A Grand Celebration: Musical Serendipity, Distant Memories, and the Preciousness of Tradition. Words on Sufjan Stevens’ Michigan

There are 48,193 songs in my iTunes library right now. That’s 5,139 albums, 336 gigabytes, and a little over 160 days worth of music. Amongst this staggering (and seemingly-unwieldy) amount of audio lies my most cherished playlist: a 20-hour-long mix creatively titled “December.”

“December” stands alone as a personal treasure, my crown jewel, and the flame that single-handedly ignites my holiday cheer. Grown and cultivated over the course of multiple years, the playlist is a wide-ranging mishmash of various Christmas albums, years-old podcasts, and even some “normal” music that I’ve simply come to associate with the holiday season after multiple years of repeated seasonal listening. My “December” playlist is a testament to curated obsession, self-enforced tradition, and the beauty of the Holiday season. It’s my Christmas spirit encased in a cold, unfeeling .xml file.

The cosmic joke is that, as much as I care for this playlist and the songs contained within it, it’s just that: a collection of random songs. Nobody aside from me would ascribe any particular value to the ordering of these tracks, but I guess that sense of uniqueness is what makes playlists such a sacred musical concept. The other thing that makes playlists so wonderful is their inherent sense of surprise and randomness: the feeling of discovery that comes with stumbling upon a great mix, or the inspiration a single song can carry that inspires you to create one of your own.

Listening to “December” has become a holiday tradition of my own, and as special as the playlist is to me, the entire thing was started by accident. Inspired by a single group of songs and a random iTunes shuffle, this seasonal institution has now ballooned beyond my control and only gotten bigger each year. This is the story of the inception of this playlist, spurred by an album that has severely impacted me and whose sentimentality has become a foundation of my personality.

Discovery

Back in high school music was my escape… not that I had anything to escape from, but music was (and still is) my reality. My one truth. Every morning as I prepared for the day I would let iTunes run through a never-ending shuffle playlist of my music library. They were my last minutes of absorption. My final escape into the realm of sound before venturing out into the world. It was a ceremony that I relished and grew to hold dear over the years.

One cold November morning six years ago, The Shuffle Gods placed a Sufjan Stevens song at the top of the queue. Back then Sufjan was a curiosity; an artist that I’d heard about and always meant to get into, but perpetually found himself on my musical “to-do” list. Thanks to an overly-eager friend, his discography had been sitting on my hard drive, in full, for around a year at that point. In a way, I suppose seeing the full breadth of his work only made diving into his music that much more daunting.

On this fateful day, iTunes DJ (rest in peace) decided that it was finally time for me to hear a Sufjan track and “Oh God, Where Are You Now? (In Pickeral Lake? Pigeon? Marquette? Mackinaw?)” began playing. It was divine intervention. It was exactly what I needed to hear at the moment, and I became transfixed. “Oh God, Where Are You Now” immediately drew me in and hung in my chest like the first deep inhale of a cold winter morning. I was so floored by the song that I needed to hear what came next. I paused the shuffle playlist and embarked upon a search to find the record that this track called home.

This excavation led me to Sufjan’s 2003 album Greetings from Michigan: The Great Lake State which I promptly queued up and let play out. Turns out “Oh God, Where Are You Now?” was track 13 of 15, so while there were only two other songs that followed, I felt compelled to see this record out to its conclusion.

The two songs that came after (“Redford (For Yia-Yia & Pappou)” and “Vito’s Ordination Song”) ended up forming a trio of incredibly potent and deeply-impactful wintery songs that told one coherent and eerie tale.

If the album and songs titles didn’t give it away, Sufjan is not a man who’s concerned with punctuality. While three songs may not seem like much, this final stretch of tracks that close out Michigan ends up coming out to 19 minutes of music. Back in high school, that gave me just enough time to complete my morning routine and get out the door on time.

I became fixated on these three songs, and for the remainder of that year, they became my morning ritual. The soundtrack for two months of sleepy-eyed morning preparation. A sacred custom that I ended up recreating the next year. And the year after that. And the one after that. In fact, for years these three songs were all that I ever listened to from Sufjan’s wide-ranging discography. This 19-minutes of music came to represent the beginning of the holiday season, a near-daily habit of lovingly embracing three folk tracks from an album I hadn’t even listened to all the way through yet.

Obsession

Several years back I realized how silly it was that these three songs were the only ones I’d listened to from Sufjan in earnest. I repeatedly tried to dip my toes into the rest of his discography, and soon “trying Sufjan” became a yearly tradition as well. Year after year I attempted various entry points: whole albums, popular singles, even the rest of Michigan, but nothing ever grabbed me in the same way that those three tracks did.

Then in 2016, it happened: I became obsessed with Sufjan.

I don’t know how it happened or when it did, but it was as if a switch had been flipped in my head. Suddenly everything clicked all at once, and I found myself devouring his discography whole. I had his 5-hour Christmas catalog on repeat. I read every article with his name in the headline. I purchased enough vinyl to create a makeshift shelter. I couldn’t escape from Sufjan Stevens.

By the end of the year, I had racked up nearly 1,000 Sufjan plays, 82% of which occurred between November and December. Every listen up until that year had been relegated almost entirely to the final three songs off Michigan, but suddenly his entire discography had launched itself into the upper stratosphere of my musical consciousness.

In diving through the rest of his albums last winter I now have a firm understanding of who Sufjan Stevens is as an artist and where he sits on the musical spectrum. It turns out that he’s far from the sad, plucky folk singer that I had initially pegged him as. This year I’ve already exceeded last year’s numbers, and #SufjanSeason has become an official holidayin my house. So not only did 2016 signify a tipping point, it represented the beginning of a beautiful, rabid fandom that has opened the door to a new seasonal tradition and hundreds of hours of beautiful music. At the same time, I feel like I’ve only begun to scratch the surface.

Trinity

Sufjan Stevens has arguably made two near-perfect albums: both 2005’s Illinois and 2015’s Carrie & Lowell are widely considered masterpieces of the indie folk singer-songwriter genre. The former is a multi-instrumental masterpiece that showcases an astonishing array of sounds, topics, and textures. The latter is an instrumentally-bare folk album that finds Stevens meditating on life in the wake of his mother’s death. They’re both impeccable records that are worth diving into and worthy of their status as indie essentials, but neither are what this post is for.

Despite recognizing both Illinois and Carrie as “better albums,” I enjoy Michigan more, and I’m still grappling with what that means. While these later albums either swirl and flutter to life with a flurry of baroque instrumentation, or reserve all musicality behind a single veneer of raw guitar and vocals, Michigan lies somewhere in the middle. Packed with frost-covered horns, intimate acoustic guitars, and tenderly-delivered lyrics, Michigan is a chilly, introverted, and thought-provoking record that gently congeals into a cozy wintery panorama.

Like untamed cresting hills covered by a blanket of snow, the surface of Michigan is calm and uniform; a stark, raw, and silent beauty. However, much like that bed of new-fallen snow, once you begin to dig all sorts of unknowable intricacies begin to reveal themselves. It’s a winter wonderland of crisp sounds, all delivered in a singularly-grand package. It’s an album that’s whimsical and but also grounded in dissolution and the pain of existence. Michigan is what it would sound like if the Charlie Brown Christmas special took place in the 2000’s and the characters were all listless 20-somethings without jobs.

If I were to get someone into Sufjan Stevens, I’d still probably point them to either Illinois or Carrie & Lowell (depending on their taste), yet Michigan stands alone as an understated personal favorite of mine for many reasons. Perhaps it’s just thanks to my personal relationship with the album, but accidentally falling into Michigan’s embrace over the course of multiple years has allowed it to embody every warm holiday memory that I’ve ever experienced. It’s my favorite Sufjan record, a wonderful holiday offering, and one of the best in the entire genre.

The remainder of this post is a profile of Michigan and a (near-track-by-track) breakdown of what makes the album worthy of worship. I also adore this record so much that I took it upon myself to create a bunch of mobile wallpapers, so have at them.

Wonderland

Cartoonishly pitched as the first album in a 50-part project covering every state, Michigan is Sufjan Stevens’ third official LP. Preceded by A Sun Came and the electronic Enjoy Your Rabbit, Michigan was far from Sufjan’s first rodeo, but it marked the first time that he seemed to land on a complete and definitive sound. Especially when compared to later albums, Sufjan’s first two outings are great, but end up coming off like a “first attempt” and a left-field electronic diversion that were merely used as stepping stones to later greatness. The entrees meant to hold us over until this: the main course.

Technically a concept album, Michigan is a love letter from Stevens addressed to the state in which he was born and spent a majority of his childhood. The album is a comprehensive look at The Wolverine State, addressing everything from the common points of reference (The Great Lakes, popular sports teams, and overwhelming poverty) to intimate portrayals of what it’s like to live there. All of these tales are sung from the perspective of someone who has a deep, personal, and profound understanding of the area which makes them feel supremely genuine and heartfelt.

Michigan’s first track “Flint (For the Unemployed & Underpaid)” kicks the album off by tackling the exact issue that the state conjures for most people: joblessness. Beginning with a series of arid, ruminating piano chords, Sufjan soon enters singing from a whispered first-person perspective that depicts a dreary future of sadness and uncertainty. Jobless and homeless, the narrator finds himself “pretending to try” but secretly resigned to dying alone. Halfway through the track, a singular trumpet pairs with the established piano melody as Sufjan repeats his death-defying mantra over and over again until the final line is cut off mid-sentence. Shortly after this abrupt end, a hum of ambient noise consumes the song, and the next track begins.

It’s a haunting piece and a stark way to open a record. Most people don’t want to think about losing their job and dying sad, homeless, and alone on the street, yet on Michigan, these ideas are not only commonplace, they’re scene setting. An introduction. The first taste that transports the listener, giving them a sense of place and, hopefully, a similar sense of hopelessness that allows them to empathize with the remainder of the album. This dark opening salvo is contrasted even further by it’s following track “All Good Naysayers, Speak Up! Or Forever Hold Your Peace!” which is a jubilant and bouncy stream-of-consciousness song that explodes with a brassy baroque chamber arrangement.

Here we’re introduced to the “concept” of the album as we realize that every song is sung about the state from different perspectives. This framework allows Stevens to show both the good and bad of Michigan, rapidly shifting from broad sociopolitical issues, then zooming all the way down to hyper-detailed illustrations of interpersonal drama.

Mid-album cuts like “The Upper Peninsula” are down-to-earth groove-centered depictions of rural lower class America. Sufjan finds himself tackling divorce, detachment, and the mundanity of day-to-day life in between Payless Shoes and K-Mart name-drops. Similar sounds are later revisited on songs like “Jacksonville” and “Neighbors” off Illinois but end up focusing on much different song topics.

Even a cursory glance at the album’s credits reveal the shocking amount of instrumentation at play on each of these tracks. Sollum banjo plucks serve as the background on “For the Widows in Paradise, for the Fatherless in Ypsilanti.” Horns and trumpets emerge at unexpected times but are used so precisely that you probably won’t even notice them upon first listen. Instrumental tracks like “Tahquamenon Falls” are jaw-dropping scenic soundscapes that brim with cascading xylophone notes that dance around your head like snowflakes.

Even “traditional” folk arrangements and piano ballads have never been as poignant, soft-spoken, or heartfelt as “Holland” where single isolated piano notes poke up from a whirling frozen mass of sound. Eventually, a backtracked pair of falsetto vocals emerge to echo the song’s chorus, and it paints a vague picture of a couple singing alone in a house with nothing but a guitar, a piano, and each other nearby.

“Detroit, Lift Up Your Weary Head! (Rebuild! Restore! Reconsider!)” is the album’s sprawling ornamental 8-minute centerpiece that begins with a single, rapidly-rung bell. Soon a piano enters the mix, then a guitar, then Sufjan himself. The entire track builds around the beat of that bell until dozens of individual instruments all combine into this massive, extravagant, and decadent force of nature.

Things get personal on the banjo-plucked “Romulus” as Sufjan recounts several strained interactions with his mother even though he recognizes that he would do no better in her position. This dynamic would later be revisited and fully-addressed on Carrie & Lowell, but, “Romulus” is still a striking portrayal of a frayed relationship as well as the joys and frustrations that come along with family.

Finally, “Sleeping Bear, Sault Saint Marie” is an epic, swelling biblical track that escalates in delicate crescendos that all climax into one massive, breathtaking wall of sound. Accompanied by Megan Slaboda and Elin Smith, this late-album cut features an awe-inspiring instrumental mixture of organs, cymbals, and warm brass instruments. A careful and measured track that slows down to nothing then explodes to life.

The entire album sounds like a snow-covered log cabin. It feels like a warm cup of hot chocolate on a cold, grey, rainy day. It smells like a freshly-cut noble fir. It tastes like a home-cooked bowl of soup. It’s the warm wool blanket enveloping your body. The cinnamon-sprinkled cookies that just came out of the oven. The glowing lights that dance and twinkle above your head. It’s musical soul food. It’s wholesome and full-bodied music that makes me want to be a better person. It’s absolutely flawless.

Despair and Grace

Circling back to the jumping off point of this post: I still remember hearing “Oh God, Where Are You Now?” for the first time and being struck with a strange sense of deja-vu. The track instantly evoked something deep inside of me. It made me feel everything that I’ve described up until this point and also came with a strange sense of familiarity. It felt like a piece of a past life that I’d lost and now recovered. I carefully studied the album artwork, and it looked like a long-lost Christmas album. The majestic snow-covered pine tree, the elegant deer, the warm red lettering, all captured in Laura Normandin’s beautiful brush strokes over a rich parchment. Everything about Michigan felt picture-perfect.

After 47 minutes of splendor, the most brilliant moment of Michigan comes with its final three-song stretch that winds from “Oh God, Where Are You Now? (In Pickerel Lake? Pigeon? Marquette? Mackinaw?)“ to “Redford (For Yia-Yia & Pappou)” and “Vito’s Ordination Song.” These three songs stand on their own as a singularly-impactful and world-shaping experience that are intertwined with some of the fondest, warmest, and most intimate memories of my entire life.

“Oh God, Where Are You Now?” begins with Stevens addressing God directly. Paired with a barely-distorted guitar line and a gently-played piano, our narrator finds himself questioning his faith as he whispers the title of the track and begs for God to touch him. Sufjan’s voice intertwines with a hushed group of backup singers comprised of Megan Slaboda, John Ringhofer, and Elin Smith as they collectively ask “Would the righteous still remain? / Would my body stay the same?”

Soon all four vocalists combine into one extraordinary force, all singing over a sparse, mounting piano melody and finger-plucked guitar. Midway through the song, after repeating the same set of heaven-bound lines, all of the vocalists break into a makeshift wordless chorus as they sing along to the now-established tune set by the piano.

All of the instruments all flicker and shimmer as if being played from a distant memory. The piano is patient and carefully tapped. The guitar gleams and quivers, faint and serene. You can hear ambient noise trickling in between the quiet pauses as if the entire of the studio was breathing and coming to life at that moment.

Near the end of the track, Sufjan’s vocals become more prominent and press up against the backup singers as they all revisit the chorus for a third time. Soon a mighty brush of cymbals erupt. Horns emerge from the corners of the mix and play along with the group’s established melody. The piano picks back up, newly energized and boisterous. Soon another pair of horns emerge and add splashes of light to the song’s bigger picture. Every element is working in tandem, taking turns, all adding on to the song’s resounding and soul-affirming chant of “La da da, da da da.”

Then everything quiets to a hum. The horns and cymbals carry the song out with long, colorful streaks. It’s both somber and gorgeous. It’s warm and cozy, a melody that you can slip away into and tuck under yourself like a blanket. A massive tide consuming your soul at a glacial pace. Then, after nine minutes and 24 seconds, it’s gone. Silence.

Picking up exactly where “Oh God” left off, the very next thing the listeners hears are the timbred piano strikes of “Redford (For Yia-Yia & Pappou).” You can make out the distant wooden creak of a chair or a floorboard, and again, your mind is transported back to a remote snow-covered cabin in the middle of the woods. Far-off vocals echo through the top of the mix like specters haunting the lone pianist. Still, the melody continues, the reflective musician is barreling towards his destination with more confidence and determination than ever before.

In the final seconds, Redford’s piano ceases and the ethereal vocals make their last wail before being claimed by static silence, and then the song ends. “Redford” is a momentary meditation before the album’s final impact. The first part of a one-two punch. A connecting piece that serves as the bridge between the album’s two defining works.

Next, the final track unveils itself. “Vito’s Ordination Song” begins with an elongated and heavy organ chord, as if the pianist from the last song had suddenly been brought back to life. It sounds wholesome and church-like, evoking the feeling of both a funeral and a sermon.

Sufjan returns from the instrumental abyss and quietly recalls “I always knew you / In your mother’s arms.” Swiftly navigating toward noisy imagery of marriage, happiness, and warmth as the organ continues beneath his deliberate vocals. Then after a three-song absence, a set of drums enter the fray. Booming in comparison to the sense of quiet softness we’ve been basking in over the past 15 minutes, the drum keeps time while making way for a subtle horn arrangement and heart-beat-like organ passage.

The album’s cast of backup vocalists rejoin Sufjan for one final time, duetting and echoing the same sentiments as the song’s first verse but now full and exploding with liveliness. The group of singers land gracefully upon a final chorus that ferries us along for the remaining four minutes of the album: “Rest in my arms / Sleep in my bed / There’s a design / To what I did and said.”

It’s soul-crushing, heartbreaking, and beautiful. It evokes such a varied range of emotions in me that it feels truly herculean to into words. It is winter. It is Christmas. It is heavenly. It is transcendental. It is every happy moment that I’ve ever experienced over the past decade. The soundtrack to the warm memories that exist only in my head. It’s the reflection of my entire life.

The same way that you feel when you gather with your family to watch that beloved Christmas movie. The way that you feel in the embrace of a loved one. The feeling you get when leafing through an old photo album of memories now long-past. The people you spent your life with. The recipes you made together. The ones that never got to share them. It is love. It is life. It is loss. It is everything and nothing more.

These songs make me unspeakably thankful for the life that I’ve lived, and the life I’m going to lead. They are truly perfect pieces of art. To completely break the flow, I initially wrote this while listening to Michigan for the first time this year, and teared up as I wrote this… Definitely a first for this blog.

In many ways, this three-song stretch is the reason that I created this website. A location for me to document, wholly and lovingly the things that bring me unimaginable joy. The beautiful thing is, everyone has their own three-song stretch. Some little thing that makes you happy. Maybe it’s something that nobody else knows about. Perhaps it’s so esoteric that it feels silly to share with anyone, even those closest to you. But I encourage you to share it. It’s something that you hold dearer than anything else in life. A genuine treasure. A piece of your soul crystallized externally. For me, that’s Michigan. It’s a work of art, a masterpiece, and my life.

Holiday Traditions, Metalcore Nostalgia, and Worshiping Our Own Past

Now that the holidays are upon us, it’s officially my power season. As much as I am a militant proponent of Having a Summah, Winter is a close second favorite for one reason, and that’s tradition.

Tradition is the all-encompassing, all-important, and infinitely-renewable source of holiday cheer. A celebration of our own past, and the past of our loved ones. It’s the one thing that makes this time of year truly precious and different from any other. Perhaps best of all, “tradition” is entirely unique from person to person; a double helix of reverence for our own history and memories.

Obviously, most people have traditions that they share with loved ones; picking out a Christmas tree, overeating at family dinners, watching specific seasonal movies, etc. Even the most atheistic household in the world probably has something unique that they do around this time of the year, even if it’s just going to the movie theater to avoid crowds. As great as those communal institutions are, I’ve been a staunch believer that the small, self-made traditions are as just as important as the big shared ones.

Tradition as a concept is so important to me that it was one of the first five posts I ever wrote on this site. Since I’ve already got multiple Christmas/year-end posts cooking up (and because I recognize my excitement for the holiday is offputting to some), I’ll instead use this specific write-up to focus on November.

Fueled by nothing but the endorphin rush of nostalgia and slavish devotion to the Christmas spirit, hyper-esoteric rituals begin to leak into nearly every aspect of my life by the time that Halloween is over. I watch specific episodes of TV shows, replay old video games, change the wallpapers on all of my devices, listen to old podcasts, and of course break out the winter music. In fact, one of the primary reasons for my seasonal exuberance is because I’m allowed to revisit music that’s only “acceptable” to listen to during these months.

As much as I love the gigabytes worth of Christmas music in my library, my “Winter music” playlist consists of much more than just on-brand holiday tunes. Over the years I’ve come to fully-embrace being the guy who gets into Christmas as soon as Halloween is over only because it marks the time of year that I get to break these songs out. Like I said, I’m not going to dip into holiday music on here yet. I don’t want to subject you guys to that much Christmas spirit, I’m merely trying to contain myself.

The point is that it would be a disservice to listen to these songs any time besides now, if only because it would make them less special. Obviously “Jingle Bells” would feel weird to listen to in July (and it does sound like a quirky character trait from a Noah Baumbach movie), but there’s just as much, if not more “regular” music that I relegate to the holiday season.

Case in point: the topic of this post. I tend to dip back into my high school-era metalcore around this time of year. Psychoanalyze that all you want, but I’ve now got a fiercely-cultivated playlist culling hundreds of songs from various years of angsty Christmases past. It’s a weird combination, but maybe this music provided me with some counter-programming that combatted both the warm holiday music and cold weather.

You can consider this write-up a bit of a pseudo-sequel to this post from earlier in the year about springtime metalcore. It’s weird because these two seasons are really the only time that I dip back into the genre, but man do I still have a soft spot for it. It’s mainly weird because these songs and albums now fill me with as much joy and holiday happiness as the tonally-inverse Christmas tunes.

At any rate, the same disclaimer on that earlier post applies here: I’m not necessarily proud of any of the music on this list, but it’s a concoction of albums that I find particularly potent. Records that have brought me years worth of happiness, and still have the power to collectively inspire me.

Artifex Pereo - Am I Invisible (2009)

Much like Julien Baker’s 2017 album, Am I Invisible begins with a single, eerie wooden creak. Perhaps belonging to an old floorboard or the frame of a handmade door, this haunted timbered gasp immediately gives the listener a sense of place, as if the entirety of Am I Invisible is settling into your headphones then and there. There’s a brief pause, and then the group’s vocalist Evan Redmon makes his presence known as he belts out the album’s title over a seemingly infinitely-layered vocal take. The remainder of the EP is a 25-minute sample platter that combines the best moments of Kurt Travis and Tilian Pearson-eras of Dance Gavin Dance. The album’s closing track “Neighbors” showcases the band’s already-sharp ear for songwriting, melody, and awe-inspiring emotionally-impactful build-ups. While the group only put out one more release with this early line-up, they still managed to capture something incredibly special on this early EP.

Bring Me The Horizon - Suicide Season (2008)

Back in high school, Bring Me The Horizon’s debut album, Count Your Blessings was the hardest thing I’d ever heard in my life. Filled with bangers like “Braille (For Stevie Wonder’s Eyes Only)” and “(I Used To Make Out With) Medusa” multiple tracks from this album would go on to become genre-defining anthems for this era of the hardcore scene. As you could imagine, the record was an absolute revelation in 2007 and served as the first real brush with deathcore that I’d found palatable at the time. When stacked against the genre-wide impact of their debut, most fans went into the band’s sophomore album with near-impossible expectations.

Softening every aspect from vocals to instrumentation, Suicide Season represents the band’s fully-fledged pivot into a more accessible metalcore sound. While it initially fell flat for me, something kept calling me back to Suicide Season, and in 2017 it’s now my favorite album of the entire genre. Filled with immaculately-produced songs of bile and aggression, tracks like “Diamonds Aren’t Forever” have come to represent the absolute best that this scene has to offer. While the band has continued on a path toward an increasingly-accessible sound, Suicide Season is an achievement that remains an untouched peak of 2000’s metalcore.

A Bullet for Pretty Boy - Revision:Revise (2010)

Hailing from East Texas, A Bullet for Pretty Boy’s debut album is a near-perfect Woe, Is Me doppelganger. Featuring punchy driving instrumentation, tight glitchy drumming, and absolutely crushing breakdowns, every track on Revision:Revise is a pointed showcase of each band member. Guitarist Derrick Sechrist belts out catchy clean choruses, alternating vocal duties with Danon Saylor whose throat-shredding screams impress their weight upon the listener’s consciousness.

While each track is thoughtfully put-together, the album’s definitive performance comes in its final six minutes on “I Will Destroy the Wisdom of the Wise.” The track, which initially made its debut on the band’s 2008 demo, finds new life here thanks to two years of instrumental honing, and a newly-added Tyler Carter feature. It’s quite hard to oversell exactly how much I love this track, but up until last year the song had the unique distinction of my most-played song of all time, and if 200 listens isn’t a commendation then I don’t know what is.

“I Will Destroy the Wisdom of the Wise” is my single favorite song of the entire metalcore genre, my wonderful discovery, and lone takeaway after years of embedding myself in the scene. Every element of the song is immaculate, a marvel to have been captured and recorded in such a flawless state, forever encased in unchanging code. Every word is considered, the drumming is ferocious, every moment is well-placed, and the Tyler Carter feature is the vocal cherry on top of an already delicious sundae. A triumph of the genre.

Chiodos - Illuminaudio (2010)

Fronted by the inimitable Craig Owens, Chiodos was a trailblazing post-hardcore band whose 2005 sophomore album All’s Well That Ends Well served as an entry point to the post-hardcore genre for millions of listeners. In late 2009 Chiodos announced their intention to carry forward as a band without Owens, publicly ousting one of the genre’s most seminal figureheads. Skeptical, cautious, and apprehensive, most fans went into the band’s following album with their guard up; how could the next guy possibly stack up? Like many other fans, I assumed I’d be over the band given the major pivot the comes with the changing of vocalists. In late October of 2010, a friend gave me an impassioned plea to give Illuminaudio a listen, and man am I glad he did. The record is a sprawling, conceptual, and voracious release that aimed high and still managed to surpass every possible expectation.

Much like his predecessor, Brandon Bolmer finds himself handling both clean and screamed vocals throughout the project, managing to reach both high-pitched Owens-esque croons and deep, soul-puncturing screams. The guitar and bass both sound full and rich, providing the perfect counterpoint to Tanner Wayne’s tightly-wound drum patterns. To put it simply, everything is on-point because the band wanted to prove their mettle now that the main star had left. Not only did Chiodos succeed, but they also created the best album in the band’s history and another one of my favorites in the metalcore genre. Owens’ eventual return in 2012 turned Illuminaudio into the unwanted black sheep of the Chiodos family, but in a way that makes this record all the more one-of-a-kind. Truly lighting in a bottle.

Crimson Armada - Guardians (2009)

With unrelenting vocals, and brutal machine gun-like instrumentation Crimson Armada’s debut album is a little rough around the edges but worth revisiting. The album’s title track “Guardian” alternates from fierce rapidly-spit screams to deep skull-crushing breakdowns. Similarly, “The Sound, The Flood, The Hour” is an absolutely punishing and ruthless track with a surprising amount of melody and musicality (once you adjust to the band’s vocals).

Dance Gavin Dance - Acceptance Speech (2013)

Far and away the most recent album on this list, Acceptance Speech released in the fall of my third year of college. While I’d largely grown out of the post-hardcore scene by 2013, Dance Gavin Dance remains the one group from the genre that I still listen to regularly. After numerous lineup changes, Acceptance Speech marked the band’s first release of its current incarnation featuring Tides of Man’s Tilian Pearson on vocals.

The album kicks off aggressively with “Jesus H. Macy,” luring long-time fans into a sense of familiarity with Jon Mess’ screamed vocals. The album is home to some of the band’s most experimental tracks like a crushing riff on “Carve,” chopped-up vocals on “Demo Team,” and the remix-ready “The Jiggler.” The album also hosts one of the strongest closers that the band has ever had on an album, making for a nice bookend of screamed Mess vocals.

While I didn’t think much of it at first, Acceptance Speech grew to be my favorite from the band. The entire record has a beautiful feeling uniformity and wholeness to it, making for one of the most pointed albums in the band’s discography. The whole thing has a wonderful haze to it, like it’s been filtered through a cold December night in the city. There are warm glowing lights, and you can practically see the steam rising off the band as they play. It was proof that Dance Gavin Dance wasn’t going to let one member stop them. I’m glad that they’ve continued with this lineup for so many fantastic releases now because this album only represented a new creative peak that the group set for themselves.

A Day To Remember - And Their Name Was Treason (2005)

A Day To Remember made a name for themselves in 2005 by embracing a unique mixture of metalcore leanings and bouncy pop-punk influences. While later albums are far more polished, fleshed-out, and nuanced, there’s something undeniably charming about the group’s debut. Every band member is still so young and green here, it’s endearing and inspiring to hear such a massively-successful and influential band in such a rough state.

Starting off aggressively with “Heartless,” the band eventually winds its way to the light with “You Should Have Killed Me When You Had the Chance” and “1958,” songs that offered glimmers of the group’s later brilliance. Even in this underdeveloped, underproduced, and underwritten state, there’s an undeniable appeal and magic at play on And Their Name Was Treason, and it’s easy to see how the band made a career out of jumping from pop-punk choruses to metalcore breakdowns. The first of many successful outings in an incredibly-fruitful career.

Dead and Divine - What Really Happened at Lover’s Lane (2005)

Much like A Day To Remember’s debut album, Dead and Divine’s 2005 EP captures a band in its charming infancy. While their later full-lengths would go on to favor (and hone) a much more aggressive post-hardcore sound, What Really Happened at Lover’s Lane features a softer, more careful approach to the genre. With crisp cleans and deeply-growled screams, each song explodes into brutal crescendos of original storytelling. The band’s masterful approach to the build-up is best exemplified by the album’s closing track “Goodnight, Quiet City,” an acoustic ballad that suddenly erupts into a fierce wall of grief before finishing in an orchestral swell accompanied by piercing anguished growls.

Emarosa - Emarosa (2010)

Things seemed to be trending upward for Jonny Craig in 2010, he’d rejoined Dance Gavin Dance after a two-album absence and mended fences with Emarosa in order to helm the group’s killer sophomore album. While things came off the rails quickly after its release, Emarosa’s self-titled record took every sound developed from the band’s earlierworks and improved on them markedly.

This is the first time the band congealed into a fully-formed, standalone entity. While many of his other projects see Craig’s vocals taking the lion’s share of the spotlight, on this release the band figured out how to fit his singing into the instrumentation in a way that everything folds together into one presentable package. It’s a record of constant forward momentum, and one of the best uses of Craig’s incredibly-distinct vocals.

Issues - Black Diamonds (2012)

Formed after the spiteful dissolution of the groundbreaking Woe, Is Me, Issues features a nearly-identical lineup of musicians with a few welcome additions. The group’s 23-minute Black Diamonds EP officially announced the members reuniting, addressed the previous group’s turbulence, and outlined their resolution to move forward with positivity.

After addressing the extra-musical drama, the remainder of the EP is simply overflowing with unique ideas, bringing dozens of fresh elements to a genre that had become stale within the space of a few years. By infusing metalcore with electronic elements, R&B, pop, hip-hop, and much more, the group managed to create something far greater than the sum of its parts: something wholly original and different in a scene where such concepts are often rejected and deemed unmarketable.

Featuring poppy cleans by Tyler Carter and deep fight-inducing screams from Michael Bohn, Issues added some much-needed excitement to the metalcore scene, and Issues’ originality helped differentiate them not only from their previous group but also from the rest of the genre. Two years later the band had released their first full-length, and an accompanying EP that reworked 8 of the band’s songs into newly-formed acoustic tracks. These acoustic versions managed to breathe new life into these already-great songs while also serving as further proof of the band’s musical versatility. These releases represented a positive turning point in my view of the genre and definitive evidence that there’s room for growth in this industry and in life.

Secret and Whisper - Teenage Fantasy (2010)

As with any other popular music scene, bands are born, break up, and then disappear forever. Throughout the early 2000’s literally hundreds of post-hardcore groups got together, created a Myspace, released some music, and then vanished as quickly as they’d appeared. Of all the bands from this era that released music and died out, the one that I miss the most is Secret and Whisper. If anything, I suppose we should consider ourselves lucky that they worked together long enough to leave us something as heartbreakingly beautiful as Teenage Fantasy.

Probably the least “hardcore” of all the bands on this list, this would be my one recommendation to anyone reading this list who is not interested in the scene. It’s one of the most out-there and original approaches to the post-hardcore genre, and an entry I hesitated to include with the other entries on this list.

For 44 minutes Teenage Fantasy shines, glimmers, and brims over the top with fresh ideas. Simultaneously otherworldly and down-to-earth, the album is a glossy and emotional journey into the depths of frontman Charles Furney’s psyche. “Youth Cats” opens the album with a snarling guitar riff and a mythical lyric about the ‘lady of miracles’ who commands the river. Straight out of the gates Furney’s voice is volcanic, straining and stretching, brushing his upper register as the bass bounces back and forth beneath it. “Youth Cats” kicks the entire record off with an unrelenting forward momentum that gives the whole album a sense of immediacy and spectacle.

From there literally every. single. track. hits. Throughout the 44-minute running time the vocals soar, the drums hit hard, and the guitar rumbles, all of which swirl together like paint on a well-worn wooden palette, resulting in one singularly flawless record. Even the slower songs like “Upset Seventeen” have a Daniel Johnston-esque charm to them that make them more personable than nearly every other post-hardcore song you’ve ever heard. There are weird electronic diversions like “Pretty Snarl,” and even typically-boring song topics like love and death are addressed in surprisingly eloquent and thoughtful ways. Sometimes the group ventures out even further than expected, addressing topics like animal testing on “Star Blankets” and drawing parallels between serial killers and stardom on “Famous For a Century.” Everything is handled with a surprising level of tact, but also in a way that nothing sticks out as a poor fit. The entire record is unreal, cavernous, and dream-like. It impacts you once and then slowly envelops your body like warm sand. Truly unlike anything I’ve ever heard before or since. A wonderful and underappreciated masterpiece.

We’re Not Friends Anymore - You Are Television (2010)

Clocking in at a blazing 13 minutes, We’re Not Friends Anymore’s second (and final) EP finds a band that is hungry for success. The vocals explode and smolder, and the instrumentation brings a distinct groove and movement, making for surprisingly danceable tracks that spring to life. It is a breakup album, but one that seems as ready to move on as it is willing to dwell in the past. I’ve never heard anything like it, and the EP’s punctuality makes for a breezy listen that will quickly embed itself in your brain and worm its way to your heart.

This is only an abridged list of my favorites, you can listen to these albums and many others through this Spotify Playlist.

I Liked Them Before They Were Cool: A Portugal. The Man Discography Ranking

Within the last decade we’ve witnessed the rise of a new saying. A disgusting, insulting, and nasty set of words that are designed to provoke and disturb. Almost instantly, the phrase caught fire and took on a life of its own, infiltrating the popular lexicon within a matter of months. It’s a sentence I almost hesitate to write here, even as an example.

I liked them before they were cool.

Simultaneously a criticism, a concern, and a commentary, the loaded phrase triggers parties on both sides of itself. It’s one of the grossest, most overused, and hopelessly cliched sentiments to surface within the past decade of music fandom… Even still, I understand the mentality behind the cred-seeking statement.

While it’s commonly associated with hipsters and the indie elite, you can see the same attitude emerge any time a once-small underground artist hits critical mass and gains enough popularity to make a “mainstream transition.” In some cases (like Nirvana) this transition is out of even the artist’s hands. For fans though, liking an artist “before they were cool” is a concern that the artist will “sell-out” but also an attention-seeking claim in which the speaker is probing for recognition that they are “with it.” It’s simultaneously self-validation and a worry that money will eclipse purity in the heart of the artist.

It’s a double-edged sword because, yeah, any band’s goal is to gain more fans, sell more records, and play bigger shows. It is a career after all, and a hard one at that. Fans should want a band’s success and relish being a part of their rise, but at the same time, it’s also hard not to feel a little bit of ownership. After all, you’re part of the reason they’ve come this far. Your merch is a testament to your commitment. The ratty t-shirts from bygone tours proving unequivocally that you’re no fairweather fan.  

Meanwhile, the band that you once felt an intimate relationship with is now on the radio every hour, perched dominantly atop the charts, being lip-synched on Jimmy Fallon, and a staple of every Millennial’s “Chill Vibes” Spotify playlist. It’s easy to see how this dichotomy can evoke contradictory emotions within even the most devoted fan.

A bit of a pivot, but (if I were a sports guy) I would guess that this is what it feels like to see your team make it to the playoffs. You’re happy for their success, and you’re absolutely rooting for them, but there’s also a suspicious number of “diehard” fans that seem to have come out of the woodwork. Where were you all last year when we were the underdogs getting our asses kicked? Suddenly the fanbase that you once identified with (or even built your personality around) is now comprised of people that you don’t recognize or actively dislike. If they aren’t as religiously devoted as you, so how can you even relate?

If it wasn’t evident by the title of this article or the Miley Cyrus-laden lip synching clip, I’m talking specifically about Portugal. The Man. The Alaskan-born, Portland-based rock band has reached absolutely astronomical heights this year following the crossover success of Woodstock their eighth LP.

Detailed in this post, Portugal. The Man has been in my life for nearly a decade at this point. Their first release served as one of a half-dozen albums that opened me up to the world of indie music back in high school, and the band has been a fundamental force in both my musical and artistic taste ever since. At the time of writing, various Portugal. The Man albums have been the soundtrack to nearly half of my life, which seems grandiose, but I say without hesitation.

I consider myself lucky to have been a fan of Portugal. The Man from the beginning, and watching their rise in 2017 has been nothing short of extraordinary. Their breakout hit “Feel It Still” has gone platinum, charted in every country under the sun, and most recently made history as rock’s biggest crossover hit in five years. On top of this commercial success, the song has also seen literalcommercial success (multiple times), soundtracked trailers, and been remixed to high-heaven. At this point, “sensation” is almost under-selling it.

It’s easy to see why “Feel it Still” has seen such success; the song is groovy, unique, and dancy as all get-out. At a certain point, I began to wonder why it’s taken P.TM this long to chart because “Feel It Still” is far from their best or most catchy song. Yet since it’s release in early 2017, the single has become a cultural landmark that’s sent the band on a path to the pop music stratosphere and forever cemented them as alternative rock mainstays.

For six years straight Portugal. The Man worked diligently, releasing one album a year from their inception in the mid-2000’s. As if that output wasn’t impressive enough, they also managed to challenge fans and themselves alike by switching up their style significantly from one record to the next. While the band flew under the mainstream radar for the most part, P.TM still managed to garner a devoted following over time. Year after year, album after album, the band slowly began expanding their fan base, touring, and cutting their teeth with a seemingly endless stream of creativity.

As a result, the Portugal. The Man’s discography is rich, complex, and rewarding to dive into. The band’s newfound success and proliferation has found me reflecting on their decade-plus history and (now) deep discography. For years you could find me online championing the band as having one of the “best discographies in indie rock, ” and I still stand by that statement to some degree. If anything, “indie rock” is probably the most questionable part of that claim, but we’ll get to that soon.

The band’s most recent press tour has found them questioning the same thing. Cemented by a hyper-self-aware t-shirt, Portugal. The Man has found themselves at a crossroads, now the center of debates about success, selling out, and the “pureness” of artistry. This isn’t a post about that. I may have already talked about it too much, but I’m not here to debate whether or not the band has sold out because either way, I liked them before they were cool. Just kidding.

No, this is a celebration. A chance to put this band’s fantastic work on a pedestal and explain why each record is wonderful on its own merits. There’s an argument to be made for each album’s greatness, and ranking them all was a legitimate challenge. At any rate, this is my definitive, official ranking of Portugal. The Man’s releases. Feel free to hash things out with me on (our brand new) Twitter, or just tell me which album your favorite is. Here’s to another decade of selling out!

9 - American Ghetto (2010)

For their fifth LP Portugal. The Man opted for an “Old Testament Approach” deciding to record American Ghetto in just ten days. Unfortunately, the brevity shows and ended up resulting in one of the band’s most forgettable albums. At this point in 2010 the band was still releasing one album a year, and (maybe I’m just projecting, but) American Ghetto ends up feeling more like rushed experimentation in order to meet a self-imposed deadline than a well-crafted album.

Even with this time crunch, the band still manages to strike some occasional gold. The glitchy hip-hop-infused opener “The Dead Dog” sets the tone of the album flawlessly, indicating that this album (like the ones before it) represented yet another pivot in the band’s sound. Mid-album cut “Do What We Do” is a luxuriant beat-driven track with a catchy group chant that inspires the listener to join in. Even better the album’s closer, “When The War Ends” is a simply undeniable song that remains one of the best in the band’s discography. The track’s joyful chorus will find you reverting to a childlike state of bliss as you belt out “I’ve got soulful days” without a care in the world. It ends up feeling more like a life-affirming mission statement than just another lyric. It’s a way to live life.

Despite these high points, the biggest sin that American Ghetto commits is familiarity. The middle of the album blends into one giant blur of drum and bass that ends up coming off as by-the-numbers. Looking back, the album served as a necessary stepping stone to their later more hip-hop-influenced work, and while it may not be the best in their discography, if AG’s shortened recording process gave the band more time for later albums on the list, then it was worth it. The record’s half-hour running time and spectacular closing track more than make up for its slightly-saggier middle.

8 - Woodstock (2017)

True to its name, Woodstock starts off with a sample of Richie Havens’ “Freedom,” the very first song to be played at Woodstock in 1969. Soon a booming (distinctly modern) bass and set of drums enter the mix, and John Gourley swaggers into frame with a set of dreary and world-weary lyrics. By the time the song’s outro rolls around the band seems to be back in high spirits, a perspective from which they’ll be singing for the remainder of the record.

Emerging after a four-year period of Soundcloud loosies, soundtrack contributions, and trickled singles, Woodstock is the product of the longest album gap in the band’s history. Although the group was far from silent during this four year period hype began to mount late in 2014. Initially teasing the name of their 8th LP as Gloomin’ + Doomin’, the group recorded most of an album under the supervision of the Beastie Boy’s Mike D, but eventually decided to scrap G+D and go back to the drawing board. What they came back with was Woodstock, an album featuring some of the most clean, crisp, and well-produced songs in the band’s repertoire.

Woodstock is far from the band’s most profound or obscure record in fact if we continue the “each album adopts a different genre” train of thought, Woodstock is the band’s straight-up pop effort. Bolstered by commercial-ready songs like “Live in the Moment” and the aforementioned “Feel It Still,” the album has elevated the band to new heights, inspiredathousandmemes, and increased the band’s audience by ten-fold through sheer earwormy approachability.

There are a few moments that fall flat like an out-of-place verse from Fat Lip, some intentionally dumb songwriting, and a couple of roast-worthy lyrics on “Rich Friends,” but as a whole Woodstock hangs together as a strong pop outing from the boys in blue. If nothing else, this album is commendable for how well the group was able to craft an approachable smash hit like “Feel it Still” and still managed to scratch older fan’s need for something deeper and more psychedelic. It’s radio-ready but also artistically fulfilling. It’s a phenomenon. Full stop.

7 - Censored Colors (2008)

This is where things get interesting. I’ll admit I’m not the biggest fan of American Ghetto or Woodstock, but rather than blame it on the quality of those albums, I’d instead chalk it up to the absolutely staggering quality of the remainder of the band’s discography.

Censored Colors, Portugal. The Man’s third full-length marks the most effortless and full transition in the band’s entire discography. Building on the bluesy sound of their previous record, the group injected gobs of jazzy psychedelic instrumentation and first-person narratives, making for one of the most personal and impactful narrative pieces in their history.

The record’s jaw-dropping opening three track stretch showcases a newly-matured band that’s now honed to a fine point. Things kick off with the (surprisingly cheery) death meditation “Lay Me Back Down” and wind from the choral “Colors” towards the tender, smoldering “And I.” Censored Color’s opening 15 minutes serve as the perfect encapsulation of the expansive and kaleidoscopic odyssey that the listener is about to embark upon.

Later album cuts like “All Mine” and “1989” all bleed into each other seamlessly for a spellbinding medley that rivals the back half of Abbey Road. It’s a soulful expedition that ends up being a showcase for Gourley’s vocals and the band’s more jam-based experimental rock. It’s a record full of sound, life, and heart. Like a warm bowl of soup on a cold day, Censored Colors is guaranteed to light your fire and heat your soul.

6 - It’s Complicated Being a Wizard (2007)

In case the cover didn’t tip you off, It’s Complicated Being a Wizard is Portugal. The Man’s tripped-out attempt at their own Kid A. Recorded in the wake of the band’s first record, this self-described “mini album” began as Gourley tinkering with vocals laid over electronic beats. Eventually, the project snowballed and ballooned to a 23-minute running time (a sly reference to Michael Jordan’s tenure with the Washington Wizards), and the songs evolved from scraps and sketches into an official EP.

While Gourley’s distinct vocals remain prominent throughout, Wizard stands alone as the only P.TM record that’s largely devoid of any traditional instrumentation. As if the curveball of a primarily-electronic release wasn’t enough, Wizard also came with an additional conceptual wrinkle: the record was designed to be listened to twice in a row. The track listing is comprised of ten songs, featuring one single 23-minute song followed by an identical stretch of 9 smaller tracks that are just the first one broken up.

Just as the cover would suggest, Wizard is an album comprised of peaks and valleys. There are long, dissonant stretches where the beat sounds like the number pad of an old phone. There are other parts where clicking glitchy claps are paired with a single desolate bass groove for minutes on end. Occasionally these lumbering experimental stretches explode into beautiful moments where the instrumentation, vocals, and ambient background noise all swell together, creating one singular moment of catchy well-polished beauty. And then, as soon as that moment emerged, the “band” falls away again and lets the electronic soundscape consume them.

It’s a lovely, short, and experimental EP that shows a band who’s not afraid to get weird, try new things, and “test” their fanbase. Though now knowing their propensity to shake things up, Wizard ends up coming off as the band’s “electronic” release. Little did we know it at the time, but this EP was just the first curveball in a series of never-ending unexpected pitches. A captivating, wandering, and endlessly-looping computerized treasure.

5 - Waiter: “You Vultures!” (2006)

Following the dissolution of Portugal. The Man’s post-hardcore predecessor Anatomy of a Ghost, John Gourley and Zachary Carothers left to start their own band. After a slew of demos and EPs the group we now know and love announced themselves to the world in 2006 with the release of their first album, the punctuation-abusing Waiter: “You Vultures!”

Still bearing many of the post-hardcore characteristics of the duo’s previous band, Waiter contains the most extensive array of sounds ever captured on any of P.TM‘s records. The sounds range from jazzy downbeat late-night tracks like “AKA M80 The Wolf”, to Mars Volta-esque prog rock on “Horse Warming Party”, and even some mosh-worthy Blood Brothers-like instrumentation on “Chicago.”

It’s a sight to behold, and the end result is a debut album that’s more fleshed-out and varied than anyone could have ever expected. It’s clear from the beginning that the band is already a well-oiled machine with a defined vision and an insatiable desire to achieve it. In a way, Waiter makes their later “pop” albums that much more impressive just because the band evolved from something this experimental and vast. As mentioned above, on top of the feat that is this album, Waiter was one of my gateway indie albums, and it will always have a special place in my heart just for that.

4 - Evil Friends (2013)

Back in 2013 hipsters and indieheads alike were sent reeling as Portugal. The Man announced that Danger Mouse would be producing their upcoming seventh studio album. While there’s nothing inherently wrong with Danger Mouse’s production style, it carries a very distinct sound that impresses itself on (or in some cases, eclipses) the band that’s being filtered through it.

Additionally, back in 2013 music fans found themselves wading through a sea of Danger Mouse-helmed records. Between Broken Bells and The Black Keys alone, many fans (myself included) found themselves experiencing “Danger Mouse Fatigue” around this time. Worried his production would homogenize, defang, or sap the life out of the typically-soulful Portugal. The Man, the worst outcome would be for the band to morph into “just another” radio act in a glut of similar-sounding late-2010’s alt-rock.

More importantly, (and pertinent to this article’s intro) Evil Friends marked the first time that a majority of fans worried the band was selling out. Danger Mouse production could only mean one thing: a grab for that sweet alternative radio money. While “Purple Yellow Red and Blue” did receive moderate success on the charts (and presumably queued the band up for their later success) it’s now clear that fan’s fears were unfounded for the most part.

While we were busy worrying that Portugal. The Man was trying to manufacture an overly-accessible album, the band busied themselves with birthing one of the best, tightest, and catchiest records of their entire career.

Released in June of 2013, just in time for summer, Evil Friends is front-to-back brilliance. In retrospect, the album undoubtedly represents a shift towards a more accessible sound, but it’s also a near-perfect marriage of the band’s more recent pop style and their earlier psychedelic leanings.

I’ll admit I went in with my guard up, but slowly, track by track, the album disarmed me. Eventually, my initial disappointment gave way to complete awe and utter reverence. With each listen I found myself savoring the record’s catchy tunes and sunny balladry. Every track is a stone-cold classic, but songs like “Holy Roller,” “Hip Hop Kids,” and the aforementioned “Purple Yellow Red and Blue” remain lively and infinitely singable, even after hundreds of listens.

Especially after the release of Woodstock, it’s clear that Evil Friends wasn’t the band’s “pop” album, but their “Danger Mouse” album. That is to say, it’s a (mostly) radio-friendly alternative rock album with an unmistakable production style that’s very tied to 2013. However, the most critical and most admirable thing is that the band managed to retain their identity. It’s easy to sell your soul for a radio hit, and it’s even easier when someone with a proven track record like Danger Mouse is behind the wheel, but on Evil Friends, Portugal. The Man harnessed DM’s powers and used them for good instead of evil.

Luckily for both parties, the band’s 2013 album ended up one of their best and most accessible albums with an immaculate 100% hit ratio. Every chorus is perfection. Every guitar strum is well-placed. Every word is singable. The whole record feels lived-in. While their early work felt natural and distinct like a hand-crafted piece of woodwork, Evil Friends feels like the polar opposite in the best way: it’s clean and sharp and sleek like a MacBook or a brand new car. It’s a marvel of a later-career work, and the band (and Danger Mouse) really made me and the other doubters eat crow. I really should have known better by this point.

3 - Church Mouth (2007)

Jumping from the band’s second most recent album back to their second ever album, Church Mouth is the band’s bluesy sophomore effort. Released just a year and a half after their debut, Church Mouth represents the first time Portugal. The Man worked their genre-pivoting magic on their fans. Going from the prog-fueled indie rock that we saw on Waiter to the jangly hard rock we hear on Church was quite a surprise to behold back in 2007.

The album opens with a single trebly guitar strum accompanied by one of the best opening lyrics to any record that I’ve ever heard: “Sell me, I’m a skeptical boy.” The following line comes with a cacophonous crash of cymbals, and then, just as Gourley blurts out the name of the record, every instrument whirs to top speed resulting in a groovy roar of fuzzed-out blues rock.

Things only get better from there with the bouncy “Sugar Cinnamon, ” and the summery “Telling Tellers Tell Me,” all of which make for an impossibly-great stretch of three songs at the top of the album that rivals that of Censored Colors.

Throughout this album the bass is cranked all the way up, the guitar is at its most jangly, Gourley is more distorted than we’ve ever heard him, and the drums sound absolutely Bonham-esque. The whole thing comes together to affect a bright, warm, summertime glow that imprints on the listener like an amber-coated childhood memory. The entire record is like a wide-open wheat field with a sun setting behind it. There’s a slight swaying motion to the whole thing that gently rocks the listener downstream for a blissful 43 minutes.

Midway through the back half of the record lies a song called “Children.” Slipped in unassuming as the Church Mouth’s 9th track, this song is, for my money, the best in the band’s discography and one of my favorites of all time. Featuring blistering guitars, a monumental riff, and some of Gourley’s most snarling and swagger-worthy lines, “Children” is the heaviest song Portugal. The Man has ever recorded. A borderline stoner rock with multiple heart-stopping fakeouts, “Children” is one of the band’s absolute best, and the rest of the record isn’t far behind.

2 - In The Mountain In the Cloud (2011)

I’ll admit after American Ghetto I was worried that I had grown out of Portugal. The Man. I’m glad that I gave In The Mountain In the Cloud a fair shake, because the album was, and probably still is the band’s most inventive, and innovative record to date. Brimming with sound and color, the album lures the listener in with “So American” a slowly-unwinding ballad of warmth, inclusivity, and happiness.

From there the band pulls out all the stops, utilizing every trick and every idea that they’ve ever conceived. Nearly every other song on In the Mountain features two halves, as if the band had so many different ideas that they couldn’t decide on one. As a result, we get an album that’s jam-packed with brilliant, bright, memorable ideas and standout moments. No second on this album is wasted. There’s never a stretch that repeats itself long enough to bore the listener because as soon as the band builds out one idea, they’re already off on the next. Each song has multiple distinct choruses, all of which are impeccable, and each of which I can call to mind just by reading the titles. That is a feat of songwriting and craftsmanship.

In The Mountain In The Cloud is a massive, swirling, trip that boasts wall-to-wall originality. As a whole it’s simply one of their most listenable, and easily-enjoyable records. It hangs together beautifully as an album, and there’s never a dull moment in its 44-minute running time. The cherry on top comes at the end with “Sleep Forever” Portugal’s gorgeous, heart-aching, existential magnum opus. It’s a synthesis, incorporation, and realization of every sound, topic, and style that the band has ever touched on. A slowly-building masterpiece that explodes with life. It’s flawless.

1 - The Satanic Satanist (2009)

Here we are at number one. I mean what can be better than ‘flawless’? Obviously I have a love in my heart for each of these records, and for the longest time In The Mountain actually was my favorite Portugal. The Man release, but within the past few years I’ve come back around to an album that I never thought I would: the group’s fourth LP The Satanic Satanist.

While In The Mountain represents an undeniable creative peak for the band, Satanist represents a near-inverse. It’s a record that manages to be incredibly original, wholesome, and wonderful, all within a traditional and understated way. There are no tricks on this album, no fancy electronic passages, no masturbatory solos, no grandiosity, and no gimmicks, only straightforward songs of love and life. It borrows heavily from the narrative approach of Censored Colors, takes a pinch of Church Mouth’s grooviness, and uses a just little bit of Waiter’s electronic elements. And more importantly, it also adds just enough originality to stand on its own.

The songs oscillate between explosive colorful sprints of joy and delicate personal intricacies. The final result is something that feels much like the album’s cover: a morphed representation of humanity that bleeds emotion and feeling like watercolor over an eggshell page.

Even better, the album was released alongside The Majestic Majesty, an acoustic accompaniment that reworks the entire LP in a more intimate, stripped-down setup. When performed acoustically, these songs only further reveal how well-written they are. They stand bare in front of the listener, stripped down to the essential components, and somehow, still manage to work just as well (if not better) than on the full album.

The fact that the band manages to pack all this into an airy 30-minute record is a testament to how far (and how fast) their songwriting has evolved. It’s a showcase for every member, every instrument, and every word. The messages shine through, the production is clean, and there’s a perfect balance of early psychedelia and grounded realism. Each song stands on its own, but also adds to the greater context of the album. It depicts a world fleshed out by the band over the course of years. A mythos in the making.

Every beat is a lush tapestry that pangs forward directly from the hearts of its performers. The Satanic Satanist is heartfelt and violent. Simultaneously weary and cheerful. An oceanic presentation of the human condition and what it means to grow up. It’s a mastercraft and achievement of the genre. It’s the culmination of everything that Portugal. The Man had learned, and everything they were about to learn.

Any way you split it, Portugal. The Man has an absolutely incredible discography. With albums that touch on every genre from electronic and post-hardcore to blues and pop, there’s something here for everyone. After seeing them live twice this year, my belief that they’re one of the best indie bands has only been solidified. Their approach to music is humbling and life-affirming. I can’t help but adore what they’ve created. These albums are nothing short of a gift to the world. The band has earned every ounce of their success, and we should consider ourselves lucky as a society to have such a spectacular music force in our midst.

Everyone is golden.

Thank you for everything.

U Talkin' U2 To Me? – An Album-by-album Descent into Insanity

U Talkin’ U2 To Me? is a podcast that wades the listener into the warm embrace of insanity over the course of multiple hours. Billed as a “comprehensive and encyclopedic” look at U2, the podcast is an epic album-by-album exploration of the Irish rock band’s discography and decades-long history. It’s a deep dive into the bleeding emotion behind artistry and the raw humanity that it takes to create a lasting piece of culture. Just kidding. While UTU2TM may not be that serious, it still manages to be one of the most hilarious, endearing, and (occasionally) earnest podcasts that I’ve ever listened to.

Hosted by Scott Aukerman (Comedy Bang! Bang!) and Adam Scott (Parks and Recreation), U Talkin’ U2 To Me? is a spiritual successor to Analyze Phish, a show taking place in the same “podcast universe” in which comedian Harris Wittels tries to convince Scott Aukerman why he should like the band Phish. The conceit of UTU2TM is similarly simple: Scott likes U2. So does Adam. Together, they combine comedic powers to systematically walk the listener through the band’s discography in an effort to expel all of the U2-related information in their heads.

Forecasted by a teaser clip that found Adam Scott recounting a childhood memory of the 1983 US Festival, U Talkin’ U2 To Me? officially launched one week later in February of 2014. The first episode began humbly enough as the duo laid out their plan to discuss three albums per episode in the lead-up to U2’s then-unnamed thirteenth studio album. Within several minutes it became clear that things were destined to go off-track as Scott and Scott venture off on multiple tangents all while simply trying to describe the conceit of the podcast. Eventually, they settle on a rambling half-serious mission statement:

What we want this podcast to be is the definitive, comprehensive encyclopedic compendium of all things U2. In other words we are going to talk about it all. If you have never heard of U2, you will feel like you have heard of U2.

No less than a minute after outlining this semi-lasting objective, the two stumble across the podcast’s first great recurring bit: saying “Achtung Baby” over and over again for minutes on end. Sprang from a moment of improvisation while listing off the band’s discography, Aukerman goofily pronounced the name of the 1991 album with a full-throated bellow which prompted Adam Scott to respond similarly. Eventually, the two find themselves volleying increasingly-accented shouts of “ACHTUNG baby” back and forth at each other like a vocal tennis match. It’s absolutely absurd to behold.  

Eventually Scott and Scott emerge from their tears of laughter long enough to move the podcast forward, but this is the moment that (less than ten minutes into their inaugural episode) forever sets the tone of the show and gave the listener a glimpse of the beautiful insanity that was about to unfold on a weekly basis.

The Achtung Baby bit sounds so nonsensical to write out on paper (and it is nonsensical, even in the context of the show) because it’s a joke that defies logic. It’s abjectly stupid, yet somehow this string of cartoonish exclamations feels right at home on U Talkin’ U2 To Me? It’s so mind-bogglingly silly that you begin to crack up by proxy just witnessing to these two grown men entertain each other as they break down into complete hysteria.

The podcast’s initial plan of three-albums per episode quickly deteriorates to one album per episode (and eventually no album per episode) simply because the hosts end up going on so many diversions. Often recorded late at night after a full day of work, the recordings begin to sprawl into hilariously-rudderless, sleep-deprived ramblings. Even so, the most charming element of U Talkin’ U2 To Me? (and the thing that will keep you coming back) is the chemistry between the two hosts. As the episodes pile up, the Scotts quickly develop their own in-jokes, references, and everything short of a unique language.

Scott Aukerman and Adam Scott clearly enjoy each other’s company, and eventually, the podcast morphs into two friends recording multi-hour dick joke-laden podcasts only loosely centered around an album. This artificial extension ended up working in their favor because after several months of episodes U2’s album was still nowhere in sight. The show then became the podcast equivalent of a stalling tactic, killing time until the band released their highly-anticipated thirteenth album.

Over the course of several episodes, the show’s scope gradually expands into its own self-referential universe. The Scotts bring guests into the mix, record a segment in the white house, and create a punch-drunk 2-hour podcast based on a one-off joke from an earlier episode. Listening to the pair’s spiral into madness over the course of 20-some episodes is a thing of beauty and something that I’ve never seen accomplished in the medium of podcasting.

The show’s first act culminated in June with the sixteenth episode, a “commentary special” in which Scott and Scott host a new podcast laidover the top of their first episode. It’s a mind-bending experience that served as a conceptual high point to the show’s already-meta narrative. With the U2’s new album still an unknown, the podcast went on hiatus until the record’s release. This was the end. For now.

In September of 2014, Apple held their yearly press conference. The tech giant announced their new iPhone, unveiled the Apple Watch, and made wallets obsolete with Apple Pay. At the tail end of the presentation, after nearly two hours of incredible, amazing, awesome products, Tim Cook threw the audience for a loop and introduced U2.

The lights dimmed, and the band came out to play “The Miracle of Joey Ramone.” After the performance, Tim Cook joined the band on stage for one of the most awkward conference exchanges in recent memory and revealed that the band’s albumless five-year drought was about to come to an end. After some back and forth, the two parties announced that U2’s thirteenth album was out now. Not only that, it was free, and it was already on everyone’s iPhone.

I was at work during the conference, and as excited as I was about the prospect of upgrading my phone, my biggest takeaway was the fact that this meant we would have a new episode of U Talkin’ U2 To Me soon. I raced to the /r/earwolf subreddit and joined hundreds of other podcast nerds who all found themselves excited by-proxy at a new U2 album because it represented the payoff the entire podcast’s run.

It’s worth mentioning at this point that I don’t even like U2.

Even in my fanboyish excitement at new Apple devices, all I cared about was that a band I’m lukewarm on was releasing an album, just because it meant I’d get a new podcast. It’s probably the weirdest string of events that I’ve ever found myself excited at, but I was ecstatic nonetheless.

And sure enough, the UTU2TM hosts met up the following day and released their celebratory, 2.5-hour Songs of Innocence episode only two days after the album’s release. I was overjoyed.

The album’s release was a total surprise, a highly-publicized rollout, and it harkened back to an earlier collaboration that warmed my heart. The internet hated it. Eventually, the Scotts got back together several weeks later to discuss how the album was sitting with them, and the internet’s overwhelminglynegativereaction to the album showing up on their phones. The episode that came out after the album’s release was a (seemingly) single bright spot in a sea of negativity as people complained that a free album showed up on their phones.

From there the podcast seemed over. The band’s new album was released, and the duo had (more or less) achieved their goal of discussing each album. They surprised us a few more sporadic episodes including a Christmas special, a live podcast, and a concert review. Each of these came after month-long breaks, so they were all pleasant surprises that I devoured almost immediately once they manifested in my podcast feed.

Then, in August of 2015, it happened.

I refreshed my podcast app and saw a mysterious download titled “U2 Talk 2 U.” Initially thinking it was a typo or that I was misreading it. I scanned the episode’s description to make sure that I understood it correctly. My eyes started watering. Adam Scott and Scott Aukerman had interviewed U2.

It was the climax of the entire show. A podcast that started out nearly two years ago with a period joke in the first two minutes now somehow found itself talking to one of the biggest bands in the world. It’s a journey that has to be experienced from the beginning, and one that I’m not even spoiling by talking about here because it pays off so many of the shows different in-jokes. It’s the heart-warming culmination of a two-year journey. Something that started out as an unassuming gag between two friends instantly became legitimized. Every dick joke had led to this.

U Talkin’ U2 To Me? is abject stupidity, and I mean that in the most complimentary way possible. This podcast came out at a pivotal time in my life where nearly everything seemed to be falling into place and shifting for the better. I credit UTU2TM with not only entertaining me for hours upon hours, but for improving my outlook on life and giving me a formative crash course in this silly comedic tone.

It’s one of the few podcasts that I’ve listened to multiple times in its entirety, and it benefits from both its limited run nature and the 22nd episode’s payoff. I still can’t describe how elated I was when I saw that episode pop up in my iTunes. The podcast has more surprises, inside jokes, and humor than almost everything else out right now. And it’ interesting to see how the little things (like recording late at night) led to a memorable and impactful experience. It’s an unlikely pairing and an unlikely topic that I ended up caring about way more than I ever thought I would.

The real beauty of the podcast comes from how often and how abruptly the hosts can fluctuate between moments of genuine, unbridled fandom, and delirious, unhinged absurdity. It became a blueprint for my recent sense of humor and willingness to embrace the absurd and stupid. And, it’s a horrible segue, but I did end up coming out of the podcast liking U2, if for no other reason than the music’s association with dozens of jokes.

U Talkin’ U2 To Me? is a force for good. An impossibly-dense multi-hour dive into the depths of exponentially-increasing goofiness. And more importantly, an honest showcase of genuine fandom. It’s something to aspire to on an artistic level, and a journey that is worth embarking on whether you like U2 or not. It’s an achievement of the medium and should be required listening for any podcast, music, or comedy fans.

It’s something that must be heard to be believed.

It’s a good rock and roll uhh podcast.

Female-Fronted 2017: A Guide to This Year’s Best Music Made By Women

Editor's Note 2019: I initially wrote this piece in 2017 when I was discovering a wealth of bands helmed by women and embarking on my own exploration of gender. I was excited to elevate a set of artists who felt neglected by the mainstream music press. I regret using the term "female-fronted" because so many people now use it as a stand-in for a genre tag or any more meaningful descriptors. I still have love and admiration for all these artists, but painting with such a broad brush feels reductive in retrospect. The remainder of the article remains as it was when first published in 2017.

2017 has been regressive in more ways than I can count. Despite an oppressive political landscape and a constantly-overwhelming news cycle, it’s also been heartening to watch people band together in the face of bigotry, and hatred.

This feeling of resistance has also bled over into art. We’ve finally got a legitimately great female-led superhero movie as well as multiple strong female-centered TV shows (Orange, Veep, Kimmy Schmidt, The Mindy Project, Broad City, Take My Wife). More germane to this blog; the same shift can also be felt in this year’s music. Alongside 2017’s many excellent female-fronted albums, this past month Cardi B become the first solo female rap artist to top the Billboard charts since 1998. Whether it’s a movement or just a sign of the times, we’re witnessing an undeniable change in our culture.

Chalk it up to the political climate, toxic masculinity, or whatever term you prefer; lately I’ve been feeling “over” hyper-masculine music. Maybe it’s a byproduct of a free TIDAL subscription or seeing 20+ concerts in 12 months, but this year I’ve been exposed to a wider variety of music than ever before. Projecting myself onto machismo music has carried me far in life, and that type of music still has a place in my heart (and my iPod), but it’s been connecting with me less and less as time goes on.

I’ve also gotten away from this testosterone-fueled perspective because the alternatives feel infinitely more refreshing than an imitation of something I’ve heard a dozen times before. Even within typically-masculine genres like hip-hop, we now have people like Young Thug and Kevin Abstract who are slowly (but actively) dismantling long-entrenched negative tropes of the scene. This year I’ve found solace and comfort in these unique takes on the human perspective.

Serendipitously, 2017 also happens to be an incredible year for women in music. From vibrant radio bops to hazy bedroom indie, we’ve seen an absolute barrage of impeccable releases this year from female artists. So I wanted to highlight some of the projects that I’ve found myself coming back over and over again. These artists are making some of the freshest, most unique, and lived-in records of recent memory, so let’s take a moment to celebrate these creators and make a toast to new perspectives in art.

Julien Baker

Funnily enough, one of my favorite discoveries of 2017 turned out to be an album from 2015. I’ve already detailed my affection for Julen Baker’s Sprained Ankle in this loving write-up from earlier in the year, but in short, I’m embarrassed that it took me this long to discover it. Baker’s debut record has been lingering with me all year like a specter. I’ve read interviews, watched live performances, and my Julien Baker-related obsession will likely peak when I see her live this December.

Julien Baker has already had an eventful 2017 as she signed to Matador Records, released a haunting 7-inch, and is currently revving up to drop her Sprained Ankle follow-up Turn Out the Lights. I’m willing to admit her music has now fallen into utterly un-objective fandom territory for me, but even the three songs she’s released this year have been spectacular, and I’m fully expecting her album to worm its way onto my end-of-the-year list. Baker’s brand of somber folky slowcore has a way of hooking directly into my brain and violently wrenching on my heartstrings. I’ve already got my tissues stockpiled for her upcoming October 27th release, and I fully expect to cry in public at her concert in December.

Angel Olsen

This November singer/songwriter/guitarist Angel Olsen is treating us to a career-spanning album of loosies, B-Sides, and rarities. I’ve already expressed my love for 2016’s My Woman (which landed at #5 on my end-of-the-year list for 2016), and if Phases’ first single is any indication, we’re in for an equally-great collection of moody guitar-centered folk tracks.

Japanese Breakfast

Japanese Breakfast is the Philadelphia-based solo project of Michelle Zauner. In 2016 she released the grief-stricken 25-minute LP Psychopomp which featured a collection of tracks written in the wake of her mother’s battle with cancer. This year’s Soft Sounds From Another Planet essentially acts as an update. A group of 12 adventurous tracks that offer an honest depiction of what happens after the most important person in your life passes.

Aside from the personal update, Soft Sounds finds itself standing musically above Psychopomp thanks to improved production and added fullness of her now-honed backing band. All of these pieces come together neatly for a more fleshed-out, but less personal album than her debut. The tracks range from saxophone-laden danciness (Machinist) to Roy Orbison-esque balladry (Boyish), but Michelle’s personality shines through each and every moment, making for a hopeful space-themed journey.

Half Waif

Half Waif is the icy electronic side-project of Pinegrove’s resident keyboardist Nandi Plunkett. This year she’s found a voice speaking out against the internet (and the music industry’s) inherent sexism, but Half Waif’s form/a EP is all the proof you need that she’s a musical force all her own.

Often taking a more dark and honest approach than Pinegrove’s good-spirited group-based cheeriness, Half Waif allows Plunkett to explore deeply-personal stories and exercise the demons of her past. With disarming vocals, swaying melodies, and sprawling instrumentation, form/a is one of the most unique EPs this year.

Camp Cope

Camp Cope is a trio of Melburnians creating emotionally-punchy emo rock. In 2016 they released an impeccable self-titled debut that tackled everything from relationship nostalgia to police brutality, all in a little over half an hour. It’s a record of forward momentum, and  Georgia Maq’s unmistakably Australian accent adds a unique tinge to the band’s already-memorable songs.

This year they’ve signed to Run For Cover, released a split with Cayetana, and done an Audiotree session. As they rev up for a tour, it’s unlikely we’ll get a sophomore album from them this year, but it seems like these girls are poised to segue this momentum into something really special within the next year.

Snail Mail

Out of the dozens of concerts I’ve seen this year, a select few have resonated with me deeply, and Snail Mail is one of them. The first time I’d heard of the band was minutes before they were about to take the stage as Girlpool’s second opener. I stood in the crowd, about ten feet from the mic, enjoying my beer and reserving my prime spot for the main act. As Snail Mail took the stage and played their first song, I became slowly disarmed. The singer couldn’t have been older than twenty (she wasn’t) but every song shimmered with a level of maturity and hazy emo malaise.

I found myself hanging on every word, losing track of time, and as soon as it started, it was over. Before their set ended, the bassist and drummer stood and disappeared backstage, leaving frontwoman Lindsey Jordan alone with the crowd. Illuminated by a single spotlight, it was her, a guitar, a mic, and a crowd full of silent people. She played “Anytime,” a (still-unreleased) wandering emo ballad in which she guides you, at first by hand, then by force, deeper into your own emotional rabbit hole.

To put it simply: I was awestruck. It was one of the most powerful things I’ve seen all year. The band has recreated this (to an obviously less personal degree) in their 2017 Tiny Desk performance which dropped the same day the band announced they were signing to Matador records. It’s spectacular, inspiring, and a little jealousy-inducing that this 17-year-old is achieving artistic heights that I could only dream of, but I am so glad to have been here on the ground floor. Snail Mail’s growth will only be exponential from here on out, mark my words.

Diet Cig

High kicks, pom-pom earrings, and pictures of doggos. These are just a few of the characteristics that make New York-based Diet Cig a compelling duo. Aside from an infinitely-goofy and endearing social media presence, the band puts on one of the most energetic live shows I’ve ever witnessed. Fueled by nothing but pop-punk ferocity, guitarist and singer Alex Luciano slides across the stage, jumping, kicking, and diving off equipment all while Noah Bowman lays down a steady beat on the drums.

Their 2017 debut album Swear I’m Good At This opens with a humming guitar and a heart aching delivery as Luciano details her teenage attempts to sleep with a guy that shares her name. Within a minute the album quickly whirs into top speed and remains there until its final notes. Their confetti-filled Tiny Desk session captures their on-stage charm and energy quite well and earned the band a deserved spot in a New York Times profile over the summer.  

BABY!

The emphatically-named BABY! is a Florida-based pop-punk group helmed by Kaley Honeycutt. Fittingly enough, the eternally-hair-dyed Orlandoan released her debut album Sunny, F . L., at the tail end of summer. The record is a breezy marriage of intimate bedroom pop vocals and delicate shimmering instrumentation.

Signed to ex-Japanese Breakfast’s Yellow K Records, BABY! is a prime example of killing it in a local scene. From touring the east coast to hand-making shirts and buttons, Honeycutt is an exemplar of an old-school punk DIY mentality wrapped in a sunny Floridian package.

Lorde

You’d have to have been living under a soundproof rock to have not heard Lorde’s chart-topping “Royals” back in 2013. After making waves with her (nearly-undisputed) song of the summer, she went six-times platinum and then dropped her debut album Pure Heroine, all by the age of 17. After years of touring, writing, and working on other projects, Lorde simply took some time away from the spotlight to live her life.

In 2017, four years after she first introduced herself to the world, Lorde returned to music, ready to reflect on the remainder of her teenage years. She paired up with Bleachers’ Jack Antonoff and released Melodrama, a markedly more mature and thoughtful record. This highly-anticipated sophomore album utilized real instrumentation and found Lorde grappling with a recent breakup. With 11 tracks stretched over 40 minutes, Melodrama offers a wide variety of explosive sounds centered around grounded slice-of-life stories from the worldly New Zealander. It also happens to contain some of the most infectious, ear-wormiest tracks of the year and has slowly crept up against E•MO•TION as one of my favorite pop albums of all time.

Girlpool

Often categorized as “folk punk,” Girlpool is a duo comprised of Cleo Tucker on guitar and Harmony Tividad on bass. The two swap instruments and share vocal duties, which led to the creation of their one-of-a-kind debut Before the World Was Big. This year they added a drummer, second guitarist, and released Powerplant, a more full-bodied follow-up.

The dynamic between the two remains strong as ever, and once the opening track “123” clicks into place, it’s clear the drums are there only to support our two leads. They get dark on tracks like “Soup” and eventually send the listener off smiling with “Static Somewhere.” I personally think the band lost a little bit of personality in going from just guitar and bass to adding drums, but there’s still some great charming moments on this record.

Jay Som

Melina Duterte is a 22-year-old Polyvinyl signee who first made waves in 2016 with her excellent debut Turn Into. This year, amid seemingly-constant touring, she’s already released her official follow-up Everybody Works. The album is packed with clear-eyed songs that depict a single life on an ever-shifting scale. Sometimes zooming down to interpersonal levels, other times peeling back to the cosmic scale, Everybody Works is a crystallization of Duterte as a human. The penultimate title track drills the album’s immensely-catchy title into your head, serving as the first hit of a one-two punch, followed by an epic 7-minute closer that will leave you breathless.

Courtney Barnett

Courtney Barnett is an indie rocker from Australia who charms the listener through witty self-deprecation. Her debut album, 2015’s Sometimes I Sit and Think, and Sometimes I Just Sit gained her attention for her deadpan delivery and slacker approach to writing. Sometimes I Sit is wall-to-wall memorable tracks that range in topics from biting punk to suburban settling and environmental helplessness. The album quickly became a critical darling, and Barnett earned a well-deserved spot on many end of the year lists.

This year, Courtney Barnett has released one well-received one-off single and has an upcoming collaborative album with equally-mellow pier Kurt Vile. Seeing how their slacker rock styles commingle this fall will be a treat.

Haim

After releasing one of the best pop albums of 2013, Haim has returned to shake up the musical landscape with Something to Tell You. With more of a retro sound than their debut, the three sisters pull influence from Stevie Nicks, The Eagles, and even Michael Jackson at certain points. The songs on Something to Tell You rattle on in a way that evokes an old Chevy: it’s got a little bit of dust and grit on it, but that dirt is just the countryside, there’s still a shiny hard-working body underneath it all.

Kacy Hill

G.O.O.D. Music’s resident female vocalist, Kacy Hill is a dreamy redhead with an incredible voice and a singular vision. Her 2015 EP Bloo first gave the world a taste of her offering, but this year’s Like a Woman is a sensual, slow, and occasionally violent exploration of the singer’s sexuality and what it means to be “a woman” in 2017. Alongside the album’s launch, Hill played up the sex angle with multiple steamy music videos and a pornographic parody website dirtylittleredhead.com. On Twitter, she’s just a goofy personality that seems genuinely awestruck and appreciative of her fans.

Lana Del Rey

Existing on the periphery of the pop music scene for over a decade, Lana Del Rey has steadily been making some of the most interesting pop music since 2010. Unflinchingly tackling topics like domestic abuse and drug addiction, Lana’s music is often a touch too edgy for radio play, but she’s garnered a sizeable audience since 2010 through a deft understanding of social media and several iconic breakout tracks like “Video Games.”

Her 2017 release Lust for Life finds her, for the first time ever, on the cover of her album smiling. Hair adorned with flowers, this happier Lana finds herself circling familiar topics like summer, and spontaneous beach trips, but manages to add some interesting wrinkles. Featuring guest appearances from the likes of Sean Lennon and Stevie Nicks, Lust for Life also seems to be grappling with some bigger, more existential issues like entertainment in the face of destruction and her own image. The record ends up being a nice offering of sultry, self-contained tracks that expand the world and mythos of miss Del Rey while leaving just enough to keep us hooked.

Paramore

After releasing some of the most important female-fronted emo albums of the 2000’s, Paramore could have gone anywhere. After various lineup changes, a couple monster mainstream hits, and soul-draining complicated legal battles, Hayley Williams decided to ditch the hair dye and embrace a vibrant 80’s throwback vibe. Featuring more engaging and personable songs, After Laughter is a colorful and cheery listen. Anyone paying close attention to the lyrics will quickly notice that the album’s joyful filter is simply a facade used to mask the uncomfortable personnel issues that the album tackles. Despite the lyrical bait and switch, Laughter ends up being a breezy and joyful listen, as long as you don’t spend too much time with the lyric sheet.

St. Vincent

Indie rocker and multi-instrumentalist St. Vincent has too much on her mind. The other-worldly guitar-player won a Grammy in 2014 for her excellent self-titled album that saw her assume the role of a “near-future cult leader.” St. Vincent (whose real name is Annie Clark) has been relatively quiet in the years since her last record, but in the lead-up to her upcoming Masseducation, Clark has rebranded herself as a straight-haired, plastic sex symbol. Perhaps pulling from her stint as a horror director early in the year, St. Vincent’s forthcoming album seems poised to dismantle institutions and send her on a years-long tour.

SZA

Much like Kacy Hill, SZA is the resident female artist of California-based Top Dawg Entertainment. Since 2012 she’s been releasing a string of quality PR&B mixtapes, gradually building a fanbase and expectations for her full-length debut. Featuring Blonde-esque instrumentation and more relationship strife than you can shake a stick at, SZA’s Ctrl is a bright, sexy, and honest portrait of a 20-something who just can’t seem to get things right but has all the best intentions.

Taylor Swift

Controversy seems to follow Taylor Swift around like the Coppertone dog. After a highly-publicized lawsuit, an exposing series of Snapchats, and too many beefs to count, the undisputed queen of pop is back with… something. Forecasted by a social media wipe and “dark” rebranding Reputation sees Swift at her most aggressive to date. Seemingly out for blood, this new sound springboards off her 1989 full-pop sound, updating things to be a little bit more modern. While I found “Look What You Made Me Do” to be an initially repulsive song, the video helps add a much-needed layer of context and rich visuals that make the song better retroactively. Whether it’s good or not, Reputation is bound to be one of the biggest and most-talked-about albums of the year, and will undoubtedly dictate Swift’s place in the pop culture landscape for years to come.

Tiger’s Jaw

After the departure of every other band member, pop-punk iconoclasts Ben Walsh and Brianna Collins have returned with Spin, a record proving that they still have much to say. While Tiger’s Jaw is primarily sung from the perspective of Ben, “June” marks the first entirely-Brianna-helmed track in the band’s discography. The song provides a nice sunny break in an otherwise homogeneous and similar-sounding record and earned the band some well-deserved attention after a few years away from the spotlight.

Carly Rae Jepsen

Taylor Swift may be the reigning queen of pop, but for my money, Carly Rae Jepsen should be the one on that throne. As we all remember, in 2012 each member of the human race was forced to listen to “Call Me Maybe” at gunpoint, and thanks to the song’s oversaturation many listeners came to either actively disliked Jepsen or assumed she was a one-hit-wonder. 2015’s E•MO•TION was a critical success and a commercial failure, but to this day remains one of the best pop albums ever recorded. Lovingly detailed in Max Landis’ 150-page dissertation, CRJ is an artist of darkness and surprising depth. After expelling the rest of the E•MO•TION-era work with a B-sides album, Jepsen dropped a single early in the year that snatched wigs the world over. The fact that a single song invigorated me this much and made such relative waves only excited me more for her next album. Hopefully this time the world sees the light and comes back around to the Canadian goddess because she deserves to be listed up there with the greats.

Phoebe Bridgers

Finally, for the sake of some kind of bookending, Phoebe Bridgers is an LA-based indie folk artist much akin to Julien Baker. Despite a disarmingly-goofy social media presence, Bridgers’ Big Lebowski-referencing debut Stranger in the Alps is a heart-breaking, foggy, first-person recounting of individual experiences. The album has already received co-signs from Hayley Williams, Tiger’s Jaw, Julien Baker, Best Coast, Dan Campbell, and Grimes. She’s currently tearing it up on a tour War on Drugs, but I expect this album to show up on a good number of end of the year lists. If you want to hear a unique collection of stories on heartbreak, you’d be hard-pressed to do better than Stranger.

Additional Artists

This ended up being way longer than I originally intended, but the above albums are some of my favorites this year. There have also been some other great releases this year that I just don’t have the time, knowledge, or words to detail as lovingly as the ones above, so for the sake of keeping this relatively brief, here’s a quick-hit version of some other kickass female artists who dropped some great albums this year.

• Beach House: The dream pop duo follow up their excellent 2015releases with a collection of equally-listless B-Sides and Rarities.

• Feist: After a fluke pop megahit in 2007, Feist hits a new artistic peak with the guitar-drenched Pleasure.

• Cayetana: The self-described “boisterous Philadelphians” released a sophomore album of 12 punchy rock tracks.

• Banks: After an alarmingly-sexy 2014 debut, Banks seems to be ramping up to a new album after dropping two steamy singles this year.

• Jetty Bones: Clearly-delivered indie rock that transparently showcases the struggles of one person’s life.

• Mannequin Pussy: The band revisits their blistering 2016 breakthrough album in an explosive 14-minute Audiotree Session.

• The Japanese House: On her fourth EP as Japanese House, Amber Bain serves up four hypnotic synth-drenched love songs.

• Daddy Issues: Grunge isn’t dead, it’s just been lying dormant until bands like Daddy Issues arrived to bring it back to life.

• Who Is She?: A Seattle-based supergroup consisting of members from Lisa Prank, Chastity Belt, and Tacocat who combine powers to create infectious pop-punk songs dripping with 2000’s-era nostalgia.

• Torres: Three Futures is a mature and careful album that finds Mackenzie Scott at the helm, steering the ship more sure of herself than ever.

• Charly Bliss: On Guppy Charly Bliss is a charming mess of broken humanity featuring the unmistakable vocal stylings of Eva Hendricks.

• Alvvays: The antisocial Canadian indie group utilizes fuzzed-out instrumentals and rich layering to create an enchanting and memorable indie experience.

• Small Circle: backed by three members of Sorority Noise, this Marissa D’elia-fronted emo supergroup effortlessly created one of the years most hard-hitting and emotionally-impactful albums.

• Marika Hackman: I’m Not Your Man begins with the welcoming sound of laughter and immediately launches into a tale of infidelity. The rest unfolds from there.

• Sheer Mag: This summer, the jangly and soulful rock group finally unleashed their long-awaited full-length Need to Feel Your Love.

And

There you have it. You take the good with the bad, and for all that 2017 has taken from us, it’s amazing to see artists and creators like the ones above adding some beauty to the world. Theirs is a perspective that’s sought, appreciated, loved, and needed now more than ever.