Best of 2010 … The Rest

Having felt some pangs of guilt of putting off my Best Of 2010 … So Far for so long, I’ve made a personal vow to publish this one relatively quickly. But make no mistake – it’s not just down to personal goals and any kind of misguided guilt I may have! The albums released in the latter half of 2010 have, unlike 2009′s vice versa, been strong and of excellent quality, so the challenge was more difficult for me this time. And though the first half of 2010 was deservedly overrun with some more indie choices, it’s the old wave/well-established acts that really pulled out some heavy hitters for the second half; while the #1 result may be predictable to anyone who follows this blog (or, hell, anyone who knows me), it should be mentioned that there was some seriously stiff competition, and that every album in the Top 10 could have easily been #1.

So, I guess in a roundabout way, this is like me taking the easy way out and saying that you’re all winners.

Honorable mentions:

Weezer, Hurley and Death To False Metal
It seems like every new Weezer album should be placed not in “Honorable mentions”, but “Comedy option mentions”. Having long decided against returning to the halcyon days of Pinkerton (or even Maladroit – hey, it’s a good album, haters gonna hate!), Rivers Cuomo and company have instead fallen into self-parody after self-parody, leaving the listener unsure if they’re fully in on the joke or not. Hurley is the quickly-released update to Ratitude, though, surprisingly, there’s not much in the way of memorable melodies or hooks that were evident on its predecessor. Still, it’s a good-not-great album, not entirely worthy of the lashing it may have received, but not worthy of any overlavished praise, with only closer ‘Time Flies’ following in the footsteps of other memorable closers making any kind of emotional impact. Two months after the release of Hurley came Death To False Metal, an “odds and ends” compilation album composed of outtakes and studio cast-offs that has been officially classified as the logical follow-up to Hurley. And it’s a more engaging listen than that album, but, to paraphrase Oscar Wilde, to have one Weezer album on a best-of list may be regarded as genuine appreciation; to have two Weezer albums looks like a grab for pity. So, they are both here, because the combination of both constitutes a relatively decent release.
Defining song: Time Flies

Steven Page, Page One
Just like his former bandmates’ All In Good Time graced the “Honorable mentions” section for the first half of 2010, so too does erstwhile Barenaked Lady Steven Page’s first post-arrest/departure album Page One. He sounds more comfortable here than he did on BNL’s recent albums, where he sounded like he was sleepwalking through some truly half-assed songs; now, he’s awake, alert, and ready to prove himself. The arrangements are unique, the songwriting is good, and the performances are all strong, with a range of ballads and quirky pop-rock tunes gracing the relatively brief, 45-minute album. Page One is his By Numbers, but where Pete Townshend found cynical bitterness with his lot in life, Page looks back over the darkest period of his life and confidently regains control, emerging humbler, if not wiser.
Defining song: Over Joy

Top 10 Albums of 2010 … The Rest:

10. Ray LaMontagne and the Pariah Dogs, God Willin’ & the Creek Don’t Rise
I have a love/hate relationship with Ray LaMontagne. It doesn’t help that his thunder was stolen by the Low Anthem at a concert I saw in April 2009, but I find his shyness and lack of interaction with the audience to be way off-putting. However, his songs are so damn good that I’m willing to forgive his awkwardness. God Willin’ & the Creek Don’t Rise is marketed as a LaMontagne-plus-band album, though I can’t find any distinguishing factors between being “in a band” and his last three singer-songwriter albums, but when it comes to albums that are just perfect for putting on in the car and driving around the country on a warm and beautiful spring or summer evening, God Willin’ & the Creek Don’t Rise might as well have been designed just for that. There’s barnstorming rompers (‘Repo Man’, ‘Devil’s In The Jukebox’), mid-tempo shuffles (‘Beg Steal or Borrow’, ‘Old Before Your Time’) and sad country weepers (‘New York Is Killing Me’, ‘This Love Is Over’), and LaMontaigne’s raspy voice is best suited for all of them. It doesn’t so much progress as it does maintain the status quo, but when the status quo is this good, sometimes it’s best not to stray too far from the norm.
Defining song: Devil’s In The Jukebox

9. Neil Young, Le Noise
I so desperately wanted to put Neil Young’s Fork In The Road on the 2009 Best Of list, but it didn’t capture my attention quite as much as I’d hoped it would. The same can’t be said of Le Noise, a true solo album with Young, an arsenal of guitars, and Daniel Lenois’ trademark swampy effects to captive and capture my attention. The first listen is incredibly difficult, for Young’s disembodied voice, already so off-putting for many first-time listeners, hovers listlessly among the sonic noise, only occasionally bursting into passion, but pulling back the onion peels reveals a complicated and rewarding album. The electric guitar is in full blast on six of the eight songs, but it’s the weighty issue of a doomed America that makes the acoustic ‘Peaceful Valley Boulevard’ the heaviest – and best – song not only on the album, but perhaps in the last decade of Young’s career.
Defining song: Peaceful Valley Boulevard

8. Belle and Sebastian, Belle and Sebastian Write About Love
I love Belle and Sebastian, but I have a hard time listening to their albums for extended periods of time before their charmingly twee sound starts to test my patience. But, like allergies, it helps to be exposed to them in small doses to really get a true appreciation for them, and when my girlfriend fell madly in love with Write About Love, she played it non-stop in my car on lengthy drives. Because I had nothing else to do, I listened, and I too was guiled by its charms. The distinct mid-60s feel of the production and the adorable lyrics make this less surprising a release and more comforting that Belle and Sebastian are still delivering the goods, and among a list of musicians who are constantly redefining themselves, it’s good to have some familiarity. There isn’t much to distinguish this album from any of B&S’s others, but it’s a good, solid album, and a worthy addition to their discography.
Defining song: Come On Sister

7. Robert Plant, Band Of Joy
If there’s one thing that Robert Plant enjoys, it’s reinventing himself. Not content with being stuck with the “former vocalist of Led Zeppelin” tag, he’s consistently put out strong and engaging records, blending his love of English black country with Americana and folk, a sound he combined with 2002′s Dreamland and which peaked with Mighty Rearranger. Like 2007′s duet with Allison Krauss, Raising Sand, Band Of Joy (so named as a nod to his pre-Led Zep band) relies on covers, but this time there’s more of a contemporary slant, with Los Lobos’ infectious ‘Angel Dance’ leading off the proceedings, while two selections from Low – ‘Silver Lining’ and ‘Monkey’ – are ethereal and haunting. This time, Plant’s female foil is Patty Griffin, who provides prominent backing vocals on most of the songs, but it’s their emotional duet on Richard Thompson’s ‘House Of Cards’ that steals the show.
Defining song: House Of Cards

6. Eels, Tomorrow Morning
Following up his End Times, also released in early 2010 and an intimate (sometimes too intimate), heartbreaking work of staggering romantic failure, Tomorrow Morning is the morning-after chaser. Emerging with his pride bruised but not broken, E delivers a cautiously optimistic post mortem, and instead of sparse, acoustic songs, as on End Times, the optimism is underscored with loops, synthesized orchestras, and programmed drums. That’s not to say the entire album is a rush of guitars and happiness – there’s still quieter, acoustic moments – but the joy balances out the pleasure, and by the time ‘I Like The Way This Is Going’ comes around, wherein the shadow of a past, bitter relationship is completely forgotten in favor of a new, happier one, the mood is positively exuberant.
Defining song: I Like The Way This Is Going

5. Jenny and Johnny, I’m Having Fun Now
This almost-follow-up to Jenny Lewis’s wonderful Acid Tongue was entirely self-performed and recorded with her beau, Johnathan Rice (both, I might add, guested on Elvis Costello’s Momofuku). If it’s her shot at trying on the shoes of Zooey Deschanel and M. Ward as a hip, SoCal alternative to She & Him, then I’m Having Fun Now succeeds: it’s a rowdy, rambunctious record, with moments of ebullience that live up to its title. Lewis is a perfect counterpart to Rice’s muted vocal delivery, while Rice’s adds some slickness to Lewis’s ramshackle, out-of-control wild ride. Acid Tongue it isn’t, but where that album was a star-studded treat, I’m Having Fun Now is just two talented musicians letting their hair down.
Defining song: Scissor Runner

4. Cee-Lo, The Lady Killer
Try to find a review of this album that doesn’t immediately mention ‘Fuck You!’ (I’m aware of the coincidence.) It’s unfortunate that that song – amazing as it is – has taken on a life of its own, because it overshadows what is a genuinely excellent album, full of sweetly-sung tracks fusing soul and pop with funk and hip-hop. Cee-Lo is a masterful performer and entertainer, equating himself to a spy (of love? of lust? of fame? or maybe all three?) with the bookending ‘Lady Killer Theme’, and it’s the margins of The Lady Killer that make the listen worthwhile: ‘Bright Lights, Bigger City’ is a sleek and sexy ode to New York City, while ‘I Want You’ is an anguished ode to a romantic spark long since diminished. In which case, ‘Fuck You!’ might be a suitable reply.
Defining song: Fuck You!

3. Nick Cave and Grinderman, Grinderman 2
The primal and carnivorous sexual aural assault that was Grinderman was a raw and alarming experience for me. Just as I was getting into Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds in 2008, my coworker (and fellow music appreciator) Sean said to me, “Hey, if you like the Bad Seeds, check out Grinderman – it’s on my iTunes.” At the time I was able to slip on headphones and rock out while working, and I wasn’t prepared for the onslaught that followed. Compared to Abattoir Blues / The Lyre Of Orpheus, my introduction to the Bad Seeds, this Grinderman was a different beast altogether. Frankly, I loved it. The lecherous old man feel continues on the follow-up, an equally primal and carnivorous album to its predecessor, albeit with a little more spit and polish. That’s where the album falters; it’s a bit slicker, sure, but there’s not enough to distinguish this from its debut. But hearing Cave croon such would-be awful lines as “My baby calls me the Loch Ness monster / Two great big humps and then I’m gone” and “I stick my fingers in your biscuit jar” with perverted glee as all the more worth it. And the slickness works on the delicate shuffle of ‘Palaces Of Montezuma’, which combines all of the raunch of Grinderman with the poetic beauty of the Bad Seeds.
Defining song: Palaces Of Montezuma

2. Elton John and Leon Russell, The Union
Having been more than a casual fan of Elton John, but not fanatical enough to know every facet about his discography, I’ve often found myself thinking, “When’s Elton John gonna put out his next album?” I was surprised to see on my last.fm page a recommendation for a song called ‘If It Wasn’t For Bad’, and so I promptly checked it out and liked what I heard. Further surprise came when it was a duet with Leon Russell, a legend in his own right, but a legend that I haven’t checked out that much. (That has since been rectified.) So I waited with anticipation for their album The Union, and upon its release fell madly in love with it. I’ve always considered Tumbleweed Connection to be John’s best album, so this cultural crossover between the true southern Americana of Russell and the British equivalent of John and songwriting partner Bernie Taupin sat just right with me. (The production by T-Bone Burnett didn’t hurt, either – he sure has been busy in 2010!) Astonishingly, unlike prior John albums, there isn’t any real hit single to be heard here, which falls in line with his assertion that he wants to concentrate on making proper albums again; The Union, then, is a proper album. The songwriting is strong, the interplay between Russell and John is superb, and the performances are wonderful. Not to mention the guests – Neil Young, Brian Wilson, and Booker T. Jones all make appearances, with Young contributing a gorgeous vocal to ‘Gone To Shiloh’; coincidentally, my favorite song of the bunch. Although this partnership is undoubtedly a one-off (Russell was always a musical hero to John, who instigated the union as a means to thank his mentor) I can only hope we’ll get some equally strong separate releases from both in the future.
Defining song: Gone To Shiloh

1. Elvis Costello, National Ransom
As a perpetual Elvis Costello fanboy, I can’t overstate my appreciation of this album enough. It’s a follow-up to 2009′s Secret, Profane & Sugarcane, which was a good-not-great first album with his new ad hoc string band, the Sugarcanes. While Secret falters with its muted approach, National Ransom shines, for not only are the Sugarcanes a well-oiled machine by now, but Costello does the smart thing and integrates members of his “other” band, the Imposters. Drummer Pete Thomas provides a huge shot to the arm, while Steve Nieve’s colorful keyboard accompaniments add much-needed variety to the songs. There are some weaker songs – Leon Russell flies in aimlessly for ‘My Lovely Jezebel’, and ‘I Lost You’, ‘The Spell That You Cast’, and the title track are all samey-sounding – but the gems here are exceptional: ‘Jimmie Standing In The Rain’, ‘A Slow Drag With Josephine’, and ‘A Voice In The Dark’ are playful character stories with an old-timey feel, while ‘Bullets For The New-Born King’ and ‘All These Strangers’ are serious, politically-charged songs, with simple but powerful arrangements. But to this fan, it’s ‘That’s Not The Part Of Him You’re Leaving’, a heartbreaking adieu to a friend who’s made her non-romantic intentions absolutely clear, that resonates the most. Costello can sing of unscrupulous politicians and bankers and ’30s-era caricatures, but it’s when he goes straight for the heartstrings that he really makes a profound mark.
Defining song: That’s Not The Part Of Him You’re Leaving