100. sunn O))), Black One [Southern Lord; 2005] |
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Blackest of the black, doom metal slowed down to a molasses crawl. Thunderous guitar chords swell and burst above your head; bass that is a sea demon slithering out to snatch you beneath the waves. Tortured vocals screamed from a sealed coffin - literally. A drone that rattles your ribcage. Good luck trying to explain it. |
99. Eminem, The Marshall Mathers LP [Interscope; 2000] |
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This snarling, poisoned beast of an album sounds better in retrospect than on revisitation. It is a period piece, a snapshot of the age before the Internet, when a special breakthrough album could connect with all people across all divides, could be everything to everyone. Marshall Mathers became the last superstar of the pre-Internet age, carried on the back of an album born of its time, fueled by the sullen apathy and boredom of teens in an age of peace and prosperity, Gen-X’s final self-absorbed and maladjusted fuck you. Mother issues, homicidal fantasies, vicious barbs thrown at his peers, an endless barrage of misused homosexual name-calling – delivered with a maniacally twisted and commercial rap style over earworm millennial beats that any teen in the West could get behind. Who would need to listen to this again if they remember every word? |
98. Boris, Pink [Southern Lord; 2006] |
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I have been told that this is Boris' most American-oriented album in their nearly two-decade career. There are elements of shoegaze, Sigur Ros-levels of grandiosity, the slow funereal crawl of black metal, but most importantly an acidic attack of guitars, bass and drums. Eclecticism is important here, but the basic fundamentals of earth-shaking loudness and ear-curdling feedback are the most important tenets of Boris' sound. That such an unholy ruckus could be caused by three men seems an impossibility. All you need to do to enjoy is crank the volume up to 11 and watch water in a glass ripple as if caused by an approaching T-rex. |
97. Dungen, Ta Det Lugnt [Kemado; 2004] |
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Translated as “Take It Easy”, you do exactly that when listening to Swedish wunderkind Gustav Estjes and his band’s throwback album. This is the meeting place of Zeppelin and Crimson, Yes and Frampton, with a healthy dose of Tull’s rock flute thrown in. Some people refused to believe it was a contemporary album recorded in 2004 and not some long-lost Swedish rock marvel. It may as well have been recorded in 1974: it still doesn’t sound a day old. |
96. Beck, Sea Change [DCG; 2002] |
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90’s rock’s most able chameleon saved his greatest transformation for the next decade - after shambling folk, dusty hip-everything, tropicalia, and white-faced R&B, Beck got his heart broke and became Bob Dylan. Or at least Gordon Lightfoot, channeling a little bit of Serge Gainsbourg's orchestral sensibilities. The forthcoming eight years of diminishing returns have proven it: Beck poured everything he had into this forlorn, graceful breakup album that is easily the equal of Blood on the Tracks. |
95. Kathy Diamond, Miss Diamond To You [Groove Attack; 2007] |
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A neo-Balearic masterpiece of understated synths, funky slap-bass and ethereal vocals from Miss Diamond, this come-from-nowhere gem plays like a spaced out sister to Donna Summer’s best work, with Maurice Fulton playing Giorgio Moroder. What sets Miss Diamond apart from the nu-disco masses is the tightrope between programmed and organic instruments - most of this could be played by a live band, and just might have been. The sound is lush, emphasizing groove over dynamic beats. Some complain that it sounds uniform, but when it’s this good, who cares? |
94. Ulrich Schnauss, A Strangely Isolated Place [Domino; 2003] |
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Ulrich Schnauss remains a mystery: with his punk roots, one would hardly expect the laid-back electro of Far Away Trains Passing By, nor this sophomore album with takes the template and expands it into a blissful post-techno masterpiece. Closer in spirit to Eno or ambient Aphex than the chaotic post-millennial techno in vogue at the time, this is ultimately a headphone album, best listened to around your ears in the dark, reveling in the lush ambient textures of the melodies and the disembodied, sexless voices atop it all. He was likely not cerebral enough to break through to the big time, but this album remains a downtempo gem. |
93. Cam'ron, Purple Haze [Roc-A-Fella; 2004] |
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In a genre marked by stringent localism, Cam'ron swears allegiance to no city; he claims to represent Chicago, Brooklyn and Ohio. In an age of homogenized beats and lackadaisical content, he utilizes beats by a vast army of producers who throw him Cali weed rap, chipmunk soul, Good Times and Cindy Lauper. And the man himself rides on top with a swagger to match the baddest villains you love to hate; he's a smug mofo with a twisted flow and stunning wordplay, and in an era of faceless disposable hip-hop, it puts him on top of the pile, even if only for this accidental masterstroke. |
92. Boredoms, Vision Creation Newsun [WEA Japan; 2000] |
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Listening to this album in 2009, perhaps as a neophyte, you begin to wonder whether this ragtag team of Japanese musicians decided to throw every single strand of underground hyphenated sub-genre mindfuck indie-pop-rock-dance mess from the past ten years into a blender and push the Overdrive button. Then you realize it was recorded and released before the past ten years even started. Boredoms 1, Aughts 0. |
91. Scissor Sisters, Scissor Sisters [Polydor; 2004] |
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The epitome of DIY-pop, recorded in living rooms in New York, a marriage of Elton John and disco and everything pop under the sun. The lyrics are unabashedly sexual in nature, but the songwriting is subtle, proving that stealing is okay when you steal from the very best. A marvelous guilty pleasure. |
90. DJ Sprinkles, Midtown 120 Blues [Mule Music; 2008] |
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“...as long as I'm DJ-ing, you will not be allowed to vogue to the decontextualized, reified, corporatized, liberalized, neutralized, asexualized, re-genderized pop reflection of this dance floor's reality!"
Hardly the most inviting sentiment for the general masses, but to DJ Sprinkles, aka. DJ Terre Thaemlitz, house is a culture and way of life, misappropriated and maligned by the masses that do not care about its heritage – as music played primarily in gay clubs. She recreates that late 80’s period with ten tracks of serene and melancholy deep house, all rich sub-bass, plaintive pianos and warm chords, done with the mastery of someone who truly lived the lifestyle and lost something along the way. |
89. Joanna Newsom, Ys [Drag City; 2006] |
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This is an album better appreciated than endlessly listened to, for the most part. It is an undeniable laundry list of talents (Van Dyke Parks, Jim O’Rourke, Steve Albini), but the album is held together by Newsom and her acquired taste of a voice. For all the subtlety and wordiness, Ys is a thrilling album and is a rare form of transcending the disposability of the iPod. |
88. Amon Tobin, Out From Out Where [Ninja Tune; 2002] |
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I went through a desperate hard-on for Tobin and most of Ninja Tune midway through the decade, and although I tend to visit with the albums less these days, I cannot not give props to at least one of the three great albums he crafted - so here is his more straightforward one. It is still mindmeltingly precise and wonderous, a melange of found sounds made to sound like an alien invasion in a desert, some of his poppiest tracks ("Rosies") and most beautiful moments ("Mighty Macro People"), over and done with before an hour has gone by. I still skip "Verbal", but the rest of the album is one to treasure. |
87. Erlend Oye, DJ Kicks [K7; 2004] |
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The DJ Kicks series is one that I was enamored with for a couple of years in the middle of the decade, collecting about twenty of the mixes - this one stands heads above them all. What makes Oye's mix so special is its comfort and ramshackle charm; he is hardly a great mixer, but he has an instinct for song selection and sequencing, and being a "singing DJ", he puts his stamp on all songs, often singing interpolations of past hits (Bananarama, the Smiths, etc.) over modern electro hits. You don't need to know that it would go on to influence a lot of people to mix pop and dance together: it ebbs and flows beautifully, and at less than an hour in length, it leaves you wanting more. |
86. Rapture, Echoes [DFA; 2003] |
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With the DFA label running the prevalent sound of the early decade, this album was hyped as the definite snapshot of said sound, a hybrid of indie punk and cowbell-driven dance. Although Echoes isn’t as euphoric as lead single “House of Jealous Lovers”, it is a cohesive listen, one better appreciated as a single work of art rather than a collection of singles. And after the disastrous backlash against electroclash (hah) the year before, Rapture and the DFA label made New York cool again. |
85. Madonna, Confessions on a Dance Floor [Warner Bros.; 2005] |
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Whatever the decade or the musical trend, Madonna has an innate ear for picking the right collaborators and making great music to extend her shelf life. Although she misfired as often as hit the target this decade, this collaboration with Stuart Price ranks with the finest of her heady past accomplishments, a seamless disco-throwback odyssey influenced by her predecessors and current club trends that plays like an uninterrupted DJ set. Individual songs set a high mark, but it’s the non-stop trip that is the true highlight, and if you complain about the relative lack of substance, the style is unparalleled. |
84. Jay-Z, The Blueprint [Roc-A-Fella; 2001] |
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The shadow of The Blueprint looms as large as the events of the day on which it was released. To say that Jay-Z is the one person who benefited from the most unfortunate release date in history is crass, but it has given him endless licence to reference it, most famously the line "couldn't be stopped by Bin Laden". The stories are readily available: written without paper over a magic two-day period, at a time of great personal turmoil. It singlehandedly revived a classic soul sound in rap, acting as the Nevermind for the Bad Boy Glitz era - though not really. Its producers were never better - even Eminem's track shines. And undermining it all is Hova's decade-sized ego, spending three verses counting his riches, extolling the virtues of international femaledom, annihilating other rappers. Only J-Hova himself can make it look bad, with two unnecessary sequels and his diminished drive; this album looks better with every passing year. |
83. The Shins, Chutes Too Narrow [Sub Pop; 2003] |
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An early pick for my number one of the decade, the Shins have undoubtedly fallen from my favor due to several degrees of backlash: if they couldn't help Natalie Portman's recommendation, they could have taken less time to follow this up, and with something more worthwhile. But how could they? Chutes Too Narrow is a rare beast, that once-in-a-lifetime strike at greatness that fully succeeds, where the haze of a debut is throw off for startling clarity, lovelorn lyrics married to perfect melodies - one of the great unfulfilled promises. |
82. Mastodon, Blood Mountain [Reprise; 2006] |
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Anticipation for Mastodon’s third album was sky high: after reaching the upper levels of American metal, the follow up to Leviathan had to be just as good. It was, and then some: this is the most brutal, unforgiving metal album since metal’s 1986 high point, all blazing guitars, wordless hysteria and galloping drums, and a concept about getting high and climbing a metaphorical mountain. Coincidentally, it made Mastodon even bigger stars. Pure power. |
81. Animal Collective, Merriweather Post Pavilion [Domino; 2009] |
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Alright, let's face it, some of us drank the Animal Kool-Aid in 2009. There can be no doubt about the band's accomplishments in the past decade, but this album's extremely high praises were the work of critical self-absorbtion and self-congratulations rather than a massive crossover success, or heaven forbid, an honest-to-goodness Classic album. Far be it for me (or anyone) to envision how this album will sound in another five or ten years, and how it will fit into the Aughts ouevre. At the end of the day, this album is the Collective's eccentric folk-rock-electric-acid-revival sound watered down and given over to melody and sentiment. A very good album, tremendously sequenced, and undoubtedly their most enjoyable for me, but it has a long way to becoming the classic some claim it already is. |
80. Amy Winehouse, Back To Black [Island; 2007] |
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Oh, Amy Wino. In what is probably the decade's biggest car crash, pure campy tabloid fodder, a hugely talented British singer with a huge attitude and even huger beehive produces two great throwback albums that evoke the torch singers and old school blues singers of epochs past, slightly updates it with Mark Ronson's classic production and some vaguely 21st century swagger, wins an armful of Grammys, and promptly begins a downward spiral into drug abuse and general public mayhem that the crowds applaud rather than offer help. A rare pop crossover success that might hold up to future scrutiny. |
79. The Arcade Fire, Funeral [Merge; 2004] |
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Let this low ranking speak more for my own apathy toward this album than a comment on its quality. Undoubtedly it is a great work of art, full of passion and lofty ideals; it attempts to be everything for everyone (especially the downcast and depressed looking for a lift), and through personal tragedy Arcade Fire crafted a great triumph, and enjoyed deserved success. For me, after years of excessive over-hyping and their mediocre second album, I don't revisit the album very often. When I do, I remember why it is so beloved, and only wish I could have retained some of that bold admiration for it. |
78. Paavoharju, Laulu Laakson Kukista [Fonal; 2008] |
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One of the stranger albums I've encountered, it took me several months and dozens of listens to realize why I couldn't stop: it was a marriage of pop sensibilities and sound experiments, that hard-to-define line when a pop song suddenly lurches into something less tangible but no less irresistible. It could be a remodeled soundtrack to Blade Runner, a commercial for clouds, your music for a melancholy night in. They could be Finnish wood nymphs, or an ascetic sect of traveling gypsies - when this album plays, it is magic. |
77. Air, Talkie Walkie [Astralwerks; 2004] |
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Having tried the whole Klingon’s-night-of-love route with the maligned 10,000 Hz Legend, our favorite Gallic spacemen returned to familiar turf with this breathy, Moog-driven love letter. They briefly dally with Japanese themes in “Alone in Kyoto” but it is an aberration: this is all magnificent pop done the Air way. Whereas before they stared off at stars, here they are observers of people; the melancholy "Universal Traveller" with many friends to care for him; the love letter to their "Cherry Blossom Girl"; a universal paean to love in "Venus" - it is a space album about human emotions. |
76. Yeasayer, All Hour Cymbals [We Are Free; 2007] |
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Equally beloved and derided, this album reeks of the late-decade practice of appropriating any and every global sound, especially pan-Africanism, and reflecting it through a prism of American indie ethos. Some bands did it bigger, but Yeasayer did it better: this is a meandering and uniform and awesome trip, every song a shamanistic call to arms for positivity and global music, bright and warm like a summer’s eve. |