My Top 10 Records of 2013, a list.

Blah blah blah. Another year is over. And another person who thinks they have the best opinion on music (me) has made another dumb year end list. I don't know how people do this. I really don't. How can sites like Pitchfork go through and rank 50 albums? I was going to say that I can't even name 50 albums that I listened to this year, but I'm sure that's not true. A quick look at my archives on this very site tells me that I listened to well over 150, probably.

And so I picked ten. Ten records that I am okay with saying were my favorite from 2013. Ask me again at this time next year how I feel about these ten, and you may get a different answer.

Or maybe you won't.

10. M B V, My Bloody Valentine.

To me, there’s a kind of huge, pregnant pause before the opening notes of “She Found Now”—as if to say to the listener, at least the first time you listened to m b v, “Are you sure you are ready for this?” And with those opening, discordant guitar strums Kevin Shields and Co. finally broke their 22-year silence, and hushed the naysayers that thought something like this would never happen.

My Bloody Valentine dropped their mythical third album in 2013 on their own (disorganized) terms—after years of delays it was a seemingly random act to release it via the Internet (subsequently breaking the Internet) on a Saturday night. While widely praised amongst most music critics (save for unfavorable reviews from The Big Takeover, and a negative review from known idiot and Chicago Tribune critic Greg Kot) a common reaction from the general public, I feel, is that it was a record that didn’t stick with them through the year—something that they just weren’t coming back to.

Asking if m b v was worth the wait, or worthy of the hype, is missing the point—because really, how does one measure something like that? When this has been popping up on folk’s year-end lists, they seem to be focusing more on the release behind it, rather than the music.

So let’s talk about the music—yeah, okay, that keyboards only track “Is This and Yes” kills my vibe, and I usually skip over it if I am listening to this in the car. And yes, the final three songs really have a huge late 90’s electronica-influence, and may or may not be material left over from Kevin Shield’s stint in Primal Scream (see their LP XTRMNTR.)

But there are moments of brilliance and wonder on m b v, like the captivating build up on the opening track “She Found Now”—and then, there are moments where (while it was more than likely Kevin Shields playing all instruments) you are reminded that My Bloody Valentine are real people making this music, like when those drums hit on “Who Sees You” or the “Soon”-esq groove on “New You.”

Also, their touring in support of the record helped drive that point home—it was a chance to see just HOW human the band really is.

Considering that it took 22 years for this album to arrive, it’s really tough to say what, if anything, is going to happen next. In interviews, Shields has said that the tour in support of m b v is their last for “quite a while,” and that they intend to record an EP of new (like, NEW new) material.

Tougher to say is where m b v will fall into the band’s legacy—their debut full length, Isn’t Anything turned 25 this year (the often forgot about precursor to Loveless.) While the songs on Loveless have had two decades to become “timeless” and widely embraced, I feel like what will make m b v memorable, aside from the obvious, is how accessible a bulk of the material is. It’s taking a pop songwriting structure and running it through Kevin Shield’s wall of noise aesthetic.

9. Reflektor, The Arcade Fire

The things about Reflektor is that it can be both incredibly frustrating, but if you open yourself up to it, it can be a rather rewarding listen. The Arcade Fire went all in (and felt some backlash) for the ridiculously long roll out for this record, and even if you don’t like it, or think their concept of performing as “The Reflektors” is dumb—hopefully you can, at the very least, admire the commitment to the concept.

All of The Arcade Fire’s records have been concept albums—themes of death, religion, and family life ran throughout their first three. Reflektor takes on philosophy—the idea of the “age of understanding;” and with that being said, it’s also their most self-aware record. Not many rock bands will break the fourth wall with their songwriting, but band frontman Win Butler drops the curtain on many of the songs—primarily within the first of the two LPs.

One of the things that people have taken issue with on Reflektor is the fact that it is a double album—the idea of which, to many, gets a big “Seinfeld no thanks.gif.” The album itself actually fits within the constraints of an 80-minute compact disc, but musically, each LP is structured to compliment itself. The first seven tracks lean slightly into the more experimental vibe—Haitian influence, post-disco, etc. The final six tracks pull back a little on that, revealing some of the strongest Arcade Fire songs—the glammy “Awful Sound” and the grandiose “Afterlife.”

8. Rival Dealer, Burial

The other day, a friend of mine called, and while inquiring about this very list—people are just CLAMORING to find out what my favorite albums of 2013 were—he was like, “So what’s up with this new Burial EP?”

I feel like it’s worth noting that on this list, I included the album I had spent the most time with (see Number 3 on this list) and then this—and how could I not include this?

Because my original review on Rival Dealer was so recent, it seems kind of unnecessary to spend a ton of time going into why this is one of the best of the year. It’s a game changer—not only for pushing electronic music forward, but also for Burial as an artist. “This is who I am” is just one of the countless samples that is used throughout the half-hour of the record—fragments used to make this Burial’s most personal effort.

Working in movements, and building up to something greater and more powerful than itself, Rival Dealer is an astonishing and beautiful statement.

7. Days Are Gone, Haim

Like anything in our big dumb world, the backlash against Haim was nearly instantaneous.

But why?

Look, I don’t like fun, okay? I own a fucking t-shirt that says “No Fun. Not Ever.” I don’t particularly like doing things that a large percentage of the population finds “fun.”

But goddamn. This Haim record is so fun.  And I love it.

And yes, we can get all of the “Fleetwood Macbook” jokes out of the way now, and all of the comparisons to the R&B and Top 40 sounds of the 80s and early 90s. I’ve heard them all. You’ve heard them all. The sisters Haim have heard them and they seem to be pretty fucking sick of it by now.

While still grappling with their live sound, Days Are Gone, is, in a sense, pure pop perfection. There isn’t a bad song on this album. Even the songs that I like the least—“Honey and I,” “My Song 5,” and “Let Me Go,” are still great—I just don’t like them as much as the rest of the record, which is a fantastic blend of incredible song writing, super slick production values, and a nostalgic sound that isn’t derivative of the eras it pays homage to.

And yes they aren’t “indie,” and yes they were on, like, every magazine cover, and they were on "SNL"—but God who cares? Like I take music pretty seriously, but sometimes you just gotta lighten up. And shake your ass and shimmy your shoulders.

That’s what Haim is here for.

6. Caught in a Summer Swell, The band in Heaven

“Some people turn sad awfully young,” he said. “No special reason, it seems, but they seem almost to be born that way. They bruise easier, tire faster, cry quicker, remember longer, and, as I say, get sadder younger than anyone else in the world. I know, for I’m one of them.”                                 

 -Ray Bradbury, Dandelion Wine

While my favorite record of the year was one that, content-wise, offered little for me to identify with, in sharp contrast, The Band in Heaven’s Caught in A Summer Swell overflows with relatable themes. 

Shimmering dream-pop is the backdrop for the final sunset of youth—the overarching idea of the record. Losing all of your shitty friends, working yourself to death at your shitty job, being tired all of the goddamn time, and a last dying gasp at hanging on to something that resembles having fun and feeling good are just a few of the subjects that are present on Caught.

Co-founders Ates Isilak and Lauren Dwyer do an impressive job of creating such a clever record—dressing up such depressing, real stuff lyrically, with jangly, catchy pop songwriting and bright sounding instrumentation. Also equally impressive is that Caught is the band’s first time out on a full-length.

“Caught in a summer swell, shaped like time and cruel as hell. There ain’t no one around—just you and me in this hopeless town,” Isilak sneers on the title track. It’s lyrics like this that can serve as a thesis statement for the entire album, and it’s also lyrics like this that hit entirely too close to home—which is why this was one of my most eagerly anticipated records from 2013, and why it finds itself on this list.

5. Yeezus, Kanye West

Whether you love him or hate him, 2013 belonged to Kanye West.

If you hate him, more than likely, you hate Yeezy for all the wrong reasons. Maybe you think his lyrics are bad—take a verse on “Bound 2” for example:

I wanna fuck you hard on the sink

After that, give you something to drink

Stand back, can’t get spunk on the mink

What would Jeromey-rome-rome think?

First of all, I’d like to see you write better rap lyrics. Are you a rapper? Are you an MC? How is your flow? Is it ill? So why don’t you take some time, sit down with a pen and a piece of paper, and try your best since you are a goddamn expert at hip-hop lyrics.

Ok, yes, this example isn’t, like, the best selection to choose from on Yeezus, but it’s one specifically that I draw on because of a Facebook-related exchange I witnessed between a friend of mine who was recently made into a believer of Yeezus Christ, and a Face-friend of his who is, by all accounts, not a fan of hip-hop music.

If you aren’t a fan of rap music, then damn B, keep your trap shut. I don’t go around telling you fucking Jason Aldean or Luke Bryan are horrible lyricists—and that’s because I don’t listen to contemporary country music, So it’s not even in my place to bring it up.

Maybe you don’t like Kanye West because you think he has a huge ego. Ok. Name another entertainer you do like who is just such a great, down to earth person.

The only reason you know that Kanye West has a huge ego is because it gets brought up in every interview he does, where he talks about how he wants to be the greatest at everything he does.

Maybe you don’t like Kanye West because you saw him perform in 2008 at the now legendary debacle that was his set at Bonnaroo. And that’s the only reason you can give—well that’s just lazy. And Ignorant. And you if you haven’t paid attention to Kanye for the last five years, you have missed out on some amazing music. I mean, he made his own new genre—“Black New Wave.”

Much like the man who made it, Yeezus was probably 2013’s most polarizing album. It’s by no means perfect, but it is probably the most fearless record released by such a household name of an artist. It’s incredibly abrasive—I mean just listen to the scuzzy, overblown synth-work used in “On Sight”—it’s incendiary and confrontation with its subject matter (“Black Skinhead” and “New Slaves”) but it’s also remorseful and somber—“Blood on The Leaves,” “Guilt Trip,” and “Hold My Liquor.”

But as dark and uninviting as it can be—it’s humorous, and man, “Bound 2” is just such a fun song—there’s nothing else that bright sounding on Yeezus, and it is such a drastic turn from Kanye’s output as of late that it’s somewhat reminiscent (whether unintentional or not) of his early work with The College Dropout.

Similarly to m b v, Yeezus could fall prey to the trap of its insane anti-marketing marketing campaign outweighing the music, but this album is way too good for that. An artist like Kanye West doesn’t need to redefine his career, but what Yeezus does is redefines him as an artist.

4. Trouble Will Find Me, The National

It’s been eight years since The National’s Matt Berninger uttered the lyrics—

…it doesn't fade, Nothing like this sound I make that only lasts the season, And only heard by bedroom kids who buy for that reason…

Taken from Alligator’s highly charged song “Lit Up,” it’s always been easy for me to look at that as a cynical view on the success that the band’s second album, the decade old Sad Songs for Dirty Lovers, had with the Internet crowd—the dark ages of 2003 and 2004, when music blogs were starting to pop up everywhere.

The National started from the bottom, and how their whole team is fucking here.

No longer playing the underdog, the band’s slow burning success over the course of the last six years continues to grow—peaking most recently with their sixth full length, Trouble Will Find Me. It finds the band growing into their roles—the “Elder Statesmen” of indie rock, as I often call them.

The trademark self-deprecating, self-doubting, self-loathing lyrics have grown along with the band—far from making “dad rock,” Trouble Will Find Me takes the themes of adulthood and family, anxiety and depression, and filters them through Berninger’s incredible way with words, as well as a voice that grows with more confidence on each release—he’s come a long way from the straight up speak/singing of the band’s self-titled debut.

The band, too, has grown by leaps and bounds—from the early days of disorganized and sloppy alt-country leanings, to the raw foreboding darkness on Alligator, musically the band never lets the song get away from them, even if it seems like it’s going to.

Held back by some obvious clunkers—the strong Bono-vibes and molasses up a hill pacing of “Heavenfaced” make it still the most inessential track on the record, and “Fireproof” almost suffers the same fate, except it clips a long at a little faster of a pace; and my wife is always quick to point out the lazy rhyming in the lyrics to “Graceless.”

But even with its faults, there are still some wonderful moments on the record—the ode to Berninger’s fuck up of a little brother (“I Should Live in Salt,”) and a song about missing his wife (“I Need My Girl”) both steals the show. Lyrically, there are almost too many gems to try to pick out— “When I walk into a room, I do not light it up; Fuck,” “I see you rushing down. What did Harvard teach you?,” “Don’t tell anyone I’m here, I brought Tylenol and beer,” and “I’ll be a friend and a fuck up,” are just a few of the highlights.

Far from a bad record, Trouble was, and still is, not nearly as immediate as 2010’s breakthrough, High Violet. I hate to use the term “grower” to describe a record—but you do have to have patience, because unraveling the subtleties of Trouble Will Find Me takes some time.

3. In a Lonely Place, Tape Loop Orchestra

On Facebook a few weeks ago, I made a joke about being tired of trying to write about ambient/experimental records, because in my review of them, I always end up resorting to saying that they “evoke emotion.”

I debated back and forth, at least for a little bit, about even including In A Lonely Place on this list—technically, it’s from 2012 (Christmas Day, 2012 to be precise) and I didn’t get my copy of it until the end of January. Though, if Pitchfork can put Burial’s 12” single/EP/whatever you want to call it from December 2012 on THEIR “Best of 2013” list, I suppose I can do something similar.

The truth is that In A Lonely Place evokes all of the emotions, or “feels” as the Internet has taken to calling them. The work of British musician Andrew Hargreaves, the album’s three pieces was assembled using a modified 4-Track recorder and a Walkman loop. The sheer beauty and mind boggling ability that this album has to…well…evoke emotion will leave you scratching your head, wondering exactly how on earth he’s doing it.

This album is really all about moments—very specific moments within each piece. In the second track, “I Died When She Left Me,” it’s the very beginning—the haunted, somber, fractured sounding strings, setting the tone; and then it’s at the 3:15 mark, when more strings are piled on top of that, and for a moment, the sound becomes slightly less warbled and muddy sounding—just like the briefest moment of clarity.

In the opening track, “I Was Born When She Kissed Me,” it’s after the halfway point of the piece’s 11 minute running time, after the gloom and doom of the original loop are stripped away, making way for something less-heavy sounding, but entirely heavier from an emotional standpoint.

Borrowing it’s packaging aesthetic from old Hollywood, and cribbing the titles from a 1950s Humphrey Bogart film, In A Lonely Place is less of an album and more of an experience. And while it ranks high on this list, it is by no means a “feel good” record—it’s far from it, actually. What Hargreaves has created here is 45 minutes where there is barely a sign of hope, and by the end, all you are left with is a terrible, unshakeable sadness.

2. The Worse Things Get, The Harder I Fight, The Harder I Fight, The More I Love You, Neko Case

An example of the sheer power within Neko Case’s The Worse Things Get, The Harder I Fight, The Harder I Fight, The More I Love You is this—a gave a friend of mine copy of it, and when I asked her what she thought, she mentioned that she had never been a fan of Neko Case, had tried before to get into Neko Case and it hadn’t worked, but that she LOVED this album.

There’s subtle humor sprinkled throughout The Worse Things Get, and sure that’s memorable and all, but what makes this such an important record in 2013 is Case’s thematic choices—gender, weariness, and the role of “family.” “When you catch the light, you look just like your mother. It crushes me some, just right from the side,” she sings on the opening line of “Wild Creatures,” allowing the familial concept to peak with “Nearly Midnight, Honolulu,” which is hands down, the most devastating track on the record.

And it’s that track that will haunt you, long after you’ve finished listening to the record. “Some days you feel like a cartoon, and people will rush to make excuses for you,” Case sings softly towards the end of the song. That line, in particular, hit incredibly close to home with me recently—and as if there was any doubt about why this was one of my favorite records of the year, that moment, hearing those words, cleared it up.

1. My Name is My Name, Pusha T

"How can you relate if you've never been great?"

One would think that when selecting a favorite album of the year, it would be something that I would be able to identify with on some level. That the subject matter of the music wouldn’t be so far fetched from my own mediocre, middle class, white existence.

Last year that was the case—Total Loss by How to Dress Well was exactly the kind of album that needed to come along for me in 2012; a record about, amongst other things, the loss of Tom Krell’s best friend, arrived after my own devastating loss.

This year, that’s not the case—there is little that I can identify with on My Name is My Name. I’ve never manufactured and/or distributed crack, nor do I intend to. I’ve never shot anyone. I’ve never driven an expensive sports car or worn fancy, luxurious clothing.

And you know what? I do not give a single fuck about the fact that there is little for me to truly identify with here.

Pusha T’s proper debut LP is a nothing short of a revelation. Dark, claustrophobic, unrelenting, raw, subtly humorous, and simply beautiful at times, King Push arrives as an artist on his own terms. With executive production overseen by Kanye West, Pusha is able to make an intolerable figure (Chris Brown) slightly more palatable on “Sweet Serenade;” on “Suicide,” while reuniting with overexposed and overrated producer Pharrell Williams, he was able to get the most refreshing beat Williams has shat out in years; and even on the flaccid “we need an R&B chick on this” track (“Let Me Love You,”) by slightly harkening back to Casket Drops-era Clipse, through the magic that simply is Pusha T, he makes the best of it.

During a My Name is My Name listening party, Kanye West hopped on the microphone to deliver another of his incredible “rants,” where he aptly stated, “Everything is Pusha T.” I couldn’t agree with him more. After a decade of work with his brother Malice as the coke-rap duo Clipse, after suffering through label shifts, numerous record release delays, putting out mixtapes, and paying his dues in guest spot opportunities—My Name is My Name is an astounding statement.