Vulture's 32 Best Pop Albums of 2014

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Singer/songwriter/guitar-shredder Annie Clark\'s fourth studio album as St. Vincent is, simply, her best yet. While her catalog is full of twists and turns, including 2013 David Byrne collaboration *Love This Giant*, this self-titled release is both audacious *and* accessible, a canny balancing of Clark\'s experimental leanings with her pop sensibility. Amid a flurry of sonic textures ranging from the clamoring horn section of \"Digital Witness\" to the subdued balladry of \"Prince Johnny,\" Clark critiques our technology-obsessed culture (\"Huey Newton\"), satirizes suburban ennui (\"Birth in Reverse\"), and shares about her love for her mother (\"I Prefer Your Love\"). Her anxieties laid bare, the songwriter asserts herself via pyrotechnic guitar riffs, rhythmic somersaults, and a wayfaring vocal range, resulting in a vertiginous set that\'s as dizzying as it is captivating.

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.

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.

With a name and sound that would’ve guaranteed them underground/alternative status in the \'80s, the Syracuse, N.Y.–based Perfect Pussy now find their lo-fi hardcore punk attack embraced by none other than NPR, whose new generation surely grew up with the likes of Dead Kennedys, Minor Threat, and eventually Sleater-Kinney pounding their eardrums. A song like “Interference Fits” offers an abrasive outer shell with a sweet melodic center that’s been the secret appeal for thousands of bands who’ve fought the good fight in determining the proper balance between the two extremes. Singer Meredith Graves nails the percentages, and everything about this debut album screams excitement. The production gives everything they touch an urgency that goes direct for the solar plexus—and this is considered a sonic upgrade from the combustion of their earlier demo. Graves sings about her issues with a passion that establishes her frontwoman credentials beyond any doubt. There’s even a lo-amplifier hum and tape hiss that draws out “Advance Upon the Real” for minutes after the song’s completion, yet it doesn’t feel self-indulgent. And the live version is even more chaotic.

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. 

After a prolific first decade as a recording artist—between the band Rilo Kiley, her solo efforts, and side collaborations, she released eight full-length albums—Jenny Lewis took her time working on *The Voyager*, her third solo album. The six years that followed her sophomore release (2008\'s *Acid Tongue*) let Lewis refine and polish these 10 buoyant tracks. Working with two producers who are worthy of her wickedly intelligent songwriting—Ryan Adams and Beck—she devised her most mature and confident album to date. Lewis has rarely sounded in greater command of her versatile vocal gifts, from the sharp, vaulting chorus of the beat-driven opener, “Head Underwater”—which chronicles her emergence from a dark period (“I put my head underwater, baby/I held my breath until it passed”)—to the classic soul melody of “She’s Not Me” and the pleading western noir “You Can’t Outrun ‘Em.” The effervescent, summery production contrasts thoughtfully with Lewis’ piercing lyrics, which find her surveying life with restlessness and resignation in equal measure.

Mary J. Blige doesn’t fear new challenges. Over two decades, the GRAMMY®-winning R&B icon has shown herself to be a skilled collaborator who’s worked with artists and producers as disparate as Sean “Puffy” Combs, Chaka Khan, and Sting. For *The London Sessions*, Blige traveled to the U.K.\'s capital city in search of inspiration. What she found was a team of exciting young artists with roots in London’s vibrant dance music community. Written with and produced by the likes of Sam Smith, Disclosure, Jimmy Napes, Naughty Boy, and Emeli Sandé, the resulting album is one of Blige’s bravest and most refreshing releases to date.

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.

Even though many of the songs on *Are We There* muse on the pain of difficult relationships (plainly evident in the titles of tunes like “Your Love Is Killing Me” and “I Love You But I’m Lost”), Brooklyn-based singer/songwriter Sharon Van Etten sounds strikingly confident on the follow-up to her stellar 2012 album, *Tramp*. Whether she’s leading a dusky, after-hours synth-rock dirge (“Break Me”) or mournful piano ballad (the sublime “I Know”), Van Etten is brilliantly self-possessed. Alternating between a chilling whisper and throaty wail, the songwriter\'s forceful yearning—for sleep, for patience, for a romantic silver lining—unifies much of *Are We There*. But in such capable hands, suffering has rarely sounded so good.

Sharon Van Etten writes from a place of free-flowing honesty and vulnerability to create a bond with the listener that few contemporary musicians can match. 'Are We There' is a self-produced album of exceptional intimacy, sublime generosity, and immense breadth.

You can purchase this album on vinyl or CD at store.spoontheband.com.

Parquet Courts’ highly flammable third album clinches their place as one of the best—and smartest—rock bands of the post-grunge era. They\'re capable of mixing psychedelic looseness with the muscle of hardcore (“Sunbathing Animal”), odd post-punk experiments (“Vienna II”) with rambling, romantic ballads (“Instant Disassembly”), blues with Black Flag (“Ducking & Dodging”), and poetic visions with moments of hilarious plain-spokenness (“Whoever she might be going to bed with/You can read about that in her Moleskine,” goes a line on “Dear Ramona”). Students of history without being beholden to it, the band manages to synthesize about 70 years of guitar music into a strange, lopsided groove all their own.

The year and change since the release of Parquet Courts monumental Light Up Gold is reflected in ways expected and not with Sunbathing Animal, its sharper, harder follow up. Light Up Gold caught the ears of everyone paying even a little bit of attention, garnering glowing reviews across the board for its weird colors and raw energy, saturated punk songs that offered crystal clear lyrical snapshots of city life. It was immediately memorable, a vivid portrait of ragged days, listlessness, aimlessness and urgency, broadcast with the intimacy of hearing a stranger's thoughts as you passed them on the street. As it goes with these things, the band went on tour for a short eternity, spending most of 2013 on the road, their sound growing more direct in the process and their observations expanding beyond life at home. Constant touring was broken up by three recording sessions that would make up the new album, and the time spent in transit comes through in repeated lyrical themes of displacement, doubt and situational captivity. To be sure, Sunbathing Animal isn't a record about hopelessness, as any sort of incarceration implies an understanding of freedom and peace of mind. Fleeting moments of bliss are also captured in its grooves, and extended at length as if to preserve them. Pointed articulations of these ideas are heard as schizoid blues rants, shrill guitar leads, purposefully lengthy repetition and controlled explosions, reaching their peak on the blistering title track. A propulsive projection of how people might play the blues 300 years from now, "Sunbathing Animal" is a roller coaster you can't get off, moving far too fast and looping into eternity. Much as Light Up Gold and the subsequent EP Tally All The Things That You Broke offered a uniquely tattered perspective on everyday city life, Sunbathing Animal applies the same layered thoughts and sprawling noise to more cerebral, inward- looking themes. While heightened in its heaviness and mania, the album also represents a huge leap forward in terms of songwriting and vision. Still rooted firmly in the unshackled exploration and bombastic playing of their earlier work,everything here is amplified in its lucidity and intent. The songs wander through threads of blurry brilliance, exhaustion and fury at the hilt of every note. Parquet Courts remain, Austin Brown, A. Savage, Sean Yeaton, and M. Savage.

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.

There\'s a long history of teens becoming pop stars after gaining fame on TV. What sets Ariana Grande apart from the Justins and Britneys of the world is her force-of-nature voice, which rivals Mariah Carey\'s in its strength and range. While Grande\'s first album was an R&B-pop effort helmed by Babyface, *My Everything* enlists almost *every* A-lister in music (Zedd, Iggy, Nicki, etc.) for an EDM&B hybrid that showcases the full breadth of Grande\'s talents. This is a perfect picture of pop in 2014, from the soaring Ryan Tedder–penned ballad \"Why Try\" to Zedd\'s Vegas-bright \"Break Free\" to the pulsing midtempo groove of \"Love Me Harder,\" featuring The Weeknd. Even One Direction\'s Harry Styles gets a writing credit on \"Just a Little Bit of Your Heart.\" That Grande ably anchors such an all-star lineup is a testament to her gifts, not to mention her staying power.

Bitchin Bajas began as a modest side project from Cooper Crain, the guitarist for Krautrock-obsessed experimentalists Cave. They have since expanded into a much-admired cult-favorite drone band where the players focus on basic tonalities and branch out from there. This self-titled \"double album\" is considered their fifth (though it\'s cassette-only, and tiny vinyl releases muddy the count). “Field Study” dares to turn ambient nature recordings into digitized flurries of sound, while “Brush” pulses with near-urgency that expands and contracts into a hypnotized state. The almost 19 minutes of “Tilang” allow for even greater rewards. Popol Vuh fans unite!

Four faces to the sky, stretched to the max to finally allow us to be free. Download includes PDF of album artwork.

*Rips* indeed. Ex Hex’s debut delivers a steady stream of muscular riffs, dirty hooks, and sticky melodies. It’s tight, lean, and a lot of fun. Made up of singer and guitarist Mary Timony (Helium, Wild Flag, solo), drummer Laura Harris (The Aquarium), and bassist Betsy Wright (The Fire Tapes), Ex Hex cross garage rock with power pop. It’s not revolutionary, but it’s done well. You can pump your fist to it while appreciating Timony’s clever and often biting lyrics and straight-ahead guitar solos. Longtime Timony fans will also notice the difference in her voice. Trading her hushed vocals for a full-throated wail, here she sounds tough and assured.

Deemed buzzworthy on the strength of their 2010 single \"All Around and Away We Go,\" Mr. Twin Sister (which added the \"Mr.\" for this record) both build on and distance themselves from that term here. The band\'s brooding, lascivious post-disco grooves come into sharp focus here, with vocalist Andrea Estella channeling Dusty Springfield circa *The Look of Love*. \"In the House of Yes\" is churning yet inviting house, and \"Out of the Dark\" pulses with a dark, industrial feel. \"Rude Boy\" is atmospheric funk. Distinctly cosmopolitan, *Mr. Twin Sister* is an after-hours soundtrack for half-remembered adventures.

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.

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.

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.

Punk rock has taken many forms. The most interesting music often comes from its avant-garde wing, where the usual limitations are turned on their head and made fresh, daring, and new. Girlpool are the Los Angeles–based duo of guitarist Cleo Tucker and bassist Harmony Tividad. Together, they sing, harmonize, and yell intelligent lyrics that discuss sexism, angst, and their vulnerability as young women in a male-dominated scene. This debut EP is 15 minutes of seven quick songs that benefit from the stripped-down sound (the instruments are deliberately undistorted). It makes their message easier to understand.

Hailing from Chattanooga, Tenn., emcee Isaiah Rashad is the odd man out among the mostly West Coast Top Dawg label roster, which includes Kendrick Lamar, Schoolboy Q, Jay Rock and Ab-Soul. But other than his hometown, he fits right in: his prodigious understanding of hip-hop history is evident on tracks like “R.I.P. Kevin Miller” and “Brad Jordan”, the former a tribute to Master P’s murdered brother, the latter an ode to seminal Houston rapper Scarface. The album boasts a motley crew of producers, most of them newcomers as well; they have Black Hippy’s soul-funk aesthetic down pat, and Rashad’s rhymes explore the tension between hip-hop’s grown-man stoicism and the anxieties that accompany life’s many crossroads. Best of all, the guy can rap, with his dexterous flow flitting its way between somnolent jazz samples and skittering rhythms. From the melancholy soul-searching of “Tranquility” to the confident g-funk of the title track, *Cilvia Demo* is an ambitious, honest and unforgettable debut.

Chumped features three members from Colorado who relocated to Brooklyn to be seen and heard and picked up a fourth and final bandmate. As a unit, they play tight, upbeat punk-pop that’s guided by the vocals and introspective lyrics of Anika Pyle. Pyle specializes in excess verbiage that\'s both funny and emotionally conflicted. It’s what gives songs like “December Is the Longest Month,” “Hot 97 Summer Jam,” and “Old and Tired” (where Pyle wonders if being single and broke will continue through to old age) an impressive edge over the competition.