Vikings & Beekeepers

80. Boris Akuma No Uta (2003)

While Akuma No Uta may be the best entry point into the expansive Boris universe, it’s far from the band’s most accessible work. Like much of the band’s work before and after, Akuma provides a spectrum of sounds, some of it exceptionally difficult. “Introduction” is nearly 10 minutes of guitar drone, while the wailing wah and acid rock breakdowns of “Naki Kyoku” run for over 12 minutes. They’re both good songs, but they ain’t exactly welcoming. But Boris were never the type of band to withhold rewards, which come in the form of “Ibitsu” and “Furi,” two ridiculously explosive blasts of biker punk sneering. Elsewhere, you’ll get the druggy classic rock throwback “Ano Onna No Onryo” and the rifftastic title track both kicking all kinds of ass (they’ll skip having to take names). Akuma No Uta is a strange and dangerous record to be considered a good entry point, but Boris are a strange and dangerous band. You’re always bound to get a few war wounds when listening to them. Also, bonus points for having the best cover of the decade.

“Ibitsu”

79. TI King (2006)

Swagger, thy name is TI. The 00s produced a few legitimate hip hop stars (and way more than a few also-rans), but none of the new generation of stars (from Eminem to 50 Cent to Kanye to Lil’ Wayne) seemed so comfortable in the spotlight as TI. King sees TI jump from the regional spotlight to the national stage, busting out one effortless should-of-been/could-of-been/absolutely-was-a hit after another. Of course, the swelling strings and southern drawl of “What You Know” stands as the albums most notable contribution to pop culture, but it’s just a needle in the haystack on King. “I’m Talkin’ To You,” “Get It,” “Top Back” and “Goodlife” all stand at least shoulder to shoulder with King’s top single. In fact, the only thing in greater supply than high quality bangers on King is TI’s charisma and star power, which serves to underscore every track. As styles and fads change over time, TI’s intangibles will remain timeless. In the 2000s, King was hip hop’s most invigorating coming out party.

“Get It”

78. TV On The Radio Desperate Youth, Bloodthirsty Babes (2004)

In the 2000s, no other band was quite as successful at establishing a unique mood than TV On The Radio. With their rumbling bass line, moaning horns and spooky barbershop vocals, TVOTR created a sound that was absolutely of a certain place, time and mindset. Desperate Youth, Bloodthirsty Babes opener “The Wrong Way” establishes that unique setting almost immediately as a lone hepcat saxophone is quickly joined by a handful of other beefy saxophones and the revving engine that is the bass. Singer Tunde Adebimpe slinks in with his warm, smooth voice, referencing a series of black stereotypes, simultaneously dismissing them and applying them. But with TVOTR, race is barely a talking point. Sound and atmosphere are all that matter, and Desperate Youths, Bloodthirsty Babes provides that uneasy, urban moodiness in spades. The mood is so strong on this album that it’s easy to overlook how good songs like “Ambulance,” “Poppy” and especially “Staring At The Sun” really are. TVOTR’s sound would expand after Desperate Youths and their critical cache would only increase, but I’m still of the thought that nothing the band has released since has felt so complete and unified.

“Poppy”

77. Sigur Ros Ágætis Byrjun (2000)

At one point during a 2001 Sigur Ros concert in Vancouver, BC, I had a revelation that I actually hated these Icelandic sad boys. Maybe it was that Hopelandish horseshit. Or maybe it was every lazy music writer’s use of the word “glacial.” Or maybe all their songs sounded the same and I was simply bored. It could have been a lot of things, but the combination of these reasons caused me to dismiss the band’s subsequent output for the better part of the decade.

I may have been right about a few things (that Hopelandish stuff is still horseshit), but I was wrong to turn on the band altogether and I was definitely wrong to turn away from Ágætis Byrjun, an album that hasn’t lost an ounce of its beauty and emotional heft. I’m still an old curmudgeon when I’m away from this album, but whenever it hits my ears, I’m torn from my cynicism, impressed that Sigur Ros can convey so much (isolation, melancholy, joy, sadness, triumph, despair and yes, even hope) with saying so little. I can be a dick all I want, but this album’s overwhelming beauty remains unwavering.

“Staralfur”

76. Isis Oceanic (2002)

Some metal bands go for speed. Some go for technical prowess. Still others go for theatrics. Isis just want to be heavy. Like really, really heavy. Oppressively heavy. Oceanic fits the bill (hell, there’s a song called “Weight”). As guitars churn from one crunchy, numbing riff to the next and the drums thud and rattle with heavy-handed precision, singer Aaron Turner roars out like a man battling the elements (oh, let’s say a really bad storm in the middle of the ocean) and winning. While Oceanic channels other slow-moving dirge-metal power hitters like Neurosis and the Melvins, the atmospherics closely resemble post-rock (lose the vocals and some of the albums heavier moments and you could be listening to Sonic Youth). Oceanic is heavy, but it’s strangely soothing and beautiful, as if all of Turner’s screaming is just caught up in a tidal wave of noise (hey, another aquatic reference!). As one of the more promising metal bands entering the 21st century, Isis cemented their status as legends with Oceanic. Get ready to feel water-logged(!).

“Carry”

75. Silver Jews Tanglewood Numbers (2005)

Has the struggle for sobriety ever sounded like such a drunken party? But I guess that’s what Tanglewood Numbers’ m.o. is: sadness and celebration simultaneously. Singer David Berman, truly one of the great lyricists of all time (up there with Bill Callahan and D-Plan era Travis Morrison), isn’t one to hide his past either as he opens “Punks In The Beerlight” with a line that is plain, ugly and sadly hilarious. “Where is the paper bag that holds the liquor? Just in case I feel the need to puke,” Berman sings. It’s a curious way to start the album, but Berman has always had a knack for catching the listener’s attention right away. Joined by wife Cassie Berman and indie guitar god buddy Stephen Malkmus, Berman takes the listener on a raucous ride that plays drunken games with country rock and is all the better for it. “Sometimes A Pony Gets Depressed” stirs up an angry, aggressive hoedown, while “Animal Shapes,” “How Can I Love You If You Won’t Lie Down” and “The Poor, The Fair, And the Good” see David and Cassie playing an updated Johnny and June in the least contrived way possible. Tanglewood Numbers is an album about finding hope in the face of hopelessness, but it takes you through all the struggles and difficulties. When our hero (that being Berman) comes out the other end on album closer “There Is A Place,” he’s singing about “a place past the blues” and seeing “God’s shadow.” It’s not relief he’s expressing; it’s regret. Tanglewood Numbers tells a harrowing story and shows some really scars, but boy is it a fun mess for the listener.

“Animal Shapes”

74. Interpol Turn On The Bright Lights (2002)

When we received a surprisingly early snowfall last autumn (early for Alberta…that’s saying something), I didn’t complain, I didn’t feel sorry for myself. I merely threw on Turn Of The Bright Lights and let the mood set in. Interpol creates winter music. More specifically they create urban winter music. And even more specifically they make New York City winter music. But there’s a through-line that reaches a prairie farm boy like me – something about that sense of isolation in a crowded room of people, the beauty of the city lights in the dead of winter and the urgency to listen to late-70s, early 80s post-punk. Interpol were originally blasted for being the dapper, detached Joy Division to the Strokes’ faux-gritty, bohemian Velvet Underground. That’s wrong, Interpol are much more than an Ian Curtis tribute band (sure, Paul Banks’ voice does bear a striking resemblance, but I prefer Banks’ melodicism to Curtis’ moaning), there could be equal or even greater arguments that the band is cribbing Television, the Happy Mondays or Echo & The Bunnymen. But all the fashion focus and place-the-influence talks are of no matter (in fact, their probably the reason them and the Strokes had such a brief reign at the top of the New York indie scene). Turn On The Bright Lights holds up because the songs are smart and stylish and the vibe is universal. Even as Interpol fades into irrelevancy (I blame Carlos D, the most insufferable human in indie rock), this album holds its weight, taking you to place of wonderful snowy isolation.

“Obstacle 1″  

73. Unwound Leaves Turn Inside You (2001)

Leaves Turn Inside You is a grower. It’s spread out over two discs, so you have to be pretty deliberate about listening to all of it (although in the post-CD age that might be less of a problem). It kicks off with a two-minute multi-note guitar drone (actually one of my favorite moments on the album) and it’s not like what appears thereafter is particularly accessible either. But once you enter into Unwound’s final album, it’s hard to tear yourself away. Leaves Turn Inside You has fangs, and the more you listen to it, the more those fangs sink deeper and deeper into you. Unwound’s brand of spidery, multi-layered post-rock takes a lot of twists and turns here, with the band giving equal weight to moments of brutality, beauty and playfulness. Leaves is not an album to enter into lightly. It’s dense, daring and very, very rewarding. In the parlance of our times – it’s fucking epic.

“October All Over”

72. System Of A Down Toxicity (2001)

Simultaneously its subgenre’s peak (perhaps its only peak) and death knell, Toxicity is the one nu-metal album it might just be OK to sneak into your record collection. It certainly wasn’t easy for critics to embrace. Spin Magazine managed to vote it as Album of the Year in 2001, while Pitchfork simply leapfrogged any mention of Toxicity altogether. Then there was Buddyhead, the once relevant bastion of early-aughts snark and Fred Durst baiting, who opted to vote the album as one of the best and one of the worst albums of the year. That instinct makes sense. Toxicity is nu-metal through and through – scatalogical (“Needles”), vaguely misogynistic (“Psycho” – although this may be more of a comment on misogyny) and immensely stoopid (“Bounce” – although this one sports the heaviest Frank Zappa influence, one of the elements that most separates System Of A Down from their inferior peers). But System of a Down is far more inventive and exciting than their nu-metal counterparts. Even the misses run miles around your Bizkits, Korns and Slipknots, etc. And the hits, well, they’re truly special. “Aerials,” “Toxicity” and especially “Chop Suey!” showed the world that modern rock radio had the capacity to be legitimately weird and wild, something that hardly seemed possible during the dregs of nu-metal’s counter-productive heyday. Toxicity was a breath of fresh air and a gateway to a new dawn for popular rock music.

“Atwa”

71. The Strokes Room On Fire (2003)

I’ve talked about this before on this blog, but it needs to be repeated: Room On Fire is a better album than This Is It. Give This Is It all due respect for its importance – sneaking indie into the mainstream, reviving 70s garage, kickstarting the concept of Internet hype and all the backlashes and backlashes to the backlashes that come with it – but put the two albums up side-by-side and the difference between “more important” and “better” becomes apparent. Still, there are those who would contest that the two albums are one in the same, but anyone with unbiased ears can hear that Room On Fire is filled with some subtle additions that take the Strokes from good to great – the new wave sheen of “12:51,” the virgin-tight control of “The End Has No End,” Julian Casablancas’ soulful performance “Under Control” or his star-making turn on “What Ever Happened.” No matter where you look on Room On Fire, it’s a leaps and bounds improvement on its predecessor. Now follow suit and recognize, people, so we can all move on with our lives.

“Under Control”

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