Top 20 Albums of 2011

As I was reviewing all of my new music purchases from 2011, working up my “Best Of” list for the year, it occured to me that 2011 is the 20th consecutive year that I have publicly offered such a year-end list for reader scrutiny, either on commercial websites, or for various print publications, or as a member of a couple of different blog communities. Before I lay out my 2011 list for your perusal, therefore, I thought I would share my “Album of the Year” winners for the past two decades, just for grins and giggles. There are a couple of years where, with 20/20 hindsight, I’m not quite sure exactly what I was thinking when I made these choices, but I own ’em and embrace ’em, for better or worse, occassional lapses in taste be damned. You may look at this list and decide that you don’t really care what I liked most in 2011. I’d understand and respect that.

1992: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, Henry’s Dream
1993: Liz Phair, Exile in Guyville
1994: Ween, Chocolate and Cheese
1995: Björk, Post
1996: R.E.M., New Adventures in Hi-Fi
1997: Geraldine Fibbers, Butch
1998: Jarboe, Anhedoniac
1999: Static-X, Wisconsin Death Trip
2000: Warren Zevon, Life’ll Kill Ya
2001: Björk, Vespertine
2002: The Residents, Demons Dance Alone
2003: Wire, Send
2004: The Fall, The Real New Fall LP (Formerly “Country on the Click”)
2005: Mindless Self Indulgence, You’ll Rebel to Anything
2006: Gnarls Barkley, St. Elsewhere
2007: Max Eider, III: Back in the Bedroom
2008: Frightened Rabbit, The Midnight Organ Fight
2009: Mos Def, The Ecstatic
2010: Snog, Last Of The Great Romantics
2011: To be determined . . . below . . .

Okay, so with that as preamble and teaser, let’s move on to 2011, which was a very, very good year for challenging new music, by any measure. There are some years when picking my Album of the Year is really quite easy, since one disc so dominates the competition that there’s not a lot of thought required come December. This wasn’t one of those years, though, as I found myself looking, on first cut, at a list of six outstanding albums that had seperated themselves from the pack over the course of the past twelve months, and really being challenged to decide which one of those six deserved Album of the Year honors. It took some re-listens, some research, and some reflection, but when all was said and done, I feel good about making the following selection . . .


Planningtorock is the stage name of Janine Rostron, an Englishwoman currently living and working in Berlin. Her music is richly arranged, merging organic and electronic elements, and she heavily processes/treats/masks both her voice and her physical appearance to create a compellingly angrogynous, mysterious musical character. She writes abstract, yet evocative, lyrics, and as weird as much of her music is, you can pretty much tap your feet or shake your hips to all of it. It’s brain music that speaks to your pelvis, if you know what I mean. My first exposure to Planningtorock was the video for her song “Doorway,” which instantly became a playlist staple for every member of my family. The rest of W (the album) is just as exceptional, and it’s a rare day when I don’t find myself turning up the (iPod) stereo to listen to at least one of Rostron’s challenging and exciting songs. Here’s a link to the “Doorway” video that first lured me in, and ultimately led me to honor Rostron as the creator of my 2011 Album of the Year. This album is terrific, and I hope you find it as haunting and engaging as I did on first play . . . and still do today!

So what about those other five albums that were in the woulda-coulda zone, rubbing shoulders with Planningtorock as I culled the list down to the best of the best? Here they are in alphabetical order:


Death Grips, Exmilitary: This is one of the most original, harrowing, bracing, and blistering Hip Hop albums I’ve heard in many, many years. The recording is hot, hot, hot (needles in the red, speakers shred, exploding head), and the rhymes and beats are just absolutely brutal. “I Want It I Need It (Death Heated)” deconstructs Pink Floyd’s “Interstellar Overdrive” in unimaginable, but utterly mesmerizing, fashion, and it stands as the centerpiece of a truly revolutionary and radical album.

Future Islands, On The Water: Had this album come out earlier in the year, so that I could have lived with it longer, I think it would have been Planningtorock’s strongest competition. This Baltimore (by way of East Carolina University) three-piece provide insight into what might have happened had Tom Jones once fronted Cocteau Twins. It’s almost disturbing the first time you hear it, but once the initial shock wears off, it’s one of the most soulful and tasty things you’re likely to experience in this, or any other, year.

Krallice, Diotima: Massive orchestral black metal from New York, with huge, long songs evoking Glenn Branca, Steve Reich and Rhys Chatham just as much as they invoke Burzum, Emperor and Dimmu Borgir. The most amazing thing about this album is how relatively accessible it is: if you can handle a Richard Wagner “Ring Cycle” opera, then you can handle this . . . so long as you are able to adjust your expectations to recognize that now the opera isn’t over until The Cookie Monster sings.

St. Vincent, Strange Mercy: Like Planningtorock, St. Vincent is the nom de rock of an exceptionally talented female solo artist, in this case American Annie Clark. In her third outing under the St. Vincent moniker, Clark offers an utterly riveting collection of super-compelling melodies, all spiced with some truly deranged arrangements. Best of the best: the synth solo in “Northern Lights” is, I kid you not, the most outstanding piece of spazzy electronics since Eno’s seminal solo on Roxy Music’s “Virginia Plain.” It must be heard to be believed, which actually describes a lot of this album.

White Denim, D: Austin, Texas’ White Denim are one of those outrageously talented bands (like, say, Ween) who can perform any style of music they chose to perform, as well as it can possibly be performed. Their latest album, D, finds them expanding from a three-piece to a quartet, and there’s some sort of exponential mathematical thing occurring here, since a 33% increase in staffing results in a 333% increase in the depth, breadth, and vision inherent in the music. White Denim’s music evokes that old joke about the weather in flaky climate places like Albany (or Des Moines): if you don’t like it right now, sit tight, and it will change to something else that you will like, soon enough. It’ll be worth the wait, honest. This is a great record that covers a lot of ground.

Alright, so there are six particularly great albums down, and here are the remaining 14 discs (also great) of my 2011 Top 20 . . .


Cheeseburger, Another Big Night Down the Drain: Big AC/DC-styled riffs merged with snotty, Noo Yawk, Ramones-like vocals about drinking, girls, and drinking and girls. Stoopit, in the best possible sense of the word.

F*cked Up, David Comes To Life: I hate this Canadian hardcore band’s name (which I have censored here), but their four-part concept album is incredibly well-written, performed and produced, with a depth of melodic creativity and instrumental arrangement (three guitarists!) that you rarely encounter in the hardcore world. (And I say this as a long-time fan of hardcore). Bonus props to F*cked Up for releasing what I consider to be the music video of the year: “Queen of Hearts.”

Lindsey Buckingham, Seeds We Sow: As always, Buckingham delivers thrilling finger-picked guitar, terrific melodies, and sweetly sung, richly-layered vocals. It’s a shame he has to hang out with Stevie Nicks to get people to pay the attention to him that he should garner on his own.

The Fall, Ersatz GB: For the first time in their three-decade plus career, a single line-up of Mark E. Smith’s morphing Fall group has managed to issue three albums in a row with no personnel changes. The result is a raggedy gem, with Smith’s incomprehensible slurs and snarls mixed front and center, where they belong, atop a stew of tight riffs, wonky synths, and wildly processed guitars.

Hooray for Earth, True Loves: Big synth-based fun, with killer hooks atop phat pads, sort of a Human League for the digital era, minus the distracting female singers.

I’m From Barcelona, Forever Today: I’m not normally a fan of collective groups that list everybody who picks up a triangle or makes some toast as a member of the band, but this 29-member Swedish ensemble deliver some heavenly sweet music, including some instant singalong classics, so I will forgive them for having a member whose credited contributions are “heart and soul.” But just this once . . .

Pete and the Pirates, One Thousand Pictures: Fantastic Brit-Pop that sounds nothing like Oasis, or Blur, or Pulp, except for the thick accent in which these catchy gems are delivered. And that would be a British accent, and these are, for the most part, pop songs. Hence Brit-Pop. Shutup, pedants. This is a great album from a really promising young band, regardless of what you label it, and it’s a big step up from their already outstanding debut album, so I predict ever greater things for these guys.

Primordial, Redemption at the Puritan’s Hand: Ronnie James Dio is fighting dragons in heaven now, but if any band is poised to step into his place in the histrionic, over-the-top metal lyrical department, then it is Ireland’s Primordial. The group offers killer metal riffage, with cool Celtic filagree, and some of the most metal lyrics imaginable in a post-Dio world. Like here, check this, from “Death of the Gods:” “We stood on the shoulders of giants, like Atlas with the burden of faith / We clasped our hands in praise of a conqueror’s right to tyranny /This is a language that has not passed our lips in one thousand years.” And the whole album is filled with stuff like that. Can you get any more metal?

Real Estate, Days: A sweet and sunny sophomore disc from the New Jersey quintet, washed in reverb, drenched in dub-space, perfect for an afternoon on the beach with your Sugar Doodle, or for snuggling up in front of the fire, wishing that it was beach weather. Mmmm . . . smooth . . .

Red Hot Chili Peppers, I’m With You: Yeah, they’re one of those bands that everybody loves to hate on (especially singer Anthony Kiedis), but this disc finds the Chili Peppers tossing aside the overwrought over-reaching of the unlikable and unlistenable (to me) Stadium Arcadium, cutting things back to the groove-based rock and pop that’s always defined their best work. While I generally like John Frusciante, I think all parties benefited from him leaving the Peppers and letting his associate, Josh Klinghoffer, take the six-string reigns. Klinghoffer doesn’t try to turn them into the Beatles (as Frusciante seemed intent on doing), but rather lets the ace Chad Smith and Flea rhythm section do its thing, then adds tasty decorations atop their potent sonic substrates. “Brendan’s Death Song” is the best thing they’ve done since BloodSugarSexMagic days.

Shabazz Palaces, Black Up: In a year without Deaths Grips’ Exmilitary in it (see above), this weird and woozy underground hip hop disc could have been a contender for rap-related album of the year, but missing that high mark doesn’t make it any less rewarding or enjoyable. If the flow sounds familiar, it’s probably because MC/Producer Palaceer Lazaro was once known as Butterfly of Digable Planets, who once achieved a level of commercial success that this record’s not likely to match, though it most certainly should based on the quality of the music offered here.

Sin Fang, Summer Echoes: Another engaging, endearing side project disc from Sindri Már Sigfússon of Iceland’s Seabear. A nice bookend companion piece to Real Estate, perfect for snuggling with your Sugar Doodle in front of the fireplace, or for spending an afternoon on the beach, wishing it was fireplace season. Mmmmm . . . smooth . . .

Wire, Red Barked Tree: The second full-length from the three-piece incarnation of Wire retains the group’s signature blend of monophonic, monorhythmic dugga-beats and fractured melodies that somehow often manage to coalesce into instantly memorable ear-worms. Graham Lewis outdoes himself on this album with fantastic vocal performances on “Please Take” and “Bad Worn Thing”), while Colin Newman’s featured numbers offer all the bite and snap that you usually expect from him, supplemented by a few surprisingly sweet and wistful moments as well. It’s a good year when both The Fall and Wire are on the Top Album chart, both of them carrying the torch for post-punk in ways that none of their peers or successors will ever be able.

Yes, Fly From Here: A reunion, of sorts, of the Yes lineup that recorded Drama in 1980, only with vocalist Trevor Horn moving to the producer-songwriter-backing vocals chair, and newcomer (and former Yes tribute band member) Benoît David taking over lead vocal duties. The first side of the album is a long-scrapped suite by Horn and former-Buggle mate Geoff Downes from Drama days, while the second side includes a collection of unrelated songs from guitarist Steve Howe, bassist Chris Squire, and Horn/Downes. This should have been a trainwreck, but it actually turns out to be the best Yes album since, well, Drama. If you’re an unreformed ’70s prog junkie, then you owe it to yourself to give this one a chance. Even if your friends make fun of you for doing so. Which they will. And then they will steal your lunch money. But it will be worth it. Honest.

Dear Weather Channel . . .

. . . have I mentioned, lately, how much you suck, and how much I hate you?

If not: You do, and I do. Lots.

My family and I live in a part of the country that has lovely summers and beautiful autumns, offset by cold and snowy winters and short, wet, muddy springs. It’s the way things are here. No surprises, really. Only rarely do things get so out of whack that they merit special mention, weather-wise. We understand that snow is part of the deal here in Upstate New York, and when we get to a point where we can’t stand that anymore, we know that we have other options available to us.

We don’t like the winters here, exactly, but we’re used to them, and we deal with them, like a million or so neighbors of ours in the greater (Indie) Albany region do. But I’ve got to be brutally candid with you, Weather Channel: none of us up here appreciate the scaremongering that has become your stock and trade whenever a storm is forecast to pass through the region. It’s tough enough living, working, and driving through these storms, without you fanning the flames of hysteria days in advance of any adverse weather event, for no other purpose other than to generate views at your stupid television station or hits at your stupid website.

I work at the University of Albany, which is one of the largest employers in New York’s Capital Region, and which serves a community of about 25,000 people, when you count residential students, commuter students, researchers, faculty and administration. Our University was closed today, in large part due to anticipatory response to the hysteria that you pitched to our community earlier this week. This has an immense economic and academic impact on our students and the community around us. In my own area of responsibility, I lost income from our campus bank, our campus bookstore, and our campus retail food service outlets. The contractors who work under my supervision had to spend good money to put employees up at hotels near the campus to make sure that we could feed our resident students today. These are big hits, at a time when our national economic narrative dictates that we shouldn’t be sending workers home, and we shouldn’t be shutting down retail venues, and we shouldn’t stop selling the things that we sell, and that our students want (and need) to buy.

As things turned out, I’m guessing that the vast majority of us probably could have made it to campus today. But you made us shut down instead, because you have marketed yourselves to the point where you are viewed as neutral and credible, and we listen to the skewed, biased pap that you feed us. Which is ultimately stupid, on our parts, because you and your ilk spent the past 72 hours putting graphics like this one up on your websites and television stations just so we’d tune in for more (exaggerated for humorous effect, but not by much):

While I totally understand that forecasting weather is an inexact science, and that you are likely to be wrong as often as you are right, what I object to, fundamentally, is the spin you put on weather events, for no apparent reason other than to generate traffic to feed your advertising monster, because a happy advertising monster equates to happy shareholders which equates to happy corporate executives. And we all have to keep the bossman (and his stock portfolio) happy, each and every one of us. So our economic and academic loss here in Albany, in other words, was clearly to your economic gain.

Well played, Evil Corporate Greedheads. Well played, indeed.

I’ve reached a point where every time I see one of your graphics screaming about “storm of the century” or other such twaddle, my gut reaction to such hyperbole is as follows:

Were I King of America for a day, I think one of my dictates would hinge on returning weather forecasting to a place where it could be disseminated as a public, nonprofit good, so that slick corporate shills would no longer have the ability to profit by creating hysteria over routine natural phenomena. (The current “storm of the century” would appear to be, here in Albany, maybe the third worst storm of the current winter. Maybe. It’s nothing special, that’s for sure).

What you are really selling, The Weather Channel, may be best summarized per the graphic below:

We have become coarse and jaded here in these United States, and television shows about sunny, pleasant climes just don’t get us going like they used to. We need ever more stimulation to get us where we need to be, and you, Weather Channel, are always ready with reports of thundersnow or snownadoes or trains blown off tracks by hurricane force winds or whatever the hell other weird, isolated, local phenomena that you can trot out as national news to scare a third of a billion people, most of whom will, at any given time, experience nothing out of the norm for their regions and climes.

One of Indie Albany’s guiding principles is that we offer safe-for-work material at not more than a PG-13 level. Which is a good thing for you, because I could wax really, extensively profane about the irresponsibility of your coverage, and the deep evil associated with profiting from scaring people, while seriously impacting the economy in any number of communities across this great nation of ours. What you do is wrong, fundamentally. And I hate you for doing it.

If there is such a thing as a snownado, here’s hoping with great fervor and sincerity that it strikes your corporate headquarters sometime soon, not injuring any of the your staff level employees (who are just trying to feed their families, like all the rest of us), but wiping out your ability to sell Weather Porn to a gullible, frightened consumer base.

In a just world, this would happen soon. I am predicting tomorrow. Be scared, Weather Channel. Be very scared, indeed.