50-31 | 30-11 | 10-1

30. Alora Crucible – Thymiamatascension

[Bandcamp] // [Spotify]

Toby Driver is still the most reliable Renaissance man of our times, and his latest project a majestic netherscape of translucent haze and dreamless sleep. In many ways, it’s been a while coming: while Driver’s albums as Kayo Dot play out as vivid forays into esoteric fantasies, there’s something out of time and almost ritualistic in his sparser solo outings. They Are The Shield is an obvious touchstone, but his rather overlooked dance piece Ichneumonidae sums up the quality in question, too: something graceful and expansive unto itself, but so clearly estranged from familiar reality that it carries a distinct sense of claustrophobia. It’s cleansing and alienating in equal measure, “ritualistic” in steady rate at which it metes out demands and dividends for a patient listener, and eerily beautiful and meticulously detailed each step of the way. As far as Sounds go, that ain’t too shabby a foundation.

Alora Crucible does a marvellous job of taking the most palatable side of this atmosphere along with Driver’s exemplary solo violin arrangements, transposing both over a delicately synth-padded, dryly guitared new age palette. Primarily instrumental and never more than understated, its composition retains obvious depth, but the subdued (and quite lovely!) tones of Driver’s chamber arrangements together with his serene dynamics make for the closest thing to easy listening he’s put his name to. Don’t get hung up on that ever-misappropriated label; Thymiamatascension is as strong a sell for those who like to tune out and bask as for those who throw themselves off the deep end for full immersion. Whichever way you go, this thing’s beauty and intrigue voice themselves surprisingly transparently for a soundscape so blanketed with smoke and incense; it claims all the advantages of a sophisticated record without falling into any of the irksome pitfalls of a complicated one. And it’s only the beginning: taking over Kayo Dot as Driver’s active touring project and with more music reportedly in development, it appears that this project has traction. Get your slyest sleepy smile on and find out what it’s all about. –JohnnyoftheWell

29. Cynic – Ascension Codes

[Bandcamp] // [Spotify]

Amongst metal’s more premier linchpins, has there ever been a more important name than Cynic? Probably? Well, maybe. Regardless of any reader’s predisposition to what the more prominent names among metal’s alumni are, Cynic’s Ascension Codes is a return to form for an act that lost two-thirds of its larger creative force with the passing of both Sean Reinert and Sean Malone in 2020. While Focus is credited as the band’s more selective death metal entry, the group’s visage has certainly softened as the years went by. Fast forward a whole bunch of years and a few more releases later, long-time fans were given a surprising dose of jazz-laced prog that tickled on the edges of the band’s death metal heyday. Ample displays of melody jump in and out of actual riffs while ambient interludes provide spacing and moments to catch one’s breath.

Sure, this isn’t the balls-out reclamation type album advertised as a Focus 2.0 — rather, Ascension Codes signals the end of an era and a new beginning on a different plane. The climes found within stand well on their own, and deeper cuts like “The Winged Ones”, “In a Multiverse Where Atoms Sing”, and “Aurora” deserve their spots among Cynic mainstays. Ascension Codes isn’t a perfect record, but it’s really the best Cynic we’re going to get in this modern age, especially after the tribulation and deaths of the band’s creative forces. That is a triumph, adversity be damned. –Robert Garland

28. Fire-Toolz – Eternal Home

[Bandcamp] // [Spotify]

Fire-Toolz makes a mockery of boundaries and the shapekeeping properties of human skin; Eternal Home is a beautiful work of abrasive cosmic fuck, and it is now essential to you all. Gather your thoughts.

Right.

I used to think that post-genre was a stupid nondescriptor that only popped up as a by-product of people who listened to too much music or artists who wanted to sound like too many other artists. Fire-Toolz (aka Angel Marcloid [aka a zillion other aliases and bands you’ve never heard of]) reduces this preconception to dust, along with umpteen other [ex-]things for the tidy reason that this kind of record simply can’t carry anything less than an oversized motherfuck of a collateral. Boom boom. The official inventory goes roughly as follows: mobile inter/extra?-polation of electro-industrial and/or cybergrind with black metal overtone (shrieks: yes), prone to warp like a demon between jazz, new age, shoegaze, glitch, ambient, etcetcsexetc..

Shrewd ones will be braying that this sounds like a hot disaster, but the catch here is: no. It connects. It flows. It has cohesion, the songs are magnetised to one another by mutilated physics and sheer force of will, its creator is unmistakably of sound instincts and crystal focus. She has it down, and we are lucky. Eternal Home gives the impression of going literally everywhere, yet the cheap threadbare RPG sense of interchangeable anywhere that tends to accompany such records is nowhere to be found here. Inference debuff: you are reading about perhaps the most ambitious genre-morphing horizon-erasing records of the year not in the terms of an eclectic attention pirating gimmick, but as one of the most cohesive and fully realised discharges of originality any artist has managed to land within [insert arbitrary span of recent memory]. Those 77 fuckin’ minutes of fuck are no empty flex, and it’s astounding how development supports even apparent throwaway segments. Take “Where on Earth Is My Sacchidananda”, a succinct blackgaze bumalong that gives way to a minute or so of ambient downtime: it’s a borderline segue cut within this tracklist, yet it’s more naturally developed and artistically collected on its own terms than practically anything in, say, Deafheaven’s entire discography. But really, this isn’t a ‘song’ album in the slightest. Sure, certain tracks signpost certain styles (see “Odd Cat Sanctuary” for the basic electro-industrial-black metal trinity, “(E)Y(E)S Wo a %Brain%” for eerie ambience, “”Lellow< “Birbs<” for puppy slaughtering grind, and so on), but no isolated cut tells anything close to the full story and there really is no substitute for full immersion.

So do that.

Or don’t. Honestly, for an anaemic mix of purism and time constraints, I doubt the majority of people will ever cast ears on this beautiful freakshow of a record. Too bad for them, but if that’s not a sure sign that this pander-ponder reference list has finally gone the extra mile and done something right, I don’t know what is. Whatever else you think you’re missing, this is probably it. It has been found for you. Celebrate immediately; bye. –JohnnyoftheWell

27. Lucy Dacus – Home Video

[Official site] // [Spotify]

Call it contrarianism if you must, or predilection for rooting for the underdog, but Lucy Dacus has always been my pick of the boygenius species; while not as obviously talented as Baker, or as simpabl — uhh, charismatic as Bridgers, her plaintive and subtle simplicity resonated. Listening to Home Video, one feels the joy of witnessing a friend finally succeed after all those years. Opener “Hot & Heavy” is a contender for song of the year, starting calculatedly aloof and swelling into emotional intensity, the outro so moreish it insists on you hitting repeat. “First Time”, which details a nascent sexual experience with excruciating honesty (“I may let you see me on my knees / but you’ll never see me on all fours”), might be even better — when it kicks into second gear and Dacus questions “how will I know?” over a stuttering trip-hop infused drum, the effect in this listener is guaranteed horripilation.

Home Video is told in vignette, anecdote and tableau vivant, interspersing tales of Christian camps, bad poetry, incipient sexual experiences, burgeoning awareness of bisexuality, resentment of paternal figures — rendering adolescence fulsomely and intimately then. “It’s bittersweet to see you again” is a summation of the album’s tone as good as any. At first blush it would appear to belong to a staple of what I call “speak, memory” albums, like Benji or Phoenix, which brace the roaring tempest and deluge of the past to create a throughline to a present specificity, but it lacks the gravitas and profundity of that reflection. Instead, she plunges you into your own youth and, in her unique earnest way, makes you stay there. The stakes feel immediate and penetrating. Sex isn’t good or bad but, frankly, confusing. Older figures shackle you to a fixity while you yearn for freedom (“I never touched you like I wanted to”). Inherited wisdom, religious or otherwise, no longer seems appropriate — this rebellion rendered in a way that feels new, not worn and dogeared.

The magic of this album is that, in being transported to youth, you recollect what music hasn’t represented for years: a depiction of feelings and specificities you haven’t experienced yet but, in some primordial way, feel the ghost of. Music as a means of negotiating oncoming adult experiences and responsibilities, naivety in such matters making it all the more vital. Imagine my delight (kind of) when heartbreak did feel like For Emma, where discovering spirituality did feel like New Grass. Home Video augurs a future you’ve already experienced and retouches the fading memory. “We still got a lot to figure out,” Dacus confesses on “Triple Dog Dare”. Home Video gives me hope that’s still true. –Winesburgohio

26. Laura Stevenson – Laura Stevenson

[Official site] // [Spotify]

Another Sput year-end list, another Laura Stevenson record. Laura continues her ten-plus year dominance of the indie-folk scene with another stellar album that’s a little more morose than her usual output. Inspired by becoming a first-time mother, Laura Stevenson’s self-titled record deals a lot with death and uncertainty and how to cope with feelings of anger and resentment. The opener “State” is especially dark for a Laura Stevenson song, with its relatively noisy chorus and harsher vibe, and while the rest of the record is closer to Laura’s pleasant-sounding acoustic arrangements, that darkness lingers in the background of the music and in the forefront of the lyrics. It’s a bit harder to latch onto compared to her other albums — everything is a little less catchy and a little wiser with age — but once it sinks its teeth into you, it’s hard to not fall in love all over again. It’s mind-blowing to realize I’ve been aging along with Stevenson’s records, as I was but a wee lad when Sit Resist first blew my mind. Now I’m pushing thirty and my back always hurts. I’ll see you again in two to four years when Laura Stevenson’s next album makes the year-end cut and my AARP card comes in the mail. –Trebor.

25. Tribulation – Where The Gloom Becomes Sound

[Official site] // [Spotify]

Despite the late-career resurgence of Cradle of Filth (or rather Dani Filth) and up-and-comers Unto Others, no band nailed the gothic aspect better this year than Tribulation. From the cover art to the album title, and especially the song titles, this is as atmospheric as it gets — almost like Bram Stoker or Mary Shelley in notes. Where the Gloom Becomes Sound feels like the culmination and perfection of what the Swedes had in mind during the conception of The Children of the Night. Additionally, after a couple of listens, it is the apotheosis of predictability, in the sense that every track immaculately sets the mood from the very beginning and transports the listener to a romantic bleak dimension. Of course, the fact that every song has single potential, combined with the reasonable duration, makes the album really easy to get into but also promises great lifetime value to anyone willing to be caught in its dark web. –manosg

24. Ethereal Shroud – Trisagion

[Bandcamp] // [Spotify]

From the moment that I first laid ears upon Trisagion, I knew that it would be one of the best albums of 2021. This is significant because I can count on one hand the number of black metal releases that I’ve enjoyed in my lifetime. This praise might seem overly personal and hyper-specific, but it speaks to a larger point about Ethereal Shroud’s triumphant final LP: what is it about this specific piece that makes it so relatable, even to skeptics of the genre? I’m not in a position to comment on the broader implications of this record as they relate to this style of music as a whole, but what I am qualified to do is explain how Trisagion turned someone with almost zero interest in black metal into a wholehearted believer.

The feeling I get while listening to Trisagion is unlike anything I’ve experienced through other black metal records. Even Agalloch’s The Mantle — seemingly forever the genre’s calling card — transports me to a place of bone-chilling isolation, but it doesn’t move me in a way that feels personally significant or overtly spiritual. By contrast, there’s the end of “Astral Mariner”, when composer Joseph Hawker shrilly laments, “I have found my own place in this maladjusted world we call our home / I hid in the stars, I conjured a world, I made my escape / You cannot hurt me here” and I find myself not only empathizing with his intense level of suffering, but also awe-struck by his ability to reshape that hell into a moment of personal triumph. Those verses are followed up by some of the most intensely cathartic screams I’ve ever heard, and it feels like Hawker is purging his soul of all the hate, anger, and vitriol that he’s accrued over the course of his entire life. There are no words, just the visceral release of toxic emotions. It’s nigh impossible not to involuntarily ache out of sheer empathy, and that’s a feeling I don’t often get from black metal regardless of how technical or atmospheric the music is.

Highly emotional affairs tend to get messy, but the songwriting and overall attention to detail here is impeccable. Look no further than the opening minutes of “Chasmal Fires”, which features one of the best introductions I’ve heard from any album, regardless of genre. John Kerr’s ominous drum beats echo like distant rumbles of thunder while melodic keys underscore the blackened horizon. Richard Spencer’s viola joins in, swelling with a sad beauty that practically sets the scene for armageddon. A pristine electric guitar riff cracks the sky like a brilliant bolt of lightning, and just as you think it’s all about to go down, the scene cuts to a moment of unsettling silence. Those menacing beats pound… steadily, patiently… like war drums. Hawker inhales sharply, and we’re plunged into a barrage of maniacal drumming and an avalanche of screams. Minutes later, Shannon Greaves provides an angelic reprieve with her stunningly beautiful guest verses. The song’s dominant melody — which initially surfaces during the elegant piano notes of the song’s breathtaking intro — endures many transformations in shape, tone, and intensity, but is always there… almost like a motif. Even sans Trisagion‘s massive emotional component, it’s still a masterclass in songwriting because it consistently engages the listener with its technical prowess and ever-shifting dynamics. It just so happens that with this album, Ethereal Shroud delivers on both fronts.

By definition, a trisagion is a three-part Orthodox hymn of the divine liturgy. Ethereal Shroud’s Trisagion feels spiritual in its own right, serving not only as a rebuke of the world as we know it, but also as a solemn reflection of the hatred that grows inside us all as a result of our putrid social environment: “I hate that I hate… I am not what I am.” Every word that Hawker pens for Trisagion feels like a poet’s reflection on the darkest times, and when words fail, the raw passion of his delivery somehow exceeds anything that could be put to paper. I might not be much of a black metal fan, but I know pure, transcendent art when I see or hear it… and Ethereal Shroud’s curtain-call is exactly it. –Sowing

23. Trophy Scars – Astral Pariah

[Bandcamp] // [Spotify]

Every Trophy Scars album feels like the last. No one else can do what they do, in part because it is so wholly unprofitable. Their sound has less mass appeal than most metal bands. “Orchestrated Lysergic Blues for the end of everything” is how they describe it, and that’s a hat only Trophy Scars can wear. Astral Pariah, like all their work, has a grand vision behind its story, one that practically begs its own importance, but their unique musical sound has always outweighed any concept cooked up by Jerry Jones on an acid trip. These musicians would be a bar band if bars only served substances that alter minds more than alcohol can. They would be an arena band if piano-driven, fiddle-and-saxophone-augmented blues rock could still fill arenas. This music was meant for saloons, for fighting off unconsciousness as sound bleeds around you and through you. The songs are constantly in danger of falling apart, but they don’t because they are held together by the fabric of the universe.

Astral Pariah is brief, hardly longer than a typical EP. Most of the songs end with the finality of death. The whole album feels, sometimes, like one big coda. Like the end of everything, they say, and I can see how it’s true. –Channing Freeman

22. King Woman – Celestial Blues

[Bandcamp] // [Spotify]

When looking for new doom music that’s actually engaging it’s hard to look past the doom-gaze variety of one King Woman. Maybe it’s the combination of post metal and shoegaze or the battle of good vs. evil that acts as a dichotomy, Celestial Blues is a bruiser of a record, fit for creating a physical extension of the music it represents. Angelic brush strokes on a hellish portrait of noise, all brought together in one sweeping summation. Celestial Blues is the perfect amalgamation of scintillating darkness wrapped in a sum of doom metal’s more lighter, happy-go-lucky aesthetics. Does it do the job? King Woman says so. Satanic Lullabies press on in a whimsical combination of vulnerability and downright defiance. If you’re looking for a 2021 album full of moods and stark vocal performances, King Woman’s Celestial Blues is for you. –Robert Garland

21. Low – Hey What

[Bandcamp] // [Spotify]

Low’s HEY WHAT reminds me of a certain science-fiction (and sometimes horror) literary device. It might even be a trope: where the events of the book / movie are revealed to be a microcosm, as something much more gargantuan looms in the closing scenes. When done right, the gut-punch completely re-contextualizes the story, rendering it futile and foreboding. The Minnesotan creative duo (Mimi Parker and Alan Sparhawk) do something similar on this album, in the second half of “The Price You Pay”, but with the opposite sentiment. The unique tonal power makes it remarkable. It’s glorious. It’s optimistic. It’s in solitary reverie at first, yet is slowly invigorated with a communal energy. The album finally makes sense.

I’ve seen HEY WHAT described as “hymnal” and “choral” and “gospel”. Yet, in an interview with Tone Glow, I recall them insisting that any perceived Christian themes were not placed deliberately, if at all. I do think it often has repetitious structures, gradual (perhaps too slow) development, and near-monastic levels of discipline, like Gregorian Chant. Part of makes HEY WHAT special is how it resembles a psychological triumph earned via self-imposed terms. I only wish I could listen to it for the first time again. — Jots

20. Deafheaven – Infinite Granite

[Official site] // [Spotify]

At a personal level, new Deafheaven music causes me some measure of anxiety. While it’s not quite life-changing anymore (something I can attribute to a certain pink-adorned album of another decade), Deafheaven music still manages to create a little curiosity deep within my soul. Largely I still wonder if the band can achieve the same wider reach and deeper emotional connections as the album referenced above. It’s now a curse that every Deafheaven record moving forward will be compared to the album referenced above. Infinite Granite showcases a development of the Deafheaven soundscapes. Whether it’s the poignant yet completely dialed-back harsher black metal or the intrinsic lack of aggression, the mash up of gaze-y dad rock swells with crescendos, guitars and other swirling synth ambience the band has managed to cultivate a niche. While on the other hand the band’s newest full-length completely conforms to stereotypes of more ‘gentler climes’. Deafheaven’s tendency to ‘progress’ with each release may just continue to divide fans but mostly, Infinite Granite is like sailing on a calm, open ocean with nothing to gaze at but the beautiful, big blue. The destination is out there – we just can’t see it on the horizon…yet. –Robert Garland

19. Spiritbox – Eternal Blue

[Official site] // [Spotify]

Before Eternal Blue was released, I was convinced that it would be the album of the year. “Constance” – about a grandmother succumbing to Alzheimer’s – was already the song of the year, the one that I would continuously return to no matter how many times I heard it. The myriad other pre-release singles also racked up high play counts. The band only had to stick the landing with the few tracks left unheard. In the end, Every Time I Die proved unbeatable, but only because Spiritbox’s first full-length record turned out to be imperfect, despite my hopes. “Sun Killer” is a strong opener, but I’m not sold on the whispered bridge that sucks the momentum out of the song. Sam Carter is overpowering on “Yellowjacket”, and it is unfortunate that his feature pushed the song onto all the metal streaming playlists in place of other, more deserving songs. The album doesn’t flow as well as it could, sometimes sounding more like a collection of singles than a body of work.

For some, those negatives might ruin the record, but I was able to find so much to love on Eternal Blue despite its imperfections. While the musicians – led by guitarist Mike Stringer – are excellent, there’s no point in talking about anyone in this limited space but Courtney LaPlante. Her harsh vocals rightfully command headlines, but I am even more impressed by her willingness to let pop influences bleed into her cleans. In moments where the songwriting veers into nu-metal territory (“Hurt You”) or somewhat generic metalcore stylings (“Circle With Me”), I’m still captivated by the little details in her voice and the unique choices she makes with presentation. Listen to the title track, where just before the second chorus, she breathes, “I’m waiting,” subtly enough to be missed the first few times you hear the song. She has become a timeless vocalist, elevating Spiritbox beyond their genre. And I’ve got my fingers crossed that the next one will make it to #1. –Channing Freeman

18. Der Weg Einer Freiheit – Noktvrn

[Official site] // [Spotify]

I wasn’t sure how to begin this blurb. After all, my thoughts on Der Weg Einer Freiheit aren’t mere whispers of affection. This band makes me feel things; I geek out about it sometimes. And, quite frankly, our prolific Notrap did the album’s intoxicating aura the justice it deserves in his fantastic review. Nevertheless, I can’t keep this bottled up inside. When Finisterre dropped, it throttled me to the core. The unrelenting energy and intimidating peaks of “Aubruch” reverberate in my mind to this day whenever the avant-garde metal act enters my orbit of listening or discussion.

Considering this, it’s a head-scratcher that Noktvrn was able to meet — and arguably exceed — the towering expectations it was met with. There are so many reasons to love this vibrant, purple wonder. It adds many layers to the German act’s sounds without compromising their rare level of intensity and passion. I love that it begins with “Finisterre II”: a warm, calming build of acoustic guitars that bridge the gap between their 2017 bulldozer and a more colorful direction. The steady, floating synths of “Monument” revel in a new level of patience and detail. Yet, the galloping duo of riffs and harsh cries that follow are as jolting as anything we’ve heard from them — and perhaps more so.

Der Weg Einer Freiheit translates to ‘the way of a freedom,’ and how fitting that is. The band have never released the same album twice, always aggressively pushing the envelope for their sound into exciting and fresh terrain. Continuing this trend, Noktrvrn is bold and takes risks. The closer “Haven” is an unexpected ray of light — with soaring, therapeutic vocals that wouldn’t feel out of place on a dream pop album. It leaves you feeling giddy and unsure about where the black metal shapeshifters will land next, but there’s little doubt it will cover the full spectrum of human emotion. –Atari

17. Dvne – Etemen Ænka

[Bandcamp] // [Spotify]

I’m of the opinion that post metal is a genre best represented by its critical Goliaths, and tend toward suspicion whenever a crusty atmosludge fan breathes a new name in my direction upon breath perfumed with heftily-hopped IPA and stale bong. Enter Etemen Ænka, Dvne’s second full-length foray into theatrical nerddom, an album that doesn’t wield sluggish and tiresome genre tropes as proof of purchase, instead weaving post metal’s DNA into a bombastic and progressive genome all their own.

Bellowing roars, city-destroying bass tones, sludgy guitar lines filled with flavoursome chords, clean vocals that don’t suck, and an unusually adaptive approach to tempo are quickly introduced, and all given equal-footing in an ultimate collective mission to serve the song. The way Dvne structure and arrange each track tends towards the lengthy, but there’s nothing here that feels overlong or overwrought. A verse chorus structure will give way to some good hard progging, only to reprise motifs refreshed and renewed in ways that speak volumes of the band’s thoughtful dynamism. This is Etemen Ænka‘s most prominent strength — the way in which any given song will establish itself with gusto, spend the next few minutes displaying an agile wit and performing neat little sleights of hand, and eventually just deliver the fucking goods and leave you breathless.

Dvne’s rapid construction and mastery of their sound is genuinely perplexing. There’s enough post metal here that it strikes as the main influence at play, yet none of the typical mimicry applies — Neurosis’ grandiose sense of fear, Isis’ twisted and mythic wonder, and Cult of Luna’s adrenaline-fuelled death marches are nowhere to be found. Etemen Ænka‘s winding and explosive compositions are a paradoxical familiar plunge into the unknown, their five members’ adept interplay unpredictable and consistently engaging. Lay down your bongs and bottles, earnest seekers of suffering, and open your eyes to a brighter future: atmospheric sludge is fun now. –MiloRuggles

16. Dale Kerrigan – noise bitch

[Bandcamp] // [Spotify]

“men came up to my pedals and told me what they did” Shlee Nicholls — Dale Kerrigan’s executive writer of tormented tunes — shared with Everything Is Noise back in August. Ever the creative soul, her response was to construct and add to her live chain “the noise bitch pedal“; a pedal which deliberately performs no function at all. Tu meke.

This snarky and confrontational approach to expression spills out all over noise bitch. “grudge” starts with feigned indifference and ends in calculated spite, patriarchal sexual dynamics evoked and condemned over an instrumental that draws upon protracted masses of noise, Pixies-esque melodicism, and a conclusive passage of primal bludgeoning. “car/teen movie” enters sweetly, like a nostalgic teenage dream, making Nicholls’ scornful cries of “you were my BEST FRIEND” into a mic that doesn’t appreciate the scolding all the more venomous when they arrive late in the piece. “dale kerrigan” sees Nicholls exaggerate her already snide and sarcastic vocal performance even further for the second verse, aggressively laying down an airheaded and vapid impression before the back half of the track sees her completely unhinged.

noise bitch‘s studied, convincing and disquieting noise rock aesthetics back Nicholls’ antics with a molten heap of sound and violence. “i <3 her”‘s shaky introduction will tell you something about the jagged performances here, as will the track’s formidable conclusion. “whatever” sees the siblings (Shlee and her brother Josh on the drums) having simultaneous freakouts, their noise rock compatriots perhaps ill-suited trip-sitters. There are enough of these magnified meltdowns, leviathanic riffs, and simmering furies on noise bitch to proselytise even the most wide-eyed poptimist. At many moments, you can almost smell the smoke coiling around the band, hear the hiss of the heat radiating from their instruments, feel your reptile brain pulsating in a menacing catharsis in line with the soul-cleansing delirium that noise bitch spews forth. Don’t be surprised when, much like the humble Ōtepoti pelican, you find yourself glugging down Dale Kerrigan’s wretched regurgitation with glee. –MiloRuggles

15. Limp Bizkit – Still Sucks

[Official site] // [Spotify]

Here’s a brainteaser for you: how on earth did the latest Limp Bizkit LP turn out to be not only the highest rated album they’ve ever released, according to the learned Sput user base, but also the 15th best staff album of 2021!? The small sample size? Probably. Our cringeworthy collective music taste? Almost certainly. Or maybe, just maybe, Still Sucks doesn’t, in fact, suck? Preposterous, I know…and yet with each gleefully nostalgic Borland riff and every corny Durst refrain, I become more and more convinced of that unquestionably questionable truth. In doubling down on every tired trope that has come to define the band’s infamous (un)popularity, coupled with just the right amount of self-awareness, Still Sucks stands tall as a riotous distillation of everything we love and hate about the Jacksonville 5-piece. It is the three dollar bills, the significant others and the metaphorical buttholes – as tight and gloriously messy as they’ve ever been – and I’m not sure we could have asked, or hoped, for anything more than that. –AsleepInTheBack

14. Wolves in the Throne Room – Primordial Arcana

[Official site] // [Spotify]

Conjuring the hidden forces of Nature with the voracity of a carnivorous gale storm, Wolves in the Throne Room eclipsed everyone else releasing music on the third week of August this year with an album that could very well be among the best things the duo have ever done. The Weaver brothers have never truly strayed from the path they had actually built themselves, but after some years mining through different veins with divisive opinions about what they had surfaced, WITTR seem to have finally refined their ore and unified their legions under a single banner.

For the band from Olympia, it was never about finding where they truly belong, be it the evocative frost winds of their brand of Cascadian black metal, the calming allure of their folk influences, or the burgeoning of a newly-acquired taste for doom and dungeon synth elements. Their impressive history has been written with the kind of perseverance that writes unforgettable albums. It has allowed them to temper the right balance between all these extremes they’ve played with for years, like a blacksmith taming the feral fires of a forge to craft that weapon capable of bringing down the heavens above with a single swing. Primordial Arcana is that weapon, as menacingly aggressive as horrifyingly beautiful, with shrieks that feel like they call from a spectral realm of forgotten battles, chanting the glories of old through thunderous drumming and blaring riffs, and summoning the sound of atmospheric black metal the way it was always meant to be. –Dewinged

13. Arab Strap – As Days Get Dark

[Official site] // [Spotify]

Hnnnmugh what an absurdly confident way to brush off a sixteen-year freeze and upend all notions of your A-game! As Days Get Dark is an absolutely perfect showcase of a seasoned group channeling fresh inspirations with patience and precision, and I adore it beyond all decency or depravity. No other record has stuck so firmly with me this year, in all its pith, playfulness, perversity and meticulous understanding of the interrelation between great lines and great hooks. What a bloody treasure. Treasure it! Or blush yourself bloodless and find yourself cleaner pearls to clutch; like any truly excellent ****, this record’s silken pacing and profane gratification can and should leave you just a little retrospectively uncomfortable with how much you enjoyed yourself. By Bacchus, ain’t it worth it.

I’m still suspicious of its frequent categorisation as ‘spoken word’ (a term that hardly applies here more than, say, The National), but there’s no route to the heart of this record that skirts its lyricism. Courtesy of wordsmith Adrian Moffat and his glorious mead-sweetener of a Scottish accent, As Days Get Dark is low-brow in its humour and subject matter, but uncommonly sophisticated in its foundation of sexual maturity and complex character insights. Ever the master of ambiguity, Moffat weaves twists of tone galore from these disparate threads: is “Another Clockwork Day” a comic masturbation skit or a touching snapshot of a stagnant marriage? Should we find “I Was Once A Weak Man”‘s waiting-for-a-hooker narration alluring or revolting? Is “Sleeper”‘s account of the titular overnight train mundane or mystical? Does “Tears On Tour” hold either its tragic accounts of dead relatives or its cheap Disney sob-a-thons in earnest, or are both two sides of a common burnout? The man clearly knows how to juice an orange from both ends, and the uncertain middle ground he broods over proves to be an indecently fertile seedbed for nuance, colour, and sardonic wit. As Days Get Dark is a masterpiece built on the blurred lines between bathos and pathos, wry indulgence foiled with dry insight. It’s too idiosyncratic to be ‘template’, but shatter my bones if anyone else has laid down a more valuable lesson in how to write an album this year.

More cause for joy, this record is not pure penmanship: its songwriting is the dog’s bollocks, each track saturated but never strained with memorable hooks, ultra-streamlined arrangements, and frequent diversifications of instrumentation. The likes of “Just Enough” are ample proof that the Strap are still savvy in the ways of their slowcore roots, but they back this up with an impeccable set of pop sensibilities in often surprising guises. “Here Comes Comus!” is a rollicking banger that sees the album glowing and preening at its most debauched, while the gentle “Bluebird” explores more anxious territory to gorgeous effect. Nothing’s sexier than a good hook – but really, much as “Compersion, Pt. 1” makes me want to tart up and shake out like a middle-aged sinner with the slipperiest of agendas, the core deal is just bloody fantastic storytelling, innit. Come ye round and soak it up – and get your handkerchiefs on the door. –JohnnyoftheWell

12. Ad Nauseam – Imperative Imperceptible Impulse

[Bandcamp] // [Spotify]

Ad Nauseam exists in that niche-within-a-niche sub genre of “sounds like Gorguts.” Through the creation of elegant dissonant death metal (which sounds eerily similar to Montreal’s finest), the band have earned exaltations from fans of Ulcerate and Deathspell Omega in equal measure. Now, this should be the part where I flip the script and tell you how Ad Nauseam has broken free of these connotations to create something entirely different. But, truth be told, Imperative Imperceptible Impulse, like the band’s debut, is a chimeric being which wears its influences proudly — in many ways, even better than its peers.

Imperative Imperceptible Impulse is the sound of modern death metal perfected: an improbably tight, clean, and artfully designed experience from start to finish. Its overt heaviness is derived not from its chunky riffs or visceral percussion, but from the Vermis-style atmosphere that is equal parts unsettling and suffocating. Obscura-era style experimentation with ear-ringing dissonance play well with the Paracletus style rhythms, and the DIY production is an immaculate blend of filthy.

In this way, Imperative Imperceptible Impulse feels like an artificially developed experience; a lab-generated album meant to derive the best modern death metal has to offer into one immense package. But so much of Imperative Imperceptible Impulse is ineffable. The way its various parts ebb and flow create an experience of pure elation is unique. It simply feels unlike so many of the band’s peers that one can’t help but look on in wonderment. –Xenophanes

11. Swallow the Sun – Moonflowers

[Official site] // [Spotify]

The fact that guitarist and founder Juha Raivio painted the moon in the cover of Moonflowers with his own blood should suffice in attesting to Swallow the Sun’s commitment to their artistic vision. A few dried flowers he picked in 2016 — the last withered memories of Aleah Starbridge’s death in April of that year — are laid next to the blood moon, a memento carefully kept away as proof of the profound sorrow Raivio has been unwillingly infusing his music with since that fatal day. Moonflowers incorporates a wider use of cellos and violins, to the point that its limited edition includes a full rework of the eight tracks included on the album performed in their entirety by the string group Trio N O X. It’s not the only collaboration on the album, as Oceans of Slumber’s Cammie Gilbert graces the song “All Hallows’ Grieve” with a bone-chilling performance, creating a magnificent cut of blissful doom, the finest of its ilk, if you’d allow me this rather exalted thought.

With their eighth record in twenty-one years, Swallow the Sun position themselves as the link between the past and the future of the genre, channeling the crushing melancholy of My Dying Bride and Paradise Lost while creating an album that manages to sound fresh and mighty, partly thanks to the fantastic production work of David Castillo (Katatonia, Draconian) and inherently made possible by Raivio’s superb songwriting, even if he would have probably never wished to have the inspiration he draws from. –Dewinged

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