Moving on to the second batch of our favorites from the past year, albums 40 through 31 take cues from music originating around the world but create an identity distinctly their own. We’ll continue counting down the cream of 2010′s crop on Monday with albums #30-21. Until then, happy reading/listening/scoffing.

Honorable Mentions
#50-41
#30-21
#20-11
#10-1

40. Kammerflimmer Kollektief – Wildling
Often in reviews, you’ll see an artist’s locale/place of origin discussed to varying degrees of importance. Kammerflimmer Kollektief is, apparently, a German outfit — a fact that I was quite unaware of seeing as how Wildling was my first exposure to them, and beyond the name, their work has little resemblance to the German underground. Instead, the album is an organic hybrid of East and West. The arc of their work is not indebted to their surrounding, but rather, a yearning to extend beyond Central Europe. ‘Aum A Go-Go’, for instance, is a particularly stunning melding of Western jazz conventions — xylophones, soft symbol ringing and, halfway through the song, a smoke-shop piano portion hearkens to the white lounge jazz tradition of prohibition-era America, but where it deviates from that is the African harmonic scat-chanting of the singer, whose nearly incomprehensible voice blends with the textural, blues and Eastern-tinged psychedelic guitar that flutters throughout the background. Carefully structured, yet at times, strikingly unrestrained, Wildling is an abridged amalgam of various indigenous sounds. The album-stealing epic ‘In Transition (Version)’ layers disciplined electric tone clusters atop the whining polyrhythmic clashing of stressed violin strings and, inevitably, rustic accordions. It’s a marriage of free jazz and slavishly regimented digital tuning (which is one of the few places their nationality comes into play, in their enjoyment of kraut-indebted computerized textures). Bending nationalities into atmospheric pieces that blur distinctions between geographic lines of music, Wildling transcends simply being a German band’s ode to the world around them. – Todd Kearns

39. Wolf Parade – Expo 86
With their recently announced hiatus now in effect, Wolf Parade’s third album may be their last. And while a split isn’t all that surprising for such a talented band that has too many off-shoots to keep track of and divides songwriting duties between two incredibly gifted but unique personalities, the biggest shock about Wolf Parade’s impending end is the timing. A year full of ceaseless, well reviewed touring and Expo 86, their most cohesive and exciting album, made it seem like Krug, Boeckner, and company were rolling and willing to shelve those side projects for a minute. Maybe it was the stress of so much time on the road, or maybe they just got bored again, but if they’re going to go out, they did it on the right note. For the first time, Krug and Boeckner blur the lines that define their styles, emphasizing the album over individual songs. Their debut Apologies To The Queen Mary was a refreshingly spastic kick in the face when indie-rock needed it most, but it still felt like two writers who decided to play together and put their songs on the same record. On Expo, the same energy is there, if not more so, but more importantly it is a focused album, featuring both frontmen on their game. Krug’s calling card has always been the bouncy, angular synths, while Boeckner’s the raw, sleazy guitar lines, and here they manage to combine for the strongest Wolf Parade songs yet. Just see ‘Cave-O-Sapien’, the frenetic, ecstatic, too-catchy closer. It’s a classic Krug burner, but also the perfect blend of his wail with Boeckner’s unhinged guitar and layered chugging bass lines. It makes too much sense that their final statement is their most unified, with Krug’s keys hopping in during the final tag, achieving that too-elusive balance just once before the curtain. – Paul Bulow

38. Frightened Rabbit – The Winter Of Mixed Drinks
With the release of their third album The Winter Of Mixed Drinks, it always seemed that the time was right for Frightened Rabbit to take their gloomy indie-rock to a bigger audience. After spending the best part of two albums dissecting the consequences of heavy drinking and failed relationships, the band started writing songs that looked outside the four walls of their lives and turned more towards the bigger picture. Yet despite its more universal themes, The Winter Of Mixed Drinks maintains Frightened Rabbit’s sense of personal intimacy and heart-on-sleeve honesty. This was an album that aimed for the headline slot on the main stage without having to resort to the kind of tepid wank delivered by the likes of Kings Of Leon. The manifest for this new version of the band was all laid out on opening track ‘Things’, a skin-shedding of the past that was quickly followed by the escapism and call to arms of ‘Swim Until You Can’t See Land’, an everyman anthem that dares the singer/listener/whoever to do something meaningful with their lives (“Are you a man or are you a bag of sand?”). Even with this change in direction, frontman Scott Hutchison can’t help but fall occasionally into his world of unique self-deprecation and one of the album’s finest moments comes at such a time on the song ‘Footshooter’. Here, behind his band’s wonderful sense of anthemic melancholy, Hutchison sings of regret for his drunken fuck-ups (“In the stark and the sobering dry sunlight I will blink my eyes/And hope the blink can erase all the shit that I said and did”). No one really conveys that sense of stomach-churning guilt of the morning after the blackout quite like it. The overall sound of the album is a lot more polished and precise than anything the band has done before but it takes nothing from the charm and verbal wit of their singer. This is still Frightened Rabbit and it will take a brave soul to predict anything but bigger and better things in the band’s future. – Matthew James

37. Sufjan Stevens – The Age Of Adz
With The Age Of Adz, Sufjan Stevens takes a break from underscoring the 50 states to explore the geography of his own existence. Gone are the sweeping characters of Chicago and Detroit. Instead, Stevens takes the same sensitivity to detail that made those cities human, and directs it at himself. The multi-instrumentalist maven maintains his flair for epic orchestration, but in this outing he uses it to ponder darker subjects and wade through haunting personal uncertainties. This difference led to some fresh perspectives in Stevens‘ compositional style, embracing more electronic sounds and ushering in well orchestrated chaos. It’s a side of Stevens we’ve not heard before, proving him to be an artist of both extraordinary talent and equally extraordinary complexity. – Jeremy Schaefer

36. The Chemical Brothers – Further
After three mostly lackluster efforts, it would be easy to assume that Tom Rowlands and Ed Simons had reached the twilight of their careers. But on Further, The Chemical Brothers made it clear that they weren’t ready to start arranging the tracklisting for their greatest hits compilation just yet. Instead, we are treated to an immersing combination of builds, breakdowns, and grooves unlike anything we have seen from this duo since 1999′s Surrender. While vocals are not placed in the forefont, they do just enough to communicate themes of love and escapism, perhaps looking back fondly upon vaguely remembered adolescent escapades. The record certainly embraces that youthful mindset, and that energy seems to be a driving reason behind this mid-career revival. – Max Logan

35. Magic Lantern – Platoon
Cameron Stallones doesn’t make music to be taken lightly. Be it Platoon or his work as Sun Araw, his are albums that are meant to be experienced whole, not as a series of individual songs or broken up. The cover for Platoon places you high above the action, and that’s pretty much where Stallones wants you to be. With his sprawling riffs and washed out psychedelic backdrops, there is a certain scope to his albums that makes critical scrutiny useless. You have to get wrapped up in the album, in this case drift off to the jungles in 70s Vietnam, where your acid-induced wandering is as transcendental as it is aimless. Stallones creates layers of scenes that have a certain epic quality, but lacking in any direction, they just seem to exist indefinitely, each one of the five tracks segueing seamlessly into the next. His landscapes are drug-addled blues and latin-rock percussion backing prog-rock riffs and keys. Vocal-less, Platoon does seem almost a score, but since it doesn’t actually have a film to accompany, the imagery is up to you. Sit back, put on the record, and get lost. Watch out for the flashbacks. – Paul Bulow

34. M. Ostermeier – Chance Reconstruction
Baltimore native M. Ostermeier has rebuilt the sonic ambiance of his work on numerous occasions in the near twenty years he’s recorded music. Following a recent production stint with post-punk luminaries For Against, the pliable musician developed the courage to finally record under his own name, boldly standing on his own music without collaborators, band members, or pseudonyms. This new aural initiative culminated in two EPs (Percolate and Lakefront) and full-length Chance Reconstruction; all of which were released this past year. His fondness for fluttering acoustics and repetitive, digitized beats are nowhere to be found, replaced by a fugue of orchestral strings and an ear for economy. The guitars are quiet and service the exceptional cello work, and the piano — a constant in most Ostermeier arrangements — serves as the foundation for the tracks as opposed to a minor nuance, as in his prior work. A reconstruction of his sound is rather evident within Chance Reconstruction; a shift from the shoegaze roots of his 90s band Should and the post-acid techno beats of his early 00s work suggests that this newly realized sound was not a sonic shift by chance, rather a meticulously crafted compositional direction. – Todd Kearns

33. Effi Briest – Rhizomes
Despite pitapatting and pulsating with sweaty nerves throughout, every motion Brooklyn 6-piece Effi Briest presents on Rhizomes is breathless. The post-punk troupe displays an astonishing control over fairly dire conditions, over the swirling tempests and mordacious shadows cast upon its debut as lead vocalist Kelsey Barrett slices and dices through the inclement swamp. The rhythm section is especially on point, embodying the sludge aiming to stifle, the bass swelling to snuff out the air in the room while the drums fly from fey to fractious in a dazzling flash. Rhizomes‘ unremitting duality is embodied by ‘Cousins’, the instruments weaving a thick turbid fog only to have Barrett’s luminous pipes dissipate the mass, striking with both the piercing aplomb and warped melancholy of dream pop’s finest. Celestial yet insular, occupying the dance floor, bedroom, and welkin all at once, the song is positively jarring — even more so due to how poised Effi Briest appears when fording through the bustle they’ve concocted. From the brooding ‘Long Shadow’ to the boisterous ‘Mirror Rim’, these are crepuscular bodies marching into the eye of the umbra to laugh off its glare. – Vinh Cao

32. Mountain Man – Made The Harbor
It’s necessary, in leading a life that constantly bounces between learning, working, leisure, stress, boredom, intoxication, sobriety, and any other states that an average college experience puts one through, that you take the time to occasionally unwind. Drop everything, close all doors to the outside world, kick off your shoes and just let yourself fucking be for a moment. In these pockets, lying face-up on my bed with my eyes closed, I’ve been turning to Made The Harbor more and more as a soundtrack, the trio of women folkies being able to draw tension out of me like venom from a wound better than anything I’ve ever come across. Delicate plucking like the flutter of wings, an edge that never sharpens to anything harsher than the water-beaten rocks forming a brook’s bed, amongst the angelic chorus formed by Molly, Alexandra, and Amelia that courses over it. Cryptic words, the meaning of which is both interest-piquingly mysterious and relaxingly familiar, their “lost mothers, instruments, and metal fruit bowls” gently pushing me down, down, down into my own psyche. “One day I’ll be my own lead belly, and I will grow a baby”, to which I nod pensively. “Your hands still move up my sleeves, your room rudderless resting reaves”, and a shiver climbs up my spine. “Give me back my bones and maybe we can talk”, and I make moves to do so. “How will I know?” she asks, and I have no answer for her. “You just will, I guess”, I respond meekly. “If it’s any consolation, I think I’m already there.” – Brian Riewer

31. Vampire Weekend – Contra
I tried to resist Vampire Weekend. The hype that preceded their debut album reached a fever pitch in the blogosphere until I wanted to puke. Then I heard the album and it wasn’t the calculated reconstruction of Paul Simon’s Graceland that I wanted to pounce on. It was damn good. Then I saw them in concert. Authentic and passionate, they delivered one of my favorite live shows that year. The stakes were raised for the follow-up and the band still exceeds all expectations with Contra; something hipper bands like The Strokes and Interpol were unable to do. The world-pop influence that permeated the debut returns with more eclectic arrangements (‘Horchata’) and electronic sunsets (‘I Think Ur A Contra’). The diverse flavors on the record never overpower each other and that is the beauty of the record. On ‘Give Up the Gun’, the band sings about the demise of indie guitar rock without sounding smug and a few listens of Contra makes it hard to disagree. The hyper-intelligent wordplay and preppy style have not been lost in the transition but the band takes a little more time with the music. Slowing down on ‘Taxi Cab’, Vampire Weekend craft a beautiful ballad with the gentle confidence of a band that cares not if you are unwilling to hop aboard their yacht for another lovely cruise around Cape Cod. – Jason Lent