It's late April 2010, but the weather is so glorious outside that it
feels like it's already June. Rain was threatening earlier, but now, the
sun is beating down overhead as I pack the final items into my car for
the three-hour journey home. I've just finished my freshman year of
college and closed out a great semester, and my roommate and I are
saying our goodbyes in the parking lot of our dormitory, after having
handed over the keys to the room we'd shared since September. It's a
bittersweet moment, but I'm happy to be headed home to the resort town
where I grew up for some much needed vacation. I climb into the front
seat of my '98 Honda Civic, plug my iPod into the FM transmitter, and
briefly debate which album to choose. I smile as my thumb finds Jack's
Mannequin's Everything in Transit—one of my favorite albums of
all time, and a record that has been my definitive "summer soundtrack"
since I first discovered it four years earlier. I press play and the
sounds of "Holiday from Real" come coursing through my speakers. "Fuck
yeah, we can live like this," Andrew McMahon sings. I put on my
aviators, shift the car into first gear, and drive. This is going to be the perfect summer, I think to myself as I pull away from my first year of college. I can feel it.
By the time I was playing Everything in Transit on that road
trip five years ago, I'd already heard it hundreds of times. It was (and
still is) my go-to fourth favorite album of all time, after
Springsteen's Born to Run, Butch Walker's Letters, and Jimmy Eat World's Futures.
Yet somehow, even though I already had so many memories and emotions
wrapped up in those songs, that three-hour drive home ended up being my
definitive listen to Everything in Transit, if only for how
prophetic it was. Driving home, with the windows down and the sunroof
open, the 75-degree air whipping through my hair, and the sun-soaked
sounds of songs like "I'm Ready," "La La Lie," and "MFEO" filling the
car, I somehow knew that this summer was going to be special. And it was:
over the next four months, I would start a relationship with a girl I'd
had a crush on for ages. By the time I left home at the end of the
season, I was in love with her. Fast forward to today, and she's sitting
next to me on the couch, in a house we own together, with the ring I
bought her on her finger and a gold wedding band on mine. Suffice to say
that summer 2010 wasn't just the perfect summer: it was the most
important four months of my life, and on that unseasonably warm day in
late April, Andrew McMahon and his five-year-old piano-pop songs seemed
to know what was in store even before I did.
Looking back at all the memories I've shared with this record, it's
difficult to believe that it's already 10 years old. Written as a
concept album about a whirlwind summer spent in California, Everything in Transit arrived on August 23rd, 2005. Coincidentally or not, that date was just two days shy of the 30th anniversary of Born to Run,
and McMahon's first album under the Jack's Mannequin moniker actually
has quite a lot in common with Springsteen's foremost masterpiece.
Sonically, there are numerous albums from around the same time that sound more like Born to Run—The Hold Steady's Boys & Girls in America and The Killers' Sam's Town both arrived in 2006, and The Gaslight Anthem's The '59 Sound was just three years away. But none of those albums capture the visceral feel of Born to Run—of being young and full of life, with limitless possibilities waiting just a few miles down the highway—quite like this one.
Everything in Transit was also a big personal gamble for McMahon, just as Born to Run had been for Springsteen. The legend is that Jon Landau, Born to Run's
producer, had to hide the studio bills from Columbia to avoid giving
all of the higher-ups at the record label strokes over the cost.
McMahon, meanwhile, believed so thoroughly in his vision for this album
that he reportedly spend $40,000 of his own personal savings to bring it
to fruition. (It's unclear how much of that money went toward hiring
Motley Crue's Tommy Lee to record the drums.) Unfortunately, McMahon
didn't get to enjoy the release as he would have hoped: on the day that
mastering was completed for Everything in Transit, McMahon was
diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia. He began chemotherapy
immediately, which meant canceling tours and ending the promotional
cycle for the album before it had even really started. Still, McMahon
wanted to release the record as scheduled, on August 23rd, and his label
remarkably went along with his wishes.
The decision to release Everything in Transit at a time when he
couldn't really promote it and couldn't tour could very well have been
career suicide for McMahon—though, it wasn't like he didn't have more
important things to worry about at the time. Suddenly, his personal
gamble looked like it was in danger of going against him. But the record
sold well in spite of everything, and by the time McMahon had gotten
back on his feet, his story—and the album that had nearly been his
swansong—were already the stuff of scene legend. A decade, two Jack's
Mannequin records, one album as Andrew McMahon in the Wilderness, and
one solo EP later, Everything in Transit is still regarded as Andrew McMahon's seminal work, and as one of the greatest albums of the new millennium by the users of this very website.
I was personally late to the party on this record. Though it dropped in August 2005, I don't think Everything in Transit
really landed on my radar until January or February 2006. I remember
hearing gems like "The Mixed Tape" and "Dark Blue" as soundtrack songs
on one or two TV shows and being impressed, and I remember digging up a
few other tracks and downloading them from various Myspace music
profiles (blast from the past, right there), but it wasn't until May or
June that I bit the bullet and bought a used copy of the CD off Amazon
for three or four bucks. Looking back, that was some of the best money I
ever spent.
Part of the issue was that I had no idea who Andrew McMahon even was
until late 2005. I was familiar with a number of artists in this
scene—I'd obviously had a huge genesis moment
with Jimmy Eat World in the fall of 2004—but Something Corporate evaded
me until my brother came home for the holidays with a copy of North in hand. I liked that record so much—particularly the atmospheric piano loop opening of "As You Sleep"—that I picked up Leaving Through The Window
for myself, and I played those albums on repeat through the winter and
spring of my freshman year of high school. For whatever reason, though, I
held off on Everything in Transit until the weather warmed up. What a serendipitous decision that was.
Where most of Something Corporate's music is chilly, moody, and sad, Everything in Transit
is almost the complete opposite. Shedding any emo influence he may have
had in the SoCo days, Andrew turned to classic power pop here, and the
result was a warm, upbeat, and celebratory record full of sunny piano
chords and huge sing-along hooks. When my CD finally arrived in the
mail, I think I had just gotten out of school for the summer, and this
record was just waiting to be the soundtrack to the new season. From the
carefree slacker vibes of "Holiday from Real," to the huge feeling of
badass-ery I got whenever I listened to that spoken word section on "I'm
Ready," I quickly internalized every moment of this record and made it
my world.
Looking back now, I can tie moments of every single summer since to
these songs. Uptempo jams like "La La Lie" and "Bruised" encapsulated my
last days of youth and pure innocence in the summers of 2006 and 2007,
when I still didn't have a car or a job, and was free to do pretty much
whatever the hell I wanted between sunrise and sunset every day. Later,
as I grew older, I tied heavier emotions into these songs, like
"Rescued," the record's one true piano ballad. Probably Everything in Transit's
most sterling moment, "Rescued" was a classic end-of-summer song, and I
personally tended to relate it to the bittersweet melancholy of
watching my siblings (and later, my older friends) head off to college
as the hazy heat of August gave way to the colder air of September.
I suppose that sense of sadness was appropriate: to me, Everything in Transit
always played like the chronicle of a summer fling, one which begins
with giddy excitement and romance on "The Mixed Tape," but seems to
stutter to a reluctant conclusion by the end of "Rescued." "There this
was, hiding at the bottom of your swimming pool, some September," Andrew
sings on the verse, before asking "Don't you think I wish that I
could stay?" Some relationships simply aren't meant to outlast the
warmer weather, and as I grew older and the end of summer became
increasingly about saying goodbye and moving on to the next
chapter—first temporarily, and then eventually for good—the connection I
had with "Rescued" and this record as a whole only deepened.
More than perhaps any album in my collection, Everything in Transit
elicits a cocktail of different emotions. On one side, it's as
thrilling and euphoric as "Thunder Road." Suffice to say that my first
college summer was not the only one whose arrival was heralded
by this record. Every year, when the weather warms up and winter finally
disappears, I make a point of taking this album for a drive and singing
along at full blast. In the early days, that tradition was almost like a
ritualistic effort to try to summon summer a little bit earlier than
usual. As the end of a school year got closer and closer, I would bring
this record back into regular rotation, both as a walk down memory lane
to summers past, and as hopeful anticipation for what another summer
might bring. "My life has become a boring pop song and everybody is
singing along." That line was like my battle cry: as spring crept on,
life would be starting to become stagnant and monotonous again, and
getting out of school and back into a season full of long nights,
parties, and loud music just seemed like the only solution.
Nowadays, things are different when I listen to this record. I'll
always remember those carefree summers and how much they meant to me,
but they just don't apply to me anymore. I grew up and moved away, and
all too many of the friends I had in those days fell out of touch.
Somewhere along the road, between that hopeful drive home in April 2010
and today, my youth evaporated, leaving only memories in its place. But
when I listen to Everything in Transit, I can still feel the
electricity; the hope of a thousand summer evenings and all the
possibility they might hold; the chance that, one of these nights, it's
just going to be me and you, and the whole town is going to be
underwater, and there will be nothing we can do except to turn up the
stereo, shout that chorus at the top of our lungs one last time, and live like
there really might not be a tomorrow. Because sure, I may be getting
older. But the feeling this album inspires in the pit of my stomach,
that invincible anything-can-happen feeling? That's something that is
going to keep me young for a long time—even when, inevitably, I'm not
anymore.
Showing posts with label Jack's Mannequin. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jack's Mannequin. Show all posts
Saturday, March 26, 2016
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Luke Leighfield - New Season
Luke Leighfield - New Season
Got Got Need Records, 2012
Three stars
Got Got Need Records, 2012
Three stars
Piano rock has become a bit of a tired genre over the years, so often
plagued by repetition and cliché that many listeners have gotten to the
point where they write off anything with that label on association
alone. I personally have always had a soft-spot for records where the
piano takes the lead role, and I have loved or marginally enjoyed almost
every band or artist you could name in the genre, from the classics
(Billy Joel, Elton John), to the modern mainstream players (The Fray,
Augustana), all the way to the relative obscurities (Wakey!Wakey!,
Embrace). From the first moments of Luke Leighfield's fourth full length
solo record (entitled New Season), the English-born troubadour
recalls a slew of the songwriters that have gone before him in the
genre. Leighfield is a Do-It-Yourself artist, but you could hardly tell
from his latest record, which plays out as a fully orchestrated,
exquisitely produced set of songs that ring, echo, swell, and fall at
all the right points. And that makes sense, since Leighfield runs his
own record label (Got Got Need Records), has a long list of notable
friends in the music industry, and is a fantastically accomplished
pianist and violinist, having worked as a sessions musician on both
instruments.The piano serves as the backbone for each of the ten cuts on this record, and while the combination between that instrument and the British-accented lilt of Leighfield's voice will instantly earn him endless comparisons to acts like Coldplay and Keane, his overall sound generally lands closer to that of some of today's most prominent American piano rockers. For example, the presence of Ben Folds floats through many of Leighfield's most dynamic vocal snippets, while the influence of Andrew McMahon (Jack's Mannequin, Something Corporate) can be felt in many of the album's soundscapes and arrangements, especially at the album's best moments.
And there are a lot of great moments here, from the slow burn opening of the aptly-titled "Slow Down" (with a piano riff that could have come straight off of a Something Corporate album), to the summerish pop rock of the title track, all the way to the ringing guitar intro of "Patience," which drew me in immediately. Gang vocals burst in the background of "The One Thing," eventually subsiding into a gentle piano tag, while Leighfield's rock 'n' roll aesthetic is evident in the power chords and the incessant build-up of "Live For More," which also collapses into a luminous, echoing piano outro. A series of arpeggiated piano notes open album highlight "Garde Ta Foy," recalling Adele's massively successful flagship single "Someone Like You", and much like that song was, "Garde" is probably the album's most subdued and emotionally striking number. The delicate accompaniment allows Leighfield's voice to really shine here, gliding over the arrangement in a simplistic but moving fashion that results in one of the most gorgeous songs I've heard all year. As the song moves forward, an ambiance of strings and back-up vocals swell around Leighfield, building as drums enter and crescendo, and ultimately exploding into a wall of guitars. It really feels like a closer, but that honor belongs to "Do Not Settle," a commencement speech of a song that proves itself to be both entrancing and inspirational. Next to the massive scope inherent in the climax of "Garde Ta Foy," the build here feels a bit truncated and restrained, like the song (and the album, which loses steam after its opening but regains it in the final quarter) ends just as it is starting to reach greatness.
Leighfield doesn't entirely escape the usual trappings of the piano pop/rock genre on New Season, but he does tend to transcend them. To be sure, there are lyrical clichés here and there, and Leighfield isn't the most original melodist, causing his songs do run together on occasion, but his vocals have a warm and welcoming familiarity about them, and his songs very often build and grow as they move forward (and with subsequent listens). I don't suppose that the record will win many new fans for the piano rock scene, and the naysayers will very likely find that they have the same problems with Leighfield that they do with genre's biggest stars, but for me and for many who find a certain degree of pleasure in this type of music, guilty or otherwise, this record represents a treasure trove of earnest lyrics, well executed arrangements, and light, beautiful melodies. He doesn't have the hooks that McMahon has, or the lyrical brilliance that Folds manifests every so often, and no one will ever be calling him Billy Joel, but Leighfield is a solid songwriter and an even better musician, and New Season deserves to be heard.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Every lonely heart could use an honest song...
A discussion of
the summer of 2011, musical connection, entertainment criticism,
and The Dangerous Summer's War Paint
and The Dangerous Summer's War Paint
One year, three months, five days, and twelve hours ago (give or take a couple minutes), I sat down for my first listen to The Dangerous Summer's War Paint. It was one of my most anticipated records of the year, and right from the first instant that the title track's thick wall of guitars burst out of my headphones, I knew it was something special. It was the album that would go on to claim my album of the year title, the album that would dominate my summer playlist and define almost every vestige of my life. Today, I put that album on for the first time in a month or so, and everything still felt the same: just like I thought it would, it took me back to that summer season. It transported me back to countless reflective night drives, moments with friends or with the girl I love, to performances and beach days and times spent with family. In short, it encapsulated what my life was in 2011, and that's something I will always cherish. I always make myself wait at least a year before I "officially" place an album on my all time favorites list, but doing that for War Paint has almost felt like a chore. Every time I've listened to it in the past year and a quarter, since that first night that it found its way to me, its resonated more than any other album in recent memory. But now that the requisite year has passed, I feel completely confident in what I'm about to say: that the perfect score I gave this album was more than deserved and that it has at last found its way into the very top tier of my music listening experience...all the way into my top five.But the elevation of War Paint to a place alongside the four albums that I have called favorites since 2009 or so (Springsteen's Born to Run, Butch Walker's Letters, Jimmy Eat World's Futures, and Jack's Mannequin's Everything in Transit, in that order) is only the tip of the iceberg for how fondly I remember last summer, and most of that is due to how impossibly splendid the soundtrack was. Of the albums I placed in my top ten last December, eight of them had found me in the heat of the summer, somewhere between the time I drove triumphantly away from my sophomore year of college and the day I embarked towards my penultimate one. Those albums managed to supply soundtrack to every kind of emotion and situation, from sunsoaked pop splendor (Matt Nathanson's Modern Love) to the bittersweet feeling of summer's dwindling (Charlie Simpson's Young Pilgrim), from the massive excitement I felt as I drove to pick my girlfriend up at the airport after some time away (Mat Kearney's Young Love) all the way to the loud and brash but surprisingly tender rock 'n' roll record that played as I drove away from it all (Butch Walker's The Spade). It was albums like those (not to mention late-night slowburns from Bon Iver, The Damnwells, or Mansions) that made last year my favorite music year in recent memory: a flawless summer soundtrack, with one of my all-time favorite albums leading the charge.
This past summer brought me a lot of great and meaningful music too. The Gaslight Anthem's Handwritten striking through the hottest days of the year to become an anthemic badge of honor; Japandroids' Celebration Rock blaring from my car speakers at full volume, whether on carefree summer afternoons or late nights near the end of the season; John Mayer's Born and Raised kicking things off in splendor, or Yellowcard's Southern Air serenading the poetic finale to what was probably my last summer in my hometown. But for as many unforgettable moments as there were, nothing ever became a War Paint-like soundtrack. Maybe that's because the season was so entirely different than the last one: my girlfriend was gone for over a month, away in Colorado at a Graduate program, and when she finished, it was off to start a job, a life, a new world. That meant that I was spending less time in the car, with fewer late night drives or sunset cruises to let these albums really sink in the same way that War Paint once had. I was also working my own jobs, spending six days a week putting in hours for a marketing company, writing for a magazine, or performing shows at my local dinner theater. I would turn to the music at the end of long days or late nights, but for the most part, I was spending less time with it.
I've often thought that how an album hits you--how much you love it, how long it stays with you--depends entirely on when it comes into your life. Perhaps that's an exaggeration, since a lot of it also has to do with the music at hand, but I actually think the "objective" elements are a lot less important in the long run. That's why I try to inject a little bit of my personal story into my music criticism, at least when it comes to the artists and albums that are really important to me. Part of the reason Roger Ebert is such a renowned film critic is that he spends a lot of time in his reviews not just talking about the film, but also about his personal reaction to it. I think the first time I ever realized that was during my junior year of high school, when Ebert's review of Martin Scorsese's film Goodfellas appeared in the textbook for my A.P. Language & Composition class. Why was it that, in a book of literary essays and poetry, this one piece of entertainment criticism found is place? That became quickly evident as I read, because Ebert doesn't kick off his review by talking about a filmmaker or a rating or even about the gangster film genre. No, he begins it by talking about himself:
"For two days after I saw Martin Scorsese's new film, "GoodFellas," the mood of the characters lingered within me, refusing to leave. It was a mood of guilt and regret, of quick stupid decisions leading to wasted lifetimes, of loyalty turned into betrayal. Yet at the same time there was an element of furtive nostalgia, for bad times that shouldn't be missed, but were."
That opening paragraph took my breath away. The idea of relating the emotions of a work of art to one's self, to personal moods and experiences and memories, resonated with me on a purely primal level, and I have, largely, been writing in a similar manner ever since. That's why, when I reviewed War Paint towards the end of last summer, I focused on the personal context rather than the musical nuances of what is, on the surface, a fairly straightforward emotional pop-punk record. That's why, when I compiled my end-of-the-year list for 2011, most of the entries blended notes about the songs with explanations of how those songs impacted me. For me, music has always been, first and foremost, about the visceral connections I form with it, and there are few albums more visceral than War Paint. So yes, it might only be a year and three months after the fact (already?!), and many may deride this band and write them off for all of the dramatic shenanigans its members have be involved with in the past year, but there's no other way I can describe this album other than to call it one of my favorite albums of all time. I do believe it's earned that classification.
Friday, February 24, 2012
"Everything is black and white and grey..."
The Fray - Scars & Stories
Epic Records, 2012
3.5 stars
Seven years ago (shit, that makes me feel old), The Fray burst into the mainstream music scene with How to Save a Life, an album that spawned a slew of popular radio singles and pretty much immediately made them the posters boys for the type of melodic piano pop that served as the soundtrack for shows like Grey's Anatomy. That association was a blessing a curse for the band, as it pretty much immediately skyrocketed them to stardom but also caused a lot of people to write them off early on. I thought How to Save a Life was a solid record, not a great one: I loved all the singles ("Over My Head," "How to Save a Life," "Look After You," "All At Once"), and a few of the album tracks ("Vienna," especially), but overall, it was a record I felt I outgrew quite early, and judging by the fact that the band's album sales have been dropping with each release, I probably wasn't the only one.Despite this, The Fray have quietly become one of the most dependable bands in mainstream pop-rock, releasing a self-titled record three years ago that not only had one of the best lead-off singles of that year ("You Found Me"), but also a slew of terrific tracks, especially the closer, "Happiness," which has since become a favorite song of mine. With their third (and arguably best) release to date, The Fray make no attempt to reinvent the wheel, but they come up with their best set of songs to date and with an album that feels decidedly more mature and unified, both in sound and theme. The album's biggest triumph comes in the form of "Munich," a sweeping display of power balladry with a immense chorus. The song contains elements of many of their previous songs, but also adopts a wider array of influences (with U2's presence being the most palpable), and producer Brendan O'Brien makes it sound as huge as it should. I never felt like O'Brien was the right fit when he worked with Springsteen, but he may just be the perfect match for The Fray, as he brings a more definitive rock edge in their sound and makes the band sound bigger, better, and more muscular than they ever have on record. Look no further than first single and album opener "Heartbeat," a driving rocker which sports one of the best hooks I've heard all year, or "The Fighter," where the album's increased emphasis on guitars is perhaps the most evident.
"Run For Your Life" is yet another killer single from a band with a history of them, while "The Wind" juxtaposes beautiful verse melodies, distant backing vocals, and a truly gorgeous falsetto release. I've always liked frontman Isaac Slade's voice, but he sounds better than ever on this record and especially on this song, making it one of the absolute best moments of the record. Similarly breathtaking is "I Can Barely Stay," the album's obvious centerpiece ballad and the song most destined to become a soundtrack staple. O'Brien outfits the tune with an army of strings that are massively appealing, but I almost wish he'd just left the it alone, since I'm certain it would function just as well in a stripped down format, just Slade on piano and vocals. That's only a matter of preference though, and the strings give the song an undeniably yearning and epic feel. Guitarist Joe King takes over vocals on "Rainy Zurich," and much like "Ungodly Hour," the song he sang on the previous album, it's a highlight, with a pleasant downpour of pianos and guitar accents forming an evocative background.
In between the ballads and ready-made radio songs, The Fray experiment a bit with more tempo driven, guitar reliant rock songs, and although the results are somewhat mixed and these songs don't end up being the best moments of the album, they do give it a nicely paced flow. How to Save a Life had great singles, but suffered from a drop-off of quality between those and the album tracks, which were basically just less interesting versions of the hits. Luckily, that's not the case here: "Here We Are" wouldn't have been out of place on the last Switchfoot record, while "48 to Go" is almost begging to become a road trip rocker, and "Turn Me On" is good on record, but sounds like it would be absolute dynamite in a live show, with a chorus ready to be shouted by a venue full of fans. Meanwhile "1961" felt relatively unremarkable until I listened to the lyrics, which tell the story of two brothers who find themselves on opposite sides of the Berlin Wall, unable to reach each other. "But it won't be the same again," Slade sings on the song's refrain, his voice breaking into a lilting falsetto in such a heartbreaking manner that the song worked its way into my brain more and more with each listen. The record closes with "Be Still," a lullaby of a piano ballad that is carried forth by a keyboard that delays and echoes through an empty space, joined only by ambient strings, to haunting effect. As it should, the focus stays with Slade's voice until the end, and even though it isn't quite the closer "Happiness" was, it ends the album with a stark sense of finality.
Scars & Stories came together during an extensive period of traveling that the band took prior to re-entering the studio. They wrote over 70 songs for the project, and the record represents the very best of them, songs that only depart slightly from the band's established musical style, but songs that are informed by world issues and experiences. As a result, this material feels distinctly weightier and more mature than previous efforts, and the songs feel more like they are part of a single journey or arc. As the album's throwback artwork implies, The Fray set out not to make a collection of singles, but a full album, and the accomplishment of that goal is rather easily their best record to date. Landing somewhere between the piano pop of Jack's Mannequin and the increasingly classic rock driven sound of Augustana, Scars & Stories is the sound of a band that is growing and improving with each record, and I think someday, they're going to make something that's really great. With this record and the last one under their belts, they're well on their way.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
A Year in Review: The Best Music of 2011
It has been one hell of a year, in all ways, but especially musically. The unbelievable slate of releases contained work from many of my top artists, follow-ups to a few stellar debut records that could help earn the artists in question a place on that list, and plenty of brand new discoveries. That slate of releases combined into a perfect storm of albums and songs that made this my favorite music year in recent memory. It seemed like every morning when I signed onto my computer, there was a new album waiting to be heard, or an old one that I was dying to revisit. This list represents the twenty-five records that I lived, loved and listened to the most throughout the past year, but those qualifications didn't make the ordering or the inevitable cuts I had to made any easier. The top ten especially was a battle for me, as there were 11 records I desperately wanted to include but only ten slots to do so. The casualty is no less fantastic than any of the records that come before it, though, and in my eyes, they're all winners. The order is, of course, rather arbitrary: it has changed dozens of times since I started compiling this list a solid month ago, and I'm sure it will continue to do so as these records go on providing the soundtrack to my life in the coming months and years. The top five is pretty set, but beyond that, the order is a mere formality to catalog the musical moments that meant the most to me this year.
1. The Dangerous Summer – War Paint
Not since 2004’s one-two punch of personal soundtrack
moments (Butch Walker’s Letters and Jimmy Eat World’s Futures) has a new album so
thoroughly defined my life or intertwined itself so thoroughly in my day to day
experiences. That’s high praise, as those two albums both sit now (and probably
forevermore) in my all time top 3, but after spending this past summer with
this album almost literally in constant rotation, I don’t think it’s any
stretch to say that this thing has cracked my top ten, if not my top five. Every
single moment of this album, every line of every song, every vocal melody,
every massive wall of guitar chords, engraved themselves into countless moments
from this summer that I will never forget and, in doing so, have become a part
of who I am. There can be no higher praise for a set of songs than that, and
this album, from the first chord to the very last note, is something I will
treasure for the rest of my life. It’s been an incredible year for music, but
really, this one is a no-brainer. (Full review here).
Key tracks: “No One’s Gonna Need You More,” “Siren,”
“Waves,” everything else....
2. Butch Walker – The Spade
For those who haven’t read his book (Drinking With Strangers, which is a
terrific read), Butch Walker has had quite the career in the music business,
full of ups and downs, record deals gone bad, stolen songs, big hits, botched
tours and everything in between. But nowadays, Walker
has settled into one of the most consistently great solo careers anyone has had
in ages, releasing great album after great album, always morphing his sound,
and his latest continues that trend. Ever since the wildfire that took his home and
everything he owned in 2007, Walker
has seemed like a man reborn, a different artist than he was in the Letters or
Lets-Go-Out-Tonites! days. The rise-from-the-ashes folk-rock glory of Sycamore
Meadows gave way to the experimental alt-country and Beatles pop of I Liked it
Better When You Had No Heart. The Spade is, again, a different beast entirely: a
spontaneous, raucous rock n’ roll record that Walker
and his Black Widows recorded in less than a week. The result is the most fun
record of the year, one that shaped one of the best concerts I’ve ever seen,
one that has provided me with plenty of sing or shout-along moments in the car,
and one which, surprisingly, hit me just at the right time. At first, I thought
The Spade was a perfect summer record that dropped at the wrong time, but
looking back, I’m not sure I would have it any other way. The Spade released on
the day I returned to school for the fall, and hearing the album’s dusky alt-country ballad (“Closest Thing to You I’m Gonna Find”), the gorgeous
chorus of goodbyes on “Day Drunk,” or a grand send-up to a perfect summer
(“Summer of ’89”), as I drove away from my hometown and yet another glorious
season felt strangely fitting. Then again, Butch’s music has always come to my
aid, even when I least expect it to, and this record is no different. It’s
something that has caused me to reevaluate this record since its release as
something I didn’t think I would ever call it: one of his best. (Full review here).
Key tracks: “Summer of ’89,” “Day Drunk,” The last four
tracks...
3. Damnwells – No
One Listen to the Band Anymore
Two and a half years ago, the Damnwells offered their fourth
record, the stellar acoustic-based folk of One Last Century, for free download
on their site. This record came into my life at the beginning of the summer, and right
from the first listen, I was hooked. No One Listens to the Band Anymore takes the folk
of One Last Century and adds a little bit of rock and roll and a little bit of
pop, leading to the band's best record to date and one of the best
sets of songs I heard this year. The album somehow manages to contain what might be the
most gorgeously perfect pop song of the year (“Last Day of the New Age”), a
pair of instantly nostalgic acoustic ballads (“The Monster” and “The Same Way”),
and the glorious summer night classic rock of “Werewolves,” a beautiful,
mystifying piece of balladry that came alive for me on late night drives at the
end of the hottest days of the year. Those are the standouts, but in between is
plenty of roots-rock goodness that amounts to one of the best albums of the
year; there’s not a less than great song in the set.
Key tracks: “Werewolves,” “Last Day of the New Age,” “The
Same Way,” “The Monster”
4. Bon Iver – Bon Iver, Bon Iver
The story of Bon Iver’s first album has been recited so many
times, in so many different reviews, that it’s become the stuff of myth, a
story so open to hyperbolic retellings that it’s hard to know what actually
happened. The story goes that Justin Vernon disappeared into the Wisconsin
woods to mend his broken heart, lived in a log cabin by himself, and came back
with For Emma, Forever Ago. Four years later, a bunch of Kanye West
guest features and a few eclectic (read: weird) side projects later, and Bon
Iver is back. His latest is a significantly more fleshed out effort, more
suited for late summer nights than the winter afternoons and evenings that Emma
soundtracked perfectly (as evidenced from the muggy opening of the record on
the near-perfect “Perth”). This album is all about atmosphere: Vernon
seems to fill every corner of each arrangement, and the flow is hypnotic,
sometimes feeling like its all one song, but never coming across as redundant or dull. The gorgeous acoustics of “Holocene”
fly the closest to the sound that defined Emma, and the ethereal piano loops on "Wash." make that song a highlight, but the finest hour is the
keyboard and synth heavy closer Beth/Rest, an 80’s inspired piece of power
balladry that owes a lot to the likes of Peter Gabriel and Bonnie Raitt. For
some, it will sound unspeakably cheesy, but for me, on late summer night drives,
it sounded immaculate. When the guitar solo comes in during the final minutes
of the record, it almost feels like Vernon
has transported you to another world.
Key tracks: “Perth,”
“Holocene,” “Beth/Rest”
5. Jack’s Mannequin – People & Things
Much like Butch Walker, Andrew McMahon, the mastermind
behind piano-rock groups Jack’s Mannequin and Something Corporate, has never
been the type to make the same record twice. Though his work with both
of his bands has followed an eerily similar arc, where the first and second Jack’s
records seem to be perfect companion pieces to the same respective SoCo albums,
in mood, theme and flow, each album has arrived with its own unique approach to McMahon's sound. He never made it to record number 3 with Something
Corporate though, and from the sound of this album, won’t make it to record
number 4 with Jack’s either. People & Things, for all of it’s pop and folk music
tribute-paying, is most notable for how strikingly final it feels. Andrew’s
perfect pop songs are as good as ever (and there are plenty on display here:
“Racing Thoughts,” “Television,” “Amelia Jean,” “Hostage”…the list goes on and
on), but it’s in the album’s final two cuts (and on repeat listens) that the
album becomes a revelation. The slow acoustic based lullaby of “Restless Dream”
is different from anything Andrew has ever done before, and “Casting Lines” is
a rousing finale, one about endings and homecomings that hits incredibly close
to home, no matter where life has taken you. For Andrew, it feels like the
conclusion and realization of a story that began with him taking off to California
for a whirlwind summer on Everything in Transit, and if he is to be believed,
that’s how he intended it to be. If this is the last Jack’s album though, then it’s
a damn fine way to go out. It’s not Andrew’s best or his most immediate, but
it’s an album full of meaning and life, and even if it will never displace
Transit as a favorite album of mine, it’s one I can see myself returning to in
search of answers for years to come. (Full review here).
Key tracks: "Television," "Amelia Jean," "Hostage," "Casting Lines"
6. The Horrible Crowes - Elsie
I’ve never quite bought into the endless stream of
Springsteen comparisons thrown towards Brian Fallon, the frontman for punk-rock
outfit the Gaslight Anthem (whose last album, American Slang, rounded out my
top five last year). On this album though, a side project made with Gaslight
guitar tech Ian Perkins, I’ve finally begun to understand what that comparison is all about. My brother asked me if I thought this record was Brian Fallon’s Nebraska,
and that’s certainly a fitting comparison, as this album’s darker, more
stripped down material echoes the contrast between Springsteen’s early records
and the huge departure Nebraska
was. And really, Fallon might be this era’s Boss (though The Killers, Will Hoge
and The Hold Steady have all made records that sound more definitively
Springsteen-ian than any of Fallon’s), but it’s more about the charisma he
exudes and about the lyrical content of his songs than it is about that patent E-Street sound. He certainly sounds like
a rock star here, whether the songs could have been on Gaslight records
(“Behold the Hurricane,” “Go Tell Everybody”) or not (the glorious closing
trio or the evocative "Cherry Blossoms"). I still think Fallon has got his masterpiece(s) ahead of him, and the
Gaslight album on it’s way for next year might be prime time for him to make
good on that promise, but for now, I’m tempted to call this his crowning
achievement.
Key tracks: “Crush,” “Black Betty & the Moon,” “Blood
Loss”
7. Charlie Simpson – Young Pilgrim
Since it made it’s way onto my computer in mid August, Young
Pilgrim has wandered around my list quite a bit, but a recent revisiting has reminded
me how utterly splendid it is. This album didn’t get an official release in America,
which is a shame, because it’s one of the most gorgeous singer/songwriter
records I’ve heard in a long time. I found so much I could relate to in these
songs on nights in the late summer, and I continue to find more every time I
listen. From the glorious pop/rock hooks that pervade most of it’s first half, to
the quieter, folkier and less immediate (but no less terrific) second half,
Simpson has created a truly beautiful set of songs. “I get dressed up in my
autumn clothes and step outside to look at the leaves/I cannot believe a whole
year has gone/I open my arms to embrace you/It’s time to go right back to the
start,” he sings on “Thorns.” As the days got shorter and the summer began to
fade away, that song, that verse especially, was one I revisited time and time
again, like I was trying to hold onto the feeling of the season, even as it
slipped away from me. That the record has continued to grow on me through the
seasons that have followed is a testament to it’s greatness.
Key tracks: "Down, Down, Down," "Thorns," "Riverbanks"
8. Mat Kearney
– Young Love
Kearney’s previous two records are both favorites of mine
for different reasons: City of Black and White became the soundtrack to my summer in 2009, with it’s soaring hooks and gorgeous singer/songwriter mentality, while
Nothing Left to Lose was a record I revisited over and over again for the
emotional, genre-blending rap verses Kearney employed on many of the record’s
best songs. Young Love tries to blend the two and, while it comes out as the
weakest of the three, it’s still a great record and one that came to be
extremely important to me during the summer. Kearney
has said he sought to write from a more naïve, innocent point of view on this
record, and the resulting set of songs is as thrilling and euphoric as its
title suggests. The songs here are among the poppiest stuff Kearney
has written, with a few faux-rap sections thrown in for the old fans and a lot
of beat-heavy production to convert a new audience (the production is among the
best of the year). The album thrives on it’s unique pop sound, and songs like “Ships
in the Night” and “Sooner or Later” perfectly transition Kearney’s
old sound to this new template. That said, though most of the album is loud,
fun and catchy, the few sparse acoustic moments are among the most effective on
the album, like the flowing “Learning to Love Again,” a callback to the ballads
from the last two records, or “Rochester,” a homage to Nebraska-era Springsteen
that sounds a bit too similar to one of that album's songs for comfort. The
album’s biggest flaw is relegating it’s natural closer, the gorgeous “Seventeen,”
to bonus track status. Without it, the album feels incomplete, but with it, it’s
one of my favorite records of the year. (Full review here).
Key tracks: "Ships in the Night," "Sooner or Later," "Learning to Love Again," "Seventeen"
9. Matt Nathanson – Modern Love
At no point this year have I been able to mention Kearney’s
record without also mentioning Nathanson’s (or vice versa), and I’m not about
to start now. Despite the ironic similarity in the album’s titles (and the
artist’s names), Nathanson’s record develops its own theme. Where Kearney
explored the innocence of first love, Nathanson’s examines love in a world that
has lost its innocence, and the two sit together as perfect companions for one
another: two terrific summer pop albums that had similar effects on me, and two
records that I simply could not bring myself to separate on this list. Nathanson
plays pretty close to the sound that made his last album (2007s Some Mad Hope)
one of my favorites of that year. The ballads don’t hit quite as hard this time
around, but Nathanson has clearly gained some prowess elsewhere, as he delivers
some of the finest hooks I’ve heard anywhere this year. The first four tracks
are all big pop songs, culminating with “Room at the End of the World,” the
album’s best song, and one that should have been a hit on every radio station
in the country this summer.
Key tracks: "Room At the End of the World," "Drop to Hold You," "Run"
10. Mansions – Dig Up the Dead
The brainchild of singer/songwriter Christopher Browder, Dig
Up The Dead is the most heartbreaking album I heard all year: a staggeringly
desolate set of songs full of loneliness and pain. From the striking opening of
the title track, to the grungy guitar distortion that cuts across the hopeless
resignation of “Call Me When It’s Over,” all the way to the shattering
conclusion of “Yer Voice,” which takes the album out in truly climactic fashion,
there hasn’t been a more atmospheric break up album in ages. “I don’t want your
life, where everything’s easy,” Browder sings on “Yer Voice.” “That Midas touch
will unwind, that gold has no meaning.” It’s the perfect ending to the
heartbreak, a resignation that things have to change, even though it’s so hard
to let go. You can hear every ounce of pain and regret in Browder’s voice, and
that’s what makes this album special.
Key tracks: “Call Me
When It’s Over,” “Seven Years,” “Yer Voice”
11. Will Hoge - Number Seven
Will Hoge’s records sound like they come out of a different era,
and this one is no different. His mix of classic rock and alt-country recalls
rock and roll and country music legends, from Springsteen to to Petty to Muddy Waters to Hank Williams, and
his latest record finds him in familiar but welcome territory. From
storytelling acoustics ("American Dream," "Trying to Be a Man," "The Illegal Line") to gospel
infused sermons (the fiery album closer, “When I Get My
Wings”) to Hoge’s trademark rock n’ roll (the killer opening trio), there’s
nothing Hoge doesn’t do well here, and he’s pretty much at the top of the list for
must-see live artists at this point for that reason. Number Seven, though it dips a bit in
quality when it reaches its mid-section (how could it not, with five straight
classics as an opening?), but regains all of it’s power on its final numbers,
and ends up being one of the most satisfying and altogether best albums of the
year. Not as strong as Hoge’s career best (Draw the Curtains), but from the
first moment his voice entered on the first track, I felt like I was listening
to an old friend, and that’s always a good sign.
Key tracks: “Fool’s Gonna Fly,” “Goddam California,” “When I
Get My Wings”
12. Yellowcard - When You're Through Thinking, Say Yes
For how much I played this record last spring and for how
much I loved it, it actually makes me a little bit sad to place it this far
back on the list, but I honestly can’t listen to it in the same way anymore. It
definitely found me at the right time in my life: I was stuck in a seemingly
perpetual winter, nearing the end of the worst semester of my life and wanting
nothing more than to escape all of this bullshit and get back to the carefree
glory of warm summer nights, of being home and in love with my girlfriend and
doing shows three times a week for my job. This record came along and seemed to
bring a piece of summer with it. Even though it seemed so out of reach in the
April snows, that feeling I was looking for came pouring out of songs
like “With You Around” and “Soundtrack” in spades, and when I was finally done
with school, I ran to my car and got the hell out of that town as quickly as I
could, with this record providing soundtrack for my freedom and for a great
summer to come. When I hear songs like “The Sound of You and Me,” I hear the
end of a year that I’m not at all eager to go back to, and as a result, this
record hasn’t gotten much play since that drive, but it’s still Yellowcard’s
best set of songs yet, and one of the most well executed pop-rock albums of the
year. Perhaps after I’ve put a little more distance between myself and that
semester, I’ll be able to look back a little more fondly on this record.
Key tracks: “The Sound of You and Me,” “With You Around,”
“Be the Young”
13. Florence + the Machine - Ceremonials
U2's
most recent openers made a name for themselves last year with the song
"Dog Days Are Over," a rousing pop single that caught my ear
immediately. Their first album, Lungs, never quite had the same
magnetism for me as that particular single, but the follow-up is a
realization of everything Florence Welch's voice was ever meant to do.
The darkness closes in quickly and heavily on this record, bringing
pounding tribal drums, far-off chants and baroque instrumentation with
it, and the resulting set of songs is both atmospheric and deeply
emotional. Most of that is owed to Welch's rocker charisma and her
willingness to give herself entirely to every song she sings in a way
that even the album's weak moments resonate. Whether she's embracing the
darkness ("Never Let Me Go," "No Light, No Light") or reaching for the
clouds and coming up with one of the year's finest pop songs ("All This
and Heaven Too"), the resulting record is one that I've come back to
over and over again, even if it's one I never imagined loving half as
much. (Full review here).
Key tracks: "Shake it Out," "Never Let Me Go," "All This and Heaven Too"
14. Switchfoot - Vice Verses
Switchfoot has been one of my favorite bands since The Beautiful Letdown
played a big part in making me fall in love with music, and this record
is just another solid release from them. The grunge inspired rock n'
roll that dominates many of the album's cuts ("Afterlife," "The
Original," "Dark Horses") eventually gives way to the kind of earnest
balladry the band has made their name on, like on the gorgeous
"Souvenirs" or the acoustic based title track, which recalls the music
lead singer Jonathan Foreman was writing for his Seasonal EP
project. They save the best for last in the form of "Where I Belong," a
huge, climactic anthem that recalls U2 and Springsteen, and sits as one
of my favorite songs of the year. With this record, Switchfoot continue
their streak of solid releases that are just shy of great, but there are
a handful of perfect songs in this collection, and just like with the
two records that preceeded it, those will keep me coming back, again and
again. (Full review here).
Key tracks: "Where I Belong," "Souvenirs," "The Original
15. Adele - 21
The last time the year’s top selling record made my personal
best of list…well, that’s never actually happened, but I’d have to go all the way back to 1987 and Born in the U.S.A. to
find one of my favorite records on that list. That just goes to show that sometimes, out of the wreckage that pop music has become, a true artist can emerge. Adele is certainly a shining example of
this, a true talent, both as a singer and a songwriter, and this album could
very well go down as her magnum opus. It’s a break-up record, in the tradition
of Dylan’s Blood on the Tracks, Springsteen’s Tunnel of Love or Will Hoge’s
Draw the Curtains, and its songs run the range from soulful rave-ups (massive
single “Rolling in the Deep”) jazzed-out pop (“Rumor Has It”), or gospel catharsis (“Take
It All” or “One And Only”, whose building bridge section is one of the year’s
best musical moments). The dark pop of “Set Fire to the Rain,” is especially
striking, but the best moment here is the final one, the stripped down piano ballad
that is “Someone Like You.” It’s as simple as pop songs get, just Adele’s voice
over a piano line of arpeggiated triads, but the lyrics and how Adele delivers
them make it one of the best songs of the year: a stunning rumination on
heartbreak that reminded me of the very best that pop music can achieve. And
Adele’s vocal? It’s a revelation.
Key tracks: “Rolling In The Deep,” “Set Fire To The Rain,”
“Someone Like You”
The Civil Wars at once recall the best moments of both
Damien Rice and the Swell Season (and the film Once, whose soundtrack has to
be among my favorite albums). Their mix of folk and alt-country sits perfectly
on each of this album’s 12 tracks, and creates an evocative, entrancing listen
that sounds like it came out of a different era. The best moments come when dual
singers John Paul White and Joy Williams let their vocal performances carry the
arrangements, like on the gorgeous swell of “Poison & Wine,” a remarkably
simple song that is elevated to an emotional tour de force by their voices, or
on the heartbreaking “Falling,” a rumination on a break-up where Williams has her definitive moment. I’d listen to either of these artists’ solo efforts,
but together, they become the kind of musical force that was clearly meant to be; it’s not hard to see why these songs have become TV and movie soundtrack gold.
Key tracks: “Poison & Wine,” “Falling,” “To Whom It May
Concern”
One of the industry's most prolific musical chameleons, Adams' music has ranged from alt-country to rock and roll to folk to metal (true story), but has recently fallen a bit silent. His last full length of new material, 2008's Cardinology, was a decent if somewhat underwhelming collection that epitomized every problem I'd ever had with his work with the Cardinals. On his first solo album since 2007's Easy Tiger, Adams rediscovers the magic he's been missing. The set is sparse, simple and relatively quick, but recalls great moments from every stage of Adams' career, from the alt-country of Whiskeytown to the folkiest moments of the his work with the Cardinals, and the result is probably my favorite front-to-back record he's made since Gold. Ashes & Fire is made up of the kind of gorgeous folk tunes Adams has always excelled at, from the 90s inspired folk rock of "Dirty Rain" (think Counting Crows or the Wallflowers at their best) to the piano led gospel-tinged finale of "I Love You But I Don't Know What to Say." In between, Adams doesn't use much but his own acoustic guitar, but every time there's a piano lick, an organ flourish or a steel guitar moan, it feels like I've been transported back to the music of my childhood.
Key tracks: "Dirty Rain," "Come Home," "I Love You But I Don't Know What to Say"
When Nirvana's Nevermind celebrated its 20th birthday this year, Dave Grohl was immediately dragged back under the shadow of a record he's been trying to escape ever since that band imploded. He's done well finding a second career as part of the Foo Fighters, who have evolved from the one-man-band project of their first record into one of the most successful and most respected outfits in modern rock music. The band has switched the sound around with each record, going as far as to close their last record with a piano ballad and populate other parts of it with a folk or heavily classic rock influenced sound. Here though, they're back to their roots: Grohl and co. called up Butch Vig, who produced that legendary Nirvana album so many years ago and made a record in their garage. The result is their most consistent work in over a decade. The hooks on Wasting Light pile high and rock hard right from the get go, recalling that 90s sound without ever taking a step back from the evolution they've gone through since. That's evident on some of the album's darker moments, like the Zeppelin-flavored "I Should Have Known," or the rousing "Miss the Misery," from which the album takes its title. But right from my first listen, the album went from good to great when that epic guitar riff heralded the arrival of "Walk," the album's closer and its shining moment. "Walk" builds into the kind of anthemic rock and roll this band has made their name on, like "Everlong" or "Learn to Fly" or "Best of You," and as a result it feels both nostalgic and remarkably fresh. That the guitar riff pretty much rang in my summer just earns it bonus points; even more bonus points for Grohl's cameo in The Muppets.
Key tracks: "Walk," "Dear Rosemary," "I Should Have Known"
Sam Beam has made a career out of writing the kind of
gorgeous acoustic lullabies that so many artists try and fail to pull off, and
his profound lyrics and soothing voice have made songs like “The Trapeze
Swinger,” “Fever Dream,” and “Flightless Bird, American Mouth” some of my
favorite songs ever. He went a different direction on his last record (2007’s
The Shepherd’s Dog), enlisting a full band and inspiring mixed reactions, from
fans saying he sold out to many publications calling it his best and most fully
realized effort yet. On his latest, Beam continues in that direction, and the
results are mixed. Of course, the ballads are typically good: lead single and
opening track, “Walking Far From Home, while the gorgeous
“Godless Brother in Love” established itself early as my favorite song of the year and will probably still claim the title, all these months later. The full band material runs more of a range, but when it’s good,
it’s great, like on the funky “Big Burned Hand,” or the gloriously strange
closer “Your Fake Name is Good Enough for Me.”
Key tracks: “Godless Brother in Love,” “Walking Far From
Home,” “Big Burned Hand”
20. Dawes - Nothing is Wrong
Yet
another great album of roots rock and folk music, Dawes' second album
was one of my favorite new discoveries of the summer. Gorgeous guitar
solos, vocal melodies and fantastic lyrics are the cornerstones of these
songs, and much
like Will Hoge's records, they feel like they come to us from a different time. Comparisons to Tom Petty, Jackson Browne and The Eagles are all
justified, and that Southern California rock and roll sound permeates
every single song on the disc, from the wake-up call on "Time Spent in
Los Angeles" to a pair of sweetly mournful ballads ("Moon on the Water"
and "Million Dollar Bill"), and a titanic guitar showcase on "My Way
Back Home." The lyrics remain strong throughout, but they hit their peak
on the album's finale, the piano based "A Little Bit of Everything,"
which paints numerous portraits of men down on their luck, but finds
meaning in them and manages to do so without coming across as heavy
handed or cheesy. "It's not some message written in the dark, or some
truth that no one's seen," frontman Taylor Goldsmith sings in the
album's final moments. "It's a little bit of everything."
Key tracks: "Time Spent in Los Angeles," "Million Dollar Bill," "A Little Bit of Everything"
It feels a bit strange for me to consider this record alongside others from 2011, as it came into my life almost exactly a year ago, serving as soundtrack for the first leg of my drive home for Christmas break. That was a leak though, and since the release date fell in January, this record is still fully eligible to be here. What a great record it is, too. I've never listened to the Decemberists much, but after this record (and an equally good EP, also from this year), I hope to change that. The King is Dead is a straightforward 70s/80s inspired folk record, drawing influence from the likes of R.E.M. (whose guitarist, Peter Buck, even makes a few appearances), Springsteen, Richard and Linda Thompson and a little bit of Dylan thrown in for good measure. The resulting set of songs ranges from rousing (opener "Don't Carry It All") to gorgeous ("June Hymn," "Dear Avery") and demands to be heard, especially with the season that's just around the corner.
Key tracks: "Don't Carry it All," "Dear Avery," "This is Why We Fight"
22. Augustana - Self-Titled
Augustana
made one of my favorite records back in 2008 with Can't Love, Can't
Hurt, and even though their latest doesn't come close to that one, it's
still one of the best pop-rock records I heard all year. Some members of
the band went their separate ways shortly after the album dropped (though lead
singer Dan Layus and the other remaining members have decided to keep
the Augustana moniker), so this record is the final portrait of the band
as they once were, and it's a good one. This record got a bit
overshadowed by a torrent of great releases last spring and summer, but it's
still as solid a record as I've come to expect from this band. They had
a lot of competition in the roots-rock genre this year, from the likes
of the Damnwells, Ryan Adams and Dawes, but the album's finest songs
stand easily with the best of those, and the band's albums continue to
remind me of the golden age of radio rock that was happening when I was a
kid. It's a shame that these guys never got beyond "Boston" as far as
radio airplay went, but this album is full of great songs that would
have made worthy hits.
Key tracks: "Just Stay Here Tonight," "The Wrong Side of Love," "You Were Made For Me"
Despite the fact that it lacks the emotional force of their best work (which, to me, remains the one-two punch of Transatlanticism and Plans), Codes and Keys is an intriguing piece of work from a band that I've always liked but rarely loved. Sonically, it sounds as great as anything they've ever done, with the production and the instrumentation immediately creating a musical landscape that proves to be simply rapturous. The songwriting rarely reaches the height of their best material, but when it does, like on the thrillingly beautiful ride of "Unobstructed Views" (which recalls "Passenger Seat") or the bright acoustic finale of "Stay Young, Go Dancing," the record truly soars. Both of those are among the purest love songs frontman Ben Gibbard has ever written, and even though they take on a heartwrenching edge now that the relationship that inspired them has come to an end, they're still among my favorite songs of the year. One of the year's many great nighttime records.
Key tracks: "Home is a Fire," "Unobstructed Views," "Stay Young, Go Dancing"
Three years ago, Fleet Foxes' debut self-titled album was the last piece of the puzzle for a top ten that I still regard pretty highly. The order may have switched around, but every record that I placed on my list that year has stood the test of time, and the exquisite, atmospheric vocal harmonies of Fleet Foxes' appalachian folk music were no different. The highly anticipated follow up doesn't quite reach the level of its predecessor as a whole, but the finest moments find the band nearing perfection: I couldn't stop listening to the vocal splendor of the title track when this album came out, and I still think it's one of the year's best songs. "Someone You'd Admire" is a sparse acoustic number that feels both fresh and classic, while "The Shrine/An Argument" has a tumultuous build that allows the anger in frontman Robin Pecknold's voice to really stand out. And "Grown Ocean" is one of the year's most driving and epic closers. Those four songs overshadow the rest of the record a bit, but the first half is exceptional as well, with "Montezuma" picking off where the last record left off; it's not much a departure, but the second the vocal harmonies kick in, you'll be hard pressed to care.
Key tracks: "Helplessness Blues," "The Shrine/An Argument," "Grown Ocean"
25. Transit - Listen & Forgive
The Honorable Mentions
Transit spends much of their excellent third full length record recounting nostalgic experiences and basking in the power of music to move the soul. It's perhaps appropriate that I begin and end my list with two records that have a lot in common, as Listen & Forgive is an emotional pop-punk album that reminds me in a lot of ways of both Dangerous Summer records. It's probably the third or fourth obvious "break-up record" on this list, and while that type of album in this genre can easily come across as whiny and one-dimensional, the songwriting skills on display here escape that fate with ease: see the emotive, wistful chorus of the album's first single, "Long Lost Friends," the instantly infectious hook of "All Your Heart" or the acoustic swell of "Skipping Stone," whose tour-de-force vocal harmonies actually result in some legit overtones (who ever heard of that in pop-punk music?) And even though slot 25 is a precarious position for any record to be in, since plenty of records contended and plenty more could still grow on me enough to take its place, every time the shout along chorus comes in on "The Answer Comes in Time," the album's climactic moment, I can't help but feel like putting it at the end of this list just feels right.
Key tracks: "Skipping Stone," "Long Lost Friends," "The Answer Comes in Time"
The Honorable Mentions
Those 25 records represent a lot of what defined 2011 for me, but of course, there were countless more songs and albums that earned special places in my heart this year, and it hurt to cut a few of them from this ultimate list. Out of the 150 some new albums I listened to this year, here are some of the exclusions I had the hardest time making:
Snow Patrol and The Script made terrific pop-rock albums that I would have been absolutely crazy about 5 or 6 years ago, but that I still enjoyed immensely today for their big, earnest, soundtrack-ready sound. I could not find a way to include either of them.
Peter Bradley Adams and Mree both released gorgeous, moving and incredibly calming records that I found myself returning to over and over again. I still think both deserve more time than I gave them though, and as a result, I could not find room for them either.
The Swellers and The Wonder Years both wrote records that, much like Transit and The Dangerous Summer, took the often formulaic pop-punk genre to another level. Each hit me hard, mostly for nostalgic reasons, but both had individual songs that were greater than the whole, and as a result, I felt inclined to leave them off when all was said and done.
Blink-182 delivered a comeback record that featured some of the most addicting pop rock songs of the year, a set of songs that amounted to one of their finest records, but one that left my regular rotation too quickly to make my top 25.
Sleeping At Last and Jim Ivins both released incredible EPs (in the former's case, a whole set of them), with songs that were easily among my favorites of the year, but I've never felt comfortable putting EPs on a list of full length albums, and the task of getting through 12 EPs of material was simply too daunting for me to get a full grasp on the Sleeping At Last Material.
Chad Perrone, the guy who took my album of the year title last year, released a home-recorded, stripped down project that was half new material, half acoustic reinventions of old stuff. The presence of pre-released stuff made me more inclined to consider it a live album, and as a result, it was ineligible for my list, but it's something I can fully recommend.
The Horrors made a record of retro, 80s-esque rock and roll that reminded me on first listen of how I felt when I first heard the Killers' debut record. It also never got enough listens, though the album's centerpiece cut, "Still Life," hasn't left my rotation.
M83 put together a double album of U2-sized atmospherics that I'm only just getting into. It's far too early for me to judge it as a whole, but suffice to say that Pitchfork might not be too far off in naming "Midnight City" the best song of the year.
Go Radio and I Can Make a Mess Like Nobody's Business both made inconsistent albums whose finest moments resonated with me in astounding ways on summer nights. Those moments will appear on my song list, even though both albums fall a bit short of this one.
Lydia, the Red Hot Chili Peppers and City & Colour all released records that I would classify as disappointments due to the high level of quality achieved on previous records in their careers, but all three records had shining moments that made me really want to love them as a whole. Sadly, I never did.
Matthew Ryan and Jon McLaughlin both released new records, but I believe both deserve more time before I judge them fully, and as a result, I had to leave them behind.
This Love released a moving, inspirational collection of pop-rock songs by interpolating famous presidential speeches into their music. It was a close one, but I ultimately couldn't quite justify its presence on the list. The same can be said for The Cinema, a pop side project (the lead singer of Lydia) that I liked right away, but never delved far enough into to truly love.
Manchester Orchestra created a disjointed, heavily flawed record that I still found myself coming back to repeatedly, for reasons that I still can't explain completely.
The Summer Set put out an album of catchy power pop that was mostly disposable, but which spawned a few staples for my summer soundtrack.
Frank Ocean made an innovative R&B mixtape that featured originals and clever re-imaginings of other artists' songs. This style has never been my thing, but Ocean's voice is fantastic, and his unique approach to this type of music caught my ear. It deserves a mention.
Meg & Dia made a ridiculously fun summer pop album that I never gave the time it deserved. It's a record I expect will grow on me in the year to come, but for now, it misses the list.
And R.E.M. said their goodbyes to the music industry with Collapse Into Now, where they referenced every one of their eras before closing the book on their illustrious career with the album's coda, "Blue." It's a record I always admired more than I loved, especially since their break-up, but even though it didn't make my list of favorites, it deserves the most honorable of mentions.
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