With 2011 wrapping up, it’s time for the obligatory retrospective cataloging the year’s best offerings in the indie music realm. Surely, 2011 has produced some of the best albums of any year in recent memory, with established legends releasing some of the most vital works of their careers and up-and-comers announcing themselves as forces to be reckoned with.
Before getting to the meat of this list, let’s get the requisite preamble out of the way. The albums included here are my personal favorites, the ones that I enjoyed or was affected by the most. I’m not putting my selections above anyone else’s or claiming these 11 albums come the closest to reaching some zenith of musical theory (an inane concept, but that’s a debate for another time).
Oh, and why 11 instead of 10? Well, I was finding it hard deciding which one to cull, so I figured, what the hell, it’s somewhat fitting for a best-of 2011 list to feature 11 albums.
Sorry for the blathering. Onto the actual list…
11. Electric Six, Heartbeats & Brainwaves (Metropolis) — The Detroit sextet may not be breaking new ground on this, their eighth album in nine years, but why should they when they’re so good at what they already do, namely, Dick Valentine spewing stupidly-genius aphorisms over his cohorts’ disco-metal-punk dance grooves? That they’ve built a career out of reworking the same earnest inanity is their charm; “We right the same songs over and over again” Valentine sings with total conviction in “The Intergalactic Version.” Still, to dismiss E6 as a novelty band is as absurd as their songs, titles of which this time around include “French Bacon,” “Free Samples,” and “We Use the Same Products.” Silly? Yeah, but so damn clever and catchy. Put this on your stereo when you’re in a funk and dare it not to raise your spirits.
10. Florence + The Machine, Ceremonials (Island)—Twelve mini-epics. A theme of water flows through the work like a black river, but is it evocative of a seaside suicide or an ocean phoenix emerging from the depths? That depends on the listener’s mood. While Florence might belt out the tunes a bit gratuitously, there is no denying her talent or the grandeur of the arrangements she composed. The orchestral chamber pop, vocal acrobatics and clashing percussion conjure the image of Florence as a chanteuse performing in the apse of a gothic cathedral. Alternately unsettling (“Breaking Down”), despairing (“No Light , No Light”) and inspiring (“Spectrum,” “Heartlines”), one wonders how Florence will be able to top this with her next record.
9. The Black Keys, El Camino (Nonesuch) — Now certified rock stars, the Ohio duo have delivered on their promise of 2010’s Brothers, releasing a quick and dirty album to further solidify their newfound title. For the most part, the Keys have returned to their standard crunchy blues rave-ups, though a ‘70s sound defines the production, the stamp of returning producer Danger Mouse. In point of fact, Danger Mouse is more a full-on collaborator than merely a producer, credited with co-writing each song and playing keyboards. Despite being their poppiest affair yet, loaded with sing-along choruses, the standout track is “Little Black Submarines,” which spends its first two minutes as a maudlin acoustic piece before devolving into a chaotic frenzy of percussion and riffing.
8. M83, Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming (Naïve) — Kudos to Anthony Gonzalez for having the gall not to compromise his integrity or ambition, releasing a 74-minute opus in this era of digital shuffling and single track downloads. This is music to be listened to deliberately, with a good pair of headphones, not through some disposable earbuds while you’re jogging on a treadmill. It will take umpteen listens before every facet of the layered soundscapes make themselves known and the full payoff arrives. “Midnight City” might be the single making the rounds, but “Reunion” is the album’s star, an epiphany set to music.
7. Anna Calvi, Anna Calvi (Domino)—It boggles the mind that this is a debut, what with Calvi’s unmitigated confidence and her album’s masterful production. It is the one-two punch of Calvi’s amazing vocal range and virtuoso guitar-playing that will inevitably make her a star. Though an ominous air pervades the album, each song captures Calvi in a separate emotion, whether she’s mourning her guilt in “The Devil,” playing the temptress in “First We Kiss,” or trying to convince herself of the future’s worth in “Blackout.” The album also features backing vocals by Brian Eno, Calvi’s mentor of sorts, and if that’s not a glowing recommendation, what is?
6. Joseph Arthur, The Graduation Ceremony (Lonely Astronaut) — The best break-up record since Beck’s Sea Change. Arthur’s trademark synergy of acoustic instrumentation and digital flourishes carry the song cycle through the range of emotions spawned by a relationship’s implosion. Opener “Out on a Limb” is the first reaction to being dumped, the initial shock of all the emotions that eventually need to be addressed individually swirling together. Arthur shoulders the blame on “Over the Sun” and finally accepts what closure there can be in the cathartic “Gypsy Faded.”
5. TV on the Radio, Nine Types of Light (Interscope)—Yes, it may be what some consider the art group’s “pop record,” but that doesn’t detract from its greatness. The band is not playing within the confines of the pop realm, but is adapting elements of that genre to their diverse palate. Aside from the distraction of “Killer Crane,” the record is nearly flawless, with Tunde Adebimpe and Kyp Malone shining both in their disparate songwriting and vocal ability. “Will Do” is one of the finest ballads of the last decade, while “Second Song” ranks among TVOTR’s greatest compositions and proves to naysayers that they’ve far from lost their experimental edge.
4. PJ Harvey, Let England Shake (Island) — Once again, the siren has completely changed her persona, moving from spectral pianist to chronicler of war throughout the ages. The narratives’ various perspectives depict war in unflinching, gory detail. Deformed orphans make up a nations cash crop (“The Glorious Land”), words of ignorance and intolerance are instruments of murder (“The Words That Maketh Murder”) and unburied bones are left to bleach on a shelled landscape (“The Colour of the Earth”). The work is a document serving as both an indictment against the absurdity of war and a begrudging acknowledgment that it nonetheless exists, and will continue to as an essential element of the human condition.
3. Twilight Singers, Dynamite Steps (Sub Pop) — Greg Dulli and company’s first studio LP since 2006 finds the common themes firmly in place—hedonism, lust, and the resentment and regret that come with the light of day. Dulli’s impressionistic lyrics exorcise his demons through all manner of late night fantasies while the bastardized concoction of rock, soul, and electronica provides a suitably noir atmosphere. The piano-led “Get Lucky” is Dulli at his most self-deprecating and honest, while “Waves” finds the group rocking out in an industrial din. The work’s theatricality and sense of connective themes cement prove Dulli doesn’t just write songs, he writes albums, each song fitting together like a chapter in a book. The title track (a warning to a former lover or a prophecy from the Devil to Jesus?) closes the record with a resolution lesser songwriters can’t help but envy.
2. Tom Waits, Bad As Me (Anti-) — The junkyard bard’s most concise work, the 13 songs showcasing his multiple personalities. There is the Screamin’ Jay Hawkins-flavored rocker (“Get Lost”), blustering and braying bluesman (“Satisfied”), tender balladeer (“Back in the Crowd”) and doomsday prophet (“Talking at the Same Time”). The album is also noteworthy for harboring Waits’s most unhinged work yet in the form of “Hell Broke Luce,” featuring a shellshocked soldier ranting his account from the frontlines amid a backdrop of gunfire, explosions, and competing instrumentation. It’s too early to tell, but this may be the best album for introducing the unfamiliar to the treasures of Waits’s madhouse.
1. The Kills, Blood Pressures (Domino) — On what should be their breakthrough record, Alison Mosshart and Jamie Hince have expanded their ramshackle minimalism, giving their feral, sex-dripping dirges a decidedly more full-bodied sound. More than on any previous effort, the Kills juxtapose the gritty and the ugly with genuinely affecting beauty. For the mesmerizing menace of “Satellite” there is the stark delicacy of “Baby Says;” for the clunky surge of “DNA” there is the heartrending “The Last Goodbye.”
Think there are there some glaring omissions? There are two possible explanations—one, I simply didn’t think much of those records, or, two, I haven’t heard them. Feel free to chime in with suggestions in the comments string below.
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