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the decade that was: 100 awesome albums of the 2000s (#100-91)Nov 15 '11 Write an essay on this topic.
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The Bottom Line Lists. I write 'em.
So, as it turns out, guess what I wasn't doing any of when various and sundry publications were writing up their best albums of the decade that'd passed? Right you are; writing. Now that I'm back into the swing of things, I'm shamelessly catching up on pursuits that are hopelessly outdated, but hopefully well-written and reasonably engaging. The 2000s were a unique decade for me in that they were incredibly formative. I remember the '90s vividly, and that was the decade in which I started to make the transformation from sheltered Christian music listener to voracious pop lover (to say nothing of the hip-hop that entered my world in a big way in the middle of the decade). The 2000s were a different beast -- internet being what it was, it proved to be the decade in which I truly came of age, musically; with my curiosity piqued in the previous decade, I was now entering late-period adolescence and, finally, adulthood. And as opportunities presented themselves, I now had the unique privilege of experiencing albums, more often than not, as they were happening -- I had timeliness on my side, as opposed to the '90s, where I often had to experience things retroactively. As such, this list has been trimmed down to 100 from a qualifying list of damn-near double that. It was a difficult decision -- one that will be detailed a bit later in the Honorable Mentions section -- but I believe what remains effectively illuminates a mixture of universal highs and personal preference. Bear in mind that I hold my own personal preference in remarkably high esteem, so ranking is largely arbitrary (may as well consider each entry ten albums that tied for one spot, really) and overwhelmingly based on what I like and appreciate most, and rarely cultural relevance, although all of these albums are very good and those two ideals are likely to coincide more than once. Enough preamble for ya? Fantastic. Let's read on! 100. The Eminem Show, Eminem If Marshall Mathers is the man and Slim Shady is the persona, Eminem is the rapper; fitting that his third major-label LP thrusts this fact front and center, as The Eminem Show dials back the deceptively bouncy gallows humor and deep vein of spring-loaded psychosis on display for Marshall Mathers and Slim Shady. It makes for a slightly less exciting album than we'd grown accustomed to, sure, but it's also deeply satisfying from an artistic point of view, allowing songs to breathe and Em's breathless, labyrinthine rhymes to fold in on each other and weave their way back out again. 99. Breach, The Wallflowers The rare roots-rock record that doesn't pander to po-faced Americana, instead choosing to focus on the emotional honesty of, say, mid-period Tom Petty, The Wallflowers hit one out of the park with their quick, potent Breach; it's all familiar stuff, these songs about the trappings of fame, of escaping the shadow of your parent, about doomed relationships, songs that liken heartbreak to murder, but frontman Jakob Dylan proves an emotionally invigorating tour guide, and the band's lean, muscular pop-rock lends authenticity, crunch, and nuance to the proceedings. "Some Flowers Bloom Dead" makes heartache sound so sweet, so hook-y; "Murder 101" even gooses its snarling invective with a guest appearance by Elvis Costello, who perfected this "seething anger dolled up with corking melodies" thing way back in '78. 98. A Healthy Distrust, Sage Francis Part slam poet, part rap firebrand, Sage Francis is an interesting artist; he occasionally allows his abstract, metaphysical leanings to get the better of him, and loses the listener in reams of free-associative text. A Healthy Distrust is his most focused effort -- perhaps the closest Francis has ever come to a proper hip-hop record -- and it's still a lot to process at once, although Sage's naked aggression in "Slow Down Gandhi" pulverizes with snarling invective more cutting than a thousand Rage Against the Machine joints. Over warm, minor-key beats, Sage ruminates on more topics than the mind can handle in one sitting -- gun culture in the fascinating "Gunz Yo", heady romantic dissolution on "Crumble" -- and the result is thrilling for anyone who vibes to the pure rush of language spilling over language. 97. The Trials of Van Occupanther, Midlake A record gill-stuffed with highbrow, proggy ideas that somehow still manages to land somewhere just left of center of '70s AM radio, stylistically -- opener "Roscoe" is the gripper, a track so flush with familiar electric keyboard and braid-tight harmonies that to not wonder if it's not a primo-era Fleetwood Mac outtake (Nicks-penned, of course) is to do the song a tremendous disservice. The rest of Van Occupanther delivers, too, but less with pop smarts than with enchanting, folksy, mystic mood; after "Roscoe", of course, you're more than happy to board the train. 96. Myth Takes, !!! There are those that would prefer !!!'s earlier salvos, the lengthy, flesh-eating dance tracks like "Sh*t Sheisse Merde" and "Me and Giuliani Down By the Schoolyard" that set bloggers aflame LCD-style when they were released; that's all well and good, but I'm much more entranced by Myth Takes, a record that sounds like decadent discotheque breakdowns played on pots and pans, coated in glitter and grime, juiced up by naggingly persistent grooves and structured like a lost evening where you don't know what you did, but you're pretty sure it was awesome. "Must Be the Moon" and "A New Name" are hipster dance anthems for generations to come, and I mean that in the most complimentary way possible. 95. Pick A Bigger Weapon, The Coup Unfortunate that the Coup may well be known as the unluckiest hip-hop group on the planet -- when their album that featured the duo blowing up the World Trade Center on the cover was set to release on September 11, 2001, there's just no way they could have known that... well... you know -- because they're also one of the best. Pick A Bigger Weapon lands a bit more on the humor side of things than previous releases, but the other half of the Coup equation -- fiery far-left political commentary delivered through intricate wordplay -- gets a forceful workout, as one would expect from a political record delivered from the thick of the Dubya years. Deep funk, dynamic and labyrinthine raps, and bass so thick you can choke on it -- Pick A Bigger Weapon may, at the end of the day, be just another Coup album, but what's more exciting than another Coup album? 94. B'Day, Beyonce Clearly, Beyonce is pop royalty -- every post-Destiny's Child album to bear her name has been good-to-excellent, and her records are so stuffed to the gills with ideas that they have a breathless, thrilling quality nobody else in her genre can quite replicate. And while Dangerously in Love, spearheaded by the massive "Crazy in Love", is a remarkably assertive and mature bid for artistic relevance, the lean, sinewy B'Day is, pound for pound, B's strongest outing. The funk ("Deja Vu", "Suga Mama") is muscular, insistent; the sparse dance tracks uncluttered and insidious; every emotion forcefully tapped into and fully realized -- B seethes rage on the astounding "Ring the Alarm" and oozes confidence and sass on "Irreplaceable" -- and perfectly placed. Ten vivacious tracks that either established Beyonce as a solo force to be reckoned with, or illustrated why you wouldn't want to reckon with her; your choice. 93. The Crane Wife, The Decemberists The Decemberists' bent for lengthy folk tales and hyper-literacy do them few favors in the public arena -- indeed, The Crane Wife was their major-label debut, and while their sound is noticeably punchier, it's difficult to imagine the arena-rock set grooving to the band's proggier tendencies, or their penchant for singing entire paragraphs instead of one-liners like everyone else. Then again, who's to say, especially when The Crane Wife sounds this big? Opener "The Crane Wife 3" is big, operatic rock of the highest order, a mini-epic that simply builds on its three chords to a flurry of bombastic, soul-stirring activity and "O Valencia!" sounds like ebullient pop, until you listen to the lyrics and unravel a tragic tale about young, doomed lovers and class warfare and murder. As messy as it is, and as restless as lead Decemberist Colin Meloy's songwriting muse can be, The Crane Wife sounds expansive and lovely, and often manages to hit that sweet spot where intellect and the pleasure center meet. 92. O, Damien Rice Contrary to popular belief, there is merit in music that's build around little more than emotional catharsis; Damien Rice is such an artist, an Irish troubadour who works in little more than his creaky acoustic guitar and warm, uncomfortably close voice, and waxes emotionally about love lost, unrequited, and broken. Each note of O seems carefully calibrated to put you through the emotional wringer -- he's a remarkable musician for a sad-bastard type, acutely aware of the effect his expressive vocals and musical slow-burn can have on the heartbroken and the downtrodden. Each song starts sparsely, filters in some interesting instrumentation (usually a string section of some sort), and builds to an impossible vocal octave-jump that ramps up the intensity before floating back down to earth; even as O proves predictable, though, it satiates that rickety corner of our musical psyche that demands emotional release, and Rice is a capable tour guide through the murky waters of the soul. That, and his spare, bitter "Cheers Darlin'" may well be the best Tom Waits song Tom Waits never dreamt up. 91. Black Holes & Revelations, Muse Let's be frank: any of Muse's 2000s records, starting at 2001's excellent Origin of Symmetry and pushing right through their ever-expanding discography, could occupy this spot. Muse are a diverse band, and their records yield many returns, but the only noticeable difference on an album-to-album basis is how much pomp and orchestral bombast the boys can squeeze into an LP, a quotient that seems upped with each successive platter. By that definition, Black Holes is Rush-worthy in its grandiosity, but has pop goods on tap, too -- the way that the abrasive flurries of feedback that conclude the seething "Take A Bow" give way to the gorgeous keys of "Starlight" (maybe the best love song anyone bothered to write all decade) is one of the best one-two punches on a record by anybody, ever. How are your favorites faring? Drop me a line in the comments section and let me know. More to come shortly!  |
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