20 THE WALKMEN Bows and Arrows (Record Collection)
From the belligerently drunk to the pleasantly inebriated, Bows and Arrows represents intoxication at nearly every recognizable level. Singer Hamilton Leithauser's weathered vocal cords barely serve the purpose sometimes on this magnificent battlefield of personal ailment and affectionate drunkenness. The charged blueprint that poked its head out of the flask on Everyone Who Pretended to Like Me is Gone has been expanded and but not so much re-written, so that every track falls sloppily into place, as if its shimmering surface and reluctant undertones are some kind of accident. The accidents on Bows and Arrows are those worth slowing down for and checking out, even if four or five additional accidents are caused in the process.
— Dominic Umile :. original PopMatters review
It's strange to think an entire year has passed since I first heard The Walkmen's Bows and Arrows and stranger still that repeated listens have only served to further entrench in my holiday music lexicon. Sure, I'll always have a soft-spot for Nat and Bing, but they've been all but cast aside Christmas 2005 for a record that speaks to the bitter reality of the holiday (After all, all the best Christmas songs are depressing). Relatives collapsing on spiked 'nog, torrid snowed-in rendezvous; these are the images conjured by lead singer Hamilton Leithauser's elegantly wasted croon. Everyone knows the two-step shudder of "The Rat", but presented here alongside shimmering dirges "Hang on Siobhan" and "No Christmas While I'm Talking", it seems about as grim as "Jingle Bell Rock". So it should be on a Christmas album that "rock" numbers are the exception rather than the rule; stoke the furnace, play the record, and stew in your own post-Christmas malaise... with a cup of cocoa.
— Eric Seguy :. original PopMatters review
19 ELLIOTT SMITH From a Basement on the Hill (Anti-)
With this posthumous release, Elliott Smith completes his run as the greatest songwriter of our generation -- Gen X or Y or whatever we're up to. Basement on the Hill is just as strong as Smith's previous albums, perhaps even stronger as he combines XO's full sound with Either/Or's delicacy. "Coast to Coast", "King's Crossing", and "Shooting Star" boast Smith's signature confident rock sensibility, while simultaneously exposing his intense vulnerability and depression. "Pretty (Ugly Before)", "A Passing Feeling", and "A Distorted Reality Is Now a Necessity to Be Free" bear striking resemblances to the greatest Lennon/McCartney collaborations, namely pop/tragedies like "Day in the Life". Then along comes "Twilight". Right in the middle of the album, this track's aching simplicity, along with it's anguished string loop, anchor it as the album's most starkly beautiful and affecting song. From a Basement on the Hill may indeed be "A Fond Farewell" to a truly talented individual. Me, I'm intensely grateful for this album, and at the same time extraordinarily angry that this is the last I'll ever get.
— Christine Klunk :. original PopMatters review
It's rare to find an artist whose music scrapes past the superficial moments in life to really connect. Elliott Smith was one of those musicians -- until he died last year. His music displayed an unwavering adherence to honesty, placing a collect call to our innermost fears. From a Basement on the Hill was his last call and the bittersweet "A Fond Farewell" comes off like a pre-recorded apology. On it, his placid lyrics resonate over the gentle, but emotionally troubled rumblings of his acoustic guitar. It sounds like a clinically-depressed version of the Beatles in a world without Xanax. With Smith, misery loves company. When the worlds asleep and you're all alone, this gloomy album is a kindred spirit. There's an inherent sadness in the album that says, "Life is difficult" and when you listen, you take courage from it because you can hear his pain.
— Pierre Hamilton :. original PopMatters review
18 DRIVE-BY TRUCKERS The Dirty South (New West)
The demise of southern rock coincided with the death of three key members of Lynyrd Skynyrd after their horrific plane crash incident in 1977. Skynyrd was clearly the cream of the crop -- they rocked hard, sang sweetly sad ballads, and espoused intelligent material. Call the Drive-By Truckers Skynyrd's 30-year germination -- this band carries the same core characteristics. The Dirty South pulls no punches, as the three-guitar attack of Patterson Hood, Mike Cooley, and Jason Isbell lay down ferocious licks and even nastier verbiage about life in Northern Alabama, though Isbell's songs tend to be a bit more conscientious. Hood's words tend to head straight towards the jugular ("Puttin' People on the Moon", "Lookout Mountain"), while Cooley is in-between ("Where the Devil Don't Stay", "Daddy's Cup"). This is honest rock and roll, honestly played and sang. The D-BT knows that what makes a song great is a great storyteller. They qualify.
— Lou Friedman :. original PopMatters review
Is there another rock band out there that can boast the embarrassment of riches that the Drive-By Truckers possess? They've got three soulful guitarists -- Jason Isbell, Mike Cooley and Patterson Hood -- who double as arguably the three best songwriters active today, in any genre. And as long as we're talking threes, with The Dirty South, the Drive-By Truckers have dropped their third masterpiece of an album in a row (joining 2001's Southern Rock Opera and 2003's Decoration Day). These guys (and gal -- bassist Shonna Tucker) know the people of the South inside and out: their pride and shame and every emotion in between, as tunes like "Puttin' People on the Moon" (Hood's narrator struggles to make ends meet, while the government blows money on space exploration) and "Daddy's Cup" (where Cooley's race car narrator finds inspiration from his father) evince. And like any good storytellers, the trio tweak familiar stories to learn the other side's point of view: to wit, Isbell's "The Day John Henry Died" ("John Henry was a steel-driving bastard but John Henry was a bastard just the same") and Hood's re-examination of Sheriff Buford Pusser, "The Buford Stick". The Dirty South ain't an easy listen -- the band's characters lead tough lives and die painful deaths -- but it's always a rewarding listen. Three marvelous storytellers/songwriters? Nobody ever said the rock scene was fair. The Drive-By Truckers show no signs of letting up until every Southerners' tale is told.
— Stephen Haag :. original PopMatters review
17 MORRISSEY You Are the Quarry (Sanctuary)
Contrary to popular belief, Morrissey didn't stop making quality music in the 1990s; he just wasn't very hip. In 2004, when the times were right, he and his trusty band responded with one of their strongest sets of tunes and lyrics to date. Besides the snapping singles "Irish Blood, English Heart" and "First of the Gang to Die" were Morrissey's voice and phrasing, which have become so rich and distinguished that he can now truly be called the greatest pop singer since Elvis Presley. You Are the Quarry was appreciated all the more because of the sea of mediocrity against which it swam in the charts. And if Moz wants to bask in the L.A. sun, that's fine as long as he produces albums as bright as this one.
— John Bergstrom :. original PopMatters review
There's enough critical bile directed at Morrissey these days to make the average fan sick, but the bottom line is this: so long as unrequited, bittersweet longing exists, Morrissey and his music will continue to touch listeners. Putting aside the argument over his continued relevance, the controversy surrounding his politics, and the stories about the way he treats his associates, what we're left with is simply another thoroughly enjoyable Morrissey album, filled with sharp lyrics, warm vocals, catchy hooks, and tasteful arrangements. Live and on record, the finest songs here -– "First of the Gang to Die" and "I Have Forgiven Jesus" -– just about hold their own with his best solo work and the Smiths classics we all love.
— Jordan Kessler :. original PopMatters review
16 ANIMAL COLLECTIVE Sung Tongs (Fat Cat)
Sung Tongs is the sound of what two men who call themselves Avey Tare and Panda Bear hear in their heads, and you don't know whether to be frightened or jealous. Flashing between Syd Barrett and Love (and often within the same song), these neo-psychedelic freak-folkies are at turns keening, careening, and guttural with vocal arrangements straight out of an Ewok campfire celebration. The ecstatic psych-outs of "Leaf House", "Who Could Win a Rabbit", and "We Tigers" are nothing short of revelatory, while "Winters Love" is Pachelbel's Canon in D filtered through a candy-colored acid-flashback haze. There may have been better albums released in 2004, but none were as original or impossibly enjoyable to classify as Sung Tongs.
15 BJÖRK Medulla (Elektra/Asylum)
Björk has always exhibited a penchant for the natural, so in a sense Medulla is a conceptual realization of this theme. She has described the album's 'character' as being "primitive, before civilization"; rightly so, because the main language heard here is Human, the first and universal native tongue recognizable by raw, emotional utterances (sighs to cries). The heart of Medulla is thus communication, on community, albeit a postmodern one where citizens are spread across the globe and connected through the ether(net). Björk casts her net far -- drawing upon modernistic choral whoops à la Meredith Monk and vocal gymnastics by an international cast of beatboxers -- and draws it tight around her singular vision. The result is intense yet sprite-like; after all, Björk also recognizes the importance of fun with such good company. Such is the case for human behavior in the world of Björk: Is that truly so strange?
— Dan Nishimoto :. original PopMatters review
Medulla is either the best album of the year, or it isn't really music at all. Björk herself proclaimed traditional instruments to be "passé" and gathered an eclectic mix of beatboxers, gurglers, throat singers, and in the case of Oceania, soprano rollercoaster re-creationists, to further progress the art of the world's most avant-garde artist. The album itself doesn't even really have "songs" either. It's a series of emotional peaks and valleys, where at one point Björk would be singing one of her best "pop" songs in "Who Is It;" but its sandwiched in between two pieces that have no real discernable language or even direction, but manage to entice our most primal emotions. Much like how Kill Bill Vol. 2 brilliantly captured the fear and panic of being buried alive, Medulla is like being submerged completely underwater and being deprived of your senses. It's chilling, frightening and beautiful.
— Erik Leijon :. original PopMatters review
14 LORETTA LYNN Van Lear Rose (Interscope)
Truly a record for all seasons, Loretta Lynn's Van Lear Rose sounds just as good driving towards the water with the windows open on a summer day as it does when the skies are gray and snow is falling. It's the one to put on when you're not certain what you want to listen to because it always sounds great. Loretta Lynn sings as if the world attempted to break her and she returned not only triumphant, but with a brighter gleam in her eye. Jack White, in his best role yet, adds all of the atmosphere and attitude, with a surprisingly subtle touch. "Portland Oregon", the best single of the year, is the aural equivalent of unwittingly biting into a hot pepper -- at first you're only aware of something being different, and then suddenly, you're on fire. With Loretta belting these out so wondrously, one ponders when mainstream country music executives will catch on to what the world really needs: more, and more, and more of this.
— Jill LaBrack :. original PopMatters review
Loretta Lynn joins forces with blues-punker Jack White in the unlikeliest pairing of the year and the results are stunning -- a raw and honest work that surprisingly has garnered some play on conventional country radio. White provides an energetic impulse on the disc, his burning guitar and crystal clear production turning raw and edgy country songs like "Family Tree" -- a song in which the singer stands up to her husband's mistress -- and the barroom romp "Portland Oregon" into new country classics. Lynn's voice on Van Lear Rose offers a connection to the past without giving up anything to that past, a drawl-soaked soprano that floats in on angel's wings - though, her phrasing and range remind the listener that she is no push over.
— Hank Kalet :. original PopMatters review
13 AC NEWMAN The Slow Wonder (Matador)
On his first solo album, Carl Newman puts on a songwriting clinic, outclassing anything he's done previously with the New Pornographers or Zumpano, firing off one concise irresistible gem after another with the pure pop facility of Emmitt Rhodes or Todd Rundgren. It can't be as easy as Newman makes it sound here: every change, every shift in tempo, every instrumental flourish, whether its cellos or horns or synthetic drums, seems perfectly deployed; each song has its turn to be stuck in your head, snippets of melody ricocheting around with impossible familiarity after only a few listens, like you've been listening to the record for years. That's plausible enough, since there's nothing about it to date it to any particular rock era. Free of any kind of faddish production gimmicks, it resounds with the kind of hooks that have always made pop music matter, each is a tiny explosion of concentrated pleasure, an instant cure for the nuisances of everyday life.
— Rob Horning :. original PopMatters review
The first solo record from the leader of Vancouver, British Columbia's the New Pornographers opens with the raucous "Miracle Drug" and doesn't let up for the next 33 blissful minutes. Newman scores with hazy toasters ("Drink to Me, Babe, Then"), ominous invitations ("Come Crash"), spaghetti western standoffs ("The Cloud Prayer"), and cello-riffed potboilers ("The Town Halo"). The Slow Wonder recalls the minutiae of pop's history, but Newman's melodic sensibilities are so idiosyncratic that he could be well on his way to creating a singular mythos.
— Zeth Lundy :. original PopMatters review
12 GREEN DAY American Idiot (Warner Bros./Reprise)
It's one thing for a rock band to make a cerebral album with art-rock pretensions and nine-minute pieces (in five movements each) on the fall of the American Dream. It's another thing entirely for said rock band to do so without forgetting how to let loose and just ROCK. Without sacrificing any of the snot-nosed venom and vitriol that marked the best moments of their earlier albums, Green Day somehow managed to put together one of the most intelligent albums of the year. American Idiot is a definitive statement of an album, an album that could be a comment on society, politics, suicide, or nothing in particular, depending entirely on what the listener wants to hear. Green Day's going to have a hell of a time trying to top this one, given that accomplishing that feat would be to do what no other band could do this year. Just brilliant.
— Mike Schiller :. original PopMatters review
Several bands and artists who released music in the election year had a common theme: anti-Bush. Some were brash and overt (Ministry's Houses of the Molé), but Green Day's was a tad more covert. Instead of killing the king directly, chief songwriter Billie Joe Armstrong focused more on the state of the world, and allowed the listener to connect the dots. Marketed as a "punk-rock opera", American Idiot wound up oblique in assembling its plot. But what makes this my top album of the year are the songs themselves. Individually, they stand alone as the best work Green Day has released since the boredom of masturbation. The two nine-minute suites ("Jesus of Suburbia" and "Homecoming"), each with five movements, are masterpieces. The title song and "Holiday" are anthemic, while "She's a Rebel" and "Extraordinary Girl" just rock. Left for dead in a punk/pop world, Green Day instead set the bar higher than most bands dare to achieve.
— Lou Friedman :. original PopMatters review
11 INTERPOL Antics (Matador)
It's end of 2004, and still the decade is in search of a music identity. For more than a dozen years music, like much else, has been dominated by technology (in this instance, guided by electronic music), but one thing here finally seems to have taken definable shape: it is indisputably cool, cooler, coolest to be in a real, live, guitar-toting, amp-blowing, godforsaken band once more. There's no more pretending. It's threatened over the previous couple of years too (remember The Strokes?), but this year it actually happened. Definitively. Unsurprisingly, much of what's emerged has imparted a revivalist trend -- post-punk preen-ers, new wave pretenders (see: Franz Ferdinand, The Killers, et al), all searching for clues in the pre-electronic waste. And with this, beyond a new, more organic sound template, music suddenly has a face again. Once more it's important to check-out your swagger while donning the right outfit, to be seen wearing the right haircut (clue: it helps if your fringe obscures your vision). And most remarkably, it seems the blokes scoring groupies actually play music all of a sudden, they don't just carry crates of the stuff between turntables. Interpol sound more like, and better at, the music of 2004 than any other band. Their debut release, 2002's Turn on the Bright Lights gave us a taste of Joy Division dressed in modern garb, but 2004's Antics raised the stakes and emerged as something entirely their own. This was smart, infectious, literate music with a recognizable heritage but a present and future of their own design. It was music that possessed confidence and a distinct attitude, the two cloaked in a discernable style that craved emulation. And that's what pop and rock was always supposed to be about, right? Confidence bordering on arrogance, a certain stylistic relish, and music capable of flooring you, knocking you on your ass. This then, was Antics -- the class of '04.
10 MODEST MOUSE Good News for People Who Love Bad News (Epic)
Indie rock stars often perch on a tenuous tightrope, a precarious position that requires juggling wankery on one end, and accessibility on the other. However, in Modest Mouse's latest effort, they have found a most reliable balancing pole -- by making all that self-absorption irresistibly catchy, they cause the weird to be wonderful in a VH1-friendly way. There is an undercurrent of poppish melodiousness running from opener "Horn Intro" all the way to "The Good Times are Killing Me", layered with trademark Isaac Brock nervous-manic vocal tics and swirling psychedelic atmospherics, pleasing both radio and critics respectively. Finally, who can resist the album's first single "Float On", which I personally decree the "Hey Ya" of 2004? With this successful album-wide balancing of both success and cred, Modest Mouse will indeed float on alright.
— Kenneth Yu :. original PopMatters review
When I bought this album at a weird little out of the way record shop near the campus library where I was working at the time, the clerk made an odd declaration. He said, "This record is going to be big, not Norah Jones big, but big." I honestly had no idea what would make him say that. Having been a long time fan I could hardly picture Isaac Brock and his inelegant staccato yelped strangeness plastered all over MTV2, but as soon as I heard "Float On" I was floored. Spring was turning, the sun was out, and those three minutes of pure pop joy were the perfect accompaniment. And what is even better is that "Ocean Breathes Salty", "The View", "One Chance", and "The Good Times Are Killing Me" are just as perfect.
— Jon Goff :. original PopMatters review
Just when it looked like radio was dead, along comes Modest Mouse's "Float On" like an 18-wheeler barreling down the highway at speeds too dangerous to even consider, convincing scores of mainstream radio-listeners to buy Good News for People who Love Bad News, the outright oddest album they've ever laid their hands on. And all was right with the world. Isaac Brock's David Byrne meets Anthony Kiedis meets the Tasmanian Devil vocals are laid on top of an ever-morphing, dense, claustrophobic wall of sound. It's a constant meditation on death and the worth of life. It features those other darlings of the indie scene, the Flaming Lips, doing production work on its final track. Best of all, your best friend's little sister has it, stuffed on a shelf between Chingy and Blink-182. What could be more charmingly contradictory, or worthy of a year-end best-of, than that?
— Mike Schiller :. original PopMatters review
9 MADVILLAIN Madvillainy (Stones Throw)
Such a powerful, sturdy alloy can only be the product of gold and iron. Madlib's golden digits are easily the necessary counterparts to the metal cast MF Doom, and Madvillainy couldn't be a better example of this fruit-bearing partnership. Doom's royal, pop culture-laden flow matches Madlib's beat-mining expertise as perfectly as everyone knew it would. Madvillain's kingdom is lined with the trickery of two masterminds, steeped in an unexpected post-weed willingness to create, rather than retreat to the couch with snacks. In 2004, there hasn't been a hip hop outing that's this rich in both cite-worthy lyricisms and memorable beats. Seriously. There hasn't.
— Dominic Umile :. original PopMatters review
The 22-track concept album Madvilliany features the partnership of sonic cut-up artist Madlib (Otis Jackson, Jr.) and rapper MF DOOM (Daniel Dumile). The duo takes on the mask of super criminals as a way of tying the one-to-two-minute bits together and to show our shared fears by making light of them. Madlib provides the soundtrack as he combines sound effects and dialogues from old horror movies, cartoons and TV shows with cheesy Farfisa organ fills, off-kilter piano riffs and distorted sax solos -- all of which sound as if they were recorded from behind closed doors. Doom's verbiage flow as if spouted by a drunken Robert Stack from The Untouchables era, with an authority that both satirizes and reinforces their meaning. When Doom says he's gonna "Slip like Freudian", you know he's right and that his words have a deeper meaning. Like Freud, Doom knows the relationship between jokes and the unconscious. He's prepared to show the dark side of our thoughts and the connection between "the comedic and the relentlessly horrifying" to show how our collective dreams have become an American nightmare.
— Steven Horowitz :. original PopMatters review
Have you EVER, in hip-hop's three-decade history, heard of a 40-minute 22-track record? Hell no. That's like sacrilege in some circles. Yet it's one of the greatest things about Madvillainy: this is hip-hop's rawest presentation -- no more, no less. Madlib's production is still a thousand miles an hour and as a complex as a jazz ensemble, and Doom still spits like Method Man's pathological cousin. It's the record's blunt tenacity, and it's complete affront to hip-hop's dinosaur ego, that truly sets it apart.
— Tim Stelloh :. original PopMatters review
8 WILCO A Ghost Is Born (Nonesuch)
It is a testament to what Wilco is to American rock music that this record will inevitably end up on many Top 10 lists. A Ghost Is Born didn't blow anybody's ears off and, frankly, it was expected to. The follow up to Yankee Hotel Foxtrot was supposed cement Wilco as America's preeminent rock band. Perhaps it was Wilco overload that started the mild critical backlash. Greg Kot's fawning book Learning How to Die coupled with the impending release of A Ghost Is Born either created impossible expectations or left many listeners ill prepared for the lengthy distorted guitar jams, lengthy silences, experimentations, and quiet ballads that Tweedy and producer Jim O'Rourke were cooking up. The truth is that if any other band had released this record it would have been hailed as a minor masterpiece. A Ghost Is Born will, in the long run, be given far more repeated listenings than Yankee Hotel Foxtrot because A Ghost Is Born will rise beyond the simple attraction of an interesting (nay, legendary thanks to I Am Trying to Break Your Heart) back story. It will stand purely on the songs, which just seem to get better and better. America's best rock band? A Ghost Is Born is most disappointing in that it leaves that question very unanswered. But in 2004 who put their necks on the line more than these guys?
— Peter Funk :. original PopMatters review
Another great rock and roll record is born, and again it belongs to Wilco. Listening to this among the top contenders of 2004, it's obvious that with the exception of Nick Cave, no one has come close to this grand scope of artfulness and emotion. A Ghost Is Born, Wilco's fourth classic in a row, cannot be overrated, even with Jeff Tweedy's unapologetic feedback patience-tester. Whether crooning about human (dis)connection or excitedly sending up a garage rock count-a-long, Tweedy disarms with sincerity. If there was a better moment laid to tape (hard drive) this year than the gorgeous repetition giving way to semi-controlled rocking-out in "Spiders (Kidsmoke)", I certainly did not hear it. Marrying modernity with punk and classic rock history, Wilco remains the most thoughtful of bands in existence today. Other musicians may claim influences of Neil Young and Neu! in the same sentence, but the smallest percentage are able to pull it off in this unpretentious (yet always smart) and seamless manner. This is what it sounds like to be alive.
— Jill LaBrack :. original PopMatters review
I got to spend an afternoon with this record on the day of its "official" arrival into the world. Off from work, I strapped on the headphones and spent several hours walking around Philadelphia letting the music act as mirror to the city in summer. Seemingly all at once, the record proved to be disarmingly quiet, recklessly frantic, unceasingly rhythmic, beautiful, joyous, and tragic. There are and were so many moments worth mentioning, but, given my allotment of space, I will only mention my favorite: in the middle of "Wishful Thinking" everything disappears leaving only a void of weak morning light surrounding the year's most devastating lines: "open your arms as far as they will go/we take off your dress/an embarrassing poem/was written when I was alone/in love with you."
— Jon Goff :. original PopMatters review
7 THE STREETS A Grand Don't Come for Free (Vice)
"It was all supposed to be so ea-sy..." Whether A Grand Don't Come Easy is a better, more important record than The Streets' 2003 debut Original Pirate Material, I'm not quite sure... though it's certainly more ambitious in concept. The latter served as a series of brilliant sketches, while the former aspires to a broader, more wide-ranging canvas. The term 'concept album' seems oddly quaint when used in conjunction with an album as contemporary sounding as this one, yet that's what A Grand Don't Come Easy plainly is. Essentially it offers two tales, one involving lost money, the other lamenting a girlfriend first discovered, then lost also. It doesn't sound like much of a comedy, but in the hands of Mick Skinner, what else could it possibly be? It's one aspect of his work -- the wry humor -- that marks Skinner down as a singularly British talent. Oddly, few great records I recall possess cringe-inducing moments in the way A Grand Don't Come Easy does. These moments are limited to Skinner's penchant for delivering rhymes in in-furi-atingly chi-ld-like patt-erns -- an occasional proclivity that seems wholly unnecessary given his more natural, more naturally effective flow. Perhaps it's the idiot standing up to the savant? Still, these moments seem utterly inconsequential when measured against the brilliant, utterly original vitality of the remainder. Beyond innovative music steps, Skinner's real art is one of observation. The most accurate comparison his work might draw is not with another album, but with a book -- Trainspotting. As with the more successful literature of Irvine Welsh, Skinner is delineating a British youth culture that few have been able to accurately transcribe. In doing so, he's making extremely complex storytelling appear deceptively simple. If you've ever tried writing a story that involves the ingestion and descriptive effects of drugs, you probably know how silly you end up sounding. Typically Skinner makes it work for him -- as witnessed here by "Blinded by the Light". A considerable part of Skinner's success is that he's completely unafraid. He's quite prepared to run the risk of sounding silly, which is why "Dry Your Eyes", a song which potentially has 'sappy mess' written all over it, is in fact beautiful and honest and touching. Like most good literature, it's honest to the point of cruelty... which, in a nutshell, is what makes The Streets such riveting listening.
— John Davidson :. original PopMatters review
On the follow-up to the great Original Pirate Material, Mike Skinner shifts the focus from his creative, no-frills UK garage beats to his supreme lyric writing skills, and in a very bold move, produces a carefully conceived concept album with a remarkably fleshed-out storyline. A stunt as brash as this could have been a recipe for disaster, but to Skinner's credit, he succeeds, skillfully crafting an engaging story about a young man's mundane life, his money woes, his problems with his girlfriend. His lyrics are wry ("It Was Supposed to Be So Easy"), hilariously observant ("Fit But You Know It"), and often sweet ("Could Well Be In"), but it's the last two songs, the devastating "Dry Your Eyes", and the climactic eight minute closer "Empty Cans", that has Skinner pulling out all the stops, both emotionally and musically. So rarely does a rock opera (hip hopera?) work so well. It's one of the most moving concept albums in recent memory
— Adrien Begrand :. original PopMatters review
"Today I have achieved absolutely naught": so goes the set-up, and ultimately, resolution, of Mike Skinner's sophomore effort, a front-to-back "concept" album in the conventional sense. The Streets' debut Original Pirate Material offered a snapshot of Skinner's neighborhood; A Grand Don't Come for Free is a fluid, crudely cinematic day in the life of one of the neighborhood's geezers. Skinner zeroes in on the drama of the mundane, an existence most of us can relate to, charting a day filled with such banalities as an unreturned DVD, some misplaced money, and the perils of cell phone reception. Skinner's success lies in his ability to create in the moment, allowing the listener to invest emotionally through a palpable presence: pill-popping in the club, cell phone dying mid-conversation, and a tussle with the TV repairman all feel like they're happening as they're recounted. Throw in Skinner's highly unorthodox phrasing (less rap and more like rhyming spoken word), and you've got one of 2004's artistic hallmarks.
— Zeth Lundy :. original PopMatters review
6 TV ON THE RADIO Desperate Youth, Bloodthirsty Babes (Touch and Go)
How you feel about TV on the Radio probably has a lot to do with your tolerance for muted, low-end droning rock. Built mainly on post-rock throbs and pulsing rhythms, the fuzzy, murky backdrops of the music would initially seem to have a limited audience appeal. But the thing that seals the deal and makes TV on the Radio a bright and vibrant light for challenging but appealing music is Tunde Adebimpe, the band's lead vocalist and lyricist. His long, slow-burning vocals combine with Kyp Malone's voice to give the band it's indie rock-doo wop fusion sound, but Adebimpe's voice remains the central focus, drawing you in and leading you through the complex imagery of his lyrics. "The Wrong Way" and "King Eternal" are startling in their immediacy, almost in spite of their processional pace, while "Ambulance", "Poppy", and "Wear You Out" form a complex triptych of love rarely heard in pop music. Desperate Youth, Blood Thirsty Babes is a solid, enveloping successor to the band's Young Liars debut EP, and were it not for the more densely murky production values of the full-length, it would be the most engaging album of the year. As it is, some of the crispness of the EP is lost, but TV on the Radio remains one of the most impressive and unique voices in music today.
— Patrick Schabe :. original PopMatters review
Every once in a great while, something comes along that knocks you off your socks and restores your faith in the healing power of rock and roll. Desperate Youth, Bloodthirsty Babes is just such an album, a dynamically different and radically invigorating shot of intellectual rigor into a moribund retro-rock scene. Now, this album is not without its flaws: it's maybe a little flabby in places, and maybe the songwriting is less than perfectly honed in others. It seems at times that the group is too dependent on the ability of its unique textures to carry the incipient songcraft. But when it clicks, as on "Staring at the Sun", it clicks hard. Hopefully, TV On The Radio will be around for a long time, and this will prove to be merely the first in a long line of eclectic and revelatory albums. They've already proven they have the chops to top it with the release of this fall's New Health Rock EP, which somehow managed to boil down Desperate Youth, Bloodthirsty Babes's ambition into the space of a three-minute-and-change rock & roll anthem. I wouldn't have guessed for the life of me that the Next Big Thing would be electronic rock & roll with punk guitar and barbershop vocals, but there you go. The best part is, as good as Desperate Youth, Bloodthirsty Babes is, the future looks even brighter.
— Tim O'Neil :. original PopMatters review
My constant struggle to describe this band's sound always ends with the rather weak "Imagine Peter Gabriel singing over Pretty Hate Machine-era Nine Inch Nails beats." They're obviously more than that, though, cobbling together a blend of post-punk rock, doo wop vocals, electronica, and art-funk. Some folks might know them from their associations with the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, a link that does nothing to shed light on what TV on the Radio are accomplishing. True, a falsetto-fond vocalist can be a trial in the best of times, but from the saxophone-skronk-laden electric fuzz momentum of "The Wrong Way" to the pulsing beat and swirling vocals of "Staring at the Sun" to the straightforward glower of "Don't Love You", TV on the Radio feel like a band that, at any given time, can launch off in six fascinating directions at once.
5 NICK CAVE AND THE BAD SEEDS Abattoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus (Anti-)
Nick Cave's magnum opus, a thrilling pasticcio of magnanimous rock, pastoral folk, and wicked church music, covers more ground in two discs than most artists can in an entire career. God, cannibals, deception, nature, divine inspiration, slaughterhouses, Johnny Cash, mythology, comfort, love, greed, sorcery, and little redemptions in the face of massive tragedies represent just the half of it. Abattoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus is a sprawling "Song of Myself" manifesto, bubbling with piety, fear, and hope. The Bad Seeds sound like they're capable of anything; they use Cave's poetics as kindling to set fire to any stereo willing to risk its mechanical life. This year's gospel.
— Zeth Lundy :. original PopMatters review
From the opening thunder of "Get Ready for Love" through the orchestrated hum of "O Children", Nick Cave's double fantasy of divine redemption, mediation and distance never drops for a second the breakneck pace of passion and ambition that propel even the tamest of its tracks. Utilizing the musical magnitude of The Bad Seeds at their best, Cave crafts two distinct album's worth of music combining all that is great from his great band's legacy, and leaving out all the dross. Cave can pine for the fame that eludes us all in the revival-tent rocker "There She Goes, My Beautiful World", can caddishly croon of love in the upturned-lip of "Nature Boy", and can muse even on the ultimate value of his trade in the "The Lyre of Orpheus" (which sounds as if it was perniciously recorded in the Hades of the song's final refrain). Strong while not overbearing, ingenious without wearing genius too conspicuously on its sleeve, completely sincere without a hint of treacle, Abbatoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus is intended as a consummate statement of an Artist about His Time, and ultimately winds up being an equally important statement about an artist who has so profoundly found his time.
— Seth Limmer :. original PopMatters review
It is a testament to the breadth of his talent that it took a double album for Nick Cave to finally deliver a statement that encompasses everything that makes him such a necessary artist. It's all here: God, love, and murder. But never before have the elements of his brilliance cohered into such a powerful and unified statement of purpose. Where some of his earlier albums leaned too far in the direction of either heaven or hell, Abbatoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus deftly manoeuvres through the battle between the sacred and profane that is at the heart of Cave's work. Helped along by the ceaselessly inventive Bad Seeds, not to mention a full-on gospel choir, Abbatoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus is welcome return to form after the lacklustre Nick-by-numbers of Nocturama. Forget album of the year -- it's the defining album of his career.
— David Marchese :. original PopMatters review
4 FRANZ FERDINAND Franz Ferdinand (Domino)
What was the more pleasant surprise: that a stylish band of Glasgow art students released one of the best rock records of the year, or that fickle American audiences did the unthinkable, and embraced the band? Franz Ferdinand have not only completely revitalized UK rock music, but their debut album, and the growing popularity of it, signals a shift in the taste of many mainstream rock listeners. Could the loutish, turgid tones of Nickelback actually be taken over by a bunch of charismatic, dapper, skinny guys with a knack for clever lyrics and catchy hooks? Judging by the tongue in cheek innuendo of "Michael", the unbridled passion of "The Dark of the Matinee", two ace singles in "Take Me Out" and "This Fire", not to mention one Alex Kapranos, whose lyrical talents echo Pulp's Jarvis Cocker, Franz Ferdinand have achieved the kind of success that fellow post-punks Interpol and The Rapture have failed to do, and might I add, with pure panache.
— Adrien Begrand :. original PopMatters review
Alright, let's just get this out of the way: Franz Ferdinand had every advantage from the start. Because of their deliberately retro aesthetic, every tone and beat and vibe was already available to them, allowing the band to be born fully-formed, springing from the head of the great post-punk canon. Fine. They are derivative. They owe their whole shtick to Gang of Four and Wire and the like. And normally that would be enough to make critics take them less seriously. But the joy and wonder of their self-titled debut is that they do it so well, and moreover, they do it with just enough twinkle in their smirk to let you know that they know that they're playing at a style and having fun doing so. And yet, it would all be so much artful irony if it wasn't pulled off so completely. What makes this the album of the year is that you can put it on and listen to the whole thing, start to finish, and it's always consistent, always solid, and always fun, every time you listen to it. From the erotically charged dance-punk of "Michael" to the almost comically adolescent sexuality of "Dark of the Matinee" to the terse desperation of "Take Me Out", every damned song on this disc is as catchy as the next, culminating in the truly sumptuous "40'". Whether or not it's practiced hero-worship or hipster style-mongering, Franz Ferdinand delivers all the post-punk goods with enough talent, hooks, skill and cheeky aplomb that Franz Ferdinand is an undeniable pleasure.
— Patrick Schabe :. original PopMatters review
Before his assassination bequeathed the modern era of chemical warfare, Archduke Franz Ferdinand was simply known as "the loneliest man in Vienna." The band who has voluntarily appropriated the Archduke's name knows something about loneliness too. The four pallid Scots who comprise Franz Ferdinand (singer/guitarist Alex Kapranos, guitarist Nick McCarthy, bassist Bob Hardy, and drummer Paul Thomson) wear heels and sing about dancing with Michael yet their pogo-ing rhythms and sharp, slash-and-burn guitar lines are anything but effeminate. They refer to themselves as a pop group-decrying pretentiousness in interviews and boldly cite new wave pinups Duran Duran as an influence -- but their observational working-class vignettes clearly descend from a long line of aloof British art-fops from Damon Albarn to Jarvis Cocker. No doubt Franz Ferdinand's artful sophistication displays a maturity well beyond a typical debut effort, but, most essentially, it does so without dispensing with simple pleasures. For now, they reign supreme in the burgeoning post-punk revival. Must be lonely at the top.
— Jon Garrett :. original PopMatters review
What else can you say? More than 200 shows this year has meant the Glasgow quartet going from the biggest buzz band among critics to a household name, much larger venues and the Mercury Award. It all comes back to the songs -- polished, tight and undeniably infectious. "Take Me Out" still hasn't lost any of its newness despite its heavy rotation. Ditto for "This Fire" (and "This Fffire"), "Michael" and "Matinee". The best band to come around since The Strokes should have a bright future ahead of them as this record seems to just scratch the surface!
— Jason MacNeil :. original PopMatters review
3 BRIAN WILSON Smile (Nonesuch)
"I asked if he knew that he'd inspired a whole new generation of bands (the Elephant 6 Collective specifically). He said 'Who? I only listen to oldies but goodies.'" Snatched from a newspaper interview with Brian Wilson, these words have long adorned the homepage of now defunct label Elephant 6 (former home to such acts as Neutral Milk Hotel and The Olivia Tremor Control). The words haven't changed but this light-hearted juxtaposition now rings with a bitter tone. For years, Wilson's contemporaries have hammered away at his lost dream, seeking to fulfill the promise and potential of Smile. Their guesswork was stunning, their innovations real, and their popularity well earned. But now, the holes have been filled, and with such remarkable skill that their toil seems somehow hollow. Brian Wilson's Smile is the pan-ultimate in psychedelic-pop, a truly stunning teen symphony to God.
— Andrew Phillips :. original PopMatters review
It's not every day that a record with a 38-year incubation period and a notoriety of mythological proportions, riddled with mystery and disappointment, goes even further than the high expectations of dedicated fans and critics alike. Ridiculed by his band mates for departing too far from the Surf n' Sun pop that had won them a place on the pop charts, a stoned and anxiety-ridden Brian Wilson did not have the mental wherewithal to match the ambition of his brilliant project and it was all but buried. But fortunately for Wilson and his fans, the record has never been forgotten, and with the help of musician and collaborator Darian Sahanaja, and the support of his fans, Wilson was finally able to sift through the old tapes and bring his opus to fruition. In the light of day at last, the masterpiece far exceeds even the loftiest of expectations. Wilson's exquisitely layered composition combined with poet Van Dyke Parks' imaginative and highly symbolic lyrics creates a rich musical tapestry dizzying in its scope, evoking fragile innocence, misplaced nostalgia, and stolen moments of pure joy. From the whimsy of "Heroes and Villains" to the ecstatic harmonies of "Good Vibrations", to the gentle melancholy of "Surf's Up", Smile renders an aural vision of America that is at once hallucinatory and startlingly lucid, a work of genius through and through.
— Emily Sogn :. original PopMatters review
I have to admit that a re-recording of a classic "lost" album doesn't seem like the most likely album of the year. But in 2004, I'm happy to take my escapism anywhere that I can get it. And until Outkast comes back with a new release, there's not nearly enough inanity to go around. And yet even Andre 3000 showed up at the conventions. No current musician could, in good conscience, release an album so blissfully oblivious of our country's current bellicose political state. But Wilson has gotten a free pass. Sure, like most rock stars, he dealt with some personal demons in making this record. But Wilson's demons are now decades old. Whereas most artists spent the past year struggling to find artful, original ways to compare our president to a chimpanzee, Wilson has had the rare good fortune of being able to plead ignorance of our current quagmire. In it's own age, Smile might have been a salve for my parents' generation during the Vietnam War. Today, its cheery, baroque arrangements are the only way to get me off the ledge after Crossfire.
— Peter Joseph :. original PopMatters review
2 THE ARCADE FIRE Funeral (Merge)
Why did so many people flock to the Arcade Fire's album? Why were fileswappers abuzz back in early September? Why did people line up to buy the record, scooping up every single copy Merge Records had printed? Such unprecedented hysteria over an indie rock album goes a lot deeper than people merely trying to look hip. Yeah, the album's production sounds sloppy, songs seem to have codas tacked on almost arbitrarily, but what Funeral has that every notable album from 2004 lacks in comparison is enthusiasm, and every person who loves this album has made the same emotional connection with the music. In direct contrast to the title, Funeral abounds with raw, youthful emotion, whether it's the young lovers' conversation of "Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)", the hushed tones of "Neighborhood #4 (7 Kettles)", or the impassioned trio of "Wake Up", "Haiti", and "Rebellion (Lies)". Created during a period of great loss for all band members, the Arcade Fire choose to focus on life, and this album positively explodes with it.
— Adrien Begrand :. original PopMatters review
Why did the Arcade Fire's left-field masterpiece Funeral strike such a chord in 2004? Let us count the ways: First, there's the Canadian sextet's seamless ability to mine the pop playbook of the last 40 years to create a fully-formed, unique sound. Second, there's the potent emotional journey Win Butler and Régine Chassagne take us on, offering something theatrically overblown one moment and something else painfully reflective the next. (There's even the cleverly arranged liner notes, written to resemble an actual funeral program.) But what makes Funeral the singular listening experience of the year is its startlingly unbridled honesty. In these cynical, irony-filled times, that's often viewed with a healthy dose of skepticism, but the Arcade Fire prove that sincerity will always resonate longest, especially when set to a killer soundtrack.
— Michael Pucci :. original PopMatters review
Much has been said and written about the Arcade Fire's Funeral, an album which already seems destined for enduring scrutiny and exploration, but in the end it simply seems a ridiculously difficult album to dislike. Above all it is an amazingly cohesive record, linked by pounding dance beats, classical strings, percussive piano, and a lyrical repetition ("lightning bolts", "parents", "eyelids") that probably hints at some important, life-altering conclusion. I can't begin to decide what it is, however -- I'm too busy enjoying the music that surrounds it. I think Funeral is my favorite release of the 2004 simply because it contains my favorite moments of the year -- from the choir chorus and parlor piano interlude of "Wake Up" to the swooning strings of "Crown of Love" to the instant "Rebellion (Lies)" drum-kicks into gear. I can't think of an album I'll more proudly carry with me into 2005.
— Patrick Brereton :. original PopMatters review
1 KANYE WEST The College Dropout (Roc-A-Fella)
On The College Dropout, Kanye West presents the most complex and complete vision of the year. Lyrically, he's all over the map, from sex to God to drugs to body-image issues to race to his personal life -- just for starters. But the broad vision wouldn't mean anything if West didn't have the rhymes to cover it. He's satirical and funny, serious and moving, sharp and blunt. The lyrics are great, and West -- already a respected producer -- has the beats to match (even skipping the sped-up soul and dance samples). Check "Jesus Walks", the year's best single, with its intense vocal samples and restrained strings. On just his first solo album, West has produced a masterpiece that's truly one of the best albums of the past five years.
— Justin Cober-Lake :. original PopMatters review
He's got the total package. Smooth flow, check – proving that producers can be performers, too. Intelligent, meaningful lyrics about topics that actually matter, check – thank God someone is addressing everyday people's struggles with challenges like debt and illness. A truly groundbreaking production style, check -- his trademark is, of course, sampling vocals on a 33 at 45. But it goes beyond all that: Kanye has roots. This is Chitown representing to the fullest, in the tradition of Earth, Wind & Fire, Curtis, and Chaka. Only that can explain the magnificence of "Slow Jamz," the all-time greatest hip-hop tribute to classic R&B, and "Jesus Walks," the best hip-hop gospel track since Kirk Franklin met Funkadelic.
— Jordan Kessler :. original PopMatters review
Joined: Sun Oct 17, 2004 10:40 am Posts: 2114 Location: Coventry
Blimy, nothing by timberlake, young, gates ect, not bad
_________________ "If we extend unlimited tolerance even to those who are intolerant, if we are not prepared to defend a tolerant society against the onslaught of the intolerant, then the tolerant will be destroyed, and tolerance with them" -Karl Popper
Joined: Fri Oct 29, 2004 5:45 pm Posts: 1481 Location: Jersey
FRANZ FERDINAND is always on top or near the top of these lists.Are they any good?They seem all style over substance.When I hear their hit on the radio,I turn the station.Its like annoyingly upbeat,empty robotic version of 80's modern rock.Almost like one of thous GAP commercials for retro jeans when early 20's hipsters sing some 80's songs.Its always upbeat and happy.
I dont know.I would have put Morrissey at #1,Elliott Smith at #2.
FRANZ FERDINAND is always on top or near the top of these lists.Are they any good?They seem all style over substance.When I hear their hit on the radio,I turn the station.Its like annoyingly upbeat,empty robotic version of 80's modern rock.Almost like one of thous GAP commercials for retro jeans when early 20's hipsters sing some 80's songs.Its always upbeat and happy.
I dont know.I would have put Morrissey at #1,Elliott Smith at #2.
If you prefer sad music (and, come on, look at your top 2), then Franz Ferdinand is definately not for you. They're awesome, though.
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