim comes to mind), while the rollicking title track features a slinky bass-line, a classic piano reverie, a martial drum-beat build, and a charismatic, glam-rock-ready vocal from Maynes. These are songs that feel innately familiar from first listen, but not in a way that strikes as bland or derivative—even though derivative might be a perfectly justified descriptor for Johnny Mainstream’s music. No, at its best moments, Ghost Broadway strikes the balance between new and old, between nostalgic and refreshing, and those moments probably have the capability to land on more than a few playlists for people around this website.

The sound doesn’t always hit home though. Maynes’ voice is too limited to give the band a lot of sonic territory to work with, and the record’s 13-song, hour-long runtime means it probably overstays its welcome a bit. The middle section run of “No Noise,” “Cheap Guitars,” and “Pot of Gold,” in particular, never seems to go anywhere—a shame after the disc's strong opening. That trio also seems to represent a dividing line of sorts for the record, opening up a more subdued, acoustic-based second half. “dc” is a lovely, road-weary piece of balladry (and “You grabbed my arm and told me the stars were just headstones for the Gods” is probably the album’s best line), while “Whiteboard” apes the chord progression and feel of Neutral Milk Hotel’s “In the Aeroplane Over the Sea” for another satisfying duet between Maynes and Sabourin. Meanwhile, should-be closer “Team Electric” is an ambitious, four-part suite that takes cues from both Green Day’s American Idiot and Titus Andronicus’s The Monitor, and "Scarecrow" is another slow-burning highlight, with a grungy electric guitar line the gives it welcome momentum through its six minute cycle.

Ghost Broadway isn’t quite a great album on its own, but there are so many indicators here that Johnny Mainstream is capable of greatness that I’m almost willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. Sure, the album is too long. And it gets a bit repetitious in the middle. And the sequencing could probably have used a few change-ups. And the production, as great as it sounds throughout, loses a few points in te last minute for dropping the organ swells and harmonica lines in the actual closer (“Northern Terminus”) to a level in the mix that sort of truncates the song’s epic build. But there are moments throughout this record—a striking piece of imagery here, an electric guitar line there, a great chorus on one song, or a nostalgically resplendent atmosphere on the next—that really make it feel as if this band has something special to bring to the table. Give it a shot.

The Killers - Battle Born

The Killers - Battle Born

Island Records, 2012

4.5 stars

Brandon Flowers is a machine. Since The Killers’ debut LP Hot Fuss exploded back in 2004, he’s released a new album every two years like clockwork, always in the fall, and always preceded by an anthemic lead-off single. It’s worked well: the first two are modern classics, Hot Fuss a pristine example of what radio-rock should sound like and Sam’s Town a stunning work of Springsteen-esque heartland rock and towering hubris. Things got a little more confusing on album number three, 2008’s Day & Age, which tried to blend the Vegas-centered new wave of Fuss with the arena-sweep of its follow-up, to mixed results. Looking back, Day & Age was nowhere near the disaster that many listeners made it out to be, but it was unquestionably the weakest album Flowers and company had put out. Even worse, its scatterbrained musical styling and bizarre left-turns suggested that either the band was getting restless with their image, exhausted from the nonstop, marathon schedule they had been operating on since they stumbled upon fame, or just running out of ideas. Most of them needed a break, but Flowers kept on trucking: he made a masterful solo album called Flamingo in 2010, a record that went back to the Vegas roots of the first album and maintained the epic scope of Sam’s Town, but drenched them both in Americana textures.

For those of us who wondered what Flamingo would have sounded like with the full force of The Killers behind it, the question is ostensibly answered with Battle Born. Largely, the songs here have the same wandering, soul-searching tendencies that developed on Flowers’ last two albums, but the style is refined. Take the meandering “Heart of a Girl,” which channels The Velvet Underground with a bass-heavy opening, ringing keys at the break, and Flowers’ best Lou Reed impression. “A Matter of Time” kicks off as a retread of Flamingo’s “Jilted Lovers and Broken Hearts” before exploding into a cinematic rocker that could easily have been on Sam’s Town. “When we first met, headstrong and filled with doubt/Made just enough hustling tables that summer to take you out/I was fallin’ back on forever when you told me about your heart/You laid it on the line,” Flowers belts out halfway through. It’s a song rife with the euphoria of first love, but it’s also a shape-shifter, and as the tension builds throughout, we feel the relationship evaporate before our eyes. By the time Flowers reaches the “wreckage of broken dreams and burned out halos” waiting for him in the final lines, everything has changed.

Thematic connections begin to form between the songs on Battle Born as one delves further into them. The rousing “Miss Atomic Bomb” reflects on the naivety of the characters in “A Matter of Time” (“You were standing with your girlfriends in the street/Fallin’ back on forever, I wonder what you came to be,” Flowers sings at the outset), but also plays as a sequel (or rather, prequel) of sorts to “Mr. Brightside.” “I was new in town, the boy with the eager eyes,” he states in the first verse, calling back to the hit that made him a rock star. We already know that the girl in the story ends up cheating, but “Miss Atomic Bomb” examines the narrative on a more personal and nostalgic level. The song builds to a multi-tracked vocal climax, Flowers baring his soul in a maze of anguish accentuated perfectly by the song’s tumultuous and bombastic musical structure. It’s the closest the band has come to the sound and feel of Hot Fuss in years, and for many, that will be the biggest selling point of Battle Born. The same can be said for the synthy 80s pop of “Deadlines and Commitments,” a dark spiral of song which serves as the perfect bridge between the album’s two thematic pillars, or “The Rising Tide,” which gives Dave Keuning a roaring and disorienting solo: this is the band people fell in love with eight years ago.

But while musical and thematic elements from both Hot Fuss and Flamingo are revisited here, Bruce Springsteen is clearly still Flowers’ go-to musical influence. He’s all over these songs, whether we’re talking about the two aforementioned narratives of young love or the skyscraping lead single “Runaways.” Perhaps it’s not so surprising for a band that has made their name on larger-than-life chart toppers, but “Runaways” is arguably the best song you will hear on the radio airwaves this year. This is the “When We Were Young,” the “Read My Mind”; in Boss terms, the lyricism falls someone between “Born to Run” (“Let’s take a chance baby we can’t lose”) and “The River” (“There's a picture of us on our wedding day/I recognize the girl but I can't settle in these walls”), but the ultimate impact is universal either way. Once the explosive third verse crackles through the speakers, all influences and preconceptions are rendered moot by the overwhelming power of the Herculean arrangement; a lot of bands attempt the arena-sized anthem, but almost nobody does them better than this.

Speaking of arena-filling choruses, album-highlight “Here With Me” has a mammoth one. It’s a shameless 80s-style power ballad, more reminiscent of Journey or Foreigner than Springsteen or U2, but Flowers pulls it off. Piano chords and reverb-drenched vocals serve as the commencement, a fitting kick-off for a tune that builds into a modern-day cigarette lighter love song. “I don’t want your picture on my cell phone/I want you here with me,” Flowers proclaims on the chorus, wearing the potentially hokey line proudly and somehow transforming it into a transcendent battle cry. That’s the thing about Flowers: for all of his egotistical remarks and conflict-inciting interactions with other bands, you never doubt his conviction. He has the voice, the charisma, and the searing emotional audacity to give an epic classic rock record (which is essentially what Battle Born builds into) its gravitational pull, and while the contributions from his band are very obviously instrumental here, it’s his heart-and-soul dedication to these songs that ultimately makes them work.

It’s fitting that Battle Born closes with its title track. From the resounding guitar hits (culled directly from The Who's “Baba O'Riley”) to the “Bohemian Rhapsody”-flavored back-up vocals, all the way to a verse that apes Woodie Guthrie’s “The Land is Your Land,” “Battle Born” is one hell of a climax. When the song finally shatters into a gospel-flavored coda, a minute and a half from its conclusion, it’s hard for me not to think of Battle Born as the greatest record these guys have ever made. Its certainly the most cohesive – an album about the euphoric innocence and the crushing heartbreak of young love, an album about the inequities of the American dream, but also one that, like Springsteen’s best, finds hope within the darkness in the end. Battle Born is the kind of rock ‘n’ roll record that almost nobody makes anymore: it’s bombastic and excessive and oversized, but it’s also a grand and universal statement, a master class of album structure and sequencing, and a culmination of everything Brandon Flowers and The Killers have done up to this point. There will always be detractors, but to me, The Killers are the best band in the mainstream right now, and this record deserves to be celebrated. Just make sure you play it loud.

A Look Back: The Best Music of 2010

2010 was one of the best years of my life. I fell in love, stumbled upon the greatest summer job that I could ever have asked for, and was graced by more unforgettable moments than I could ever fit into the space of this (already lengthy) blog post. As far as music was concerned, I think 2010 was a good year, if not a great one. I spent much of the summer listening to playlists, mixtapes, or older music (the back catalog of number-one-slot-winner Chad Perrone, which includes a few stellar records with his former band Averi, pretty much dominated the first few months), and that meant that, while there were many brilliant life moments for me in 2010, many of them were not actually accompanied by albums on this list. Still, what 2010 lacked in emotional connections, it made up for in pure eclecticism. The slate of records below is the most versatile and illustrious I have ever recorded as my personal favorites: the top ten alone ranges from a complete unknown independent singer/songwriter to the solo record from one of music's most recognizable frontmen, from emo/alternative legends to indie rock superstars, and from a platinum selling pop-country songstress to hip-hop's most flawed and fascinating figure. In other areas, the music that I listened to the most represented a full-bodied enthrallment into the career and work of Bruce Springsteen (who himself re-issued 1978's Darkness on the Edge of Town, with a slew of b-sides), and this list boasts more Boss-indebted acts that I ever again expect to see in a single year. Looking back, there were albums that lost ground, albums that gained it, and records (the top three) that remained as important to me as I expected they would.

1. Chad Perrone - Release

I’ve spent the better part of the past decade looking for music that connects to me in a personal way, music that appeals to my heart first and foremost. It’s obvious that all of my favorite albums are made up of great songs (in my opinion, anyway), but they’ve also played as soundtrack for some pretty unforgettable times of my life, whether they were personal crises or simply the trials of growing up and trying to figure out who I wanted to be. Two summers ago, just as I was falling in love for the first time, this record came into my life. When I had to go back to school and was forced to do the long distance relationship thing (and to work a job I hated during a semester where everything I’d loved about college the year before seemed to evaporate into thin air), this record hit me like a ton of bricks. Perrone sings about getting older, about moving on from things that once meant the world to us, whether they be places or relationships. He sings about love found, lost, broken and unrequited, and he sings about the pain of separation, and all of those things felt comforting to me. When I heard his desperation on “Under Different Circumstances,” it was like I’d written the song myself about my own experiences: I can still feel every single word he belts out in that song, after hundreds of plays. And “Here For Good,” where he writes about his hometown and his friends who he’s had to say goodbye to, that song collided with me in a year where my best friend in the world packed up and moved to New York, where my hometown started to slip away, and where high school seemed no more than a distant memory. As I drove towards Kalamazoo at the end of that summer, it was this record I listened to, and it cut to the core of me. I was driving towards the place that was supposed to be teaching me what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, but I was driving away from the person who I knew I wanted to spend it with with. By the time the heartbreaking “So This Is How It Ends” hit, I was in tears, drowning in uncertainty, despair, and love: every time I listen to this record, that whirlwind of emotions captures me again, somewhere between the tremendous hooks, the heart-on-your-sleeve lyrical content, and Perrone’s unparalleled vocal prowess, and I can’t help but get choked up.

Key Tracks: “Under Different Circumstances,” “The Walking Dead,” “Anything or Anyone”

2. Jimmy Eat World - Invented

It’s still hard for me to separate Invented from the ridiculous anticipation I laid upon it leading up to its release. Jimmy Eat World, perhaps even more than Butch Walker, is a band that I have an idealistic approach to. My most definitive times listening to them undoubtedly came with Futures, a record that changed my life (and some ways, saved it), and every time a new JEW record comes along, I have hopes that it will make me feel the same way I did in the fall of 2004. Invented was the closest they’ve come. It was hyped by some as Futures Part II, and so of course, I had a picture of it in my head that the real thing couldn’t possibly match. I wanted it to be the soundtrack of my life, I wanted it to top Futures, I wanted it to be the record that would skyrocket into my all time top five and the one I’d want to feel again, years after the fact. Invented wasn’t that album, but it was still a damn good one, full of great songs that draw comparisons to every era of the band’s career, and despite the fact that I never had the kind of vast personal connection to it that I formed with Futures, it’s still a record I could listen to on any day and be impressed by. After all, have guitars ever sounded as big as they do on “Evidence”? Has Jim ever been as innovative lyrically as he is on songs like “Cut,” where he sings from a female point of view? And does the one-two punch of “Invented” and “Mixtape” not stand in line with the band’s tradition of closing albums out in epic fashion? All told, this is a truly spectacular album, probably their most consistent to date, and the fact that it doesn’t quite live up to their best work says more about the immense love I have for the band than it does for any weakness in their latter day music.

Key tracks: "Heart is Hard to Find," "Invented," "Mixtape"

3. Butch Walker - I Liked It Better When You Had No Heart

Butch Walker has been my mainstay favorite artist ever since I first heard his 2004 masterpiece Letters, and anytime an album of his turns up, it’s a guaranteed album of the year contender. Since the power-pop infused break-up songs that fueled Letters, Butch has adopted Bowie-esque glam-rock (The Rise & Fall...) and plentiful folk and classic rock influences (2008’s fantastic Sycamore Meadows). In 2010, he made this record, which I now regard as probably his weakest full-length: it still landed in my number three slot. Butch, traditionally a solo writer, turns to his bandmates in The Black Widows (think Tom Petty’s Heartbreakers or Elvis Costello’s Attractions) for inspiration and musical ideas, and the resulting set of songs is both loaded with his fingerprints and strikingly different than anything else he’s done before. The folk influences hang around center stage here, with Butch taking his newly minted backing band into the realms of alt-country (album highlight “Don’t You Think Someone Should Take You Home,” “Canadian Ten”), country-rock rave ups (“She Likes Hair Bands”), and acoustic lullabies (“Be Good Until Then”).  He references Johnny Cash on the raucous “Days/Months/Years,” brings a requisite amount of twang into the near-anthemic opener “Trash Day,” and even did a tongue-in-cheek cover of Taylor Swift’s “You Belong With Me” as a one-off iTunes single around the time this record hit the streets (a “joke” that actually got him – and his banjolin arrangement of the song – on TV with Swift herself during the 2010 Grammy Broadcast). But while his respect for the Nashville-scene runs deep, Walker has never been a single-style kind of guy, and he fills in the corners here with gorgeous splashes of Beatles pop (“Pretty Melody,” “House of Cards”) and stunning explosions of vocal harmony (“Stripped Down Version”) that almost make me want to forget that Butch has made better albums.

Key Tracks: “Don’t You Think Someone Should Take You Home,” “She Likes Hair Bands,” “Days/Months/Years”

4. The Gaslight Anthem - American Slang

After the brilliance of 2008’s The ’59 Sound, it took me a long time to truly appreciate the greatness of American Slang. I can still remember the day it leaked, over a month and a half ahead of it’s June release date, and coinciding perfectly with the final week or two of my freshman year of college. By all means, the themes of youth, fading and lost, should have fit perfectly with my mindset at the time, but as many times as I listened (and I played the album a solid dozen times, front-to-back, on that first day), I couldn’t find the same musical allure that ’59 had; I couldn’t find the desperation that had made “The Backseat” such an indelible closer; and I missed the Springsteen references, the constant worship of one of my all-time musical heroes. I wrote the record off, filed it off as disappointing, as repetitive and a bit boring, and put it away, robbing my summer months of what could have been a truly transcendent soundtrack. Months later, as December descended upon my and I struggled to come up with the initial version of this very list, American Slang came back to me. And for whatever reason, what many had declared a summer album for the ages only clicked with me as I drove through my snow-covered hometown, letting the tremendous guitar hooks of songs like “Orphans” and “Old Haunts” wash over me, glancing out across the ice-covered bay as I drove home with the melancholic strains of “We Did it When We Were Young” serving as soundtrack, or realizing, for the first time, how great it sounded to hear Brian Fallon adopt classic soul and Motown influences like he once adopted the E Street Band (“Bring it On”). Now, two years later, I can put on American Slang for a summer road trip, feel the title track’s hook and guitar lick pour out of my speakers, and know what people meant when they were writing about this record back around release time. That said, this summer album will always hit me the hardest in the winter, when it can really take me back to those days and nights where I first fell in love with it.

Key Tracks: “We Did it When We Were Young,” “American Slang,” “The Queen of Lower Chelsea” 

5. Brandon Flowers - Flamingo

The Killers needed a break after 2008, the year where Day & Age, their third record, inspired everything from viciously hostile critical assessments to a Rolling Stone Readers Poll which named it that best album of the year. My opinion on the album was somewhere in between those two extremes: I was disappointed, but not horribly so. I thought the album was high on style and low on compelling musical ideas, but that it still had some great songs. The band tried to blend the Springsteen-inspired heartland rock of Sam's Town with the synth-heavy, Vegas-centered pop that made Hot Fuss such a smash, but the combination was awkward. They were trying to please everyone, trying to do damage control on frontman Brandon Flowers’ hubristic claim that Sam’s Town would be "one of the greatest records of the last 20 years," and attempting to atone for all of the "sins" that Rolling Stone had cited in their 2.5 star review for that same record. The problem was that the band, Flowers at least, didn’t want to just go back to the successful formula of Hot Fuss: Flowers wanted to explore the Springsteen influence further, and that showed through in the fact that Day & Age’s finest moments (“A Dustland Fairytale,” “This is Your Life”) were essentially an evolution of the Sam’s Town sound. So when his band decided to take their long deserved break, Flowers turned around and made a solo album that is, among other things, his most consistent and concise work to date. There are certainly big moments here, moments like “Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas” and “Crossfire,” where the sound of Dave Keuning’s roaring guitar might have elevated the proceedings even higher. But more often, Flowers veers towards songs that would not have quite worked within the confines of his band, whether he’s re-writing Springsteen’s mournful “Point Blank” (on “Playing With Fire”), spinning subtle yet epic slowburners (“On the Floor”), or bringing in Rilo Kiley’s Jenny Lewis for an effortlessly gorgeous duet (“Hard Enough”).

Key Tracks: “Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas,” “Hard Enough,” “On the Floor” 

6. Cary Brothers - Under Control

When I finally discovered Cary Brothers’ 2007 LP Who You Are in the summer if 2009, it immediately skyrocketed into the upper echelons of my all-time favorite albums list. The songs had a vulnerable and yet powerful atmosphere about them, and they resonated with me so perfectly at the time that, for a few weeks, I listened to nothing else. That set of songs came along a week or so before my family had to put my first dog to sleep: those who have never truly loved a pet will view that statement as trivial, but for me, it was the first experience I'd really had with death. Her name was Jessie, and she'd been there for over 14 years of my life. Needless to say, since that was the summer following my high school graduation, I'd grown up with her. Back when I was a boy, my parents used to joke that Jessie was my "nanny," but she was really just a good friend, a constant companion that I could always count on being there, waiting for me when I got up in the morning or home from school every afternoon. The loss was devastating for me, and the delicate beauty of Who We Are became instrumental in getting me through the grief and onto the next chapter of my life - few albums have ever had a more personal place in my heart. The follow-up is nearly as good, and makes a case for Brothers as one of the best singer-songwriters in the game today. Opener “Ghost Town” rests in an unsettling ambiance of synths and pianos (befitting its title) before launching into a massive chorus, while “Belong,” with its crashing piano chords and an epic, chilling vocal build, positions itself as a unique and deeply expressive love song. “Someday” rests in the same new wavy vein that made “The Last One” such an irresistible number off this album’s predecessor, “Break off the Bow” shows that Brothers can write a hook as well as anyone, and album closer “Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You” is a haunting acoustic number that makes me want to hit play all over again, every time through. And always, Brothers writes with an honest and entirely palpable emotional strength, giving us songs that sound so autobiographical, so perfectly cinematic, that it feels like they could have soundtracked moments of our lives, even if those moments have already passed.

Key Tracks: “Ghost Town,” “Belong,” “Someday”

7. Taylor Swift - Speak Now

It only took a few short years for Taylor Swift to rise from heartbroken teenager to one of pop music’s most bankable icons. She made the transition on her girl-next-door demeanor, the strongly relatable aspect of her lyrics, and a knack for delivering an infectious mix of pop hooks and country twang that made her a crossover sensation waiting to happen. Swift didn’t escape the voyage unscathed though, battling through cruel encounters (the Kanye West VMA debacle), critical lambasting (comments concerning her performance at the 2010 Grammy Awards, where she also took the top prize), and premature tabloid relationships (an especially doomed fling with John Mayer), all of which threatened to tarnish her spotless, innocent reputation and image. All of those things and more serve as songwriting fuel on Swift’s third full-length, the aptly titled Speak Now, which notched over a million album sales in its first week back in 2010. And while countless music snobs would write Swift off as a bubblegum commercial princess, to do so would ignore the fact that Speak Now is a traditional country music record masquerading as a pop music flagship. The band sounds explosive and organic, the arrangements overflowing and blissful, and the vocal harmonies ring with life. It doesn’t hurt that the songs are incredibly well-executed, or that Taylor, who wrote every word and every indelible hook on the record, sounds more mature, forceful, charismatic, and emotionally centered than ever before. The result is one of the finest pop albums in recent memory, a record that is served equally well by rootsy twang (“Mine” and “Mean”), dance-floor rundowns (“The Story of Us”), rock ‘n’ roll kiss-offs (“Better Than Revenge”), emotional acoustic breakdowns (“Last Kiss”), pure school-girl pop songs ("Sparks Fly"), or pitch-perfect anthems (“Long Live”). Liking Taylor Swift may not be cool, but when the albums sound this good, who the hell even gives a shit?

Key Tracks: “Dear John,” “Last Kiss,” “Long Live” 

8. Kanye West - My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy

Speaking of Mr. West, My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy earned rave reviews last year upon its release, along with perfect scores aplenty and album of the year titles across the board. It didn’t get those things because it was a perfect record: there are flaws here, as in any album, and if you look hard enough, you will find them, but you’d be missing the point. Fantasy earned such acclaim because it is a hip hop album for people who both love and hate hip hop, a rap record for people who have never enjoyed more than a few songs in the genre (like myself), and a pop album for an era where the label of “pop music” has been so utterly defaced and slandered that we’ve almost forgotten what it means. It’s all delivered by an artist who’s more of textbook rock star than just about anyone making music today, a guy who combines massive melodic hooks (“Dark Fantasy,” “All of the Lights”), indubitable flow and towering hubris (“Power”), and deeply humanized self-reflection (“Runaway”) to form a sound that nobody can touch. So while I wouldn’t call My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy perfect, it remains a record that defies criticism, one so universally appealing and so easily likable (in complete contrast to it’s creator, a complicated and flawed, but insanely talented individual) that it’s damn near impossible to stop listening to it once you’ve started. 

Key Tracks: "Power," "Runaway," "Lost in the World"

9. Arcade Fire - The Suburbs

The Arcade Fire have always had a taste for the grandiose and the dramatic: how could they not after coming out of the gate with 2004’s Funeral, a loose concept record about life, death, community, and healing that stands as one of the greatest albums in modern music? It also spawned some of the best songs, like the infectious “Rebellion (Lies)” or, especially, the rousing, tearful “Wake Up,” with its expansive “whoa oh” melody and Win Butler’s massively emotional vocal delivery.  The band never quite reach those heights on their third full-length, but they put the same qualities to work elsewhere, constructing a record that aims to be a document of what it is to live, love, and work in the modern middle class. They do it fairly effortlessly throughout, melding Springsteenian lyrical themes with musical ideas that land somewhere between U2-sized stadium-sweep (“City With No Children”) and sunsoaked, California folk (“Wasted Hours,” “Deep Blue”). Themes coalesce on “Suburban War,” the album centerpiece where the tension in the narrative’s love story reaches a breaking point. “Choose your side, I’ll choose my side” Butler sings, as the song reaches its cinematic climax, a battle of instrumental ambition that ranks as one of the most musically striking moments of the year. That same tension returns as the album climbs towards its grand finale on the two-parter that is “Sprawl.” The tracks play out as a conversation between lovers, pitting Butler (“Sprawl I (Flatland)”) against wife and co-vocalist Régine Chassagne in “Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains” as the two come to terms with their struggle. The former piece is a haunting acoustic number, almost harrowing in its grim atmosphere, the latter a disco-charged rave-up, reminiscent of the Bee Gees and Blondie in sound, but aligning more with Springsteen in words. The two singers both come to the same conclusion, that the boundless hope and opportunity of youth is gone, replaced by responsibility, bills to pay, stagnant suburban life, and dreams dead or dying. It plays like a Darkness on the Edge of Town or The River for a new generation, and although Funeral might be the better record, this one is arguably just as resonant. The fact that it picked up a surprise Album of the Year win at the 2011 Grammy Awards was just the cherry on top.

Key Tracks: "City With No Children," "Suburban War," "Sprawl II"

10. Valencia - Dancing With A Ghost

Shane Henderson has always been an immensely personal and visceral songwriter, from the shattering eulogy for a lost love that he delivered on When the Flowers Bloom (with side-project The Promise of Redemption) to the sadly nostalgic summertime hooks he was slinging on Valencia’s sophomore album, We All Need a Reason to Believe. Dancing With A Ghost may not be his best work to date, but it’s hard to find faults in this slick, short and sweet collection of songs that ranked as the best pop-punk album of 2010. Of course, we still get the bouncy, catchy pop-punk tunes that wouldn't have been out of place in some nostalgic teen movie ("Days Go By," "The Way"), but it's Henderson's shots at maturity that really resonate. The band shifts from Springsteenian-sized sweep (the title track) to rapidfire punk-rock ("Stop Searching"), hitting upon gorgeously executed power pop ("Spinning Out") and massive arena-ready anthems ("Losing Sleep") along the way. The latter, recorded at the end of a long studio session, rings the truest, with Henderson shredding what's left of his voice in one of his most powerful performances to date: "So if you checked the weather report, then why the fuck are we driving north?/You know we're headed into the storm to finish what we started," he sings: it's hard not to belt along with him.

Key Tracks: "Spinning Out," "Losing Sleep," "The Way"

11. Donovan Woods - The Widowmaker

Just as every year has its summer soundtrack, every year also has its “winter singer/songwriter" for me: in 2008, it was Bon Iver, in 2009, Michael McDermott, and in 2010, the title belonged to Donovan Woods. One listen to this record will leave no doubt as to why that is, since Woods possesses the kind of warm yet fragile voice that feels so comforting around the holidays. He’s also a damn-good songwriter, showing himself off as equally adept with bitter acoustic rockers ("Won't Come Back") and gorgeous, nostalgic ballads ("No Time Has Passed"). But even beyond the immediate standouts, this record is a profusion of gorgeously subtle melodies, fascinating lyrical perspectives, and the beautiful snowfall of Woods' guitar playing, accented occasionally with icy piano lines ("Jail"), lo-fi production ("Lord, I'm Tryin'"), or any variety of harmonicas, drums, banjos, or other folk music requisites. Due to it's strongly seasonal appeal, The Widowmaker will never be one of my most played records, but when I do throw it in rotation, it captures me completely. 

12. The National - High Violet

Matt Berninger might have the most distinctive voice of anyone in music right now, a dark, deep, charismatic baritone that no one could replicate without sounding like a caricature, and on The National’s fifth full-length, that voice proves to be both their biggest strength and their greatest limitation. There are songs here that Berninger’s voice can’t sell, songs that come across as mediocre or dull on record, but which have reached much greater heights in other hands (“Anyone’s Ghost," a relative throwaway, became unexpectedly haunting when Silver Swans covered it last fall). But when the formula works, the band hits home run after home run. Just listen to the gorgeous indie-pop of songs like “England,” “Runaway,” or “Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks”, the lo-fi crescendo of opener “Terrible Love”, or the straight-up anthem that is “Bloodbuzz Ohio”. Throughout each style, Beringer sings in a voice that is all at once warm, comforting, richly nostalgic, and deeply sympathetic. He imbues his lyrics (which often discuss the mundane, everyday struggles of normal people) with a knowing and relatable purport, taking us on an emotional journey that constantly stresses to listeners that they are not alone. I think that’s why The National have gained so much respect within the indie community: because more than just about any band out there, they’re a group of down-to-earth, everyday guys who people can see as their friends, their family...or even their self.

Key Tracks: "Terrible Love," "Bloodbuzz Ohio," "England"

13. The Hold Steady - Heaven is Whenever

When the high-rise vocal harmonies explode on staples like “The Weekenders” or “Hurricane J,” this album sounds like summer. Everything else about this band, about Craig Finn’s literate lyricism, about his bellowing vocal style, about the Springsteenian sweep of their earlier records (like 2006's career-defining Boys & Girls in America), or about former member Franz Nicolay’s sorely missed piano lines, it all evaporates under the epic enormity of this album’s best moments. Fans wrote it off and critics gave it a lukewarm response, but in my eyes, summer albums are rarely more palpable or perfect than this one. Just listen to the dusky slide guitar on opener “The Sweet Part of the City, the scorching guitar solo in “Soft in the Center,” the raucous clarinet solo in “Barely Breathing” – and yes, the expansive, anthemic hooks of the two aforementioned staples – and you will understand. These are just a few of the moments here that evoke that summertime atmosphere, that feeling of late night drives, sunset rock festivals, fireworks across the night sky, hangouts with friends, or spontaneous road trips down a sunburned state highway, belting along to your favorite songs. This album seeks to be a companion for each of those situations, and whether or not it’s the best that Finn and The Hold Steady have offered thus far is immaterial for that reason alone.

Key Tracks: "Soft in the Center," "The Weekenders," "Hurricane J"

14. Anberlin - Dark Is The Way, Light Is A Place

Anberlin took a lot of flak on this record, their fifth full-length and their second on a major label. I can recall the initial stream, where many fans immediately pointed out a repetitive musical and lyrical songwriting style that was a vast departure from some of their earlier work (one need look no further than Cities closer “Fin” to know why the criticism was at least somewhat warranted). Despite that, though, Dark is the Way, Light is a Place remains, for me, the best and most consistent album these guys have ever made. Brandon O’Brien mans the boards, bringing a slicker and more poppy studio sheen to the proceedings, but the commercialization suits their interests well, adding a requisite amount of punch to dark rockers like “We Owe This to Ourselves” and “Closer” – both haunting and hard-hitting  – and then giving the album’s highlight (“Impossible”) a U2-esque, stadium-ready atmosphere. The chiming “You Belong Here” is reminiscent of both Coldplay and Clarity-era Jimmy Eat World, with lead vocalist Stephen Christian (always an impressive frontman, both in vocal range and emotional aggression) letting his voice soar on an anthemic chorus. The album, in ten tracks, does what none of Anberlin’s records have ever done before, hitting perfectly consistent ground on a tracklist stacked with memorable moments, from the relationship that shatters on “Art of War” to the rousing percussion build-up of “Pray Tell,” all the way to the tortured slow-burning acoustics of “Down.” Then there’s “Take Me (As You Found Me),” an irresistible love song that recalls ‘90s radio rock ballads to a tee. And while the band has vowed to go back to a more aggressive style with their next album (called Vital, out this October), I’ll merely be hoping for a record with as many soaring hooks and confessional moments as this one.

Key Tracks: "Impossible," "Take Me (As You Found Me)," "Down"

15. Jesse Malin – Love It To Life

I've never felt as strongly about Jesse Malin, a New York-based rocker, as my brother has, and that remained true with the release of his fourth full-length in 2010. While he named this record as the second or third best of the year, I struggled to find the same appeal in it as I had found (after a time) with Glitter in the Gutter or The Fine Art of Self-Destruction. But that's not to say it's not a solid exercise: right from the ringing, Clash-esque guitar that kicks off "Burning the Bowery," this record is a blistering, raucous display of punk-rock attitude and Springsteen storytelling. Malin, with his unique vocal whine and throwback songwriting style, is basically a collision of a dozen different classic rock heroes, from Joe Strummer to Lou Reed, from Mick Jagger to Paul Westerberg, and while his songs aren't as great as they have been in the past (nor is there a Springsteen appearance to spice things up, like there was on Gutter's "Broken Radio), there is still plenty to love here. The wall of sound on "All the Way to Moscow," the ringing, Oasis-esque guitar solo on "St. Mark's Sunset," or the gorgeous melodic elegy of "The Archer" are just a few of the highlights. Occasionally, the muddy production hampers the effectiveness of the music, but for a guy who obviously idolizes bands like The Replacements, it almost feels like that aesthetic might be intentional.

Key Tracks: "Burning the Bowery," "The Archer," "Revelations"

16. The Alternate Routes - Lately

Equal parts Counting Crows and U2, these roots-rock throwback boys have released a trio of records, each with soaring melodies, nostalgic guitar solos, and raucous classic rock energy. Lately might be their best work to date, encompassing everything from bluesy jam band atmospherics ("Love the Way") to lilting folk balladry ("Raincoat"). The arena rock tendencies are probably the most satisfying though: the album opens with a towering intro track, a colossal swell of organ, guitar, and keyboard ambiance that builds until it collapses into album-highlight "Carry Me Home." Vocalist Tim Warren establishes himself as one of the most talented frontmen in the genre here, belting out a gorgeous, towering power-ballad that would be as well fit for stadiums as it is for late-night road trips. And the penultimate number, the shimmering "Two of a Kind," sounds like it could have been penned by Bono, circa The Unforgettable Fire. But even beyond their obvious strengths, the Routes acquit themselves quite well: "Just the Same" sounds like the kind of sunny alt-rock song that would have captivated the airwaves back in 1997 or so, "Tell Me Your Name" boasts an indulgent, shout-along chorus truly meant for a live show, and "Rocking Chair" has the kind of charismatic momentum needed to kick the album into high gear after it's mid-tempo overture. It's not a band or an album many people have taken notice of over the years, but revisiting Lately today, for the first time in months, I love it even more than I did the first time I heard it.

Key Tracks: "Carry Me Home," "Just the Same," "Two of a Kind"

17. Black Lab - Two Strangers

Ever since these '90s one hit wonders made a resounding return with 2005’s See the Sun, a collection of bright pop hooks and tortured moments of heartbreak, Black Lab have been one of the most confusing bands on my "favorite artists" roster. Since that album, they’ve churned out more of my favorite songs than just about anyone, hitting me at the perfect time with classics like “Weightless,” “Mine Again,” “Circus Lights,” and “Remember,” but they've never quite had the consistency with their records to truly become an all-time great. Still Paul Durham, the frontman and brains of the operation, has a knack for baring his soul in immensely catchy pop rock songs, and Two Strangers might be his most accomplished work to date. There’s something about songs like “This Ship Goes Down Deep” and “Love to Love You” that just hits me in the perfect place, whether they’re arousing memories of past summers, or simply connecting themselves to the place and time that I’m in right now. And that’s to say nothing about Durham’s strength as a pop songwriter, which shows itself in spades with nearly every song on this record, from the anguished rockers (“Start a Fire”),  to the yearning power ballads (“Always”), all the way down to the elegiac, acoustic torch songs  (“Say Goodbye”). Perhaps best of all is “The Pain is Gone,” which, despite a common chord progression and a couple lyrical cliches, thrives on the strength of Durham’s utterly passionate delivery. Perhaps that’s why I love these guys so much: even if they’re not the most original or innovative songwriters, they more than make up for that in conviction, and in their best songs, I can always see a piece of myself reflected back at me.

Key Tracks: "This Ship Goes Down Deep," "The Pain is Gone," "Love to Love You"  

18. Sara Bareilles – Kaleidoscope Heart

In 2008, when Bareilles hit the airwaves with the infectious “Love Song,” the hook masked what was, in essence, a fuck you to the singer’s major label. It was a tirade against an overly commercialized system that tried to wrest creative control out of her hands, and rather ironically, it became an almost ubiquitous hit. On the follow-up album, the label hands almost entire creative control over to Bareilles, and the result is a catchy, creative, and endlessly heartfelt collection of songs that expose their songwriter’s quirks and indulgences to a backdrop of slick, bombastic pop production. The hooks are effortless (see the single “King of Anything” or the proper opener “Uncharted”), but the truly breathtaking moments are the ones where Bareilles drops the tempo. Multi-tracked vocals create an expansive a cappella texture on the introductory title track, while “Hold My Heart” displays an achingly gorgeous melody and vocal, and "Basket Case" is a masterclass in acoustic resignation. But the centerpiece is a “Breathe Again,” an expressive piano ballad that feels like it has soundtracked a hundred separate late night drives for me. “Car is parked, bags are packed/But what kind of heart doesn’t look back?/At the comfortable glow from the porch/The one I will still call yours,” she sings at the outset: the imagery is perfect, the sadness palpable, and the nostalgic rivers that it inspires transform it into one of the most personal and powerful “leaving songs” I’ve ever heard.

Key Tracks: "King of Anything," "Basket Case," "Breathe Again"

19. The Tallest Man on Earth – The Wild Hunt

The Tallest Man on Earth (the moniker for Swedish singer-songwriter Kristian Matsson) is just about as no-frills as folk music gets. Throughout the majority of The Wild Hunt, his second LP, Matsson uses little more than his acoustic guitar, his accomplished lyrical ability, and his harsh, yet richly emotional vocal style, but there’s never a moment where the sound doesn’t work. Matsson distinguishes himself among the modern singer-songwriting crowd not by trying anything new, but by looking back: his music evokes the sound and fury of early Dylan records like The Times They Are A-Changin’ and The Freewheeling Bob Dylan, complete with the imperfect vocal whine and sparse, basic production. The result is a record that is predictable, but entrancing, derivative, but fiercely gorgeous. Songs like "Burden of Tomorrow," "King of Spain," and "Thousand Ways" crackle and burn with charisma, passionate energy, and palpable emotion. And when Mattson closes things out with a power ballad of all things ("Kids on the Run"), played on a broken down, out-of-tune piano, it sounds like the guy could actually be the voice of his generation. His 2012 return (There's No Leaving Now) saw him playing it safe and delivering this same brand of pretty folk, but I have hopes that he will realize what he is capable of next time out.

Key Tracks: "A Thousand Ways," "Burden of Tomorrow," "Kids on the Run"

20. I Can Make a Mess Like Nobody's Business  – The World We Know

Ace Enders is a prolific guy: in recent years, The Early November frontman has quietly built up quite the catalog, releasing (at least) one record a year across three or four separate projects. 2010's The World We Know is quite possibly his best work to date, an almost impossibly gorgeous record of tortured break-up songs that, at its best moments, hits with unparalleled emotive force. Opener "Sleep Means Sleeping" finds Enders joined by a haunting female voice, amidst an array of electronic sounds and orchestral sweep, while the dream-pop loops that open "Old Man" indicate the direction of the song, as Enders layers components on top of one another to create a stunning symphony of sound. I remember the first time I heard this record: I was home for a weekend around Easter time in the spring of 2010, and my year had, for the most part, been devoid of new albums or musical discoveries. I checked this out on a whim, and as I made the three hour drive back to school, everything about the record, from the personal power of it, to the all-encompassing production and interconnected flow, hit me like a bomb. "Telling Me Goodbye" hit the hardest: it's a farewell to a loved one, a confession of regret for taking that person for granted, and a stirring, heart-shattering reminder of the brevity of life. Enders gives himself over entirely to the emotional swell, and by the end of the song, I was in tears. The World We Know doesn't quite sustain that force throughout, but when it reaches that level, the inconsistencies just fade away.

Key Tracks: "Old Man," "You're Not So Good At Talking Anymore," "Telling Me Goodbye"

21. Wakey!Wakey! – Almost Everything I Wish I'd Said The Last Time I Saw You

I discovered Michael Grubbs back in the summer of 2008, though I can't exactly recall how I stumbled upon his music. He didn't have an album out at the time, but what was available (a mixtape of covers and a few odd tracks on his Myspace page) was fantastic. The two pieces `that hit me the hardest - a tune called "Brooklyn" and an earnest piano take on Foo Fighters' "Everlong" - made their way onto numerous mixtapes that season, and I made a note to keep an eye out for Grubbs and his Wakey!Wakey! project in following years. When he dropped Almost Everything... in early 2010, I snagged it almost immediately, and I wasn't disappointed. Piano rock doesn't get a lot better than the opener ("Almost Everything," with ringing keyboard licks and a bombastic string arrangement), but that's only the tip of the iceberg for a record that explores surprisingly eclectic territory. Take the breezy island-pop of "Twenty Two," the McCartney-esque slow-burn of "Dance So Good," or the ice-cold grooves of "Feral Love." That same versatility can also prove to be a bit frustrating, but when the album does settle into a groove (the final three tracks), the results are quite pleasant, like on the gorgeous "Light Outside," the yearning "Car Crash," or the jarring, anthemic "Take it Like a Man." It's not an album I revisit much as a whole, and the songs never add up to more than the sum of their (wildly varied) parts, but there are a lot of great moments here.

Key Tracks: "Almost Everything," "Light Outside," "Take it Like a Man"

22. Motion City Soundtrack – My Dinosaur Life

Motion City Soundtrack has a lot of records that are better than this one (including this year's Go, which is on a collision course with my end-of-the-year top ten), but while My Dinosaur Life suffers from inconsistency, occasionally generic modern rock tropes, and numerous grating choruses ("Delirium," "@!#?@!"), frontman Justin Pierre stumbles upon a few of his best songs in the process. "Her Words Destroyed My Planet" is how a modern rock single should sound, while "The Weakends" provides a bruising and scorching finale, "Worker Bee" comes roaring out of the gates with a ferocity that is impossible to forget, and "Pulp Fiction" is about as signature Motion City Soundtrack as songs come. On the whole, My Dinosaur Life is a manifestation of Motion City Soundtrack's more "aggressive" side, and while I prefer their poppier records (again, Go, but also 2007's Even if it Kills Me), the occasional trips to more subdued territory are welcome. Case in point is the existentially ponderous "Skin and Bones" - one of the band's best songs to date, and the highlight of a challenging and confusing, but ultimately rewarding record.

Key Tracks: "Her Words Destroyed My Planet," "Skin and Bones," "The Weakends"

23. Ryan Bingham & The Dead Horses - Junky Star


Country singer/songwriter Ryan Bingham had a big year in 2010. In addition to winning the Academy Award for Best Original Song (for Crazy Heart's "The Weary Kind," which appears as a bonus track here), he wrote and recorded and released his third-full length with celebrated producer T. Bone Burnett. And while Junky Star isn't his best album (that title still belongs to his debut, Mescalito), Bingham is still a troubadour worth watching. His gruff, weather-worn vocals, his deep, storyteller manner of songwriting, and his acoustic/harmonica textures fit very well alongside some of my all time favorite artists - Bruce Springsteen, Will Hoge, Bob Dylan, to name a few - while the other country music legends he cribs from - Hank Williams, especially - are well on display here. Bingham's greatest strength here is the lyrical (take the stunning opener, "The Poet"), but on haunting melodic numbers like "Hallelujah" (NOT a Leonard Cohen cover), or the raucous rockers (like "Depression," whose tempo and mood contrast its title and subject matter), he pens some of his best moments to date. "Direction of the Wind" sounds like it could have been on Blonde on Blonde - right down to the slide guitar intro - and "Lay My Head on the Rail" has a bluegrassy, Appalachian lilt that recalls some of the music Burnett snagged for the O Brother, Where Art Thou? soundtrack. Meanwhile, the gorgeous "Weary Kind" is as good as it's ever been, conjuring up images of the brilliant Jeff Bridges performance it energized in Crazy Heart. The truth is, nobody is making music quite like this anymore, and even if Bingham has better records (another one, Tomorrowland, drops in a few weeks), something about Junky Star has continued to captivate me over the years.

24. Guster - Easy Wonderful

Ever since they first arrived on the scene in the mid-90s, Guster have had a knack for writing catchy melodies and heartfelt songs that have had no trouble appealing to college radio DJs, frat-boy bros, and folk-pop enthusiasts alike. I first took notice of them when they scored a hit with “Amsterdam” back in 2003 or so, and I even lucked into seeing them live at my only summer at Interlochen Arts Camp. On their sixth full-length studio album, the band taps into the same kind of breezy, summertime pop hooks that have always been their cornerstone. They’ve morphed a bit over the years, shedding some of their acoustic sensibilities, as well as the emphasis placed on their unique percussion (their drummer plays bongos) and their capacity for rich vocal harmonies, but the fact that they are a different band than they once were hardly matters here. Easy Wonderful kicks off with a pair of indelible choruses (“Architects & Engineers” and “Do You Love Me?”) and never lets up. The songs never reach the emotional force of the band’s best work (their 1999 album, Lost and Gone Forever, will always be their magnum opus), and there’s nothing here as good as “Parachute” (the closing number from their debut album of the same name). But a few of these songs could have – and should have – been massive radio hits, and sometimes, a great pop album really is exactly what you need.

Key Tracks: "Architects & Engineers," "Do You Love Me," "On the Ocean"

25. The Morning Of – The Way You Fell In 

While the full record is something I only revisit once in a blue moon, the finest tracks here have become embedded into my summer soundtracks for every year since, and it would be a shame to leave that off this list. The Way You Fell In came into my life in the spring, shortly after my return home from my first year of college. I was searching for a definitive summer soundtrack in these songs, and I almost found it. The duel vocal style (between Justin Wiley and Jessica Leplon) doesn't always work, but when it does, the magic is there, like on the climactic one-two punch of "Bring Me Home" and "Heaven or Hell." Leplon occasionally oversings, and Wiley falls into generic pop-punk tendencies, but each gets one moment of perfection that shows off the massive potential inherent in this band. First is "The Time It Takes To Grow," a wistful farewell to summer love and possibility that rings with a gorgeous, dusky atmosphere. Wiley drops his pop-star charade, exchanging it for a more weathered, folk-driven vocal style, and the result is stunning. "I Know You Know" is almost as good, a crushing vocal tour-de-force from Leplon that makes all of her excesses feel forgivable. Two perfect songs don't make an album, but for this one, surrounded by a bunch of tracks that I like but don't quite love, they were enough to keep me coming back - even when records I liked more back in the day have faded a bit.

Key Tracks: "Jennesea," "The Time it Takes to Grow," "I Know You Know"

The Honorable Mentions

Bruce Springsteen gave fans an embarrassment of riches with The Promise, a collection of b-sides and leftovers from the Darkness on the Edge of Town sessions that stretches on for two discs. Since the songs are way older than the year, I never felt comfortable including it in the body of the list, but with songs as good as the title track or the alternate take of "Racing in the Street," it's easily a highlight of the year.

Hellogoodbye and Steel Train both released exquisitely well-crafted collections of pop-rock. Steel Train's finest songs ("Bullet," "Fall Asleep") landed it on my list the first time around, but I have only revisited the full album once or twice since. I wouldn't have felt right about splitting the two albums up.

Stars and LCD Soundsystem each released inconsistent works that, at their best, could easily have been with the upper echelons of this list. But filler material dictated that I had to leave them off.

I heard Locksley for the first time when they opened for a pair of Butch Walker shows in May of 2010. Their album, called Be In Love, was made up of the same kind of Beatles pop that Butch traded in on his album (see above), and was one of the last records I had to cut from the list.

Kings of Leon lost a lot of their radio appeal with Come Around Sundown, an attempt to return to their roots in southern rock, alt-country, and Eagles-esque Americana that most critics lambasted. But the songs are catchy and soulful, and "Back Down South" might be the best thing they've written.

The Maine released a fun album of throwaway pop music whose finest moments ("Growing Up," "Inside of You," "Saving Grace") became big summer soundtrack staples, but whose whole was less than the sum of its parts.

Ray LaMontagne and Jakob Dylan both released stellar traditional folk albums. I never listened to either enough to merit them a place in the top 25, but perhaps I should make a note to revisit them.

The Rocket Summer released a bloated album of piano-driven rock music. I've never been a big fan of Bryce Avary's voice, but Of Men and Angels is undeniably well-crafted.

Matt White and Maroon 5 were poster-boys for catchy pop melodies and albums with a few emotionally striking moments thrown in for good measure. "Out of Goodbyes" and "Falling in Love (With My Best Friend)" were two of my favorite songs of the year.

And Band of Horses traded a lot of their hipster appeal for alt-country textures on Infinite Arms, but also soundtracked a lot of night drives for me along the way. I can't wait to see what they do or where they go next.