HeiBräu

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(One spot per artist; if multiple albums from the same artist are chosen, they must occupy the same spot.)

White Denim – Fits

White Denim, as a name, sounds a lot more like some Gary-Numan-sampling electronica duo from Brooklyn, but in an effort to defy classification, the band’s music sounds more like a progressive-indie-funk five-piece from Southern California.  (In actuality, they’re what can only be referred to as a “power trio” from Austin, Texas.) Whether it’s the swampy blues-rock of “Say What You Want,” the sótano y garaje rock of “El Hard Attack DCWYW,” or the funky Lizard King swagger of “Sex Prayer,” Fits constantly melds disparate genres with brutal, shameless efficiency. What’s more, it ratchets every one of them to 11 and beyond. Simply put, it is a big mess of cherry-picked fits, but it fits.

White Denim’s “Say What You Want,” from Fits.

Atlas Sound – Logos

Bradford Cox loudly decries critics who insist his cover art is some kind of cathartic expression of fragility; and really, you can’t blame him. Five minutes spent listening to an interview with the man behind Atlas Sound and Deerhunter can only lead to the conclusion that Cox isn’t necessarily trying to accomplish something concrete; his passion is in the gory details of the process. Logos is so steeped in hushed, creative takes on pop, folk, and Cox’s own bizarre brand of doo-wop, it succeeds primarily in creating a blushingly intimate mood, but also in peeling back the amped-up trappings of Deerhunter to reveal the core elements of Cox’s songwriting aesthetic. It’s so good, in fact, that Logos can really only constitute more fuel for the flames of fierce, hung-jury debates about Atlas Sound v. Deerhunter. Litigation is not the optimal route of medifore here, however, as choosing which Bradford Cox record to put on is a lot more like standing at an unmanned Sno-Cone machine and dallying about which flavor to try first.

Atlas Sound’s “Shelia,” from Logos.

Volcano Choir – Unmap

Trying to surmise the reasoning behind Justin Vernon’s indefinite break from music is likely to yield the following bullet points: For Emma, Forever Ago; Blood Bank; A Decade With Duke; the names of countless concert venues and festival shows; now comes Unmap. His spacey penchants not reaching full fruition with Bon Iver, Vernon instead teamed up with Collections of Colonies of Bees and the result was a record teeming with surreal life, uneasy atmospheres, (dare we ressurect the term?) math-rock vicissitudes, a track devoted entirely to the mbira, and a redux of one of the most righteous investigations of Auto-Tune this decade. No one’s quite sure where his Vernon’s horse is headed, but he’s sure jockeying a winning record and a boatload of headroom.

Volcano Choir’s “Island, IS,” from Unmap.

Neon Indian – Psychic Chasms

Having both his quartet Neon Indian and his solo project VEGA brought to their fullest potentials in a single year would have been a fantastic way to close the decade for Alan Palomo. While the glo-fi peaks of his Well Known Pleasures EP were exhilarating, Neon Indian is the burbling and smoked-out stunner that Palomo was imagining out of the recesses of his misspent time (“Should Have Taken Acid With You”). His audience, however, was the real recipient of the summery warmth of the kind gift: a beachy record they didn’t know they wanted until they needed it. Sure, it didn’t hit the street until October – in the end, it just meant a different kind of Indian summer.

Neon Indian’s “Should Have Taken Acid With You,” from Psychic Chasms.

Baroness – Blue Record

Something of a slow starter, Blue Record shunts the lead-off single tendency that many bands of their ilk rely on to keep their listeners on the line. The record steams forward, perhaps on curiosity alone, before “The Sweetest Curse” strips the mask, but it’s the centerpiece “Swollen And Halo” that drops its shoulder and violently pushes the pillars out from under the balcony with all the subtlety of a jackhammer. We can’t quite call it just a thunderous progressive metal album, with its glimmering acoustic numbers “Steel That Sleeps The Eye” and “Blackpowder Orchard,” and the surprisingly Corgan-esque intro to “The Gnashing.” All the same: this ain’t your Miles Davis Kind of Blue.

Baroness’ “War, Wisdom and Rhyme,” from Blue Record.

Japandroids – Post-Nothing

Japandroids can scarce be out-crazied by any other lo-fi outfit. Guitarist Brian King’s shining, splayed chord structure is only caught in a whirlwind of hissing hi-hat and Keith Moon-esque drum fills for just over a half-hour, but it’s more than enough to drill Japandroids’ grunge-era tuneage into one’s brain.  Post-Nothing strips the paint off of power-pop, and, short a bassist, Japandroids’ sound simply defies their two members.

Japandroids’ “I Quit Girls,” from Post-Nothing.

Wild Beasts – Two Dancers

Part optical illusion, part Queen’s The Miracle, the strange, intangible essence of the cover art for Two Dancers has, like the album, become a favorite over a much longer period of time than many of the other albums here. Perhaps it’s the detached, minimal arrangements or the oft-shunned falsetto voice, but the wondrous motifs so casually tossed off here are a rich intoxicant, if given enough time. Calculated basslines pulsate underneath Hayden Thorpe’s theatrical, affected vocal and the most entrancing guitar lines this side of Interpol. There’s even a kind of charming chumminess to upbeat cuts like “All The King’s Men.” Most engaging of all,  though, is the crystalline title track doublet, cascading down gently like the illuminated snowfall under a distant highway light.

Wild Beasts’ “We Still Got The Taste Dancin’ On Our Tongues,” from Two Dancers.

Handsome Furs – Face Control

After the resounding success of two Wolf Parade albums, Dan Boeckner’s more extended tenure with his wife Alexei Perry in Handsome Furs was long overdue. Plague Park yielded promising results, but for a seasoned working-class musician like Boeckner, the sophomore slump is but a myth, no more to be regarded than the next puff on his second cigarette. The whole of Face Control is a foot-stomping, hard-strumming, sexy shot of modern electro-rock. And yet, at the end of this short paragraph, there’s the overwhelming feeling that our primary justification for loving Handsome Furs the way we do is that Dan Boeckner is flipping awesome, and that’s all that should have to be written here.

Handsome Furs’ “I’m Confused,” from Face Control.

The Antlers – Hospice

Hospice is very much like the group’s namesake – graceful, seemingly brittle, and slowly and intricately growing before falling off completely. Lead vocalist/guitarist Peter Silberman takes great pains to lovingly unpack his six-, seven-, eight-, and even nine-minute epics, seemingly drawing each fragile one out of a box and holding it this way and that in front of a class of gasping and silent onlookers. The cover implies a warmth in the impending embrace of hands, but Silberman’s digital wind howls restlessly, and the carefully enunciated vocal whispers send a shiver up one’s spine. Hospice is quite plainly a beautiful record, but The Antlers do us one better: it’s an evocative unfurling of physical and emotional trauma from start to finish.

The Antlers’ “Sylvia,” from Hospice.

Mew – No More Stories…

It gets harder and harder to classify Mew as a progressive rock band, because they have so many other variables mixed in that dilute the term’s meaning. Their Bee Gees vocals (“Sometimes Life Isn’t Easy”), tempo-benders (“Introducing Palace Players”), ethereal, ghostly and ghastly interjections (“Repeaterbeater”), flirtations with pop (“Beach”), sober elegies (“Cartoons And Macrame Wounds”), and somber reservations (“Silas The Magic Car”) all dodge in and out like forest foxes after a clarion call.  It’s so varying that it makes the band seem less like a fine, even clay, and more like a stratified Play-Doh ball of sundry shapes and colors, rolled up with the dirt and errant Cheerios. It isn’t to say that there’s something for everyone on No More Stories…, just that their approach never seems to retread and always seems to stimulate that particular part of the brain that says I don’t know what this is, but I like it.

(Full-length review here.)

Mew’s “Beach,” from No More Stories Are Told Today I’m Sorry They Washed Away No More Stories The World Is Grey I’m Tired Let’s Wash Away.

Memory Tapes – Seek Magic

It isn’t just the thick wall of dangerously danceable electronica that ultimately draws you in, it’s the heartfelt outpouring of lyrical emotion on tracks like “Stop Talking:” “My God, I can’t see how we are in love.” One can almost hear the New Jersey roadside passing by on “Green Knight,” which even turns a gymnasium basketball game into a filler beat. And on comfortably washed-out hazes like “Swimming Field,” the sudden, resonant beating of drums encapsulates that epiphanic moment we all crave in music. Memory Tapes may merely be the latest iteration of the solo-electro wunderkind, but Dayve Hawk’s dreamy, sweet Seek Magic cuts through the pack and makes it an especially memorable year for Gothenburg-based label Sincerely Yours.

Memory Tapes’ “Stop Talking,” from Seek Magic.

jj – jj N° 2

If there were a genre we would not have predicted to make a resurgence, it would undoubtedly have been afro-pop. But here at the end of the decade, with records from bands like Vampire Weekend, The Very Best, and jj gobbling up spots on best-of lists, it has a pleasant little beachhead going for itself. The last place, in fact, any of us would have thought to look for it would have been in Sweden, from a band who are labelmates with The Tough Alliance under their Sincerely Yours banner. “I never thought about you this winter / I never thought ’bout you this spring,” singer Elin intones on “Are You Still in Vallda?,” infusing the track with a nonchalant, classy afro-pop prowess — the melodies are heart-rending and the arrangements simple and meaningful. It’s funny, in a way, since jj have more or less chosen, as some artists do, to remain below the radar; now that they’re nowhere to be found, they’re on full display more than ever before.

jj’s “Me & Dean,” from jj N° 2.

The xx – The xx

It was written somewhere that the term “chill” has been overused, and needs to be ditched at the end of the decade. If that’s true, there’s probably no better parting use than to describe The xx’s unexpected emergence from London. Channeling equal parts Joy Division, Interpol, and (of all groups) The Postal Service, The xx weaves their own intoxicating, smoldering brand of passion on the call-and-answer dialogues between frontpersons Romy Croft and Oliver Sim. Lest their praise degrade to commentary that should include the word “prodigy,” our astonishment at their maturity comes not as an epiphany regarding their age as human beings, but together, as a band, as this is very nearly the debut album of the year. It’s certainly the best double-lower-case-band album, if only by a nose.

The xx’s “VCR,” from The xx.

St. Vincent – Actor

Just like the artist who created it, Actor is an ever-deepening chasm of creativity and spastic instrumentation. All of Annie Clark’s sundry influences come crashing sidelong in like scenes from Alice In Wonderland, never explaining their presence or questioning their placement. It’s perhaps best seen in the de facto late-night variety show single, “Marrow,” which turns a feather-light woodwind introduction into a funky, dance-rock cry for H-E-L-P. When her fuzz-encrusted Harmony guitar and driving floor toms are absent, the record bangs out cyclonic, rapturous orchestrations that are so neat and tightly sealed that you half expect them to sweep the stoop and put your furniture in order. More importantly for Ms. Clark, she appears to have found a rich and compelling artistic voice on Actor that begs listen after listen.

(Full-length review here.)

St. Vincent’s “Actor Out of Work,” from Actor.

Micachu & The Shapes – Jewellery

A chorus of hopping voices welcomes a one-string riff from Mica Levy’s “chu” guitar on “Golden Phone,” before the found-sound and relentlessly catchy singalong chorus take over, then make way for a forearm-mashed organ. Probably the most charming element of Jewellery is its homey sound, pulling in appliances, repeated conversation segments, running water, and prepared guitar for what sounds, in places, like a creative pro’s take on a 5th grade world music concert. Yet, for all the doctored, schizoid source material, Mica’s voice is unrestricted, forming the backbone of her crafty pop gems. Here’s hoping Micachu can be among the artists remembered in a decade that redefined pop more than any other since the 60s. Grimy, undeniably atonal, and ruthlessly riffy, Jewellery is arguably the debut of the year.

(Full-length review here.)

Micachu & The Shapes’ “Lips,” from Jewellery.

Antony & The Johnsons – The Crying Light

Antony Hegarty and his rotating cast of Johnsons are some of the few remaining entertainers in the service of the idea that music can be both extremely classy and extremely arty. Hegarty’s voice, three LPs in, still full of stunning passion and relentless, impassioned vibrato; he still finds new ways to embody the image of a star-crossed gentle giant. His vulnerability is countered with the most detached, agonizing chill that only leaves the listener with uncomfortable, insatiable states of quandary. The Crying Light is a sensual, aching album that cannot be ignored.

Antony & The Johnsons’ “Aeon,” from The Crying Light.

Cass McCombs – Catacombs

Whenever folk and country seem to be running out of options, there comes an almost epiphanic arrival of some nonchalant, cigarette-flicking savior, sometimes even in the form of an artist who’s been kicking around for the better part of a decade. The shuffling, unassuming latest from Cass McCombs carries both the urgency of the city life he’s been inextricably servant to for the last decade, combined with the lounging ease of his California home. It’s a dichotomy in theory only, however, because Catacombs isn’t some grand amalgamated statement, it’s just a simple, troublingly deep folk/country record.
(Full-length review here.)

Cass McCombs’ “Dreams-Come-True Girl,” from Catacombs.

Bear In Heaven – Beast Rest Forth Mouth

Jon Philpot’s Bear In Heaven steps up from their debut in one strict way, chiefly: it’s got obvious singles. At the risk of sounding needlessly reductive, Bear In Heaven simply make pop music, but their sound goes so much farther than the shallow depths that tag (sadly) still implies. It carries with it the expansive nature of the band’s southern rock stomping grounds, but certainly skirts the makings of inner-city Hotlanta clubs with the electrified 80s dabblings that fire the arrangements and engender a measure of mystique (“Lovesick Teenagers”). It’s a pensive, stoic collection of tunes that quickly mirror the saddened, drippy eyes that stare ever-so-longingly from their red background.

Bear In Heaven’s “Wholehearted Mess,” from Beast Rest Forth Mouth.

Dan Deacon – Bromst

Dan Deacon’s cyclic, monolithic Bromst is an engaging look inside of the mind of the madman himself. The molten, oozing passion he dumps over every track is evident best in his live shows; he celebrates every crowd he meets and show he plays with such intensity that he threw out his back and had to be hospitalized, which resulted in the cancellation of the last leg of his tour. (If that’s not commitment enough for you, you can always try the Flaming Lips, who also, conveniently enough, released a killer record this year.) Lumbering from ecstatic outbreaks to crushing sadness, Bromst isn’t just the music and the lights, it’s the whole party – and the after-party, the food on the drive home, and the crying on your best friend’s thigh.

(Full-length review here.)

Dan Deacon’s “Red F,“ from Bromst.

The Flaming Lips – Embryonic

As much as has been said about the Flaming Lips not wearing their collective ages on their sleeves, it’s their growing intensity and passion for music that just barely registers as a point of concern on the listeners radar; there’s just an inkling that they are coming to terms with their mortality, and they aren’t going to sit around and let it happen to them. The stark display of world-weariness and wincing concern on Embryonic are perhaps only the razor tip of this comprehensive double-disc effort; it’s one that further explores the band’s remarkable knack for molding an atmosphere of listener empathy amidst a plethora of fidgety arrangements. It’s true to form, but only in the sense that the Lips have an incredible track record for innovation.

(Full-length review here.)
The Flaming Lips’ “Watching The Planets,” from Embryonic.

Phoenix – Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix

A semi-serious take on pop-rock from Versaille, France, sounds like such a contradiction, but Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix artfully walks the line between hookiness and camp. Phoenix deftly navigate the tasteful use of synth in their guitar-pop method, cope with the lack of a permanent drummer, and field the many complications of living such stylish, opportunistic lives as successful French thirtysomethings. There’s little music-wise that is more enjoyable than seeing a truly talented group hit their stride with an improvement on an already-proven formula (It’s Never Been Like That); Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix is a lithe and insanely catchy resurgence for a band that might be considered past their prime in the American pop scene. Don’t let the album title fool you, this album is an instant genre and decade classic.

Phoenix’s “Lisztomania,” from Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix.

Mastodon – Crack The Skye

The pop-culture value of speed-metal-lords-of-wankery Dragon Force was inflated enough to land them the Final Challenge gig for would-be Guitar Heroes, but really, they’re essentially relying on the D&D subculture’s fierce appreciation for lore and the brute force of their own irksome histrionics  to awe teenage boys a la Spinal Tap. Mastodon, on the other hand, is the kind of band that — despite the over-the-top themes and twelve-minute epics with titles like “The Czar: Usurper / Escape / Martyr / Spiral” — exercises a remarkable amount of care for their craft. In short, they’re the kind of no-holds-barred progressive metal band you want to have on hand at 4:30 on a Friday. The level of consistency with which they produce their skull-crushing records is staggering, and what’s more, they’re catering to the skinny-jeansers nearly as much as the circle-pitters; that they’ve garnered a significant indie following should stand as testament to the universal appeal of their floor-shattering riffage. This latest entry undoubtedly cements Mastodon’s entry — along with bands like Sunn O))) and ISIS — on the short list of bands still innovating in their sphere. Chock full of the Valhalla-esque imagery for which Mastodon is so famed, Crack The Skye oozes atmosphere and panache, but it also recounts Brann Dailor’s tangibly agonizing loss on the title track. Leviathan remains an incredibly popular entry in the catalogue — and make no mistake, its gut-shot recoil remains as potent as ever — but we are here to tell you that Crack The Skye might be Mastodon’s best record yet.

(Full-length review here.)

Mastodon’s “Crack The Skye,” from Crack the Skye.

Dirty Projectors – Bitte Orca

‘Please’ or ‘thank you?’ Dave Longstreth’s Projectors are really only Dirty in the sense that they’ve sullied their grand indie songwriting with — steady yourselves — a wealth of technical prowess. It wouldn’t take long on YouTube to find a host of impassioned late-night TV performances by the Projectors; even the producers and executives in charge of wrangling talent for those shows could see the apparent market value for their Friedberger-esque indie-prog-rock, Billboard charting hits or not. Consequently, the constituents of the independent music scene have this funny and frustrating habit of deciding that a given band isn’t, well, independent enough for them. Typically, it’s a fiery blog-comment troll trying to cash in on some form of cred currency, real or imagined. This year, the Projectors were a ripe target because of the insatiable buzz surrounding Bitte Orca. We, however, don’t pull any punches; this record is simply one of the most stunning things we’ve heard in a long time, and we have zero reservation regarding it as such. We want to tell you, the reader, that you should make it a priority to get your hands on a copy. But harkening back to our original question: is it ‘please’ or ‘thank you?’ That question may yet go unanswered directly, but we offer the simple truth that some of the best answers are questions in themselves: why not both?

(Full-length review here.)

Dirty Projectors’ “Useful Chamber,” from Bitte Orca.

Grizzly Bear – Veckatimest

The quantity — nay, the iota — of worth that separates Veckatimest from HeiBräu’s Album of the Year has a name, and it is Fall Be Kind. It is with a heavy, grudging reluctance that we place Grizzly Bear just to the side of the pinnacle. This kind of painstaking evaluation should speak volumes about the depth that Veckatimest plumbs — whether it’s an exploding line of heads for the “Two Weeks” video, or a swaying Jay-Z during a live rendition of “Ready, Able” — but said pains are mere trace elements to the care and passion that is evident under every spectacular fold of this record. The band is a delight to see on stage; their intimate soundscapes are in many places replaced with a thudding, jazzy immediacy, but the shining centerpiece of their aesthetic remains unfettered: their trembling, emotive harmonies. The independent music scene is too often gifted with truly superb albums like this one, where the hype is so seemingly insurmountable. There were choice words said, here and elsewhere, about the overcoming of that grand speculatory process back when the album was released, but what was said then is as true now as ever: Grizzly Bear doesn’t have the outlandish (and, at times, fabricated) creative penchants that some of their peers might, but Veckatimest is more about setting bars, not shattering barriers. That may sound like a slight, but when the album is re-released for its tenth anniversary, and is once again heralded as a mind-blowing display of musicianship and songwriting, we’ll look back and nod approvingly.

(Full-length review here.)

Grizzly Bear’s “Two Weeks,” from Veckatimest.

Animal Collective – Merriweather Post Pavilion / Fall Be Kind EP

Until Fall Be Kind was released, any of the top three bands could have made a credible bid for album of the year, but the November-released EP was a late-game score in sudden death overtime for Animal Collective. Their relevance and importance in the decade are undeniable, and Merriweather Post Pavilion — scrath that, all of 2009, releases and concerts alike — stands thus far as the crown jewel in the band’s shimmering circlet. Just as Fleet Foxes’ Sun Giant was in 2008, Fall Be Kind is simply too rich with the same stunning material as its parent LP to simply write off as EPs often are: fan-only collectibles. What Animal Collective represent, essentially, is a full-circle success of the introduction of electronica en masse to the independent music world. Some would argue it started with the legendary Kid A, others insist it was the groundwork laid by forerunners like Four Tet and Clinic, but everyone agrees that the best and brightest evolution of it for the past year has been Animal Collective. Nevermind that they wrangled the first-ever legal sample from a Grateful Dead song for “What Would I Want? Sky” — the Dead’s “Unbroken Chain,” for those paying attention — the trio represents a kind of subcultural “mainstream” embrace of washed-out, soggy pop and folk to a degree that was unheard of at the turn of the millennium. “My Girls,” the year’s best, earliest, and most obvious theme choice, perfectly melds Noah Lennox’s parental woes later heard on “Also Frightened” with the exultant screams of Strawberry Jam’s “Peacebone.” “In The Flowers” is like a helicopter landing into a field of dreams, lush with life and buzzing with activity, and the supreme “Summertime Clothes” rides an opening riff akin to a cross between a noisy washing machine and a bevy of restless city cars. Each track takes on its own praiseworthy identity, but ultimately, there’s very little left to be said about such a momentous record — especially now that it’s been around for the better part of a year. The outdoorsy, earthy motif the band envisioned (and for which the record is named), however, is still ringing through those trees, and it’s hard to imagine a more exquisite close to an incredible decade of music: one that is joyful, singalong, and immensely unifying.

Animal Collective’s “In The Flowers,” from Merriweather Post Pavilion.