50-31 | 30-11 | 10-1

50. FaltyDL – You Stand Uncertain

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Despite its title, Drew Lustman’s follow-up to 2009’s Love Is A Liability is anything but; it’s an album built upon an almost obsessive dedication, one that sees itself rising far above his debut LP because this time Drew wisely chooses to pursue just one of his many personalities. And he follows that trajectory almost aggressively, to the point where each song plays out as a natural extension of everything that’s come before it. You Stand Uncertain is a definitive statement of sorts for Falty, one that sees his affinity for doe-eyed house and garage absorbed to the point where one becomes wholly inseparable and almost indefinable from the other. It’s an album that sounds completely at odds with its surroundings; recorded in New York, it rebels against the timpani of a bustling city, the skyline framed by towering concrete monoliths by opting instead for more open climes, the kind defined by porcelain-white beaches and oceans that stretch out far beyond the line on the horizon. As such, You Stand Uncertain is a muggy, almost sweaty affair, coated in a thick haze of melting percussion and teary-eyed wonky synths, that dips from the junglist hardcore of ‘Lucky Luciano’ through the robotic soul of ‘Brazil’ into the tripped out pop of ‘Gospel Of Opal’.

And it’s in that constant familiarity of the borderline pop hook that Falty readily employs on this album, how he drops them in so casually to where they almost seem non-existent, which ensures the album’s success far beyond the usual clientele. It’s an odd feeling, within the climate of bass music, to award points for perceived commercialism, but a more standard song structure works wonders buckling under the strain of Lustman’s usual eccentricities, that while still bubbling with unpredictability are even more accentuated by the apparent discipline imposed by the artist. What we’re left with, at the end of it all, is an album that works like a tourist re-visiting an old stomping ground, where the vaguely familiar has been re-dressed in the rampant push for progression. Like a sunrise at midnight, it’s an album that takes the obvious and the expected and flips it upside down, and in its negative space it takes on an entirely different approach, and it’s with that that You Stand Uncertain earns its spot alongside the greatest albums of the year. — Deviant

49. Foo Fighters – Wasting Light

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Let’s be honest… Everything about ‘Wasting Light’ sounded like a gimmicky promotional ploy in an attempt to return the Foo Fighters to their past glory. Reinstated third guitarist Pat Smear would smoke more cigarettes than play distinguishable guitar lines. Recording took place in Dave Grohl’s garage, which is probably the size of a small island nation. And lord knows what constitutes “recording on analogue equipment” these days. Yet, ultimately, these were the catalysts for an exciting Foo Fighters reinvention on their seventh full-length release. From the explosive opener to the intense closer, this Butch Vig produced album is raw, loud, energetic and filled with fantastic riffs. While containing a genuinely aggressive edge, it still includes The Fooeys trademark shout-along anthems, making this their most consistent LP yet. As detailed as it is simple, ‘Wasting Light’ showcases a band totally in sync with each other. Basically, this ROCKS! Recommended Tracks: Bridge Burning, Arlandria, Walk & Rope. — Davey Boy

48. Tom Waits – Bad As Me

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He just keeps on doing it; almost 40 years after his debut, Tom Waits is still at the top of his game. The man’s standards are so high that Bad As Me might well end up being an overlooked part of his discography, but it offers as diverse an overview of Waits’ strengths as any album in his extensive catalogue, from depressive whiskey-soaked ballads (“Last Leaf”) to almost cartoony, lunatic barnstormers (“Chicago”), back to unexpected prettiness (“Kiss Me”) and straight-up classic rock moves (“Satisfied”). It also boasts one of the very finest songs of his career in the unhinged, stomping “Hell Broke Luce”. Maybe newcomers would be better looking at the likes of Rain Dogs and Swordfishtrombones, but if you’re already a fan of any Tom Waits album – and it really doesn’t matter which one – then you’ll be delighted with Bad As Me. — Nick Butler

47. Grouper – A I A: Alien Observer

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A lot more droning, a lot less folky, a lot more ambient, and a lot less melodic than 2008’s still-startling Dragging a Dead Dear Up a Hill, with the songs that poked through the mix previously now reduced to shards and slivers, and Liz Harris’ voice taking a much less prominent role. These all probably sound like bad things, but A I A doesn’t take long to show listeners that not a single scrap of beauty has been sacrificed. Both discs of this double album are equally impressive, with Dream Loss moving further into traditional ambient and drone territory and Alien Observer sounding somewhat more like a natural follow-on from Dragging – it feels like they’re meant to be taken as separate entities, but they compliment each other impressively well. In a year that was hardly short of ambient brilliance, this still stood out. — Nick Butler

46. Maybeshewill – I Was Here For a Moment…

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I Was Here For A Moment, Then I Was Gone gives me hope that post-rock can still flourish. This album is ridiculously compelling. It is urgent, yet fragile and emotive. Its careful balance between gentle soundscapes and metal-leaning instrumentation keeps the record thoroughly enjoyable from start to finish, not to mention varied enough to be accessible to post-rock newcomers. Everything was employed in the making of this album – from rare (but superbly executed) electronic influences to swelling strings – and resultantly, I Was Here For A Moment, Then I Was Gone has become one of the finest purely instrumental releases of 2011. — SowingSeason

45. Corrupted – Garten Der Unbewusstheit

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It is no surprise that Garten Der Unbewusstheit steps further into the “post” territory that El Mundo Frio played with, so the departure into these depths is about as logical a continuation as could ever be achieved. The album is a monolith of the most crushing type of atmosphere, yet harbors deep crosscurrents of placid beauty. If anything, the songwriting here shows that Corrupted are more in-touch with their creative vision than ever before. “Garten” and “Gekkou No Daichi” are masterpieces that resonate with dissonance yet seep a sort of world-ending, cataclysmic radiance that makes all other bands in the sludge/doom realm look amateur in comparison. Corrupted have always been a band that does this, but on Garten Der Unbewusstheit things seem exponentially larger; placed on a scale that measures not in pounds but in tons. It’s hard – some may say impossible – to pick favorites from Corrupted’s venerable and legendary discography, but Garten Der Unbewusstheit is an album that would likely be placed near the top. When word was sprung out of the blue that Corrupted were releasing another LP, many hoped that it would stand alongside the band’s past work. Garten Der Unbewusstheit has not only done that, but has secured a spot in the upper echelons of one of the single most impressive discographies in the metal world. — Kyle Ward

44. Chad VanGaalen – Diaper Island

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If you don’t know who Chad VanGaalen is, chances are you didn’t have a religious experience with Women’s Public Strain. It’s cool. I think those of us that did gave up trying to share it with everyone else by now, which I guess should make his hissing 2011 record a tough sell, but I don’t think it necessarily need be. As much as I love the claustrophobic sound VanGaalen helped one of my favorite bands solidify, his work on Diaper Island is–despite that album title, despite that closer being called “Shave My Pussy”–nowhere near as confrontational. Rather than using noise to obscure character, Diaper Island uses noise to illuminate it. Over that analog fuzz, VanGaalen’s vocals are clear, their mysteries and contradictions there, plainly, for us to relate to instead of decipher. He claims “Do not fear!” but is an anxious mess for the rest of the record, “Burning Photographs,” begging “Replace Me,” begging “Sara,” trying to figure out his shit. But despite the weight Diaper Island carries, it isn’t shutting anyone out. Instead, it’s letting us in, as if to see if we can help. — Adam Downer

43. Coldplay – Mylo Xyloto

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As the pop world fell back to earth in 2011 – sort of, at least – Coldplay finally fell into pop, and as a result stumbled upon a dynamic they’d been dancing awkwardly around for far too long. I mean, what is that name? But this is the point: where Viva La Vida added layers of meaning and experimentation, those dashes of paint across Coldplay’s quote-unquote “best” record now look like the last logical ramblings of a lunatic. Mylo Xyloto is a band running out of ways to stay in control, and thank god they’ve finally lost it; the hooks are simply enormous, the lyrics hit the ceiling, and the melodies! They’re worthy of being attached to what we can now easily call the world’s best pop band, and they’re painted just as bright and just as bold as that album art, unrestrained and euphoric in just about every way. And it’s paradise. — Adam Knott

42. The Antlers – Burst Apart

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It isn’t the next Hospice, and it is a far cry from that album emotionally (and probably also lyrically)…however, Burst Apart shows us how to follow up an album that was successful based primarily upon its emotional appeal. The Antlers couldn’t match Hospice‘s sentimental qualities, so they changed their approach. After all, a rehashed and insincere Hospice would have yielded disappointing – and potentially disastrous – results. Here, they do a splendid job of gelling as a band and sharing responsibilities, making for an album that is more impressive musically. From the sparkling guitars and chilling ambience to Silberman’s lazed falsetto, the entire thing is so dynamic sounding that it almost makes The Antlers sound like a new band. Reinventing yourself is a necessary trait in the music industry, and if Burst Apart is any indication, this is a band that will be around to dazzle us for quite a bit longer. — SowingSeason

41. Hey Rosetta! – Seeds

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Honestly, how have you not heard this album yet? Hey Rosetta!’s Seeds is the near-perfect combination of everything good about post-Funeral indie-rock, sliding somewhere between understated and dramatic in a way that never ever feels overtly grandiose or poignant. Tim Baker pushes and pulls through love and life as guitars explode and diminish around him. Sometimes it all gets quiet and cute. These are just adjectives, though, and they don’t really do Hey Rosetta! justice at all; Seeds is one of those records that lives on its own sincerity, and there isn’t a 2011 album more heartfelt or fluid – that much I can say for certain. — Adam Knott

40. Eisley – The Valley

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Easy to love, all too difficult to recommend – that’s the story of Eisley’s career so far, and The Valley is no different. As the internet has taken a greater and greater hold on the tastes of the mainstream, driving people’s tastes to become more diverse than ever before, the market for simple, sweet pop/rock has diminished, and it’s become harder to get music like this out to people who demand that everything they hear should be special, unique, or cutting-edge. Shame, because The Valley really is a stunning record, with its peaks (“Watch It Die”, “Kind”, the biting song of the year contender “Smarter”) worthy of more famous names like Costello, Davies, and Chilton. A a consummate victory for both pop craftsmanship and rock style. — Nick Butler

39. TV on the Radio – Nine Types of Light

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On Nine Types of Light, TV on The Radio discuss love some more, but this time, it isn’t a big territorial mess. Love was always a defence mechanism for these guys, assertive pacifists, or at the very least resigned to war, but hating on it hard. Love was a barricade against attrition in “Province,” or a way to tell war to go fuck itself on “Red Dress.” But on this, their barest record, love is on its own terms, celebrated for being gorgeous and very, very, able to hurt. It makes it their most poppy, but that’s because it recognises how simple it is to be rich and poor in love. “Will Do” is simple and patient. “You” is a funky slice of black comedy about when romance leaves you. And “Keep Your Heart” is a hefty wave goodbye to a TV On The Radio with a sophisticated statement. When Tunde Adebimpe and Kyp Malone harmonise at the end, their genius is realised with a complete disregard for it: that shrieking, wailing, whatever you want to call it, picks up the simplicity of a love song and throws it like a sharp dart. By the end, they’re writing slicker, happier songs, because they’ve learned how best to keep war off their minds: to ignore it. — Robin Smith

38. Stateless – Matilda

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I sometimes pause to think of what the critical reaction to Matilda would have been had it been released in early November instead of giving us collective ivory tower denizens almost a full year to reflect on whether Stateless’ sophomore effort was deserving of the hype. Matilda is a mature extension of their self-titled debut, using the same heavily melodic trip-hop productions, but honing their compositional skills and bringing more consistency to the overall package. The Middle-Eastern influenced melodies of highlight “Ariel” shine a spotlight on its catchy chorus, while vocalist Chris James invokes the very ghost of Jeff Buckley on the angelic “I’m on Fire”. Matilda is the perfect chill-out room theme and should be enjoyed with a fine bottle of wine and a significant other. — Sobhi Youssef

37. Andrew Jackson Jihad – Knife Man

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There’s something of a menace in Sean Bonnette, almost like a bumbling, insulting Professor Farnsworth brought to life; he’s a guy of serious insights but embittered by his own silly defence mechanism, telling you to shut up and take your pills, but adding ‘isn’t that a shame?’ As a result, Andrew Jackson Jihad is a band that walks a self-imposed tightrope, never sure whether the American dream is tragically out of reach or just a darn tragedy. On Knife Man they don’t make that line any clearer, calling in on the alone and depressed, comically killing off sad characters in the awesomely titled “People II: Still Peoplin,” and then moving from Satan and oral sex to homelessness and poverty in “Fucc The Devil.” He does it all with a bitter smile and a shrug: “Now I am gonna quit my job, ‘cuz I have got another job / and I don’t need to work two jobs, guess you could call me lucky.” Here is the same band as always, regardless of the left-turns from their various punk rock roots: if they weren’t laughing, they’d be weeping. On Knife Man Bonnette and Gallaty are filled with the same fears and insecurities, trying to tour their band while pinning down the other jobs that matter them, cackling through it all like a pair of buddy-buddy cops. And it’s impossible to look away from them, mad though they may be. — Robin Smith

36. G-Side – The One… COHESIVE

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A funny thing happened with this small town success story, the most fundamental of fundamental Southern rap examples that grinds relentlessly onward on juicy, beautiful beats and an implacable ambition. “We up late, don’t sleep / insomniacs, zombies at the crack of dawn / trying to write a classic song,” is the inadvertent theme of The One…COHESIVE, a record that in its underground ethos, overwhelming DIY attitude and grimly determined lyrical prowess actually succeeds in sounding like, well, the Southern rap masterpiece it only dreamt it could become. “Inner Circle;” “Came Up;” “No Radio;” even the song titles are defiantly hustla-centric, a celebration of G-Side’s work ethic, their us-against-the-mainstream mentality and a reminder that they’re not going to stop anytime soon. “Niggas jealous? I’m just trying to feed my fam,” Clova reminds us near the end of The One…COHESIVE, and that remains the best part about G-Side, who just released yet another stellar record in Island – they’re small timers, sure, but their drive is classic and inexorable. It’s this pressure cooker of never knowing when, how or even if you’re going to succeed yet still going balls-out in search of it that has turned G-Side into one of Southern rap’s most exciting prospects. — Rudy Klapper

35. tUnE-yArDs – w h o k i l l

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On paper, w h o k i l l is the quintessential embodiment of white guilt, opening with musings on the gentrified nature of America and ending with a dismissal of yuppiedom. But before we write it off as the work of your usual Berkeley street poet, a couple of things. First, Merrill Garbus lives in Oakland, so “policeman shot my baby as he crossed over my doorstep” is likely more than your everyday exploitation image filtered through a privileged lens. Second, Garbus’s second full-length as tUnE-yArDs is some seriously exuberant stuff; so uninhibited is its ebullience that not one of those references to America’s countless cultural flaws – the references to body image littering “Es-So” come to mind – feels gratuitous. Rather, when presented not alongside, but as such ecstatic and inclusive pop, they collide with a conscience listeners didn’t even know they had head-on. Because the brilliance of this record doesn’t lie in its kinetic and globe-trotting rhythmic sense, its uniquely cyclical approach to songwriting, or even its penchant for deconstructing what pop means only to fuse its disparate elements back together virtuosically. No, what makes w h o k i l l brilliant is its infectious, unceasing position that enthusiasm and awareness don’t have to be enemies. That worldview is reflected in the music’s structures, its occasionally unpredictable pops and stutters, and in that voice that seems to effortlessly express the sentiments of a million unheard individuals. In soberly addressing the problems she’s forced to grapple with as a white American and, crucially, accepting that they are problems after all, Garbus clears the way for something nearing enlightenment. — Conrad Tao

34. The Men – Leave Home

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I don’t know if it’s just that gray, northeastern winters are apparently really important to helping my noise albums du jour click or if it’s that my shitty little brain just really likes symmetry, but as Women’s Public Strain won my heart in December 2010, The Men’s Leave Home won it in December 2011– though not with interlocking guitars and coyly obscured vocals, but rather eight consecutive punches to the dick. The tracks on Leave Home are monoliths, droning punk-rock beatdowns content to ride on one note played really fuckin’ loud for four, five, six minutes at a time. At first, this is bizarre–I remember coming up with snarky quips for how they must’ve released “Lotus” before recording the vocals– but when the logic (or, more thrillingly, the apparent lack thereof) clicks into place, Leave Home becomes infectious. The Men play rock music like fucking rock music, all aggression, power, and yes, testosterone. And it’s abrasive; the way the bass slugs you 3 minutes into “If You Leave…” or the way the guitars in “L.A.D.O.C.H.” sound like what I imagine having your brain pulled out through your nostrils sounds like makes Leave Home not for the weak of stomach, but, and I’m putting any credibility I might have on the line for this pun, man up. Violence doesn’t always come this fucking sweet. — Adam Downer

33. Radiohead – The King of Limbs

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There is a separation of sorts on The King of Limbs, it just never garnered a conspiracy theory. To think of the way this thing is structured, let’s work forwards and say, well, it starts like any Radiohead album. It starts on a sceptical landscape, torn up like “15 Step,” scattered and hypnotising like “Everything In Its Right Place,” a scarier “2+2=5.” And for the first half of this album, it all seems like a declaration of a very different type of Radiohead apocalypse, or one that’s the same, but yeah, it’s the same, mundane and repetitive, a world that sucks and never stops. After “Bloom” the heads roll backwards for what sounds like a shuffle for some secret police, the guitar like someone chasing a scene underground, Thom Yorke’s snarl felt with all the normal accusation, but the way Radiohead have unearthed “Morning Mr Magpie” isn’t a revisionist move. It doesn’t sound like an early ’00s tune anymore- and it’s not like it fell right from the alt-rock sky of yore- but rather this is an intentional move, as if it suddenly fits the woes of living in Britain in 2011. It speaks thinly to some political betrayal. “Some nerve coming here,” a bird attached to shiny things? Dude. On this track, they’re the paranoid politicos they’ve long been, and it feels like a contribution to a very Radiohead side of music.

Until “Lotus Flower” washes this unease away, here is a band playing itself in a movie, aware of its own theatrical fears, but this time just re-stating: I guess we’re all still waiting. And then the scene changes, as if the screen focuses in on Thom Yorke surrounded by a piano and a billion drum machines. These are the three songs we keep coming back to, the ones that really seem to have cornered him around his instruments. Aghast he plays these sparse, downbeat songs. “Codex” is sad and quietly dramatic, like a “Pyramid Song” with less weight. “Give Up The Ghost” is beautiful, only about love and laughing at us with its lyrics- “don’t haunt me,” it doesn’t. And then there’s “Seperator,” a surrealist piece of dreamt-up nonsense that could move the most literal arse to tears. These are three of the best Radiohead songs ever, surely, so how do we even notice that tease? “If you think this is over then you’re wrong” should be The King of Limbs declaration that it’s at its halfway point, but instead it sticks out like this ambiguous, devastating goodbye. The King of Limbs is a record of two sides- one that waits, and one that panics, like all flawed and wonderful things do- but this is where it’s finished. As an ending, it couldn’t be more resolute. — Robin Smith

32. Panda Bear – Tomboy

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Perhaps the response to Tomboy was so divided because it was, and still is, one of the most frustrating albums of the year. This isn’t because the songs are bad. They’re quite good, truly– more succinct than Person Pitch‘s electro-folk drones but with a hearty supply of hooks. Noah Lennox gave us almost exactly what we expected (summer, Brian Wilson, elongated vowel sounds), and it’s tough to fault him for that. It’s just that it’s so big. Tomboy‘s tracks are massive, densely layered walls of bass and harmonies and reverb. And oh my God, the reverb! There’s tons of it, like the record was recorded in a big hollow room while a thunderstorm raged outside, which is coincidentally exactly how my friends caught Panda Bear on the Tomboy tour, and they said the experience was draining. That’s what Tomboy is: something huge, something that is scaled, despite its deceptively average running time.

This is where the line has come to be drawn between the pro-Tomboy and anti-Tomboy contingencies. Is this sound, this blown-out, kinda grungy screensaver fodder any good? I say absolutely. What Lennox accomplished here is admirable in its originality, considering how it fits against the (chill)wave of imitators his Person Pitch inspired. But I’m growing more and more convinced that this is an opinion I’ll hold quietly. One cannot deny that, with all its meticulous arrangements and peculiar production choices, Tomboy is exactly the album Noah wanted to produce, but as its delayed release proved it to be a labor of love, so too is the finished product for his fans. How could I convince you you’ll love it as much as I do? — Adam Downer

31. Braids – Native Speaker

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Confession: when I wrote whatever it was that I wrote about Native Speaker back in February, I honestly didn’t think I nor any of the staff would be writing a blurb for it come December. Upon its release, something about Native Speaker felt slight–tremendously impressive for a who-the-fuck-are-these-guys newcomer, but a little too easily dismissed with a Bjork-meets-Animal-Collective-how-cute-is-that? comment, especially when both Bjork and Animal Collective (well, Panda Bear) had records coming out later in the year. But by virtue of its way of worming itself into your ear and cozily settling down for oh, whenever you need it, Native Speaker made the comparisons irrelevant. Maybe they always were, but as 2011 progressed, Native Speaker, with its warm heart and gorgeous make-up, became one of the most dependable records of an undependable year. It doesn’t come off as especially ambitious, and perhaps that’s why it might’ve been lost in 2011’s endless shuffle, but its highs–the chorus of “Glass Deers,” the hootenanny at the end of “Lemonade”– are some of the year’s most unforgettable. My advice is to give in and let it in, already. This is a record that has gone too long without the attention it deserves. — Adam Downer

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