Favorite albums of 2018

I have to admit that this was not a great year in music for me. For much of the year I didn't really connect to a lot of the new music coming out. Frankly I spent a lot of time this year listening to Prince, and then Aretha after she passed. I can't quite identify what it is in their music that was giving me something I needed that I wasn't getting from most new music this year. Nonetheless, I was able to cobble together a list of 11 albums that are still drawing me in as 2018 comes to a close.

An early standout of the year was Superchunk's What a Time to Be Alive. Last year I called Kevin Morby's "1234" an "ebullient downer;" those are appropriate words to describe Superchunk's solid-from-start-to-finish offering. Or maybe "celebratory truth-telling" would be more accurate, with lyrics like this chorus to the eponymous song:

To see the rot in no disguise
Oh what a time to be alive
The scum, the shame, the fucking lies
Oh what a time to be alive
Oh what a time to be alive

The album I'm most embarrassed to admit that I liked - and listened to quite a bit - came out around the same time: Andrew W.K.'s You're Not Alone. (I know, I can't believe I'm writing this, either!) Unabashedly positive, this album is like a cheesetastic anthemic self-help book-on-tape. I can attest that songs like "Music is Worth Living For" and "Keep on Going" are particularly uplifting after one has run 19 miles and doesn't feel like one more step is possible.  

The only other album that I listened to in the first 2/3 of the year that stayed with me is Nathaniel Rateliff and the Night Sweats' Tearing at the Seams. Here's another band I felt weird about liking - as if it was something I shouldn't like (too bar-band-y?), but finally admitted that I do. I may like their debut album even better, but there's something soothing about this album, too, even though many of the songs actually point to cracks and hidden trouble.

Things started to pick up with projects from long-time favorites Laura Marling and Anna Calvi towards the end of the summer. LUMP, Marling's electronic project with Mike Lindsay, feels like a natural extension of Marling's more folky, singer-songwriter work. On LUMP the quality and tone of the music underscores Marling's delicious voice, allowing the lyrics that alternately acknowledge tension and crisis and offer a balm to float and soothe. Anna Calvi, on the other hand, seems to have stepped into her personal, sexual, and above all vocal power in new ways. Hunter finds her in complete control of her voice; whereas in previous recordings she always seemed to take her voice to full extent of her range and stay there, in this album she seems to be modulating her power more, and yet is even more in control of her voice for it.

Prince and Aretha manifest together concretely in Prince's Piano and a Microphone, which among other things includes an exquisite and thoroughly original cover of "Mary Don't You Weep," which Aretha also famously recorded on her 1972 Amazing Grace. One of the things that struck me in all the eulogizing of Aretha was, as rock journalist Ann Powers describes it, how Aretha reminds us that the divine is intimate, and the intimate is spiritual, and that we are always here on earth when we encounter the divine. (Or as another print journalist put it, Aretha could take you from Saturday night to Sunday morning.) Of course Prince himself is the epitome of the sacred and profane in one body. And this album of him by himself at a piano, easily moving between acoustic versions his own songs and even an early cover of Joni Mitchell's "A Case of You," which received full treatment on the 2007 tribute album, is riveting listening. 

The year in music started picking up for me in the fall, with the release of albums by 3 previous favorites: Erika Wennerstrom of Heartless Bastards (runner up in 2012), My Brightest Diamond (2011), and Spiritualized (2012). Wennerstrom's new album - her solo debut - chronicles her own deep searching and transformation (as one review points out, it's a personal transformation not a musical one). My Brightest Diamond's 2018 offering finds her more electronically focused, but also more sharp and biting in her political critique (and also dancing quite a lot). Spiritualized latest is a gorgeous sonic journey; though Jason Pierce's topics are not novel, his composition and turn of phrase elevate the daily into the sublime.

The year in music was truly redeemed, however, with Julia Holter's Aviary and Esperanza Spalding's 12 Little Spells. In the past I'd been interested in Holter, but never quite connected with her work. Aviary, however, drew me in and immersed me in her vibrant and vibrating "chamber pop" worlds. (Jenn Pelly's review of Aviary on Pitchfork is a must read.) Meanwhile, Spalding's 12 Little Spells doesn't technically come out until March 2019, but Spalding released it track by track in October, and it's available for streaming on Spotify and other services. Each track, or "spell" was written for a particular part of the body. 

“12 Little Spells” — Thoracic Spine
“To Tide Us Over” — Mouth
“Til the Next Full” — Eyes
“Thang” — Hips
“Touch in Mine” — Fingers
“The Longing Deep Down” — Abdominal Portal
“You Have to Dance” — Feet
“Now Know” — Solar Portal
“All Limbs Are” — Arms
“Readying to Rise” — Legs
“Dancing the Animal” — Mind/Brain“With Others” — Ears

Spalding writes of the inspiration for the album: "Can I harness these 12 little sensation-revelations into sounds, words, imagery, and performance that activates this healing, tingling effect in others?  I’m gonna go ahead and assume: yes…"

Holter and Spalding's albums are both transporting and transformative. There's so much to dig into, I'm sure I'll still be discovering new things in both of them for months to come.

Favorite Albums of 2017

This list is not a "top ten" per se, but rather a discussion of my favorite albums this year, grouped for their sonic affinities.

Zola Jesus's Conatus made my favorite album list back in 2011, the first year I compiled such a list. 2017's Okovi is an existential cry, a declaration of life determined to live, and sometimes determined to die. It's completely visceral. Nicole Hummel's voice speeds though your veins and resonates in your fascia and marrow. Completely intense, and definitely not an everyday listen. When you go there, be prepared to go there.

Ifriqiyya Electrique describe themselves as "post-industrial ritual" in which the ritual songs of the Banga community of southern Tunisia meet European electronics and amps. Rûwâhîne records Banga musicians performing songs from the annual Sidi Marzûq festival, adding on guitars, bass, and electronics. The music, "adorcist" rather than exorcist in nature, induces possession and trance in its practitioners, and having felt it's influence on my own body, I suspect it could do the same for listeners of the album. One reviewer wrote, "To be honest I can’t work out if this is sacrilege or genius." I completely agree. In any case, it's compelling music, unlike anything I've ever heard before. 

I played Boris' Dear in its entirety for a butoh workshop I gave at Alfred University this fall. At the end of the workshop, a couple of students asked in wonder, "what was that?" That, my friends, was the sludgy sounds of the amazing Boris. Like swimming through sound, dancing through distortion, listening to Boris is a full-bodied experience. That they are still producing such urgent and relevant - and revelatory - sounds 25 years in is something to be celebrated.

EMA's Exile in the Outer Ring is her third album, and her third album to make my end of year music lists. Each album she records (and each song on each album) builds a world - both futurist and firmly in the now, fantastic and based in experience - that feels both real and otherworldly. The world she builds on Exile is one of middle American discontent and alienation ("the Outer Ring") singer Erika M. Anderson knows all too well from growing up in South Dakota. It's a frightening dystopia, but one that EMA doesn't just portray; rather she actively engages it, though quite frankly her prognosis is not good. Really just read this excellent review on Pitchfork by Judy Berman; I can't say it any better than her.

Jesca Hoop's Memories are Now grabbed me the first time I heard it and hasn't let go. Her sound has been described as experimental folk, and Tom Waites was an early mentor (she was his kids' nanny!). She employs delicious and surprising layers of her own voice, guitar, and percussive sounds to produce songs both languid and restless. Deceptively simple, sometime strange, and definitely singular.

Rhiannon Giddens' excellent Freedom Highway, an album of mostly originals that follows up her previous largely covers record, Tomorrow is My Turn (also a year end favorite of mine), takes the listener on a journey of the struggle for black civil rights in the United States. The stakes of the album are starkly illustrated in the liner notes with a reproduction of a slavery sale notice offering a "negro wench" who has a 9 month old child, available "at the purchaser's option." The opening track takes its title from that notice, and ends with the chilling line, "My fingers bleed to make you rich." The album closes with the Pops Staples classic from which the album takes its' name. When Rhiannon Giddens sings - with that voice! - the closing lines to "Freedom Highway," it seems that the 1965 lyrics were written just this year: "The whole wide world is wonderin’/What’s wrong with the United States/Yes, we want peace/If it can be found/We’re marching the freedom highway/And we’re not gonna turn around."

Valerie June's voice, in a completely different way than Rhiannon Giddens, is what first attracted me to her. I loved "Someone to Love" off of her previous album, Pushing a Stone (2013), but I hadn't listened to a full album of hers until this year's The Order of Time, which has a timeless yet unique feel. It's lush, a bit fuzzed out on the edges, "ethereal" according to a number of music critics. A gorgeous and transformative listen.

Miss Eaves' Feminasty is fearlessly feminist, sex positive, body positive, even food positive. She's sharp and witty as she handily takes down internet trolls and street harassers, dancing the whole time. Most of all she's a woman who's fully in control: of her music, her image, her body, her orgasms (and there's a lot on this album!). Audre Lorde would be proud. Who says feminism isn't fun?

I discovered Priests last year via their 2014 EP Bodies and Control and Money and Power. I loved their combination of Selene Vigil-esque vocals over complex DC punk melodies. I eagerly awaited Nothing Feels Natural, and was not disappointed. Though it's their first proper album, Nothing Feels Natural is not just a response to the (Trump) times. Rather, it's a reflection of what the band has been singing about since its' founding in 2012. The times just mean that people are more willing to hear what they have to say.

I admit it. I first hear Downtown Boys' Cost of Living on an episode of Intercepted. I'd heard a track or two from their 2015 release Full Communism, but they weren't fully on my radar until I heard singer Victoria Ruiz talk about how her lyrics on this new album were influenced by Assata Shakur and Nina Simone (via Hair). The album is a bilingual Chicana punk manual for how to survive white supremacy, neo-imperialism, and toxic masculinity. Oh, and it fucking rocks. What more do you need?

***

Of course lists like this are completely subjective and partial. My perennial favorites Laura Marling (Semper Femina) and Colin Stetson (All This I Did for Glory) didn't make the list, but easily could have. I also loved the following albums this year, but apparently not quite enough to make the cut off: Hurray for the Riff Raff's ambitious The Navigator ("Palante" is a must listen if you haven't heard it yet), St. Vincent's more electronic yet more vulnerable Masseduction, Margo Price's sophomore success All American Made, Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit's The Nashville Sound, Robert Plant's Carry Fire, Systema Solar's very fun (and environmentally conscious) Rumbo a Tierra, and The Black Angels' Death Song. And what about that Sleater-Kinney live album?! And then there's Juana Molina's Halo and Perfume Genius' No Shape, neither of which I gave a proper chance. Ultimately, I guess that's a good thing, to a have a year in which there was no end to good music.

Favorite Songs of 2017

For me, "favorite songs" is truly a separate category from "favorite albums." My favorite songs each year tend to be fluffy-ish one-offs, things I hear and enjoy completely separate from an album listening experience. These songs can and do stand alone. That said, covers often end up on my favorite song lists, and this year is no exception. 

If I had to pick just one song this year, it would be Mac McCaughan's "Happy New Year (Prince Can't Die Again)." The song was recorded at the end of 2016 and released on inauguration day 2017 on Battle Hymns, a compilation ("it is a protest record!") assembled by Quasi with all proceeds split between Planned Parenthood, the ACLU, and 350.org. McCaughan's song is the perfect combination of a "fuck you!" to the shitty year that was 2016 ("Oh, it was a year when everybody died/And it was a year when the adults and children cried/For the loss of their hope, for the loss of their youth") and a call to gather,  celebrate what we can (even if it's only that we can't lose beloved artists a second time), and organize. True, the song's dire predictions for 2017 didn't all yet come true (the sun has not yet turned us all to sand, after all), but a year later, it still feels like a bittersweet balm.

Kevin Morby's "1234" is an original song that manages to cite The Ramones' entire oeuvre  as well as The Jim Carroll Band's "People Who Died." Like McCaughan's song, Morby's is an ebullient downer, but all the more profound for that combination. 

Kris Kristofferson's "Turpentine," the stand out track on the excellent Cover Stories: Brandi Carlile Celebrates 10 Years of The Story, is quite simply crushing. Like Johnny Cash's cover of "Hurt," Kristofferson takes a younger person's song about the loss of a relationship and imbues it with the profundity of age and experience. When he sings, "But I'm warning you we're growing up," your heart just cracks open.

Mountain Man's cover of "Love Hurts" on the Our First 100 Days compilation (released on Bandcamp as "One hundred songs that inspire progress and benefit a cause for change") is not terribly profound. But it does what a cover song can do best - offer a new way in to a familiar song, and open up new possibilities for it. (Grandaddy also released a "Love Hurts" cover on the solid Resistance Radio: The Man in the High Castle Album.)

In her surprise release, "I'm Better," Missy Elliot asserts in her signature flow the joy of having come through something - a physical illness? a depression? - and out the other side. When collaborator Lamb intones, "It's another day, another chance/I wake up, I wanna dance/So as long as I got my friends/I'm better, I'm better, I'm better," it's a reminder, not unlike McCaughan's, that reaching out to friends and not isolating is key to getting through whatever it is that ails you (or the country, as it were). Of course the rest of the song is full of braggadocio of the sexual and material success kind (the remix featuring Lil' Kim, Eve, and Trina elevates this even further), but ultimately the song celebrates having survived, a hope I could certainly use this year.

Mitski's "Fireproof," like Mountain Man's "Love Hurts," is on the Our First 100 Days compilation. When I first heard it, I thought it was a good pop song, and then when I heard it was a One Direction cover, I was even more intrigued. In an oft-quoted Billboard interview, the indie rocker said, “We seem to de-legitimize music that has a majority of young girl fans and think of it as having less cultural value.” Her cover mines the song for its pop gold and turns it into 1:49 minutes of fuzzy, pop bliss.

We Must Do More Than Survive

As we enter this new era of the unknown today, we must do more than survive.

We must resist, certainly. We must refuse to capitulate. And of course we must organize, continue organizing. 

But it is also urgent in this time that we live. We must laugh and make art and good food and share it with others. We must grow things, and teach and learn. We must nurture one another. We must function as much as possible in alternative economies. We must analyze our histories so we can imagine new futures. We must resist the impulse to isolate, and challenge ourselves to connect even when it is hard; especially when it is hard. We must train for strength and endurance and find joy in our bodies as we do so. We must insist on our ideals. And we must love. And turn up the volume. And write. And dance.*

Let's get to work.

*Even though Emma Goldman never actually said, "If I can't dance, I don't want to be part of your revolution," what she did say is almost better.

2016 Albums to Help Us Navigate and Survive the Coming Times

This is not a year for the typical Top 10 music list. Rather these are the albums that I think have something we need as we head into the unknown: a way to mark our path ("Lay the breadcrumbs down so we can find our way"), a promise ("Little bird grew big wings"), and solidarity in our despairing, "What will become of us?" Here is the co-existence of our destruction and our hope, our retribution and our dreaming, our medicine and yes our lemonade, our guide to creating new and just formations.
Listen here or find these via your favorite listening channels:
Tanya Tagaq "Sulfur" from Retribution PJ Harvey "River Anacostia" from Hope Six Demolition Project ANOHNI "Hopelessness" from Hopelessness Courtney Marie Andrews "Rookie Dreaming" from An Honest Life Solange "Rise" from A Seat at the Table Y La Bamba "Ojos del Sol" from Ojos del Sol Laura Mvula "Bread" from The Dreaming Room Angelica Garcia "Little Bird" from Medicine for Birds The Julie Ruin "Hello Trust No One" from Hit Reset Fea "Feminazi" from Fea Beyonce "Formation" from Lemonade Tanya Tagaq "Retribution" from Retribution