A.V. Club's Best Music of 2011

Wye Oak has taken their blend of atmospheric folk and indie rock into new territory on their understated and tension-filled third release. Jenn Wasner’s guitar work moves from feathery acoustic strumming to piercing electric licks and squalling feedback, often within the same song. She’s also a mesmerizing singer with a sensual, mysterious, and husky voice that pulls you in. Andy Stack’s nimble, expressive drumming and subtle use of keyboards for the low end provide the ideal platform for their fluid songs. The duo offer their own take on the soft-loud-soft school of songwriting on the dynamic standouts “Holy Holy,” “Dogs Eyes,” “Hot As Day,” and the title track, which are anchored by controlled bursts of sound. Balancing them out are languid dream-pop cuts “The Alter” and “Plains” that highlight their strong melodic sense. Setting these already good songs apart is the inventive production: varied layers of sonic textures are woven into the tunes so smoothly that the studio effectively acts as a third band member. Wye Oak’s first two albums were good. This one is great.

On their sophomore album, Bon Iver add just a touch of color to their stark indie folk, while retaining every bit of its intimacy. The haunting chill of solitude continues to cling to Justin Vernon\'s every word, even when his lilting falsetto radiates warmth over a rich bed of acoustic guitar, synths, and horns. The drama exudes from every little sound—the soft, pattering snare guiding \"Perth,\" the delicate whirrs of sax on \"Holocene,\" and the big, gleaming synths on \'80s-esque noir jam \"Beth / Rest.\"

Bon Iver, Bon Iver is Justin Vernon returning to former haunts with a new spirit. The reprises are there – solitude, quietude, hope and desperation compressed – but always a rhythm arises, a pulse vivified by gratitude and grace notes. The winter, the legend, has faded to just that, and this is the new momentary present. The icicles have dropped, rising up again as grass.

Minnesota’s Low are one of the finest groups to navigate their way into the 21st century. Their slo-core roots, where every note took a lifetime to resolve into the next, have been spiked and expanded to allow for additional colors and approaches. Their ninth album, *C’mon*, was co-produced and mixed by Matt Beckley, whose name has appeared on recordings by Avril Lavigne and Katy Perry. Beckley brings brightness and dares Alan Sparhawk to bring his vocals to the front of the mix. “Witches” is phenomenal. The bass guitar is deep and sturdy. The guitars are shiny and metallic as they jangle into space. And Sparhawk sings with a newfound conviction. Additional musicians, including Wilco’s Nels Cline and violinist Caitlin Moe, create a plusher sound for tracks such as “Done” and the sweetly harmonic “Try to Sleep.” The naked ache of “Nothing But Heart” is reminiscent of the Byrds’ Gene Clark’s solo work. “Something’s Turning Over” throws over slo-core for a Mamas and Papas-type pop vocal ensemble piece. The album is a new career highpoint.

C’mon is the shortest title of any Low album, which seems fitting, as it also ranks among the most succinct and straightforward entries in their variegated discography. Singer-guitarist Alan Sparhawk has even perfected the “elevator pitch” for C’mon: “Recorded in an old church in Duluth, MN and mixed in an apartment in Hollywood, CA.” But that brief synopsis hides universes. Comprised of new material written on and off the road, the ten-song set was recorded in a former Catholic church, aka Sacred Heart Studio (where the band previously crafted 2002’s Trust) and co-produced and mixed by Matt Beckley. The band took full advantage of Sacred Heart’s high, vaulted ceilings, natural reverb, and audible affinity for organ sounds and group singing. The thunder-crack percussion that peppers the final minute of the slowly unfolding “Majesty/Magic” is just one example of this dynamic in action. With its jangly guitars and sweet vocal harmonies, opener “Try to Sleep” sets the album’s tone: Warmer, fuller and more introspective. Whereas 2007’s Drums and Guns railed against the war in Iraq, C’mon feels like a plea for humanity, decency and common sense in a world gone mad. Sparhawk concurs. “With the last couple of records, we were grappling with something outside of ourselves. This one feels more like, ‘Well, forget that. I’m looking in your eyes right now, and we need to figure out how to get through the next moment, together, as human beings.’” Without curtailing their artistry one iota, the trio has made one of its most accessible, affecting albums to date. And while the origins of C’mon may lie in a church in Minnesota, Beckley’s apartment in CA and the hearts of the modest individuals who created it, the resulting music has the capacity to resonate deeply with audiences everywhere.

When The Weeknd’s debut mixtape, *House of Balloons*, dropped in 2011, it was clear, even then, that something had shifted. This was a divergent kind of R&B that hinged on atmospherics over vocal prowess—an almost soulless quality in a genre built around soul. At the time, The Weeknd was largely anonymous, hiding in the shadows of his own music, the aloofness only adding to the allure. He was no one and yet everyone, as his raw, bruised candor resonated with fans suffering the effects of overexposure and contradicting desires to both feel and be numb simultaneously. He was a decent enough singer (his falsetto often drew comparisons to Michael Jackson), but it was the one-two punch of the nocturnal sound and indulgent lyrics—the darkness, the dysfunction, the hazy synth-bath of it all—that gave it staying power. When he says, “Trust me, girl, you wanna be high for this,” as he declares on the opening track, it\'s hard to tell whether it\'s an invitation or a warning, but it landed on ears that were all too happy to oblige. *House of Balloons*, here now in its original form with all samples restored, introduces the sentiment that has underscored nearly all of The Weeknd\'s music that\'s followed: a blurring of the lines between love and addiction, between having a good time and being consumed by it. In multi-part songs such as “House of Balloons/Glass Table Girls” and “The Party & The After Party,” a night\'s zenith and nadir are never too far apart; his audience, like his women, are held captive by the mercurial nature of his moods. A line like “Bring your love, baby, I could bring my shame/Bring the drugs, baby, I could bring my pain,” from lead single “Wicked Games,” serves as a kind of mission statement for the mixtape\'s (and, perhaps, the singer himself\'s) central tension. In the exchange of affection and substances, there exists an emotional transference wherein power is gained by feeling the least. The Weeknd taps into our id-driven urges for pleasure and domination and rewards them again and again. Cruelty somehow becomes sexy in this world where detachment—from everything—is the only goal; the music that he’s created as a soundtrack continues to leave its audience equally insatiable. As the years go by, *House of Balloons* has become increasingly timeless. It remains as much an exercise in mythmaking (and star-making) for The Weeknd as a testament to our own pathological impulses, sending us barreling towards destruction and ecstasy all at once.

The serene Dan Graham cover photo is no misdirection: this is some relaxing music. The Garden State’s pre-eminent chillout band gets deeply mellow on their second album, but they never drown in a bottomless sea of reverb. Instead, Real Estate’s swirling guitars and wispy vocals strike just the right balance of sharpness and haziness, as on the gorgeous “Out of Tune” and the sparkling “Wonder Years.” *Days* perfectly conjures those sun-soaked July afternoons when you’ve got nowhere to go and nothing to do.

After two previous releases, St. Vincent (a.k.a. Annie Clark) finds a way to channel her avant-garde instincts in more accessible directions, displaying a firm grasp on pop songwriting forms even as she subverts them. In tandem with producer John Congleton, she plays nervous industrial beats and quivering keyboards against billowing ‘60s-ish melodies. Her cooing vocals on “Cruel” and “Surgeon” insinuate dark scenarios of betrayal and abandonment, transcending mere irony into something palpably sinister. More direct in their intentions are “Cheerleader” (an anthem of personal liberation) and “Champagne Year” (a jaundiced look at success). If Clark’s lyrics tease and dazzle, her music hits hard sonically, clattering to a galloping groove on “Hysterical Strength” and erupting into guitar-fueled cacophony on “Northern Lights.” The otherworldly grandeur of Kate Bush or Björk is recalled on tracks like “Chloe In the Afternoon.” But St. Vincent is in a class all her own as she exorcises sexual demons, grapples with psychic breakdown, and achieves an uncanny catharsis.

After a decade-long foray into British-inspired folk-rock, The Decemberists now proclaim *The King Is Dead*. The Portland-based group’s sixth studio album signals a sea change and offers more of an Americana bent — with the mostly delicate, swaying, and passionate compositions adorned with themes of transition and rebirth. This can be immediately heard on the opening track, “Don’t Carry It All,” featuring harmonica, methodical rhythm guitar, and light strings. Things get a bit alt-country on the Peter Buck–assisted “Calamity Song” — in fact, the R.E.M. member appears on several songs, as does chanteuse Gillian Welch. That tune about returning home and falling into an angel\'s arms (“Calamity Song”) cohesively transitions into “Rise to Me,” an acoustic composition brushed with mixed-gender harmonies, harmonica, and pedal-steel guitar. There’s a markedly simple nature to *The King Is Dead*, a testament to The Decemberists\' way of making everything sound so pleasant and breezy.

Drake\'s still fretting about lost love, the perils of fame, and connecting with his fellow man; just look at him on the cover, staring into a golden chalice like a lonely king. These naked emotions, however, are what make *Take Care* a classic, placing Drake in a league with legendary emoters like Marvin Gaye and Al Green. \"Marvin\'s Room\" is one of the most sullen singles to hit the Top 100, and the winsome guitar howls of the title track, coproduced by Jamie xx, are among of the most recognizable sounds of the decade.

While they’re clearly inspired by classic late ‘80s and early ‘90s shoegaze and indie rock—Ride, Dinosaur Jr., Pavement—this young London quintet proved on their self-titled debut that they could spin their influences into a memorable, blissful, fuzzed-out sound all their own. Whether heavy in the red on the ebullient “Holing Out” or swooning on the sweet, reverb-laden ballad “Stutter,” Yuck’s sunny songwriting has that sense of infinite possibility that, at its best, underground rock music is all about.

Vancouver’s Dan Bejar has always been a sly kind of agitator, tearing apart the conventions of indie rock from the inside out. *Kaputt* turns the sloppy proclamations of his earlier albums on their head, opting for streamlined yacht-club funk in the vein of Steely Dan and \'80s Roxy Music. Though the music is soft and leisurely, Bejar’s lyrics remain serrated: “Hey, mystic prince of the purlieu at night/I heard your record, it’s alright,” he sings on “Savage Night at the Opera,” half-whispering with witty contempt.

It’s been a crazy year for Cloud Nothings since they burst onto the music scene last winter. At the time main man Dylan Baldi was eighteen, living at home, and making lo-fi indie rock on a crappy computer in his parent’s suburban basement outside Cleveland. Since then, Cloud Nothings has released an EP and a handful of singles, and the band has put a few North American tours under its belt. With all the internet notoriety and their recent signing with Carpark, Cloud Nothings are now able to record somewhere besides the basement. For a producer, Dylan chose Baltimore’s Chester Gwazda, known for his work with Dan Deacon and Future Islands. Recorded this past August in a warehouse studio in Baltimore’s famed Copycat Building (home to the original Wham City and many of the city’s best musicians and artists), the self-titled Cloud Nothings album shines through with a crispness and boldness that Dylan has always envisioned. The songs now sound as they do live: full of energy, precision, and catchy bits. Dylan plays all the instruments on the album, but this time without the lo-fi scuzz. The excitement and emotion are practically jumping off the grooves.

If you fell for Telekinesis’ infectious debut, prepare to swoon again. Sticking to what he does best, songwriter and one-man-band Michael Benjamin Lerner, along with producer Chris Walla (Death Cab for Cutie), delivers a dozen energetic pop gems in just over 30 minutes. Though there’s not a bad song here, “Please Ask for Help,” “Dirty Thing,” “Car Crash,” and “Gotta Get It Right Now” best represent the album — rapid drumbeats, sunny harmonies, fuzzy bass, and loads of ringing power chords delivered with unquenchable urgency. This album is noisier and grittier than his debut but still focused on brief bursts of fun, dance-around-the-room power pop. The direct, heartfelt lyrics mainly deal with dysfunctional romance yet the catchy hooks and upbeat choruses come across as cathartic release rather than a mope-fest. *12 Desperate Straight Lines* is a straightforward, no-frills winner.

The noise-lovin’ What’s Your Rupture? label brings us the guitar ... er, eruptions of Denmark’s youthful (teenaged) Iceage, with a U.S. debut entitled *New Brigade*. Fans of tough, abrasive punk — with a tolerance for undercurrents of noise, no wave and thrash — will want to put headphones on and clear the room of breakable items; songs like “New Brigade,” “Total Drench,” and “You’re Blessed” are fueled by semi-automatic drum parts and sparking guitars that throw enough heat to melt a Danish winter. Other tunes, like “White Rune” and “Collapse” hint at the earliest jolts of England’s great post-punk band Wire, tapping into the tangled roots of noise and art-damaged punk. Singer Elias Rønnenfelt intones the lyrics in English, barking in a flat, brooding expression of dissatisfaction, and there is a vortex of visceral, emotional energy at the music’s core. “Broken Bone” and “Eyes” pulse with raw energy, landing like a Fugazi punch wrapped in shoegazing softness; did original punk ever feel this good when it landed square in your gut? We think not. These kids are something to watch.

The first full-length release by producer and multi-instrumentalist Ernest Greene helped define the sound of the chillwave movement. *Within and Without* is a heady mix of throbbing bass and cleverly layered synth sounds underpinning Greene\'s tender, faded vocals. The single \"You and I,\" featuring Chairlift’s Caroline Polachek, is a particular high point. But from the sumptuous melodies of \"Eyes Be Closed\" and the uplifting \"Amor Fati\" to the blissed-out haze of \"Soft\" and the title track, Greene\'s relaxed, sensual vibe creates a sustained mood of pleasurable nostalgia.

Washed Out is the operational alias for Atlanta, GA’s Ernest Greene, and on July 12th, we at Sub Pop Records will be releasing the first Washed Out full-length, Within and Without. We are excited about this, to an almost unseemly degree. Greene recorded Within and Without with Ben Allen, who, among a great many other things, co-produced Animal Collective’s Merriweather Post Pavillion, Gnarls Barkley’s St. Elsewhere and Deerhunter’s Halcyon Digest. In 2009 Washed Out released two critically-acclaimed EPs; Life of Leisure (Mexican Summer) and High Times (Mirror Universe Tapes). Most recently, the Washed Out song “Feel It All Around,” from Life of Leisure, was chosen as the theme song for the new and very funny IFC series Portlandia, which features Saturday Night Live cast member Fred Armisen and Sleater-Kinney/Sub Pop alum and current Wild Flag member Carrie Brownstein. Early confirmed press for Within and Without includes a “Breaking Out” feature in the June issue of SPIN, as well as NPR “Song of the Day” coverage for the album’s lead track “Eyes Be Closed.”

Florence + The Machine deliver one baroque-pop anthem after another on *Ceremonials*. Booming percussion, strings, echoing keyboards, and big guitars create a towering platform of sound from which Florence Welch emotes with a fury. Her powerful voice erupts amid a gospel choir on “Shake It Out,” “What the Water Gave Me,” and “Leave My Body,” while tribal drums fuel “No Light, No Light” and “Heartlines.”

When the British soul belter Adele began working on the follow-up to her 2008 debut *19*, she had a difficult time finding songwriting inspiration. Then, her relationship imploded—and within a day of her breakup, she and producer Paul Epworth had written the stormy, tearful \"Rolling in the Deep,\" which would go on to not only open her second album, *21*, but eventually become one of 2011\'s defining singles and set the tone for a vibrant portrait of young heartbreak that showcases Adele\'s fierce alto. On *19*, Adele established herself as a key part of the 2000s class of British R&B-inspired singers that included Amy Winehouse and Duffy. For *21*, however, she added new dimensions to her sound, bringing in ideas borrowed from country, rock, gospel, and modern pop—as well as a gently psychedelic take on the downcast \"Lovesong,\" originally by fellow Brit miserablists The Cure. Adele\'s powerful voice and unguarded feelings were *21*\'s main draw, but her savvy about using them—and only going all in when a song\'s emotional force required her to do so—made it one of the 21st century\'s biggest albums. While a few top-tier producers, including Rick Rubin, Ryan Tedder, and Dan Wilson, worked on *21*, its coherence comes from the woman at its center, whose voice channels the anguish of the stirring ballad \"One and Only,\" the weepy \"Don\'t You Remember,\" and the vengeful \"Rumour Has It.\" The stripped-down \"Someone Like You,\" meanwhile, is the natural bookend to \"Rolling,\" its bittersweet lyrics and quietly anguished vocal sounding like the aftermath of the argument that track began. “*21* isn\'t even my record—it belongs to the people,” Adele told Apple Music in 2015. That\'s true in a sense; *21* was one of the 2010s\' true pop successes, reaching listeners from all over the world. But Adele is its key ingredient, a modern soul singer whose range is only matched by her ability to conjure up deeply felt emotions.