A.V. Club's Best Music of 2012

Stepping away from both the pop songwriting machine and his former crew Odd Future’s stoned anarchy, Frank Ocean guides us on a meandering but purposeful journey through his own vast mythological universe on his major-label debut. *Channel ORANGE* breezes from sepia-toned Stevie Wonder homage (“Sweet Life”) to the corrosive cosmic funk of “Pyramids,” which stretches from ancient pharaoh queens to 21st-century pimps. Rendered in pristine detail with calm, dazzled awe, even his most fantastical narratives feel somehow familiar—at once unprecedented and timeless.

© 2012 The Island Def Jam Music Group ℗ 2012 The Island Def Jam Music Group

In 2009, Cleveland’s Dylan Baldi began writing and recording lo-fi power-pop songs in his parents’ basement, dubbing the project Cloud Nothings. His music quickly started making the Internet rounds, and fans and critics alike took note of his pithy songcraft, infectiously catchy melodies, and youthful enthusiasm. Baldi soon released a string of 7”s, a split cassette, and an EP before putting out "Turning On"—a compilation spanning about a year’s worth of work—on Carpark in 2010. January 2011 saw the release Cloud Nothings’ self-titled debut LP, which, put next to Turning On, found Baldi cleaning up his lo-fi aesthetic, pairing his tales of affinitive confusion with a more pristine aural clarity. In the interval since the release of Cloud Nothings, Baldi has toured widely and put a great deal of focus on his live show, a detail that heavily shapes the music of his follow-up album, "Attack on Memory." After playing the same sets nightly for months on end, Baldi saw the rigidity of his early work, and he wanted to create arrangements that would allow for more improvisation and variability when played on the road. To accomplish this desired malleability, the entire band decamped to Chicago—where the album was recorded with Steve Albini—and all lent a hand in the songwriting process. The product of these sessions is a record boasting features that, even at a glance, mark a sea change in the band’s sound: higher fidelity, a track clocking in at almost nine minutes, an instrumental, and an overall more plaintive air. The songs move along fluidly, and Baldi sounds assured as he brings his vocals up in the mix, allowing himself to hold out long notes and put some grain into his voice. Minor key melodies abound, drums emphatically contribute much more than mere timekeeping, and the guitar work is much more adventurous than that of previous releases. For all of early Cloud Nothings’ fun and fervor, Baldi admits that it never sounded like most of the music he listens to. With "Attack on Memory," he wanted to remedy this anomaly, and in setting out to do so, Baldi and co. have created an album that shows vast growth in a still very young band.

*Tramp* is a study in controlled power. Soft yet muscular, vulnerable yet tough, the music moves at a languid pace while also conveying urgency and unresolved tension. Sharon Van Etten’s striking voice is the album\'s central feature. Her vocals are commanding throughout, resonating when surrounded by ample space (“Give Out”, “In Line”), in the midst of precise arrangements using strings, keyboards, and artful drumming (“Leonard”, “We Are Fine”), or backed by a squall of electric guitar (“Serpents”). Van Etten closely doubles her vocals on many tracks; by hitting two closely related notes at once, this gives her voice a haunting, ethereal quality. Produced by Aaron Desner of The National, the album also benefits from contributions by drummer Matt Barrick (The Walkmen) and vocals by Zach Condon (Beirut) and Jenn Wasner (Wye Oak). *Tramp* is a triumph of understated beauty and grace.

The shimmering sound of Sharon Van Etten’s Jagjaguwar debut album, 'Tramp', both defies and illuminates the unsteadiness of a life in flux. Throughout the 14 months of scattered recording sessions, Van Etten was without a home -- crashing with friends and storing her possessions between varied locations. The only constant in Van Etten's life during this time was spent in Aaron Dessner's garage studio. Tramp contains as much striking rock (the precise venom of “Serpents,” the overwhelming power of “Ask”), as pious, minimal beauty (the earnest solemnity of “All I Can,” the breathtaking “Kevins,” “Joke or a Lie”); it can be as emotionally combative (“Give Out”) as it can sultry (“Magic Chords”). Contributions from Matt Barrick (Walkmen), Thomas Bartlett (Doveman), Zach Condon (Beirut), Jenn Wasner (Wye Oak), Julianna Barwick, and Dessner himself add a glowing sheen to the already substantial offering.

A NOTE FROM MICHAEL GIRA “The Seer took 30 years to make. It’s the culmination of every previous Swans album as well as any other music I’ve ever made, been involved in or imagined. But it’s unfinished, like the songs themselves. It’s one frame in a reel. The frames blur, blend and will eventually fade. The songs began on an acoustic guitar, then were fleshed out with (invaluable) help from my friends, then were further tortured and seduced in rehearsals, live and in the studio, and now they await further cannibalism and force-feeding as we prepare to perform some of them live, at which point they’ll mutate further, endlessly, or perhaps be discarded for a while. Despite what you might have heard or presumed, my quest is to spread light and joy through the world. My friends in Swans are all stellar men. Without them I’m a kitten, an infant. Our goal is the same: ecstasy!" HOW THE SONGS CAME TO BE The songs The Seer, Ave. B Blues, Avatar, and The Apostate were developed organically as a group in rehearsals and on tour. They morphed constantly throughout the last series of Swans tours, and were captured and lovingly adorned in the studio. The remaining songs on the album were developed from the ground up in the studio with the participation and input of all the contributing musicians, guided by an invisible hand... Recorded at Studio P4 and Andere Baustelle in Berlin, by Kevin McMahon and at Marcata Studio, Gardiner, NY, by Kevin McMahon. Additional recording at Trout Recording, Brooklyn, NY, engineer: Bryce Goggin. Mixed by Kevin McMahon at Marcata. Produced by Michael Gira. FULL CREDITS SWANS Michael Gira voice, acoustic guitar, electric guitar, harmonica, casio, sounds Norman Westberg electric guitar, voice Christoph Hahn lap steel guitars; electric guitar, voice Phil Puleo drums, percussion, hammer dulcimer, voice Thor Harris drums, percussion, orchestral bells, hammer dulcimer, handmade violin thing, vibraphone, piano, clarinet, voice Christopher Pravdica bass guitar, voice, incredible handshake Honorary Swan: Bill Rieflin piano, organ, electric guitar, acoustic guitar, drums, percussion, casio, synthesizer, bass guitar, voice, bird idea SPECIAL GUESTS Karen O lead vocal on Song for a Warrior (Karen appears courtesy Interscope Records) Al and Mimi of Low co-vocals on Lunacy Jarboe backing vocals and voice collage on Piece of the Sky and backing vocals on The Seer Returns Seth Olinsky, Miles Seaton, Dana Janssen (Akron/Family) backing vocals on Piece of the Sky Caleb Mulkerin and Colleen Kinsella of Big Blood accordion, vocals, dulcimer, guitar, piano and assorted other instruments on the Seer Returns Sean Mackowiak (the grasshopper) acoustic and electric mandolins, clarinet, various songs Ben Frost fire sounds (acoustic and synthetic) on Piece of the Sky Iain Graham bagpipes on The Seer Bruce Lamont horns on The Seer Bob Rutman steel cello on The Seer Cassis Staudt accordion various songs Eszter Balint violin, various songs Jane Scarpatoni cello various songs Kevin McMahon additional drums on the Seer Returns, electric guitar, sounds on various songs Bryce Goggin piano on Song for a Warrior Stefan Rocke contra bassoon on the Seer Produced by Michael Gira. Recorded at Studio P4 and Andere Baustelle in Berlin, by Kevin McMahon, assistants Marco and Boris, and at Marcata Studio, Gardiner, NY, by Kevin McMahon. Additional recording at Trout Recording, Brooklyn, NY, engineer: Bryce Goggin, assistant: Adam Sachs. Mixed by Kevin McMahon at Marcata. Mastered by Doug Henderson at Micro-Moose Berlin. Pre-mastering by Jamal Ruhe at West Westside Music. Artwork: Paintings and Swans photo portraits by Simon Henwood.

*Local Business*’s opening lyrics are: “Okay, I think by now we’ve established that everything is inherently worthless, and there’s nothing in the universe with any kind of objective purpose.” It’s grim to read, but when performed it sounds like life-affirming rock \'n\' roll meant to crush such existential dread. Patrick Stickles has a lot to say, and he’s not afraid to bare his own insecurities and personal frustrations while he’s at it. Eating disorders, consumerism, nihilism, and the absurdities of human nature are explored from various angles. Yet Stickles can pull it off and make his point of view thought-provoking, relatable, and even funny due to his odd mix of hopelessness and lust for life. *Local Business*, Titus Andronicus\' third full-length, isn\'t a concept album like the Civil War–themed *The Monitor*, but it\'s ambitious in its own right. Rather than featuring a large group of revolving musicians as before, here the band is stripped down to five members: three ragged, crunching guitars and a steady drum-and-bass rhythm section. The sound is tightened up and tough, with fist-pumping choruses and sharp tempo breaks. This is workingman’s punk delivered with a jolt.

West Coast hip-hop elders like Snoop and Dre have virtually anointed Kendrick Lamar to carry on the legacy of gangsta rap. His second studio album *good kid, M.A.A.d city*, conceptual enough to be a rock opera, certainly uplifts the genre with its near-biblical themes: religion vs. violence and monogamy vs. lust. Verbally nimble, Lamar experiments with a variety of different lyrical styles, from the Bone Thugz-type of delivery on “Swimming Pools (Drank)” to the more straightforward orthodox G-funk flow on “m.A.A.d. City feat. MC Eiht.” Like prog rock, Lamar’s tracks have songs within songs—sudden tempo changes with alter egos and embedded interludes, such as unscripted recordings of his parents asking for their car back and neighborhood homies planning their latest conquest. These snippets pepper the album providing an anthropological glimpse into his life in Compton.

Indie rock connoisseurs will recognise the names behind Divine Fits—Britt Daniel (Spoon), Dan Boeckner (Wolf Parade), and Sam Brown (New Turk Bombs). The band’s debut album was produced by Nick Launay (Nick Cave, Yeah Yeah Yeahs) and features five songs apiece by Boeckner and Daniels, plus a cover. From the crisp modern rock tension of “Flaggin’ a Ride” to the acoustic loveliness of the bittersweet “Civilian Stripes” or the haunting “Neopolitans,” Divine Fits prove to be an inspired collective. *A Thing Called Divine Fits* comes with a five-page digital booklet with lyrics, recording credits, and artwork.

With fizzled record deals and forced image makeovers in his past, a frustrated Miguel Jontel Pimentel took control of his career and creativity on *Kaleidoscope Dream*. As a result, his second album not only sounded utterly singular—a swirling, moody mix of hip-hop, rock, and psychedelic soul—but it also placed the Southern Californian singer in a vanguard of new artists redefining the idea of the male R&B star (see also Frank Ocean, the Weeknd). Though just as sex-obsessed as the smooth lovermen who came before him, Miguel here projects a far more fractured and colorful view of romance tinted by deep self-reflection, hallucinogenic augmentation, and spiritual yearning. All of which tracks for a guy who grew up idolizing artsy types like Prince, Bowie, and Hendrix, but whose voice happens to sound like crushed velvet. To that last point, there’s “Adorn,” a tribute to wholehearted love that evokes Marvin Gaye’s “Sexual Healing” and shows just how sweet a Miguel album of simple, throwback R&B would be. But *Kaleidoscope Dream* is not that album—and it’s better for it. The next song, “Don’t Look Back,” lays shuffling ’60s pop over throbbing electro-house as Miguel warns a partner to run before the moon turns him into a womanizing beast. And then comes “Use Me,” where, over a plush blanket of grinding guitar, he cops to being nervous in bed. Whether he’s likening coitus to ballet (“Arch & Point”) or vamping with Alicia Keys over a tumbling drum loop (“Where’s the Fun in Forever”), Miguel proves himself a thrillingly unpredictable host. It’s no wonder this breakthrough LP led to sonic trysts with artists as wide-ranging as Kendrick Lamar, the Chemical Brothers, and Beyoncé.

With disparate contributions from its four members, Grizzly Bear’s sound has long been multifaceted and thoughtfully layered. Repeated listening is frequently rewarded with newly discovered textures and details. “Sleeping Ute” opens *Shields*, the group’s fourth studio album, and is almost like a three-movement piece; alt-country–tinged guitar and bass introduce the song before a swirl of keyboards, buzzy guitars, and thunderous drumming transpires. A vocal and Spanish-style acoustic guitar outro make for an unresolved conclusion. *Shields*\' most straight-ahead modern rock number, “Yet Again,” is in the melodically accessible vein of “Two Weeks” from Grizzly Bear’s previous release, *Veckatimest*. A showcase for multi-instrumentalist Christopher Bear’s tuned percussion and lyrical drumming, “A Simple Answer” is bathed in emotive longing. There’s an addictive new wave pop sound to the nuanced “gun-shy,” while “Sun in Your Eyes” starts and ends as a piano ballad, transforming into a chamber rock *pièce de résistance* in between.

*Clockwork Angels* is the 20th studio album from rock’s holy triumvirate of Geddy Lee, Alex Lifeson, and Neil Peart, but it also reconfirms Rush’s 35-year-plus dedication to musical and lyrical exploration. The recipe remains the same (as the credits always note, “Music: Lee and Lifeson, Lyrics: Peart”), but the potential for ideas encased in air-guitar perfection keeps flourishing. *Clockwork Angels* is a conceptual tale about a young man’s dream quest. It involves steampunk, lost cities, pirates, a watchmaker, and more. Musically, Rush doesn\'t slow down. “Caravan” and “BU2B” exude a heft and dark resonance that recalls Tool. “Headlong Flight,” meanwhile, is another freewheeling Rush track, coasting on a zipline over jagged crevices with Lee as narrator, Lifeson’s careening guitar the guidance system, and Peart’s fluid percussion the accelerator pedal.

On *Old Ideas*, his 12th studio album, the iconic singer/songwriter/poet continues his exploration of the spiritual, the sensual, and the cycle of life over the course of 10 songs. His unexcitable, half-spoken baritone is a calming, lyrical guide, with vocalists Dana Glover and The Webb Sisters and longtime collaborators Jennifer Warnes and Sharon Robinson providing tonal contrasts. With dual piano and organ accompaniment, “Show Me the Place” has the solemn levity of a modern hymn. The bluesy “Darkness” and the cabaret-friendly “Different Sides” showcase Cohen’s noirish and uptempo sides. “Banjo\" has a rural North Americana arrangement, appropriately enough, with an unexpected, Dixieland-like clarinet-and-trumpet interlude.

The Men break all kinds of rules. Their music’s bark is as bad as its bite; it rages and pummels, burying perfectly capable hooks and melody under an avalanche of guitars. Yet they do it so smartly, so efficiently, that not a riff is wasted, not a layer of grime yearns to be wiped away. And they dare make instrumentals a large part of their weaponry (one even mixes twangy slide guitar with a Spacemen 3 haze). They serve up songs that easily crash the three-minute barrier, with two beauties clocking in at more than seven minutes each. The Men unabashedly beg, borrow, and steal: their last LP title (*Leave Home*) was lifted from The Ramones, and riffs and tones on songs like “Open Your Heart,” “Animal,” and “Oscillation” are inspired by antecedents The Buzzcocks, The Damned, and Sonic Youth. The clamorous assault of guitarists Mark Perro and Nick Chiericozzi recalls the sheer power of bands like Hüsker Dü and The Stooges. So why aren’t we complaining? Because each release by The Men leaves us a little more in awe, and they prove, again, that punk rock seeds sown 35 years ago can still sprout fresh, green shoots that impress and thrill.

Ironically referred to by Time Out New York as "Thurston Moore & the E Street Band," The Men have never been a band to play by categorical punk subgenre rules.

For their seventh album in 10 years, The Walkmen keep refining their strangely catchy brand of moody indie rock. *Heaven* is a bit slower than its predecessors, but Hamilton Leithauser’s wonderfully drawn-out and affected voice is there at the forefront, floating atop a choppy sea of strummed guitars and thick bass lines. Thanks to the renowned Seattle-based producer Phil Ek (his generation’s answer to Joe Boyd), the electric sparks of a great live show combine with the layered intricacies of a labored-over studio album. “Heaven” is a detuned jangle-romp that flirts briefly with being an anthem before going home and crawling into bed. “Line by Line” is an unabashed lullaby. “No One Ever Sleeps” is the soundtrack to a waking dream. And “Heartbreaker” is a suave little foray into the post-Velvets night. When Leithauser intones “We’ll never leave/The world is ours” on “We Can’t Be Beat,” you pray he’s even a little bit right.

His devotees noted Shakespeare\'s final play was named The Tempest, but 71-year-old Bob Dylan shot down speculation that it means this will be his final album. For the past decade, Dylan has sounded remarkably comfortable in the recording studio, releasing a string of albums that capture vintage blues, R&B and country string band music to complement his road-worn voice. \"I ain\'t dead yet, my bell still rings,\" he sings on the \"Mannish Boy\"-influenced \"Early Roman Kings\" and it sounds like a reassurance. Dylan susses meaning from phrases others throw away. This is dark, dusty music with secrets tucked inside its riddles. \"Duquesne Whistle,\" a collaboration with Robert Hunter, shuffles down the line. A hypnotizing riff works over \"Narrow Way\" for seven-plus minutes as Dylan quotes the Mississippi Sheiks. On \"Pay In Blood,\" Dylan sounds like a man settling a score. \"Scarlet Town\" and \"Tin Angel\" extend the narratives, but it\'s the title track that squeezes 45 verses into 14 minutes for an epic that wanders from shipwreck to Leonardo DiCaprio without losing the thread.