David G: Top Albums of 2010

I’m bound to regret this. Up until the very last second before publishing, this spot was occupied by The Black Keys’ Brothers. But that album is 52+ minutes when it should be 42-. The last Girls album ran out of steam for me, and I listen to it less and less. And their performance at Making Time in April was… questionable. But with the expansion of their sound, bringing in horns, and dialing up the ’50s crooner vibe, I’ve fallen for this small gem.

Oh boy. I’m going to get flak for this. Seems like the critical consensus on this album is “sophomore slump.” Thing is: I never liked them the first time around. And I know… the 12 minute ADD “Siberian Breaks” is a bit of a chore. But some chores yield pleasure, and this album if chock full of progged-out pleasurable moments. It’s been a long time the radio has brought me into the fold of a band, but I have to admit WXPN, of all places, sucked me in with “Something’s Missing.” Let this album’s freakprog work its non-hook hooks into your brain and “slump” will be the farthest thing from your mind.

Like many of LCD Soundsystems albums, I have mixed feelings on this. There are at least two songs on this album, “All I Want” chief among them, that are instant classics. But the album’s uneven, “You Wanted a Hit” and “Pow Pow” are overshadowed. But maybe that’s unfair: listening to them outside of the context of the album I don’t mind them. In a city’s downtown, shadows fall even on late three point-threat Manute Bol.

It’s possible I can’t justify this as a “best” album of the year. But it’d impossible to leave off an album I love this much. Warm and fierce, it wraps me with its overdriving beat. This album is making out at their shows, ’50s hops, the nervousness of first love. Am I biased by shared love, Philadelphia, numerous great shows? Should I not be?

There’s an argument to be made that this album shares the length problem of the Black Keys’ Brothers. But the varied style and the warm laziness of its extremities makes this record’s overindulgence (cough) forgivable. By far, BSS’s best album. Note to Spoon: not only did this album contain the best of Broken Social Scene, they also made the songs that should have been on Transference.

By far my most played album of the year. And it’s easy to see why: gorgeous, sticky Southern summers run through it. Country’s heartbreak in Brooklyn’s form.

It’s surprising to see an “indie” band crack Billboard’s nut and sell out MSG. It’s not surprising that this album was the nutcracker to do it. If it has its fault, it’s length, which can make the album feel plodding. But even so, it’s pedestrian gait is fitting, an album that floats over the suburban mindscape, sentimental while it attacks. And then dances, to Abba, over the suburbs’ grave.

On any given day, this album either drops me with its brilliance or bugs me with its inanity. From the very first beat, the Kanye nursing rhyme, it’s obvious that hip hop was changed forever when this album dropped. I heard an NPR commentator comparing it to the rock star albums of the ’70s, where persona was essential to substance. And Kanye’s meld with the popular culture and image is both exalting and depressing. “Monster” is its pinnacle. And I’m charmed even by this album’s worst moments (see the last five minutes of “Blame Game”), though I can’t pretend weakness doesn’t exist. I’m wrong to not make it #1, and you’re wrong for putting it there. But in the end, I’m left only with questions. Why the Chris Rock nonsense on “Blame Game”? How did Kanye cajole Rick Ross into dropping his best lines on this album and not this own? Ditto, Nicki? Could any idea seem worse than bringing Justin Vernon onto a Kanye album? Could the resulting “Lost in the World” be any more sublime? Does Kanye know who he is, or what this album *is*, any more than we do? Bubbling, bubbling, bubbling, bubbling.

Take off the headphones and close your eyes. It’s been years since I’ve heard an album with Teen Dream’s ability to flow into every sonic nook and cranny. Wave upon wave of impossibly slow and aching sound. The most beautiful album of the year.

Is this a makeup? I sincerely regret not placing Atlas Sound’s Logos higher on my 2009 list. In ten years, “Sheila” will be unpacking my brain while It’s Blitz and Veckatimest live in cobwebs. But this album needs no help to be the best of the year, track after track of burning, unyielding incredulity that we will all die. All packed into pitch perfect craft, gently deformed. That Deerhunter would be better with an expanded sound (even horns!) is a revelation. It’s an album haunted by youth’s loss, in a way that Arcade Fire are not gifted enough to articulate in their suburbs. But not satisfied with moaning over mortality, it drives and claws towards a manufactured other-ness, a distorted skeleton of life to hang its weary flesh on. Kissing a friend, a suicide, an in-the-end nihilist goodbye with a baroque, pedaled guitar that hints at harpsichord and pearly gates autoharp. “I won’t rest until I can’t breathe / I can’t breathe when you’re looking at me.”