The Best Albums of 2011

Yeah, I’m late. I get it. Building this shiny new site took precedent. Regardless, enjoy!

30. Dirty Beaches – Badlands

Currently, nothing sounds like this. Film noir chic forced through neglected diner speakers.

29. Cut Copy – Zonoscope

An expansive/minimalist smorgasbord of dance/rock/glam experimentation. Tack on headphones and a rolling sidewalk and you’ve got yourself a plan.

28. Timber Timbre – Creep On Creepin’ On

The best possible soundtrack for an empty dive bar closing up at 1:30 a.m.

27. Danny Brown – XXX

The Childish Gambino record we always wanted.

26. Mogwai – Hardcore Will Never Die, But You Will

The moment where you find the clear answer and decide to leap past it? This is it.

25. Action Bronson & Statik Selektah – Well-Done

A fond reminder that impersonation can be a proper compliment (Ghostdini! Tony Stark! Thor Molecules!)

24. Bon Iver – Bon Iver, Bon Iver

Gorgeous record, embarrassing lyrics. The hipster Valley girl of the year.  

23. Fleet Foxes – Helplessness Blues

More of the Fleetful: choral harmonies from a few hundreds miles inside of a forest. 

22. Shabazz Palaces – Black Up

A distinctly difficult hip-hop-as-freeform-jazz entry/entity. A top nominee for “best record to clear out a boy/girl party”. [I’ve intentionally chosen the full album stream. Choosing a mere song wouldn’t have done the experiment its due.] 

21. The Caretaker – An Empty Bliss Beyond This World

Such a beautiful drift into another era. Prevalent needle hiss against starry–eyed horns, faded piano, booming bass and a haunting undercurrent.

20. Ohbijou – Metal Meets

This could easily be in the top 10. Smooth, delicate and flush with layered shimmer.

19. Doomtree – No Kings

Basement. Party. A collective that truly acts as one. Effortless nonchalance, a rare trait on a hip–hop record. 

18. Atlas Sound – Parallax

The quiet is louder than the loud. Immediate sincerity, almost disarmingly so. 

17. Feist – Metals

I counted eight moments of spine chills and three sets of goosebumps during my first listen. Teared up once. Really, really special album.

16. Clams Casino – Instrumentals

Hip hop doesn’t die: it mutates. This is its latest strain, a focal point stretched to infinity, versatile and wordless. 

15. Fela Soul – Gummy Soul

Eight tracks of De La Soul x Fela Kuti, a mashup of classics that maintains its pedigree.

14. The War on Drugs – Slave Ambient

The smoldering remains of the Reagan–era heartland fading into a shoegaze sunset while the warmest debris remains to envelop you.

13. A$AP Rocky – LIVELOVEA$AP

I read somewhere that A$AP was ‘chasing the swagon’, which might be the worst thing ever. Is it a dragon wearing Supreme? A wagon with unattainable confidence? Regardless, SWAG.

12. PJ Harvey – Let England Shake

I’ve only listened to this once. I think it’s all I’ll even need. Like Animal Farm, an indelible imprint onto the medium.

11. Ty Segall – Goodbye Bread

Jangle those sludgy guitars to the end of it all, I say.

10. James Blake – James Blake

Uncommon in its power and mystique, this is everything the world isn’t. This is not post–dubstep, it’s the unshakeable evolution of loneliness.

9. Panda Bear – Tomboy

It’s fucking Pet Sounds. I mean, it’s not. But boy howdy does it try… 

8. Big K.R.I.T. – Returnof4Eva

Sometimes, when your peers are doing one–offs and gimmicks, you go off the board and write a proper album. The Dirty South just got a deep shit kickin’.

7. Bibio – Mind Bokeh

Boards of Canada v. J Dilla, masquerading as loopy summer pop. Only the 21st century could create such a crazy sandwich.

6. Kendrick Lamar – Section.80

Watch Kevin Durant play basketball and you’ll quickly be introduced to the ‘I got this’ look. This is that look.

5. Yuck – Yuck

The end result if Dinosaur Jr. called My Bloody Valentine for a nooner back in 1992. Pristine melodies and crunchy guitars.

4. tUnE–yArDs – W h o k i l l

It’s fun and crazy and thrilling and bright, everything you need right now. A crisp late Friday night during a sweat drenched summer. Gangsta has saved many a hushed dancefloor.

3. Girls – Father, Son, Holy Ghost

The top–notch pop sensibilities from their debut stretch their legs into new, old territory. This is the next level. The formula: take something worn out, shine it up, add a coat of new paint, a dash of bravado and a postcard from southern California. Every new band should hope to make such a graceful second impression.

2. EMA – Past Life Martyred Saints

I love every gutter crawling inch of this. I’m fixated on her age, a mere 22. Such caustic depth. Such hopeful conviction mired in shit. Such charming growls. Let’s flirt with death as see who wakes up. Let’s do it together and it’ll be worth it. This is the cold, hard slap of methadone. The wake up slap. The moment when you reassess the world in a blink. The world you didn’t want. The world you always wanted.

1. Fucked Up – David Comes To Life

I knew this was the year’s best back in June. I was headed down the grungy subway steps of a smog–filled sweatfest when I put this on. Rapture. The Les Savy Fav-ian Queen of Hearts, the almost hokey Who fascination, the mostly hokey lyrical facepalms. It all works. And it shouldn’t. The concept is soft, the punk is less Fucked Up and more Green Day but here I am, justifying the flawed exhilaration. The aspiration outflanks the shortcomings. It tries so hard to be something great that it inherently does. It tacks on more and more and more and more until it becomes second nature. A relic of the past, punk and story in life and death it pushes you like a true album should, requiring repeat plays to truly grasp. A testament to the true power of artistic freedom, a testament to the soul.

In Which I Sandbag The Non-Evitable, A Short Prayer For My Sanity

All of the peripherals scream at each other, with each other and against the rails in hopes of standing out. Sports journalism comes in two varieties: the ones that break down actions responsibly and tactfully and the ones that act as degenerate gamblers in order to pronounce, “I TOLD YOU I WAZ RIGHT!” The first typically comes mid-week during the lull, the latter comes during horrible pre-game shows with former players betting 10k on the side. 

I will not play to either side today. Rational thought tells me this is a game of capitalizing on mistakes. These mistakes are random opportunity: a tipped pass, an improper hold of a football and thus, cannot be properly encapsulated. These are the tipping points. 

Beyond is the irrational: shoving the past in the present and acting as if it matters. Legacy is pride and pride has ruined many a weak-minded man. It’s a fools game. No, this is the strict rule of bravado. Walk out, head high and carve up the opponent. Allow the legacy to breathe on.

I’m somewhere in the middle. The yelling at the television moments, pleading with the voices in your head that grapple with split-second action. “How could you not see that cornerback cheating?! IT WAS RIGHT FUCKING THERE!” The lack of satisfaction while holding a 14 point lead, adrenaline swinging as time passes. Commercial breaks provide solace in familiarity only, the same eight have been playing all year (dearest marketers, there’s an glaring opportunity here…). All of this while ignoring swipes vibrating from my phone. 

This is my late afternoon: 

  • a stocked fridge ready for both celebration and defeat
  • clutching an authentic piece of foam cheese
  • hurdling said foam cheese at speeds reaching upwards of Mach 2
  • irrational hope/prayer/pride/anger
  • preparing dinner sometime in the 3rd quarter in an attempt to cool nerves through regimented measuring and slicing
  • wondering if this will be the downfall of the season
  • taking this much too seriously

Green Bay:

The most efficient passing attack in NFL history (45 TD to 6 INTs). Returning Greg Jennings, 21 days off for the OG Discount Double Check, Seabiscuit, The Old Man and the other 453 ‘weapons’ lining up in the slot. A running game reminiscent of Coldplay: offensively average. The infuriating defense, if you believe a single flawed stat that refuses to account for takeaways (with it, they’re closer to league average). The lack of pass rush. The mercurial secondary. Home field. 

New York:

Supposedly built as Packer kryptonite, a pass rush that’s quick and deadly. A serviceable secondary for 85% of the NFL. Three dynamic receivers. A running game that ‘found its stride’ over the last week, a two-back attack of speed and power. Let us not forget the power of Eli, to amaze and infuriate in the same minute. Finally, the many faces of Coughlin, mostly living in ‘the neighbourhood kids just bounced a basketball off my Lincoln!’ range. 

So, yeah. GBP. To the end. If you need me I’ll be neglecting a beer in solitude, yelling at nonsense and hoping for the best. Ugh.