Are all the albums represented here of a high enough quality to even bother with? I think so. Even the lower stretches of the list (a.k.a. Loserville) contain at least a song or two to recommend it, or a person or two in the band interesting enough to follow regardless of the crap quality of their current output.

For all the curmudgeons out there who like to rant and rave about how music will never be the same again, that there just aren’t good records being made anymore, etc., I’ll say what I’ve always said—if you’re willing to put in the time, you will find all the great music out there. And there is always great music out there. 2008, for example—a stellar year, during which a tremendous amount of jaw-dropping sonic excellence was unleashed.

My recommendation, if you’re having trouble locating all the stones promising enough to turn over to find the good stuff—just buy a subscription to Mojo magazine, and visit two websites every day. The first, www.pitchforkmedia.com, will keep you up-to-date, and then http://chrisgoesrocks.blogspot.com/ will aid in your discovery of vast bucketloads of obscure old stuff.

Happy new year, and be sure to write me at hooligandave@earthlink.net to argue your flimsy case about how I’m so off-base and misguided about this, that, or the other thing.

All my best,

Dave Gebroe

P.S. If you think my musical taste and propensity for uber-opinionated psychobabble would lend itself especially well to emotionally cathartic horror filmmaking, you’d be right! Check out my movie “Zombie Honeymoon,” or just visit the website at www.zombiehoneymoon.com.

101. The Raconteurs – Consolers Of The Lonely – It’s one thing to knowingly slum it in a bloated supergroup side project, but it’s another thing entirely to have yourself convinced it’s bigger ‘n’ badder than your main gig. Please, wake up—Brendan, you’re far, far better off movin’ on with your shit-kicker solo career…and Jack, you need to get back by Meg’s side lickety-split instead of trying so goddamn hard to convince the world that The Raconteurs is the only way for you to fly through the air with the greatest of ease. Save me the self-aggrandizing twaddle, you guys are duller than watching flies fuck. And I thought Broken Boy Soldiers was a disappointment—at least that had four fewer songs on it. Consolers Of The Lonely just doesn’t end. On and on it goes, packed to the gills with cock rock cast-offs of the lowest order. These guys are a poor man’s Blind Faith…and come on, Blind Faith was just a poor man’s Traffic.

100. Pink – Funhouse – Let’s get this straight—divorce might be a fantastic kick-start for an artist’s muse, but Pink ain’t no Robert Zimmerman. Blood On The Tracks will always be the signpost against which all divorce therapy records are measured, and Funhouse falls way short of the mark. I like Pink, but from the moment I heard the single “So What,” I was underwhelmed. It sounded to me like she was posturing, reaching frantically for the rock sneer mask to cover up the real goods. The problem is that the record vacillates mainly between nose-thumbing “I don’t need you” brattiness and saccharine, lost-love balladry…and neither style’s all that engaging. There are flashes of Pinkish honesty worth sticking in there for, but this is probably my least favorite album of hers since her generic debut.

99. Conor Oberst – “The New Dylan.” It’s a charge leveled at many since the early 1970s, most notably Bruce Springsteen, Jackson Browne, Randy Newman, and Mickey Dolenz. (Just wanted to make sure you were paying attention.) It’s a tough label to be saddled with, seeing as most of those it’s slapped onto might’ve been inspired by Dylan’s lyrical virtuosity but are truly trying to do their own thing. Conor Oberst, on his self-titled yawn-fest of a solo album, sounds like he’s desperately gunning for the comparison. “Cape Canaveral,” conversely, kicks the record off with considerable finesse and originality, one of his best songs. Then comes “Sausalito,” which ain’t too bad, either. The rest of the record craps the bed. And to fellow rock geek Rick Kronberg, who’s been on a mission all year to win me over to the joys of this album, pining at me incessantly to continue giving it one more chance after another, all I can say is…ding dong, you’re wrong.

98. Cut Copy – In Ghost Colours – Gay indie disco for the hipster set. If all that Swedish pop flooding the market gives you a boner, you might find it inspirational pumping iron to this rump-shaker. Me, I like it but find it a little too limp-wristed for my tastes. Closing my eyes, I drift back to the halcyon days of the original Police Academy, and can thoroughly picture this LP rocking the dance floor at the Blue Oyster Bar.

97. The Black Keys – Attack And Release – The Black Keys’ “Delta blues goes to Michigan” sound doesn’t leave much room for growth. But that’s the whole point. That rugged shit-kicker spirit’s given a trial run through the wash with Attack And Release, not only their first album recorded in an actual studio, but with ears du jour Danger Mouse in the producer’s seat. The result isn’t really so far removed from what we’ve become used to, with little touches here and there setting it apart from the Black Keys norm—the keyboard pulses in the chorus of “Strange Times,” the ghostly chorale wails on “Psychotic Girl, “Same Old Thing”’s Tull-like flute salute. Although a solid rock record, there’s nothing you can’t find elsewhere in the Black Keys canon done a little better. And let’s be honest, did anyone care about these guys taking the next step forward in their sound? The Black Keys don’t need a producer, they barely even need a microphone. In fact, I recommend they record their next LP over the phone via voicemail.

96. The Ting Tings – We Started Nothing – Nanny nanny poo poo! Or so sneer these pre-school punks, whose snotty, gum-smacking defiance feels so handy-dandily pre-packaged it may as well be stamped with a sell-by date. There are elements of Blondie, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Lily Allen, Pink, and others, but what this really boils down to is a couple great singles (“Great DJ” and “Shut Up And Let Me Go”) amongst a scattershot clutch of album tracks that are fine but don’t really add anything to the basic template. Hey, I enjoy a good time as much as the next guy…but like a one-night stand with spoiled brat, I may get my rocks off but I ain’t sticking around for seconds.

95. Boris – Smile (Japanese version) – This distortion-crazed Japanese outfit’s 2006 LP Pink stands as one of the most frothed-at-the-mouth blasts of metal fury I’ve ever heard. Focused and intense, if you put your face up to your speakers the music practically blows back your hair like gusts of black wind. With Smile, they sound like they’re having fun dicking around a bit, trying their hand at different styles that don’t quite work as well. It’s all pretty intriguing (down to the fact that there are American and Japanese versions of the LP, both entirely dissimilar—this review pertains to the latter version, which is supposedly superior), but in the end I couldn’t really tell you what this thing is or how it’s supposed to make me feel. But hell, I’ll feed on the tossed-off goofs of a great band over the straight-faced attempts of a mediocre one any day.

94. Destroyer – Trouble In Dreams – Dan Bejar’s that strangest of breed, a dude I want so desperately to despise but who manages to win me over each time out. And thus the process repeats itself with Trouble In Dreams, yet another sprawling epic of pompous grandeur. How pompous, you ask? How’s a song title like “Shooting Rockets (From The Desk Of Night’s Ape)” grab you? 2006’s Destroyer’s Rubies was unquestionably Bejar’s masterpiece. This one’s lacking immediacy and consistency (i.e., the songs aren’t really there), but it has its moments. More specifically, the first half coasts along nicely, then it loses its way and falls apart. And that’s just fine by me, since it sets the stage for me to hate him and be proven wrong yet again.

93. The Clientele – That Night, A Forest Grew EP – Please, dear God…don’t let these mopey Brits follow their shuck-and-jive dance muse. I know their musical soul’s a war-torn battleground right now, what with their 4/4 paisley popcraft, four-eyes nerd disco, and 5am loner-on-the-sidewalk balladry. God, you and I both know the 5am thing is what they kick ass at, and we’ll settle for the paisley thing in a pinch. But in the name of all that’s sacred, please help guide them away from that pocket protector dancefloor boogaloo and steer them toward that precious, Strange Geometry-style ear candy. Sure, this is just some stopgap schedule-plugger release, but what if it’s a dry run for some kind of Studio-54-goes-indie brass ring grab? Please, no. God, please give them ample reminder of what they have to be sullen about, and make them fully aware of their hip-shake ineptitude. Amen.

92. Inara George & Van Dyke Parks – An Invitation – Sickly sweet and dripping with over-elaborated orchestration, Inara’s gorgeous voice is here relegated to naught more than a gentle tweet adrift in an overgrown forest, swallowed whole by the pompous, noodly grandiosity of Van Dyke Parks’ unrestrained charts. In fact, I can barely discern one song from another—it’s all of a piece, a compendium of wannabe standards pleading for your serious critical approval. Although well-crafted, it’s emotionally staid and in the end not much more than a curiosity. George’s songwriting is far better served in a subtler, band-oriented context (see her 2004 solo debut All Rise for proof), and now that she’s proven once and for all that she’s capable of capital-A Art, maybe she can drop the pretenses and get on with it.

91. Of Montreal – Skeletal Lamping – Writing a review presupposes that one actually has an opinion to express. How in the hell am I supposed to have any viewpoint whatsoever on Skeletal Lamping? I’d be scared to meet anyone who knew how they actually felt about this record. Unquestionably an interesting songwriter, this time out front man Kevin Barnes has decided to fashion some sort of schizophrenic concept album with alter-ego Georgie Fruit as its protagonist. Who’s Georgie Fruit, you ask? Why, a funky black transsexual rock star. Let’s just say that Georgie makes Ziggy Stardust look like Norman Rockwell in comparison. The main problem with the record is it doesn’t sit still long enough to allow a pair of ears to deal with it. Every few seconds it drops a melodic thread and zips off to pick up another, and then another, and then another. Its impatience becomes wearing very, very quickly, and its “Jesus Christ Superstar goes disco” sound bars any recognizable emotion from working its way into the music. In the end, Skeletal Lamping’s coked-out futurism makes Jefferson Starship’s late-Seventies work sound heartfelt in comparison.

90. Gnarls Barkley – The Odd Couple – A more-or-less unremarkable follow-up to their terrific 2006 debut, the best thing to come out of The Odd Couple is the insane video for “Who’s Gonna Save My Soul?” If you haven’t already seen this, you have to check it out immediately: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kTVSygNKAsg. Otherwise, although not a bad record, this just barely rises above sophomore-slump status. Alright, already, we get it—you guys are cartoonishly schizophrenic, too-cool-for-school R&B dudes who dig dressing up as famous pop culture duos. Since you already caught our attention with your shtick the first time around, how about dropping it and showing us what else you’ve got up your sleeve?

89. Portishead – Third – Oooooh, creepy! It’s been eleven years since this once thoroughly trip-hopped collective released their last LP, and they’ve returned with a whole new sound. It’s freaked-out therapy music for hardcore ex-tweakers, anxiety-ridden soundtracks for mental horror movies. When it’s at its best (“The Rip,” “Hunter”), its exquisite dementia is profoundly moving. Third could easily have been something far different, a cash-in on a trend they helped to usher in. So…for such a bold redux this deep into the game, these morbidly depressed brood-hounds get a big, gleaming gold star.

88. Bohren Und Der Club Of Gore – Dolores – This German instrumental collective has described their sound as an “unholy ambient mixture of slow jazz ballads, Black Sabbath doom and down tuned Autopsy sounds.” If that makes you vomit a little in your mouth, you’re reading the wrong “Best of 2008” list, because this record not only got under my skin, but laid eggs there (which in turn hatched little larvae that act as antennae keeping me tuned in to the super-hip sounds of 2008). Dolores is just the right parts soothing and disturbing, and begs to be appropriated for an upcoming Italian giallo soundtrack. I’m definitely hearing a little Badalamenti and Herrmann in there, and more than a touch of class in their demonic brand of mysterioso.

87. Stereolab – Chemical Chords – Sometime around ten years ago (circa Dots And Loops), the towering, once-great behemoth of krautrock-and-lounge-inspired greatness entitled Stereolab went on a sort of autopilot. On the plus side, I’m not sure if they’re even capable of making a bad record. Unfortunately, I’m not sure a great one’s coming down the pike anytime soon, either. It almost feels like their music shows up pre-packaged, blank-faced and prepped to have Marxist lyrics punched into it. Chemical Chords is a bit more animated and pop-friendly than anything they’ve done the past few years—its use of brass and strings, focus on melody, and tight reign on song length give it a more immediate, ear-friendly feel. Stereolab exist in the safe zone, neither alienating nor surprising their fans at every turn, and will never be a great band again if they can’t learn to shake out of that cozy cocoon of self-satisfied contentment. But if they do continue to coast—which my gut tells me they will—they’ll never be less than a good band. And sometimes that’s enough. Well, at least it’ll have to be.

86. Kanye West – 808s And Heartbreak – As far as I’m concerned, anyone this narcissistically full of himself deserves to fail at some point. A little disappointment’ll do you a world of good, and bring you back down to where the little plebeians live. Of course, I would never wish the kind of personal hardship on Kanye that he experienced this year—that’d just be cruel. His Mom died in a plastic surgery mishap, and his engagement fell apart. So he took stock, finally reacting to all the news with a very curious and ballsy move. (Ballsy stupid or ballsy genius? You be the judge.) He headed to the studio to record 808s And Heartbreak, an album of singing by a karaoke level non-singer, belted out entirely through Auto-Tune, over stark, joylessly somber tracks that sound like demos for a scrapped New Order album. Honestly, musically this record is almost completely beside the point. I’m not sure it’s anything I’d even want to hear a second time. But conceptually, I just love the big brass cajones behind it.

85. Lindstrom – Where You Go I Go Too – What if Tangerine Dream had had access to MDMA back in the day? Well, chances are they would’ve powered down their synthesizers and fucked their fan base senseless. And then, chances are, one of their knocked-up groupies would’ve given birth to this rave-crazed motherfucker, who would’ve set to work creating the best dance record of 2008. Grandiose statement, you say? Well, it’s some pretty grandiose music, too.

84. Black Moth Super Rainbow – Drippers EP – This atmospheric stopgap EP keeps up the creeped-out BMSR trademark sound without any real surprises, but if you dug their sinister, analogue-synth-and-vocoder-drenched psychedelic concept album Dandelion Gum, this is just more for you to snack on. And the best track, “Happy Melted City,” is an exciting step in the right direction. I’m not sure how much more mileage these guys will be able to get out of this sound, seeing as their music’s so style-specific as to not need very much of it to make its point, but if this is (hopefully) the last stop before some kind of stylistic shift, then its impact on me hasn’t waned yet. (Better still is band leader Tobacco’s solo LP Fucked Up Friends, also from this year—see below.)

83. Oxford Collapse – Bits – Sub-Pop outfit Oxford Collapse are by no means concerned with re-inventing the wheel. Their first record, Remember The Night Parties, was a wistful glance back at Archers Of Loaf-style grunge pop. With their follow-up Bits, they tighten the screws a little, cutting back on some of the languorous scrappiness of the debut in favor of tight, punchy hooks for the kiddies. And kudos for that decision. Apparently, they entered the studio with thirty song foundations, then improvised on them and whittled the final product down from a double album to a gleaming thirteen-track package. I could have done without the string section on “A Wedding,” but that’s what you get with a band looking to stretch out and prove themselves on their second record. Hey, you gotta take the good with the bad in this rock game.

82. Los Campesinos! – Hold On Now, Youngster… – Los Campesinos! is a rollicking gaggle of passionate indie whippersnappers who reek of “let’s put on a show!” spunk, like if Steve Malkmus had an annoying younger brother who started his own kiddie Pavement. I really dug their 2007 debut EP Sticking Fingers Into Sockets, but honestly a little of this band goes a long way. The best songs here are from the EP, and some of the rest gives me a headache. At times, it sounds like a bunch of infants banging on pots and pans on the kitchen floor. Give these guys some Ritalin, please. Oh yeah, they shat out another (better) album later in 2008, We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed. There’s not enough space left in my iPod to handle a band this prolific. Really, it’s a problem. I might have to take a hit out on them.

81. Santogold – If M.I.A. is steak, Santogold’s a hamburger. Hey, that’s no insult, I love me a burger. Take that daring, almost shocking amalgam of elements that constitute M.I.A.’s patchwork-quilt originality and boil ‘em all down to an easily digestible, radio-friendly formula, and voila! You’ve got yourself Santogold. A dab of dub-lite, a pinch of quasi-reggae, some hiccupy, Madonna-esque yelp-singing—all of it pleasant on the ears, but in need of additional substance to improve its Chinese food-like inability to satiate. The bizarre album cover is indicative of what you’ll hear inside—the artist vomiting gold glitter in your general direction.

80. Annuals – Wet Zoo EP – What’s up with the shitty name, guys? That’s the best you could come up with? That niggling detail notwithstanding, this must be the year of the self-contained stand-alone EP (see Animal Collective’s Water Curses below), because this five-song wham-bang doodle is more varied and satisfying than their solid but fairly undistinguished 2006 debut Be He Me. Especially “Sore,” which does anthemic and melancholic with deft precision. Here’s hoping the next long-player writes a check this band’s butt can cash.

79. MGMT – Oracular Spectacular – Right out of the gate, these kids make you fall for them with “Time To Pretend,” their mission statement magnum opus detailing their devotion to the cliches of rock star success while simultaneously thumbing their noses at it with a self-effacing, prancing-before-the-mirror non-chalance. And the music, produced in widescreen by indie-rock-by-way-of-Queen producer Dave Fridmann, pulsates sickeningly with a smarmily processed coke fiend sparkle. It’s a grand slam on all fronts. Then you’ve got a couple more great songs—“Kids” and the spot-on Ziggy-era Bowie pastiche “Weekend Wars”—and Oracular Spectacular promptly runs disappointingly out of gas. Still, MGMT is definitely a promising new band, if they can only manage to stretch out their inspiration to album length. When I saw them open for Spoon and Beck at the Hollywood Bowl, they walked away with the set of the night after only an abrupt half-hour show. The kids are still alright, ’08.

78. Wire – Object 47 – It’s been a truly welcome renaissance for this still-essential punk band. After releasing their triumvirate of reproach-proof late-Seventies punk/post-punk classics Pink Flag, Chairs Missing, and 154, Wire turned their attention to matters predominantly electronic, disavowing the music that gave them their rise to prominence…and their greatness. Time marched on, until finally the Read & Burn EPs started to appear in 2002. Here was the band as we once knew and loved them, sounding surprisingly revitalized and ready to reclaim their legacy. After three Read & Burn volumes and a 2003 LP (Send) comes Object 47. Right out of the gate, the first track, “One Of Us,” has my vote for best Wire song of the new era. Lugubrious pop-punk thunder with a thudding bass line and hypnotic yo-yo melody, it’s everything I’ve been craving from these dudes since their return. Much of the rest of it’s pretty smack-on as well, although none of it scales heights as dizzying as “One Of Us.” And unfortunately, it does run out of steam toward the end, but hey…it’s not a cynical cash-in exercise or a pathetic punk-rock museum piece, so they’re forgiven.

77. Robert Forster – The Evangelist – This dusky, windswept solo album by former Go-Between Robert Forster is haunted top to bottom with the death of his friend, thirty-year writing partner, and fellow Go-Between Grant McLennan. The track list even includes three magnificent songs written by his friend. It’s a slump-shouldered bummer, to be sure, but a gorgeously fitting epitaph for a songwriter who will definitely be missed. And if you’re asking “The Go-Betweens, who the hell are they?,” then don’t even bother finishing this review—get off your fat ass and procure Liberty Belle And The Black Diamond Express. The Evangelist is the end of an era—an era in which this great band made great music, and did it consistently —and the record strikes an appropriately melancholic tone throughout. But in its slavish insistence on allowing McLennan’s spirit to fully inhabit the album, it’s a celebration, too.

76. Wolf Parade – At Mount Zoomer – An off-road detour after the punch-in-the-face immediacy of 2005’s Apologies To The Queen Mary, consciously “difficult” sophomore LP At Mount Zoomer seems to have been conceived as a grower. Opener “Soldier’s Grin” fakes left with its spirited fist-pumping rock action, but much of the rest veers to the dark side, a seedy neo-prog slog fraught with tweaked-out paranoia. Wolf Parade sounds far too troubled this time out to bother blowing the roof off the sucker. This time around, it’s Dan Boeckner with the upper hand on the songwriting tete-a-tete, as Spencer Krug’s material is a bit more, well…difficult (i.e., lifeless and meandering.) To be honest, I’m not quite sure exactly what to make of this record—I don’t dislike it, but it leaves me a little dissatisfied. That’s mainly because I know how great this band is, and it feels like they’re putzing around in the margins while great work goes undone. And that nags at me, because I prefer great work to a perverse attempt at dodging a sophomore slump. But hey, on the flip side—they certainly didn’t take the easy way out.

75. The Sea & Cake – Car Alarm – Moving away from the electroid monotony of their recent work, with Car Alarm The Sea And Cake make a conscious return to the band spirit of early albums like The Biz and Nassau. Here’s hoping it ain’t too little too late. Since 1997’s masterpiece The Fawn, they’ve been dead set on beating a dead horse, flogging their once-inspired stew of buzzing Casios, skittering muso beats, and Sam Prekop’s somnabulent vocal shadings until that formula wound up bottoming out in inconsequential neo-Seals & Crofts soft rock for indie nerds. Finally, they’ve managed to snap out of an approach that might not have been the best idea over the long haul. And so we get Car Alarm, which doesn’t scale the organic heights of their early work, but is still a step in the right direction. The problem is that although they’re back to playing like a band, the songwriting style hasn’t fully made the leap with the change in instrumentation—they still seem to be writing for the old band. Although not the full return to form I’d love it to be, Car Alarm is still probably their best record this decade.

74. REM – Accelerate – Sometimes something as seemingly inconsequential as your drummer leaving the band can throw you for a loop that’s nearly impossible to recover from. Just ask Stipe, Mills, and Buck—Berry split for a life of country bumpkinhood, and overnight REM became irrelevant. Even worse, they sounded lifeless, uninspired… finished. Aside from “The Great Beyond,” this is the first vital statement from this once-great band since 1996’s New Adventures In Hi-Fi. R.E.M.’s been dragging its diseased, fly-ridden carcass across the collective earscape for way too long. For the moment, they’ve gotten a choke hold on their excesses—no droopy-lidded electronic experiments, no water-treading pop poop. What a relief. The fat’s been trimmed, and so Accelerate cracks like a whip. The stadium-punk sneer on display must be some kind of by-product of kicking yourself in the ass repeatedly until you’ve regained your mojo.

73. Crystal Antlers EP – The sound of a snarling demon-beast throwing itself against the bars of its cage for 24 straight minutes. Crystal Antlers is definitely an heir apparent to the Mudhoney crown (the Mudhoney who was still in the business of pumping out 45s, that is), but capable of even more ferocious leads, produced by some distortion hound who gleefully pins the whole shebang deep in the red. This is the perfect soundtrack to whatever makes you angry. However, if anger isn’t an issue for you…just throw this on. It will be soon enough.

72. Collections Of Colonies Of Bees – Birds – Post-rock and glitch-pop fuck their brains out on this Slinty quartet of instrumental pieces entitled “Flocks” I, II, III, & IV. Alternating between crunchily propulsive, mesmerizingly dreamy, and melodically whistle-worthy, Birds—unlike junk piles of similar work in this vein—is unpretentious, emotionally involving, and well worth the ride.

71. Thao Nguyen & The Get Down Stay Down – We Brave Bee Stings & All – Wistfully jaunty nostalgic childhood pop about such weighty topics as ice cream, sitting at the big kids’ table, and doing cannonball dives. Totally winning from beginning to end, and more mature than the description makes it sound, We Brave Bee Stings And All is one of the most resplendently beautiful, sweetly uncomplicated pleasures of the year.

70. Department Of Eagles – In Ear Park – This trippy, Mad Hatter calliope swirl of a record is a side project of sorts for Grizzly Bear’s Daniel Rossen, who came of age recording songs with his college buddy Fred Nicolaus in Department Of Eagles but then detoured into his main gig. Well, now he’s back with Nicolaus, and their sound has changed immeasurably, enriched considerably by his time tinkering in the pop laboratory with Grizzly Bear. In Ear Park owes more than a cursory tip of the hat to Van Dyke Parks’ Song Cycle and The Beach Boys’ Smile, both for the child-like wonder brought to the arrangements and the barely restrained darkness burbling out from underneath the music. Although not nearly as inspired as either of those records, it reaches its fair share of deliriously giddy highs along the way.

69. My Morning Jacket – Evil Urges – When everyone and their mother’s trying to rip off your sound, what do you do? There are surely worse dilemmas to face—for example, no one giving a crap about what you do—but it’s still a problem, regardless. Band Of Horses, Fleet Foxes, Joe Schmoe & The Moonlight Reverbmongers—it seems like every band around wants that passionate-echo-in-a grain-silo thing goin’ on. And so the originator of the quasi-movement, Jim James of MMJ, has decided it’s time to move on to greener and more dryly produced pastures. And thus we get Evil Urges, a half-step in a new direction, a thoroughly interesting transitional album from a typically great band that doesn’t know yet want it wants to become next but is having all kinds of fun attempting to figure it out. There’s falsetto-crooned soul, Prince-style funk, electro-clowning around, straight-up pop…and that’s just the first four songs! Although it feels like this is only the first step toward a whole other new thing, the band sound like they’re having a blast and the songs are solid enough to support being stylistically dicked around with.

68. Titus Andronicus – The Airing Of Grievances – Just because you’ve named your band after a Shakespeare play doesn’t mean you can’t stoop to kicking in the band with a rousing cry of “Fuck you!” And so Jersey reminds us that not only is it the Garden State, but the land of the thrusted fist. Titus Andronicus is a little bit E Street Band by way of the Pogues—pure, ripping, war cry in the night rock’n’roll passion. It’s that whole busting-outta-the-suburbs-like-our-lives-depended-on-it thing that us NJ cats do so well, given a new lease on life by these sneering punk rock upstarts. As they sing in “Arms Against Atrophy”: “Please don’t whisper sweet nothings in my ear, when the sound of shredding vocal chords is what I want to hear.” Amen to that.

67. Peter Broderick – Home – The charm and awe-inspiring beauty of this heartfelt, melancholic folkie fingerpicker comes from his layering of celestial harmonies. Take, for example, “And It’s Alright,” which begins rather ordinarily as a slump-shouldered, Jose Gonzalez- or Iron & Wine-style thingamajigger, but subtly stacks its tracks one after the other until it develops into an overwhelmingly riveting powerhouse. Home is a small marvel of a record, delivering its pleasures in modest, measured doses until you realize just how beside-the-point it is that this 21-year-old artist is not going after anything original. Why would it possibly matter how original it is if it’s this beautiful?

66. The Dodos – Visiter – The furious, manic intensity in the interplay between acoustic guitar and percussion slaps an immediate, definitive stamp on this San Francisco band. It’s like a speed freak campfire party. For me, the first four songs are the highlight of the record, before it gets into its back-and-forth pattern of epic sprawlers and interlude-style snippets. But it’s all solid, inventive, and a hell of a lot of fun to listen to. Okay, okay, it’s Animal Collective meets The Fugs…you happy now?

65. Vampire Weekend – Pleasant, polite J. Crew pop with a yachting sweater draped around its neck. This is what might happen if The Strokes were locked in a room and forced to listen to Paul Simon’s Graceland blaring on repeat for days on end. Is that a compliment? I don’t know. It’s a nice listen, and I like the album overall, but my gut tells me these snot-nosed preppies will be all but forgotten about within three years. And if I’m wrong, may Ladysmith Black Mambazo track them down, decapitate them, and use their skulls as bongos.

64. Love Is All – A Hundred Things Keep Me Up At Night – Love Is All is in no rush whatsoever. Back in 2005, they released their terrific 30-minute debut LP 9 Times That Same Song. Now, three years later, we’re privileged to pounce upon this, their 32-minute follow-up. It’s a similarly sax-skronking garage hip-shake thang, like a more propulsive X-Ray Spex. Although I generally couldn’t care less about lyrics, what I can hear through the purposely crap-ass production sounds appropriately sophomore-album mature. It’s a bloody good time. And check out that sax freak-out toward the end of “Sea Sick”—outside of free jazz and the Stooges’ “L.A. Blues,” that’s one of the bigger freak-outs I’ve heard in a while. I can’t wait ‘til 2011 for the next one.

63. Los Campesinos! – We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed – Their second release of 2008, and proof positive that Los Campesinos! have started to get a grip on their precocious cutesiness and tone down the sing-song cacophony. Not that I didn’t like Hold On Now, Youngster…, but this is a definite improvement. The songs are tighter, the album shorter, and the impression it leaves more memorable. Worry not, however. Their goofball douchebag aesthetic seems very much intact, as the CD was packaged in some kind of precious, uber-collectible box set that includes a 30-page book with lyrics, a band-made DVD documentary, and a poster. What, no fucking scratch-and-sniff stickers?

62. Wooden Shjips – Volume 1 – Don’t be fooled by the hippie folk connotations of the band name, these guys make unabashed one-note space drone soundtracks for severe brown acid freakouts. Taking a page from the lengthy atonal fuzz workouts of the Spacemen 3, Wooden Shjips’ have collected 35 minutes of early 10” material that works as a stand-alone head-melt extravaganza. Taking drugs to make music to take drugs to, indeed.

61. Robert Pollard – Robert Pollard Is Off To Business – 2008 finds the ex-front man of basement lo-fi gods Guided By Voices still gulping down Song Ex-Lax by the fistful in his quest to shit out maximum tuneage for his gleefully undiscerning fan base. Frankly, it’s exhausting keeping up with the guy, and not because of how much he churns out but because of how little of it’s worth sifting through. Just last year alone, there was an EP, two simultaneously released LPs, and a record from his band The Takeovers. And there’s more, I know there’s more…I just know it. That’s why I’m so relieved to have stumbled upon this beautiful little 10-song diamond, packed as it is with great, classic-style Pollard tunes. I can’t even remember the last time I was actually moved by a song of his, but “The Blondes” is just downright pretty. This is flat-out the best thing he’s released since GBV broke up in 2004. It’s no Bee Thousand—let’s face it, nothing is or ever will be—but it’s a solid collection of tune turds, nonetheless.

60. Azeda Booth – In Flesh Tones – Azeda Booth describes themselves as “an interstellar Japanese blend of post-neo-futurecore pop.” This is whisper-sung ambient pop, super-floaty lullabies aiming to soothe and inspire, built upon skittering percussive flourishes and a 4AD-style gothic aesthetic. Wake up way too early and watch the sun rise to it. Trust me.

59. Elvis Costello & The Imposters – Momofuku – In case anyone hadn’t noticed, Elvis Costello isn’t as good as he used to be. He can still whip out the decent tune or two per record, but the dude’s entered his elder statesman period and looks to be enjoying the coasting process. Now don’t get too excited, but I think his new platter with The Imposters, Momofuku, is probably his best since 1994’s Brutal Youth. It’s not downright amazing or anything, but it’s got the claustrophobic immediacy of the Blood & Chocolate sound, and there’s a real grit to a lot of the material. He’s even re-introduced that classic rinky dink Attractions-style organ sound…possibly to summon the classic Costello venom, who knows? Not all of the material sticks to the ribs, but that which does is meaty enough. Of course, now that he’s back in good form he’ll probably go and record a sequel to The Juliet Letters, the perverse bastard.

58. Shugo Tokumaru – Exit – Mutant, hyperactive Asian pop with the production sheen of Cornelius but a more advanced sense of hook-smarts. Often stunning in its inventiveness, and playful from head to toe, Exit is a spastic freakshow of nursery rhyme lunacy, a Technicolor fingerpainting scrawled by a bedroom prodigy. Opening track “Parachute” is hands-down one of the year’s best songs.

57. Flying Lotus – Los Angeles – I’m no authority on DJ music. But ever since DJ Shadow’s 1996 tour de force of nightmarish alienation Endtroducing, I’ve been on the lookout for something that hits me upside the head with a similarly discomfort-inducing panache. Flying Lotus’s Los Angeles had me at hello. A close cousin, but superior in its achievement, to J Dilla’s Donuts, it’s creepy, paranoid, fraught with old vinyl scratches, and begging you to take drugs to appreciate it. Most crucially, though, it’s a soundtrack to the horror movie that’s playing in your mind as you read this.

56. Evangelicals – The Evening Descends – It seems a bit unnecessarily challenging to settle on The Rocky Horror Picture Show as an inspirational jump-off point when you’ve got bupkiss for a recording budget. That’s why I’ve got to hand it to Evangelicals (what, they couldn’t even afford to stick a “The” in there?)—this is an impressively arranged, grandiose concept album. The melodic psych on display is all done up in big, sweeping, bold colors, giving it a Flaming Lips-style lunacy (both bands hail from Norman, Oklahoma, apparently the musically unhinged capital of the Midwest). The Evening Descends is a lot of fun, actually sounding to me at times—with its dialogue breaks, weird samples, and kitchen-sink production—like Queen’s classic Flash Gordon soundtrack. And since that was my favorite movie when I was nine, you just know this record’s automatic comfort food for my ears.

55. The Hold Steady – Stay Positive – The Hold Steady’s career path has shown a gradual whittling away of their eccentricities, to where they’ve ultimately discovered a comfortable niche crafting elegiac odes to booze-guzzling down by the quarry. Hey, someone’s gotta cover that lyrical terrain, and they are damn good at it. One of America’s most dependable rock-and-roll house bands since their 2004 debut, The Hold Steady’s slightly wearing out their groove on Stay Positive—this is basically part two of Boys And Girls In America, with the inevitable diminished returns that implies. Still, the rockin’ rarely lets up, and even when they’re treading water The Hold Steady are more essential than most bands on the planet. I could do without the harpsichord-happy cautionary tale “One For The Cutters”—not to mention of few of the other facile “band growth” signifiers—but single “Sequestered In Memphis” and several others are stone-cold classics.

54. Blitzen Trapper – Furr – With the release of Blitzen Trapper’s fourth LP Furr (their first for Sub-Pop) comes nostalgic memories of Pavement’s transition from the shockingly innovative scattershot rockers of Slanted & Enchanted to the attenuated, self-conscious classicists bemoaning the onset of “maturity” and “career” with Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain. Such is life, and such is rock. Blitzen Trapper’s breakthrough Wild Mountain Nation was a dazzling hodgepodge of country-western, Pavement, Skynyrd boogie, Flaming Lips psychedelia, and experimental skronk. The band that pumped out that record couldn’t possibly keep all them balls in the air. And of course, with Furr we get the slimmed down, eye-on-the-prize Blitzen Trapper Mk II. This isn’t a bad thing, per se, it’s just that the music’s not as exciting as they’ve proven they’re capable of making it. Like it or not, it’s just the way these things go—a guy like me’s gotta learn acceptance, that’s all. It’s a solid record, something like Dylan’s Basement Tapes run through a Southern rock strainer. I just don’t find myself thinking about it much when it’s not playing. (While you’re at it, make sure to pick up the six-song EP3, also released this year.)

53. The Week That Was – Peter Brewis of Field Music stretches out on this offshoot debut to create an astounding piece of work, crammed full of interlocking, almost prog-like melodic conceits…almost, that is, because prog was rarely this emotionally moving. Check out “The Airport Line,” with its complex orchestration and offbeat percussive pattern. It feels as though it should act as more of a Rube Goldberg device, fascinating for its glimpse into a gear-and-cog-stuffed apparatus, but instead it pulls you in and involves you dramatically. This is jittery, cerebral stuff, like what you might get if Genesis-era Peter Gabriel fronted XTC. And after all’s said and done, it’s better than anything I’ve heard from Field Music. Hey, sometimes when the pressure’s off—and you’re just fucking around, not working—that’s when the real magic happens.

52. Gentlemen Jesse & His Men – Spot-on throwback to the 1970s power-pop scene, shot through with a punk sneer. Although certainly not original by any stretch of the imagination, the songs are terrific, the band maintains a killer vibe throughout, and they manage to capture the spirit of that time better than many of the bands who were doing it back then! If you thought the Exploding Hearts car crash tragedy a few years back was the biggest blow to rock ‘n’ roll since Buddy Holly, Richie Valens, and the Big Bopper went down in ‘59, then I suggest you promptly quit your job, disconnect the phone, and hole up with this album until tinnitus sets in.

51. Abe Vigoda – Skeleton – More rhythmically complex, though slightly inferior, younger cousin to Los Angeles’s No Age. Although both bands share grime-streaked dive club The Smell as their launching pad, No Age have that effortless tossed-off rock god quality about them, while Abe Vigoda try harder to win you over, what with their endless “check us out!” time signature change-ups. But now I’m just being haughty and harumphy, because Skeleton is a punch in the face of raw rock power, and deserves to be heard. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from writing this little old review, it’s that I need to shut the fuck up about what a band is not, and shout from the rooftops in celebration of what they are…especially if what they are is as impressive as what Abe Vigoda is.

50. She & Him – Volume One – This winning combination of actress Zooey Deschanel and indie credibility booster M. Ward is an charming confection that gracefully side-swipes the age-old thespian-turned-rock-star curse. With M. Ward in charge of the instrumentation, the deck’s immediately stacked in its favor…but it’s Deschanel’s classic girl-group-style songs and her unaffected, nasal vocal simplicity that make the record so disarmingly joyous. With the unassuming moniker they’ve chosen, these kids wear their “aw shucks, golly gee!” attitude like a badge. And then, of course—on top of it all—the girl’s as cute as a goddamn button.

49. Glen Campbell – Meet Glen Campbell – As strong a collection of cover tunes as this is, nothing tops the man himself crooning VU’s “Jesus” to me backstage at the Hollywood Bowl this summer. Or actually duetting with him briefly on “Moon’s A Harsh Mistress.” And I can tell you, unadorned and stripped of the sparkling, convince-the-kiddies production, his voice is still angelic as ever. Neatly bypassing the nudge-nudge-wink-wink novelty of a Pat Boone-style genre-leapfrog make-over, this is a straight-faced, expertly navigated set of covers—some obvious (Jackson Browne’s “These Days”), and a couple surprising yet right on the money (The Replacements, Foo Fighters, & VU). Hey, last I checked, gaining a reputation as an alcoholic curmudgeon only earns you stripes in the country/western community. Can I get a witness?

48. The Pop Project – Stars Of Stage And Screen – Holy shit, what an amazing album! This Squeeze-vanilla Detroit combo have perfected a formula of pure pop bliss on their third effort, Stars Of Stage And Screen, and although almost every single track is a little powdered-sugar confection of masterly songcraft, the record has of course sunk without a trace for whatever bizarre reasons govern the music industry. “Never Got The Breaks” addresses this unfairness with God-like melodic aplomb, simultaneously griping about the state of things and demonstrating unequivocally why there’s absolutely not a shred of rhyme or reason behind why one band hits it big and another disappears without a trace. “Fifteen years of drinking beer and losing my hearing, and after all that we never got a break! / Fifteen years of probably never changing our sound and then it turns out…we didn’t have what it takes!” Don’t let The Pop Project fade away—do your part, and discover this great album.

47. The Explorers Club – Freedom Wind – The extent to which you dig this record corresponds directly to how desperately you wish that new music would simply perfect sun-kissed Beach Boys pastiche instead of farming out new territory. From the fake worn-out vinyl indentations on its cover to the gleefully schizoid multi-era carbon copies on display (ranging from the expected mid-sixties heyday idolatry to the less easy-on-the-ear tips of the hat at Carl & The Passions and 15 Big Ones fart-rock territory). Whether this band has an identity outside of aping the many moods of Brian Wilson is still up for debate. But when you’re this adept at mimicry, establishing your own place in the rock canon may just be beside the point.

46. I’m From Barcelona – Who Killed Harry Houdini? – Looking for an easy way to avoid the dreaded sophomore slump? Well, if you were irrepressibly chipper the first time around, simply shovel out the sullen to show us you’re serious. I make fun, yes, but I was truly surprised by how strongly I was drawn to their sour-puss extravaganza Who Killed Harry Houdini? This 30-member strong Swedish band is a fantastic addition to the musical landscape, and even when they frown they sound like they’re having so much fun they can’t help but turn that shit upside down. The best songs here—including “Andy,” “Paper Planes,” and the absolutely bursting-at-the-seams “Mingus”—are as good as anything I’ve heard all year. But remember, you small nation of exuberant, tra-la-la’ing cosmic carolers, it’s perfectly okay to be happy and show it. That in itself can indicate depth. No need to bleak it up to impress.

45. Mercury Rev – Snowflake Midnight – I dug Mercury Rev back when grunge hadn’t yet been reduced to a nostalgic keyword, when they were nothing but a ragged gaggle of Flaming Lips-style upstarts. Then in 1998, with Deserter’s Songs, they gave their old approach the heave-ho and found their audience and the critical community suddenly giving a shit again. Now things have come full circle, and no one gives a shit about Mercury Rev anymore. Not to my knowledge, anyway. Although I’m always curious what they’re up to, there always seems to be some other band a step ahead of ‘em doing it a little bit better. That said, I like Snowflake Midnight. It’s celestial pop, touched with beautiful little nature-obsessed dreamscape details like children laughing and rainfall and the like. Beside most of the tunes being solid, it really holds together as a record. Drifting along in a stoned ambient stupor, Snowflake Midnight gives off the vibe that Mercury Rev’s comfortable enough with their band identity to follow their muse without giving a shit about whether you give a shit.

44. Stephen Malkmus – Real Emotional Trash – For those in the know, Pavement was a more quintessential ‘90s band than Nirvana. Back in the day, everything Stephen Malkmus had a hand in was either jaw-droppingly incredible (their first few albums) or, at the very least, worthy of consideration. That’s why it’s been so grueling to follow his solo career—it almost sounds like he’s doing a quirky Weird Al-style redux of his classic work, squeezing out throwaway novelty tunes for all them erstwhile slacker kids. At last, with Real Emotional Trash, he’s produced a record that doesn’t make me embarrassed to admit that, yes, I’m still a fan. And he’s finally gone and made his guitar god album, to boot. No, it’s not Hendrix or Zep…picture a more gutbucket, cornball version of Built To Spill’s Perfect From Now On and you’ll get some kind of idea what to expect here. It certainly doesn’t have the same kind of biblical import Pavement had, but hey…it’s a good time, and it has a loose, blazing charm that’s been missing from the entirety of Malkmus’s solo career thus far.

43. Koushik – Out My Window – A gauzily seductive psychedelic dreamscape that spends most of its duration caressing you with its soft, hypnagogic touch. Like a less sociopathic, Cialis-infused makeover of Skip Spence’s Oar…but much more appealing than that implies.

42. Robyn – Let’s face it, the Swedes are taking over. At least as far as pop music goes. And leading the charge is this brass-balled pop princess, who somehow winds up reflecting all facets of the pop diamond without compromising a shred of integrity. This is top-notch Top 40 music for anyone who looks down their noses at the stuff. To be fair, Robyn was originally released in 2005 in its home country, but received a US release just this year. It would be worth the price of admission alone for “Konichiwa Bitches,” in my opinion the greatest boasting song of all time. But what separates this record from the pack is that it never stays in one place for too long. After this self-aggrandizing chest-beating, it moves on to criminally catchy love songs (the immaculate “Be Mine!”), Britney-esque radio-friendly fodder, heartfelt balladry, electro-confections…you name it. This is what a great pop album should be, chock full of well-produced, expertly written tunes, but not pandering condescendingly with a middle-finger extended behind its back. Please, for the love of God, Robyn—stick around and show us how it’s done.

41. Vetiver – Thing Of The Past – For my downloading dollar, both the best act of the freak-folk set and the least afflicted by that sub-genre’s “look at me I’m an idiosyncratic weirdo!” syndrome. Thing Of The Past is a step sideways from 2006’s ludicrously beautiful To Find Me Gone, since it is a covers album. But this ain’t no Cat Power sleepwalk. It actually feels like an album of originals, primarily because the songs all slot so comfortably into that sparkling forest-jam Vetiver style. In addition, these are some obscure covers selections. Brilliant choice, that, as it elevates Thing Of The Past above inessential covers LP status and makes it yet another Vetiver must-have.

40. Tobacco – Fucked Up Friends – This bad-trip dance party, vomited forth by the eccentric mastermind behind Black Moth Super Rainbow, leaves me feeling vaguely uncomfortable and paranoid…but hell, I don’t mind, since that is the overriding concept here. The moment I saw the two fascinatingly creepy 1980s vintage-porno-pop-lock-exercise-tape videos that appeared a while back (http://www.pitchforkmedia.com/article/download/44715-videos-tobacco-of-black-moth-super-rainbow-hawker-boat-hairy-candy), I couldn’t wait for this record to come out. If I have one complaint, it’s the sameyness factor—there’s no real deviation from the template once it lurches out of the gate. But that’s a smallish quibble, because if you’re anything like me, and beats and synths alone don’t get you off but a strong dose of back-alley freak-out sounds like it just might wash that concoction down, then yeah…it probably won’t disappoint.

39. School Of Seven Bells – Alpinisms – As we cast a glance back at the long line of Loveless-inspired, ether-float attempts made since Kevin Shields dove headfirst into rock recluse status, it’s plain to see that some have been inspired and worthy (The Fleeting Joys), but much of it’s simply pale pastiche (Ride, anyone?). Now that Kevin’s back in the limelight, what’s the need for hypno-glide drone tones of a non-Shields origin, you ask? Come now, don’t be silly…there’ll always be ample need for hypno-glide drone tones. School Of Seven Bells—a collaboration between On!Air!Library!’s Alejandra & Claudia Deheza and Secret Machines’ Benjamin Curtis—is a dash of MBV, a sprinkle of Stereolab, a hint of Beatles Eastern-trance psych lunacy, and a tribal rhythm swirl, all baked to order. Alpinisms is inventive, and doesn’t always fall back on pilfering its sources. But when it does, such as on gorgeous stand-out “Face To Face On High Places,” it steals so well it simply can’t be blamed for going there. Kevin, man…your 17-year in the making follow-up better be good, because this trio’s on your ass like white on rice.

38. Dungen – 4 – Curbing the psychedelic jam excess of last year’s Tio Bitar, with 4 Dungen have whipped themselves back into fighting shape. There’s more of a focus on songcraft, threaded through with only a couple excerpts of meandering noodling that act more as track links than an excuse to check out entirely. And peep “Maleras Finest,” which sounds to me like a long-lost Vince Guaraldi “Charlie Brown Christmas” outtake. Definitely not what I’ve come to love about or expect from Dungen, but still it’s one of my favorites on the album. All in all, a welcome return to form for this endearingly Swedish-crooning, Sixties-fellating acid casualty outfit, who always struck me as the probable outcome of any one of the Elephant Six bands growing a set of balls and landing Mitch Mitchell on the skins.

37. High Places – A gleefully burbling stewpot of playful nursery rhyme dub, this debut follows on the heels of a slew of incredible singles from 2007. Although those 45s feel somewhat more revelatory and exciting than the record, there’s ample reward to be found in their formal step into the light. It’s fun, carried along by a rubbery, liquid backbeat and stoned double-dutch vocals that suggest Beat Happening taking a stab at deconstructing Sandanista!

36. Raphael Saadiq – The Way I See It – Looks like I’m not alone in thinking that R&B took a sharp nosedive since its Sixties and Seventies heyday. This album so closely mimics the classic Smokey Robinson Motown production sound that it often steps over the line from homage to outright theft. The sharp snare-drum cracks, snappy tambourine hits, Jamerson-style bass grooves, elastic guitar twang…all present and accounted for. The songs are terrific, too, although at times they do inspire me to just cut to the chase and throw on some Smokey. But I wouldn’t be surprised if that was part of Saadiq’s plan—in its flag-waving nostalgia and outright dismissal of modern-day soul melismatics, The Way I See It throws the gauntlet down: old-fashioned = revolutionary.

35. Apollo Sunshine – Shall Noise Upon – Listening to this album’s like tuning in to a free-form radio station from outer space, where pop songcraft’s still king but variety’s the spice of life. Although Shall Noise Upon’s many treasures include pastoral instrumentals, barnstorming rockers, glistening psychedelia, country lopers, mariachi, folk, funk, and R&B, it’s all knocked out by one incredibly talented band. This record is an absolute joy to take in, it doesn’t play by any rules other than its own, and it’s sequenced with such carefree randomness that the tossed-in link tracks become an essential part of the whole. And most crucially, it’s not just a stylistic show-off—they’ve got the songs to back it up. This is definitely one of the most inventive albums of the year.

34. Mudcrutch – They say it’s advisable not to forget the little people after you make it big. Although it took Tom Petty a while—thirty-two years, to be exact—he finally got around to ringing up old bandmates Randall Marsh and Tom Leadon, and asked them to reunite with Heartbreakers Benmont Tench and Mike Campbell and reform Mudcrutch. Flying out to LA in a bid for stardom in the mid-70s, the band splintered when next to nothing wound up happening with them. Cut to all these super-successful years later, and I’ve got to believe it’s something of an expectations-heavy burden to walk into a recording studio to record a Tom Petty album. So he disappears into Mudcrutch, and what do you know? He records his best work in a long time. Much of it sounds like a logical continuation of the Flying Burrito Brothers sound, very relaxed and swingin’ in that Cosmic American music style. The songs are terrific, even the epic ten-minute ballad groover “Crystal River.” Highly recommended, and not just because the superstar charitably threw a bone at the little people. Mudcrutch is straight-up career rejuvenation.

33. David Byrne & Brian Eno – Everything That Happens Will Happen Today – After the brilliant run of Eno-produced Talking Heads records (culminating with the God-like Remain In Light) came the seminal Byrne/Eno LP My Life In The Bush Of Ghosts, which—come on, truth be told—was far more influential than it was listenable. As if to even out the scales, here they’ve created a major-chord melody mikvah reeking of hope and reassurance. Byrne’s sounding better and more assured than he has since the Heads broke up, and Eno’s more far-out tendencies are kept in check by his instinct for a good tune and his desire to pursue the muse of what he calls “electronic gospel.” Bring it on, weirdos.

32. Broken Social Scene Presents Brendan Canning – Something For All Of Us… – The second in the “Broken Social Scene Presents” series, after lead singer Kevin Drew’s fantastic Spirit If… from last year, here’s where BSS bassist Brendan Canning gets his turn. Honestly, I’m not finding much of a difference between a BSS album proper and one of these side project dealies. The band members all play on each others’ stuff, and the songs aren’t much of a departure stylistically from the gutter-sparkle grandeur found on the parent albums. When Canning does stretch out—on the garbage can funk of “Love Is New”—I am most decidedly not a fan. But that’s very much the exception—everything on Something For All Of Us… is exactly that, a cherry-picking foray through the bountiful pleasures of indie rock history. Almost everything on here is fantastic, and kicked down into a lower, more modest gear than Drew’s puffed-chest debut. I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait for their roadies’ side projects to drop.

31. Lambchop – OH (Ohio) – Me, I don’t dig Kurt Wagner for his Curtis Mayfield falsetto impression. Nor do I particularly go gaga for his homosexual country-western ditties. I’m more about his stately-piano-grandeur-with-murmured-vocal thing that he does. Like 2002’s Is A Woman. Or their most recent opus, OH (Ohio), their best album since Is A Woman. If he kept up this style of singer/songwriter cocktail jazz, churning out album after album of the stuff, it’d be just fine by me. After all, it’s where the guy shines. But hey, then he wouldn’t be Kurt Wagner, willfully and obstinately doing whatever the fuck he wants whenever he wants to do it. And then chances are I wouldn’t appreciate records like this one in between the ones that go over my head. So, on second thought…just keep on following your heart, you bastard.

30. Bonnie “Prince” Billy – Lie Down In The Light –I’ve been a massive Will Oldham fan since the beginning. Frankly, the guy had me at “Whoa is me.” But I’ve never been able to roll with his Bonnie “Prince” Billy persona quite as much as I was his work as Palace. Don’t get me wrong, I like pretty much everything he’s done to one degree or another, but Palace was different—so stripped away, so raw and vulnerable, like nothing I’d ever heard before. On some of those songs, it actually sounded like he was going to break down and cry mid-take. His Bonnie work, in comparison, seems to arrive with the edges sanded off. Lie Down In The Light is, for me, the joyous merging of the slick Oldham with the open-scabbed troubadour. It’s the one I’ve been waiting for, and it finally sounds like he’s firing on all cylinders again. Listen to the fireside warmth exuded by “(Keep Eye On) Other’s Gain” or “Where Is The Puzzle?”—this wasn’t anything Oldham was willing to dole out previous to this. It’s a pleasure to hear him so happy, and almost shocking to hear what happens musically when he attempts to actually reach out and embrace his audience.

29. Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds – Dig!!! Lazarus, Dig!!! – These guys have been on a serious roll recently. Although I’m not as big a fan as other big swinging dick critics, I gained a massive appreciation for Nick Cave when I saw him live a couple months back. From the moment they stepped onstage, he and the band were on fucking fire. It was a great show, an effortless demonstration of a still-vital band doing some of its best-ever work (my favorite performance was actually “We Call Upon The Author” from Lazarus). It seems that after the epic 2004 double-album set Abbatoir Blues / The Lyre Of Orpheus, the raw, Stooges-style ass-kicking of the Grinderman project has steered the band in a different direction. Dig!!! Lazarus, Dig!!! is what happens when you put mature, Nuggets-style garage rock and beat poetry in a blender—it’s some hard-edged, back-alley shit, to my ears more inspired and essential than than his critically fellated 2004 work. Next year will make 25 years of Bad Seeds rock chaos, and they’ve never been better.

28. Marnie Stern – This Is it And I Am It And You Are It And So Is That And He Is It And She Is It And It Is It And That Is That – So you don’t believe women can be guitar heroes? And no, the Wilson sisters and Courtney Love don’t count—they’re bona fide rock stars, sure, but would they stand a chance soloing against Steve Vai’s Satan at the end of Ralph Macchio’s Crossroads? I think not. Marnie Stern, on the other hand…man, this girl can shred. Her 2007 debut, In Advance Of The Broken Arm, mainly highlighted that fact, and now that the gauntlet’s been thrown and we’re convinced of her propensity for and mastery of manic pyrotechnics, it’s on the follow-up that she gets to work writing some honest-to-goodness songs. I mean, check out “Transformer” or “Ruler”—they’ve got the flame-throwing fretwork, plus hooks to spare. And “Roads? Where We’re Going We Don’t Need Roads.”—Christ, this woman is a serious talent. Forget the goofy “hey, look at me!” title, the music more than speaks for itself.

27. TV On The Radio – Dear Science, – Blasting right out of the gate with the fist-thru-glass intensity of “Halfway Home,” it’s apparent at the outset that TV On The Radio have managed to harness the firehose-whipping chaos of their 2006 tour de force Return To Cookie Mountain, corralling their dark intensity into something resembling a…no, don’t say it…yes, that’s right, a commercial album! It’s no mean feat for this band to have buffed up their dark voodoo distortion to a discofied sheen, and to have emerged without compromising a shred of their appeal in the process. The peaks on Cookie Mountain still might be more stunningly magisterial, but Dear Science, (yes, the comma’s intentional) is possibly the more consistent record, refusing to bog down in murky asides as it powers to its conclusion.

26. Randy Newman – Harps And Angels – What a shocker. After years and years of plying his trade in the Disney soundtrack filler dumping ground, Randy Newman returns with another of his acid-tongued, sardonic solo classics. Each time he’s released a proper solo record in the past twenty years (there are only two others, 1988’s Land Of Dreams and 1999’s Bad Love), it’s been deemed a “return to form.” Basically, that “form” is the stretch from 1970-1974, when he released 12 Songs, Sail Away, and Good Old Boys. Harps And Angels is the closest he’s come to scaling the Icarus-like heights of those monumental achievements. It’s mainly scathingly funny, but also achingly heartfelt, and there’s not a bad song on it. Trust me, purchase the living shit out of it.

25. Plants And Animals – Parc Avenue – This ambitious Montreal collective makes rootsy pop epics scrounged together from tatters of schizophrenically diverse record collections. Their hearty stew’s composed of an impressive mélange of ingredients—Pavementy guitars, rousing choruses, tastefully orchestrated strings, squalls of bleating saxes, a dash of proggy xylophone raga (that’s right!), and a healthy dose of startling mid-song melodic and tempo change-ups. It’s all here. These guys allow no rules to hem them in. They do what they like if they think it’ll sound good, and their instincts are typically right on the money. Although ambitious in reach, Parc Avenue is homebound in its technology, partially recorded as it was in singer Warren Spicer’s apartment. And in the end, its ragged charm elevates it to sit amongst the more distinguished of this year’s list of Dave Gebroe ear canal seductresses.

24. M83 – Saturdays=Youth – Cast your ears back to a time when Duckie was better known as a movie character than a rubber bath toy, Pac-Man was the hot new game on the scene (and man, did he need him a woman), and the most complex riddle the universe proffered was whether or not Yaz and Yazoo were one and the same. While you’re there, plop this bad boy on the proverbial turntable and wax nostalgic over these melodramatic synthscapes. Not quite as epically astonishing as 2005’s Before The Dawn Heals Us, but it’s not a step back as much as it is a step sideways. Everything they do is BIG, and it all works. Don’t believe me? Check out “Kim & Jessie.” But make sure you have medical coverage first, because you’re going to have your heart yanked right through your colon. Gold star goes to any music that takes you back to a time when that music didn’t even yet exist.

23. Sun Kil Moon – April – It starts and ends with the voice. My friend Rachel thinks Mark Kozelek sings like he’s got a mouth full of marbles. Me, I could listen to the dude sing the phone book and be reduced to a blubbering mess. Although not as stoopidly on-the-money as 2003’s Ghosts Of The Great Highway (my bid for best album of the decade so far, and that’s not hyperbole), Mr. Sadsack’s still up to his old tricks, giving the people what they want and plenty of it—mopey melodies, lyrics fraught with disappointment and regret, and long, lugubrious songs packed wall-to-wall with doleful acoustic guitars. If that sounds like Chinese water torture to you, avoid this at all costs. But if you thought Nick Drake’s Pink Moon LP was just too damn cheery, well…you’ve just found God. (Also check out Mark Kozelek’s 2008 covers set The Finally LP, and incredible book of lyrics giveaway Nights.)

22. Grouper – Dragging A Dead Deer Up A Hill – Super-floaty, ether-drenched driftwood for die-hard Cocteau Twins addicts. Dribs and drabs of sparkling songcraft pokes through what’s mainly a thoroughly soothing classic 4AD mood piece. The thick ripples of glacial reverb dripping from the tunes will engulf you like a warm cocoon and put you under its spell. Don’t fight it—kick back in a hot bath and let it do its trick.

21. Drive-By Truckers – Brighter Than Creation’s Dark – If someone asked me for a Whitman’s Sampler smattering of what The Drive-By Truckers did best, I’d point them in the direction of Brighter Than Creation’s Dark. It’s got a fair amount of weepy, pedal-steel ballads and an equal dose of shit-kicker rockers, and both styles are done to perfection. On top of it all, it’s a double, 19 terrific songs with no filler in sight. After 2006’s overly homogenized A Blessing And A Curse, what they needed was to strip things down and get back to basics, and they did that and then some—this is my favorite Truckers album.

20. Max Tundra – Parallax Error Beheads You –Electro-glitch funk nerd Ben Jacobs has spent the last six years creating the follow-up to his last album. Was it worth the painstaking effort? Love it or hate it, you have to admit it’s impressive. Like a pocket-protector Prince trapped in a Dig Dug machine and suffering from massive ADD, Jacobs’ attention to (every last) detail is almost bafflingly precise. If the music on Parallax Error Beheads You gives you a migraine, then I apologize for having been so convincing in my praise. This one does it for me, though—it’s so full of life, the trial and error of melodic possibility, and the giddiness of solitary creative psychosis. If you’re on the fence, seek out “Which Song,” look me in the eyes, and tell me you’re not frothing at the mouth with an acute case of pop bliss. If this ain’t exactly Lovesexy, it’s also more creatively satisfying than anything the Purple Douchebag’s released in twenty years.

19. Fucked Up – The Chemistry Of Common Life – Who says a punk album need only be the result of an afternoon recording session full of sloppy, three-chord wonders? Not these guys, that’s for fuck sure. The story goes that the band laid down relatively sparse tracks for the record, then went out on tour. During this time, their guitarist and sonic Oz-behind-the-curtain Mike Haliechuk wrote a flurry of additional parts. Upon their return, upwards of seventy guitar tracks were added to each song. So what you have here is, in essence, something like a shoegaze punk record, or what you might’ve wound up with had Phil Spector in his prime produced the Sex Pistols. It’s a balls-to-the-wall insane concept, and it works. What’s that, you no believe me? Check out “Crooked Head”—if that doesn’t rip you to pieces, you’re hopeless.

18. Fennesz – Black Sea – Up until very recently, I would describe Fennesz’s recorded output as interesting, but only rarely emotionally involving. With all that laptop twiddling and electronic glitching goin’ on, it can be a challenge to puncture through the technology and create something that resonates fully. But then came last year’s Cendre, a collaboration with Ryuichi Sakamoto, and Fennesz finally hit it out of the park. As moving a piece of ambient music as I’ve ever heard, it rivals just about anything Eno ever released. And now comes Black Sea, Fennesz’s first solo effort since 2004. Kicking off with a gorgeous duo of pieces totaling 19 minutes, the title track and “The Colour Of Three” are a stunning invocation of wind-swept, transcendentalist mystery. And on and on it goes, the acoustic guitar alternately meshing and sparring with the electronic landscape in mind-bogglingly powerful ways. In a sense, this is the logical endgame of Eno’s music-as-wallpaper concept, as the wallpaper peels itself away and takes over the room. Black Sea is a tremendous work that begs for the foreground.

17. Neil Diamond – Home Before Dark – What a strange sight to see Neil at the Staples Center sandwiching crowd-pleasing wave-inducers like “Sweet Caroline” and “America” between songs from his new Rick Rubin-produced “autumn of my years” head-hanger Home Before Dark. As he sat on a stool crooning such classic couplets of self-doubt such as “Who am I kidding, I’m going nowhere,” the crowd took it as a terrifically convenient opportunity to buy hot dogs and beer, flooding out the exit aisles with great haste. And thus lies the essential conundrum of Neil’s forty year-plus run, a songwriter of substance leading a super-successful career of sequined showmanship. At least you can’t say he hasn’t gotten to have his cake and eat it, too. Home Before Dark’s not quite as triumphantly comeback-y as 12 Songs, but in its defense it’s going for a wholly different result. Much more confessional than that record, the instrumental palette this time out is composed largely of acoustic guitar and piano. It’s loaded with long, meandering treatises on aging and mortality, all of them fantastically melodic and capped off with that indomitably raging trademark Neil spirit. What an unbelievable treat to know that 12 Songs wasn’t just some fluke.

16. The Fireman – Electric Arguments –Paul McCartney’s got an Oscar-winning run as a master thespian in him, I just know it. A bulk of the guy’s best work’s been done when he’s pretending to be someone else. Whether it’s submerging his toweringly inescapable identity as Sergeant Pepper, or splashing around in electronica waters as The Fireman with collaborator Youth, or even pondering the idea of an undercover Beatles tour as “The Ramones” (yes, that’s where that band derived their name), historically when Paul gets out of his own way, he tends to be at his best. (Or, at the very least, his most adventurous.) Maybe that’s why he loves smoking weed so much, since getting out of his own head affords him that all-valuable exit from the burden of being McCartney. And so Electric Arguments is tons better than the creative pants-pissing that was Memory Almost Full, his sole release on the Starbucks Hear Music label. After feigning left with a crapped-diaper “Helter Skelter” retread called “Nothing Too Much Just Out Of Sight” comes a volley of great songs, one after the other, many of them—dare I say it?—actually touched by a bit of that dusty old Beatles magic that’s lain dormant for so long. On top of it all, each of the thirteen songs here were written and recorded in one 24-hour period. You show those whippersnappers how it’s done, Macca.

15. Beck – Modern Guilt – Unquestionably this scientologically scarred manic depressive dance-party runt’s finest work since 2002’s wrist-slitter Sea Change, as Beck has finally stumbled onto a way to present his disco dork persona in a manner that doesn’t instigate narcolepsy. I haven’t truly grooved to any of his Odelay-style knock-offs since Midnite Vultures, but here he’s folded in a patina of psychedelic surf-guitar trippiness that brings his partyman schtick to life. Maybe it’s due to Danger Mouse’s assertive presence behind the boards, although I don’t believe he had a hand in shaping the record’s best tune, the off-kilter Sixties throwback “Chemtrails” (which could actually pass for something as left-field as a Soft Machine cover). Maybe it’s the tossed-off, undeliberated vibe of the thing—what with the short running time, random album cover shot, and unceremonious “oh yeah, by the way…” release style. Whatever it is, Beck sounds inspired here. And as much as I dig the dude, it feels like he’s been sleepwalking through his career for a while now. But Modern Guilt—an elegant synthesis of bummer Beck and the white polyester nerd—is a nice little wake-up call.

14. Sigur Ros – Með suð í eyrum við spilum endalaust – Previous to Með suð blah blah blah, this Icelandic collective was the best excuse going to dim the lights and concentrate solemnly on a candle flicker (or the introspective activity of your choice.) This time around, it sounds like they’re itching to have some fun. Nowhere is that more evident than on lead-off track “Gobbledigook,” which tempers what’s always been precious about Sigur Ros’s stately glacial luminosity with a Mexican jumping bean pop sensibility. The first half of the record explores this possibility, and then they lapse back into safe territory with the rest. It’s a magnificent piece of work, as is everything they’ve done, but it’s this first half that provides the bulk of the thrills. It actually sounds like they’re—God forbid!—smiling while they’re making this music.

13. Animal Collective – Water Curses EP – You either love these guys or you want to rip their vocal chords outta their necks. I’m in the former camp, and find this four-track EP to be an all-around more fulfilling ride than 2007’s full-length Strawberry Jam. There’s just a touch of slapdash perfection about the way the hyper-caffeinated title track grinds down into the cross-eyed, woozy smear of “Street Flash”, and then floats there dreamily for the remaining two tracks. Although brief, this is one of those self-contained stopgap delights that taunts non-believers with an “even-our-toss-offs-are-pure-genius” smirk. And if you just don’t get it, fret not. Just try again. And again. And don’t stop, until you do.

12. Erykah Badu – New Amerykah Part One (4^th World War) – After a Funkadelic-style introduction, this voodoo soul creeper gets off to a deliberate, low-riding groove from which it never subsides. I am an outspoken non-fan of 98% of today’s soul music—as far as I’m concerned, it’s largely plastic, mechanical, and disposable. New Amerykah Part One (4^th World War) is without a doubt one of the best, most honest, and soul-drenched records I’ve heard in quite some time. With hit single “Honey” gotten out of the way and then buried as a hidden track toward the end, this was obviously not created with chart success in mind (although it did go gold anyway), instead opting for a much deeper personal and cultural truth. I’ve always been a fan of Badu’s gorgeous voice, but here she’s found a musical setting that immerses it in mystery, sometimes actually wading deep into murky, Radiohead-style funk weirdness. When it’s not amazing, it’s always interesting. Apparently, she was working on three records at once when she made this. I can’t wait to hear the rest of the trilogy.

11. Deerhoof – Offend Maggie – Offend Maggie kicks ass. It retains the best elements of Deerhoof’s early experimentalism, folds them in with the gorgeously unexpected pop songcraft of their recent material, and sets the whole thing on fire with sheets of distorted guitar thunder. It’s everything I love about them, and some things I didn’t even know they were capable of. As far as I’m concerned, they’re getting better and better with each record, coming into their own while playing the pop game… on their terms exclusively. And best of all, especially considering how much work goes into creating a record like this, they make it seem effortless. By the way, have I mentioned how much I like them?

10. Deerhunter – Microcastle / Weird Era Cont. – Turning away from the shoegaze drift of their previous work, Deerhunter take steps forward in their development as a major new band with Microcastle, which comes packaged with a bonus album, Weird Era Cont. As if that’s not enough, frontman Bradford Cox also released a record under his Atlas Sound moniker this year. (Seriously, do these guys ever sleep?) Microcastle is informed by a more pronounced lean toward 1950s and 1960s pop songcraft, far more direct in its approach and less concerned with laying on the atmosphere sauce. It’s a collection of psychedelic post-punk treasures that sticks in yer craw, strengthening its grip with each listen. And then you’ve got Weird Era Cont., which is no tossed-off giveaway—in fact, it’s almost as essential as its poppa platter. Sonically finding its home somewhere between the reverb-slathering of their earlier work and Microcastle, it’s more about overall feel. This is just the most impressive band of the year, creating all this quality music and making it sound so damn effortless. They’re a white-gloved bitch-slap to all the snot-nosed industry punks who labor intensively over faceless product (Hi, Axl!), Pro-Tooling the heart and soul out of their multi-tracked moratoriums on all that’s inspiring and gut-level honest about music. Deerhunter is the anti-Chinese Democracy, and thus the very future of the music industry.

9. Atlas Sound – Let The Blind Lead Those Who Can See But Cannot Feel – Atlas Sound is the alias of Deerhunter’s Bradford Cox, 2008’s busiest busybee. Although I’m a fan of their debut Cryptograms, Let The Blind… is the first time I’ve been thoroughly blown away by Cox’s talent. It’s a swirling dreamscape of an album, haunted by Cox’s experiences as a sickly youngster in children’s hospitals. Musically, it’s deliriously emotional, perfectly encapsulating the heightened drama of youthful uncertainty, all glimpsed through a gauzy veil of fevered paranoia. The production’s swathed in a glittery, opiated haze, echoing fragments of memories down sterile, empty hospital corridors like vapor trails, brilliantly conveying the fearful wonder of adolescent discovery. This is no nostalgic look back at childhood—it’s as if it’s straight from the mind of a child. If I have one complaint, it’s that the second half of the record drowns in its own billowy drift, taking the focus off the emotional strength of its compositions. On the whole, though, this is an album, in the classic sense of the term—from its eerie medical journal cover artwork, to the lyrical slant and drenched soundworld within, all of it coheres to reinforce a single impression, powerfully conveyed.

8. The Walkmen – You & Me – Exactly what is it that constitutes “musical maturity?” To me, it’s just short-hand for a once-interesting band attenuating their music lovers’ schizoid buffet approach in a quest for respectability in easier-to-swallow caplet form. In other words, it may be time for me to check out as a fan. But there are exceptions. I always liked The Walkmen, but they never struck me as anything overly special. You & Me sets the record straight. An intimate, patient work that rewards multiple listens, the first thing that struck me was the amount of space allowed to gather in the grooves. The guitars glimmer like twilight under a full moon, and singer Hamilton Leithauser glides along gently on top with a slouched indie croon. Their best album yet, with You & I The Walkmen have down-shifted into a relaxed trust of their own sound that’s afforded them a regal, stately luminance. I guess the “m” word’s not always a death knell, after all.

7. Nada Surf – Lucky – Yet another in a long line of rock-solid pop bands who, if there were any justice in this taste-deprived, lemming-minded world that is Music2008, would be super-famous megastars raking in so much dough from their hit parade barnstorming that they literally wouldn’t have a choice but to blow it on blow. As it stands, they’re still pumping out the Bizarro World blockbusters, and they’re jam-packin’ ‘em with potential singles that for some reason don’t see the light of day on the charts. There isn’t a single bad song here, and more than half of them are great. I figure if a black man can be voted into office, how far-fetched could it be for these guys to get on the radio? I mean come on, people.

6. Fleet Foxes – Sun Giant EP / Fleet Foxes – Appalachian folk-pop dripping with gorgeous sunburst harmonies and blanketed in reverb. First came the Sun Giant EP early in the year (which is slightly more cohesive and powerful than the self-titled LP, and was actually recorded afterwards), and I just could not stop playing the thing. Imagine if Crosby, Stills, and Nash made a group decision to forego the trappings of super-stardom, and instead lived communally in a cabin out in the woods, hunting game, harvesting their own edible and smokeable crops, and perfecting the rich blend of their voices on their porch in the dead of night as the full moon shone down upon them. Yup, that’s Fleet Foxes. If these two releases are any indication of the path they’ll be taking, they’ve got a bright future ahead of them. After all, in the age of the mp3 we’re now in more dire need of an authentic musical experience than ever.

5. Paul Westerberg – 49:00 – Sometimes the most surprising, least expected artists are capable of a comeback. Since the demise of The Replacements back in 1990, Paul Westerberg’s been wanking off and squandering everything that once made him great, dabbling in lyrics and song titles that amounted to nothing more than dumb-ass punnery, and writing music that belonged in a landfill. It’s been eighteen long years of this, and now out of the blue…here it is, his startling return to form. The first thing you’re hit by is the slapdash nature of it all, the lo-fi four-track GBV-esque production style, the fact that there’s a truckload of songs but no track divisions, just one 43 minute, 55 second blob encompassing a messy morass of rockers and ballads that overlap and blend, sometimes with an inspiring lack of finesse. Hell, there are often two songs playing on top of each other. And towards the end, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it medley of classic rock cover fragments that brings the whole thing into sharp focus—this is Westerberg reclaiming what’s his, with nary a glance at the possibility of chart action, and it’s clear now how insane he’s been to deprive us like this in his misguided attempt to pursue his conception of a civilized rocker’s career. To hell with all that, when such a high level of material gets sacrificed in his amorphous bid for respectability, material that’s obviously been stuffed down so long that it winds up exploding out of the poor guy.

4. Brian Wilson – That Lucky Old Sun – Take away the fact that Brian Wilson producing a song cycle as close as is humanly possible to the towering artistic achievement that is Smile at this late stage in the game is a miracle, and you’re left with a record that many who don’t dig Brian with maniacal zeal will dismiss out of hand as a corny retread of past glories. After repeated listenings, what I’m hearing is a deeply moving elegy to his entire life, his career, his departed brothers, Los Angeles…it’s ludicrously happy, troubled, as inventively melodic as he’s been in quite a while, and of course it wouldn’t be a Brian Wilson album without the requisite hokey moments. But even those, ultimately, are forgivable. If you don’t count Smile, it’s his best solo album. Even more importantly, it’s the radiant cherry crowning the sundae of the Los Angeles myth he’s single-handedly spent his entire adult life shaping from the ground up.

3. The Ruby Suns – Sea Lion – If National Geographic commissioned the Nickelodeon Channel to assemble a patchwork quilt sonic collage of world travel, with less of a reliance on historical data than on just how fun and cool it is to explore!, Sea Lion would be the result. With their self-titled, Beach Boys-influenced debut, there was no indication— beyond their inarguable talent at creating immaculate ear candy—that they had a tremendous work like Sea Lion in them. Head Sun Ryan McPhun fashions glorious psych-tinged pop heavily garlanded with world music dibs and dabs, and links it all together with unobtrusively atmospheric field recordings of birds and backstage bric-a-brac picked up along the way. There’s a subtle distinction between bands who opportunistically gut world music of its signifiers, and those too taken with the wondrousness of diversity to consider cynical appropriation. The Ruby Suns firmly fall into the latter camp, and you gotta be one mopey, stone-hearted grump not to be infected by the joyous spirit of Sea Lion. P.S. If you dig this, be sure to check out their 2007 EP Lichen Ears. It was recorded around the same time as Sea Lion, and it’s just more of the same.

2. No Age – Nouns – Step aside White Stripes and Black Keys…just how is it possible for this kind of racket be made by two people? It doesn’t make any sense, it sounds like a goddamn symphony. This is the best music made in Los Angeles in 2008—these guys showed some serious promise with 2007’s Weirdo Rippers, but this LP’s on a completely different level. The noise is relentlessly brutal, but also beautifully transcendent, pumped full o’ melody, and the tunes are pock-marked with ambient interludes that stagger the pace with great finesse. All in all, a glorious masterpiece of wanton rock’n’roll abandonment.

1. Bon Iver – For Emma, Forever Ago – Everyone’s heard the story, that Justin Vernon broke up with his band and his girlfriend, and trudged up to his dad’s snowed-in cabin out in the Wisconsin wilderness armed with nothing but an acoustic guitar, some modest recording equipment, a shotgun to kill him some dinner, and an inexorable need to express pure musical loss. It’s like what might happen if Lou Barlow woke up out of his 15-year songwriting slump, kicked his early four-track experiments up a few notches, and shrouded the results in gorgeously dejected, spectral ambience. This record is perfect, from beginning to end, and the closer “re: Stacks” is hands-down the best song of the year. And that’s not an opinion—that’s objective.