Best of 2022

During the heart of the COVID-19 pandemic, back in late 2020/early 2021, I started to wonder how living through such a life-altering event would affect the media we consume. Having already seen how movies, TV, music, and books were changed after some of the major events of my lifetime, like the Cold War ending, 9/11, and the Great Recession, I saw the inevitable return to a "new normal" not with trepidation but with keen interest. What would the artists who lived through this period have to say about it, and what would we as their audience respond to and identify with?

Now firmly entrenched in my 40s and falling further and further away from the crux of pop culture, I no longer feel the need to keep my fingers on the pulse of every little thing. It's freeing, really, to no longer be in the crosshairs of marketing and advertising campaigns. I can sit back and watch new TV shows come and go, knowing that most of the characters I see on the screen have not been created to appeal to me. Movie trailers all seem over the top and silly now that they're not tuned to get my 18 to 35 year old heart pounding. And pop music, well, pop music and I had a falling out long ago. Whenever we have a chance encounter, I’m quickly reminded of why I moved on to other things. (Yes, that means I haven’t listened to the new Taylor Swift album. Sue me.)

But what I have seen from the more indie/alternative side of music in the past year has been interesting. The '90s are making a big comeback, for one. I'm a fan of this simply because being able to rock out like I'm 16 again is a fun departure from the reality of being 43. I've managed to mostly brush aside the uncomfortable truth that the people making these albums are the offspring of my fellow Gen Xers. It just gets in the way of enjoying their take on the formative music of my youth. At the same time, I've noticed more older-than-average artists (see: people around my age) making their musical debuts or revitalizing their careers, which is always a blast to see. I also noticed plenty of experimentation and expansion of sounds from some established artists, fueled by what feels like a sense of "hey, why not?" that definitely feels heightened at this moment. The world is all topsy-turvy and on the precipice of…something, so why not go for broke? Why not try something new? That sort of artistic expression has always fascinated me, simply because of the wild creativity and experimentation that accompany it can reveal some pretty amazing things.

As for myself, I’ve grown tired of the hamster wheel feel of collecting the newest and latest hot single or artist of the month. Truth be told, I was starting to feel more worried about keeping up and less about actually enjoying what I was listening to. I had become a collector of shiny baubles doomed to collect digital dust, falling further and further down my “recently added” list. The music didn’t wash over me so much as rush by.

I still keep an eye out for stuff that might blow my hair back, but I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m becoming one of those people who describes actors as “you know, that gal from the show from the 2000s. The brunette. You know the show. They hang out in a bowling alley a lot…its the one with Brody from Mallrats in it.” I can’t - and don’t want to - keep up with every bit of media ephemera. The world is rolling along just fine without needing to appeal to me, and that’s okay. I think that my listening habits from the past year pretty accurately reflect that change. There are some nostalgic faves (Spoon, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Hurray for the Riff Raff), more recent artists that I can’t help but enjoy (Sudan Archives, The Beths, gang of youths), and newer artists who I’m just now discovering (Denzel Curry, Willi Carlisle, Personal Trainer).

Plenty of my favorite albums either obliquely or directly address the unpleasant uncertainty of the past few years, but they’re all shaped by it in some way - and that’s where I am at, as well. Changed in ways both big and small and trying to see the path forward through the chaos of the present. When it came time to come up with my favorite album of the year, the answer was surprisingly easy to come by. Most years, it’s a such a struggle that I don’t even bother to mention my unequivocal top album, falling back on a non-numerical list to avoid tipping my consistently undecided hand. When I looked back at the artist that I returned to the most not just over the past year, but over the past few years, Bartees Strange came up every time.

Truly a pandemic success story, his excellent debut full-length, “Live Forever,” came out in 2020 to minor acclaim. As bands slowly returned to touring, he started to make a name for himself as an opening act. His 2022 release, “Farm to Table,” is incredibly present in the current moment. Strange veers from bedroom confessionals to soaring guitar anthems to synth-drenched hip-hop so seamlessly - a true child of the past 30 years of music. His songs, while catchy and anthemic, are very grounded in real experiences that aren’t just relatable but essential. “Farm to Table” is an album filled with songs about coming to terms with newfound success (Heavy Heart, Cosigns), new experiences that didn’t always live up to expectations (Mullholland Dr, We Were Only Close for Like Two Weeks), and the harsh reality of being black in America (Hold the Line, Hennessy). It is an album of the times we are all living through and it’s gorgeous and uplifting and sad one of the best things I’ve heard all year.

His name is Bartees Motherfucking Strange, and you better not forget it.

The rest of my Top Ten is a real grab bag of goodness. Here it is in no particular order:

Hurray for the Riff Raff - Life on Earth

Gang of Youths - Angel in Realtime

Spoon - Lucifer on the Sofa

Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Cool It Down

Willi Carlisle - Peculiar, Missouri

Kennebec - Without Star or Compass

Personal Trainer - Big Love Blanket

Denzel Curry - Melt My Eyes See Your Future

Danielle Ponder - Some of Us Are Brave

And here are some of the albums that just missed the cut!

Steve Lacy - Gemini Rights

Momma - Household Name

Makaya McCraven - In These Times

The Beths - Expert in a Dying Field

Toro Y Moi - MAHAL

Pillow Queens - Leave the Light On

Wet Leg - Wet Leg

Guerilla Toss - Famously Alive

Alvvays - Blue Rev

Sharon Van Etten - We've Been Going About This All Wrong

Carson McHone - Still Life

And, if all of that isn’t enough, here’s a playlist of my 50 favorite songs from 2022!

Missing Osito

This month, we visited Guemes Island, a little speck in the San Juans that we’ve frequented for over a decade. Situated on the northern shore of the island, the Guemes Island Resort is an old fishing resort from the 1940s that retains much of that rustic charm. Setting foot on Guemes is like stepping back in time. The top speed limit is a modest 35 on the handful of roads that criss-cross Guemes’ eight or so square miles. Farmland, orchards, and livestock intermingle with vacation homes. The center of the island contains a church, a community center, and a general store and not much else.

Guemes is nicknamed Dog Island. Partly because of an extinct dog bred by the native Salish people that ran wild on the island in the early days of white settlement, but also because so many residents who do own dogs let them to roam free around the small island. You would see them frequently - dogs of all sizes and shapes, collars dangling from their necks, trotting down Edens or Guemes Island Road, or out along one of the perimeter Shore Roads. Most are friendly and will take a scratch or two from strangers. Others walk on by, content to go about their own business.

In kind, the Guemes Island Resort welcomes dogs and allows them to roam around the property. As long as you pick up after your dog and they don’t get too rowdy, dogs have the run of the resort. It’s a big part of the reason we have made so many wonderful memories there over the years. We roam free - hiking, kayaking, lounging, beach-combing - and our dogs do, too. No leashes or worries about traffic and sidewalks. Just lazy roads, friendly people, and a laid-back life.

When we first visited Guemes in 2009, our first pack, Marley and Fargo, were in their prime. Marley a hale seven, silver just starting to show amongst her black cords. Fargo was an always energized five years old, at his spastic peak. Marley was an indomitable force in our lives from the moment we met her. Smart and fiercely protective, she was our constant companion. Her little half-brother, Fargo, with his goofball personality, complimented her perfectly. They were both family, but Marley was special. She was a bright, burning ember whose glow long outlasted her flame. They both loved running free and taking in the salty air.

There were always other dogs around. Other visitors’ dogs, mostly. The resort is tucked away in the northwest corner of the island, so the resident wandering dogs only made occasional appearances. But on our second trip, that changed.

We arrived that time to find the resort bustling with construction. Three new cabins were being built behind the original, rustic row of low-slung fishing cabins. These new cabins stood on stilts to see over top of the old cabins and would have steam showers and hot tubs once finished. We preferred the yurts nestled in the hillside above the resort, but these looked like they would be really nice.

After checking in, we came out of the office to see an all-white, husky-type dog next to our car, very interested in our pups. Pulis aren’t a common breed, and other dogs are often just as baffled by their appearance as their owners. He followed us all the way up to our yurt, sitting respectfully to the side as we unloaded and settled in.

We walked back down to the main beach area of the resort. The white dog again followed close behind. He simply would not leave Marley alone.

Soon we found out that he belonged to one of the contractors working on the new cabins. The contractor was an island resident and his dog simply followed him to work every day to hang out, presumably because that’s where the action was. His name was Osito, meaning “little bear” or “teddy bear.” Osito had a real, immediate interest in Marley.

He frolicked in front of her, dashed around trying to get her attention, and sat ever so perfectly trying to win her favor. Marley was having none of it. She didn’t chase him off or bark or growl. She just ignored him. He could be sitting inches away from her, desperately hoping for just a glance in his direction.

Marley wasn’t stone-hearted, necessarily. She was just one of those odd dogs who never really cared about other dogs. She wasn’t afraid of them. She didn’t really avoid them. She just didn’t care about them. When we took Marley to dog parks as a puppy for socialization, she would take a single lap around the park and end up right back at the picnic table, taking a seat next to us. Marley thought she was human and didn’t understand why we expected her to associate with dogs.

Osito didn’t give up easily, though. In fact, for the next four years when we came to the resort, he was still there, still smitten. Once we arrived, it was a matter of time before Osito found us. He would follow Marley around until his owner packed up for the day and headed home. Some mornings he would even be sitting on the deck outside our yurt, waiting for his love to wake. He was obedient and respectful. The only thing he wouldn’t respond to was any command to get away from Marley. He was always by her side.

Osito and Marley's first meeting - August 2009

Osito greeting us one morning - 2010

Porch hang - 2010

Unrequited love - 2011

Beach hang - 2013

Marley and Osito on the beach - 2013

A couple years later, Marley got cancer. She beat it, but slowly lost her sight as a result. He seemed to sense that something was different in her and became more gentle. He would follow from a careful distance as she made her way over driftwood piles and around boats pulled up on shore, making sure to stay out of her way. He would also sit a little closer than he used to, probably because he knew he could get away with it. Marley even seemed to soften and was more welcoming of his attention. She was a tough nut to crack, but once she accepted you, you were family. I don’t know that she ever considered Osito “family,” but she definitely came to expect his presence.

Marley was sick and fragile on her very last trip to Guemes. It was winter. The new cabins had all been built. Other construction and repair work around the resort was over. Osito was nowhere to be found. We were sad, but knew that his presence at that point would only stress a very much reduced Marley. We also knew it would be her last visit and did all we could to make it a good one. In a way, not having Osito around made things a little easier. Still, it was hard to accept that Marley’s verve was fading and that her love had moved on.

After Marley passed, we didn’t visit Guemes for a few years. Life got busy. But we also were reticent to visit without Marley, worried that the magic of the place wouldn’t be quite the same. As the years went by, we assumed that Osito had also passed on, joining his unrequited love. See, despite spending all that time with him, we had no idea how old Osito was. He looked mature the first time we met him, but with an unknown dog, that doesn’t really narrow their age down too much. He could have been a young pup or middle-aged.

Marley’s little brother, Fargo, accompanied us on one more trip to the island. That was also the first trip for our new puppy, an energetic little girl named Sammy. Once again, no Osito.

After Fargo passed, Sammy was a singleton for awhile before we got our newest pup, Oslo. He has become the Fargo to her Marley in our second pack. Their relationship, which is still a work-in-progress, is a vastly different one. Oslo is a calm, goofy, affectionate little bull of a guy, not the affable, ADD-addled runt that Fargo was. Sammy is neurotic and controlling - as was Marley - but she lacks the confidence and smarts of her predecessor. They’re an interesting mix and they are both learning to love Guemes just like Marley and Fargo did. They stir up little echoes of our past in the present. Rekindling good memories while making new ones. Time rolls on.

There are fewer dogs roaming the island nowadays. With the new development of homes and increased population and popularity I guess come more restrictions for our four-legged friends. They’re still around, though, if you look for them.

While chatting up one of the resort owners during our most recent trip, Sara mentioned the white dog that was so smitten with our Marley years ago. The owner perked up and blurted out “That must’ve been Osito! He’s still around, you know…”

We didn’t know. We hadn’t even guessed.

She went on to tell Sara that he still wanders around the island from time to time. But Osito is getting old. His body won’t let him trot for miles and miles like it used to. The Island residents know him well. Sometimes, when folks find him tired or looking a little lost, she said, they pick him up and give him a ride back home. When I was growing up in a rural farm community, we called that sort of thing “being neighborly.”

We were struck to find out that Marley’s boyfriend was still kicking around. We thought he was somewhat close to Marley’s age, which was why we assumed he had died. But the resort owner said he was barely more than a puppy when we first met him, meaning Osito is in his early teens now. Which still makes him pretty old for a husky dog.

We had mythologized Osito so much since we last saw him that it hardly seemed like he could still be real. His love for Marley was central to so many of our stories about Guemes. We both loved sharing how he followed Marley and waited patiently for his desire to be acknowledged. He had hung out with us for hours at a time, going on long beach walks and sitting with us as we lounged on driftwood and stared at the waves. At some point, we forgot his name and resorted to calling him “Marley’s island boyfriend.”

There’s a saying I’ve always appreciated, and goes something like this - each of us die two deaths: one when our physical body ceases to function and a second when our names are spoken for the last time. For years after Marley died, I took solace in the dogs that “knew” her. Fargo was that touchstone for a few years. Our friend Laura’s border collie, Pookah, Marley’s companion for many a lake hang and country party, was another. Once she was gone, though, we assumed there were no more dogs who would hold a memory of her. It sounds silly, I know, finding comfort in the presence of dogs simply because they had been around our dog while she lived. But they were little furry connections to a time and place where she was still a part of our family, little reminders of the joy that Marley had brought us and the life that we all shared together.

Then we found out about Osito. He is now the last companion of Marley’s still alive. Our last, tenuous point of contact. Of course there is no way for him to impart his memories of Marley to us. He can’t relate his affection toward her or even speak her name one last time to keep her memory alive among his canine brethren. He likely doesn’t even remember us as the humans who indulged his quixotic search for love. But if I know anything in this world, it’s that she’s still alive in his heart. Maybe just as a trace memory of her scent, or a flickering memory of the way her cords flew when she dashed around in front of him.

Just knowing that he’s out there was comforting. I’ve never seen a dog so immediately devoted to another the way Osito was with Marley. I doubt I ever will. I hope that we get to see him one more time before he, too, is gone. I want to look into his bright brown eyes, stroke his fur, and remember the good times we shared all those years ago.

Our last night on the island, we hiked up Guemes Mountain to catch sunset. It’s on the opposite side from the resort, and gives a wonderful view of Guemes as the sun sets over the rest of the San Juan Islands. It had been a good trip. A welcome respite from a year that has long since spiraled out of control. On the hike up, my mind kept going back to memories of Marley and her boyfriend. I found myself wondering what kind of life he ended up having, if his owner was good to him, if he sired any pups, if he ever wandered up the trail to the top of Guemes mountain during his jaunts around the island.

After making our way back down from the summit in the growing dark, we drove back on quiet, mostly empty roads. When we turned onto Guemes Island Road, we noticed a car stopped in the opposite lane, lights on, driver-side window rolled down. As we slowly drove by, Sara spotted a dog next to the car. A white one, tall and husky-ish. It was hard to tell for sure in the moment, but the more we thought about it, the more obvious it was. Our old friend must have been out for an evening stroll when someone decided to be neighborly. Osito was getting a ride home.

Osito on the beach - 2011

Favorite Albums of 2019

As I write this, I’m listening to Brittany Howard's stellar solo debut, Jaimie. Like it’s creator, it is singular and captivating. A true one-of-a-kind document. It stands on stage and commands your attention. It’s righteous, it parties, it chills, it rages, and it absolutely breaks your heart. All of the formidable talent that Howard showcased with Alabama Shakes is unleashed in full, and it is formidable. Jaime is genre-less and adheres to no I don’t envy her for having to follow-up such an incredible album. Taken as a whole, it’s my favorite of the year.

After that, it gets really tough to distinguish any sort of order.

Sharon Van Etten - Remind Me Tomorrow is simultaneously epic and intimate, which has always kind of been her specialty. Her turn toward a more synth-heavy sound that sounds like second nature on first blush. If Seventeen isn’t my song of the year, then I don’t have one. I’ve heard it dozens of times now and the hairs on the back of my neck still stand on end when she unleashes the “afraid that you’ll be just like me” crescendo. Although, when I caught her live at the Crystal earlier this year and she opened the show with a jaw dropping take on Jupiter 4 that was absolutely incredible. It’s so good to have Sharon back making music.

Actually, both of these albums highlight one of my favorite themes of my year in music - being pleasantly surprised by albums. So many of the artists that I was looking forward to hearing from this past year surprised in one way or another. Whether they expanded their sound, exceeded expectations, or showed a new side of themselves - there were a lot of new paths being taken and it was a pleasure to listen to.

That said, why not just get right to the most off-the-wall release of the year, Sturgill Simpson - Sound and Fury. It’s gritty, grimy, surprisingly danceable, and catchy AF. It’s the musical equivalent of giving a honky tonk band ecstasy and acid and letting them loose in the studio filled with black coffee, whiskey and effects pedals, with the best imaginable results. The anime short that it was released with is a thing in and of itself, despite being the last thing I’d expect from an ostensible country music artist. But when you look at the persona that Sturgill Simpson has cultivated over the years, it fits like a glove. In the the same way, the record itself is a sonic 180 from his last release, A Sailor’s Guide to Earth, which itself was a detour from Metamodern Sounds in Country Music. Sturgill is so steeped in country that he obviously feels comfortable expanding its definition to meet whatever he has in mind. So far, it’s working like gangbusters.

Robert Ellis is a singer-songwriter that I've been tracking for a few years now. He’s one of those “in a parallel universe, this person is insanely famous and successful” artists, and Texas Piano Man is another prime example of that. His smart, clever lyrics and finely-crafted songs are criminally under appreciated. While not groundbreaking in style or substance, it is nonetheless a front-to-back excellent album. He veers from wry humor (Fucking Crazy, Nobody Smokes Anymore, Passive Aggressive, Toro Chico) to beautiful examinations of the human experience (Aren’t We Supposed to Be in Love, Let Me In, Father) without batting an eye. It’s an impressive trick to make them all work together on the same album, but Ellis pulls it off in his blazing white suit with tails.

I honestly can’t remember when or where I first heard of Madlib, but I know that at the time he wasn’t even close to on my radar. He hasn't strayed far from it since. I’ve had his masterful reworking of old Blue Note jazz recordings, Shades of Blue, in rotation for years. With Freddie Gibbs I’m the opposite. I’m sure I’ve seen his name over the years, but I can’t recall where. Regardless, if it’s a Madlib album, I’m always going to at least give it a spin, and in the case of Bandana, it hits just right. Gibbs’ lyricism is often brutal, both in context and structure. The juxtaposing it with Madlib’s incredibly smooth beats is delicious, like pairing salty and sweet. If you don’t believe me, check out the best Tiny Desk Concert of 2019 (which is really saying something, given the year they’ve had!) -

There is forever a spot in my heart for ratty jacket and worn jeans rock records that are filled with good hooks, and this year Stef Chura - Midnight slotted into that spot perfectly. This album could’ve come out in 1993 and ruled MTV’s Buzz Bin and 120 Minutes. (If you’re old enough to know that that meant something) Despite a very strong opening, with the jaunty All I Do Is Lie, it manages to get better as it goes on. The building tension of Sincerely Yours and 3D Girl cathartically release in the shambolic Sweet Sweet Midnight is a prime example. Midnight is filled with songs that play off of each other and build on each other’s energy in that way that some albums inexplicably do. It just works.

Sometimes, you just want to sit back and vibe out to some bouncy bass lines, buoyant strings, soulful horns, and a smooth, crooning voice. Iceland native Junius Meyvant has you covered, serving up a heaping helping of blue-eyed soul on Across the Borders, his most complete album yet. Excellently produced and incredibly tight throughout, it floats above the cares of the world instead of addressing them head-on. When the world is on fire and all you want to do is get away from it, you can count on the native of an island that’s about as disconnected from the rest of the world as you can get to deliver.

Speaking of getting away from it all, let's head up to the Northwest Territories of Canada, north of Yellowknife, atop Great Slave Lake. Just to find someplace quiet and peaceful and sit. That’s exactly what I want to do when I listen to Yellowstone, the achingly honest album by Digawolf. Lead singer, guitarist, and songwriter, Diga, is a member of the Tlicho nation in Canada’s Northwest Territories. After starting things off with a stomping rocker By the Water, the album quickly mellows. Songs like Northern Love Affair and the title track, Yellowstone, are soaked through with the harsh beauty and icy mystery of the far north. “Touch my soul and I’m forever yours / I will dream a thousand years just to walk with you” is a line that speaks to anyone who has a homeplace that holds their heart, regardless of how far away or long ago.

Chaz Bear (ne’ Budnick), the mastermind behind Toro y Moi, has always been blessed with the ability to conjure a killer bassline or catchy back beat. Despite that, most of his releases since 2010’s Causers of This and its follow up, Underneath the Pine, have been uneven. Outer Peace is one of his best outings in years. The songwriting is crisp and clever, the production is on-point from start to finish.

Timothy Showalter’s career as Strand of Oaks has been one wild ride. From self-releasing contemplative, quiet folk records to releasing two of the better rock albums of the past decade in 2014’s HEAL and last year’s stellar comeback, Eraserland, he has remade himself and rebooted his career more than a few times over the years. Eraserland sees him staring down 40, surrounded by friends like Jason Isbell and most of My Morning Jacket, making some of the most accessible rock and roll since Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers were in their prime.

So that’s the top ten. But there were so many albums and artists this year that put out some really good music. Narrowing them down is such a tough thing to do. If I had put this list together a month ago, or if I was in a slightly different mood, it could’ve been vastly different. That’s true every year, but it feels especially so in 2019. These albums were also very good and well worth your time.

Sudan Archives - Athena

Spielbergs - This is Not the End

Control Top - Covert Contracts

Anna Tivel - The Question

Apex Manor - Asked and Answered

Saul Williams - Encrypted and Vulnerable

Lizzo - Cuz I Love You

Jenny Lewis - On the Line

Favorite Albums of 2018

It’s 2019, people! We are living in the future. Exciting, right? Doesn’t it feel like just last year it was 2011? No? Just me? And I suppose I’m the only one making “1999 was only ten years ago” mistakes, too, huh?

2019 is a year that seemed impossible to me when I was a child growing up in the ’80s. The 2000s I could kinda picture. It’s hard not to think ahead a few years when Prince is singing about 1999 from every stereo around you. Beyond that seemed like a no-man’s land, though. Are you familiar the oldie “In the Year 2525” by Zager and Evans? Probably not. Here, check this out

Strangely dark for a summer Billboard chart topper, right? In 1969, no less. I listened almost exclusively to oldies radio as a kid, and that song was heavy in my local station’s rotation, so I heard it often. Whenever I thought about a time past the year 2000, that’s exactly what it felt like — some far-off date in the future when humanity and the world we’ve created are barely recognizable. And now here we are. Things pretty much the same, only we zip around on e-scooters. What a time to be alive.

If you’re anything like me, you’ve waded through dozens of Best Of, Top This, and Best That lists over the past few months. Pile those on top of the Most Anticipated This, That, and the Other lists and it can be exhausting just trying to comprehend what the hell happened in 2018. Like most years, I’m not sure if I managed to have my finger on the pulse of every great piece of pop culture, or if I missed everything that really mattered and should take some time to re-evaluate my life.

Typically, I would have been right there in the middle of those glossy lists, trotting out my own humble favorites on my scrap of the internet before the calendar turns over. I’ve been doing it in one form or another since 2002. It all started when some friends and I sat down in the control room of our college radio station to discuss our top albums of the year, which of course sprawled into a multi-hour argument about music and pop culture that, surprisingly, still makes me laugh when I listen back to it today. I even flew back from Portland the next year to do it again. The year after that, I called in on a very dodgy early version of Skype the year after that. From then on, it’s been strictly a blog thing.

Like the other list-makers, the schedule had become second-nature. I start thinking about what albums are first half of the year contenders over Memorial Day weekend, and then start contemplating my full list over Thanksgiving weekend.

This year, though, I decided to wait.

It never occurred to me to wait until someone I follow on Twitter wrote that all of the year-end lists should come out not in November and December, but in January, after the year is actually over. That way you have more time to digest the year as a whole. It made such sense that I wondered why it had never occurred to me before.

Over and over, I’ve been burned by some album that I overlooked late in the year, only to have it crash into my orbit after I’ve posted my picks for the year. It’s happened almost every single year I’ve been at this.

The earliest one I remember well is an album by Tim Fite. He self-released Over the Counterculture on the internet way back in the halcyon days of 2006, when releasing albums online was still an oddity worth noting. I didn’t stumble upon it until after I’d published my list for that year and was so mad I ended up posting an addendum almost immediately. It’s a psych-folk hip-hop amalgamation that works better than that description would lead you to believe. You still can, and should, download it here. It’s a real time capsule of the aughts.

More recently, in 2017, I missed The Cribs’ excellently loud and grimy 24/7 Rockstar Shit and Autonomics’ power-pop gem Debt Sounds, and spent all of January and most of last February kicking myself over it. (and the rest of the year listening to them both over and over)

So this year, instead of cramming month’s worth of analysis and hand-wringing into a few frantic hours at the end of December, I waited.

I also listened more than I have in awhile. Casually, not critically. I got up and did stuff — cleaned the house, puttered around the yard, worked out, walked the dogs — it gave me another chance to live with that particular album in my head. I let my mind wander, remembering where I was when I first listened to it, how I felt, who I was with, what I was doing.

And that’s really how we enjoy music, isn’t it? Not for all of the rank and file aspects of who wrote what song or where the drum parts were recorded, or what label put it out. Sure, those tidbits help inform what it is and who created it. It fills out the narrative. But what really matters is how that particular album or song makes you feel. How you the fun little breakdown before the second chorus in song five makes your knees go weak every time. Or the way that the guitar shimmers on track seven puts an extra spring in your step. That amazing little bass line hiding just behind the guitars and organ on track nine is waiting to make you smile every time. And then there’s that contented feeling you get after the last song goes out on the perfect note. That’s what matters, how music can capture and cauterize a singular moment in your brain.

I’ve always loved the way that a single song, or album, or artist can transport me back to a moment so completely that I can almost taste and smell and feel it materialize around me. I even love it when it’s some ear worm-y song I never liked is forever stuck in my head, regardless. Like how Amy Grant songs takes me back to the early ’90s, laying around on Sunday mornings, reading my dad’s Time-Life The Old West books while listening to Casey Casem’s Top 40 Countdown. Y’know, normal kid stuff.

So what got stuck in my head, in a good way, from the past year? Let’s do a nice, sloppy, narrative list that follows no particular order and has no set amount of entries.

One album from this past year that really felt like an old staple right from the jump was Middle Kids’ debut LP, Lost Friends. I really enjoyed their eponymous 2017 EP and while Lost Friends isn’t perfect, it has a real electricity to it. Sara and I caught them at Mississippi Studios this past summer and left feeling like it had been our one chance to catch the band at an intimate venue before they come back to town headlining the Crystal Ballroom or opening for someone big at the Moda Center.

Jeff Rosenstock more or less opened 2018 with POST- (it came out on January 1st, 2018), his rollicking, cathartic follow-up to 2016’s over-stimulated /WORRY/. POST- is filled with sing-along choruses and enough energy to buoy even the weakest tracks, it’s as sloppy and fun as his live shows, and sometimes you just need that kind of album in your life.

Speaking of catharsis, IDLES’ Joy as an Act of Resistance takes a fistful of seething rage, beats it into a shiv, grabs another fistful of broken glass, and starts swinging wildly. There’s an almost gleeful anger to lead singer Joe Talbot’s lyricism that really strikes a chord with the general sense of unease that many are feeling nowadays. (hence the album title, I guess) /Joy as an Act of Resistance/ is barely-contained and righteous as fuck and its glorious.

I’ve always been a fan of confident women, and 2018 featured no shortage of great albums by talented women artists.

Dessa’s first new album in five years, Chime, only gets better upon repeat listens. I’ve never been a huge fan of melodic hip hop. Her thing isn’t usually my thing. But there’s a certain strut to this album that makes it so magnetic. Plus, she can really write (her first book came out last fall) and the production by the Doomtree crew is top notch.

The always amazing Neko Case dropped the captivating Hell-on, her first solo album in five years. What can I say about Neko? Ever since she stepped out from the shadow of the New Pornographers with her solo work — not an easy task, especially when she’s also a New Pornographer! — each album has been more entrancing, more fully realized, more impressive than the last. I don’t even know if I could pick my favorite song off of Hell-on. Each time I hear one, I have to listen to the rest.

Actually, I take that back, it’s Curse of the I-5 Corridor. Easily. But the rest are great, too.

Courtney Barnett’s second full-length, Tell me How You Really Feel, combines the best of power pop and grunge with prime Neil Young-ish song craft.

Mitski’s Be The Cowboy stole my heart. Kinda like this a cappella performance of Nobody steals your breath away -

Black Belt Eagle Scout’s Mother of My Children rocks me as much as it haunts me. I must have listened to the single, Soft Stud, a couple dozen times before the rest of the album was released.

Speaking of northwest locals, Laura Gibson, Laura Veirs, and Haley Heynderickx all released wonderful albums this year, too. Plus, there was also some really solid new music from Natalie Prass, Amanda Shires, Tune-Yards, Cat Power, Dream Wife, and Sudan Archives — and I KNOW that’s only a fraction of what I should be mentioning.

Basically, 2018 was awash in some great music made by really talented women.

Every year, I get caught up in a a little bit of jazz. My understanding of the intricacies of the genre isn’t as deep as my appreciation. I’ll never be able to tell you who was in Miles Davis’ second great quintet off of the top of my head, or be able to rattle off what genre of jazz an artist inhabits, but I know what I like when I hear it. Especially since whatever that “it” is tends to result in me listening to the album from front to back repeatedly.

Last spring, I stumbled upon Kamaal Williams’ debut, The Return. It’s a swirl of mellow and funky grooves, the kind of album I can just get lost in over and over.

Speaking of great grooves, Portland’s own 1939 Ensemble’s latest, New Cinema is percussive tour de force that stays int he pocket from start to finish. David, Jose, and the gang have always made compelling music, but /New Cinema/ feels like a big step forward.

I also really enjoyed R+R=Now’s Collagically Speaking and Kamasi Washington’s Heaven and Earth. They’re both as forward-thinking as anything out there right now.

So, did I use this lag in putting out my list to listen to some albums that I had missed during 2018? As a matter of fact, I did. Portland husband and wife duo bed. released their long-awaited debut, Replay, in December, and it does not disappoint. After roughly a dozen listens over the past month and a half, I’m pretty much in agreement with my buddy Jerad Walker over at opbmusic, who calls it a “shoegaze masterpiece.”

That extra time also gave me a chance to go back and give /Be the Cowboy/ another listen. I’m so glad I did. I don’t know if it got lost in the shuffle or what, but on second listen, it shined. That whole thing is its own mood.

I was blown away by *Dream Wife’s* self-titled debut. Alice Go’s guitar especially stands out. It’s edgy and staccato and brilliant. I’ll definitely be keeping an ear out for more from them.

Post Animal’s Shame has dipped in and out of my radar since it came out. So I took some time to dip back in. Psych rock has always been a fickle thing for me. Some days, I’m all about it. But on others, it’s the worst. Post Animal caught me on a good day, and not just because of their crazy-ass video for Gelatin Mode -

I took some more time to digest Ordinary Corrupt Human Love by shoegaze/metal band Deafheaven. It came out this past summer and scratched an itch I never know I had.

And I finally found time to sit down with the late Richard Swift’s posthumous The Hex, a jaunty, sweeping nugget of pop genius. It sounds far too alive for his passing to be true.

So that’s my year in music for 2018. Other stuff happened that I forgot to mention, like a bunch of sessions with opbmusic that you can check out over here, and some really good shows that showed up for from time to time.

2019 has already had a handful of solid albums come out. Sharon Van Etten, The Delines, and Aesop Rock have already graced us with some good music. I’m sure there’s much more to come as we continue on into the futuristic year 2019…

Favorite Albums of 2017

The end of the year is a little over a week away and 2017 is wrapping up just as I expected. I’m sitting here on the Friday before Christmas, scrambling to complete a list that I’ve had literally an entire year to put together.

Procrastination — 1 / Nate — 0.

Let me be honest from the jump — I didn’t pay nearly as much attention to music this year as I usually do. When I first took note of it earlier in the year, I assumed that the inevitable decline of interest had finally caught up with me in my late 30s. I’m talking about that point where people slowly give up trying to keep up with new music/film/TV and stick to more well-worn pathways.

But that’s not really it. Okay, maybe a little.

I have lost a step. That’s undeniable. The “new” bands that I’m “discovering” already have an album or a handful of EPs under their belt. The bleeding edge is beyond my reach. A couple of years ago, that would’ve bothered me.

The bigger reason is that my mind has been…preoccupied, to put it mildly. Turns out, its stressful to watch a vindictive bull stumble around a china shop (or a horse loose in a hospital, if you prefer) on a daily basis, especially when they’re the face of the country you love. More than that, though, it’s the constant lies and deceit.

When I get frustrated, depressed, or angry, I turn to music. It’s always been my safest refuge.

It wasn’t easy to keep up with all of the really strong albums that came out in 2017. There weren’t many that completely blew me away, but plenty grabbed my attention. To awkwardly slip into a baseball analogy — there were a lot of stand-up doubles this year, not many home runs.

Whittling down all of the albums and artists that I enjoyed was difficult. This could’ve easily been extended to a Top 15 or even Top 20. But again, procrastination wins. I’ll include some of the other albums I considered at the end, just to be safe.

Here’s my list, in no particular order.

Run the Jewels — RTJ3

Yeah, yeah, technically Mike and El dropped RTJ3 in December of 2016. But that was after I put out my 2016 list, so it has to be in this years’.

It’s not as classic as RTJ1 and it’s not as bombastic as RTJ2. But like those two albums, it matched the cultural moment almost perfectly, sliding seamlessly into the zeitgeist.

It also helps to have the best producer working in hip hop today. El-P has been on a completely different level for well over a decade. Teaming up with Killer Mike just put him over the top. Every track crackles and thumps and turns your head.

Alvvays — Antisocialites

This album makes me ache for my youth. The gauzy pop hooks that surround Molly Rankin’s breezily direct delivery take me back to any summer evening between the ages of 16 and 24. Right in that moment before the last rays of the day bleed out of the sky, when the smell of dew in the air is intoxicating.

There’s aching and longing here. “Don’t sit by the phone for me / wait at home for me / all alone for me / your face was supposed to be hanging over me like a rosary / so morose for me / seeing ghosts of me / writing oaths for me” But Rankin doesn’t bask in it so much as exorcise it.

Antisocialites is one of those albums that bears repeated listens. I love that more and more bands these days are putting effort into crafting full albums, instead of a few singles with some slop slapped around it. And *Alvvays* has created — both sonically and lyrically — a wonderful album.

Priests — Nothing Feels Natural

You ever see a band live that blows you away so completely that their album is a letdown to listen to afterwards? Not because the album sounds bad, but because the band was so incredibly locked in and the vibe in the room was perfect.

Sara and I saw *Priests* at a small art-house show back in January and that’s exactly how it went down. Nothing Feels Natural is a fantastic, taut, raucous album. It’s incredibly poised for a full-length debut. But it doesn’t match how great they are live. Go see *Priests*. Now.

Kendrick Lamar — DAMN

We already knew that Kendrick Lamar was a powerhouse storyteller. Good Kid M.A.A.D. City taught us that. And we knew he wasn’t afraid to expand his sound after To Pimp A Butterfly blew our minds.

But Lamar has honed himself to an even finer edge on DAMN. It’s more raw, more urgent. This is the sound of pretense being set to the side so real shit can be heard loud and clear.

The National — Sleep Well Beast

*The National* are a band best heard in small, partially underground clubs. Some place that’s a mirror of their sound — part jazz club, part industrial space where the thundering drums echo for days.

You can hear it from the opening notes of “Nobody Else Will Be There,” dark and dusty and sensual as ever.

Sleep Well Beast is a return to the more claustrophobic sound of Boxer and Alligator. The expansiveness bursts forth on occasion, but this is an intimate record. And it’s not because the mix often makes it sound like Matt has crawled into your head. (in a good way!) It feels like the band found dark, sweaty, boxy studio and holed up in it for a month or two.

Call me crazy, but I love those kind of records.

Middle Kids — S/T EP

I’ve always been a sucker for Americana. Give me a pedal steel guitar in a song steeped with longing and I fall head over heels every time. It’s the music of the boxy flyover states that I call home. So imagine my surprise when I discovered that Middle Kids are closer to Middle Earth than Minnesota.

By now, I’m used to hearing that Americana sound from Sweden’s The Tallest Man on Earth and First Aid Kit, or Lay Low out of Iceland. I suppose it makes sense in Australia, too. It has, like the US, experienced a “settling of the frontier” in the past 150 years. That sense of expansiveness and the wide-open sound that comes with it fits for Aussies, too.

There is a confidence here that makes this EP feel like a full-length. There’s a toe-tapping drive forward that makes it stretch beyond it’s six songs, hinting at something bigger over the horizon.

Spoon — Hot Thoughts

It must get exhausting to be Britt Daniel and crew. Since 2001’s Kill the Moonlight, Spoon has been the very picture of consistency. Even the minor stumbles, like 2010’s muted Transference, are solid records. While standouts like 2007’s Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga still sizzle ten years on.

Hot Thoughts is a strut. It’s taut and confident. It’s the kind of album Prince would’ve made if he grew up listening to indie rock and Motown in equal measure. This is the sound of a band at the height of it’s powers, doing whatever it wants. But then again, Spoon has always sounded that way.

Hurray for the Riff Raff — The Navigator

I’m not sure what it is, exactly, that gives a voice authenticity. But whatever it is, Alynda Segarra has it in spades. She wraps it around whatever she’s singing and makes it completely hers. She’s defiant and self-assured, without the need to veer into bombast.

“Do your best, but fuck the rest. Be something” she sings on the plaintive Pa’lante (which means “forward”). It’s not necessarily delivered in anger, but with an internal steeliness that is indomitable.

The slow build of that song mirrors the arc of the album. And it’s fist-in-the-air culmination lays bare a powerful force that had simmered throughout. It’s a hopeful, constructive, progressive drive that calls for building off the past to make a better future, together. Oh, and on top of all that, it’s just a great listen!

Waxahatchee — Out in the Storm

You know those movies that, if you ran across them on cable back in the day, you HAD to stop what you were doing? Even today, if I’m channel-surfing and stumble upon Shawshank Redemption or Die Hard, then I have to sit and watch the rest. That’s the kind of album Out in the Storm is. If I hear one song on shuffle, I HAVE to pull up the album and listen to the rest.

Out in the Storm is one of the most complete front-to-back albums I’ve heard this year. Though it is a bit strange to hear echoes of ’90s alternative bombast on a record put out by a 20-something. Given current musical trends, though, I’m learning to live with it.

Jason Isbell & The 400 Unit — The Nashville Sound

From the opening note of The Nashville Sound, there’s no place I would rather be than driving down the gravel roads I grew up criss-crossing. Windows down. The sweet smell of high summer in the air. Dust billowing up behind like a thunderhead. And Jason Isbell slinging harsh truths and choice lines on ten songs that should all be in heavy rotation on your local country station.

Albums that are also very good

(Bandcamp links when available)

Eyelids — Or

Japandroids — Near to the Wild Heart of Life

Kelli Schaefer — No Identity

White Reaper — World’s Best American Band

Jay Som — Everybody Works

Dan Auerbach — Waiting on a Song

Algiers — Underside of Power

Gold Star — Big Blue

Filthy Friends — Invitation

Ted Leo — The Hanged Man

Christian Scott aTunde Adjuah — Centennial Trilogy

The Domestics — Little Darkness

Favorite Albums of 2016

This year man, this freakin’ year…

With the unrelenting torrent of bullshit that was most of 2016 almost behind us, it’s time to look back at one of the bright spots in a year full of dark corners —the music. Much has been made of all of the musical icons that we lost in the past year. But amid all that loss were some really great records that should give any music lover hope for the future.

Emo’s revival is apparently in full swing. I was not prepared for this. Emo was a brief but brightly burned memory in my early 20s that I had almost entirely buried by 2005 (a handful of Get Up Kids songs notwithstanding). I must say that some of the results of this revival — PUP, Pinegrove, The Hotelier, Martha — have been much more promising than the whiny, heartsleeved Dashboard Confessional-clones that overwhelmed the genre the last time around. Heck, early 2000s proponents of sweaty, underwear-only house parties Jimmy Eat World even got a fair amount of publicity for their latest album, Integrity Blues.

But I digress…

The newest wave of “outlaw” country music continued to spread it’s wings. I grew up with Johnny, Willie, Waylon, and Merle, so it has been a real treat to see Sturgill Simpson, Robert Ellis, and Portland’s-own Richmond Fontaine release fantastic albums this year.

Jazz, soul, and funk kept seeping into hip-hop. Or maybe it’s the other way around…either way, the result was a summer dominated by Anderson .Paak ’s stellar Malibu. (nxworries wasn’t too shabby, either)

And speaking of summer airwave dominance and hip-hop, the Bay Area’s Kamaiyah came out of left field and dropped A Good Night in the Ghetto, basically torpedoing anyone else’s chance of having the jam of the summer. If you didn’t bounce to “I’m On” at least once this year, you were missing out.

Amidst all of that, we had some stellar debuts (Sioux Falls’ Rot Forever), haunting finales (David Bowie’s Blackstar), forceful follow-ups (Savages’ Adore Life, Aan’s Dada Distractions), supergroup albums (Case/Lang/Veirs), rousing returns (A Tribe Called Quest) and so much more.

So let’s get to it.

Sturgill Simpson — A Sailor’s Guide to Earth

Coming off the breakout that was Metamodern Sounds in Country Music, it was anyone’s guess what Sturgill Simpson would come up with next. There are country elements here, sure, but not as many as you’d expect. I’d be willing to bet that there are as many instances of strings as there are of pedal steel. Some songs sound more like some ’60s era Stax recordings than anything else, especially the rollicking Keep It Between the Lines. The second-to-last track, Oh Sarah, is a chamber-pop masterpiece worthy of Brian Wilson. For a record that is all over the map, stylistically, A Sailor’s Guide to Earth still feels tight and cohesive. If Sturgill Simpson is the new face of outlaw-country, at least we know it will keep us on our toes.

Big Thief — Masterpiece

Adrianne Lenker’s voice is a force to be reckoned with. It’s bold and brassy, yet on the verge of breaking into a thousand pieces at the same time. The same could be said for Buck Meek’s jittery, livewire guitar playing. Together, they paint bold strokes across these songs of friendship and love and life. Masterpiece feels like the result of years of songwriting, the culmination of a band’s celebrated career, not a debut from a band formed only a few years ago.

Kamaiyah — A Good Night in the Ghetto

While my introduction to hip-hop came at the hands of Run DMC, Sir Mix-a-Lot, and LL Cool J, it was The Chronic and Doggystyle that really captured my attention (thanks, Dre). A revival of that era of West-coast sound is all over A Good Night in the Ghetto. You can bounce to Kamaiyah just as easily as you can sit back and appreciate her raw honesty.

Car Seat Headrest — Teens of Denial

If I was twenty years younger, I would have spent most of the past year scribbling Car Seat Headrest lyrics onto notebook pages. Making lines into little totems and talismans to stave off the harsh reality of being a teen. Will Toledo’s bedroom project came into the full light of the studio with Teens of Denial, an album filled with witty observation, razor-sharp guitars, and thunderous drums — just a few of my favorite things.

Kevin Morby — Singing Saw

By the time the horns kick in on I Have Been to the Mountain, I was hooked. There is a certain apocalyptic sound to the songs on Singing Saw, a dusty not-long-for-this-earth feel. At the same time, they are precious things, carefully crafted and finely tuned. Morby’s deliberate delivery and cunning lyricism can bite hard when it needs to. There’s a lot about this record that is basic, but sometimes the basics done very well are better than any gimmick you could come up with.

Anderson .Paak — Malibu

It’s difficult to give a nod to a musical genre’s heyday without getting tangled up in nostalgia. The music itself can end up evoking a bygone moment, instead of speaking to the present condition. So imagine my pleasant surprise upon hearing Malibu for the first time. Anderson .Paak easily straddles hip-hop, funk, and soul. And even though he is reaching backwards, it feels like something altogether new. Using a live band, the Free Nationals, helps. I’m occasionally a willing luddite when it comes to electronic music, because things funk and soul (and blues, and rock and roll) sound rudderless when there isn’t a beating heart playing the notes. If I numbered this “best of” list, Malibu would be right up at the top.

Robert Ellis — S/T

“This don’t feel like livin’, just surviving.” feels like the entire narrative of Robert Ellis’ self-titled album distilled into a single line. The songs, even on the outwardly jaunty Drivin’, are mediations on restlessness and broken relationships. Every time you start to settle in, his aching lyrics remind you that things are not okay. Happiness is fleeting, life is full of fitful moments of joy, and in the end, none of us really know where we’re going.

Drive-by Truckers — American Band

Patterson Hood has always had a gift for capturing the essence in an elegantly blunt manner. Both Hood and Mike Cooley are in rare form, lyrically, on American Band. “If you think it wasn’t racial when they shot him in his tracks, well, I guess that means that you ain’t black, it means that you ain’t black.” That’s from the raw, open wound of What It Means, just one haymaker in a song that’s full of them. It’s surrounded by songs that tackle head-on the NRA and gun rights (Ramon Casiano), school shootings (Guns of Umpqua), and just plain defiance in the face of obstacles (Surrender Under Protest), it’s an album that feels like essential listening for our times.

Aan — Dada Distractions

From the opening drumbeat of Lookout Aan’s sophomore effort is cocky and bombastic. There is a singular focus that shines through the course of this perfectly balanced nine-track onslaught that is undeniable. Their 2014 debut, Amor Ad Nauseum was stellar, but it hinted at something deeper, and that shows up in full force on Dada Distractions. It takes a ton of confidence to seemingly effortlessly blend so many elements from the last 50 years of popular music, while still sounding so singular, and Bud Wilson and company seem to do it without even breaking a sweat.

Sioux Falls (now Strange Ranger) — Rot Forever

This album sprawls. Clocking in at 72 minutes and 16 tracks, it’s quite a debut. You’d expect to hear over-indulgence, and there is that, but not in a bad way. The opening track, the excellent 3fast, clocks in at 6:19, so you know from the get-go what you’re in for. There is a charm in the roughness around it’s edges, like a practice session we’ve been allowed to sit in on. The result feels surprisingly intimate, for all of it’s noise and bluster. And if that practice session ended up running longer than expected, it’s hard to mind too much, because Rot Forever is a good hang.

Daughter — Not to Disappear

I’m a sucker for ethereal, dreamy pop infused with a post-apocalyptic tenor and expansive lyrics. That is to say, Not to Disappear is right in my wheelhouse. New Ways, Numbers, Alone/With You, and To Belong are all songs that make me stop in my tracks and pay attention. And the uptempo No Care practically thrums with nervous energy. I’m not entirely sure where Daughter goes from here, because another album along the same lines would feel stagnant, but as a stand-alone statement, Not to Disappear speaks pretty loudly.

Pinegrove — Cardinal

There’s a certain rough, bedroom-recording feel to Cardinal that I can’t quite place. There’s a uncertain melancholy running through the whole album. “how long will i wander by your side / how long will i wander? / i wonder if that’s what it might feel like / i figured i’d warn ya” sings Evan Stephens Hall on Visiting. And yet, it’s hard not to feel a little more grounded after listening to Cardinal. Speaking so directly to the human condition tends to bond us to one another, I guess. This album reminds me very much of The Promise Ring’s stellar Wood/Water, in a good way.

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Also excellent —

A Tribe Called Quest — We got it from Here…Thank You 4Your service

LVL UP — Return to Love

Tom Brosseau — North Dakota Impressions

Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds — Skeleton Tree

St. Paul and the Broken Bones — Sea of Noise

Angel Olsen — MY WOMAN

Junius Meyvant — Floating Harmonies

The Paranoid Style — Rolling Disclosure

Blind Pilot — And Then Like Lions

case/lang/veirs — S/T

Richmond Fontaine — You Can’t Go Back if There’s Nothing to Go Back To

Laura Gibson — Empire Builder

Telethon — Citrosis

Thao & The Get Down Stay Down — A Man Alive

Savages — Adore Life

David Bowie — Blackstar

Summer Cannibals — Full of It