The Top 25 Albums of 2008
Okay, I know we’re already fully immersed in 2009, but save a little room in your heart for my favorite albums from 2008. Instead of discussing and analyzing the last year to any great extent, I’ll simply say this: 2008 introduced me to some wonderful artists I hadn’t yet heard before (Positions one, two and five come to mind) and also provided some high end work from long established artists (like positions three and four). So all in all this was a rad year. It’s a bummer that this measly list of 25 (actually 27) wasn’t able to include immensely strong albums by the likes of Bun B, Wale, Beck, Girl Talk, Gang Gang Dance, the Constantines, the Gaslight Anthem, Jay Reatard, The Very Best, Mates Of State, Grouper, the Dodos, Fuck Buttons, Plants And Animals, No Age, Oxford Collapse, Q-Tip, Paavoharju and especially Earth, who I wish I could have made room for. That being said, the albums that are on the list are truly (in my opinion) the elite batch of the bunch.
It’s meant to be a backhanded compliment. There’s a reason that the EP sits on top of this list and the equally praised and adored self-titled LP is nowhere to be found. The way I sees it, Sun Giant boasts five perfectly realized, expertly performed slices of indie-Americana, reaching back to artists like The Band, Fleetwood Mac and Crosby, Stills And Nash, while reaching sideways to My Morning Jacket and Grizzly Bear. Fleet Foxes, on the other hand, is about half as many great ideas spread out over twice as many songs. But there you go, the big-A album goes onto to receive all the praise and sell over five times as many albums, so what the hell do I know?
Well, I know what I like and I like this EP a whole helluva lot.
At this point in time, praising the EP cannot be done without mentioning the full-length, but it should really only be the EP that I (and you) should care about. Opening gently, but not meekly, with the title track, Sun Giant sneaks up on you – beautiful harmonies, tender instrumentation – creating a wash of vague, but perfect nostalgia of either summertime campfires at that extra late dusk, driving along the snowy, desolate prairie highways or, of course, something to do with sitting in a forest doing something arty. It doesn’t matter the specifics, what matters is that feeling.
Sun Giant is at once forceful and self-assured as well as delicate and pristine. When the drums kick in on “Drops In The River,” it’s huge and mighty, but still in keeping with the EP’s genteel touch.
While predominantly a vocal band (get a load of the a cappella passage from EP – nay – career standout “Mykonos”), Sun Giant boasts some wonderfully stark, ethereal musicianship. We love them because Robin Pecknold and the boys can sing the shit out of just about anything, but it’s that special something that the players bring that gives the songs a greater sense of urgency, grandeur and those special intangibles that make every song worthy of a goosebump moment.
If there’s one piece of advice I could give anyone it’s that they should listen to more metal. Not like any of you will listen. Torche is the kind of band that’s stuck in between two different camps, and is not reaping the benefits of either: too metal for the sniveling indie kids, too much like Foo Fighters and Queens Of The Stone Age for doom metal aficionados. But still, it would seem that the band is doing right by everyone by keeping it sludgy and heavy, but adding major keys and a Seabiscuit-like pace to create, no word of a lie, the best pop album of the last five years. Like I said in my quarterly review, I can guarantee this album syncs up to Spiderman 2. It’s that triumphant. Call this doom metal. Call it pop metal. Hell, you can even call it radio rock. I don’t care how you label this album, Meanderthal lords over all genres and is an absolute must-have for anybody with an affinity to guitars, harmonies and hooks. That is, Torche is a band for everybody.
“Across The Shields”
Kind of an inverse album to Will Oldham’s masterful I See A Darkness, trading in the almost gothic and mournful tone that haunts the 1999 record with an easy-going casualness only further cemented by Oldham’s whip-crack session players. This is a wry, warm, wistful grin of an album. Called “the little record” in a recent New Yorker article, Lie Down In The Lightalbum only feels little in the sense that it celebrates life’s tiny charms (you know, like friends, family and the odd public blow job). Perhaps Oldham’s supposed “big album,”Beware (due out in March) will be the grandiose record where Oldham tackles the big meaty topics like Death, Politics and Taxes, but it’ll be hard-pressed to match Lie Down’s lilting, comforting charms.
“So Everyone”
I like my metal like I like my men: burly and just a little bit off. Following up 2006’s nearly perfect comeback album, Special Wishes, these Athens, GA experimental brutes have returned no less weird and a whole lot more confidant in their approach to defying convention. Of course, defying conventions ain’t so hard these days. That is, except for in a genre like metal, where the unconventional is lifted up and the conventional is shunned. Still, the mighty Milk managed to give the old “hey, fuck you, lady” to their parent genre anyways, dressing up as Santa Claus and asphyxiating their guitars. If nothing else, Life boasts two of Harvey Milk’s finest cuts: the monolithic curb-stomp of “Death Goes To The Winner” and the sludgy thug pop of “Motown.”
“Motown”
5. Marnie Stern This Is It And I Am It And You Are It And So That And He Is It And She Is It And It Is It And That Is That
So Tony Robbins decided to suck on a helium tank and hire Eddie Van Halen to help soundtrack his latest spoken word self-help album. That may not be true, but Marnie Stern’s latest, aggravatingly titled album, uplifts like a work-sponsored leadership seminar, shreds like expert-level Guitar Hero and thrashes like a basement noise show. It’s an undeniably difficult album to digest in a single sitting. There’s a lot going on at all times, not to mention Stern’s voice, which, while reasonably charming, is shrill, pitchy and occasionally gawky – but it’s a voice that can be embraced in the spirit it’s intended. Once you can tap into the spirit of the album, everything’s butter. It’s like going to the gym, there are plenty of reasons not to, but once you get passed the unrelenting, grueling nature of it all, you come away a better person for it., although you may have difficulty walking for the next few days.
“Transformer”
There’s not an original bone in the entirety of Portland, Oregon’s Blitzen Trapper. These guys love the 70s a great deal (although there’s a good deal of Pacific Northwest indie blazing through their sound as well) and they’re hell-bent on letting you know that. That’d be a problem if it weren’t for the fact that originality is an idiot’s game anyway. Eric Earley and co. do classic rock-aping indie right, pulling the best moments from Dylan, the Dead and Skynard and creating something that feels like an old worn in pair of jeans from listen one onward.
There were countless times throughout the year where I had to make a conscious effort notto listen to Alopecia. If I forgot it existed then it would go away and I could spend my time catching up on the rest of 2008’s great music. The trouble is, every time I heard even a second of opening track “The Vowels, Pt. 2” I was stuck with the album. I simply couldn’t shake it. Even when the lyrics went to places that caused me to squirm (“Good Friday,” “The Hollows”), I couldn’t deny the album and its perfect mix of genres and styles. It was hip hop, but not quite. Indie pop, but just a bit off. Whatever labels you wanted to through around, however, there was no denying that this album was one of the truly masterful, highly enjoyable achievements of the last year. Alopecia is infectious.
In The Future opens with “Stormy High,” a monolithic slab of Sabbath-riffs and stoned moans - that is, Black Mountain by the books. Had the album chugged along in that vein, In The Future would have been another slight, fleetingly enjoyable addition to the indie-friendly stoner metal genre, but the Vancouver band’s latest rarely goes the easy route, and it’s much more satisfying for it. On this long, dense, hypnotizing record, Black Mountain stretch their sound to epic lengths and cavernous sonics. Co-vocalists Steve McBean, the sleepy-eyed ying, and Amber Webber, the ghost-voiced yang, trade off like an awed and track-marked John and Exene, creating a kind of sound that’s more “rumble” than “rock.” Percolating deep beneath the surface of standard metal and only rising up intermittently to provide the subtle jolt necessary to re-electrify the listener, In The Future exudes restraint, sex appeal and the strange, discomforting dichotomy between hard, purposeful rock and near-unconscious, morphine-drenched spaciousness.
9. Fucked Up The Chemistry Of Common Life
“OMG, flutes!” said every critic ever.
A lot of fuss seemed to go into the making of Fucked Up’s latest slab of hardcore ferocity and for that they garnered the praise and admiration of indie rock’s hoi polloi who otherwise would have ignored the band like they do every other band with aggressive tendencies. But every flute and every ounce of heavily layered guitar were not meant to merely attract the horn-rimmed set; they were done to put hardcore on a grander scale, making everything (especially the album’s most trumped-up tracks: “Son The Father,” Crooked Head” and “No Epiphany”) more beautiful, dynamic and, ultimately, awesome. I don’t imagine that this Toronto five-piece are long for the indie rock mainstream – and I couldn’t imagine they care – but their place in the annals of music is secured by pushing hardcore out of its comfort zone and forcing the indie kids to widen their sonic palette.
With an album title that references both Nachmystium’s mother genre and one of Pink Floyd’s most underrated albums, it’s no wonder that Assassins tempers its black metal roots with some prog and production fuss. While thunderous thrashers like “Assassins,” “Ghosts Of Grace” and the pummeling “Your True Enemy” hit every headbanger’s pleasure centre, they’re made all the more immediate and overwhelming when tempered with spare, spacey breath-catchers like “One Of These Nights” and “Away From The Light.” I’ve just listed off the first half of the album, which is ironic because this bad boy actually improves on the back end. “Code Negative” and the “Seasick” trilogy (especially the almost King Crimsonian “Oceanborn”) give the album a moody finish that only adds weight to an album that practically defines “heavy.”
With bigger riffs, meatier hooks and all the pent-up energy that made their 2004 breakthrough Mazatlan such a treat, there’s no denying that the Cons ended their run on a high note, but it wasn’t enough to pull them and their feel-good post-pop punk into the realm of the (relative) mainstream where they belonged. It’s a shame too, because in these troubled times the world could really stand to hear (and pogo to) songs like “Stay That Way,” “Black Market Pandas,” “Floated Down & Flew Around” and the heart-swelling “So Many Friends” in all their fist-pumping, group chant glory.
Of course, the big joke about Kristian Matsson, like Jose Gonzales before him, is that he’s actually a Swede, a fact that kind of laughs in the face of everything we know about him: that is, that he sounds a helluva lot like Bob Dylan (and not just in that “he’s this generation’s Bob Dylan” tag that has befallen everyone from Bruce Springsteen to Ryan Adams – this dude’s voice actually sounds like Bob Dylan). While Matsson’s voice has that same reedy quality and his lyrics can be similar confusing and wonderful, it’s his busy work on guitar that keeps this from being a mere indie-folk retread or Appalachian throwback. This is folk music that transcends mere reference points.
Twenty-eight years since My Life In The Bush Of Ghosts, Byrne and Eno reunite for a sophomore effort that couldn’t sound any less like its predecessor, but as good as Ghosts is this is good news. Today sees Byrne at his warmest and most human since maybe even “This Must Be The Place (Naïve Melody),” and it’s such a truly pleasurable listening experience (thanks to Eno, who, although less of a factor in what is great about the album, really adds to that “electronic gospel” sound with his production). Of course, the album has a handful of awkward missteps, but for every “I Feel My Stuff” and “Poor Boy” there’s a “Home,” “Life Is Long” or “Strange Overtones,” life-affirming songs that more than hold up to the best of either Byrne or Eno’s truly formidable back catalogues.
Sub Pop may be the 90s indie label that has truly prospered in the new century, but Olympia’s Kill Rock Stars hasn’t lost a step since its riot grrrl and Elliot Smith hayday. Deerhoof, of course, have long been a huge reason for their continued relevance. WhileOffend Maggie occasionally feels a little too in-the-pocket at times (“The Tears And Music Of Love” is a great song, but it’s slowed precision makes a poor first impression), the band continues to get mightier and more confidant with each subsequent album, and this one’s no exception.
San Francisco’s Thao Nguyen and her group were more of a surprise. I picked up Bee Stingson a whim, thinking that Nguyen could possibly be my Feist. A couple of cursory listens to bighearted pop songs like “Beat (Health, Life and Fire)” and “Bag Of Hammers” were all I really gave it, but upon discovering that the my son really loved the album, I was able to dig deeper into the album. Soon I discovered joyous tracks like “Swimming Pools” and “Feet Asleep,” making this one of my most listened to albums of the year, adult-contempo indie pop or not.
Filtering Fela Kuti’s hugely entertaining afrobeat through Radiohead’s “The National Anthem,” NOMO reach from one culture to another and create a polychromatic party starter that works effectively in every listening capacity. In your stereo, in your car, at the party,Ghost Rock demands to be heard.
So what if it’s the first Hold Steady to not be a huge improvement on the album before it, these guys could put the same album out every year and I’d find a place for it on my lists. Pairing absolutely huge rock anthems with moments of mild sonic experimentation, Hold Steady make themselves sound like the only band that matters (note the shout out to Joe Strummer), while retaining their everydude personae and rep-your-roots credo (note the shout out to Dillinger Four and 7 Seconds).
17. Scarface Emeritus
Rap isn’t supposed to age gracefully. We like old school hip hop because it’s old school hip hop: it’s fun, it’s silly, but even the best guys aren’t that great. Even worse is when those old school guys refuse to recognize when it’s time to shut things down and continue to release albums, further tarnishing their reputations with every release.
Twenty years into a career that began with the Geto Boys, Scarface seems to be the exception to the rule. At 38 – roughly 60 in rap years – the legendary Houston still remains relevant and awesome, even when he’s delivering the Danny Gloveresque “I’m getting too old for this shit” type rhymes (“These young niggas steady dying over dumb shit/Fast money for your soul, now you’re done with”), a sentiment that rings true, especially since Face is callingEmeritus his last album ever. A part of the timelessness, of course, is in the man’s gruff voice and world-weariness, he’s been there, he’s bought the T-shirt and he doesn’t need no stinking auto-tuner to help him describe where he’s been. A lot of the charm of Emeritus is that in being a “retirement album,” it still comes off as low-key and focused on the matter at hand, instead of being a “retirement album” about being a “retirement album,” like Jay-Z’s overrated Black Album. If this is, in fact, all she wrote, it’s a hell of a cool way to go out. If not, well, thank God.
18. Deerhunter Microcastle and Sigur Ros Með suð í eyrum við spilum endalaust
I wasn’t expecting to put either of these bands on my list, but sometimes a band overcomes the things about them that annoyed the piss out of me (in Deerhunter’s case: singer Bradford Cox’s ubiquity and the fact that Cryptograms was overrated mush. In Sigur Ros’ case: the fact that all their songs sounded the exact same). In 2008, Deerhunter apologized to me by making a terrific fuzzed-out psych pop album that emphasized the “pop,” while Sigur Ros simply listened to a lot of Animal Collective and tried something interesting for a change and both bands won me over in the end.
19. TV On The Radio Dear Science
With the likes of Subtle, Why?, Marnie Stern, Of Montreal and Lil’ Wayne all having big years last year (not to mention the tremendous amount of high quality metal), 2008 was the Year of the Maximalist. With that being the case, then TV On The Radio are certainly the poster boys for the more-is-more ethos. Since 2006’s Return to Cookie Mountain, TVOTR producer/guitarist David Sitek has made it his goal to layer every one of the band’s songs with the kinds of bells and whistles (sometimes literally) that force the listener to lean forward and dig deeper. Admittedly, this new “production first” has come at the expense of the original avant-barbershop sound that attracted everyone to the band in the first place. But the sound of this album – and make no mistake about it, Dear Science is the best sounding album of 2008 – works on a variety of levels: pushing already terrific songs like “Halfway Home,” “Crying” and “Family Tree” into the realm of something truly special, giving risky new ventures like “Red Dress” a sure-footed sonic foundation and finally, applying some lipstick to Grade-A dreck like “Dancing Choose” and “Golden Age.”
20. Disfear Live The Storm
Meanderthal may be more triumphant, Life…The Best Game In Town may be more intriguing and Assassins: Black Meddle Part 1 may be more dynamic, but nothing gets my adrenaline pumping like Live The Storm, an album with no “off” switch. Live The Storm is a relentless onslaught of lightning fast oom-pah beat drums, gutter-fuzz bass and a dual guitar attack that leaves no pick unslid and no solo unsquelched. At my incredibly advancing age, Live The Storm may be a lot to handle in a single sitting (well, you can’t really sit and listen to this), but nothing else has quite the ability to jolt me back to a time when all that mattered to me fast drums, shredding guitars and angry group vocals like this album. Throw this bastard on, pound a six of Red Bull, snort a line and call me in a month. Warning: This album is not for pussies. Second warning: if you do not listen to this album, you are officially a huge pussy.
21. Stephen Malkmus & The Jicks Real Emotional Trash
“Of all my stoned digressions, some have mutated into the truth, not a spoof.” This confession, which opens Real Emotional Trash, resonates when coming out of the mouth of Stephen Malkmus. Even in his years with Pavement, Malkmus had the unique ability of tossing off a phrase or couplet that may have seemed meaningless on the surface, but resonated in the oddest of ways. Of course, these days, Malkmus’ “stoned digressions” have less to do with what’s coming from his mouth than what’s emanating from his guitar. No longer a mere Mark E. Smith wannabe, Malkmus has gone full Gentle Giant on us, pushing his guitar to strange places and extended dalliances. Of course, for every extended and overlong solo that Malkmus indulges in, he always manages to stay within the song’s original perimeters, never wandering too far away from it’s home.
Then again all this talk about jam bands and solos gets away from the fact that Real Emotional Trash is much more than some ponderous, you-kinda-have-to-“get-it” noodle-fest from this scene giant. Power through those first couple tracks and you’ll discover some straight up (albeit, slightly skewed) power pop songs that rival Malkmus best stuff with Pavement (at least late era Pavement). “Cold Son” is another effortless bit of slacker rock, “Gardenia” is a populist pleaser with its warm-hearted lyrics, female vocals and Sesame Street stomp and “We Can’t Help You” gets everything right in a way that’s even an accomplishment for a man with such a storied, celebrated career. Real Emotional Trash is Malkmus playing both sides of his brain and coming up aces.
22. Erykah Badu New Amerykah Part One (4th World War)
It’s lazy critical shorthand to conjure up the likes of Stevie Wonder, Sly & The Family Stone and the P-Funk community when discussing a 21st century R&B release, but it’s hard not to summon the names of those funk greats when discussing Erykah Badu’s latest confounding, indulgent and ultimately, captivating album. The whole thing gurgles and groans like There’s A Riot Goin’ On, with Badu playing the unhinged Betty Davis all over “Amerykahn Promise” and be-bopping on the charming coda of “Me.” With that said, New Amerykah is no throwback, the album’s funk and soul is invested in its 70s roots, but Badu’s a post-modern woman if there ever was one; big-upping Farrakhan, sending love to both of her kids’ fathers and generally freaking out the squares at every turn.
23. Vampire Weekend Vampire Weekend
Backlashes be damned, this little slice of afro-centric indie fluff was the perfect soundtrack to every passive activity I did this year (such as playing several hours of competitive Tetris). Hate the back story, hate the sweaters, hate their smug little faces, but Vampire Weekend’s first foray into the world of hype and backlash was as catchy and winsome as any indie pop trifle ever. Why hate, when submitting yourself to this feels so good?
24. TI Paper Trail
Paper Trail is not necessarily the greatest album – sure, it’s a huge improvement on last year’s TI Vs. TIP, but it’s nowhere near 2006’s King – but it boasts a handful of the years best rap singles, including the scorching “Live Your Life,” the heart-wrenching “No Matter What” and undeniably giddy radio bid “Whatever You Like.” If the rest of the album were as bad as “Swing Ya Rag,” the album would still be a worthwhile venture, but there are a handful of quality tracks to find here, making Paper Trail one of the best good-time rap albums of the year.
25. The Mae Shi HLLLYH
It’s hard to tell if the Mae Shi are truly an evangelical spaz-rock band or if they’re merely screwing with us – after all, the album may be text speak for “hallelujah,” but it could easily be confused for “hell yeah.” Turns out, it’s a bit of both; some members of the band stake claim to a Christian faith of some sort while other, well, don’t. But while these guys may not quite be the second coming of Larry Norman, they certainly rock like a swarm of Old Testament locusts. Zigging when you think they’ll zag, dipseying when you expect them to doodle, keep listeners on their toes with their shrill, energetic, unrelenting cartoon punk. This one’s 25 and rising quickly. Your ears will be pwned.