Music is strange. That something so indescribable exists– something that can make you laugh or cry, remind you with a single note of that late summer evening or that early winter morning– is really quite strange. The task of judging music then, ranking it for its vocals or its acoustics, seems equally as odd, but in a different, more subjective, even superficial way. What are these confines we’ve invented to judge a rhythm or a wailing lyric? What are these tests a song must pass to be deemed as “good” or disregarded as “bad”? The same tune that makes one person throw their head back and belt out the chorus can send another racing frantically for the “off switch.”
Because of such subjectivity, ranking music, to me, has always seemed a bit contrived. With this in mind, I present to you a collection of albums, all from 2014, which, in my humble opinion, should be considered for their quality– not a certain number on some arbitrary scale and certainly not to everyone. It’s not that their vocals are especially appealing to the ear, or that their guitars are all in perfect tune, or that the sound production is notably masterful. It’s just that they make me feel something indescribable. And that’s the real beauty of music.
FOSTER THE PEOPLE: SUPERMODEL
I have been a fan of Foster the People since their 2011 release of Torches, an album that buzzed with unrestrained energy and irresistible rhythms. The band returned in March of 2014 with Supermodel, a more introspective work that grapples with new fame, the pitfalls of a capitalistic culture and the truth behind celebrity. Standouts include “Coming of Age,” a song whose intro notes seem to echo as if underwater, culminating in a chorus that hums of youth, but is balanced with a mature self-awareness, evident in lines like “I’m… too tired to rage.” Also notable is the energetic “Best Friend,” a cacophony of funk that stands as the natural evolution of the inescapably popular “Pumped Up Kicks” with its sugar coated beats that disguise startlingly dark lyrics about the realities of addiction. The album closes with “Fire Escape,” a softer, slower piece in which singer Mark Foster urges, “save yourself, yourself,” a line that perfectly summarizes the band’s growth since their first album. Supermodel reveals a new understanding of self and of the darkness that comes with such an understanding.
THE BLACK KEYS: TURN BLUE
The Black Keys have been around for a long time, captivating audiences with the sheer forces of some of their howling riffs and wailing, bluesy lyrics. In May of last year they released their eighth studio album, which revealed the evolution of their sound, from raw garage rock to a more tempered, at times even psychedelic blend of blues and synth-fueled rhythm. Turn Blue is defined by songs like “Weight of Love,” a haunting piece that begins with hesitant chords that seem to billow like tumbleweeds across empty land before developing into a sharp, echoing riff and finally, into rich, full and thoughtful vocals. This song is followed up by a slower, almost grand ballad, “In Our Prime.” There’s no rush here as singer Dan Auerbach’s vocals hang as an open embrace of pain before the song snaps midway into something reminiscent of the Beatles’ “While My Guitar Gently Weeps,” with enormous, forceful synths and later, electrifying fingerpicking. The album ends with a familiar, feel good tune that demands to be heard atop the whipping wind of the open road. “Gotta Get Away” is the Black Keys of their 2008 work, Attack & Release, as it smashes into a plucky chorus about traveling and women that offers cathartic relief from the slow thoughtfulness of the rest of the album.
ALT-J: THIS IS ALL YOURS
Alt-J’s first album, An Awesome Wave, was something that stuck with me. I had never h
eard anything like it– the intricacy of its rhythms and the texture of its vocals combined to create this almost other-worldly experience, a
psychedelica you could fall into. The band returned this past September with their second studio album, This Is All Yours, and
did not disappoint. There is a mature continuity in this new work, each song echoing and vibrating with a divine energy. In “Nara,” singer Joe Newman’s vocals rise from a deep hum to a wavering pitch over consuming vibrations that seem to resound from some sort of organ, evoking an image of a cavernous church, set aflame with rich music. This is followed by “Every Other Freckle,” that bursts into a living, twisting chorus in which you can hear each instrument rise to move in unison– a shaking, snapping, lurching orchestra that is balanced with vocals that seem to float untouched above. Also notable is “Hunger of the Pine,” a song that begins with a patter of notes that makes you shiver in expectation of whatever is to come. A symphony of string instruments takes flight as vocals deepen and a previously concealed pinning becomes viscerally tangible. Finally, there’s the lightness, the airey bliss of “Warm Foothills.” There’s something so delicate and so untouchably pure about the seamless flow of voices in this song– the tangled, deeply connected call and response that is complimented by soft, golden fingerpicking. It evokes sunlight dancing, the enormous heart of a relationship, a bird in flight, a rising balloon grounded only by a harmony of voices. This song, and the album itself, ultimately lie down to rest in fulfilled peace with a gentle, rain-like pattering of notes.
HOZIER: HOZIER
Irish musician Andrew Hozier-B
yrne erupted onto the international stage this year with his debut album, the eponymous
Hozier. The robust richness of his vocals and his traditional blues style have solidified the twenty-four-year-old singer-songwriter as one of the top breakout artists of the year, defined by a soulfulness that is rare in modern music. His album’s first and best known single, “Take Me to Church,” reveals the depth of this soulfulness, as Hozier’s vocals are a res
ounding homage to the gospel music of old, sliced through with rough, untamed guitar riffs and pervaded by an unadulterated understanding of all that music can be, all that it can truly say. This song is followed by the relentless “Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene,” a swinging, pounding ballad that draws more from garage rock technique with its crackling amps and itching, exploding chords beneath characteristically velvet vocals one can easily sink into. Most notable however, is “Work Song,” a slower piece in which one can feel the resounding vibrations of metallic tracks, salt sweat and rising dust. There’s a seductive element to it all, as Hozier’s vocals carefully rise to higher pitches and then collapse into steady, cavernous rhythms, like the beating heart of music itself.
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