2017 is upon us! Well that only took way too freakin’ long. Little elaboration is necessary to explain that 2016 was an abysmal year, unless you’re a neo-Nazi or a subterranean critter feasting away in a Hollywood cemetery. I wonder how long it will be before college students can take “2016” as an entire course in political science, history, or sociology. My guess is by 2050, assuming we’re all still around for it.
It was also a brutal 12 month stretch for me personally. I resigned to moving back in with my parents, continued to fail in the job search, and dealt with some turbulence in the stormy realm between my ears.
But the silver lining of 2016 was easily the omnipresent distraction culture, entertainment available at our fingertips whenever we want it at little to no financial burden. I surmise it will ultimately prove to be either the undoing or salvation of the powerless masses as we descend into a Phillip K. Dick-esque dystopia. What I’m trying to say is: music is good; and no matter how much the literal and metaphorical world crumbles around us, it will always be there. Along with pro wrestling and Game of Thrones, music provided a lot of solace for me in 2016, proving capable of yanking me out of the most constrictive feelings of entropy.
The good news is more music is being made than ever before, a trend that will continue in years to come. And thanks to Spotify, Bandcamp, Soundcloud and whatever app will soon arrive to drive my data bill up the wall, it’s easier than ever to discover and appreciate practically everything on the market.
I was originally going to write a traditional Top 10, but the sheer quantity of quality music this year made it seem a too-narrow testament, so I’m expanding it to 15. Here are, based on my personal tastes, the 2016 albums most worthy of your time and attention.
#15. The Tragically Hip — “Man Machine Poem”
One man who lived to see 2017, perhaps to his surprise, was Tragically Hip frontman Gord Downie. Most people outside of Canada were unfamiliar with The Hip until they performed their farewell concert, televised on the CBC and streamed for free online, this past August; following Downie’s diagnosis with terminal brain cancer earlier in the year.
The group wasn’t originally planning on “Man Machine Poem” being their final album, having recorded consistently since the mid-‘80s, but it marks a quality conclusion to their vast and wide-ranging catalogue. It was written, recorded and finished before Downie received his diagnosis, yet in listening to it, I wonder if he subconsciously foresaw his fate.
“Man Machine Poem” sees The Tragically Hip at their weightiest and most ominous, with songs exploring the profound states of emotion at many spokes on the wheel. “In A World Possessed By The Human Mind” describes transcendence powered by intimacy. In “Tired As Fuck” Downie paddles through a “lake of gin,” torn between two extremes of a personal commitment. Many of the songs are cryptic, but as Downie sings in “Hot Mic” — “I don’t guess, I listen. It’s more than enough. It’s powerful stuff.”
#14. Radiohead — “A Moon Shaped Pool”
Radiohead, like the literature of Virginia Woolf and fine French cuisine, has always been something I appreciated the merit of but could never really find personal enjoyment therein. It’s a statement that once got a friend to tell me, “I want to beat you over the head with a copy of ‘In Rainbows.’” I hope putting “A Moon Shaped Pool” on this list saves me from that consequence.
What perhaps make this Radiohead album more relatable than all the others is that the songs are about, and perfectly convey, senses of insecurity, paranoia, regret and dread; and don’t those sum up 2016 in a nutshell. “Burn The Witch,” sets the trepidation in motion with a compact arrangement and strings that bring to mind a prey specimen in the final seconds of its doomed flight. The line, “This a low flying panic attack,” defines the entire record.
The music, sinuous and lithe, pervades a haunting quality somewhere between “The Twilight Zone” and the films of David Fincher. Thom Yorke’s voice is at times barely more than a whisper, a faceless shadow in the dense fog. It’s a dour and sullen record, trimmed with beauty and grace, but will leave you shuddering, and noticing how cold the air in the room has become.
#13. Various Artists — “Day of the Dead”
My Dad and I are both Dead Heads, and both became such long after the band’s official end in 1995, with Jerry Garcia’s passing. While neither us will never be able to say we saw the group live, we have been treated to the best alternatives in the form of several talented tribute bands, and of course Dead and Company, whom we saw in Hartford this past summer. While the concert was sublime, what I’ll remember most is the scene in the parking lot beforehand. It was a crowded sea of tie-dye, people selling grilled cheese and cheap beers out of the backs of their cars, and aging hippies embracing the stereotypes of their subculture.
To my surprise and delight, a great amount of people my age there, as I’m used to being the youngest person in attendance whenever I go to a concert with my Dad, which thus far has been almost all of them.
“Day of the Dead,” a massive three disc tribute collection, affirms that The Grateful Dead are a multi-generational phenomenon, both their music and following destined to long outlive any of their members. It features some of the most prominent indie and alternative acts today: The National, Wilco, Angel Olsen, Lucinda Williams, Jim James, and The Flaming Lips all make contributions, Bob Weir even shows up a couple of times to lay the tracks between old and new.
The Dead staples such as “Uncle John’s Band” and “Ripple” are obviously there, but as are the more obscure “Althea” and “Ship of Fools,” they even find room for the entirely of “Terrapin Station.” A few songs from Dead members’ side projects also make the cut, Garcia’s “Sugaree” and Weir’s “Cassidy” are excellently covered.
Personal favorites include Courtney Barnett’s rendition of “New Speedway Boogie” and This Is The Kit’s interpretation of “Jack-A-Roe,” sounding like an early Fairport Convention recording.
Every entry is worth hearing, and nearly all of it warrants repeated listens. It’s a treat for those who appreciate The Grateful Dead’s studio contributions, often overlooked in favor of their live work.
To quote the Ironborn from “Game of Thrones” — “What is Dead may never die.”
#12. David Bowie — “Blackstar”
Rock’s first and most captivating enigma couldn’t have released a more fitting final statement. David Bowie, who lead off the year of heartbreaking noteworthy deaths, put out “Blackstar,” a jazzy stew lightyears away from any of his previous recordings. Often absent of discernable melodies and stuffed with spiraling saxophone and keyboard performances, along with Bowie’s most unhinged vocal work, “Blackstar” is a puzzling and rapturous vortex.
Some of its mystery was solved a day after its release with Bowie’s death, the lyrical content of “Lazarus” and “I Can’t Give It All Away” becoming clear. Bowie, losing a secret fight with liver cancer and knowing his days were winding down, began writing about lay beyond, for both him and his legacy.
Much of “Blackstar” sounds like the music one would hear while drifting from one dimension, spiritual plane or cosmic pathway to another, or floating in-between. Even though Bowie still held a physical presence on Earth while recording it, spiritually, it seems he was already elsewhere.
#11. Leonard Cohen — “You Want It Darker”
While I was going through my initial infatuation with Cohen while in college, I used to tell people that if god had manifested himself in any individual, it was Leonard Cohen. Something tells me that thought, or at least the thought that others had that thought, ran through Cohen’s mind a few times too. He joked in interviews that he possessed capabilities of immortality, not long before it was proven that was composed of the same degrading flesh and tissue as the rest of us. Bummer.
In the final months of his life, living in hospice and recording on a laptop placed at his bedside, “You Want It Darker” sees Cohen singing from a position of insignificance, if only in the grandest of schemes. In prior works, he sang of love and spirituality side by side, the second verse of “Suzanne” diverts to a tale about Jesus not present in the Bible. Now they flow concurrently in Cohen’s words, painting his lovers and deities and his higher powers as dancing partners.
It’s clear from the get-go that Cohen needs no closure, “If you are the dealer, I’m out of the game. If you are the healer, it means I’m broken and lame,” are the record’s and title track’s opening lines. But what Cohen does seek in his final orations is resolve. “Treaty” is an apology and an expression of gratitude. “Leaving The Table” is a mix of regret and self-justification. In“Steer Your Way,” Cohen speaks to himself, the world, and whoever controls it, in something between a plea and a proclamation for perseverance and righteousness.
Produced by Cohen’s son, Patrick Leonard, “You Want It Darker” is gentle, serene, not far from the sounds one would hear, either live or in their head, during a funeral procession. Cohen’s presence contrasts it with a sense of foreboding. By its conclusion, Cohen may not have felt completely whole as he endured his final hours, but he seems to have said everything he wanted to say.
#10. Miike Snow — “iii”
Indie-rock overtook it’s traditional parent genre in popularity and prominence more or less 10 years ago. How long is it going to take indie-pop to do the same? The Billboard Top 40 was garbage from top to bottom throughout 2016, and it baffles me how The Chainsmokers, Meghan Trainor and X Ambassadors keep scoring hits while far superior acts, making perfectly radio friendly music, are confined to the alternative charts.
Miike Snow, who did have breakout year, although not to the extent they deserved, released the stellar “iii.” Filled to the brim with immaculately engineered earworms, it will capture the attention of even the most dismissive of electropop music, (like me). Building it’s foundation on springy piano riffs and autotuned vocal splices, the Swedish-American trio perform songs about the many shades of attraction, as sultry as they are catchy.
Devotion morphs into venomous suspicion in “Genghis Kahn,” the singer works to sentimental feelings at bay in “Back of the Car,” and the celestial ballad “I Feel The Weight” is the album’s hidden gem, where a depleted romance is strung hopelessly along.
I hypothesize that indie-pop will be the defining musical trend of the 2010s, and “iii” should be remembered as one of its brightest achievements.
#9. Flatbush Zombies — “3001: A Laced Odyssey”
In a hip-hip world dominated by monotonous trap beats and superficial mushmouths, Flatbush Zombies provided a breath of fresh air with their debut album, “3001: A Laced Odyssey.” While light on hooks and often dark in subject matter, it’s a fun ride, and its performed by three men clearly having a blast in their roles.
Erick Arc Elliot opts for low-key, cabaret style beats with a cinematic production as he, Zombie Juice and Meechy Darko spit at a mile a minute, with songs connected through reflection on the passage of time, as they try to transcend it. They recount their individual struggles, hustling to keep themselves afloat while pushing relentlessly for artistic triumph before the opportunity blows them by.
Meechy Darko’s verses, delivered with a gravelly torrent, gives a striking vision of the Brooklyn streets not far from Dante’s Inferno, “The Devil conducts all his tests in the ghetto, go ‘head and contest with a rebel roll heavy with metal, I’m reading your mental cause,” he raps in Ascension, striving to earn both survival and salvation.
#8. Paul Simon — Stranger To Stranger
I think Simon was fully prepared for “So Beautiful or So What,” his previous record, to be his final recording. But five years removed from it and at 75 years of age, with his rhyming and string plucking abilities intact, he puts out “Stranger to Stranger;” because what else would he do with his time?
“I tell my tale for the toot of it, I wear my suit for the suit of it. The tree is bare, but the root of it. Goes deeper than logical reasoning,” he shoots on “Street Angel,” relaxed and placid, a tone he carries throughout, assuming the role of an aged observer of the past and present.
Simon writes primarily about his not-too-distant ending, and just how long he has to wait for it. He substitutes a lycanthrope for the grim reaper as a symbol for death in the opening track, “The Werewolf.” He muses, “The fact is most obits are mixed reviews. Life is a lottery, a lotta people lose,” nonplussed and matter-of-fact.
“Wristband” is allegory for a performer locked outside of their own show and a newly departed spirit stranded on Earth that transforms into a condemnation of have / have not society in the last verse. “The Riverbank” describes a public vigil after either a suicide or a mass shooting. He closes with “Insomniac’s Lullaby,” incorporating imagery from throughout the album, a merciful interpretation of life’s door squeezing shut.
At times Simon incorporates the crass, ironic sense of humor that’s persisted in his work from the beginning, and other times he is morose and pensive. He last made headlines for a domestic violence incident with his third wife Edie Brickell. Simon probably knew listeners would have that in mind when “In The Garden of Edie” comes on; a somber, wordless elegy that almost entirely consists of Simon’s acoustic guitar. He knows there are some deeply personal messages not even he can put into rhyme.
#7. Bon Iver — “22, A Million”
If it weren’t his musical talent and the success he’s generated from it, being Justin Vernon would probably be a brutal experience. Drawing his artistic inspiration from a series of personal crises, Vernon rose to fame under Bon Iver as indie-folk artist, but reinvents himself with the ambitious and formidable “22, A Million.”
Densely packed with accelerated samples, vocal cuts put through a phonic cement mixer, lo-fi beats, shrill saxophones, and seldom an acoustic guitar to remind us just where this all began, it’s a mind-blogging and astonishing creation. As perplexing and alien as it sounds, it’s relentlessly addicting. Despite not being sure if I liked it, it was the only thing I listened to for about a week after its first spin. That can’t be said for anything else on this list.
With song titles like “10 d E A T h b R E a s T ⚄ ⚄” and “21 M◊◊N WATER,” Vernon exudes a fragmented coconsciousness, and sings like an astral projection. Most of the time I have no clue what he’s talking about, but the pain in abundantly clear. “715 – CR∑∑KS” sounds like the scream of a drowning man, and “33 ‘GOD’” is practically schizophrenic.
It would rank a lot higher if it didn’t peeter out after “8 (circle),” the clarity of the closing songs lacking the cleansing effect worthy of the buildup; but not before “22, A Million” delivers the most captivating half hour of music of the year.
#6. Dr. Dog — “The Psychedelic Swamp”
I’m not sure whether to call it apt or ironic that “The Psychedelic Swamp” is Dr. Dog’s best album, given that it’s a reworking of the first demo tape they recorded 15 years prior.
Having established themselves as merry eccentrics, “The Psychedelic Swamp” is a glimpse into Dr. Dog’s personas and artistic vision at their incarnation, and a refined self-portrait after a lot of time to perfect their craft, and I assume a substantially larger budget.
It’s not clear whether “The Psychedelic Swamp,” not just a title, but the setting (complete with frogs and peepers), the singer moseys through is a dream, drug trip, or alternate reality. Whatever it be, it’s home to a colorful and fragrant journey buoyed with vivacious synth and guitar riffs, cooling harmonies and a luminous, neon production.
The hooks in “Bring My Baby Bach” and “Fire On My Back” are like a bite into a sweet fruit. The brief detours like “Swamp Descent” and “Hole In My Back” serve to illustrate a vivid atmosphere. The band also doesn’t neglect their goofy tendencies, with singer Scott McMicken ending “Dead Record Player” like a mad scientist, “The music is killing me. The high and low fidelities are attacking my brain. And it’s terrific. The music sounds just great.” Indeed it does.
#5. Weezer — “Weezer (The White Album)”
It’s hard to believe that Weezer has been around for 25 years, especially because “Weezer (The White Album)” is fueled by youthful exuberance. A true-to-form collection of up-tempo power pop romps, the songs of “Weezer” are brash with optimism; with themes of escape, hedonism and relationships making the most of the honeymoon stage. That is, save for the closing track “Endless Bummer,” suggesting the hard truths the rest of the album ignores eventually catch up.
With a sound that’s distinctively west coast, it beckons to be heard in a convertible cruising down a SoCal freeway. Rivers Cuomo also pens some of his most evocative songs, easy to read the gist of, but careful annotation will reveal many hidden components. He goes from a hike in the woods to the Garden of Eden in “Thank God for Girls,” and vividly establishes a sense of place in “California Kids” and “L.A. Girlz.”
In a year that left many of us downtrodden, misanthropic and downright afraid and what the world has in store for us, “Weezer (The White Album)” is a boisterous reminder that life is worth living. Even if the high points are brief, they’re worth seeking out.
#4. Car Seat Headrest — “Teens of Denial”
For what still is the vast majority of their existence, Car Seat Headrest was frontman Will Toledo serving as a jack-of-all-trades multi-instrumentalist releasing album after album of dense, introspective fuzz-rock on Bandcamp. It was clear from his songwriting that Toledo possesses poetic genius, “Twin Fantasy” is more than enough evidence, but he needed something to elevate him beyond basement production.
Now having rightfully been given record label attention and a backing band, Car Seat Headrest can enjoy more diverse arrangements and a robust sound, which serve as garnish for the best portrait of confused and desperate youth since “Catcher in the Rye.” Toledo dives into his own teenage years and those of millions of others in a time-splitting perspective, speaking concurrently from that past and present. He searches for value in his retrospectives and combs through queries he was promised the answers to, but never received.
He revisits his first drought of depression in “Vincent,” contemplating whether its causes are chemical or environmental, effects temporary or permanent. He remembers psychedelic drug trips gone south in “(Joe Gets Kicked Out of School For Using) Drugs With Friends (But Says This Isn’t a Problem)” and has a conversation with a chastising Jesus. “The Ballad of Costa Concordia” a song that says as much as Bob Dylan’s “It’s Alright Ma, I’m Only Bleeding” where Toledo highlights the draining nature of heightened teenage emotions, and confronts the lie that life gets easier with time and age.
“Teens of Denial” is a long 70 minutes where every track is a saga, as immersive as it is exhausting. When it’s over, you appreciate the silence, your head feeling like it does after a long flight. It’s at times an overwhelming experience, but one you’ll never forget and will happily revisit again and again.
#3. Woods — “City Sun Eater In The River of Light”
Having quietly ascended to the designation of one the premier acts in their genre, Woods’ ninth album in just 11 years together is a tour de force in craftsmanship. Giving a gothic touch to crisp, glossy, folk rock, “City Sun Eater” offers 10 excellent songs, not one of which fails to find a groove. Snappy beats and bouncy rhythms are pillared by Jeremy Earl’s percussive work and is complemented by his irresistible soprano voice. The radiant harmonies, provided at different instances by keyboards, woodwinds, vocals and steel pedal guitar tie it all together.
The chemistry between the individual band members has never been greater, and the production is as meticulous and multi-layered as a Todd Rundgen or early Boston album. It helps that Woods operates under their own label, and enjoy the rare opportunity of complete artistic integrity. Through their consistent work schedule, they’ve mastered a sound that is entirely their own. “City Sun Eater in the River of Light” is one of those creations that’s greatest merits elude verbal description, you really just need to hear it.
#2. Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds — “Skeleton Tree”
In a year where the reaper (or werewolf) loomed in the foreground of many musical works, none were more morbid than “Skeleton Tree.” Tis no surprise, given that death is one of Nick Cave’s favorite muses; he recorded “Murder Ballads” after all. In the past, Cave and the Bad Seeds approached the darkest of all topics almost with a sense of fun, at the very least with a percipient appreciation for its many dimensions and the emotional payoffs they can ring from it.
But in “Skeleton Tree,” written and recorded following the death of Cave’s teenage son in a hiking accident, forces him to confront his premier inspiration head on, and he takes us through every stage of his grief. The record begins with “Jesus Alone,” dominated by the eerie ringing of a theremin, and Cave singing in the detached voice of a deity observing a disparate world of his abandoned creations. From there, he inches towards his personal anguish; beginning with “Girl In Amber,” with background vocals that are just a ghostly whine, and lyrics of emptiness and desperation.
By “Magneto,” Cave’s turmoil is front and center, and over a vacant and hollow beat, he sings frail and woeful, “And in the bathroom mirror I see me vomit in the sink. And all through the house we hear the hyena’s hymns.” The haunting music never relents, as Cave takes through each stage of mourning, until the healing begins in “Distant Sky,” with gorgeous background vocals provided by Else Torp, an ethereal reprieve from Cave’s phantom tones. The album closes with the title track, providing needed and deserved resolve, a calming exhale as Cave come to terms with a mortal world that eventually takes everything it gives.
#1. Drive By Truckers — “American Band”
With the political climate in the United States taking a turn for the volatile in 2016, there was urgent need for protest music to reemerge in mainstream culture; where it had been absent since the early ‘70s. Prophets of Rage formed with a lot of hype but made as big a splash as a pebble. And the 30 Days, 30 Songs had several noteworthy entries, but arrived too little, too late.
The best and most powerful collection of politically charged music since the days of Credence Clearwater Revival came from an unlikely place, southern rock group Drive-By Truckers. They perform songs about border violence and immigration, “Ramon Casiano,” mass-shootings, “Guns of Umpqa,” the debauchery of the extremely wealthy, “Kinky Hypocrite,” and stubborn traditionalism, “Surrender Under Protest.”
It’s a bold and courageous statement considering the band’s primarily red state audience, many of whom cast their ballots for Donald Trump. It’s clear exactly who Drive-By Truckers are looking to direct their message to, and do so with grace and the willingness to be a voice in delicate conversation, yet are uncompromising in their declarations.
Co-frontman Patterson Hood traces the roots of his Irish ancestors in “Ever South,” the backlash they received as they attempted to assimilate, and the brutality of being an outsider in the land of Dixieland hegemony. “Now my Christian Southern brethren will tell you all what for, to keep your heathen ways up in you and your shoes outside the door.”
“What It Means” all but name drops George Zimmerman in a debunking of post-racial America, in accordance with the band’s open support of the Black Lives Matter movement. I dare say there are lyrics in that song Neil Young wouldn’t touch.
“American Band” is an album of composed outrage and consternation. The band performs with a patient ferocity, a sound that is solemn and measured. Hood and Mike Cooley sing with a hint of exasperation, but also steadfast determination. With their national pride is shaken and vulnerable, Drive-By Truckers dutifully proclaim their creeds as their country prepares for an uncertain future.
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