14. Bird of Youth – Defender
In my review of this record when it was first released, I described in (perhaps too) vivid detail my negative associations with this group. Briefly, it was at a concert during which Beth Wawerna and select pieces of her band opened acoustically for Okkervil River. I was with my girlfriend at the time, and we had a miserable evening which, in my mind, precipitated the terminal decay of our relationship. But besides that, Ms. Wawerna was simply awful. Her songs were structurally weak, lyrically incomprehensible, and chock full of inchoate motifs. Pair that with her relatively flat on-stage affect, and you have the makings of a decidedly mediocre performance. But a mere couple of years later, and Beth Wawerna returned with a magnificent, sparkling, razor-sharp debut. The songs here are glittering and polished. Wawerna has turned from an apprentice into a master songsmith. Will Sheff’s production shines too; giving this record a folksy shine that suits Beth Wawerna’s warm, down-home songwriting style and sugary alto. On the whole, it’s a huge step forward, and portends a career brighter than this publication ever imagined. I’m not sure if the changes over the past couple years were primarily in her or in me, but they were changes for the better.
13. The Mountain Goats – All Eternals Deck
John Darnielle has survived long enough to see himself become a villain in indie circles. His base of fans, once fiercely loyal, has turned on him for turning his back on the four-track intimacy that made him so popular in the first place. Of course, this crowd is a similar-minded crowd to the one that turned its back so viciously on Death Cab for Cutie (before they actually started to suck). But as is so often the case, the opinion of indie purists is largely irrelevant. And All Eternals Deck is proof enough of that. It is a beautiful record. Stunning. From the gentle fingerpicking, the mellow, round piano, and crisp hi-hat that opens “Damn These Vampires”, it’s clear that this is the freshest, cleanest iteration of the Mountain Goats we’ve yet heard. What’s surprising is how comfortable Darnielle sounds within this framework. It’s like he had never produced any other kind of record. Certainly that’s a testament to his adaptability and raw skill as a musician. It speaks too, to the quality of his songs, that they can sound good regardless of how they are presented. And to be sure, this is the finest batch of songs Mr Darnielle has offered us in some time (which is quite an accolade, as he is among the most consistent artists working today). But after a few listens, it becomes clear that this is how this band was meant to be heard: clear, ringing piano; fresh acoustic guitars, reserved but present percussion. And arc. These songs have arc for which his previous instrumentation did not allow. Indeed, it seems, thirteen albums in, John Darnielle might have grown up.
12. Kurt Vile – Smoke Ring for My Halo
Philadelphia is quickly becoming the center of a new wave in music today: artists from this town are peddling fundamental folk songs about doubt and love and loss drenched in a narcotic haze. It’s not really shoegaze, but certainly all these guys listened to Loveless more than a few times. Kurt Vile is at the fore of this trend (though The War on Drugs are another prominent figure, and A Sunny Day in Glasgow are caught in the haze – if not the folksy one – as well). He has delivered a few of good-not-great albums to date, but hits his stride in full on Smoke Ring for My Halo. It is by far Vile’s best offering. These are brooding, nostalgic meditations from a man isolated. The influence of artists as diverse as My Bloody Valentine and Johnny Cash are evident right on the surface of this album. If that sounds fascinating, that’s because it is. It’s hard to call Smoke Ring, and maybe Vile’s whole artistic identity for that matter, totally…his. It would be more accurate to say that it’s the synthesis of a collection of artists he admires. His music, and this album, is a series of projections superimposed atop one another to generate a chaotic but ultimately coherent new image. Vile is something like a malcontent; spending his time pining (“Baby’s Arms”) or meditating on the tension between desires for security and progress (“Peeping Tomboy”). But the nebulousness of his self-perception does not bleed over into his presentation. The latter is focused, elegant, and executed with absolute clarity. This wasn’t the case on his other records; previously, Vile was trying to discover himself as a performer and artist, and it showed. Smoke Ring for My Halo is a realization of Kurt Vile’s potential. It is the record in the Kurt Vile canon where he finally figured himself out.
11. Panda Bear – Tomboy
Animal Collective sucks. For all their droves of adoring fans, they put up a despicable snoozer at Coachella 2010. Their music is droning, pretentious, willfully inaccessible, and undisciplined. And Noah Lennox’s last record, 2007′s Person Pitch, was, for all its flashes of brilliance, ultimately an unfocused effort by a wildly talented young man with no self-restraint. Now it’s unclear what happened between 2007 and now, but Tomboy represents a sea change in the manner in which Lennox operates. These songs are tight and lean. Lennox has gone and got his shit together. This album is cleaner, smoother, less brash and uncivilized than Person Pitch. But this lack of a robust “statement” is refreshing. It’s nice to hear Lennox just air his ideas out rather than present them as ceremonies in and of themselves. These are simpler times for Noah Lennox, it seems. Now if only Animal Collective will follow suit.
10. Jay-Z and Kanye West – Watch the Throne
On 12 December, your faithful correspondent watched Jay-Z and Kanye West perform “Niggas in Paris”. Nine times. That concert was as opulent an affair as you might expect, far removed from the spartan fare of most concerts you might see at venues like the Troubadour or even the Wiltern. But Watch the Throne, the debut full-length collaboration from the twin titans of the hip-hop world, is nothing approaching understated. This album is aggressive. It’s bombastic. It’s unapologetic. It sounds careless and dashed off. It’s half-assed and undercooked as all hell. They probably put in no effort. Honestly, it sounds like the work of a couple afternoons. But it’s the best hip-hop album released this year. By a country mile.
9. Cass McCombs – Humor Risk
So usually, Cass McCombs’ music is pretty depressing. Reading interviews with the man, it’s clear that he’s got some rather heavy shit on his mind. Of that there can be little doubt. And it has made him prolific; Humor Risk is the second album he has put out this year alone. His first, WIT’S END, was typical McCombs: dark and deflated. And it’s a lovely record, to be sure. But it’s nothing new. Nothing exciting. Nothing intriguing. Humor Risk, on the other hand, is the most enigmatic record released this year. All of McCombs’ innate cynicism remains, but he presents it within a sunnier disposition. “Love and pain are the same thing, in my opinion,” he shrugs on album standout, “The Same Thing”. That opinion comes across; his many depressions and preoccupations are situated within a brighter context on Humor Risk. If 2011 is the year of the push-pull, the year of the tension between the presentation and the subject matter, then this record is among the most emblematic of the trend. And don’t forget: in Cass McCombs we have perhaps the most underrated songwriter of our generation. A year in which he offers two albums is a year in which we are blessed. It’s just sad that nobody else seems to realize that.
8. St. Vincent – Strange Mercy
Annie Clark is so hot right now. The underdog personified, she rose from absolute obscurity — “that cute girl in Sufjan Stevens’ backing band” — to relative fame. And clearly, Clark is done with hiding bashfully in the background. “I, I, I, I, I don’t wanna be a cheerleader no more. I, I, I, I, I don’t wanna be a dirt eater no more,” she wails on “Cheerleader”. Strange Mercy finds Clark embracing her prominence and walking with no shortage of swagger into the spotlight. Her solo work is consistently fantastic, and Strange Mercy is no exception. This record will help bolster the impression of her as, a) a legitimately phenomenal guitarist (her inventiveness on the instrument is perhaps eclipsed only by Marnie Stern) and b) possibly a genius songwriter. The aforementioned “Cheerleader” is among the year’s best songs, but Strange Mercy is a wire-to-wire success, with Clark exploring every thrilling corner of her songwriting. What’s really wonderful about St. Vincent records is the sense that Clark is simultaneously discovering things as she goes while at the same time maintaining absolute command of her craft. It’s a mammoth task that she accomplishes with almost careless grace. She is shaping up to be one of the best artists around, and this publication is eager to see what her future holds.
7. Destroyer – Kaputt
It’s no secret that Dan Bejar likes to drink and screw. The former is evident enough to anyone who has seen him perform live, and the latter will be clear after one spin of any album he’s ever released. And both of those things are great; Bejar’s music has a drunkenly lecherous quality to it that compounds its pathos. He had that style down to a science, too; only he could pull of a song called “Entering White Cecilia” that was actually about having sex with a really pale chick named Cecilia. So it would have been very easy, then, for Bejar to throw back another half bottle of whiskey and put out just another album of his belligerent, perverted sex jams. But on Kaputt, Bejar takes a good, long, (mostly) sober look in the mirror. This record is rife with self-hatred, bitterness, pained nostalgia, and tones of remorse. It’s by far the least capricious work Bejar has ever done, but Kaputt still boasts immense variety, from the sexy shuffle of “Chinatown” to the sprawling, ambitious masterpiece “Bay of Pigs”. It reminds us that Dan Bejar is not some drunken, horny malcontent. At least not just.
6. Cut Copy – Zonoscope
High school English teachers often say the first sentence of an essay should be an “attention grabber”. That is to say, it should pull the reader in, it should be the most interesting sentence of your essay. Cut Copy clearly assimilated that message, because they consistently deliver amazing first songs. Their last album, In Ghost Colours, boasted a euphoric opener in “Feel the Love”. But Zonoscope outshines that record in every way. And it starts from song one: “Need You Now” is, quite simply, the best song Cut Copy have ever written. The song lilts and swings through a verse before barreling through the delicious hook. It portends what is to come for the remainder of the album; a confident, airtight affair chock full of memorable jams and sugary dance-floor ready gems. The Aussies have matured considerably in the years since In Ghost Colours, injecting restraint and dynamic awareness into their arsenal where only raw energy used to exist. That makes this a far subtler, far more satisfying listen. It is not perhaps as immediately exhilarating as In Ghost Colours, but it is certainly vastly more gratifying. Unlike its predecessor, this record hits the ears in different ways with every spin. It is rich, nuanced, and almost alive. To be sure, it separates Cut Copy from the pack. What James Murphy void?
