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We count down our favorite music of the last year.
2010 is almost over. And it was one of those years that was kind of a strange one for music. It was the kind of year when you thought that maybe there wouldn't be enough albums to fill a top 10 list ... and then you realized you'd written down 25 while going through the albums that moved you over the course of the year. Here are our humble picks for the year's best. They're the albums that lifted our spirits, got us thinking (and in some cases, got us dancing) and left a lasting impression. We hope (OK, we know) you'll weigh in with your own picks in the comments. Oh, and on page two, you'll find a handy widget to listen to selected songs from our 20 favorite albums (that's right: 20). So sit back and count down with us our favorite albums of 2010:
10. Local Natives, Gorilla Manor
Local Natives are one of those bands you swear you’ve heard before when you first listen to them. It’s probably because they’ve taken every big movement in popular indie circles (the harmonies of Fleet Foxes, the odd percussion of Dirty Projectors and Vampire Weekend, and the soaring melodies of Bon Iver and Arcade Fire) and streamlined the whole thing into one remarkably accomplished package. They manage to transcend these influences and make something unique. Just listen to the way “Camera Talk” builds into its steady crescendo, or how the '70s rock of “Who Knows, Who Cares” gives way to instrumentation and harmonies. Even though Gorilla Manor is their debut record, Local Natives sounds like they’ve been around forever. And their lyrics are a perfect snapshot of life in the 2010s—loving someone while they’re in another country (“Camera Talk”), friends and loved ones changing (“Shape Shifter”) and figuring out love (“Stranger Love”). Local Natives might sound familiar, but in this case, that’s a very good thing.
9. The National, High Violet
The National occupy a very strange spot in popular culture. Simply put, they write songs about love, urban isolation, mental illness and trying to make it through life when the biggest obstacle are your own anxieties. And they do so in kind of a funny way. High Violet is no exception. The National clearly took a “if it ain't broke, don’t fix it” approach on this album—it’s the best parts of its predecessor, Boxer, boiled down to their essence. “Sorrow” details trying to struggle with lifelong depression and “Afraid of Everyone” is pretty much a description of crippling anxiety (With my kid on my shoulders I try / not to try to hurt anybody I like / but I don’t have the drugs to sort it out). And “Conversation 16” is basically lead singer Matt Beringer’s account of trying to make a relationship work even when one party isn’t the most emotionally stable. It’s hardly the most happy-go-lucky album—but it’s also a pretty realistic look at trying to love and live life in the midst of brokenness. And tying everything together is the perfectly synced music—the guitars of the Dessner twins are perfectly suited to Beringer’s mournful lyrics, and Bryan Devendorf’s drums anchor the whole thing.
8. Janelle Monáe, The ArchAndroid
By all accounts, Janelle Monáe is kind of a strange person. Her first full-length, The ArchAndroid, is parts two and three of a suite of musical pieces called Metropolis that tells the story of a messianic android named Cindi Mayweather who happens to be Monáe’s alter ego. If that sounds confusing, don’t worry; it is. But the weird setting somehow lends itself to one of the most stunningly creative albums of the year. Perhaps because of the out-there story, Monáe has incorporated pretty much every musical style under the sun. “Faster” has go-go and funk, the Big Boi-featuring “Tightrope” could have been on any of Outkast’s funkiest albums, “Oh Maker” starts out as British folk, “Come Alive” sounds like rockabilly and “Say You’ll Go” begins as an R&B ballad and somehow morphs into Debussy’s “Clair de Lune.” The most surprising thing: all of this works. And sounds coherent. You get the feeling she’s telling a powerful story of love and what it can do underneath all the weirdness. And if the strangeness results in this much good music, maybe the recording industry could use a little more.
7. Kanye West, My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy
What is there to say about Kanye West that hasn’t been written at least 10 times this year? The man is the first celebrity to be defined by the Twitter age; nothing is public or private, it’s just there. He’s a walking group of contradictions—he’s just as likely to thank Jesus as compare himself (favorably) to Him. He’s had public meltdowns and been defiant about them. And on his latest album, he puts it all out there (and seriously, it’s all out there—take the “parental advisory” sticker seriously). His own inflated ego, his grandiose delusions, his incredible self-loathing (has any pop star ever had a hit by calling himself some of the worst names a person could think of, as heard in “Runaway”?) and his deep, deep paranoia of everything and everyone around him. Clearly the guy has a screw loose. So why is he on this list? Well … he’s crazy, but he’s also a musical genius. MBDTF ties together everything he’s ever done that’s made you go “Whoa” and shot it through the stratosphere. You want soul? That’s here (“Devil in a New Dress”). You want lush, Late Registration strings? “All of the Lights.” Crazy, glossy pop music? “Monster.” And something you’ve never heard before? Try the Bon Iver-sampling “Lost in the World.” MBDTF is an album that could only come from the skewed mind of Kanye West—it’s offensive, brash, shocking, breathtaking and depraved. Often all at the same time.
6. Vampire Weekend, Contra
If you were like most people, you probably experienced some Vampire Weekend fatigue after their 2008 debut. Everyone got the joke: “haha, you talk about Cape Cod and Lil’ John and you wear deck shoes and Polo, haha.” But it got a little old; the ironically preppy just became tiresomely ironic. So Contra came along with some trepidation. And then it blew all the expectations out of the water. Everything that was initially beloved about the band—the unabashed pop sensibilities, the “world” beats, the clever wordplay—was back, but it was even better. The band seemed tighter (seriously, try to find any problem with “White Sky”) and all of them seemed to realize they didn’t need a gimmick, because they could write songs. And they even broached some serious topics: “Giving Up the Gun” is about opposing war and “I Think Ur a Contra” delves into a painful (and duplicitous) former relationship. Contra may be the album you can’t help but like. It’s just that good.
