A little shallow and goofy? Perhaps. But with singles like "Kids," "Time to Pretend," and "Electric Feel," MGMT crafted off-the-wall, earthy odes to innocent seniments and they made the hipsters dance...until they became popular.
With her slam-the-drumstick-against-anything percussive beats and the childlike yearning of her lyrics and delivery, Lykke Li was an enigmatic import whose freshman effort was a tantalizing introduction. Through the course of the album, she seems to offer her heart and then lock it right back up.
The album dropped with the force of a feather. It was unfortunate; The Odd Couple is an album that grows richer upon repeat listens. It's the melancholy, introspective yang to St. Elsewhere's yin. There may not be a whole lot of singles but there's an abundance of original thought.
The Caesars are the most reliable and reliably underrated band working today. Strawberry Weed--a 2 disc effort that surfaced in the States this year--is a smartly assembled pop discs. Psychadelic seventies touches and Fifties guitar pop often give texture to one song without ever sounding anything other than cohesive.
The haters lined up in one queue, the fanboys and -girls in the other. I'm in the other. From "Masnard Roof" through "The Kids Don't Stand a Chance," the proud Ivy Leaguers provide bouncy afro-touched pop/rock with detail-obsessive lyrics that holds up listen after listen.
Raphael Saadiq made the kind of album that usually wins Grammys: accessible, traditional, musically strong. He didn't get an album of the year nod, so maybe it was too soulful. This collection is self-consciously retro--it's trying hard to remind you of soul's power days. And you know what? With Saadiq's vocal prowess and impeccable arrangements, he does remind you of the best of soul music.
Just when you think you have Chris Martin pegged, he goes and gets himself some lush Eastern instrumentation. It's not quite Rush of Blood to the Head, but thank God it's at least trying to be. Ambitious and stacked with haunting melodies, Martin & Co.'s reflections on Death--and all His friends--is, thankfully, powerful.
We've seen Kanye go vulnerable before--I think...there was the one time, right?--but we've never seen him strip off bravado like he does in the eccentric and gutsy 808s and Heartbreak. Kanye's had a rough year and his tribute to the pain through Autotune is not the mess it so easily could have been. Instead, it's a rare look into the hurt of an artist who's more self-aware then he lets on.
Three Reasons Why Erykah Badu Might Have a Time Machine: 1) She references a "Fourth World War" in the album title. 2) The politically astute New Amerykah, Part 1 would feel perfectly at home in the late 60s or early 70s. 3) Her music feels even more fresh and relevant now than it did when Baduism came out in 1997.
I haven't always been a fan of Jenny Lewis; too often I found her acid-laced indie rock on the overly-smug side. But "Acid Tongue" seems to mark a turning point. The girl goes softer and the music goes right along with her. Folk touches and openhearted vocals wrap around the listener like a boa and it's hard not to marvel at the way Lewis has constructed an album in the truest sense of the word.
It comes down to this: you either appreciate Girl Talk's mainsteam mashing or you don't. It's more than simply throwing 50 hits into a blender; Greg Gills' deejay alter ego layers samples, beats, and vocals in such a way that you feel you're hearing them for the first time. Whether you're hearing Jay-Z rhymes or Earth, Wind and Fire hooks, they feel like that most magical musical moment for a listener: a discovery.
This might be unfair: I've been banging my head to this blonde's racy electro-pop for two years and change. But only this year was Robyn an official 2008 release in the USA, so (high) on the list she goes. Robyn's pop instincts are perfect: the album flows from gritty beat-driven boasts (that rival any rapper's) to passionate and pulsing dancehall numbers that weave in her vulnerability and her cutting cynicism. So what exactly are they putting in the water over in Sweden?
A songwriter and record exec for most of the last decade, Santi White became Santogold and decided to make the music herself. God bless her. Her self-titled debut is a genre-bending--genre-destroying?--tapestry of insight and wisdom. Never hesistating to experiment, each song has a lasting musical and emotional fingerprint. And they're all the kind you don't want to wipe off.
Should I feel bad that my album of the year isn't available for purchase? Wale wouldn't want me to. He leaked it for free online himself. Of all the pieces of pop culture that would provide the structure for a hip-hop album, Seinfeld would have been about my 9389th guess. But Wale uses his fandom--the album reguarly praises and reflects on ideas posed by the show--as a launchpad for what is one of the most inventive and lyrically dexterous albums I've ever heard. Dropping rhymes that rival, well, anyone's, Wale's light-speed pop poetry weaves a multitude of ideas and exciting details for the faithful re-listener. It's also sonically genius; I know I praise Mark Ronson more than his own mother does, but some of his work here is amazing. (Although, due to the mixtape nature, I'm not sure which tracks are his, but "The Freestyle (Roc Boys)" has his stamp, what with it's searing horn samples.) The samples, though, give Wale in edge in musicality as well as clever lines. Most importantly though, Wale uses The Mixtape About Nothing to scratch at complex social issues and he has no pat answers in his rhymes. Instead, he provides analyses that have as much thought as the average grad school thesis. (Check out "The Kramer," his history of the use of the n-word for proof.) Like his favorite show, Wale only pretends his work is about nothing. Rather, it's about so many complicated things, it's easier to give it the guise of "nothing." But we're onto you, Wale. We're onto you.
Also, Julia Louis-Dreyfus says "motherf---er" in an interlude.
