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The Top 40 albums of 2008
The year's best in music.
by
Dec 29, 2008
Dec 29, 2008
It seems that the majority of the Best Albums lists this year have been compiled by stone deaf, overpaid trendwhores hell-bent on raising eyebrows and/or proving their indie cred among the ever-widening hipster circles. The mere fact that TV on the Radio was even in the top 20, let alone the #1 album on Rolling Stone's Top 50 Albums list has given me all the reason I need to never pick up that shark-jumping, trash-hyping rag ever again. The same can be said for Pitchfork, Blender and pretty much every other self-declared beacon of cool out there (Christ, don't get us started on NME's list).
With that being said, we boldly present CraveOnline's Best Albums of 2008, with a close look at what makes the top ten worthy of such distinction. You may notice a few glaring differences in this list than those previously mentioned - the most prominent being the fact that it's not a bloated collection of names you've either never heard of or wouldn't listen to without a gun in your mouth. Hell, you may even own some of these records. Imagine that.
Oh yeah, and we're starting with the best and working our way down. No carrots on sticks here.
1. The Bronx - The Bronx III
A punk/hardcore record as album of the year?! Blasphemy! What gives? Well, in short, The Bronx III is a 35-minute, well-oiled fist of triumph and utter perfection from the best and brightest rockers to come out of L.A. in over a decade. The Bronx hit their sweet-spot stride in a display of crushing dominance on their third LP, adding a whole new palette of color to an already-blistering sound.
First single Knifeman opens the record, a searing appraisal of the warts and wounds of a spun out, spoiled and bored Americana.With a jet-engine throat that puts his peers to shame, singer Matt Caughthran mourns the death of passion and disaffection when he belts out We used to be gifted and persistent/Now we're bored, reminiscent/We used to laugh without misery, spoon-fed out desire/We've lost our fire! His lyrics throughout the album seem to be more of a direct call to action than damning assessment this time around, using the microphone as a defibrillator for disaffected youth in the ocean of chaos our world exists in today: We'll all be damned if this machine turns life into routine, he wails, and in today's day and age, that's an idea we can all get on board with.
There is no meandering or long intros on Bronx III. Gone are the Dirty Leaves and Safe Passage distractions of old. Artsy, self-indulgent meanderings have their place, but not on this record. Start to finish, every song comes on strong and hard, trap-doors a-plenty, and the breaks don't always come when you think they will, which makes for a pretty relentless half hour listen.
The attitude, the familiar L.A. flare, the balls-out pure rock fury - that doesn't happen by accident. It requires a special blend of players who know what the fuck they're doing and where they're from. And if the fissure-torn shithole that is Los Angeles had to exist for the Bronx to come together and rock the fuck out, so be it. I say fair trade.
This record is special, and not in a cheap, gimmicky way that signifies a "new direction" or particular selling-point concept that everybody can hop on and co-opt. It simply belongs to the rare strain of smashing rock beast that leaves no space for pissing contests, no room for improvement. It simply fucking crushes, start to finish. And it's the best of the best this year.
The pace of Bedlam is relentless, the mid-song changes orgasmically surprising, and the overall feeling is that these guys have harnessed the best parts of what they do and stepped it up a good four or five notches, despite recent lineup changes and supernatural resistance. The Mars Volta have risen from months of turmoil to deliver a crushing, funk-driven concept album, relying less on their tried-and-true latin influences than breathless grooves and breakneck, jaw-dropping prog arrangements, assisted in no small part by their new drummer, 24 year old Thomas Pridgen, tearing up the backbeats like a dreadlocked Animal from the Muppets. Bixler-Zavala’s lyrics are directly inspired by the messages delivered by the troublesome ouija the the album is centered on, although the design seems pretty much par for the course for the king of cryptic wordcraft.
From the very first second of "Aberinkula," the album's opener, Bedlam grabs you by the throat and shoves you down the rabbit hole. Middle-eastern harmonies at the end of the track segue directly into "Metatron," where we're introduced to the true mood of the album. Cedric's frantically swaying, polysyllabic verse delivery, coupled with Pridgen's otherworldly fills and stop-starts going into the chorus are only supplemented by Juan Alderete's stunning basswork and Rodríguez-López’s wah-wah wizardry. You'd think the song is over once the dreamy mid-song breakdown ceases, giving way to silence, but you'd be wrong; without warning, the song crashes back to life with a blindingly frantic pace.
With The Bedlam in Goliath, The Mars Volta have risen above the inspired but murky noise of their last two albums, which had some good jams but ended up more filler than killer. This is clearly not a collection of music you can put on and zone out to; it demands your full attention. Once you grant it that, you'll undoubtedly agree: this album can only be called a masterpiece.
3. Death Cab for Cutie - Narrow Stairs
Narrow Stairs, the latest studio effort from Death Cab For Cutie, has earned them at least one new fan. It doesn't possess nearly as much pensive, sleepy mortality as it's predecessor Plans, but maintains a familiar musical personality while adding an array of new elements that lubricates the translation of their sound to this longtime skeptic. This was no doubt aided in no small part by producer-guitarist Chris Walla, who's also laid wax with indie darlings The Decembrists and Tegan and Sara.
Album opener Bixby Canyon Bridge is as close to typical Death Cab fodder as the record gets, ghostly guitar countering Ben Gibbard’s soft voice retreating down the California coast. A more rockin’ vibe descends when drummer Jason McGerr lays into his toms and the band goes full throttle, but Gibbard remains pensive in his quest to conjure Kerouac. “You wonder if you’re missing your dream,” sings Poet of Purgatory Gibbard, like a man lost at sea. “You just can’t see your dream…” The end jam and outro are perhaps the most psychedelically awesome thing the Cab has ever done.
The foundation of Narrow Stairs was clearly built on the strength of I Will Possess Your Heart, a hypnotically slow-building, slightly psychedelic groove that builds steadily for a good four and a half minutes before Gibbard delivers the first line of a tale of love’s confidence in winning the heart of a resistant muse. Atmospheric and ultimately complicated, this song is a grand masterpiece and serves as a the perfect cornerstone for a surprisingly solid album.
Considerably darker and more introspective this time around, Death Cab For Cutie comfortably flex all their muscles on Narrow Stairs with excellent results.
Kanye's still catching a lot of shit from the one-hitter-quitters for this record, but with 808s, West finally steps outside his own comfort zone to make an album that flips a proverbial bitch on the life's-a-party theme laced throughout his previous offerings. In addition to an orchestral assault of strings, piano, synths and animal sounds on the album, Kanye's traded out his ego-tripping hip-hop flow entirely and replaced it with, well, robot singing. And when I say entirely, I mean entirely. He doesn't rap on the album. At all. 808s & Heartbreak is an auto-tune overdose that takes some getting used to, especially if you're still burying your inner suburban white kid and your only reference for auto-tune comes from accidental stops at the R&B station on your FM dial.
For his tenth album, king weirdo genre-bender Beck Hansen has shed his major label shackles, going the indie route from whence he came, and it’s clear in every note of Modern Guilt that he’s excited about the freedom. For the first time in… shit, in nearly a decade, Beck’s put together an album that feels like a complete piece of work. And it’s good. Like, really good.
The guy with the new wave bionic jumpsuit who’s been getting us into his rhythm with biochemical jism for almost 20 years has just made the best album of his career. Mr. Brian Burton (aka Danger Mouse) has brought out the best in Beck by boiling his kaleidoscope of quirky ideas down to the best and strongest few- and running like hell with them. The record is an experiment in classic pop psych-rock, coming out somewhere between what the Beatles and Pink Floyd would’ve sounded like if they all took ecstasy, went to a drum n’ bass show, then headed to Brian Wilson’s house to record.
The schticky weirdo metaphors are still in full effect on Modern Guilt, but for once they don’t override the vibe. Atmosphere takes the wheel on this one, and you can listen to all 33 minutes without that tugging feeling inside that Beck’s still stuck in middle-age cruise control. There’s no shotgun-chewing sad acoustic breakup songs, no rehashing of the over-animated weirdo vibes. This is the real shit.
The Eagles’ garage-glam scuzz metal hops up a few rungs on the danceability scale this time around, as they dig into fuzzier blues leanings and deeper shades of chunk-riffage than their previous releases.
"Head down.....too late for that," Trent proclaims at the start of the sixth track, and if he's talking about the record industry, he's once again hit the, uh, nail on the head.
Most of Nas' previous work resides in the shadows of 1994's Illmatic, but chasing the dragon of his debut has yielded sicker rhymes than most rappers will come anywhere near on their best days. He doesn't fill bars to get through to the hook - almost every lyric in his catalogue seems plotted and structured to be as hard-hitting and poignant as possible. He's been the torch-bearer of battlelicious, intelligent rhymes for over a decade, increasingly visiting themes of inner-struggle. Specifically, he seemed torn between staying thuggishly spitfire and walking a higher road over the years (the highest road, actually, given his messiah complex) — but on Untitled, the rapper finally turns the fire outward. He takes the crushing urban manifesto of 2006's Hip Hop Is Dead and reaches for ambitious new heights, without the weight of self-righteousness that dragged some of his previous material down. Untitled pulls no lyrical punches, but by no means does that take the fun out of things. Intensely and unapologetically political, Nas takes aim at institutional racism, the media, the failures of black leadership and the historical ironies of the "N" word, all without seeming to take himself too seriously.
Consolers of the Lonely is a bold step forward. The guys have found their sea legs and are boldly headed for uncharted waters, colors flying high. Admittedly, a good number of these tracks sound like multi-dimensional, fleshed out White Stripes coulda-been songs - but you'd be a fool to call that anything less than a great thing. If nothing else, this album serves as indisputable proof to any Jack White skeptic that they are either mistaken, deaf or soulless. When the man steps outside the fantastic (if a bit gimmicky) little red and white box we're most familiar with seeing him in, it becomes immediately clear why everybody from kids in their parents' basements to Bob Dylan want to work with him - Jack White is a living legend, a freak mutant blend of Jerry Lee Lewis' demonic passion, Dylan's songwriting wizardry and Son House's blues genius. If you don't believe me, go see him live - White Stripes, Raconteurs, doesn't matter; go, and you'll understand.
Perhaps the hipster naysayers, already fiendishly pecking away at the sheen of innovation Lonely possesses, are simply unsure of how to approach such an album. Avant garde retro bayou folk blues delta piano rock? Is there a more narrow category? A smaller hole to pack them in? Who cares? This album is awesome.
With that being said, we boldly present CraveOnline's Best Albums of 2008, with a close look at what makes the top ten worthy of such distinction. You may notice a few glaring differences in this list than those previously mentioned - the most prominent being the fact that it's not a bloated collection of names you've either never heard of or wouldn't listen to without a gun in your mouth. Hell, you may even own some of these records. Imagine that.
Oh yeah, and we're starting with the best and working our way down. No carrots on sticks here.
1. The Bronx - The Bronx III
A punk/hardcore record as album of the year?! Blasphemy! What gives? Well, in short, The Bronx III is a 35-minute, well-oiled fist of triumph and utter perfection from the best and brightest rockers to come out of L.A. in over a decade. The Bronx hit their sweet-spot stride in a display of crushing dominance on their third LP, adding a whole new palette of color to an already-blistering sound.
First single Knifeman opens the record, a searing appraisal of the warts and wounds of a spun out, spoiled and bored Americana.With a jet-engine throat that puts his peers to shame, singer Matt Caughthran mourns the death of passion and disaffection when he belts out We used to be gifted and persistent/Now we're bored, reminiscent/We used to laugh without misery, spoon-fed out desire/We've lost our fire! His lyrics throughout the album seem to be more of a direct call to action than damning assessment this time around, using the microphone as a defibrillator for disaffected youth in the ocean of chaos our world exists in today: We'll all be damned if this machine turns life into routine, he wails, and in today's day and age, that's an idea we can all get on board with.
There is no meandering or long intros on Bronx III. Gone are the Dirty Leaves and Safe Passage distractions of old. Artsy, self-indulgent meanderings have their place, but not on this record. Start to finish, every song comes on strong and hard, trap-doors a-plenty, and the breaks don't always come when you think they will, which makes for a pretty relentless half hour listen.
The attitude, the familiar L.A. flare, the balls-out pure rock fury - that doesn't happen by accident. It requires a special blend of players who know what the fuck they're doing and where they're from. And if the fissure-torn shithole that is Los Angeles had to exist for the Bronx to come together and rock the fuck out, so be it. I say fair trade.
This record is special, and not in a cheap, gimmicky way that signifies a "new direction" or particular selling-point concept that everybody can hop on and co-opt. It simply belongs to the rare strain of smashing rock beast that leaves no space for pissing contests, no room for improvement. It simply fucking crushes, start to finish. And it's the best of the best this year.
2. The Mars Volta - Bedlam in Goliath
The Mars Volta have taken the art of the concept album to a new level. The sixth-dimension latin-funk math rockers, founded by vocalist/lyricist Cedric Bixler-Zavala and guitarist/composer Omar Rodríguez-López, have returned with The Bedlam in Goliath, a relentless, uncompromising juggernaut of an album that, as they put it, “didn’t want to be born.”
The pace of Bedlam is relentless, the mid-song changes orgasmically surprising, and the overall feeling is that these guys have harnessed the best parts of what they do and stepped it up a good four or five notches, despite recent lineup changes and supernatural resistance. The Mars Volta have risen from months of turmoil to deliver a crushing, funk-driven concept album, relying less on their tried-and-true latin influences than breathless grooves and breakneck, jaw-dropping prog arrangements, assisted in no small part by their new drummer, 24 year old Thomas Pridgen, tearing up the backbeats like a dreadlocked Animal from the Muppets. Bixler-Zavala’s lyrics are directly inspired by the messages delivered by the troublesome ouija the the album is centered on, although the design seems pretty much par for the course for the king of cryptic wordcraft.
From the very first second of "Aberinkula," the album's opener, Bedlam grabs you by the throat and shoves you down the rabbit hole. Middle-eastern harmonies at the end of the track segue directly into "Metatron," where we're introduced to the true mood of the album. Cedric's frantically swaying, polysyllabic verse delivery, coupled with Pridgen's otherworldly fills and stop-starts going into the chorus are only supplemented by Juan Alderete's stunning basswork and Rodríguez-López’s wah-wah wizardry. You'd think the song is over once the dreamy mid-song breakdown ceases, giving way to silence, but you'd be wrong; without warning, the song crashes back to life with a blindingly frantic pace.
With The Bedlam in Goliath, The Mars Volta have risen above the inspired but murky noise of their last two albums, which had some good jams but ended up more filler than killer. This is clearly not a collection of music you can put on and zone out to; it demands your full attention. Once you grant it that, you'll undoubtedly agree: this album can only be called a masterpiece.
3. Death Cab for Cutie - Narrow Stairs
Narrow Stairs, the latest studio effort from Death Cab For Cutie, has earned them at least one new fan. It doesn't possess nearly as much pensive, sleepy mortality as it's predecessor Plans, but maintains a familiar musical personality while adding an array of new elements that lubricates the translation of their sound to this longtime skeptic. This was no doubt aided in no small part by producer-guitarist Chris Walla, who's also laid wax with indie darlings The Decembrists and Tegan and Sara.
Album opener Bixby Canyon Bridge is as close to typical Death Cab fodder as the record gets, ghostly guitar countering Ben Gibbard’s soft voice retreating down the California coast. A more rockin’ vibe descends when drummer Jason McGerr lays into his toms and the band goes full throttle, but Gibbard remains pensive in his quest to conjure Kerouac. “You wonder if you’re missing your dream,” sings Poet of Purgatory Gibbard, like a man lost at sea. “You just can’t see your dream…” The end jam and outro are perhaps the most psychedelically awesome thing the Cab has ever done.
The foundation of Narrow Stairs was clearly built on the strength of I Will Possess Your Heart, a hypnotically slow-building, slightly psychedelic groove that builds steadily for a good four and a half minutes before Gibbard delivers the first line of a tale of love’s confidence in winning the heart of a resistant muse. Atmospheric and ultimately complicated, this song is a grand masterpiece and serves as a the perfect cornerstone for a surprisingly solid album.
Considerably darker and more introspective this time around, Death Cab For Cutie comfortably flex all their muscles on Narrow Stairs with excellent results.
4. Kanye - 808s and Heartbreak
Kanye's still catching a lot of shit from the one-hitter-quitters for this record, but with 808s, West finally steps outside his own comfort zone to make an album that flips a proverbial bitch on the life's-a-party theme laced throughout his previous offerings. In addition to an orchestral assault of strings, piano, synths and animal sounds on the album, Kanye's traded out his ego-tripping hip-hop flow entirely and replaced it with, well, robot singing. And when I say entirely, I mean entirely. He doesn't rap on the album. At all. 808s & Heartbreak is an auto-tune overdose that takes some getting used to, especially if you're still burying your inner suburban white kid and your only reference for auto-tune comes from accidental stops at the R&B station on your FM dial.
This is West's much-needed moment to clear out his baggage, and he's carved out a big enough persona to take a sharp left without throwing his career off a skyscraper in the process. 808's and may be a self-declared piece of genre-defining pop art, but don't call it a reinvention; he's not gonna be a slow-jam sad robot crooner forever.
Pop art's been done, sure. But it's never been done Kanye style. And on 808s and Heartbreak, with the help of a little humility and introspection, he raises his own game much more than people are going to grasp for some time yet. But that's OK. He's not going anywhere.
5. Electric Six - Flashy
True to form with the rest of the E6 catalogue, Flashy is an intentionally gaudy celebration of the absurd, embracing disposable culture and manipulating it to serve their disco-metal synth pop whims. This music is best for the kind of dancing one would only do in their underwear in front of the bedroom mirror, or on the dancefloor after a trip to the costume store and about nine margaritas.
Together, this sextet of hearty cocksmen rewrite the periodic chart of party rock. They cause photosynthesis at night. They are ridiculous refined, a wide-eyed, sex-charged disco-metal beast, voracious for that sacred cow. If anything on the FM dial were worth its weight in radio waves, this album would be in heavy rotation on the party station. Nah, to hell with that - Electric Six deserves their own full-time slot. Sure, you can steal this record the same way you do all the others, but some things are worth the price of admission - even if the emergency exit doors are propped open for you.
I doubt there’s much room left for debate as to my opinion of Flashy, so I’ll give the band the final word on this one, via their MySpace:
Most importantly, Flashy, the new album by Detroit’s Electric Six, is a beacon of liberty in an ocean of communism. If you love America, you will buy this record. You are either with us or you are with David Geffen.
I couldn’t agree more.
6. Beck - Modern Guilt
For his tenth album, king weirdo genre-bender Beck Hansen has shed his major label shackles, going the indie route from whence he came, and it’s clear in every note of Modern Guilt that he’s excited about the freedom. For the first time in… shit, in nearly a decade, Beck’s put together an album that feels like a complete piece of work. And it’s good. Like, really good.
The guy with the new wave bionic jumpsuit who’s been getting us into his rhythm with biochemical jism for almost 20 years has just made the best album of his career. Mr. Brian Burton (aka Danger Mouse) has brought out the best in Beck by boiling his kaleidoscope of quirky ideas down to the best and strongest few- and running like hell with them. The record is an experiment in classic pop psych-rock, coming out somewhere between what the Beatles and Pink Floyd would’ve sounded like if they all took ecstasy, went to a drum n’ bass show, then headed to Brian Wilson’s house to record.
The schticky weirdo metaphors are still in full effect on Modern Guilt, but for once they don’t override the vibe. Atmosphere takes the wheel on this one, and you can listen to all 33 minutes without that tugging feeling inside that Beck’s still stuck in middle-age cruise control. There’s no shotgun-chewing sad acoustic breakup songs, no rehashing of the over-animated weirdo vibes. This is the real shit.
7. Eagles of Death Metal - Heart On
The Eagles’ garage-glam scuzz metal hops up a few rungs on the danceability scale this time around, as they dig into fuzzier blues leanings and deeper shades of chunk-riffage than their previous releases.
Clever, jagged percussion leads the parade more often than not on the album, leading one to believe that Josh Homme is, quite possibly, just as happy behind the kit as he is on the mic.
They’ve often been written off as a joke band, much like the Darkness, but Heart On calls bullshit on that notion. If anything, the Eagles prove with this album that it’s possible to ride the sex rock wave in style, mirrored aviators, leather pants, Idol snarl (that’s Billy, kids, not American) and all, and stay above the parody line. Spinal Tap spoof-rock it aint. Where Queens of the Stone Age ditches the kegger and dives downward into gut-groove Halloween rock, Eagles Of Death Metal stick around at the party, take whatever pills are left, and grab the mic when nobody’s watching. The end result it three albums of solid sport-fuck rock joy all about chicks, man. And the world is a better place for it.
8. Nine Inch Nails - The Slip
8. Nine Inch Nails - The Slip
It's a pretty safe bet to say that NIN mastermind Trent Reznor has officially become the Santa Claus/chief freedom fighter of the music business. Reznor's walking the walk while just about everybody but Radiohead is comfortable with talking the talk on the downfall of the music biz. His free-release LP The Slip marks a tidal shift in the industry wars, and it's clear that a great deal has changed in the house of Nails. Opener "999,999"'s ambient dreaminess possesses Reznor's signature air of impending doom, but there's a sense of something brighter looming - as the track ends, the percolating buzz and abstract vocal track suddenly drop to Trent's lone voice, as if waking from a dream. The words "how did I slip into..." fade directly into "1,000,000" - a snare-heavy dance track with an energized live band sound that's as refreshing as anything we've heard from the man in years. Keep an ear out for the sudden free-fall break around 2:55, before crashing back into a more colorful visit to the polished, magnetic funk riff structures of Year Zero, Reznor teasingly whispering "I don't....feel....anything at all...." over and over.
The Slip picks up and runs like hell with the ball that the magnetic, minimalist Year Zero left behind. This one can be called anything but minimalistic, given the sonic depth and much-needed return to the warmth of the full Nails' band treatment. With massive LED displays, Robin Finck back on axe duties after a lengthy stint with Guns N' Roses and drumming virtuoso Josh Freese behind the kit, this incarnation of the NIN live show is a must-see - and according to Reznor, possibly the last time you'll see this material performed on such a grand scale.
"Head down.....too late for that," Trent proclaims at the start of the sixth track, and if he's talking about the record industry, he's once again hit the, uh, nail on the head.
9. Nas - Untitled
Most of Nas' previous work resides in the shadows of 1994's Illmatic, but chasing the dragon of his debut has yielded sicker rhymes than most rappers will come anywhere near on their best days. He doesn't fill bars to get through to the hook - almost every lyric in his catalogue seems plotted and structured to be as hard-hitting and poignant as possible. He's been the torch-bearer of battlelicious, intelligent rhymes for over a decade, increasingly visiting themes of inner-struggle. Specifically, he seemed torn between staying thuggishly spitfire and walking a higher road over the years (the highest road, actually, given his messiah complex) — but on Untitled, the rapper finally turns the fire outward. He takes the crushing urban manifesto of 2006's Hip Hop Is Dead and reaches for ambitious new heights, without the weight of self-righteousness that dragged some of his previous material down. Untitled pulls no lyrical punches, but by no means does that take the fun out of things. Intensely and unapologetically political, Nas takes aim at institutional racism, the media, the failures of black leadership and the historical ironies of the "N" word, all without seeming to take himself too seriously.
Despite the lack of atmospheric continuity, with Untitled Nas finally raises the bar and steps out of his own shadow. He's traded bravado for honed insight and sociopolitical commentary this time around, and it suits him to a T. Chuck D should be proud.
Sure, an album called Nigger won't get sold in Wal-Mart, but “The people will always know what the real title of this album is, and what to call it," the rapper said.
I just call it my favorite Nas record.
10. The Raconteurs - Consolers of the Lonely
Where their debut, Broken Boy Soldiers, was largely a diamond in the rough with the band members unabashedly still feeling out their respective roles, Consolers of the Lonely is undeniable confirmation that The Raconteurs have stepped out of the candycane shadows and into their own as a band. It's clear from the very start of the title track that these guys have pulled out all the stops and are loving every second of it. Jack White and the gang are at their blistering, swaggering best, delivering a kaleidoscope of filthy-toned swampy southern rock tones with bluegrass, country and, well, a little bit of prog rock. The live feeling of each song adds to the rich, warm tones, and the band's versatility is remarkable.
Consolers of the Lonely is a bold step forward. The guys have found their sea legs and are boldly headed for uncharted waters, colors flying high. Admittedly, a good number of these tracks sound like multi-dimensional, fleshed out White Stripes coulda-been songs - but you'd be a fool to call that anything less than a great thing. If nothing else, this album serves as indisputable proof to any Jack White skeptic that they are either mistaken, deaf or soulless. When the man steps outside the fantastic (if a bit gimmicky) little red and white box we're most familiar with seeing him in, it becomes immediately clear why everybody from kids in their parents' basements to Bob Dylan want to work with him - Jack White is a living legend, a freak mutant blend of Jerry Lee Lewis' demonic passion, Dylan's songwriting wizardry and Son House's blues genius. If you don't believe me, go see him live - White Stripes, Raconteurs, doesn't matter; go, and you'll understand.
Perhaps the hipster naysayers, already fiendishly pecking away at the sheen of innovation Lonely possesses, are simply unsure of how to approach such an album. Avant garde retro bayou folk blues delta piano rock? Is there a more narrow category? A smaller hole to pack them in? Who cares? This album is awesome.
The rest of the best:
11. Kings of Leon - Only By The Night
12. The Gutter Twins - Saturnalia
13. Guns N' Roses - Chinese Democracy
14. Tricky - Knowle West Boy
15. Portishead - Third
16. Lil' Wayne - The Carter III
17. Metallica - Death Magnetic
18. Cold War Kids - Loyalty to Loyalty
19. The Builders and the Butchers - Self-titled
20. The Black Keys - Attack & Release
21. Muse - HAARP
22. Coldplay - Viva la Vida
23. The Black Crowes - Warpaint
24. The (International) Noise Conspiracy - Cross of My Calling
25. Gnarls Barkley - The Odd Couple
26. Jenny Lewis - Acid Tongue
27. Portugal. The Man - Censored Colors
28. The Hold Steady - Stay Positive
29. Sigur Ros - Með Suð Í Eyrum Við Spilum Endalaust
30. Weezer - The Red Album
31. Raashan Ahmad - The Push
32. Girl Talk - Feed the animals
33. T.I. - Paper Trail
34. AC/DC - Black Ice
35. My Morning Jacket - Evil Urges
36. Fleet Foxes - Self-titled
37. Nine Inch Nails - Ghosts I-IV
38. Roots - Rising Down
39. Atmosphere - When Live Gives You Lemons, You Paint That Shit Gold
40. N.E.R.D. - Seeing Sounds
Not in any way associated with Crave Entertainment, Inc.
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