My 50 Favorite Albums of the Decade: 2010-2019

Part of the joy of being one man with a blog and not an important publication is that I don't feel any pressure to make an albums list that contextualizes the decade.  Nobody's reading this, so I don't need to fit anything in because it's "important" or "groundbreaking."  No, this list is only concerned with what "slaps" and "goes hard."  The real criteria was slightly more complicated, but only slightly.  In choosing my favorite albums of the decade, I thought about the records that meant the most to me at the time they came out, but often an album can seem great in the year of its release and then you never return to it.  So I also made sure to give credit to the albums that I returned to most often and the ones that still held up when I did my relistening throughout this year in preparation for this list.

They say that the music somebody listens to in their adolescence is the era that resonates the most with them and for me that's true, because if I had to choose, I'd probably say I enjoyed the music of the 2000s more than I enjoyed what the 2010s had to offer.  But that's not to say I didn't think this was a good music decade.  You could stretch the list you're about to read out to 100 picks and it would still include albums I love.  The early part of the decade saw the bombast of the 2000s give way to sleeker, more electronic based sounds, which led many writers to declare that rock music was dead. But really, it was just that great rock music was coming from different places.  Particularly in the last half of the 2010s, there was a boom of women making excellent DIY, punk, and music indebted to 90s alt-rock.  Meanwhile, as rap became the dominant force in our culture, and pop continued to be embraced more as a genre worthy of serious consideration, both scenes gave us terrific examples of the form.  Music was thriving all around, and it's ultimately a good thing that the wealth is being spread and not coming from the traditional modes of yore.

So let's celebrate all the 2010s had to offer...

The rules: In order to maximize the amount of variety on this list and ensure that certain artists don't clog it up, I've limited myself to one album per act.  If a certain artist made albums under two different projects -- like Julian Casablancas with The Strokes and The Voidz, for example -- they would both be eligible.  For my yearly lists, I usually consider EPs, but for this decade list I didn't really include EPs into consideration.  There is one exception, but that EP feels so massive and made such a splash that it's basically an album.  And in this day and age, a mixtape is the same thing as an album so naturally those are included.  Other than that, the window of eligibility includes anything released between January 1, 2010 and December 31, 2019.

50 Songs I Liked in 2019

On December 29th, I'll be starting off my end of the year lists with my 20 favorite albums of 2019.  But there's so much great music out there that my album post will only cover a very tiny portion of the stuff that's worth listening to.  So this list is an additional rundown, one that highlights songs from albums that won't be appearing on the top 20 in a few days.  I'm including songs from my five honorable mention albums, so if you see something on here from an album you love, who knows, maybe that album is ranked somewhere between 21 and 25 for me!  Even this doesn't fully cover the quality that the year had to offer, but it's a good representation of what I generally liked this year.

My 20 Favorite Albums of 2016

There were two prevailing narratives in 2016.  The first one, obviously, was the amount of deaths we had from legendary musicians.  David Bowie, Prince, Phife Dawg, Leonard Cohen -- the list goes on.  2016 was a rough year all around, and these deaths didn't help matters, but at least there was comfort in knowing that many of these artists left behind terrific final albums.

The second trend from 2016 is how much consensus there seems to be when it comes to top 10 lists.  Year-end lists can sometimes be a useful tool for finding interesting albums that you may have overlooked in the last 12 months, but take a look at the best-of lists from every major publication and you'll see the same 10-12 albums on almost every single list.  Once you scroll down on this post you'll see that even I fell victim to that, which is a little disappointing, but hey, you can't help what you like.  Still, it's a shame that there were so few surprises in 2016.  From January 1st, it could've been predicted that people like Beyonce, Chance the Rapper, Kanye West, and Radiohead would take the top spots on critics' lists at the end of the year if you were told that they were releasing albums. The only album from a big name artist that seems to be considered a disappointment is Drake's underrated Views.  Poor Drake.

But let's not breeze by the most important bit of news from this year: despite dominating the political sphere, white people are losing when it comes to music.  The last few years have been marked by the larger music community declaring the death of indie rock, and while that hand-wringing feels a little too paranoid, it's hard not to notice that rap and R&B artists are beginning to occupy the critical conversation more and more.  After all, six of the seven artists at the top of Pitchfork's Best of Albums of 2016 list are black, something that would've been unheard of 10 years ago. Eight of the albums on my list are by black artists as well (11 if you count honorable mentions).  So shout out to black people for now.  You've got to imagine the dudes in The National are sitting around plotting their revenge though.

The rules: Due to the constant changing of the way music gets released, anything can be an album for the sake of this list.  You especially have to play fast and loose given the fact that many rap mixtapes function as albums anyway.  So LPs, mixtapes, 40-minute songs, EPs if they're good enough -- they're all albums to me!  If something got released in another country in a previous year, but got an American release this year, it works on a case-by-case basis (although there are no examples of that this year).  Otherwise, the eligibility window is that the album has to have been released between January 1, 2016 and today.  So now with that bit of business out of the way, on to the actual list...

"Surf" is a fascinating sidestep from Chance the Rapper

Chance the Rapper was never going to make Acid Rap 2.  I would have been totally happy with that, since Acid Rap is one of my favorite rap albums of the decade so far, but he's too restless and creative to ever stay in the same place for long.  As he became a breakout star a couple of years ago, it was clear that he had the potential to become the next Kanye West, constantly pushing himself and the boundaries of rap music forward to create works of art that are both brilliant and unexpected.  But it was just as easy to see him becoming the next Andre 3000, remaining a virtuoso talent but seeming uninterested in using it in ways that people want him to.

Surf, the latest release involving Chance the Rapper, finds him more in Andre 3000 mode.  It's not even a Chance album -- it's actually from Donnie Trumpet & The Social Experiment, with Chance serving as just another member of the band.  He sings more often than he raps on Surf, and some songs don't even feature him at all.  The fact that he followed up one of the biggest mixtapes of the last five years with an album where he's reduced to a mere bit player is a fascinating choice, one that may frustrate many fans who were salivating for more from him.  It's akin to Three Stacks only gracing the world with a few feature verses per year and receding back into whatever cave he spends the rest of his time in.

When Chance does live up to his name and decides to rap, it's consistently dazzling.  In the two years since Acid Rap dropped, he's changed his style a little bit.  Gone are the yelps and careening cadences; they've been replaced by a more relaxed, conversational delivery.  Though it may be less volatile, his flow is no less hypnotic.  He's the highlight of every song on which he spits, doling out knotty, hypnotic lines and stopping just as he seems to be hitting his stride.  It's always a little unsatisfying when a verse of his ends before it feels like it should, but you're too happy to have anything in the first place to be too bent out of shape about it.

In place of bars from the man himself is a guest list for the ages.  Chance used his status as rap's hottest prospect to round up all of his new friends, and the result feels like a "We Are the World" combining of powers, with everybody bringing their A-game to the project.  Busta Rhymes sounds more vital than he's sounded in years on "Slip Slide."  Big Sean actually raps on beat on "Wanna Be Cool," and what do you know -- he's actually pretty terrific.  Later, some dweeb named Kyle contributes a verse that would usually be cringeworthy but somehow is kind of charming.  Erykah Badu arrives on "Rememory" like a warm hug.  Other artists like Jeremih, Janelle Monae, and Raury rest deeper in the mix and add texture to the songs.

And it would be a crime to not mention Donnie Trumpet & The Social Experiment, not only because they're ones whose names are on the album, but because their sound is a big reason why this album works so well.  Surf is full of lush, live instrumentation that provides a warm pillow for the rapping and singing to lay on top of.  The short instrumental interludes end up being the weakest parts of the album, but The Social Experiment's contributions on the longer songs are top notch.  "Slip Slide" sounds like an absolute party, while songs like "Windows" and "Just Wait" are murky, dreamy, and beautiful.  By the time the album ends on the gorgeous, full-bodied "Pass the Vibes," you'll wish that every rapper would collaborate with The Social Experiment.

Rap is a genre that doesn't lend itself well to happiness.  It's hard to make joyous rap music without it sounding corny or sappy, but Surf somehow pulls it off.  This is an album about the beauty of collaboration and how much of a miracle it is to be alive.  Basically, it's the most uncool thing on the planet, but it totally doesn't care, which makes it cool in and of itself.  Life is dark and rap can sometimes be even darker, so listening to this feels like the sun coming up over the horizon, letting you know that everything will be okay.  Surf may not be what the world wanted, but it may just be what we need.

My 20 Favorite Albums of 2013

Earlier this year, I wrote about how 2013 was the year of the event album, in that we saw the return of many artists who had been inactive for a long time (My Bloody Valentine, Mazzy Star, Justin Timberlake, Boards of Canada, Daft Punk) and new releases from blockbuster artists (Kanye West, Vampire Weekend).  Elsewhere, music critics wondered whether we were seeing the end of guitar rock in an increasingly synth-based world.  Additionally, I saw many thinkpieces this year about the "Emo Revival," a resurgence of bands making quality emo music (I'll just have to take their word for it).  2013 wasn't a year where you could pin down one overarching narrative; instead, there were many narratives happening at once.  It was the year that indie went pop (Haim, Chvrches), pop went indie (Sky Ferreira, Charli XCX), rap continued to make its steps into a new golden age, etc.

I've often said that I don't consider any year to be a "bad" year for music, but 2013 seemed to be a particularly good one.  Expand my list to a top 30 instead of 20 and every album would still be something I consider great.  I don't know whether it's about a true uptick in quality or an expansion of my tastes, but this was the year where it finally felt like there was too music.  Almost every week had a release I wanted to listen to, and there were some albums that could've been top 20 contenders (Janelle Monae, Blood Orange, Sky Ferreira, Beyonce) but I didn't have the time to give them more than a few listens.

Overall, I'm pretty happy with my list.  I had a tough time figuring out the order -- my #1 and 2 were pretty locked in for most of the year, but after that it's much more of a grab bag -- and these last few weeks have been time for me to relisten to albums and manically switch placements around.  One thing I would've liked is for a little more diversity.  There are more pop and rap releases than there were in previous years (perhaps indie rock IS dying!!!), but these are all albums that you'll see on basically any other Best of the Year list.  Looking for an interesting list?  Well look elsewhere, because this isn't it!  Okay, now on to the actual list (with links included for the highlight songs if there's a Youtube video for it)...

Chance the Rapper's "Acid Rap" is an Early Contender for Album of the Year

Rap is, or at least has lately become, an inherently cold genre.  Built on the foundation of urban ideals, many of the greatest and latest have made a career focusing on songs about running drugs and gunning thugs.  That's not to say that rap music can't be fun anymore, but even so called "fun" or "lavish" music -- the MMG crew or Watch the Throne -- takes on a chilly hedonistic feeling.  Even a rapper like Drake, maybe the first person you'd think of when asked to name a "soft" rapper, explores the cold disconnect between wanting to be genuine while still needing to exude braggadocio.  I can't say that I blame the rap world for retreating back to these default modes of comfort.  After all, making music full of genuine feeling is difficult.  More often than not, artists like J. Cole push platitudes about "the struggle" and just come off as corny.

Perhaps the last popular bastion of warm rap music was Kanye West.  Over the years, he's become so cloistered behind his own wall of ego and self-involvement that it's easy to forget how earnest his music used to be.  Relistening to The College Dropout recently, I was amazed by how frequently moved I was by it.  It's a mildly flawed album with a misstep or two, but it's a work of obvious passion and emotion.  Looking back from a 2013 perspective, it's hard to imagine that album not getting laughed off the face of the Earth.  Yet somehow Kanye weaves themes of family, education, and religion into lush, completely sincere songs that totally work.

If there's anybody to pick up where old-school Kanye West left off, it's the 20 year old Chicago native, Chance the Rapper.  His most recent mixtape, Acid Rap, might be the warmest, most exuberant rap release I've heard since I first listened to The College Dropout in the 7th grade.  That's not to say that it's as sonically layered and exquisitely detailed as Kanye's debut (which itself is not as rich as Late Registration, West's true masterpiece), but Acid Rap is an infectious and whip-smart album loaded with pathos.  His first mixtape, the excellent but scattered 10 Day, was mostly written during a 10 day suspension from high school, and much of his music seems to be filtered through the lens of what it's like to be a black gifted kid (sound familiar?).  However, this latest mixtape is notable for how it also incorporates themes of a city crumbling from violence too.  With the soulful beats filled with horns, woodwinds, and twinkling keyboards even those songs feel full of life.

Contributing to the spark and endless listenability of Acid Rap is the sense of melody that seems to be ingrained in Chance's DNA.  Most rappers couldn't write a good hook if their lives depended on it, but on this mixtape it's almost as if Chance the Rapper can't not write a good hook.  His voice is both his greatest weapon and the biggest potential detractor for new listeners, as he effortlessly moves in and out of rapping and singing, using a giddy yap reminiscent of Lil Wayne.  But even if you're not a big fan of him vocally, lyrically Chance is a force to be reckoned with.  It's so much fun to just follow him down whatever rabbit hole of language he chooses to navigate, spewing out dense phrases like "Chance: acid rapper / soccer hacky sacker / cocky khaki jacket jacker."  Given the nature of the mixtape's title, there are certainly songs about drug use, but even those have a pretty strong emotional core.  Take "Cocoa Butter Kisses," where he nostalgically longs for the days before he smoked weed, when he didn't have to fear his grandmother being ashamed of him.

With just 13 tracks, the mixtape perfectly shows off Chance's wide range of talents.  7 minute sprawler "Pusha Man" does it all in one song, starting off as energetic posturing before transitioning into a more ruminative mediation on the tumultuous Chicago streets.  Opener "Good Ass Job" is resplendent with blaring horns and twisting rhymes, a good introduction to the anything goes attitude of Acid Rap.  A veritable rogue's gallery of rappers appear, with internet favorites like Ab-Soul and Action Bronson offering up verses on the back half.  He even manages to get an entertaining verse from the otherwise generic Childish Gambino and brings Twista out of hiding to deliver a sidewinding sixteen.  Constantly, the mixtape pulls off the balancing act of having contemplative songs like "Lost" and "Acid Rain" right next to jovial potential radio hits like "Juice" and "NaNa."

However, the clear highlight of the album is the penultimate track, "Chain Smoker."  Featuring Chance's signature knack for catchy sing-song rapping and a breezily agile beat, it's a perfect storm of songwriting.  It may very well end up being the song of the year and it certainly contains the most joyous moment I've heard in music in a long time.  After the deceptively catchy chorus finishes, the synths kick in and Chance shouts "This part right here right now right here, this part's my shit / I play it so loud in my car I forget to park my whip."  In that moment, there's no level of distance between the artist and the audience.  It's almost as if he's surprised that he produced something so brilliant, and he loves it just as much as you do.  This is the kind of relatability that makes Chance the Rapper so endearing.  Album closer "Everything's Good (Good Ass Outro)" starts off with a phone conversation with his father, where Chance thanks him for helping him out with funding his music career and it just sounds so genuine.  Then his father says something like "I'm so proud of you.  You don't have to thank me, it's my job to do that" and it struck me as something that my mother would say.  A moment like this specifically affected me in a way that nobody else could identify with, but the joy of Acid Rap is that it's full of these little touches that are bound to mean something to somebody.

Last year when Kendrick Lamar dropped good kid, m.A.A.d. city, everyone went nuts over it and positioned it as a masterpiece that would save rap.  I like the album quite a bit, but it often felt like it was specifically engineered to be a classic.  Between its sprawling length, discursive philosophizing, and interminable skits and interludes, it's easy to become worn down by the "artistic importance" of it all.  On the other hand, this one feels so unassuming, as if it was as easy for Chance to make it as it is to blink, and it's all the more impressive because of that.  Many of the newer rappers that I enjoy don't break into the mainstream, but hopefully this mixtape will put Chance the Rapper on the map, because Acid Rap is the rare rap release that comes around and makes me excited about the genre again.