YEARS PAST: 2018 | 2017 | 2016 | 2015 | 2014 | 2013 N/A | 2012
This year has been a light one for me. My Spotify end-of-the-year statistics say that my time spent listening to music in 2019 was the lowest since they started spying on me. That’s a weird thing to discover; for the last 10 years it seems like there was always a song in my head, or a line on my mind, or a mood that could only be described in a song. Part of this change is due to a change in habits: I’ve been keeping up with multiple podcasts on a weekly basis and that has eaten up my many commuting hours.
Part of it has to be the phenomena of being in your 30s. In these waning years of youth, you begin to discover the feeling of being left behind by the bleeding edge of culture, and for the first time feel less enthused about keeping up. I’ve retreated into my personal version of tried and true: the music and artists that I recognize, know a lot about, and feel contented sticking to.
HONORABLE MENTIONS:
Hot Chip - Melody of Love
Andrew Bird - Olympians
HEALTH - Slaves of Fear
YBN Cordae ft. Meek Mill - We Gon Make It
DIIV - Blankenship
20. Helado Negro - Running
“Because I feel you in my mind / all the time / Because I see you in my hands / everyday”THIS IS HOW YOU SMILE by Helado Negro seems to reach new depths of mellowness. The lead single “Running” is a gentle, almost fragile, expression of love that pauses time. It recalls the deep sea, or maybe deep space; somewhere slow with a peaceful emptiness stretching in all directions. Every move is tenderly deployed so as not to disturb that feeling.
19. The Menzingers - Anna
“I have so much to tell ya / please come back to Philadelphia”If a pop punk/emo band has a song that is just someone’s name, it is probably very good. When I see that on a tracklist, I set myself up for something urgent, authentic, and plainly true. On “Anna,” it’s a racing song about missing someone. It doesn’t do anything revolutionary, but it’s got that candy-like quality that implores you to listen to it over and over.
18. Local Natives - When Am I Gonna Lose You
“I remember the trees summoned down like an archangel choir / And the ocean was all we could see / and I knew that I wanted you”On 2013’s HUMMINGBIRD, Local Natives felt like they were on the cusp of a nice mainstream breakout. A lot of bands try to chase that break through with a much more pop-centric album (see: CHVRCHES) but Local Natives seem to be doing it in a more interesting way on “When Am I Gonna Lose You.” It sounds like a more organic, instrumental approach to making dance music: centering a bass, but a meaty bass guitar instead of a synth. A rousing climax, but stuffed with images and writing that defies easy hooks. I don’t know if it will work, but it’s a worthwhile way of broadening their appeal in a way that doesn’t flatten what makes the band interesting.
17. Titus Andronicus - Tumult Around the World
“Everywhere there’s someone hurting / Someone lower on the chain / Everywhere there's someone using / Their privilege to cause someone pain”At this point, I’ve come to terms with the fact that Titus Andronicus won’t be making an album with the same anthemic righteousness as THE MONITOR. That’s okay. They’re still masterful at tapping into something primal, even if they turn it into something better fit for a party than a protest. “Tumult Around the World” is cathartic about the endless global pain that makes up modern life. It’s hard thing to deal with because it’s so big and interconnected and pervasive. Sometimes all you need is someone to yell it over and over, accompanied by gnarly guitar chords. It’s the only way this idea gets small enough to fit in your mind.
16. Strand of Oaks - Weird Ways
“There are colors in the places you can’t find / it’s a weird way to say goodbye”What should a rock & roll ballad sound like in 2019? I would say exactly like “Weird Ways” — spacious, reflective, and building in multiple stages to a searing guitar solo. Strand of Oaks is, to my mind, the best at this sound. He’s backed by members of My Morning Jacket, a band I’ve only sometimes enjoyed, but here they cut through the darkness led by Timothy Showalter’s conviction. Something that rock music can do in their ballads that you don’t find much in pop is the desire to overwhelm, to spend the listener wholly and completely. I can’t get through this song with all of my breath.
15. Jai Paul - He
It was thrilling to see Jai Paul come back into the public fold this year. There are always mysterious artists that disappear or take a long hiatus, and at some point they always make an appearance in some way — I’m thinking of Neutral Milk Hotel, Burial, My Bloody Valentine, and the rest of the disappeared. Their absence builds their legend, and Jai Paul ranked at the top of my list. Until I read his return essay, I didn’t realize how traumatic a leak could be for an artist as engaged and passionate (and on the cusp of stardom) like Jai Paul, but I’m glad he’s at a place where he can share his gifts. It’s strange to listen to “He” — it’s part and parcel with what he was doing in 2012, but in 2019, many people have taken his style and run with it. In 2012 it was the bleeding edge of production and creative mixing, and now it’s merely very good. As silly as that sounds. Still, there’s no beating Jai Paul’s vibes and I hope we hear what’s on his mind more often.
14. PUP - See You at Your Funeral
“I hope the world explodes / I hope that we all die / We can watch the highlights in hell / I hope they’re televised”PUP ascended to the throne of punk music almost in the blink of an eye. In 2014 I saw them play a small festival for lesser known international bands in what was essentially a conference room in the back of a French restaurant. No stage, the band was ground level with a bunch of stacked chairs to their back. They tore the house down with a cover of the Beastie Boys’ “Sabotage” and they stuck with me ever since. “See You at Your Funeral” is classic pop-punk bitterness, a kind of death wish and revenge embodied by classics like the Mountain Goats’ “No Children.” In the 90s bands would make songs like this and be really misogynistic in their anger, but in the 10s bands are content just to wish death upon us all as an expression of vulnerability. It’s all you want to hear during a break up.
13. Purple Mountains - Nights That Won’t Happen
“When the dying’s finally done and the suffering subsides / the suffering gets done by the ones we leave behind.”The passing of David Berman produced a lot of beautiful eulogies and remembrances. It made me think that we all know the handful of artists that are the greatest songwriters of our generation, but we never talk about it until they’re gone. I was never an avid superfan that kept up closely with his music but I knew there was no denying his ability to write emotionally incisive songs that turned on heartbreaking poetic lines. Inevitably, an artist’s last album produces some tragic after images, and they are at their most haunting on “Nights That Won’t Happen.” It’s a window into his worldview on death, and we’re left wishing he could’ve been saved.
12. Earl Sweatshirt ft. Mavi - EL TORO COMBO MEAL
“Somethin' scary 'bout airin' out the shit I compress / The fair game, the fair now, the cost is / An arm, leg, an arm, leg, and a head”Earl Sweatshirt’s albums since DORIS have been fascinating if not always what you want from him. It seems like every album he’s challenging himself to make rap harder by denying himself tools, like conventional rhythms or pop hooks. On FEET OF CLAY he makes an even bolder choice of denying himself time. All but two songs are under 2 minutes long. The effect is an album that sounds like peeking into the iPhone Voice Memo files of a genius. He spits with a casual relentlessness that gives it the feel of stream of consciousness, but it’s more likely a tightly compacted and meticulously detailed book.
11. Jay Som - If You Want It
“I see you clearly / You dance around and fuck with us / A feigned intention / Well, no one needs to feel your light“I will confess to this bias: because Jay Som (real name Melina Duterte) is Filipino, I made special effort to really dive into her latest album ANAK KO. If that deliberate attention colors my ranking, so be it, but “If You Want It” is a clockwork mood machine, pulling in so many sonic elements that I am a sucker for: persistent, walking bass guitar lines; mid-tempo drums; hand claps; hazy vocals that hang in the air. It recalls the dreamy coolness of Broken Social Scene’s “Stars and Sons” and the self-perpetuating momentum of Metric’s “Too Little Too Late.” That’s a hell of a pedigree for indie rock music.
10. Bon Iver - Faith
“Shattered in history, shattered in paint / Oh, and the lengths that I'd stay up late / But brought to my space / The wonderful things I’ve learned to waste”There were a lot of ways Justin Vernon could have gone after getting shine from peak Kanye West in 2010. He could’ve leaned into friendly folksy singer-songwriter music designed to for the Starbucks set; he could’ve taken what he’s learned and somehow applied hip hop beats and electronic music in a Chris Cornell sort of way; he could have just made another FOR EMMA, FOREVER AGO. Instead, on BON IVER, BON IVER, he went aggressively normcore and adult contemporary, a truly bold move, almost as if it was designed to scare off the masses that would check him out after they heard “Monster.” Then, on 2016’s 22, A MILLION, he achieved synthesis with his indie folk roots and his electronic leanings, a kind of solution to his pop notoriety and “Lost in the Woods” notoriety. All that is to say that in 2019, the table was cleared. Vernon could do whatever he wanted, now free of expectations and baggage. So now what?
I,I is an album as experimental as 22, A MILLION but with more focused songs and an emphasis on the feeling that comes with spiritual epiphanies. On a song like “Hey, Ma” we hear someone who has evolved so far beyond the simple pains of “Skinny Love” and builds catharsis around things that feel much bigger than heartbreak. It is hard to go spiritual without sounding corny, and Vernon’s electronic flourishes go a long way in making sure you don’t make those assumptions. It’s also great to hear Vernon really flex his writing muscles again with total clarity and confidence.
9. Sharon Van Etten - Seventeen
“Down beneath the ashes and the stone / Sure of what I've lived and have known / I see you so uncomfortably alone”The changing neighborhood is a staple of modern urban life, and Van Etten takes great care to connect that recognition with the personal nostalgia for days gone by. But it’s not a mere “when we were young” song; there’s a sense of hard earned wisdom that comes with age, and a desire to pass on that wisdom — and protection — to a coming generation. That’s much more useful than the narcissism of wishing you were still young and hip, or wishing that your local bar didn’t turn into a condo. A clockwork beat makes “Seventeen” feel like high drama, and the contrast of heavy piano chords and dissonant squealing drone noises give it equal parts beauty and chaos. It’s the soundtrack to a second coming of age, and a reminder that change is always coming, to the city and to the self.
8. Vampire Weekend - “Harmony Hall”
“I thought that I was free from all that questionin' / But every time a problem ends, another one begins”Listening to post-Rostam Vampire Weekend has been interesting because a self-assured know-it-all like myself can pretend they can identify all the elements each person is responsible for. It’s almost totally invalid, but a fun way to be a fan in a fantasy football-sort of way. There’s a lightness and return to analog sounds to FATHER OF THE BRIDE, and “Harmony Hall” is the best song on it. It’s deceptively simple, subtle, and makes you wonder why no one else makes music like this these days. Even the way it’s mixed seems like from a time that has passed. It’s a song that feels like it will last forever.
7. Jenny Lewis - “Wasted Youth”
“I wasted my youth on a poppy / Doo-doo, doo-doo, doo, just because“I don’t remember the last time a solo career went this well outside of pop music. Her 2019 album, ON THE LINE, makes it official: Jenny Lewis solo work is the top billing, and the Rilo Kiley legacy is a runner up. A lot of writing has established her as following the example of Stevie Nicks, and that seems like the right role. There was a time when Rilo Kiley could’ve followed the No Doubt path but for emo, but that moment passed and that model doesn’t really exist anymore; so playing to the counter culture (and her strengths as a storyteller) feels like the best possible outcome. “Wasted Youth” is one of the album’s classic pop-rock songs about personal failings, and it’s an ideal fit for a smoky lounge show. If her solo work continues on this path, she’s setting herself up to be here a long time as indie’s premiere troubadour, the kind of institutional figure the genre will need to mature into the future.
6. Pedro the Lion - “Yellow Bike”
“All the places I could ride / Leaving early packing light / That little ache inside / My kingdom for someone to ride with”I didn’t really dive into Pedro the Lion until this year, and it’s been a joy to discover retroactively. In a way it’s great to miss something like this. Discovering music from your prime is like finding 20 dollars in your old jacket pocket: a gift from the past by way of absent mindedness. People don’t make much music like this anymore and I just found some preserved in amber.
Despite this, their 2019 album feels like some of David Bazan’s best work. He’s surely up there in the canon as one of our greatest living songwriters. “Yellow Bike” does the hard work of taking a tender and dangerously earnest moment about unwrapping a brand new bike on Christmas morning, and attaching that to the discovery of independence, and attaching that to the eternal loneliness that follows a certain kind of person forever. And he does it in basically three verses. Despite that premise, it never feels like a Hallmark card. Some of us are born with a sense of loneliness, that even in our most serene moments, follows us around. The open road and wind in your hair is a basic human wonder, but even that is second to the desire for a home.
5. The National - “Quiet Light”
“I used to fall asleep to you talking to me / I don’t listen to anything now.”For the past couple of years I’ve lived in the ether of loneliness and it is not the poetic experience that “Quiet Light” convinces you it is. In reality, it’s dull. Nothing happens every day, and it feels like nothing ever will happen, ever again. While there may be some searing heartache to start with, at some point the edges on that dull too, and you become numb to anything but lethargy. Songs like “Quiet Light” help us add a sense of beauty and meaning to this state. It describes longing in a way that most of us are unable to do ourselves. It makes us feel dignified in our emptiness and artistic in our continuous isolation. In short, it keeps us feeling alive. I’m not that way anymore, but there was nothing more valuable than songs like this during those gloomy mornings.
4. Clairo - “Softly”
“I call you up late at night / No doubt it isn't right / But you could be my one and only”Clairo’s IMMUNITY is an album that feels like a flex of what she can do with R&B. Some songs are moody and contemporary, others are indie and contemplative, but a song like “Softly” is unique in that it feels like the kind of R&B that hasn’t existed since the 90s. Rostam puts on a lo-fi beat and the simple plucking guitar riffs remind us that the acoustic guitar was once a staple of the genre. It’s a throwback and refresher for the formula that has wormed its way into my head all year.
3. Broken Social Scene - “1972”
“I’ve got it / you need it / we want it / it’s dead”“1972” contains what I would call all the signature Broken Social Scene “moves:” heavy finger-plucked bass guitar lines, smooth feminine vocals, a building crescendo part, twinkling guitars, and lyrics that have great melody but are inscrutable and seemingly random. It’s almost a sampler platter of everything the band had to offer — everything early 00s indie rock had to offer, even. It encompasses the easy-going coolness, the alternative sensibilities and the big heart of that mini-music era. In 2019 all the also-rans and copycats are gone, and Broken Social Scene is still kicking, doing what they do best.
2. Big Thief - “Not”
“Not the hunger revealing / Nor the ricochet in the cave / Nor the hand that is healing / Nor the nameless grave”I first heard “Not” when I saw Big Thief perform it in concert last May. It was an unreleased song back then, and afterwards I scrambled to find a copy of it somewhere. Eventually I found a pretty high quality video of them performing it on Facebook, and so for weeks I had to cue up Facebook Watch and turn off the lock screen on my phone just to listen to it. I did this over and over.
What hooked me was the song’s kinetic energy and momentum. The simple writing conceit — starting every line with “Not” — gives it a structure more akin to a poem than usual and makes it feel like it’s snowballing downhill. Keeping that urgent energy from note one is a crazy feat and one of the reasons Big Thief is the current reigning and defending champion of indie rock music. The instrumentation itself is pretty bare, with very organic instruments, almost as if pulled from the air in a single session, and it lets you zero in on Adrienne Lenker’s writing more than ever. It all pays off into one of their great dissonant guitar solos until every ounce of energy is spent. What a world-beater.
1. Better Oblivion Community Center - “Exception to the Rule”
“But fate just wouldn’t have it / it treats us like a magnet / mends my broken habits / and makes a fool of me”Remember when I said up top that this year I stuck to my tried and true? Nothing exemplifies that more than my favorite song being from a fucking Conor Oberst side project. Better Oblivion Community Center was a blessing for me in 2019, after I took a last-minute trip to New Mexico in search of a major head-change. More than anything, I was fortunate enough to have this album go live right as I stepped off the train.
The pairing of Conor Oberst and Phoebe Bridgers has been delightful. Bridgers is a die hard Bright Eyes fan and a full generation younger than him, which has produced entertaining interviews about introducing Oberst to memes. In that way, she also plays a fantastic vessel for us nerds by living out the ultimate fantasy of collaborating with your favorite artist. I can only imagine her in the studio peppering him with questions about LETTING OFF THE HAPPINESS. I was already a Bridgers fan, but her work in Better Oblivion Community Center made her solid gold in my eyes.
“Exception to the Rule” is the song off the album I played the most. It’s not the one with the strongest hook (That’s “Dylan Thomas”), or the most poetic verse (That’s “Sleepwalkin’”), but it’s the one that will play in my head during quiet moments. It also references the liberating experience of vacation, so, obviously, I listened to it a lot in New Mexico.
But it stayed with me long after that. It’s a bonafide head bobber with a chunky synth beat harkening back to “Take It Easy (Love Nothing),” an underrated gem on an underrated Bright Eyes album. But what would normally be a semi-robotic singing performance from Oberst is given more life and angst by Bridgers. She adds a layer of melody that his songs always seem to want to convey but can’t always land. Ultimately it has the infectious consumability of candy. You can’t stop reaching into the bowl.
The first time I listened to Bright Eyes was probably in 2003, and to this day I can’t describe the way I hear Conor Oberst’s music with 100% accuracy. It’s familiarity is so ingrained in my internal life that it’s like trying to describe how your voice sounds like to you — not what other people hear, or what you hear on recordings.
Instead I’ll try and say this: I’m not even sure what this song is about. It’s an expression of dissatisfaction with some great lines that are vague but memorable. That makes them easily applicable to any feeling of discontent in your life. You can appropriate the broad mood of this song and mutter it to yourself on those long drives home, (“live out in the forest, stay out of that orbit, or drifting out to sea”) and have it mean something that only you understand. When it slows down for a bridge it feels like a dozen other Oberst songs you know and your mind darkens in the exact same way that it does “Love I Don’t Have to Love” or “I Will Be Grateful For This Day.”
This isn’t even an evaluation of quality — “Not” is probably a more beautiful and powerful song. But it’s a bullseye to my taste, to the whole reason I think about music this much. So much is changing, and more is on the way, I can feel it in my bone-deep dread. When I listen to “Exception to the Rule,” it is some relief to know and confirm that I am still like this, will always be like this, even as everything around it changes.