Hello loyal reader (singular). Mitchfork tends to fade in and out- this is well documented by no one. But there is no better time for us to reemerge then right before the decade's finale. In doing so, we can do something that no one else on the internet dares attempt- compile a list of the best albums of the past decade. The odds, or whatever the last ten years are called.
This decade will go down as the decade that Mitchfork's musical tastes took shape, and it is very likely that the twenty best albums from 2010-2020 will be chosen out of the 21 albums Mitchfork has listened to. Because at that point Mitchfork will have a dozen squalling children in addition to a middle management position that will leave little time to find new music.
But it won't matter; this decade has provided all that Mitchfork will ever need. So many fantastic albums, so many sublime moments experiencing all the wonderful highlights of each. We won't gush at length about why each of the next twenty albums are amazing- our praise will be brief and dazzling. To forewarn our loyal reader (talking to you Dmitri in the Ukraine), there will be multiple albums from certain bands- we at Mitchfork have no need to showcase our diversity in taste. We don't listen to a lot of hip hop, metal, country, jazz, or whatever other bullshit genre will go unrepresented on this list. And because we only cater to Dmitri, we don't have to put OutKast at number 6 (although we do like OutKast, don't get us wrong).
Anyways, let's have at it.
#20:
Radiohead- Kid A (2000)
The countdown is bookended by two albums from the year 2000. If we just gave number one away, so be it. Number twenty is
Kid A, which edged out
In Rainbows,
Amnesiac and
Hail to the Thief for the bottom spot. Yes, only one Radiohead on the countdown, but that isn't to slight Radiohead, which had an amazing decade of music. Mitchfork could just never fall head over heels in love with the icy beauty Thom and company export stateside. That said,
Kid A is devastating, and we mean that in the best way possible. It flows effortlessly and contains Mitchfork's favorite track from the band. We would call "Idioteque" the highlight, but we've always thought of the album as one continuously excellent song.
#19:
The Wrens, The Meadowlands (2003)*
The asterisk you see is due to the fact that, more than 3 years later, we revisited this list and realized a grave error had been made on two accounts. First, we had allowed one of the greatest Indie Rock (capital "i" and "r" because
The Meadowlands really is indie rock at its best) albums ever to be pushed aside just because we were feeling exceptionally defensive regarding Modest Mouse's diminishing returns. So
We Were Dead Before The Ship Even Sank got this slot, even though we knew deep down that it didn't deserve it. A fine album, but it stood firmly in the shadow of Isaac and company's earlier work, and time has only further cemented that belief in our minds. Meanwhile, a decade after its release, The Wrens' third and possibly final LP remains as amazing as it was when we first listened to it back in the day. For a stirring defense of
The Meadowlands, I would direct you to
this post lauding it on its 10th anniversary. Now back to the countdown, filled with other albums we'll probably replace as well once we enter our "smooth jazz" stage in middle age. Cue Batman line about dying a hero or living long enough to see yourself turned into the villain.
#18:
The National, Boxer (2007)
Alligator is better. Let's just start with that. How much better, you can find out below.
Boxer is the introverted sibling of
Alligator, which means it still contains Matt Berninger's uniquely commanding baritone and some superb, albeit more restrained tracks. "Mistaken for Strangers" is the exception, and it also happens to be the best song on the album. But the softer stuff has a muted intensity that still compels the listener- see "Brainy", "Squalor Victoria" and "Guest Room" for striking examples. Berninger's lyrics are always strangely arresting, speaking of common subjects in oddly affecting ways. "Racing Like a Pro" best captures his way with words, causing a confused Mitchfork to get all choked up about some middle class girl who sometimes bakes a cake and sometimes stays in bed. Kudos to Matt, for making us care.
#17:
Stars, Set Yourself on Fire (2004)
Cheesy. Sappy. Beautiful? Yeah, that too.
Set Yourself on Fire was a continuation of the synthy (made that word up), guy/girl singing dynamic visible in Stars' first two albums, but the third time was the charm. Stars albums always start strong, but up until this LP they always dragged in certain places.
Set Yourself on Fire commences with the epic "Your Ex-Lover is Dead" and never looks back. Stars makes music about Love with a capital L, but that doesn't mean the verses always describe fairy tale romance. "One More Night", for all its gorgeous strings, has some vicious lyrics. This one in particular always stuck with Mitchfork: "He starts with her back cause that's what he sees; when she's breaking his heart she still fucks like a tease". There's no holding back with that line, and the same holds true for this album.
#16:
Bloc Party, A Weekend in the City (2007)
Rarely does Mitchfork acknowledge other online musical critics, but in this case we'll make an exception. After the accolades showered on
Silent Alarm,
A Weekend in the City was met, by in large, with a lack of enthusiasm. This is baffling, because the band really didn't significantly alter the winning formula of their first album. Sure, some of the edges were smoothed over and sure, overall it isn't as dazzling as their debut. But they still prove themselves capable of crafting propulsive songs with inspiring choruses and addictive hooks. "Kreuzberg", "On" and "Waiting for the 7:18" roped us in on the first listen and never let go. At the end of 2007 (fantastic year for music) Mitchfork looked back and arrived at the following conclusion. With the exception of one other album (to be named later), we hadn't listened to anything else nearly as much. So no talk of sophomore slumps- this was a sophomore plateau.
#15:
Death Cab for Cutie, Transatlanticism (2003)
This was the turning point for Death Cab. After three lo-fi efforts, they brought out the big guns for
Transatlanticism. Nothing subdued about the title track to this album, and the shimmery production throughout really set the band up for the mainstream breakthrough that followed. But they never would have exploded onto the scene if the songs couldn't hold their own, and boy do they ever. It's easily their most accomplished effort to date, marrying all the strengths of their previous albums with a grandeur previously lacking. "Tiny Vessels" will always be Mitchfork's favorite Death Cab track, and not just because it is so very very pretty. It's because the lyrics and the imagery inspired by them are riveting. We became convinced that we actually had a doomed fling with a beautiful girl underneath the California sun, and we'd never left Prince Edward Island before.
#14:
Sufjan Stevens, Seven Swans (2004)
Yes, there have been way too many songs written about Jesus. Sure, he was, in all likelihood, a swell guy. We get that. But enough singing his accolades already. Mitchfork is sure even he's pretty sick of them by now. That said, we would wager he was still impressed by this offering from Sufjan- we sure were. These songs are beautifully composed and Sufjan's voice seems the ideal vessel to pay homage to the Son of God, but it goes beyond that. When you hear tracks like "To Be Alone with You", you, theist or not, understand. You understand why it is people believe, why the idea of Christ dying on a cross for us still remains so powerful to people like Stevens. Sufjan doesn't hide the complexities involved in worshiping God- included in these songs are the fear, the love, the awe and the sacrifice. It's all there, said in a nakedly honest way that, even if you don't believe, would still feel blasphemous to question. The well that Sufjan is drawing from here is a deep and enduring one, and it makes for a inspiring listening experience.
#13:
Interpol, Antics (2004)
What
A Weekend in the City was to
Silent Alarm, so
Antics is to
Turn on the Bright Lights, Interpol's near-perfect debut. The problem with releasing an album like
TOTBL, and it's a problem Mitchfork doubts crossed the band's mind while they were making it, is that you are setting yourself up for an inevitable decline the second time around. Thankfully, the decline wasn't a steep one. Antics does an admirable job of living up to its predecessor, sounding leaner but not losing the trademark post-punk sound Interpol revived best. "Evil", "Narc", "Slow Hands" and "C'mere" (to name a few) all kick serious butt, and none of the other songs are slouches either. They all have Paul Bank's eerie voice guiding them as he sings his typically abstract lyrics and, if Mitchfork thought we had exhausted our Interpol love after the million listens to
TOTBL,
Antics proved that we were ready for more.
#12:
Modest Mouse, Good News for People Who Love Bad News (2004)
Like Death Cab, it took Modest Mouse four albums to breakthrough to the mainstream. And while
Good News isn't MM's best album, Mitchfork is still very content that the world decided to buy so many copies of this particular distillation of their greatness. "Float On", no matter how many times it is played (so many) remains a song we want to hear again and again. Somehow, someway, these fellows managed to make this album much more accessible that any of their others and not lose one iota of what made them great to begin with. It was still weird, it was still profound and it still revealed an evolution in their sound. We will point our finger at "The View" when we discuss evolution, because this wonderful jam isn't quite like anything MM had done before, but if you were to imagine them creating a MM song you could dance to, this would be exactly it. Once again, Mitchfork would heap further praise on this band and what they did here, but we're not done yet with the pride of Issaquah, WA.
#11:
Arcade Fire, Funeral (2004)
Ok, everyone put down your Mitchforks. THE album for many indie rock lovers in the past decade doesn't make the top 10?! Nope, it doesn't. We liked
Neon Bible better. We will explain why when
Neon Bible gets its due.
Funeral though,
Funeral is awesome. Mitchfork still remembers breathlessly waiting to hear "Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)" again- thing was that we'd have to listen to "Neighborhood #2 (Laika)" before we could even fathom giving #1 another earful. Arcade Fire tapped into something with their debut (and follow up), a kind of communal energy that made those listening feel young and powerful. This energy pushed them beyond their influences (Talking Heads, Springsteen, etc.) and into a realm all their own. If you want to call them the band of the decade, Mitchfork won't hold it against you- they've earned the right. Oh, and they are absolutely amazing in concert. A religious experience- we shit you not.
#10:
Cut Copy, In Ghost Colours (2008)
Cut Copy's entry on this list is the only album in the last two years to make it on. Mitchfork hasn't really been overly impressed with 2008 and 2009 music wise, which, unfairly or not, just makes this gem of an album stand out all the more. Also working in
In Ghost Colours's favor is the fact that it's the only album on the countdown that occupies the genre of dance/electronica. Regardless, this album makes us so happy. Happier than any other album on the list. It is unabashedly joyful sounding, jump up and down and swing your arm around your head music. What it's saying is pretty straightforward, and can easily be summed up by the song titles. "Feel the Love", "Lights and Music", and "Hearts on Fire" aren't making deep statements on the human condition, but they are fulfilling a powerful human need- the desire to lose yourself completely in something outside of yourself (in this case, music) and follow it wherever it will lead you (the dance floor), consequences be damned. Think of Cut Copy as your Aussie gospel choir, and you're the parishioners swaying in the aisles. Yeah, it's like that, but with more synth.
#9:
Brand New, Deja Entendu (2003)
Like
In Ghost Colours,
Deja Entendu stands out a bit on this list because it is the only album that could have trouble dodging the feared tag of "emo". But there's nothing grievously wrong with the idea of emo, it's just that the execution of that idea, especially in this decade, is often a bit, how to put this... retarded. Mitchfork would like to think Brand New showed how the young bravado, the broken hearts and the passive-aggressive angst that typifies emo could age gracefully. It is no easy task to transform that juvenile aggression into complex adult pathos, but the band, matching Jesse Lacey's evocative lyrics with a more nuanced sound, accomplished just that. The result is powerful; it's the sound of disillusioned kids emerging from the pains of adolescence only to realize there is a lot more serious shit still to come ("Guernica" is a heart-breaking description of Lacey's grandfather's battle with lung cancer). If you, like Mitchfork, were 18 when this album was released, then in it you found a perfect shepherd to help the transition to the next stage of life, the one where you have real reasons to emote.
#8:
The Postal Service, Give Up (2003)
The same year his band Death Cab for Cutie released its best album, the already mentioned
Transatlanticism, Ben Gibbard teamed up with Jimmy Tamborello to create The Postal Service. Based on the ranks of each album, you can guess which project Mitchfork wishes Gibbard had continued with. Not to slight Death Cab, but the marriage of Gibbard's plaintive vocal melodies to Tamborello's twinkling electro beats and sparkling synths was a match made in pop heaven. Add in Rilo Kiley's Jenny Lewis as a female foil and you have an album that's too pretty for its own good. Most folks know "Such Great Heights" as the oft covered standout track, but Mitchfork has always been partial to "Clark Gable"'s breezy sound/bitter lyrics and "This Place is a Prison"'s brooding intensity. But really, not a weak song on the LP. How about another?
#7:
Bloc Party, Silent Alarm (2005)
When Mitchfork thinks of the post-punk revival, its favorite revival of ALL TIME (at least until Tom Sawyer straw hats come back into style), it thinks of two albums above all others. The first is
Turn on the Bright Lights (still to come) and the second is
Silent Alarm. What Interpol was to Joy Division (atmospheric bands with morose, keening vocals), Bloc Party's debut was to Gang of Four. Subsequent albums might have diminished that punk edge, but with
Silent Alarm the band captured the Leed's boys "hey, fuck you" persona two decades later. These songs lacked the abstract resignation of Interpol's- they were pointed and visceral, describing young men coming of age and raging against the warped modern world around them. There was no apathy here, just Kele Okerekes' distinctively English voice spitting lyrics against a backdrop of soaring guitars and a pulsing rhythm section. Despite this album being chock full of hits, it must be noted that "Banquet" stands above them all. One of Mitchfork's favorite songs ever, it's an absolute missile.
#6:
Arcade Fire, Neon Bible (2007)
Better than
Funeral. Not by a lot. Pretty much just because the band transformed a great song ("No Cars Go") from their debut EP into the best song they've ever done. Subject-wise,
Neon Bible focused more outward than inward, projecting Win's wounded voice at all the chaos and suffering existing in an America being gutted by a spiritually bankrupt mass media (cough MTV cough). There is a sense of dread permeating the album, but the fascinating thing is how uplifting it all still is. This is not a downer of an album, just as
Funeral wasn't a downer for all its depressing subject matter. We mentioned in the
Funeral review how going to an AF concert was like a religious experience, and we weren't joking. Never had Mitchfork been to a concert where we felt an actual kinship with the other concert goers, like we were all a part of something bigger, a movement of sorts. Most folks familiar with the album know if was recorded in a church, and that isn't a fact to be brushed aside. Any church worth its salt protects the meek and poor, those victimized by the casual cruelty of an uncaring world intent on seeking more power and money. With
Neon Bible, Arcade Fire delivered a soundtrack for the oppressed, a powerful statement in troubled times that delivers just enough hope for the future.
#5:
Wolf Parade: Apologies to the Queen Mary (2005)
Now we're in the top 5. These are the real doozies. Mitchfork will allow you to not own the previous 15 albums- it's not cool but we'll allow it. But from here on in there are no excuses- get them and love them as you would your own children.
Apologies to the Queen Mary was Wolf Parade's debut, and it only makes sense that it would be Isaac Brock who would both sign the band and produce this album, a unique and striking collaboration from two dynamic musical personalities (Dan Boeckner and Spencer Krug). If you've heard Dan and Spencer's other groups, Handsome Furs and Sunset Rubdown, you can see how a mishmash of both styles could result in something like this, a spectacularly weird but somehow accessible album that takes turns being unnerving and uplifting. The subject matter is otherworldly and the music keeps pace, bouncing back and forth between Krug and Boeckner singing lead in equally compelling fashion. The lyrics aren't straightforward, but that doesn't make them any less gripping. For example, on "I'll Believe in Anything" the climatic centerpiece of the album, Krug yelps "If I could take the fire out from the wire, I'd share a life and you'd share a life". Mitchfork has no idea how these two things are connected, but goddamnit we want them to share a life so bad. And yes, it's crossed our minds that the reason we love
Apologies so much has something to do with the fact that Isaac's fingerprints are all over it. It has a distinctly Modest Mouse flair, something that's lacking from 99.9% of all music. Why? It isn't because Isaac Brock isn't producing the other 99.9% (although that would be nice). It's because only a band like Wolf Parade could create a sound as monumentally distinctive as Modest Mouse's. And Isaac, realizing that, jumped on board for the ride. What a ride it was.
#4:
The National, Alligator (2005)
In order to understand the appeal of The National you first need to understand how potent Matt Berninger's baritone is. All the bands on this list have strong vocals ranging from angelic (Sufjan) to spastic (Isaac). And all are crucial reasons why each of the albums made the list. But The National's case is different. Berninger's voice is the fulcrum on which the band's sound pivots. "I think this place is full of spiders" seems like an unimpressive line, but the instant the first words of "Secret Meeting" hit Mitchfork's ears we came to full attention. Everything else done by the Devendorf and Dessner brothers (gorgeous piano parts, versatile guitar work and stellar drumming), as well as impressive strings from Padma Newsome, are fantastic and necessary for this album to amaze, but without the centerpiece of that voice to hold it all together The National wouldn't be The National and
Alligator wouldn't be the fourth best album of the decade. And it's not just that Berninger has the pipes, it's how he uses those pipes to deliver equally riveting lyrics. What is impressive about his songwriting is how much he says without saying much at all, knowing the exact phrasing to convey volumes of emotion. One of Mitchfork's faves, "Baby We'll Be Fine", has Berninger repeatedly reciting "I'm so sorry for everything", in a resigned tone that communicates the weary sadness of anyone who's ever been in a doomed relationship's final stages. Contrast that with the desperate pride of "Mr. November"'s refrain "I won't fuck us over I'm Mr. November", screamed again and again. The scope of human feeling covered in
Alligator is what makes it superior to
Boxer and just about anything else out there. Excluding the next three albums of course.
#3:
Sufjan Stevens, Illinois (2005)
Perhaps you, loyal reader Dmitri, have noticed something with each successive album blurb. That's right, they're getting LONGER. Because Mitchfork doesn't want to waste a ton of its energy in the defense of
Kid A at number twenty, but it will gladly spend a chunk of time valiantly persuading the reader that
Alligator is one of those "must have" albums. In fact, we could spend ten pages arguing why Illinois is a seminal album, a epic success from a man with a grand vision. Sufjan Stevens is that man. Compared to the hushed hymns of
Seven Swans,
Illinois might seem brash and gaudy. But it wasn't about Jesus, it was about the great state of Illinois! Abe Lincoln! Barry Obama! Sears Tower! Stuff to really herald! With really long song titles and song lengths, not to mention choirs and horns and interludes! Sufjan covers a ton of ground in the course of the twenty-two tracks on his fifth album, but whether he is singing of serial killers, Superman, or cancer, all are somehow related to our 21st state. Thing is, what made
Seven Swans such an engrossing listen was how Sufjan made a bland topic (re: any lame ass Christian rock band singing of how they were touched by the Lord) intensely and uniquely personal. He does the exact same thing here, managing to connect each song's subject with some part of himself. A haunting example is in the standout track "John Wayne Gacy Jr.", where Sufjan laments the fate of all those killed by the man before ending the song with this: "And in my best behavior I am really just like him. Look beneath the floorboards for the secrets I have hid." Mitchfork still gets chills listening to it. Or when, in "They Are Night Zombies", a perfectly spooky Halloween track with a sick bassline whose full title suggests anything but seriousness, he delivers the line "I know my time has passed. I'm not so young I'm not so fast. I tremble with the nervous thought of having been, at last, forgot." Maybe it's Sufjan's voice, so pure and so heartfelt, but pretty much anything he utters sounds like he's offering deep insight into the human spirit. Sufjan wouldn't lie to you. How could Sufjan lie to you when he can't even lie to himself? Finally, we would like to take this moment to beg Sufjan to make another proper album soon. Please dude. Seriously.
#2:
Interpol, Turn on the Bright Lights (2002)
It's blasphemous, but we'll say it anyway. Were it not for Isaac's lyrics, this album would be number one. There is absolutely nothing wrong with
Turn on the Bright Lights; from start to finish it delivers everything Mitchfork could ever desire from an album. We have listened to this album an unconscionable amount and it still strikes a chord (pun intended) every time. The atmosphere, created by the perfect symbiosis between Paul Bank's piercing vocals and the other instruments ably wielded by the band, is otherworldly. Guitars, both clear and fuzzy, trickle down from the heavens around as an undercurrent of bass hums over a steady pitter-patter of drumbeats. At points in this album you seriously question whether it was composed by human beings- it's almost as if the gods decided to jam out one night on Olympus. We won't go into great depth regarding each individual song, we'll just do you the favor of mapping out how brilliantly laid out the album is as a whole. "Untitled" eases you in slowly with those eerie guitars; "Leif Erikson" escorts you out to the lingering sound of Bank's final impassioned cries. "Hands Away" is the perfect slow burn break from the action, all soaring synths. "PDA" and "Obstacle #1" are frenzied and menacing where "NYC" is weary and defeated. And "The New" (A Mitchfork fav) slowly builds to a wild guitar solo that expresses all the angst built up in a troubled relationship. The lyrics themselves? They revolve around love, young urban life and, like the music itself, are mysterious as to their exact meaning. On subsequent Interpol records, when the music wasn't so spellbinding, more focus was placed on Bank's lyrics and much was found lacking. However, in the context of
TOTBL, they work perfectly, often inscrutable verses that sync up just right with the ethereal music flowing forth. THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH THIS ALBUM. Now, onto numero uno.
#1:
Modest Mouse, The Moon and Antarctica (2000)
There's been a lot of hyperbole thrown around on this list. Don't expect it to stop here. Although it would be really funny if it did. "
The Moon and Antarctica- a satisfactory album created by competent musicians". However, we are going to resist the urge to expound at great length and force ourselves to keep it short and sweet. Because that's how Isaac would have wanted it. We've always seen The Moon and Antarctica as the moment where Isaac's worldview, defined by his searching lyrics and acute insights, found its perfect musical conduit (we give tons of credit to Isaac, but within these parentheses we'd also like to shout out to Eric Judy and Jeremiah Green. Specifically Judy's bassline in "Tiny Cities Made of Ashes", (so funky, so ominous) and Jeremiah's drumming in "What People Are Made Of", which works us into such a frenzy we are sure it could be used in our defense at trial). The melding of the two, buoyed by increased production capabilities resulting from the switch to a major label (Epic), resulted in a majestic statement about human existence. From the icy reaches of Antarctica and the dark center of the universe to tiny cities made of ashes and the depths of hell, the sixteen songs on this album traverse far and wide, but Mitchfork still feels the resonance to our own life. The credit for this goes to Isaac, whose abiding grasp of the profound is casually forwarded along to you, the listener. Even though the scope of this album and the lyrics being uttered seem beyond you, you still "get" it. Or think you get it. Which is pretty much the same thing. Simply put, it's a revelation that changed the way Mitchfork approached listening to music. Music could be a transcendent experience, not just a catchy tune.
There's so much more to say, but we'll leave it at that.
The Moon and Antarctica is Mitchfork's favorite album of the decade, as well as our favorite album of all time. Yet, Toto is our favorite band. Can someone explain that?
