Dazed's Top 20 Albums of 2014

FKA twigs’ first full-length album brims with spartan, icy songs that whisk between distorted R&B and ethereal pop. While twigs’ pristine vocals and sensual lyrics are the cornerstone, *LP1* showcases the kind of confident production and instrumentation that play easily alongside celebrated pop minimalists like James Blake. Album highlight “Pendulum\" sees FKA twigs dabbling in manipulated vocals, as wavering guitars and electric drums stutter-step intoxicatingly, while “Video Girl” finds her melodic falsetto fluttering over churning, wobbling synths and creaking percussion.

Sia Furler’s sixth album immediately unveils its kinetic potential with the unreined anthem “Chandelier”. *1000 Forms of Fear* offers the artist’s most thunderous and frenetic sound to date, employing her powerful voice to punch through layers of tinny electric drums and glitchy synths. Sia teams with The Weeknd and Diplo on “Elastic Heart”, an uptempo electric ballad that uses a dizzying composition and polished harmonies to showcase both Sia’s talent as a songwriter and the album’s skilful production.

On his first album in 13 years, Richard D. James, the godfather of cerebral electronic music, is in top form. This isn\'t a comeback, nor a departure of any kind: *Syro* sounds like highly concentrated, classic Aphex Twin, a singular aesthetic that dates all the way back to 1982: beat patterns wiggle into the foreground, then disappear; analog synths snap, crackle and pop; moods vacillate between aggressively percussive and smoothly melodic. These tracks – they work together like one long set -- demand to be listened to with excellent headphones, the better to discern their highly intricate sequencing, arguably some of James\' most ambitious. Each tune is teeming with juicy noise, all of it gleefully arranged. What comes through most is joy: it sounds like James is having so much fun. 

Although her first two studio albums had moments of girl-group sass, Swedish-born singer/songwriter Lykke Li has always been most powerful when the tempos come down. 2010’s *Wounded Rhymes* featured a mascara-stained ‘60s-influenced charmer called “Sadness is a Blessing”; Li’s third album, *I Never Learn*, hones this gift for wallowing with a collection of miserablist dream pop. Stacked with Wall of Sound strings, lean songwriting, and confessional drama, Li’s doleful highlights (“No Rest for the Wicked,” “Love Me Like I’m Not Made of Stone,” “Never Gonna Love Again”) are carefully constructed ballads that float along in a melancholy, reverb-washed haze. When she fades out with the mournful “Sleeping Alone,” *I Never Learn* emerges as a powerful artistic achievement, every bit as lonely as it is lovely.

Over the course of two astonishing albums, Perfume Genius, aka Seattle native Mike Hadreas, cemented his place as a singer-songwriter of rare frankness, creating songs that, while achingly emotional, offered empathy and hope, rather than any judgment or handwringing. Sparse, gorgeous and with Hadreas’ quavering vocals often only accompanied by piano, they were uncommonly beautiful tales of a life lived on the dark side – scarred, brutalised, yet ultimately, slowly but surely reclaimed. Too Bright, however, is something else altogether. Less self-conscious, and less concerned with storytelling and easily-digested melodies, it is a brave, bold, unpredictably quixotic exploration of what Hadreas calls “an underlying rage that has slowly been growing since ten and has just begun to bubble up”. Recorded with Adrian Utley of Portishead and featuring John Parish on several tracks, it is a stunning about-face which brings to mind audacious career-shift albums like Kate Bush’s The Dreaming or Scott Walker’s Tilt, records which walk the tightrope between pure songwriting and overt experimentation.

Contemporary R&B is enjoying an embarrassment of riches, with innovative albums by FKA Twigs, Banks, and Kelela stretching the genre\'s boundaries. Tinashe\'s debut raises the bar yet again. Building on the momentum of the roiling summer jam \"2 On,\" *Aquarius* features a who\'s-who of names, from R&B iconoclasts like Blood Orange\'s Dev Hynes to bankable pop pros like Stargate. \"How Many Times\" is a throwback slow jam enlivened by Future\'s staccato vocals, while \"Pretend\" out-Drakes Drake with its liquid production and earworm hook. Tinashe remains the star of the show, cooing, rapping, and ruminating (via several interludes). It\'s one of the year\'s most adventurous pop records.

On her third album, Angel Olsen rides waves of emotional intensity that take her from the depths of despair to the heights of hope. *Burn Your Fire for No Witness* is a worthy successor to her 2012 breakthrough *Half Way Home*, revisiting many of the earlier album’s themes with greater focus and maturity. Tracks like “Forgiven/Forgotten,” “Lights Out,” and “Enemy” probe the subtle torments of love with an unflinching hand. Olsen’s phenomenal vocal range—shifting from murmurs to howls and yodels with impressive control—brings out the expansive vision of “Iota” and the confrontational power of “High & Wild.” The album\'s pervasive angst gives way to a desperate yearning for healing and peace in the convulsive “Stars” and the tender “Windows.” Olsen’s expressive guitar work is lent sympathetic support by bassist Stewart Bronaugh and drummer Joshua Jaeger, who help her leap from the distorted alt-country of “Hi-Five” to the Leonard Cohen–like folk balladry of “White Fire” and the French chanson feel of “Dance Slow Decades.” Finely crafted and fearlessly sung, *Burn Your Fire* smolders with dark brilliance.

On her newest LP, 'Burn Your Fire for No Witness', Angel Olsen sings with full-throated exultation, admonition, and bold, expressive melody. With the help of producer John Congleton, her music now crackles with a churning, rumbling low end and a brighter energy. Angel Olsen began singing as a young girl in St. Louis. Her self-released debut EP, 'Strange Cacti', belied both that early period of discovery and her Midwestern roots. Olsen then went further on 'Half Way Home', her first full-length album (released on Bathetic Records), which mined essential themes while showcasing a more developed voice. Olsen dared to be more personal. After extensive touring, Olsen eventually settled for a time in Chicago’s Logan Square neighborhood, where she created "a collection of songs grown in a year of heartbreak, travel, and transformation," that would become 'Burn Your Fire For No Witness'. Many of them remain essentially unchanged from their bare beginnings. In leaving them so intact, a more self-assured Olsen allows us to be in the room with her at the very genesis of these songs. Our reward for entering this room is many a head-turning moment and the powerful, unsettling recognition of ourselves in the weave of her songs.

Following in the footsteps of fellow Black Hippy member Kendrick Lamar, ScHoolboy Q makes his major-label debut with *Oxymoron*, an album as thematically ambitious and sonically adventurous as Lamar\'s celebrated *good kid, m.A.A.d city*. Detailing Q\'s days as a drug dealer, hustler, and father, the record doesn\'t just open a vein; it practically bleeds to death, as on the album centerpiece \"Prescription/Oxymoron,\" a menacing track about the litany of bad vibes caused by drug use: \"I cry when nothing\'s wrong.\" Not that *Oxymoron* is a downer–far from it. \"Collard Greens\" is addictively rambunctious, daring listeners to not bounce with its circular bassline and jittery beat. And Q\'s flow is a thing to behold. He snarls, wheezes, croons, coos, barks, and caws, playing the lascivious lothario on \"The Studio,\" the boisterous party-starter on \"Man of the Year,\" and the unapologetic recidivist on, well, pretty much on every track. Indeed, Q more than lives up to his rep as Black Hippy\'s unhinged id.

Despite his reputation as something of a hard-partying rock prankster (not many musicians play a guitar customized with an old beer bottle cap), Mac DeMarco, on record at least, has always been a hopeless romantic. And here, on his second album, the Canadian singer/songwriter effectively leans into loverman mode (just see “Let My Baby Stay”). But “Passing Out Pieces” is a particular marvel: Cast in cloudy synths and dark humor, it’s the sound of slacker rock’s clown prince getting serious.

“As I’m getting older, chip up on my shoulder…” is the opening line from Mac DeMarco’s second full-length LP ‘Salad Days,’ the follow up to 2012’s lauded ‘Mac DeMarco 2.’ Amongst that familiar croon and lilting guitar, that initial line from the title track sets the tone for an LP of a maturing singer/songwriter/producer. Someone strangely self-aware of the positives and negatives of their current situation at the ripe old age of 23. Written and recorded around a relentless tour schedule (which picked up all over again as soon as the LP was done), ‘Salad Days’ gives the listener a very personal insight into what it’s all about to be Mac amidst the craziness of a rising career in a very public format. The lead single, “Passing Out Pieces,” set to huge overdriven organ chords, contains lines like “…never been reluctant to share, passing out pieces of me…” Clearly, Salad Days isn’t the same record that breezily gave us “Dreamin,” and “Ode to Viceroy,” but the result of what comes from their success. “Chamber of Reflection,” a track featuring icy synth stabs and soulful crooning, wouldn’t be out of place on a fantasy Shuggie Otis and Prince collaboration. Standout tracks like these show Mac’s widening sound, whether insights into future directions or even just welcome one-off forays into new territory. Still, this is musically, lyrically and melodically good old Mac DeMarco, through and through. The same crisp John Lennon / Phil Spector era homegrown lush production that could have walked out of Geoff Emerick’s mixing board in 1972, but with that peculiar Mac touch that’s completely of right now. “Brother,” a complete future classic, is Mac at his most soulful and easygoing but with that distinct weirdness and bite that can only come from Mr. DeMarco.“Treat Her Better” is rife with “Mac-isms,” heavily chorused slinky lead guitar, swooning vocal melodies, effortless chords that come along only after years of effort, and the other elements seriously lacking in independent music: sentiment and heartfelt sincerity. We’re only at Part 2 and 1/2 (one EP and two LP’s in) into Mac’s career.

With 2011’s *Slave Ambient*, The War on Drugs offered a collection of emotionally rich, guitar-driven grandeur that earned songwriter/bandleader Adam Granduciel accolades from far beyond his hometown scene in Philadelphia. The War on Drugs’ fourth full-length operates with a bigger, bolder agenda—evident in the clattering electronics and hypnotic production of the nearly nine-minute opener, “Under the Pressure”. From there, *Lost in the Dream* unfolds with warm, melancholic rock that combines Granduciel’s mystical tenor with a blurry haze of vintage synths, chiming guitars, horn accents and reverb-soaked ambience. Uptempo tracks like “Red Eyes” and “An Ocean in Between the Waves” juxtapose pulsing, mechanical backbeats with droning synths. Ballads, like the heartbreaking “Suffering” and the gently paced title track, float along in a beautiful fog. After *Lost in the Dream* closes with a couple of minutes of wordless feedback, the album leaves a hypnotic, lingering impression.

'Lost In The Dream' is the third album by Philadelphia band The War on Drugs, but in many ways, it feels like the first. Around the release of the 2011 breakthrough 'Slave Ambient', Adam Granduciel spent the bulk of two years on the road, touring through progressively larger rock clubs, festival stages and late-night television slots. As these dozen songs shifted and grew beyond what they’d been in the studio, The War on Drugs became a bona fide rock ’n’ roll band. That essence drives 'Lost In The Dream', a 10-song set produced by Granduciel and longtime engineer Jeff Zeigler. In the past, Granduciel built the core of songs largely by himself. But these tunes were played and recorded by the group that had solidified so much on the road: Dave Hartley, (his favorite bassist in the world), who had played a bit on The War on Drugs’ 2008 debut 'Wagonwheel Blues', and pianist Robbie Bennett, a multi-instrumentalist who contributed to 'Slave Ambient'. This unit spent eight months bouncing between a half-dozen different studios that stretched from the mountains of North Carolina to the boroughs of New York City. Only then did Granduciel—the proudly self-professed gearhead, and unrepentant perfectionist—add and subtract, invite guests and retrofit pieces. He sculpted these songs into a musical rescue mission, through and then beyond personal despair and anxiety. 'Lost In The Dream' represents the trials of the trip and the triumphs of its destination.

Though beset by label delays and Twitter squabbles, no amount of innuendo could stymie the vividly original debut by Harlem pop iconoclast Azealia Banks. The snaking electro-house breakout \"212\" remains essential listening, flanked by a kaleidoscopic mélange of Latin, funk, trap, and hip-hop: forget naming styles, they\'re all here. Rapping and singing with equal aplomb, Banks anchors the spooky U.K. garage of \"Desperado\" as ably as she does the industrial skronk of \"Yung Rapunxel\" (the conflation of \"rap\" and \"punk\" there is no accident). The Ariel Pink collaboration \"Nude Beach A-Go-Go,\" with its echoes of Gidget and \'50s pop, is positively flummoxing in the best way.

With their eerie textures, spare pianos, and whispered vocals, Liz Harris\' songs send shivers up your spine, even as they emanate a certain warmth, like a ghost story told by a close friend. Recorded at an artist retreat in Portugal, *Ruins* is her most accessible release, with spectral odes like \"Call Across Rooms\" and \"Lighthouse\" eschewing the looping techniques of previous work for spare arrangements of piano and voice. \"Labyrinth\" pulls you in with circular piano lines, while Harris\' vocals in \"Holding\" drift by like clouds as samples of a thunderstorm populate the background.

Ruins was made in Aljezur, Portugal in 2011 on a residency set up by Galeria Zé dos Bois. I recorded everything there except the last song, which I did at mother's house in 2004. Iʼm still surprised by what I wound up with. It was the first time Iʼd sat still for a few years; processed a lot of political anger and emotional garbage. Recorded pretty simply, with a portable 4-track ,Sony stereo mic and an upright piano. When I wasnʼt recording songs I was hiking several miles to the beach. The path wound through the ruins of several old estates and a small village. The album is a document. A nod to that daily walk. Failed structures. Living in the remains of love. I left the songs the way they came (microwave beep from when power went out after a storm); I hope that the album bears some resemblance to the place that I was in.