Here we are, the grand finale of our Music in the 2010s coverage. Honestly, the whole thing is starting to feel like homework; I'm writing this like hours in advance, sweaty and just passing off mediocre work to get it over with.
Not that I don't love these albums. In fact, because they are some of my very favorite of all time, it means that I've already written about a lot of them. Twelve of the 25 received the The Albums That Matter treatment, and I'll link to those. The others have certainly gotten mention on this blog over the years.
I love music, I love thinking about music, I love (and constantly struggle with) writing about music. But forget the quality of the blurbs, and just listen to these albums—that's where the quality is.
If you missed any previous entries in the Decade's Best coverage, you can find it all HERE (along with past years' lists). I'd love to hear from some other people. What did I miss? What did I get wrong? Shoot me a text. Let's talk music and life in the 2010s. It was a wild ass ride!
26. (TIE) Benji by Sun Kil Moon (2014)
Alright, yeah, I fucked up, and totally forgot about ranking this album, even though I already wrote about it in anticipation of ranking it eventually. I only realized this after the 50-26 list was published, and you gotta be fucking crazy if you think I'm going back and changing every fucking number on there (plus #26 sounds about right for Benji anyway). I'm already struggling enough with this shit. So let Benji stay tied with White Reaper Does It Again, I don't really care. I do care, however, about the stories on this album. As much of an asshole as the artist may or may not be, let us not forget that he had it in him to pierce our hearts at least once in his sad life.
A song to try: "Dogs"
25. The King Is Dead by the Decemberists (2011)
I already wrote about this album, but I'll say this too—it's almost more impressive that the Decemberists were able to do a "back to our roots" album, just because of their fanciful history. When the Black Keys, for instance, pull that move, it seems cheap and more like a marketing ploy. For the Decemberists, going back to "roots" was a sincere departure for them. When not including a ten-minute whaling epic on your album is considered a departure, then you know you are a unique band.
A song to try: "All Arise!"
Not that I don't love these albums. In fact, because they are some of my very favorite of all time, it means that I've already written about a lot of them. Twelve of the 25 received the The Albums That Matter treatment, and I'll link to those. The others have certainly gotten mention on this blog over the years.
I love music, I love thinking about music, I love (and constantly struggle with) writing about music. But forget the quality of the blurbs, and just listen to these albums—that's where the quality is.
If you missed any previous entries in the Decade's Best coverage, you can find it all HERE (along with past years' lists). I'd love to hear from some other people. What did I miss? What did I get wrong? Shoot me a text. Let's talk music and life in the 2010s. It was a wild ass ride!
Alright, yeah, I fucked up, and totally forgot about ranking this album, even though I already wrote about it in anticipation of ranking it eventually. I only realized this after the 50-26 list was published, and you gotta be fucking crazy if you think I'm going back and changing every fucking number on there (plus #26 sounds about right for Benji anyway). I'm already struggling enough with this shit. So let Benji stay tied with White Reaper Does It Again, I don't really care. I do care, however, about the stories on this album. As much of an asshole as the artist may or may not be, let us not forget that he had it in him to pierce our hearts at least once in his sad life.
A song to try: "Dogs"
I already wrote about this album, but I'll say this too—it's almost more impressive that the Decemberists were able to do a "back to our roots" album, just because of their fanciful history. When the Black Keys, for instance, pull that move, it seems cheap and more like a marketing ploy. For the Decemberists, going back to "roots" was a sincere departure for them. When not including a ten-minute whaling epic on your album is considered a departure, then you know you are a unique band.
A song to try: "All Arise!"
I already wrote about this album, but I'll say this too—there's this idea that a sophomore album that does the same exact thing as the debut but better, can't actually be better because it doesn't introduce anything new. And then there are people who prefer Room on Fire. This album is for the latter group.
(EDIT: I have been told by fatter, older sources that American Slang is the Gaslight Anthem's third album. I was not aware that they released an album before The '59 Sound. I don't know if "And then there are people who prefer First Impressions of Earth" works as well here. FUCK IT. AMERICAN SLANG 4EVER.)
A song to try: "The Diamond Church Street Choir"
I wrote about this album already, but not part of The Albums That Matter, just a regular Record Club review, but still, I'll say this too—the "Irishness" of Dogrel is probably a little overplayed (by me). There's a noticeable accent, sure, but you can be from fucking Japan and still feel like the coolest motherfucker on the planet listening to this album.
A song to try: "Hurricane Laughter"
I already wrote about this album, but I'll say this too—I really, really, really, really hate Weezer, so the fact that one of their albums is at #22 should tell you all you need to know.
A song to try: "The British Are Coming"
I already wrote about this album, but I'll say this too—I suppose it's a little lame that this album is so high up on my '10s list, since it really is an accurate portrayal of everything I felt throughout the '00s. Time is fluid, decades don't matter, emotions are universal, MoBo is the tits.
A song to try: "Broken Cash Machine"
I already wrote about this album, but I'll say this too—"Stay Useless" is of course the centerpiece, but this is not a situation where it's rising the tide for all boats. Attack on Memory maintains the quality throughout. It's cathartic, really, with the screaming over the hooks. Cloud Nothings haven't really found that balance since.
A song to try: "Our Plans"
I already wrote about this album, but I'll say this too—if you are worried about how "cool" your musical tastes make you feel, then Torches is probably not the album for you, because I guess Foster the People are not that well-received in the indie rock world. BUT, if you are the type of person who just wants some tasty fucking hooks in your music, then come with me to the early '10s, when we were all wearing pumped up kicks.
A song to try: "Houdini"
I already wrote about this album, but I will say this—I feel like for too many of these blurbs I'm writing something like "this band got it write this first time, and the rest of their decade output was of lesser quality." While that's technically true here as well—there is no better tTMoE album than The Wild Hunt—I don't want to overstate it. This is probably the best album, in my opinion, because of when I listened to it, and nothing more. The dude makes some great music. Maybe another album will have a bigger impact on you because of when you listened to it. I.e. don't take my word for it. Still... this is fucking great.
A song to try: "You're Going Back"
This is the final 2019 album on the list, and it was my favorite of this year. But I'm having trouble writing something new about it, since the lapse between the 2019 list and today is only a few weeks. What I'm really interested in is, not how my response to this album changes over time, but how Pkew Pkew Pkew's response to this album changes over time. If they are still making Optimal Lifestyles in their 30s and 40s, then that'll be sad. But I cannot wait to see what they can do if they allow themselves to be dragged into adulthood, as we all must. (Sidenote, and this is the only time I'll say it: "Pkew Pkew Pkew" is the worst band name of all time, bar fucking none.)
A song to try: "Adult Party"
Here's something fucked up—I listen to this album in the wrong order, even after SUSTO themselves personally corrected me. I can't help it. The order I have just makes sense to me. The opening spacey jam of "Jah Werx." The closing screaming screed of "Wasted Mind." The psychedelia of a life in the southern states all over the tunes in between. I don't know if I could like this album as much, because these songs in any other order would make as much sense as they do to me now. They just work.
A song to try: "Cosmic Cowboy"
When I did a The Albums That Matter for the vastly inferior follow-up, Away, I discovered that Will Sheff purposefully made that album without the nostalgia that so heightened The Silver Gymnasium. As it turns out—in my lowly opinion, at least—it was the sense of nostalgia that made The Silver Gymnasium so special in the first place. I guess it doesn't have to be "toxic" after all.
A song to try: "All the Time Every Day"
There was no other band this decade that better encapsulated the feeling that they were just making the music to have some fucking fun. Free Energy is just so joyous. The dream of hanging out with your buds, driving to different cities in a van, drinking and laughing, bashing some guitars on stage and having singalongs, that theoretical musician's life sounded so real and possible in Stuck on Nothing. That makes the fact that the band pretty much disappeared all the stranger.
A song to try: "Bang Pop"
I already wrote about this album, but I'll say this too—I hate that I wasted six years of my life not having this album in my life. King Tuff has confirmed for me that garage rock is my favorite music subgenre. If you like garage rock too, don't waste any more years like I did. Check this out.
A song to try: "Keep on Movin'"
This is one of those albums that I would probably just do a disservice to in trying to explain it in my own words. Bon Iver is kind of famous at this point. Famous enough to get nominated for a Best Album Grammy this year, anyway, which is as good a weather stick as any. Famous enough to get parodied on SNL, too. So you don't need me doing this here, because you know him. All his albums have heart, but his self-titled is my favorite because it finds the correct balance between the folksy whisper stuff and the pounding-drums bombast. But really, it might just be that it hit me at the right time in my life, during those opening months of a new relationship. That's how all music works, I guess. It's all about context.
A song to try: "Holocene"
Speaking of context, there is no context for Tomorrow's Hits. It's just a straight up great fucking album with eighth amazing songs. It's the best album of the decade, when you only consider albums that mean absolutely nothing to me besides the fact that it features good music. Since I'm the type of guy who appreciates the context of it all, imagine how good this album has to be if it doesn't have any meaning at all.
A song to try: "Pearly Gates"
Car Seat plays indie rock that goes big, which is crazy because it started as small bedroom rock (Will Toldeo released almost a double-digit amount of albums exclusively through Bandcamp). But here they are, playing to the rafters, eleven-minute epics and walls of guitar and drum solos and cut Cars homages and kept Dido homages and new and intricate ways to describe how much of a fuck up you (I) feel like. That's when I first heard it, feeling like a fuck up, on the back deck, drunk as fuck, feeling that maybe Will Toledo knew me, knew I was a fuck up; I knew this album was gonna be special.
A song to try: "Destroyed by Hippie Powers"
If I talk any more lasciviously about Frances Quinlan that I already have, they're going to have to take a restraining order out on me. How about we just call me a fan of it all. The voice, the on-point rhythm section, the poetic lyrics straight from a marble notebook somewhere, the songs that strain and crack under the pressure of the heavy emotion but never break. The title is wrong—everything is open, and it bursts forth.
A song to try: "Sister Cities"
Dave Hause builds the ultimate argument that it is not absurd to be attached to something that you can relate to in specific ways. It's not just that he sings about the Divine Lorraine, it's that he captures that same feeling that I have as I drive past the old monolith on a dreary Sunday morning, ya know? It's not just "hey, Philly, I know that place!" It's that he feels so fucking strongly about where he came from that he wants to make it a forever home. That he finds purpose here, a reason for being. I feel that too. Dave Hause reminds me.
A song to try: "Dirty Fucker"
"While I have questions of mortality, the clear and present vast / They just yell the words 'pretentious.'" The non-believers of the church of Gang of Youths dismiss the heady enlightenment of a bar band with their head in the clouds; I would know, I once presented myself as one of them. But forget all that. Gang of Youths forever.
A song to try: "What Can I Do If the Fire Goes Out?"
I wrote about this album already, but I'll say this too—I suppose there could be an argument that this album only ranks so high because it now carries the weight of the death of its frontman. My counter argument would probably read something like: So? It scares me that someone who inspires such hope through his music was at the same time feeling so sad inside. Pedestrian Verse makes me feel a lot of things, and that's art, and that's an all-time great album, as far as I know.
A song to try: "The Woodpile"
I wrote about this album already, but I'll say this too—it takes a hell of a lot of fucking guts to be exactly who you want to be, sometimes. People, in general, are shit, and they will tell you that you cannot be that person who you want to be. This is insane, especially when you consider that the person who Laura Jane Grace wants to be is a badass punk rock woman, and seriously, who the FUCK could ever have a problem with this? Insane.
A song to try: "Paralytic States"
I wrote about this album already, but I'll say this too—when I wrote about this being my favorite album of 2017, I postulated that it might not age well. The theory went that, if I ceased to be as sad as I was during various points of 2017, that maybe this very sad album from 2017 would not land as hard anymore. Two years later, I can confidently say that this is an incorrect theory. I don't want to claim that I am still as sad, because I'm not. But there are moments when life is a challenge, and I can still find a friend in the National when those moments come around. Maybe the cuts were deep enough then that I can still feel 'em, I dunno. FUCK I love this album.
A song to try: "I'll Still Destroy You"
I've thought a lot about the theory that Sam presented a few weeks ago, that most music is gendered. Looking around these lists, that theory is probably true. Celebration Rock is the ultimate young dude album; it perfectly captures that wild abandon that we so cherished growing up. It pains me to know that maybe half the population will not "get" this album. I want everyone to know this celebration. Still, if someone can't appreciate such rallying cries as "We dreamed it, now we know!" and "There's no high like this!" and "If they try to slow you down / Tell 'em all to go to hell!" then I will just clutch the album tighter.
A song to try: "Evil's Sway"
I already wrote about this album, but I'll say this too—it fucking kills me that this album is forever associated with "cancel culture," because being worthy of cancellation is the total antithesis to everything this album is trying to say. Cardinal makes a case for being open and honest and kind, and wraps it in a catchy, rustic indie package. I honestly listen to this album about once a week, and in three and half years, I'm still not tired of it. Unless more information comes to life, it'll never be cancelled.
A song to try: "New Friends"
We've reached the end of our countdowns. You've read thousands of words about the music of my decade, and how these albums tell the story of the last ten years. And yet here we are, at the end, and you're reading about how an album released in March 2010 was and still is the best album of the decade. Seems like a weird choice, right? March 2010 was a completely different life. I was single, homeless (figuratively), angsty, lost. The Monitor connected to me then because it offered a mirror to those feelings. "This is exactly who I am."
But now, it's December 2019, and I still consider The Monitor to be unbeatable next to any other album this entire decade. Why? It can't be that it's the same mirror it was back then. I'm married with kids and a mortgage and a career. I know where I stand in the world. The battles have been fought. Won or lost, they are at least over. What else does The Monitor have to say at this point?
To me, it now is a message of community. Which seems like the opposite of what it was originally, right? Back then, it was a message that it's okay to feel like you're alone, that shit happens. But another layer has presented itself: It's okay to feel alone sometimes, because we can all be alone TOGETHER. You might feel alone, but you're not. We got you.
Can't really forget to mention the album's conceit, I guess—The Monitor uses the Civil War as a metaphor for these conflicting emotions. E.g. you feel broken, just like the country was broken; you don't know your place in the world, just as the US was split into two; heart vs. mind, brother vs. brother; etc. It seems silly, but then, full throttle and towering punk rock can always make shit seem much less silly than it is.
And you can feel free to extrapolate if you so choose. The country is still broken, divided along ideological fault lines. You might still feel broken too. It's okay, says Titus Andronicus. Say it again, all decade long: we are all in this together.
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