Top Albums Of The Decade: Honorable Mentions (Part 1)

by Vinh on January 10th, 2010

The past decade has been wonderful where music is concerned, so much so in fact that we weren’t content to limit our wrap-up coverage to 50 albums. There were too many personal favorites that did not receive the recognition (at least from Sun On The Sand) we felt they deserve. Consequently, we’re featuring them as honorable mentions. Enjoy. Be sure to check out the records that did make the final cut too, on our lists and retrospectives posted below.

Honorable Mentions (Part 2)
#50-41
#40-31
#30-21
#20-11
#10 / #9 / #8 / #7 / #6
#5 / #4 / #3 / #2 / #1

Paul Bulow:

Lil Wayne – Tha Carter III (2008)
Self-designations as “the best rapper alive” are almost an integral part of recent hip-hop, but it is another thing to actually spark the debate. Three years after he made the proclamation on 2005’s Tha Carter II, Lil Wayne backed it up. The top-selling album of 2008, Tha Carter III completed Weezy’s domination of mainstream hip hop. Aside from the album’s four top 20 singles, it seemed like he had a verse on every other song on the radio. However, it’s consistency that makes this album so special. Benefiting from brilliant production from the likes of Kanye and Swizz Beats, Wayne never seems to shrug off a verse, much less a whole song. From the initial shock value of ‘3 Peat’ to the emotional instability of ‘Playing With Fire’, every single track grips you, just like the legends he compares himself to. But even though the album sold, that doesn’t mean it doesn’t take risks. ‘Comfortable’ is a direct response to Beyonce’s ‘Irreplaceable’ and ‘Let the Beat Build’ takes a perfect five minutes of anticipation before West’s beat actually drops. But it’s ‘A Milli’ that steals the show. Featuring the barest of beats and forgoing a hook, it frees Wayne to deliver some of the most unforgettable lines of at least the last five years. While some may be reluctant to crown him just yet, there is no doubt that Lil Wayne belongs in the discussion.

Dirty Projectors – Rise Above (2007)
It’s one thing to want to cover your favorite band. It’s another thing to want to cover an entire album, a la Phish. But to dedicate your next record to re-imagining a whole album from memory after not hearing it for over a decade is a whole different story. For Dirty Projectors mastermind Dave Longstreth, Black Flag’s Damaged was the work in question. The result is one of the most original-sounding and powerful albums of the decade. Featuring vocal help from Susanna Weiche and current member Amber Coffman, Longstreth manages to recreate the anger, frustration, and confusion of the original. An emphasis on dissonance has always been crucial to the Dirty Projectors sound, and here it blends perfectly with the lyrical themes. Whether it be the stubborn pounding of a child throwing a tantrum on ‘Gimme Gimme Gimme’ or the instability of the rhythms on ‘Depression’, Longstreth channels the spirit of the early 80s hardcore scene perfectly, but accompanies it with catchy melodies and uplifting string arrangements. The title-track closer displays just how deep the album is, regardless of its context. Rather than open the album, like the original, Longstreth saves the one glimpse of inspiration of the record’s title for its, albeit reluctantly so, optimistic conclusion.

Bright Eyes – Lifted Or The Story Is In The Soil, Keep Your Ear to the Ground (2002)
Although he had been recording since he was 14, Conor Oberst was still considered a new artist when 2002 came around. With Lifted, though, the 22-year-old singer-songwriter would be dubbed the Dylan for the next generation, and burdened with all the comparisons that come with it, fair or not. However, on this and his earlier recordings, the resemblance is more to Elliott Smith. Depressed, self-loathing, and narcissistic, Oberst found legions of teenage fans who could relate to his wounded cynicism. Rather than wallow, though, he turned all of his afflictions into anger: towards the media, religion, and himself. While this could result in an exercise in self-pity, instead the result is an incredibly honest attempt at self-examination. Throughout the album, he admits to manipulating others (‘Lover I Don’t Have To Love’), apathy (‘Method Acting’), and taking advantage of the ones who love him (‘You Will. You? Will. You? Will. You? Will.’), portraying himself as a despicable character. But it is also one willing to reform and capable of great love, though dependent on characters of equal good. On album highlight ‘Bowl Of Oranges’, an ailing doctor is cured just by the understanding presence of Oberst’s narrator, and he quotes his own father on ‘Let’s Not Shit Ourselves (To Love And Be Loved)’ in response to his apologies for selfishness, saying “Child, I love you regardless”. And at the conclusion of the album, he realizes what he has been missing when he acknowledges, “how grateful I was then to be part of the mystery/to love and to be loved/let’s just hope that it’s enough.”

Madvillain – Madvillainy (2004)
As MF DOOM, Viktor Vaughn, King Geedorah, and his latest moniker, DOOM, Daniel Dumille has been one of the most prolific and mysterious rappers of the decade. He is notorious for sending stand-ins to his shows, and if he does appear, there have been accusations of lip-syncing. Nevertheless, the quality of his recorded material is second to none in indie hip-hop. His masterpiece is Madvillainy, a collaboration with DJ Madlib released in 2004. Featuring DOOM’s characteristic comic book supervillain interludes, the album showcases these two incredible talents at the top of their respective games. An underrated producer himself, DOOM knows how to interact with a beat, and Madlib provides some great canvases for him to work with. Primarily using jazz, funk, and fusion samples, the production creates an old-school feel while still sounding fresh and original. It’s DOOM, though, who makes the album work, rattling off clever wordplay that most MCs could only dream of. He’s funny, too, using his lackadaisical pace to set up some timing tricks. On ‘Great Day’, he offers up his own version of bravado: “Groovy dude/Not to prove to be rude/but this stuff is like what you might put on movie food/Um.. (pause) what is jalapenas (sic)”. This year, we’ll (supposedly) see Madvillainy 2, and though I’m excited, it will be tough to match one of the best hip hop albums of the decade.

Modest Mouse – The Moon & Antarctica (2000)
The incredible commercial success of Modest Mouse’s 2004 album Good News For People Who Love Bad News must have been just as surprising for the band as it was their fans. Not because it wasn’t deserved, but since they formed in 1993, they had released some of the best records no one had heard. So when fans heard an unprecedentedly mellow Isaac Brock actually singing over wrinkle-free production courtesy of The Flaming Lips’ Dave Friedmann, and on the radio no less, it was quite a shock. The upside to this increased airplay was that it fostered new interest in Modest Mouse’s fantastic back catalogue, especially their 2000 masterpiece The Moon & Antarctica. Before the turn of the century, Modest Mouse had made a name for themselves by channeling Pixies and Sonic Youth through Brock’s nearly nonsensical but somehow profound lyrics. With this album, they proved that they were capable of much more than just making noise like their heroes from the 80s. Opener ‘3rd Planet’ is an endlessly quotable statement of personal belief from Brock, and shows that he is ready and willing to deal with difficult themes. From that point, he covers apathy and priorities on ‘Gravity Rides Everything’, consumerism and Christian ethics on ‘Tiny Cities Made Of Ashes’ and existentialism on ‘The Stars Are Projectors’. And this is just the first half. Rather than resulting in a dense, inaccessible manifesto of sorts, Brock, along with drummer Jeremiah Green, woefully underrated bassist Eric Judy, and a team of instrumentalists, add levity and beauty to these timeless lyrics. ‘Paper Thin Walls’ features a giddy riff perfect for sending crowds into hysterics, ‘The Cold Part’ sounds as distant and barren as the wasteland being described, not to mention the unforgettable bassline on ‘Tiny Cities’. It is this combination that makes the album the high point, so far, of one of the great bands of our generation, and also explains its title. Sure, both landscapes are desolate, distant, and uninhabitable, but they are also gorgeous and mysterious, and inhabit unique places in our imaginations.

Matthew James:

The Libertines – Up The Bracket (2002)
Before The Libertines’ arrival, the UK music scene was in something of a post-Britpop malaise. There was no real exciting element within British indie music as, save for perhaps Super Furry Animals, most new music was by either established bands trying to relive past 90s glory or new acts fancying themselves as the next Coldplay. Perhaps most troubling was that American bands had started enjoying their most successful period in England since Nirvana. Up The Bracket changed all that. It wasn’t the biggest commercial success of all time, but its impact and influence on the scene are the greatest seen since Definitely Maybe. It’s a record that makes you wish you were in a band and doubtless led to many a teen picking up the guitar. Pete Doherty and Carl Barat lay out their manifesto in the now classic ‘Time For Heroes’: “There’s fewer more distressing sights than that of an Englishman in a baseball cap” sings Doherty, reclaiming the Isles from American media dominance and creating a romanticized yet dark, troubling take on England’s past and future. It’s now obvious that Doherty and Barat will probably never match this but for a time, The Libertines were responsible for revitalizing a nation’s struggling rock ‘n’ roll output.

Doves – Lost Souls (2000)
Lost Souls was one of the most stunning debuts to emerge in the early part of the decade. A mesmerizing mix of gloomy defeat and unbreakable spirit, it is a triumph that may never have happened if not for a tragic fire that put an end to Doves’ previous music adventure under the guise SubSub. These are songs packed with incredible layered depth and texture, full of groove and undoubted soul. Jimi Goodwin’s heart-on-sleeve vocal delivery is best enjoyed on the soul-searching ‘The Man Who Told Everything’, the phoenix-from-the-flames moment-seizing ‘Catch The Sun’ and perhaps most triumphantly on the life-affirming ‘The Cedar Room’, an epic composition not a million miles away from some of Arcade Fire’s most championed moments. Lost Souls set Doves on their way to being one of Britain’s most consistent if not most taken for granted acts of the last ten years.

Hope Of The States – The Lost Riots (2004)
Hope Of The States were a band that came and went pretty quickly but left behind The Lost Riots, an incredible outpour of emotion and musical craft. From the apocalyptic opening of ‘The Black Amnesias’ to the hopeful closing of ‘1776′, this is as good a debut as you will ever hear. Sam Herlihy’s reluctant position as a singer lends a grounded sense to the band’s post-rock ambitions. Thankfully, Hope Of The States decided to add words and more traditional structures to their early instrumental compositions and lyrically, they are just as hard-hitting as they are musically. The real moment of magic comes in the final four minutes of ‘Black Dollar Bills’. Free of words, the epic instrumental closing to the track is a triumphant release of emotion, a musical moment of redemption and a middle finger to all the things in life that cause displacement and fear. Hope Of The States were a band sadly overlooked by many but The Lost Riots is a classic waiting to be found again.

Arctic Monkeys – Whatever People Say I Am, That Is What I Am Not (2006)
Even before this album came out, the hype surrounding Arctic Monkeys was enough to leave many a band at breaking point. This is one of those rare occurrences where the album actually lived up to expectations. Alex Turner’s witty, warm, and honest lyrics of life in the grim north of England were Arctic Monkeys’ most obvious weapon but the fantastic words were backed equally with some of the catchiest rock music to come out of England in years. One of the first real internet phenomena, the band’s debut was the fastest-selling record in Britain’s history and unlike many of their peers, Arctic Monkeys have been able to get their foot in America’s door. There are so many great tunes here but it’s maybe closing track ‘A Certain Romance’ that best captures this particular moment in time. The youth of the Millennial Generation perfectly summed up with both compassion and a touch of irony (“There’s only music, so that there’s new ringtones”). Alex Turner’s knack for social observation is rivaled perhaps only by The Streets’ Mike Skinner and belongs in the same regard given to Ray Davies and more recently Damon Albarn. Whether you are living it or have already lived it, Whatever People Say I Am… is the sound of your teenage years that will surely resonate for much longer.

The Streets – A Grand Don’t Come For Free (2004)
If ever there was a case for predicting a sophomore slump, then this second album from The Streets seemed a perfect candidate. But Mike Skinner wasn’t having any of that as he unleashed one of the most originally splendid albums of the decade. Lead single ‘Fit But You Know It’ with its punk-ish pogoing is a misleading choice, but when taken within the context of the entire record, plays perfectly into the storyline which basically involves the narrator losing a thousand pounds cash, finding a girlfriend, losing a girlfriend, and then finding the lost money. The story itself is not greatly important but Skinner’s keen ear and eye for detail is nothing short of breathtaking. The fantastic epic ‘Blinded By The Lights’ is both harrowing and euphoric as it enhances the senses and soundtracks the effects of ecstasy better than anything since Primal Scream’s ‘Higher Than The Sun’. This album also scored the first real hit single for The Streets with ‘Dry Your Eyes’. The song is probably all the better for not featuring Chris Martin (as was originally rumoured) leaving Skinner to put a bit of credibility and creativity back into the traditional breakup ballad. With huge sounds packed with small details, there are few artists that can make returning a DVD sound this exciting. A Grand Don’t Come For Free’s quality is what has now made subsequent Streets’ albums a minor disappointment. It’s not really rap in the traditional sense or garage or pop, but what it is is bloody brilliant and features one of this generations’ greatest urban poets.

Vinh Cao:

Four Tet – Rounds (2003)
Does receiving a letter via snail mail hold greater weight than accessing one on a computer screen? Perhaps, but this seems swayed by the perception that the latter is inherently cold; that the warmth of friendship is overtaken by the modern remoteness of machines in the 21st century. What naysayers don’t comprehend is that digital means are merely a more convenient take on the pen pal paradigm. Individuals can easily ply and tweak these tools in such a way that humanity and technology cooperate rather than clash. London native Kieran Hebden taps into the full potential of this synergy within his side project (initially from post-rock outfit Fridge) Four Tet. This is never rendered more evident than on his third full-length Rounds, a gripping opus that is steeped in equal parts calculated electronica and homespun melancholy. Standout ‘My Angel Rocks Back And Forth’ is a prime example of Hebden’s dexterity in joining the two sonic poles, as stately piano twinkles atop a muffled rise-and-fall beat in such fluid, organic fashion that one could swear the 5-minute tune is breathing, that it has assumed a life of its own. Ensuring to keep this effort nimble is ‘As Serious As Your Life, the funkiest track on show as a looped bassline circulates amidst scattered everyday clatter, akin to a pedestrian strutting down the sidewalk alongside miles of congested traffic. Rounds‘ sweeping journey concludes with ‘Slow Jam’, a celestial, melodic closer highlighted by the sounds of distant crickets as well as squeeze toys. That’s all technology is to Hebden in the end, another instrument artists can play with free of implications or stylistic limitations.

Life Without Buildings – Any Other City (2001)
We may not remember where we’ve been, where we’re going, what we’ve said, or what we’ve done but the world moves on regardless. Any Other City is the sound of a small fish in an exceedingly vast ocean, attempting to keep up with the torrid pace of urban life while questioning this decision every step of the way. Captivating speak-singer Sue Tompkins is dazed and confused, reiterating sentiments not for emphasis but out of absent-mindedness on these ditties bridging the gap between post-punk and metropolitan indie-rock. Not unlike the days we live, the 10 songs here almost seem to spill into each other, blurring memories and aspirations alike. The Glaswegians rehash many a refrain ranging in approach from candid (“Are you real?”) to cryptic (“eyes like lotus leaves”), resulting in a wonderfully cohesive if inconclusive trip into disenchantment. Tompkins for her part is a riveting vocalist, brushing her contributions with a childlike air of whimsy and wonder as heard on ‘Let’s Get Out’ when she exclaims that there’s “information in the leaves”, that there is knowledge to be gleaned in what is habitually taken for granted. While not apparent at first blush, there’s also variety on display from the rollicking ‘Young Offenders’ to the languid bookend ‘Sorrow’. Despite the slight shifts in temperament, the band’s craft exudes a drab, tedious existence and profound yearning for more throughout Any Other City’s duration, be it by counting the days away or honing in on silly minutiae. The fragmentary, stream-of-consciousness lyrics — “no details but I’m gonna persuade you” — are difficult to follow yet resonant all at once, paired with spare, skittish compositions to reveal vague portraits of the twenty-somethings who continually stumble upon a sobering realization: “I’m a visitor here.”

Salif Keita – Moffou (2002)
When assessing the prevailing trait in vocal quality, many will flock to common notions of range or control. Personally, all I look for is soul. Perhaps this is why Salif Keita ranks among my favorite African artists. He possesses it in spades, and after a handful of passable releases, Moffou re-established Keita as a Malian powerhouse. Certainly his strongest full-length in over a decade, these tracks are quite simply bewitching from start to finish. Despite the sharp production, the album is intimate through and through, as the instrumentation is clean and sprightly, yes, but continually bucolic too. The background vocalists are fantastic in their own right as well, chiming in with cathartic flurries or measured meditations depending on what the numbers call for. Let’s be honest here though, Keita is the driving force behind these numbers and he is in spectacular shape, his luminous tones beaming up from the soil on which he stands. Within both zestful Afropop (‘Madan’) and somber dirges (‘Ana Na Ming’), he shines like few others are capable of, adjusting his timbre from powerful to plaintive with jaw-dropping panache. Not merely one of Africa’s foremost vocalists, Salif Keita rivals any voice worldwide and proves his pedigree on this striking, pastoral gem.

Califone – Roots & Crowns (2006)
The average individual living in Western society now possesses an unprecedented volume of material objects. Computers, cell phones, and mp3 players have not merely made an impact on the quotidian, they now consume it. Califone’s opus Roots & Crowns is as accurate a musical representative of this decade as any then, depicting the steady, pervasive integration of technology in our lives. Folk, blues, and post-rock mingle breathlessly here, but it’s the furtive dashes — feedback, field recordings, white noise, electronics — that bring this enchanting record to life. Groovy opener ‘Pink & Sour’ remains grounded until otherworldly flourishes are introduced, pinballing off the walls of rock ‘n’ roll convention and taking the song’s core along for the ride. The production on display is brilliant, carving a defined path for the elements as they flail, flicker, and flounder in accordance with the needs at hand while the album title in question is also reflected sonically; Roots & Crowns is draped in equal parts humility and majesty throughout. Tim Rutili’s lyrics for their part, are still recondite yet effective within the album’s “sand and smoke foundation”. If we grasp too fervently, there’s a fair chance we’ll end up with nothing at all since theme and tone take precedence over a narrative arc. However, the images conveyed are palpable despite the mist. They are perhaps not understood, but they are felt, be it surrounded by buoyant horns (‘Spider’s House’) or percussive beats (‘Black Metal Valentine’). ‘The Orchids’, a hushed, gorgeous number, details this very type of sensation as the tide of sylvan whispers gives way to a modest awakening: “Here at last, I have my eyes.” We don’t necessarily know what it is we see, we’re just glad we can.

Dave Douglas – Strange Liberation (2004)
A rare feat in any genre, jazz trumpeter Dave Douglas has been as prolific as he has been consistently stellar since he broke onto the scene as bandleader over 15 years ago. His final RCA Records outing Strange Liberation may well be his most accomplished yet, an eclectic collection of songs varying in tempo as well as disposition without jeopardizing the distinctive flavor binding them together. Joined by singular guitarist Bill Frisell in addition to pianist Uri Caine, saxophonist Chris Potter, bassist James Genus, and drummer Clarence Penn, Douglas spins delightful threads touching on post-bop, fusion, and at times the avant-garde. Consecutive choice cuts ‘Mountains From The Train’ and ‘Rock Of Billy’ constitute apt representatives of Strange Liberation’s manifold methods, as the former rests in serene territory, Frisell’s instrument gently undulating in thick smoke only to be met with the timid chirps of a trumpet on its trek home. It’s an understated albeit stunning exercise in economy and atmosphere. Conversely, the latter
is as upbeat and bedded a number as you’ll find on the record, with the bass and piano providing a sturdy foundation around which Frisell and Douglas can build sinuous spires. The trumpet cascades in and out of focus whereas the electric guitar is patient and intermittent, laying in wait for an opportune moment to pounce. Frisell’s timing is superb, adorning the tune with a groove that holds it back from wandering too far off into the distance. Neither alienating nor accommodating, Strange Liberation sits in just the right pocket.