If you missed part one, catch on up it here. All things considered, it only took me three weeks to finish this, which is impressive considering how unproductive I've been feeling lately. I'll try not to think about the fact that the end of the year is literally right around the corner and there's still a whole boatload of albums in my Spotify library waiting to be heard before then. Why must I do this to myself?!? Anyway, you can find the entire playlist, comprising both parts of the wrap-up for a whopping 25 albums in total, at the end of the post. I sincerely hope even one person other than myself finds some value in it.
Manchester Orchestra is a band that's never fully captivated me but instead floated on the peripherals, a song or two catching my attention here and there. On A Black Mile to the Surface, though, they settle into that dark, expansive, post-rock-leaning emo sound I'm so inexplicably fond of, the end result of which is a cohesive and consistently thrilling full-album experience. It's a concept album set in an old gold mining town beset by troubling, vaguely supernatural occurrences; within this conceit, singer and lyricist Andy Hull navigates themes of home, family, depression, and love. Even if you don't fully tease out the narrative threads, it's an exhilarating musical ride, the driving rock crescendos of tracks like "The Gold," "The Grocery," and "The Silence" tempered by moments of subdued, stripped-down sincerity like "The Parts."
Moses Sumney's superpower is his sensual falsetto, and he wields it with a level of finesse and confidence you would expect of an artist much deeper into their career on his debut album, Aromanticism. Not many singers are capable of making the listener cling for dear life to every last second of a song as instrumentally sparse and melodically subtle as "Doomed," but Sumney transforms it into a hypnotic and chilling highlight. At the same time, his voice easily maintains command of more cluttered soundscapes, as on "Quarrel," a slow-building fusion of harp, piano, guitar, and synth. Most frequently, though, Aromanticism lands somewhere in the middle, finding a comfortable groove in brief, atmospheric R&B mood pieces that slowly but surely invade the listener's brain ("Don't Bother Calling," "Make Out in My Car").
In 2012, Laura Burhenn released her second album under the Mynabirds moniker, Generals, positioning herself as the mouthpiece of a generation who came of age under the Bush administration only to be confronted with the harsh reality of achieving tangible progress after the luster of Obama's nomination wore off. Five years later, she returns to the political realm on Be Here Now, and though the circumstances are different, it feels a lot like deja vu. There are bursts of anger in the gospel-fueled title track and the grungy "Witch Wolf," but Burhenn mostly paints with a more reserved palette this time, her voice weary but not defeated. Still, in the midst of the otherwise sedately pretty ballad "Golden Age," she rallies her force around a biting confession that's all too relatable: "Even I could punch a Nazi in the face."
The dichotomy at play between the cover of English singer-songwriter Nadine Shah's third album and its title, Holiday Destination, speaks to the complications contained therein. Trading in the smooth sultriness of her previous effort, Fast Food, for rough and raucous instrumentation, overtly political lyrics, and bold, confrontational melodies, Shah seems intent on sweeping the rug out from under her listeners' feet, thus creating a sense of discomfiting unease that speaks to the current political environment. Within this framework, she tackles both the universal questions of a world on high alert - "What is there left to inspire us with a fascist in the White House?" - and the personal difficulties of existing as a half-Pakistani woman in post-Brexit England: "All these folk, they think that I'm evil, like I'm the living devil himself."
The National have always been an impressively consistent band, which means a convincing argument could be made for any one of their last four albums being their best. I'm partial to Trouble Will Find Me, probably because it's the one that converted me into a fan, and this year's Sleep Well Beast doesn't veer far off its somberly nuanced path. Initially, this makes it slightly underwhelming. Sure, the cynical rock of "Day I Die" and pretty devastation of "Carin at the Liquor Store" easily resonate, but they also sound a bit like (well-done) retreads of past ideas. Upon further unpacking, though, the album offers subtly new spins on the signature National sound. "Nobody Else Will Be There" and "Dark Side of the Gym" play up their dreamy, romantic side, while "The System Only Dreams in Total Darkness" adds intriguing electronic flourishes.
I'd never listened to Nicole Atkins before, and, for whatever reason, I expected Goodnight Rhonda Lee to be a pleasant but sedate singer-songwriter album. When instead it turned out to sound like a newly-uncovered '70s country gem, comparable to the likes of Dolly, Emmylou, and Loretta, I knew I had to wedge it into the line-up for this post at the last minute. Like the aforementioned women, Atkins has a powerhouse voice, but instead of going all out all the time, she saves it for the most effective moments. Opening one-two punch "A Little Crazy" and "Darkness Falls So Quiet" start unassumingly with soft verses that soon find release in whirlwinds of weeping strings, twangy pedal steel, and lung-emptying vocals. Elsewhere, Atkins interweaves jazzy influences ("Listen Up," "A Night of Serious Drinking") to keep things fresh.
Phoebe Bridgers has the voice of an angel, which she uses to mine the darkest depths of the human psyche. Her debut album, Stranger in the Alps, never shies away from ugliness (albeit presented in a tenderly beautiful package), even when it means magnifying her own fatal flaws beneath a critical microscope lens. On "Funeral," the title occasion prompts her to lament gloomily, "Jesus Christ, I'm so blue all the time," followed by a sobering realization: "I remembered someone's kid is dead." Later, she veils the compulsion to save a crumbling relationship beneath an obsession with serial murderers, asking, "Can the killer in me tame the fire in you?" Yet she saves her most vicious one-liners for others, as on "Motion Sickness," where she quips, "You said when you met me you were bored/And you were in a band when I was born."
When I waxed rhapsodic about Rainer Maria's Long Knives Drawn back in March, I never thought I'd be writing about a new Rainer Maria album in the very same year - especially one that feels as vital as the concise, stark, and gripping S/T. Eleven years after releasing their most commercial effort, Catastrophe Keeps Us Together, the band returns older and wiser, which results in perhaps their harshest, heaviest output yet. S/T's aggressive first single, "Lower Worlds," takes some getting used to; Caithlin De Marrais' voice is twisted into a brutal howl as it battles against clashing guitars. Luckily, though, there's familiarity in "Suicides and Lazy Eyes" and "Forest Mattress," which recall the melodic yet intense Rainer Maria of old. The gauzy, brooding "Hellebore" also maintains the band's long-time trend of surprisingly tender finales.
On Laila's Wisdom, an ambitiously vibrant and varied hip-hop mosaic, Rapsody proves she's more than capable of standing on her own as a compelling and versatile MC. Just compare her explosive delivery on the opening title track to the cheeky playfulness of "Sassy." Despite this, she seems more interested in collaboration, pulling in a multitude of talented singers and rappers not to overshadow her but to equal her. After all, what works well on its own often works even better together. This holds true time and again, from Kendrick Lamar's characteristically killer verse on "Power" to Anderson .Paak's funky chorus assists on "Nobody" and "OooWee" to Amber Navran's soulful murmur on "Jesus Coming." Ultimately, Laila's Wisdom showcases not just Rapsody's lyrical and vocal talents but her impeccable ear as a curator.
To have remained a 21st century Tori Amos fan has also required a willingness to be her biggest critic. Most would agree that her last truly great album was 2002's Scarlet's Walk, and although many considered 2014's Unrepentant Geraldines a partial return to form, it never clicked with me. After so many disappointments, then, Native Invader feels like a massive sigh of relief. It still needs a disclaimer, as many late-era Amos hallmarks - overly-saccharine vocals, her husband's amateur guitar-noodling, sometimes sloppy production - remain. This time, though, the songs are largely fresh enough to overcome this. The dark, icy piano opener "Reindeer King" is a potential all-timer, and experiments that should fall flat ("Up the Creek," a manic electro-pop duet with her daughter; the recitation of periodic elements in "Bang") somehow work.
A standout track on Torres' excellent sophomore LP, Sprinter, "A Proper Polish Welcome," is a brooding, hypnotic examination of sapphic sensuality, a theme upon which Three Futures also fixates. Mackenzie Scott adopts a bold and bawdy persona, which she uses to construct a frank, unflinching language for loving women that has largely been absent from the popular music realm. "I am not a righteous woman/I'm more of an ass man," she proclaims with undeniable swagger. Later, she convinces a fleeing lover to stay by turning her flaws into foreplay, cooing, "I'll make it worth every sleepless night/I'll make it worth every last bite of that bad baby pie." Even her own threats to leave sound like sweet nothings: "You didn't know I saw three futures/One alone and one with you/And one with the love I knew I'd choose."
The World Is a Beautiful Place & I Am No Longer Afraid to Die's Harmlessness was one of my biggest surprises of 2015, in that it made me sit up and pay attention to a band I had previously written off. It was sprawling, mature, and ambitious, which, of course, made it seem impossible to follow up. Always Foreign only partly proves this true: it never reaches its predecessor's heights, but it's enjoyable in its own right as a concise, energetic rock album. Its first half is all synth-fueled pop-punk blasts ("Dillon and Her Son") and barely contained fuck yous ("Faker"), the inter-band drama behind which is too exhausting to detail. The final three songs, though, expansive and ever-changing, are probably the best; even sandwiched between two epics, "Fuzz Minor" stands out for its brutal refrain, "I can't wait until I see you die."
After making a name for herself with two bold EPs, Stridulum and Valusia, in 2010, Zola Jesus pivoted in a more polished and pop-oriented direction to, in my opinion, diminishing returns. However, her latest release, Okovi, finally delivers on her early promise, marrying murky atmosphere and dramatic goth vocals to high-octane choruses and massive synth hooks. The result is dark and insidious, with a range of tempos, textures, and moods that prove Nika Roza Danilova is no one-trick pony. She navigates easily from rhythm-driven showcases for her ferocious howl ("Soak") to lushly orchestrated balladry ("Witness") to pulsing graveyard-meets-dance-floor electronica ("Remains") to cinematic instrumentals ("Half Life"). Throughout, she carries the confidence of a performer fully aware she's at the top of her game.
