A still life is the last I will see of you A painting of a panic attack
Scott Hutchison (Rest in Peace, 5/10/2018), was an inspiration to many as he battled the depression that would eventually take his life. 2008’s TheMidnight Organ Fight is still seen as the benchmark for this band – and rightfully so. It was the embodiment of being shattered, desperate, and needy; the monologue of an introvert trying to navigate his way through the most painful breakup of his life. On ‘Floating in the Forth’, in which he imagines a suicide that he eventually carried out almost exactly 10 years later, he manages to pick himself up and – at least momentarily – conquer his depression, singing “And fully clothed, I float away (I’ll float away) / Down the Forth, into the sea / I think I’ll save suicide for another day.” It is one of the most uplifting moments of personal triumph in the history of music.
Enter this decade, which saw the majority of Frightened Rabbit’s discography come to fruition: The Winter of Mixed Drinks (2010), Pedestrian Verse (2013), and Painting of a Panic Attack (2016). The latter would prove to be Hutchison’s last album under the Frightened Rabbit moniker, and it has moments on it that still haunt me to this day. At the forefront of those songs is “Death Dream”, where Hutchison recalls a dream in which he found a friend dead on the floor…
Can a relatively conventional 4 minute alt-rock track really contend for song of the decade? Considering there is always something out there that’s more innovative, brilliant, and weird, I have to admit it is unusual. However when you are as talented as The Dear Hunter is, any feat is made to look easy. Effortless is as good of an adjective as any to describe their 2015 smash hit “Waves” – a track that combines all of your standard breakup cliches with a gorgeously bleak burial-at-sea metaphor. As lead vocalist Casey Crescenzo passionately pleads “I can see the lighthouse”, it feels like bargaining, as images of waves knocking his ship sideways come more and more into focus. It’s not your typical breakup song because The Dear Hunter is an atypically skilled bunch. So when the experience wraps up with the utterance “I thought that I knew love, but it was just a wave crashing over us”, it feels all too easy to relate to.
It’s amusing to think that a band as eccentric as The Dear Hunter (who have composed an act in five parts and who also once wrote a 9-EP, 36-song collection) might see one of their most straightforward offerings ascend to the top of their entire discography. “Waves” isn’t part of some grand scheme or concept, it’s just pure emotion set to the most sweeping melody that the band has ever written. Sometimes, that’s all you need.
The Seer is the stuff nightmares are made of. From the witch-like incantations of “Lunacy” through the jarring discordance of “The Apostate”, it’s basically all dimensions of hell sprawled across an immersive two hour experience. The 32 minute title track would have been an easy selection for one of the decade’s best songs, but when I think about the moments on this album that make me return, it has more to do with the digestible cuts: “Lunacy”, “The Wolf”, “Song for a Warrior”, et al. “The Seer Returns” also benefits from rare accessibility on an album that is otherwise abrasive – however, it sacrifices nothing in terms of the pure evil that it’s able to conjure.
Thumping along to an addictingly villainous beat, Gira spews some ugly imagery that seems like nonsense upon initial inspection but actually makes a whole lot of sense if you pay it a careful listen. Some of the lyrics are more cryptic (“Behind the veil of silver scars / There is a special inverted star”…”There’s a jagged deep crack in the crust of the earth, spreading from north to south / Put your light in my mouth”) while others are just grotesque (“I’m down here naked, there’s a hole in my chest / Both my arms are broken, pointing east and west”), but one of my favorite passages is both: “Ahh, the mountains are crumbling / Ahh, the canyons are thundering / All the people are fucking / They’re…
Well…duh. The National. Has any band had a greater influence on our current decade? We’ve witnessed High Violet (2010), Trouble Will Find Me (2013), Sleep Well Beast (2017), and we’re about to get hit with one more dose of brilliance with 2019’s I Am Easy to Find. So as obvious as it is that The National belong on this list, it’s far less certain what track best highlights why.
They’re a band of consistent excellence, and anyone who loves them knows that ranking their songs is futile. Everyone seems to identify with a different track for personal reasons, and beyond just grabbing a single such as “Bloodbuzz Ohio” or “The System Only Dreams in Total Darkness” and calling it their most widely appealing, there’s few ways to objectively approach this. So I won’t.
The thing is, “Pink Rabbits” still devastates me six years later. The National are no strangers to forlorn, swaying melodies with downtrodden messages, but there’s something about this tune in particular that resonates with every emotional fiber in me. It’s a breakup song; well yeah, sort of. But it’s also about the sting of separation – which the narrator overcomes – only to be confronted by the same girl right as he was on the mend: “I was coming back from what seemed like a ruin / I couldn’t see you coming so far, I just turn around and there you are / I’m so surprised you want to dance with…
Few modern bands are able to express the simplest of ideas with as much sincerity and passion as the Australian quintet Gang of Youths. When frontman David Le’aupepe sings one of my all-time favorite lyrics, “And it’s strange, all the things that I’ve run from / Are the things that completeness could come from” on the slow-burning ‘Do Not Let Your Spirit Wane’, I see the twenty-year-old-me rejecting happiness at every turn, favoring a self-destructive lifestyle over accepting maturity and adulthood. When he sings that he “feels everything” on ‘Fear and Trembling’, only to follow that up by admitting that he’s “terrified of loving” because he’s “terrified of pain”, I feel the heartbreak in his voice and it makes me look inwards at my own insecurities. Isn’t that the way all the best bands are? They somehow put into words everything you’d write if you could, and then sing it plainly and beautifully.
Now, take that idea and multiply it on ‘Say Yes to Life’, possibly the most optimistic and affirming rock anthem to come out since Springsteen was still rollicking in his heyday. Le’aupepe immediately reaches out to his listeners and engages them, putting himself in our shoes: “If I could reach out through the screen and give you something to believe in I would / But I’m with you in amongst the confusion.” To quickly intensifying drumming, he spews messages of hope through his own obviously less-than-desirable experiences, eventually…
Benjamin Clementine might be one of the most underappreciated artists of the decade. Rising from a homeless musician in Paris to the winner of 2015’s Mercury Prize, Clementine recorded I Tell a Fly while traveling the world – from New York to London to Syria – and chronicling what he witnessed, be it sickening wealth, war-torn nations, or alarming poverty. He’s as authentic as they come, and the combination of his own rough upbringing, along with his boots-on-the-ground mentality to seeing and incorporating world issues into his music, has afforded him a wealth of material worth playing about — and more importantly, worth hearing.
While I’d advise anyone to listen to both of Benjamin Clementine’s albums in full, the absolute pinnacle of his young career has to be ‘Phantom of Aleppoville.’ It ebbs and flows with a blend of grace and oddness that simply can’t be manufactured – and comes along ever so rarely. Spanning six and a half minutes, the song gradually builds up from intricate, trickling piano notes to more graceful and elegant ones. By the time the song is one minute in, the two styles intertwine and dance together playfully, and it sounds like we’re immersed in some eighteenth century classical masterpiece. Clementine’s avant-garde inclinations are on full display when ‘Phantom of Aleppoville’ changes course into militaristic drumming and unintelligible, tribal-sounding chants. The most stunning juncture comes a little more than halfway through, when the song falls into a lush, vocal-centric moment where…
Oh my my. If only you knew the struggle I endured to try and pick the best Kendrick Lamar song of the past decade. I’ve been considering it even prior to the conception of this blog series, and since then I’ve bounced between the politically volatile ‘The Blacker the Berry’, the artful storytelling of either ‘The Art of Peer Pressure’ or ‘Sing About Me, I’m Dying of Thirst’, the hook-laden depth of ‘Good Kid’, or purely fun tracks such as ‘Wesley’s Theory’ or ‘Backseat Freestyle.’ As of writing this, I’m still not certain that there’s any such thing as a right decision, so I’m just gonna roll with my gut as usual.
Aaand ‘m.A.A.d city’ it is!
The track focuses in on the violence of gang life, specifically Piru Bloods and Compton Crips (two rival west coast gangs) – at one point comparing every front porch in his hood to a middle eastern war zone. It commences with a series of threatening verses, “Fuck who you know—where you from, my n****? / Where your grandma stay, huh, my n****?”, and works its way into a real story from Lamar’s childhood where he witnessed someone get killed, even going so far as to bleep out the names of the people involved. Lamar has been quoted about that specific passage saying, “I’m bleeping out a name. These stories are serious and in-depth, I’m not going to go out here and really, really slander…
Art isn’t necessarily just an output, or a mere creation. It’s who you are. It flows through your veins.
David Bowie personified that, from his fashion to his role in movies. The man was a true artist in everything he did, even his own death. While the general public remained blissfully unaware of the cancer that was slowly killing him, Bowie turned to music to tell his story through 2016’s Blackstar. The album was unusual not because it was released shortly before his demise, but because the album was created with the artist fully aware of his own impending death – it was a parting gift, you might say.
For that reason, Blackstar was and still is a very unique record. At a mere seven songs, there’s not a single moment that doesn’t hit listeners right in the gut. However, it’s difficult to select any track other than ‘Lazarus’ – the song that most directly addresses his death – as one of the most emotional moments of the entire decade. “Look up here, I’m in heaven…I’ve got scars that can’t be seen” he sings, slyly alluding to the cancer that he was hiding at the time the song was written. It ends with him saying, “Oh, I’ll be free…Ain’t that just like me?” – foreshadowing his spiritual ascension from this world. It’s all very haunting, and devastating to think that he knew all along.
Musically the track is downtempo, with jazz influences and jarring…
When it comes to pastoral indie-folk, it sometimes feels like the genre has overplayed its hand. Acoustic guitars, lumberjack cologne — we get it, alright? Everyone wants to be the next Simon & Garfunkel, and by 2019, we’re a little bit leery every time a group of neckbeards comes stumbling out of the woods. But not only are Fleet Foxes the exception to that rule, they’re also arguably the band that set the standard for folk music during the 2010’s. Strictly from an aesthetic standpoint, no other group has as successfully captured that rich, earthy, rural vibe. In other words, this is the art that all those other bands aspire for.
Fleet Foxes’ discography has been the model of consistency (three LP’s spaced out over nine years, each one critically acclaimed), so selecting a definitive standout track is a difficult undertaking. 2017’s Crack-Up flourished thanks to increased piano/classical elements, and a three-part epic like “Third of May / Ōdaigahara” would have been just as fitting here. However, the simple beauty of “Helplessness Blues” represents this band better. To most fans, their 2011 offering Helplessness Blues was the band in peak form, with the title track serving as its heartfelt mantra. The song exists as little more than a surging wave of acoustic guitars, accompanied by frontman Robin Pecknold’s thoughtful ruminations which are sung with the urgency of a man who can’t see what’s waiting for him around the corner: “And now after some thinking, I’d…
This already feels like the riskiest inclusion on this list so far. Trophy Scars don’t exactly have the clout of a band like Titus Andronicus or The Dillinger Escape Plan, yet here they are, nestled snug on my cement-as-fuck decade enshrinement. But let me ease any concerns: they deserve to be here. OK, feel better?
First of all, Holy Vacants is a nearly perfect album so I brought up the tracks in a playlist, put a blindfold on,and punched my keyboard to see which song would end up earning this honor. Well, not quite, but it could have been that easy! The real reason is that no song rocks nearly as hard as “Qeres” – sure, “Everything Disappearing” is a haunting penultimate track (for all intents and purposes it’s the real closer), and “Crystallophobia” is about the catchiest goddamn thing since the plague, but I think I’m talking myself out of the point I was trying to make so I’m going to stop. “Qeres” dominates Holy Vacants before the clock even hits 00:01 – I kid you not, hit play and look at the timestamp. Electric guitars are rollicking from the get-go; the song starts this high but then the drums kick in, along with that magnificent vocal duet, and it has already raised the stakes on itself like twenty measly seconds into the song. And none of that even counts the best part – a dichotomous chorus which thrusts Jerry Jones’ comically gruff voice alongside those harmonious, angelic backdrops – each word highlighted by…
Whenever I think of the best metalcore acts of the decade – ha, nevermind – I never think about metalcore. That almost – almost – led me to overlook what should be an obvious inclusion on anyone’s decade list. The Dillinger Escape Plan are masters of art when it comes to their ingenious blend of mathcore and extreme metal; this very methodical, calculated madness. They’ve proven over the span of their entire career to be one of the most important and consistently excellent bands of their subgenre, and to be frank, any number of cuts could have been chosen to represent them on this playlist. For me, it’s “Farewell, Mona Lisa”, the jaw-dropping opener that kicked the doors down on 2010’s sensational Option Paralysis.
“Farewell, Mona Lisa” captures the despondence of modern times. It’s a struggle to break free from the mundane paths that life blandly bestows upon us and access a true, original purpose: “Our role is clear, never stray far from the path.” With the chaotic and complex riffing that swirls about the song’s backdrop, it plunges the listener’s senses into the sheer madness of trying to garner hope from the future during the 2010’s – a time where student loans essentially outweigh their benefits, young people are still living at home into their late twenties or beyond, wielding expensive book-smarts that may not even be applicable to real life, all while contending with unrealistic expectations as well as the intrinsic pressure of knowing that time is passing by. There’s…
God gave Noah the rainbow sign…no more water, is the H-Bomb next time?
There’s stark contrast in the implications carried by the phrase, “the end of the world.” For those with a religious upbringing, it likely conjures images of plague, famine, and horsemen wreaking unfathomable devastation. To others, they might imagine World War III – cyber warfare shutting down power grids, industry, and commerce, while increasingly desperate leaders launch nuclear missiles at each other from outer space. mewithoutYou’s end-times scenario is a little of both, and their song ‘Rainbow Signs’ entails all of the intensity and destruction that could come if/when a Biblical and secular apocalypse were to cross paths.
What makes ‘Rainbow Signs’ so effective isn’t its eccentric storytelling, it’s the personal anecdotes. Aaron Weiss makes God seem like he has a twisted, sarcastic humor (in the above quote, it’s a reference to God’s promise to Noah that he would never again destroy the Earth with a flood — but he never said anything about nuclear bombs). He also cracks wise about his hairline, comparing it to Napoleon’s receding hairline late in life after his exile to St. Helena, in what also happens to be the first/only time that the mostly Christian band drops the F-bomb on its listeners. In the middle of the song Weiss prays in both Arabic and Hebrew. He even ends the song by recounting an inside joke that only he and his deceased father ever shared. There’s so much humanity and personality injected into what lesser…
So, anyone got a spare 30 minutes to listen to a pop track? I know, it’s easy to approach songs that lengthy with trepidation; usually they’re either a bloated mess, annoyingly repetitive, or worse yet – they do that pointless “hidden track” thing where they put 18 minutes of silence between two average-length tracks. Thankfully, “Impossible Soul” is none of those things, and instead of viewing it as the final song from Stevens’ 2010 blockbuster TheAge of Adz, I beg you to imagine that it is an album in and of itself. After all, it’s more of a collection of movements than it is one drawn out song idea, with different concepts bleeding into each other effortlessly.
There’s a lot of inspiring messages floating around within the confines of “Impossible Soul”, but instead of rattling off all my favorite passages it would be more prudent to look at how the song evolves within itself. It begins as this somber/electronic/dehumanized ballad, and gradually adds layers of warmth. By the second “movement”, you can hear more audacious synthesizers zipping through space in the background, while Sufjan self-harmonizes to make it sound like he’s no longer in isolation. Eventually, the song erupts into this celebratory dance — with a full crowd harmoniously chanting a series of choruses (“it’s a miracle..do you wanna dance” / “we can do much more together” / “it’s not so impossible”) that all brim with equal optimism. Someone on Sputnik once said that The Age…
The weight of 2019 is bearing down on us. As the final stop in a 10 year waiting period – which started waaay back when the staff punctuated their 2000-2009 list with a Jane Doe victory – there’s an awful lot to think about this year. A lot of 2019 will be spent reflecting, looking back on the last 3,650 days of music and beginning the impossible task of identifying what stood out as the very best. Frankly, it’s a fool’s errand to even try. That of course, is where I come in. Even though I will continue to evaluate my top 100 albums separately – and eventually submit that list when it comes time to vote – this particular blog series will aim to spotlight my favorite songs. That’s right, a whole decade of sowingcore at your fingertips. I’m excited too. For this series, I will incrementally add what I deem to be classic/essential songs to my spotify playlist [below] until there’s a list of only my very favorite songs from 2010-2019. Please note that these installments are not ranked, but rather a compilation.
This first entry might come as a slight surprise. Many associate “The Battle of Hampton Roads” with the very best that Titus Andronicus’ 2010 landmark record The Monitor has to offer, but I’ve always been partial to “A More Perfect Union.” There’s a tremendous sense of political urgency that emanates from it, even though it’s not…
