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![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} michaelpop's Best of 200420.  Not quite a sophomore slump, but not quite capitalizing on the promise of their debut, either; the truth lies somewhere in between. I probably gave this record more attention than anything else this year because I really wanted it to be great, but the reality is there are a few truly outstanding tracks, a few that are okay, and the rest is glorified filler. Bottom line, when it comes to romantic imagery, beauty and nuance, Antics doesn't come anywhere close to matching its predecessor. I am, however, willing to chalk this one up as being their "difficult transitional album". Already indie rock nobility, it speaks volumes about their ability that even with a subpar outing that they can still remain head and shoulders above 90% of their peers. 19.  As exhilarating as it is frustrating, portions of this record are meandering and forgettable, and they bear their influences (think Velvet Underground meets the Shangri-Las/Supremes) a little too obviously, but damnit if their Swedish charm didn't eventually win me over. Improved sequencing would've made the album more engaging, as the hazy, listless ballads halt any momentum created by the more playful, horn-drenched rave-ups. But even with all of its faults, the high points on this record prove that this remarkably talented ensemble's got a rich, promising future ahead of them. 18.  You're probably already familiar with these guys (and girl) and not even aware of it; their song "Pressure Point" is currently in an advert for Levi's (the one where a dog chases a girl into a tree and steals her trousers). The Zutons advance on the Coral's brand of wacky Liverpudlian Scouse skiffle-pop by rakishly combining wildly disparate influences (rock, country, ska and soul to name but a few) and a keener, more focused pop sensibility into a cohesive mix to create an album that's consistently engaging and refreshingly imaginative. 17.  Plain and simple, this album fucking rocks. Craig Finn's been through the rock n' roll wars and he calls it like he sees it here. You'll either love his nasally, in-your-face, sing-speak delivery or hate it, but he's already too over it to care. His story-song portraits of been-there done-that rock n' roll excess are framed with sweaty, beer-soaked, blue-collar riffs, and an unforgiving, bone-crunching rhythm section. When he shouts "It's good to see you back in a bar band, baby", you can practically smell the sawdust floors and stale cigarette smoke. 16.  Probably the best pure power-pop record I heard all year, and certainly one of the most fun. Scott McCaughey and co. recorded this thing in one day and there's a noticeable absence of polish to the proceedings. In this case, their urgency in the studio's a good thing coming off his excessively slick recent collaboration with Wilco. Here it's just simple, straight-ahead fuzzed-out guitar and great harmonies, abetted by a little psychedelic keyboard here, judicious use of cowbell there, and all of it tethered to McCaughey's rollicking, sunshiney wit. This is the kind of record that (the) summer (of love) was made for. 15.  The Delgados claim this is their stab at a proper "pop" record, and in a way they're right, but don't be fooled. Gone for the most part are the meticulously arranged orchestras and elaborate wall-of-sound production, replaced by a more direct, conventional rock approach. But these being the Delgados, there's still an abundance of wistfulness that permeates throughout, and cloaked beneath the guitar-pop facade are songs flush with despair and isolation that reveal their melancholy heart. In other words, vintage Delgados. Only now those songs are wrapped around bigger, sweeter hooks. 14.  A bit more polished than their debut, but no less heartfelt or frenetic. This record's brimming with punk rock energy, passion and aggression, and they managed to channel some of that furor into a bonafide political anthem in "God And Country". At first blush Fuckin' A blazes by in one walloping sonic slew making it difficult to differentiate one roaring three-chord jam from the next, but patience reveals the subtle variations and nuances in their attack. 13.  Nashville's a long way from Wales, and this solo debut record from the former Catatonia frontwoman is an equally large departure from her previous incarnation as an indie rock diva. Cockahoop is a tender, delicate, twangy Americana record that required Matthews to shelve the bombast and adopt a gentler, more winsome vocal tack. Here she delights us in showing off her tender, vulnerable side, nimbly administering the perfect amounts of gracefulness and intensity throughout. Acoustica prevails, and the measured production supports these simple folk-pop songs perfectly, creating a sound that's warm and lively. Cockahoop is a likable, endearing record that skips along with the greatest of ease. A welcome return to the fold. 12.  Not as complex, dense or instantly pleasing as past efforts, and, like the Thermals record, Leo's urgent, power-trio set-up merits a few spins before the melodic undertones creep in, but he's still every bit as cerebral and eloquent as we've come to expect. In a crucial election year, the approach is fittingly more urgent and direct, and Leo seizes the opportunity to weave a political thread throughout without ever resorting to simple soap-box sermonizing; he's too clever a wordsmith to have to rely on that. Rather, his tales are of a more cautionary nature, putting the message out there for each individual to discern for themselves. The songs are more uniformly cohesive and muscular than before, and Leo's delivery is as insistently kinetic and acrobatic as ever. In a perfect world, this is what you would see next to the definition for "pop/punk". 11.  The kind of record that Suede used to make before Bernard took his guitar away and Brett went glam. Beautiful and aching, managing to walk the fine line that separates melodramatic angst from becoming overwrought, these are slow-burning late-night torch-songs for wounded romantics. The heart-stirring orchestral embellishments that usually signify bombast and pretension (see: Starsailor) are employed here to punctuate Finn Andrews' extraordinary, teeteringly emotive vocal stylings. The production manages to preserve the integrity of even the most sprawling, sweeping arrangements while at the same time imbuing the more romantic, intimate numbers with ardent pathos. Oh, what's that? Bernard lent a hand and produced some of this? You don't say. 10.  You may know Dan Bejar as the New Pornographer's illusive "mystery member", but his day job is captaining the SS Destroyer where he choreographs some of the most pretentious, ambitious, theatrical and visionary music this side of Colin Meloy. Starting with an acoustic guitar foundation, Bejar constructs elaborately layered tunes with the aid of so-cheesy-it's-good synthesized orchestration, and like Meloy, he peppers his lyrics with cryptic and obscure references and manages to pull off this highfalutin avant-garde art-pop charade without sacrificing his pop instincts. At turns complex and difficult, thrilling and strange, this record redefines the possibilities of the one-man-band. 09.  Post-punk revival ALL RIGHT! It's a familiar refrain, but this isn't simply a case of a band jumping on coattails and recycling from proven formulas. The Futureheads is a winning combination of Jam-inspired punk-energy, Gang Of Four hooks and multi-part harmonies. These guys wear their influences proudly on their sleeves, yet instead of coming off as coolly calculated and derivative, they're talented and cocksure enough to forge an identity that is wholly their own. Not content just to be able to craft a catchy tune, they've written an album full of astute observations, punctuated with a wry sense of humor. The Futureheads is an energetic, hook-filled, twitchy pop record that, if released in 1979, would probably be referenced as a "classic" today. 08.  Originally shelved in favor of last year's Rock n' Roll, and then released as 2 EP's, Love Is Hell was finally properly re-issued earlier this year the way that Adams had originally intended. And I, for one, couldn't be happier because it deserves its due. Love Is Hell is Adams's most affecting and consistent body of work since his debut. Here he avoids his schizophrenic tendencies to try and be all things to everyone and instead set out with an implicit goal in mind: to create a Brit-inflected rainy-day sad-bastard record. With former Smiths producer John Porter on board, he succeeds. This record is hardly as relentlessly melancholy and bleak as Lost Highway would have you believe, which isn't to say that it's a walk in the park; Love Is Hell is very much a mood piece. This record reflects some of Adams's richest and most evocative songwriting to date, and the material is textured with equally thoughtful arrangements. Oh, and one more thing: "Wonderwall". 07.  This might've ranked higher if it'd come out earlier in the year and I had more time to live with it, but as it stands it's a record of such great immediacy that it grabs you on the initial listen and doesn't let go. Who knew gloom and doom could provide such great dancefloor fodder? I love a concept album and this one's a doozy: take all the pain and anguish that comes from losing a loved one and channel those emotions into crafting a work that is comforting, healing and oddly uplifting. Just don't call it emo. The pedigree's a familiar one, but it's the performances that are central here, with each track radiating with energetic, high-strung abandon. Songs start out in one direction and seem to inevitably evolve into four-on-the-floor quasi-disco breakdowns. A striking debut from the year's latest Next Big Thing. 06.  At one point I went on record as calling this their worst release since their debut, but I'm comfortable enough to admit when I'm wrong. While not on the level of their last two records, this one proved it wasn't a slouch or a black-eye in their discography, and in fact served to cement Wilco's place as one of the most important bands in American rock. Without Jay Bennet to reign him in, Jeff Tweedy channeled the pain of his oft-publicized battle with migraines into epic guitar freak-outs, indulging his inner Neil Young to mostly superlative effect. At times exceedingly difficult and self-indulgent. this record requires a major investment on the part of the listener, but the rewards are worth more than worth it. Patience will reveal that A Ghost Is Born is the sum of all of Wilco's parts, the jambalaya you get when you throw all of their LP's into a pot and simmer. 05.  Certainly seeing him perform on three occasions this year really brought this record to life, and, yes, currently being in a transitional place in my romantic life means songs like "I Like You", "Let Me Kiss You", "The World Is Full Of Crashing Bores" and "I'm Not Sorry" take on a certain added resonance. And, of course, let's not forget how many times this year I danced to "First Of The Gang To Die" and "Irish Blood/English Heart". But let's put that aside for a moment and give Morrissey his props. He's settling comfortably into his new role as a crooner and sounds as muscular and elegant as ever. He's also as wry and sardonic as ever, coming back from an extended absence with a vengeance to prove that he's still a vital and relevant voice. 04.  If pressed to describe how this record sounds to someone who hadn't heard it, the best I could come up with is something lazy like "a cross between the Faint and Pet Sounds." This is psych-pop for the LSD-set, or perhaps the aural accompaniment to the new Willy Wonka remake. Kevin Barnes is a whimsical genius, a musical mad-hatter who resides in his own unique fantasy world, and this record is the byproduct of his peculiar and delightful brand of dementia. Ideas are scattered all over the place and Barnes treats each of them like a kid in a candy shop, cramming track after track full of as much surreal, psychedelic imagery as possible. Sugary sweet, this record isn't for the faint of twee. But if saccharine's your thing, this is flawless, air-tight, unabashedly joyful pop music of the highest caliber. 03.  I'll be the first in line to admit that I hated this album even before I'd heard it. Rilo Kiley and I, we go way back, and after being disappointed with their last record and then learning of their subsequent jump to the big leagues, I felt like a jilted lover. Bitter and resentful, I (not so secretly) hoped for them to fall on their faces. Even so, I went into this record with an open mind and found myself shocked at how the band had changed, but not necessarily in a bad way. Everything about More Adventurous screams IMPORTANT: A big-league production job that coats everything in thick studio gloss; blustery string arrangements galore; and the all-important radio-friendly single. In fact, listening to More Adventurous reminded me of another little Southern-Californian-band-that-could--No Doubt--what with the mix making Jenny Lewis's vocals the centerpiece and essentially relegating everyone else to session-musician status. Previously one of indie-rock's best-kept secrets, Rilo Kiley have made the record they've always wanted to make and in the process made it impossible for folks to ignore them now. 02.  Yes, garage rock is SO 2002, but talent has a way of transcending trends. If you're even vaguely familiar with the soap-opera that is the Libertines, you're fully aware they're a Behind The Music waiting to happen. The Libertines happens to be an unintentional concept record, the concept being "we need to record this as quickly as possible because one of our singers is strung out on heroin and we don't know if he'll live long enough to get all of his parts recorded". The built-in tension between no good smack-junkie/loose-cannon Paul Doherty and the rest of his mates makes for some of the greatest drama committed to tape all year. This tautness is the single biggest factor helping to motivate them. Tossed off, freewheeling and raucous, this is rock 'n' roll as therapy and intervention, and at turns The Libertines is also heartbreaking and touchingly poignant. The Libertines are so talented and make rock 'n' roll seem so effortless that you really hope they're able to keep the wheels on the wagon for a little while longer. 01.  What else can be said about these guys? I'll admit that I more or less made up my mind, oh, back in MARCH, that this was going to be my favorite record of the year. Nothing released since had seriously threatened to usurp its status as my number one. But little did I know way back then that they'd become so ubiquitous (Band Of The Year?) and at this point everyone's got opinion on them. Are they the most important/best/most amazing band in the world? Probably not, but they came along at the right time and made rock fun and dance-eriffic again. I'm curious as to what they're going to do for an encore, but 2004 is the year that Franz Ferdinand ruled. (And the fact that they penned my theme song didn't hurt their standing with me, either.) |
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