Les Inrocks' 100 Best Albums of 2017

In the two years since *To Pimp a Butterfly*, we’ve hung on Kendrick Lamar\'s every word—whether he’s destroying rivals on a cameo, performing the #blacklivesmatter anthem *on top of a police car* at the BET Awards, or hanging out with Obama. So when *DAMN.* opens with a seemingly innocuous line—\"So I was taking a walk the other day…”—we\'re all ears. The gunshot that abruptly ends the track is a signal: *DAMN.* is a grab-you-by-the-throat declaration that’s as blunt, complex, and unflinching as the name suggests. If *Butterfly* was jazz-inflected, soul-funk vibrance, *DAMN.* is visceral, spare, and straight to the point, whether he’s boasting about \"royalty inside my DNA” on the trunk-rattling \"DNA.\" or lamenting an anonymous, violent death on the soul-infused “FEAR.” No topic is too big to tackle, and the songs are as bold as their all-caps names: “PRIDE.” “LOYALTY.” “LOVE.” \"LUST.” “GOD.” When he repeats the opening line to close the album, that simple walk has become a profound journey—further proof that no one commands the conversation like Kendrick Lamar.

Though Mac DeMarco has become known, in part, for playing a lovable buffoon online and on stage, he\'s also quietly assembled one of the most rewarding bodies of work in indie rock. *This Old Dog* picks up where 2014’s *Salad Days* left off, with a set of sunlit, heartfelt singer/songwriter fare that finds DeMarco reflecting on family with often stunning candor. From the acoustic warmth of “My Old Man” to the hushed crooning of “Sister” and the devastating observations of “Watching Him Fade Away,” it’s his finest album to date.

Cigarettes After Sex frontman Greg Gonzalez uses his music like a diary, each song framing a vivid, intimate memory of a lover or friend. They’re bracingly honest dispatches, recalling moments of helpless obsession (“Sweet”) and snarling at infidelity with dark, profane humor (“Young & Dumb”). Tethered by bittersweet melodies, the band’s slow, hazy pop-noir gives the joy and pain of Gonzalez’s tales time and space to sink in, and your heart might race and break as hard as his on “K” and “Apocalypse.”

For the most part, Lana Del Rey’s fifth album is quintessentially her: gloomy, glamorous, and smitten with California. But a newfound lightness might surprise longtime fans. Each song on *Lust* feels like a postcard from a dream: She fantasizes about 1969 (“Coachella - Woodstock In My Mind”), outruns paparazzi on the Pacific Coast Highway (“13 Beaches”), and dances on the H of the Hollywood sign (“Lust for Life” feat. The Weeknd). She even duets with Stevie Nicks, the queen of bittersweet rock. On “Get Free,” she makes a vow to shift her mindset: \"Now I do, I want to move/Out of the black, into the blue.”

Dormant for seven years since 2010’s *Nothing*, N.E.R.D have been jolted into action by the social and political turbulence around them. Sounding as vital as they’ve ever done, the trio address racism, corporate governance and border control with revolutionary spirit and boundless creativity. The taut electro of Rihanna-featuring opener “Lemon” provides a short, sharp introduction, while seven-minute opus “Lightning Fire Magic Prayer” exemplifies their daring as it twists artfully through psych-pop, hip-hop and lounge jazz. Focusing on police brutality, “Don’t Don’t Do It!” welcomes in a spine-tingling verse from Kendrick Lamar—the pick of some stellar cameos, including features from André 3000, Future and Ed Sheeran.

The album that finally reveals a superstar. Sampha Sisay spent his nascent career becoming music’s collaborator à la mode—his CV includes impeccable work with the likes of Solange, Drake, and Jessie Ware—and *Process* fully justifies his considered approach to unveiling a debut full-length. It’s a stunning album that sees the Londoner inject raw, gorgeous emotion into each of his mini-epics. His electronic R&B sounds dialed in from another dimension on transformative opener “Plastic 100°C,” and “Incomplete Kisses” is an anthem for the broken-hearted that retains a smoothness almost exclusive to this very special talent. “(No One Knows Me) Like the Piano,” meanwhile, makes a solid case for being 2017’s most beautiful song.

Josh Tillman’s third album as Father John Misty is a wry and passionate complaint against nearly everything under the sun: Politics, religion, entertainment, war—even Father John Misty can’t escape Father John Misty’s gimlet eye. But even the wordiest, most cynically self-aware songs here (“Leaving L.A.,” “When the God of Love Returns There’ll Be Hell to Pay”) are executed with angelic beauty, a contrast that puts Tillman in a league with spiritual predecessors like Randy Newman or Harry Nilsson. A performer as savvy as Tillman knows you can’t sell the apocalypse without making it sound pretty.

'Pure Comedy', Father John Misty’s third album, is a complex, often-sardonic, and, equally often, touching meditation on the confounding folly of modern humanity. Father John Misty is the brainchild of singer-songwriter Josh Tillman. Tillman has released two widely acclaimed albums – 'Fear Fun' (2012) and 'I Love You, Honeybear' (2015) – and the recent “Real Love Baby” single as Father John Misty, and recently contributed to songs by Beyoncé, Lady Gaga, and Kid Cudi. While we could say a lot about 'Pure Comedy' – including that it is a bold, important album in the tradition of American songwriting greats like Harry Nilsson, Randy Newman, and Leonard Cohen – we think it’s best to let its creator describe it himself. Take it away, Mr. Tillman: 'Pure Comedy' is the story of a species born with a half-formed brain. The species’ only hope for survival, finding itself on a cruel, unpredictable rock surrounded by other species who seem far more adept at this whole thing (and to whom they are delicious), is the reliance on other, slightly older, half-formed brains. This reliance takes on a few different names as their story unfolds, like “love,” “culture,” “family,” etc. Over time, and as their brains prove to be remarkably good at inventing meaning where there is none, the species becomes the purveyor of increasingly bizarre and sophisticated ironies. These ironies are designed to help cope with the species’ loathsome vulnerability and to try and reconcile how disproportionate their imagination is to the monotony of their existence. Something like that. 'Pure Comedy' was recorded in 2016 at the legendary United Studios (Frank Sinatra, Ray Charles, Beck) in Hollywood, CA. It was produced by Father John Misty and Jonathan Wilson, with engineering by Misty’s longtime sound-person Trevor Spencer and orchestral arrangements by renowned composer/double-bassist Gavin Bryars (known for extensive solo work, and work with Brian Eno, Tom Waits, Derek Bailey).

Though Arcade Fire have always been comfortable making grand statements, they’ve also been generous with nuance. After joining forces with LCD Soundsystem’s James Murphy on 2013’s *Reflektor*, the Canadian outfit bring in a similarly impressive crew of co-producers—Daft Punk’s Thomas Bangalter, Pulp’s Steve Mackey—for *Everything Now*, an album whose jaunty, disco-indebted art-rock is weighted with haunting takes on information overload (the ABBA-esque title track) and nostalgia (“Signs of Life”). “If you can’t see the forest for the trees, just burn it all down,” frontman Win Butler sings on “We Don’t Deserve Love,” a gorgeous yet disorienting ballad at the album’s conclusion. “And bring the ashes to me.”

On *1992 Deluxe*, Princess Nokia bloodies eardrums with steady word combinations, illuminating the Big Apple\'s African and Nuyorican diasporas. Self-identity and self-preservation are major themes. She manages stress levels (“Kitana”), gives a shout-out to rebel girls (“Tomboy”), and recalls her come-up (“Goth Kid,” “G.O.A.T.”). There are nods to current trends with a skittering hi-hat or two, but *1992 Deluxe* is a rugged, underground affair—all baggy pants and Timbs—capable of making a mid-\'90s backpacker weep with reverence.

With guitar strums and spare piano chords, the New Zealand singer/songwriter constructs intimate, haunting transmissions that invoke Joni, Kate, and Nico. Harding freezes birds in flight with the subtle power of her voice on “Swell Does the Skull” and “Horizon.” Additional credit goes to PJ Harvey producer John Parish, who brings out deep color and firmly frames Harding in the present.

Venezuelan producer Arca typically makes compelling, lyrical music without saying a word, twisting digital dissonance and gorgeously rendered synth tones into songs you could practically hang on the walls of the Guggenheim. But on his self-titled third album, words become the focus. While an abrasive, intricately programmed instrumental like \"Castration\" says a fair bit on its own, \"Anoche\" and \"Piel\" reach a spellbinding new level for Arca, as he sings Spanish-language poetry about shedding identities and the messiness of love over truly haunting textures.

Deep-thinking South London rapper Loyle Carner bares his soul on his confessional, jazz-infused hip-hop debut, *Yesterday’s Gone*. On dramatic opener “The Isle of Arran,” he samples a rapturous choir and some funky guitar licks, using his soft-spoken flow to ponder the meaning of death. Elsewhere, “Ain’t Nothing Changed” finds the MC languidly reciting rhymes as if perched on a bar stool in a basement jazz club, chewing over the realities of financial debt while accompanied by bluesy saxophone and a boom-bap beat.

Taking on the majority of lyric writing for the first time, Charlotte Gainsbourg imbues her delicate vocals with arresting intimacy on her most personal album to date. Slipping between French and English, she mourns for her father (the pulsating electro-pop of “Lying with You”) and her half sister (the simmering, orchestral “Kate”). Grief hangs over the title track’s spare, fragile groove, but “Les Oxalis” juxtaposes a visit to her sister’s grave with glittering disco beats, while Paul McCartney collaboration “Songbird in a Cage” welds urgent funk to a glorious pop chorus.

Pushing past the GRAMMY®-winning art rock of 2014’s *St. Vincent*, *Masseduction* finds Annie Clark teaming up with Jack Antonoff (as well as Kendrick Lamar collaborator Sounwave) for a pop masterpiece that radiates and revels in paradox—vibrant yet melancholy, cunning yet honest, friendly yet confrontational, deeply personal yet strangely inscrutable. She moves from synthetic highs to towering power-ballad comedowns (“Pills”), from the East Coast (the unforgettable “New York”) to “Los Ageless,” where, amid a bramble of strings and woozy electronics, she admits, “I try to write you a love song/But it comes out a lament.”

Broadly cut from the synth pop cloth, Maus has fashioned the frosty minimalism of its fabric into a cloak of infinite meaning, genuine grace and absurdist humor over the course of three defining albums since 2006. His fourth album Screen Memories, follows six years after 2011’s We Must Become The Pitiless Censors Of Ourselves, which appeared like a thunderbolt of maniacal energy and turned everyone’s heads. Screen Memories was written, recorded, and engineered by Maus over the last few years in his home in Minnesota. It’s a solitary place situated in the sub-zero winter temperatures creep into the songs as do the buzzing wasps of summer.

2014’s 'Too Bright' showcased Mike Hadreas stepping out saucily onto a bigger stage, expressing, with the production help of Portishead’s Adrian Utley, emotions arranged all along the slippery continuum from rage to irony to love. Here in 13 new ferocious and sophisticated tracks, Mike Hadreas and his collaborators blow through church music, makeout music, an array of the gothier radio popular formats, rhythm and blues, art pop, krautrock, queer soul, the RCA Studio B sound, and then also collect some of the sounds that only exist inside Freddy Krueger. Tremolo on the electric keys. Nightclubbing. Daywalking. Kate Bushing, Peter Greenawaying, Springsteening, Syreetaing. No Shape was produced by Blake Mills, the man behind Alabama Shakes’ Grammy Award winning album. He added precision and expansion. Some things are pretty and some are blasted beyond recognition. Records like this, records that make you feel like you’re 15 and just seeing the truth for the first time, are excessively rare. They’re here to remind you that you’re divine.

After his breakthrough *Lost in The Dream*, Adam Granduciel takes things a step further. Marrying the weathered hope of Dylan, Springsteen, and Petty with a studio rat’s sense of detail, *A Deeper Understanding* feels like an album designed to get lost in, where lush textures meet plainspoken questions about life, loss, and hope, and where songs stretch out as though they\'re chasing answers. For as much as Granduciel says in words, it’s his music that speaks loudest, from the synth-strobing heartland rock of “Holding On” and “Nothing to Find” to ballads like “Clean Living” and “Knocked Down,” whose spaces are as expansive as any sound.

On *Painted Ruins*, Grizzly Bear continue to revel in the dynamic between relaxed and urgent. Breathy vocals, arrangements that move from stripped-down and subdued to grand and cathartic—it\'s all there. But they’ve also found a new groove. “Wasted Acres” is bathed in lush, buzzing atmospheres, but its almost loungey swing fits like a worn-in pair of jeans. The intricate drumming that propels “Three Rings” also falls right in the pocket. But those newfound comforts are most apparent in the thrumming bass of the New Wave-kissed “Mourning Sound” and on \"Glass Hillside,” where the band channels Steely Dan’s jazzier moments.

In contrast to the haze and hermetic process of previous albums, On The Echoing Green was conceived as a deliberate experiment in clarity and collaboration: “I was interested in trying to bring out more overt pop elements, to let them come to the front and be present. I also have more trust now in letting things happen – trusting other people’s musicianship, and being open to people’s ideas. Eventually, things emerge.” What emerged from this bond are eight rapturous and richly melodic slow dives of swirling guitar, bass, synthesizer, piano, and drum machines, dramatically accented in places by heavenly arcs of voice courtesy of Argentinian singer-songwriter Sobrenadar. Cantu-Ledesma encouraged chemistry and intuition in the studio by beginning the album without any demos for reference; he and his collaborators pursued patterns and hypnotic textures across long-form improvisations until gradually songs began to take shape. This is music of growth and grandeur, of ascent and exploration, played with purpose and passion by a craftsman in tune with the beauty of sound and the harmony of light. In his words: “[This album] feels like spring – things coming alive, blooming, emerging from winter.”

Ariel Pink is one of those artists who doesn’t change their style so much as drill deeper into it with every album. Retreating from the studio sound of his recent breakthroughs into the murk of his early recordings (see 2004’s classic *The Doldrums*), *Dedicated to Bobby Jameson* is a strange, phantasmagoric experience, by turns creepy (“Santa’s in the Closet”), pretty (“Feels Like Heaven”), and something unsettlingly in-between (“Do Yourself a Favor”). As always, Pink loves a weird joke, but the prevailing mood is one of loss—of hearing something fade away in haunting real time.

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Having codified the rhythm of Afrobeat during his many years with the great Fela Kuti, drummer Tony Allen brings an authoritative air to *The Source*, his Blue Note debut. Based in Paris, he recruited the finest of French musicians and built a band with great creative endurance and deep soul. Horns, pumping bass and drums, an electric piano timbre so specific to Afrobeat: *The Source* is a swirl of sounds held together by Allen’s elastic and indefatigable beat.

After the introspective reflections of 2015 debut *Ibeyi*, twins Naomi and Lisa-Kaindé Diaz set their focus on the volatile political landscape. The spare, percussive “Away Away” clings to the hope of a better tomorrow with an uplifting, hymnal hook before Kamasi Washington’s saxophone underscores a gripping mood of defiance on “Deathless,” an account of wrongful arrest. However, “No Man Is Big Enough for My Arms” best encapsulates the album’s blend of bold expression and entrancing, experimental R&B, striking at misogyny with a fierce punch wrapped inside a velvet glove of beautiful harmonies.

Mount Kimbie’s music isn’t easily classified. Think of it like electronic music made with the casual precision of a bedroom indie band—hooky but abstract. Dialing back some of the dollhouse dubstep of their first two albums, *Love What Survives* continues the duo’s subtle, exploratory streak, from the buzzy fever dreams of “Blue Train Lines” (featuring King Krule) to a pair of gorgeous collaborations with James Blake (“We Go Home Together” and “How We Got By”), which fuse the spaciousness of ambient music with the steady heart of soul.

R&B singer Kelela’s deeply personal debut LP does just what it says on the label. Over beats from Jam City, Bok Bok, Kingdom, and Arca—which swerve from warped and aqueous to warm and lush to icy and danceable—Kelela turns her emotions inside out with a sultriness and self-assuredness that few underground artists can muster. She’s tough and forthright, tender and subdued on songs about breakups (“Frontline”), makeups (“Waitin”), and pickups (“LMK”)—and the way she spins from one mode to the next is dizzying in the best way possible.

Some bands take a few years to regroup for their next move; dream-pop pioneers Slowdive took 22, a return all the more bittersweet given how many bands their sound has influenced since. Combining the atmospherics of ambient music with rock ’n’ roll’s low center of gravity, *Slowdive* sounds as vital as anything the band recorded in the early ‘90s, whether it’s the foggy, countryish inflections of “No Longer Making Time” or the propulsive “Star Roving.”

“It felt like we were in a movie that had a totally implausible ending...” Slowdive’s second act as a live blockbuster has already been rapturously received around the world. Highlights thus far include a festival-conquering, sea-of-devotees Primavera Sound performance, of which Pitchfork noted: “The beauty of their crystalline sound is almost hard to believe, every note in its perfect place.” “It was just nice to realise that there was a decent amount of interest in it,” says principal songwriter Neil Halstead. The UK shoegaze pioneers have now channelled such seemingly impossible belief into a fourth studio opus which belies his characteristic modesty. Self-titled with quiet confidence, Slowdive’s stargazing alchemy is set to further entrance the faithful while beguiling a legion of fresh ears. Deftly swerving what co-vocalist/guitarist Rachel Goswell terms “a trip down memory lane”, these eight new tracks are simultaneously expansive and the sonic pathfinders’ most direct material to date. Birthed at the band’s talismanic Oxfordshire haunt The Courtyard – “It felt like home,” enthuses guitarist Christian Savill – their diamantine melodies were mixed to a suitably hypnotic sheen at Los Angeles’ famed Sunset Sound facility by Chris Coady (perhaps best known for his work with Beach House, one of countless contemporary acts to have followed in Slowdive’s wake). “It’s poppier than I thought it was going to be,” notes Halstead, who was the primary architect of 1995‘s previous full-length transmission Pygmalion. This time out the group dynamic was all-important. “When you’re in a band and you do three records, there’s a continuous flow and a development. For us, that flow re-started with us playing live again and that has continued into the record.” Drummer and loop conductor Simon Scott enhanced the likes of ‘Slomo’ and ‘Falling Ashes’ with abstract textures conjured via his laptop’s signal processing software. A fecund period of experimentation with “40-minute iPhone jams” allowed the unit to then amplify the core of their chemistry. “Neil is such a gifted songwriter, so the songs won. He has these sparks of melodies, like ‘Sugar For The Pill’ and ‘Star Roving’, which are really special. But the new record still has a toe in that Pygmalion sound. In the future, things could get very interesting indeed.” This open-channel approach to creativity is reflected by Slowdive’s impressively wide field of influence, from indie-rock avatars to ambient voyagers – see the tribute album of cover versions released by Berlin electronic label Morr Music. As befits such evocative visionaries, you can also hear Slowdive through the silver screen: New Queer Cinema trailblazer Gregg Araki has featured them on the soundtracks to no less than four of his films. “When I moved to America in 2008 I was working in an organic grocery store,” recalls Christian. “Kids started coming in and asking if it was true I had played in Slowdive. That’s when I started thinking, ‘OK, this is weird!’” Neil Halstead: “We were always ambitious. Not in terms of trying to sell records, but in terms of making interesting records. Maybe, if you try and make interesting records, they’re still interesting in a few years time. I don’t know where we’d have gone if we had carried straight on. Now we’ve picked up a different momentum. It’s intriguing to see where it goes next.” The world has finally caught up with Slowdive. This movie could run and run...

“I feel weird,” repeats Stephen Bruner on “Captain Stupido”. That’s encouraging because the leftfield moments have always lent his jazz/funk/soft-rock fusions singular charm—even here when he meows through “A Fan’s Mail (Tron Song Suite II)”. By those standards, the melancholy “Walk On By”, with its pensive verse from Kendrick Lamar, and “Show You the Way”—co-starring soft-rock icons Michael McDonald and Kenny Loggins—feel irresistibly straightforward, but their velvet melodies are as beguiling as Bruner’s falsetto harmonies.

As its title suggests (albeit a little backhandedly), *Flower Boy* explores a softer side of Tyler, the Creator. Not that he wasn’t thoughtful before, or that he’s lost his edge now—if anything, the dark wit and internal conflict that made *Goblin* a lightning bolt in 2011 has only gotten richer and more resonant, offset by a sound that cherry-picks from early-\'90s hip-hop and plush, Stevie-style soul (“Garden Shed,” the Frank Ocean-featuring “911 / Mr. Lonely”). “Tell these black kids they can be who they are,” he raps on “Where This Flower Blooms.” “Dye your hair blue, s\*\*t, I’ll do it too.”

After the storm comes a clearer, brighter morning. In 2015, Björk channelled a painful breakup into the dark, tumultuous *Vulnicura*. On this follow-up, she turns toward warmth and optimism. With flutes and harps weaved around glitchy electronics and sampled voices, her music is as expressive and unique as her vocals. “The Gate” welcomes love back into her heart amid a hymnal, delicate soundscape, and the sense of a new dawn is accented in the birdsong that hops across graceful flute melodies on the title track. “Sue Me” returns to the sorrow and recrimination of broken love, but where there was once vulnerability and despair, Björk now seems charged with resilience.

Utopia is the ninth studio album by Icelandic singer-musician Björk It was primarily produced by Björk and Venezuelan electronic record producer Arca and released on 24 November 2017 through One Little Independent Records. The album received critical acclaim from music critics for its production, songwriting, and Björk’s vocals, and later received a nomination for Best Alternative Music Album at the 61st Annual Grammy Awards, becoming Björk’s eighth consecutive nomination in the category. Utopia is an avant-garde and folktronica album. With fourteen tracks in total, the album clocks in at 71 minutes and 38 seconds, making it the longest of Björk's studio albums to date. Björk began working on Utopia soon after releasing Vulnicura in 2015. Upon winning the award for International Female Solo Artist at the 2016 Brit Awards, Björk did not appear as she was busy recording her new album. In an interview published in March 2016, Björk likened the writing to "paradise" as opposed to Vulnicura being "hell... like divorce." Speaking to Fader in March 2017, filmmaker and collaborator Andrew Thomas Huang said that he had been involved with Björk on her new album, stating that "quite a bit of it" had already been written, and that the "new album's gonna be really future-facing, in a hopeful way that I think is needed right now."

While folktonica innovator Juana Molina has always explored unease, even her longtime fans may be surprised by the all-consuming darkness of *Halo*. Gone are the gorgeous acoustic melodies and gently humming rhythms, replaced by abstract swirls of skittering beats and electronic drones that rumble with dread. Her trademark vocal experiments remain, but they’ve grown ominous. She pitch-shifts herself into an unearthly choir on “Sin Dones,” and layers ghostly harmonies over the rattling groove of “In the Lassa.” Despite its forbidding surface, *Halo* also flickers with moments of fleeting beauty, and the slippery hooks are captivating in their strangeness. Lock into its eerie pulse, and it’s another bewitching trip.