The Winter of Mixed Drinks: The Best Music of 2010

Welcome back, one and all! It's been a while, since I've written anything and certainly since anyone wasted any time checking on the site. (That's bound to happen when nearly two thirds of your audience disappear, one to run from an engagement and the other to run into her 90th birthday and a new-found fear of technology.) Not that I blame them. Frankly I haven't had much I felt like saying.

This has been a year of renovation, of rediscovery -- of myself and the criticisms I'd earned in the Great Disintegration, as well as the many flaws I'd unfairly accepted as true in that painful crumble; of the ability to reinforce those areas you knew were your most truest expressions and not your biggest faults, to trust in them again and reconfigure the elements around them, selecting new ones as they appeared while dusting off old ones from the depths of your persona; of the numerous great things around me, be they expressions of art or expressions of sentiment from the people in my life, some old and familiar, some new and exciting. After so many months in the darkness, constantly being told your belief the light would come again soon meant you were ignoring the void's existence and its ultimate return, it was invigorating to see I wasn't alone in my belief. That if delusion and denial were appropriate labels for my behavior, there were dozens of incredible people who shared in my disease and were eager to join rank.

It ended with an explosion and started anew with a blizzard.

Out of the devastation that blast wrought staggered a battered, dazed lad with a broken heart and a spectacular beard. He was followed by a gaggle of the aforementioned afflicted who aimed to help him rebuild and then reconquer the place they'd called home for eight years. And what's resulted in the interim has been a campaign of utter annihilation. Since my last post it has been a barrage of adventure, rejuvenation, and many of the titular mixed drinks, all to the soundtrack you'll find below.

It's been an incredible year, with music to match every mood and situation, which explains the sheer variety below -- there's the heartache and tranquility of the National and the Walkmen; the hopeful swells of the Arcade Fire and the pop joy of Rogue Wave and Guster; the dancehall flamethrowers of Guetta and Deadmau5 and the swagger and soul of the Keys and BRMC. And there's Kanye, which wraps all of that into one amazing package. To be honest, the top six here are really interchangeable. I have listened to each dozens of times over the course of the year and they are all flawless albums.

Some stay in one genre, others span the entire universe, but each delivered any number of devastating moments as they unfurled -- verses that would lay you flat with their poetry or power, melodies that would stick in your head for weeks, if not longer, or moods that would radiate and reverse the orbit of the earth, to say nothing of the course of your day. Their supremacy depends only on your mood at any given moment, and have naturally changed frequently. What I've laid out below is the version as of right now, though.

Each of the six contains the essential elements to a year of rebirth and have provided fuel for that fire throughout, their final order reflecting the restorative power at their core -- heart, soul, serenity, power, swagger, and hope. The remaining choices reflect the myriad shades and variations of these moods, and thus the abundant variety within. One wasn't enough (it rarely is) -- I needed each of these to fully satisfy a particular mood, and frequently hopped among the slot mates to fully satiate myself. Hopefully you'll find the same to be true. Until next time, amici...

The Best of 2010:

1. The National - High Violet: No album so effectively consumed my year, my ears, and my heart as this album did. I fell in love with it instantly and returned to it time and again, constantly finding some new phrase or feeling buried in its depths that spoke to my ever-changing mood. For a band whose last album, the dark masterpiece "Boxer," was so emblematic of my busted engagement and the Great Disintegration, this album was the perfect counterpoint, the soundtrack to remembering who you are and falling in love again. That album was beauty tinged with sadness, a hollowed-out blackness that left you gutshot and weeping. This album is beauty bursting with optimism and light; warm, inviting, and limitless.

There's not a bad track to be found -- from the smoldering opener "Terrible Love" to the wrenching "Vanderlyly Crybaby Geeks," the album has you in its grasp. "Anybody's Ghost" rides along on Bryan Devendorf's spectacular syncopated drumming, "Afraid of Anyone" is an epic swell that builds to the urgent chanting close, and "Runaway" is quiet, furious resilience with singer Matt Berninger spitting emotional lyrics in nearly a whisper. You don't always know what the heck Berninger is singing about (lyrics involving swarms of bees and fears of eating someone's brains turn up), but that doesn't matter. While the meaning may be muted, the sentiment always rings through, like a siren song through the fog. Two perfect examples are "Lemonworld" and "Conversation 16" (the latter of the zombie-like lyric), which showcase the band at its best -- swirling guitars and vocals, propulsive drums, and cryptic lyrics, all subordinate to the unmistakable bursting heart at its core. Beautiful, beautiful stuff, yet again.

2. The Black Keys - Brothers: The two boys from Ohio continue to make one phenomenal album after the other, following on the heels of 2008's best album with another rich with mountains of howling blues, but what's new this time is the soulful sensuality. From the album's falsetto opener "Everlasting Light" to tunes like "Never Give You Up," "She's Long Gone," "Too Afraid to Love You," and "The Only One," there's a softness and flirtatiousness to Dan Auerbach's vocals that wasn't as obvious before behind the wailing guitar. Call it maturity, heartache, or merely aging, but there's an urgent, almost imploring, quality to his voice (and lyrics as well) that shines through and grabs you by the lapels. At times it feels like a Motown doo wop era record, there's so much heartfelt earnestness in his voice. Pat Carney's drumming remains one of the main reasons I daydream about quitting my job and starting another band -- glorious, blistering barrages that make you weak in the knees -- but Auerbach's voice is the soul of the album.

Never is that more evident than on the one-two combo of "Ten Cent Pistol" and "Sinister Kid," which display the band's two killer capabilities and a rock dynamic as old as the hills -- first hit em soft, then hit em hard. The former borrows from the soul side of things, casting a bewitching spell about a woman scorned that sounds like it's 60 years old without sounding dated. The latter is pure blues swagger, propelled by Carney's relentless kick drum and Auerbach's shredding guitar for four minutes of bliss. This is another band that you owe it to yourself to see live, somehow managing to hit heavier than they do on these albums, which practically ignite your speakers as it is. I caught them again at their faux-residence at Lollapalooza (Auerbach or the band have been there four of the last five years) and the memory of that glorious racket stretching out along the skyline with the breeze off the lake still makes me smile, and has all year long.

3. The Walkmen - Lisbon: Hamilton Leithauser and the boys return with what is hands-down the most serene, tranquil album of the year, the sonic equivalent to blissfully floating downstream, bathed in full sunshine. The guitars are crisp, clean, even incandescent, and Leithauser's voice remains a revelation, soaring into the stratosphere with ease. Gone are the shambling days of yore, with the songs that sounded like the band woke up on the floor of the bar and started playing whatever instrument was nearest them. (Their second album will forever remain a favorite for that reason, so perfectly representing what a hangover sounds and feels like.) What's left instead is brilliance, in tone, light, and quality.

Songs like "Angela Surf City," "Juveniles," "Woe is Me," and "Victory" all crackle with energy -- they're sharp, bright, and irresistible, and the image of Leithauser singing them live with his fist clenched like a thrown uppercut is perfect. It's a pose you'll instinctively find yourself striking as you listen to the songs as well. The band balances these up-tempo tunes with the slower gems that form the heart of the album, the ones that hit you right in the stomach and put you at peace. "Stranded" sounds like a sad marching band (what I envision/hope a New Orleans funeral march would sound like before the party started), while "All My Grand Designs" builds to a pair of warm crescendos on the back of Leithauser's haunted croon. Nothing can compare to the album's closing quartet, though. The aptly named "Torch Song," along with "While I Shovel the Snow, "Orange Sunday," and the title track are all slow burning masterpieces, packed with more sexiness and grace than seems possible from the hushed vocals and guitar. These slink out of your speakers and put you out to sea, flat on your back and smiling.

4. Kanye West - My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy: Coming off a year where his impetuousness got him embroiled in yet another round of publicity scrapes and communal backlash, Kanye decided to lay low in the islands and turn his relentless energy inside, plumbing the depths of his scattered impulses to see what he uncovered. And what he's returned with is an absolutely monstrous album -- in size, ambition, scope, and overall quality. This album has a little bit of everything, exploding at different stages like an elaborate firework on the 4th of July -- from the tribal rave of "Lost in the Woods," to the spoken word fury of "Who Will Survive in America;" from the Rihanna-laden club anthem "All of the Lights," to the classic Kanye sped-up soul sample of "Devil in a New Dress." There's even a Chris Rock faux-standup bit that somehow works, to say nothing of the gritty, thumping "Hell of Life," the seismic (and aptly named) "Power," and the heartfelt (and at times heartbreaking) "Blame Game," which shows Kanye at his most unguarded and honest as on his previous album "808s and Heartbreak." (Almost weeping "I can't love you this much" over John Legend's beautiful piano.)

Each captures your ear at different times -- holds it hostage, more aptly -- but none moreso than "Runaway" and "Monster," the album's two absolute juggernauts. The former is a 9+ minute epic singalong to the world's "douchebags" and "assholes" (ie those like Kanye) that still somehow manages to be beautiful and sincere, swelling and shrinking like an engorged python before ending with a Frampton-style vocoder flameout and Kanye's urging a lover to "run away fast as you can." "Monster" is as standard as this album gets, a who's who rap-off with some of the biggest in the game battling over an enormous beat -- Jay-Z, Rick Ross, and 'Ye himself. None hit with more impact than Nicki Minaj, though, who drops a verse that's as incendiary an intro to the general public as Busta in "Scenario" or Snoop in "Deep Cover," raging through personalities and lyrics like a chipper through oak -- if you didn't know her before, you definitely do now. Mark my words, this verse will be talked about for years, and rightfully so.

I know it pains people to say it. The amount of wrangling shown in the various music reviews is gymnastic. But love or hate the public persona, the endless braggadocio, the need for attention and aggravating sense of indignance or aggrievance -- it's all irrelevant. Simply put, there is no one as relentlessly creative in music right now as West, not by a long shot. In other hands such a variety of thoughts and styles could come off as cluttered, cloying, or catastrophic -- every song has numerous guest stars, from rappers, to pop stars, to comedians, spoken word rebels, and indie boner-inducers like Bon Iver. Each song could have failed multiple times over their 5-9 minute lengths from all the dissonant styles packed in, let alone the album as a whole. And yet with Kanye they are a delight - a flawed, over-reaching affair at times, but one that's quickly and consistently redeemed. In a word, pure genius.

5. Black Rebel Motorcycle Club - Beat the Devil's Tattoo: Yet another winner from what remains my favorite go-to rock band -- at turns black, grimy rock, with fuzzed out guitars buzzing around thudding drum beats, and soothing American gospel, the band continues to grow on this its fifth full-length album, comfortably straddling the line between swaggering and soulful. The interplay between Peter Hayes and Robert Turner still dazzles, with their delicate voices dancing over howling walls of guitar, but the addition of new drummer Leah Shapiro seems to have reinvigorated them, taking songs into overdrive with her concussive beats. Take songs like "Mama Taught Me Better" or "Conscience Killer," which are solid songs to begin with before she drives them into fits of rabid frenzy at the end. Same goes for "River Styx," the title track, and "Shadow's Keeper." There's something primal and utterly irresistible about her drumming on this album, which makes you salivate for the band's next offering before this one even closes.

The sweet songs are more poignant as a result -- "Sweet Feeling," "Long Way Down," and "The Toll" all provide soothing, soulful respite from the artillery barrage, but that relief is ephemeral. This is an album built around Shapiro's thunderous backbeat and it was meant to move, charging like a rhino from the African bush. If you've never seen the band live, you owe it to yourself to do so. I caught them again this year and they somehow manage to sound even better in person, roaring through a two hour set and two encores that leaves you feeling invincible. A high-point of the year, built around one of its most continuously enjoyable albums -- throw your devil's horns in the air, this one rawks...

6. Arcade Fire - The Suburbs: For a band as heavily touted as these guys, it would be easy to rush into albums, throwing things together to keep the train rolling and the money flowing in. (***A-Coldplay-choo!*** Excuse me, I had to sneeze...) They are so universally revered in indie circles -- almost messianic, depending on where you're reading -- that they know anything they put out will sell. Thankfully, though, Arcade Fire is not that type of band. They took three years between this album and "Neon Bible" (perhaps not coincidentally the same amount of time they took between their epiphanal debut and that follow-up) in order to get things right. And right they did. These songs bear the distinct mark of extended care -- there's no sense of haste or sloppiness evident. These songs have a depth and gravity that could distort solar systems and are very clearly fully baked.

From the jaunty opener of "The Suburbs" to the playful lilt of "Rococo;" the propulsive rave of "Empty Room" to the stately shuffle of "Suburban War;" the jittery menace of "We Used to Wait" to the fiery "Month of May;" the utter perfection of "City With No Children," which will have you screaming the chorus to the rafters like "No Cars Go" and "Wake Up" of old. There is an urgency and epic swell to the songs that is undeniable. Win Butler's vocals are laden with melancholy and malaise -- at times it sounds like he can barely get his words off the ground they're so weighted with emotion -- but there's a hopefulness to all the songs that bursts through the more you listen. Take "Wasted Hours" and "Deep Blue," which at first blush sound like Butler's adrift in the middle of the ocean, lost with no chance of rescue. The heaviness is palpable, his voice sounding almost defeated, but then that sense of hope and sturdy resilience erupts through, growing with each successive listen. And that's when you understand the magic of this band, one that grows with every day as their songs do with every listen. Fantastic.

7. Rogue Wave - Permalight; Guster - Easy Wonderful; Frightened Rabbit - The Winter of Mixed Drinks: For the growing number of times this year where emotions soared and energy and fun followed close behind, the urge to belt out tunes at the top of one's lungs was often irresistible, and there were no three albums that more consistently let the notes fly than these three, pitch perfect pop gems to a one. Rogue Wave's latest continues the highly melodic, heartfelt sentiments of their previous offerings that keep them one of my favorite little secrets. (Honestly, someday people will figure it out -- I saw them twice this year and both times the venues were half empty.) On songs like "Solitary Gun," "Good Morning (The Future)," "Stars and Stripes," and the title track, the album is a pure blast of sunshine, all exuberant optimism and smiles. While on "Fear Itself," "I'll Never Leave You," and "All That Remains," the delicacy and pristine melody are almost enough to break your heart. And then there's songs like "We Will Make a Song Destroy," which combines both, along with a healthy dose of swagger and menace. (At least as much as bands like Rogue Wave can ever muster.) A beautiful mix of sunny positivity and slightly overcast sadness, this one is a top-to-bottom winner.

Guster's latest continues the themes outlined above (as well as those displayed on their previous albums) and fills another album with pure pop bliss. The band has an incredible knack to create songs that make you feel like you've heard them before, even on first listen; songs that make you want to sing along with them the instant you hear them despite not knowing any of the words. The album's opening salvo of "Architects & Engineers," "Do You Love Me," "The Ocean," and "This Could All Be Yours" are absolute gems, which lead into the stately beauty of "Stay With Me Jesus" before plowing back into the skies again with "Bad Bad World," "What You Call Love," and "That's No Way to Get to Heaven." The sheer joy and happiness these guys effortlessly convey remains impressive and unwavering. A new wrinkle though is the reflectiveness of the lyrics, which has them singing about the events of their twenties and the broader themes of life and death. (Heaven and hell come up numerous times, as do characters reflecting on events 20 years or more in the past). If this is a sign of the band aging, I hope my own maturation and charge into the back end of my third decade is as uplifting, optimistic, and pretty as this.

As for the final leg of this trilogy of the sun/heart, Frightened Rabbit's third offering not only gave me the title for this post and a summary for the year's events, it also gave me no shortage of warmth and joy as I repeatedly explored the album's songs. Fellow Scotsmen (albeit from Glasgow), these guys effectively walk the line between uplifting, heartfelt sentiment without falling prey to cliche or cheese and are yet another well-kept secret. (Seeing them live at Lollapalooza this year, five feet from the stage in an area smaller than my backyard growing up, remains one of my favorite memories from the year and almost like a spiritual event.) Songs like "Swim Until You Can't See Land," "The Loneliness and the Scream," "The Wrestle," and "Not Miserable" all build to exhilarating crescendos, with lead singer Scott Hutchison striking a balance between earnestness and exuberance, but nothing is better than "Living In Colour." It's a song of such uplifting, unbridled awesomeness it almost doesn't seem fair, mixing the band's playful lyrics, great melody, and big beating heart into just under four minutes of perfection. The title to my year and the soundtrack to many of my favorite moments, this song is everything I hope to remain, pure hope and optimism in spite of everything around.

8. David Guetta - One Love; Deadmau5 - 4x4=12: In a year where dancing returned as as steadfast a part of the night as sleeping and dreaming for me, no album packed more power than Guetta's to start a fire on the dancefloor. From gigantic radio hits like "Sexy Bitch" and "Memories," which became an official anthem for the year, the album is overflowing with songs that inspired no shortage of solo hotel room raves and full on club bangers. "Gettin Over," "On the Dancefloor," and the Kelly Rowland trilogy were all undeniable, with beats that could bludgeon even the most belligerent body into motion, but none were more exhilaratingly lethal than "I Wanna Go Crazy." (The album's other much visited anthem...) Proving once again the best DJs always come from France, Guetta and his album radiate Parisian sex and cool. Guetta had a summer residency in Ibiza this year, spinning every single night until the wee hours of the morning, and with beats this consistently beguiling and irresistible, it's easy to see why. Makes you want to quit your job and move to Spain, (if he hasn't returned to France)...

Just as Guetta's album was beginning to show signs of fatigue from overuse, Deadmau5 rode to the rescue and reinvigorated things again, starting yet another round of binge dancing for the final few months of the year. Instead of being a collection of killer singles like Guetta's, Deadmau5 comes in with a traditional DJ set that captivates and controls for its entire 69 minutes, building to some hair-raising highs. Instrumentals like the album opener "Some Chords" warm things up, establishing the push and pull nicely before dropping into the blazing "Sofi Needs a Ladder," which features vocalist Sofia "Sofi" Toufa on its near seven minute spree. The vocals then fall back into silence for the next 35-40 minutes, resuming the instrumental destruction until the two penultimate songs, the haunting "Raise Your Weapon" and the jittery, taut "One Trick Pony." The album shows not only Mau5's technical skill and sonic range, but hints at the ecstasy his live shows offer. Seeing him two years ago at Lolla was my first taste of his talent, and this latest album guarantees it won't be my last.

9. M.I.A. - Maya; Sleigh Bells - Treats; UNKLE - Where Did the Night Fall: These are the three that defy convention; that defy easy description. Part rock, part dance, part spaced-out atmospherics, these highlight the diversity (some would say schizophrenia) of my moods this year. M.I.A.'s latest lacks the undeniable devastation that wrecked so many minds and dancehalls on "Kala," but makes up for that deficiency with one of the most wide-ranging, rewarding albums of the year, one that takes months to fully reveal itself and sink in. There are the immediately accessible songs that open the album like "Steppin Up," "Xxxo," and "Tekqilla," which worm into your brain like a parasite and again showcase M.I.A.'s remarkably unique beats. Outside of maybe Kanye, nobody has more consistently irresistible, unusual beats than M.I.A. -- nobody sounds even remotely like her.

And then there are the songs on the fringes that take so long to reveal themselves -- "It Takes a Muscle," "Tell Me Why," and "Space," for example. The contrast between these and the aforementioned songs -- as well as the searing "Born Free" and "Meds and Feds" (which takes a killer riff from Sleigh Bells and somehow manages to improve upon it, turning it into one of the most bludgeoning, primal beats of the year) -- is so sharp that these initially come off as flimsy and weak. With a little time, though, they come to be seen for what they really are -- the album's sweet, beating heart, the honest, defenseless core that lies behind all of M.I.A.'s prickly, snarling defenses.

Sleigh Bells' debut is a mindfuck of the highest order, a 32 minute bombardment that will leave you a bloodied, confused mess by its conclusion. ("What the fuck WAS that?!") Part sugary pop, part eviscerating punk, part I-don't-know-what, this is DIY music at its best -- gloriously distorted guitars, thunderous beats, and sweet, simple vocals (supplemented at times by spine-tingling shrieks), this sounds like something you could potentially have made in your bedroom. (If you were wickedly, wickedly talented, that is.) "Tell Em," "Kids," and "Infinity Guitars" hit with the force of a roundhouse to the face, while "Rachel" and "Rill Rill" provide the counterbalance, the soft, sweet voice drawing you back to consciousness while you lay in a quivering pile on the concrete. "A/B Machines" is the pinnacle of what they can do, though -- throbbing guitar riffs and a gigantic beat piled on top of nonsensical lyrics that nonetheless get stuck in your head for hours before building to lead singer Alexis Krauss' battle cry scream that sets the pandemonium loose once and for all. An absolutely awesome debut that hopefully is just a sign of things to come -- you gotta think if you're getting sampled by M.I.A. (as on the closing titular cut "Treats") you're on the right track, though...

The last of the indescribables is UNKLE's latest, which puts a little more distance between their electro past and this offering, a mix of more traditional Britpop-style songs played by bands and instruments instead of machines. (Though all still with the slightly eerie UNKLE finish.) It's a mix of disparate vocalists and styles, each song a new combination and flavor, but somehow hangs together as a cohesive whole -- it's like an hour-long slice of programming from the coolest radio station that doesn't exist. From the ethereal vocals on "Follow Me Down" and "Joy Factory" to the soulful pull of "Natural Selection" and "The Answer" or the sexy contortions of "The Runaway," it may be tough to pin down and describe, but this is simply a great album. Uplifting, propulsive, and eclectic, it is the perfect soundtrack to a roadtrip out of town.

10. Dead Weather - Sea of Cowards; Kings of Leon - Come Around Sundown: This pair represents the more straightforward rock side of things this year, with the Weather nourishing the gritty, dirty blues side while the Kings handle the more anthemic, 85-in-a-Camaro type thing. The Weather continue to cast the sexy, black spell of their debut, offering a blistering 35 minute album that never pauses for breath, but slinks and swaggers across your synapses until the final note. From "Blue Blood Blues," "Hustle and Cuss," and "I Can't Hear You" to "Jawbreaker" and "No Horse" (proving that the band reaches even more spectacular heights on songs referencing our equine friends), this is as good an argument as you'll find for the continued power of albums as an art form. This needs to be experienced in its entirety, with each song building on the twists and turns of its predecessor until the jaw-dropping, creepy closer of "Old Mary." (Which is so unsettling and strange, it feels like something unearthed from the depths of a forgotten tomb.) This album is Zeppelin-esque in many respects -- dangerous, cocksure, and enticing, a sexy, heavy beast laden with fuzzed out guitars and bewitching vocals.

The Kings, for their part, remain a point of internal contention. Gone forever seem to be the days of boozy, brawling hellfire that was in evidence on their first two albums, and here to stay appear to be the shoot-for-the-rafters type anthems of heavy radio play, which garnered so much praise and made them international superstars on their last. Knowing that they're capable of the former makes me resist the latter that much more, like a surgeon quitting his job to work as a seamstress. However, while there were moments on "Only by the Night that felt forced and cloying in their need for acceptance, those same desires feel largely natural on "Sundown." And what's left as a result is just an enjoyable rock album, one that's full of sunny, sing-it-out songs that will have you reaching for the volume instead of ruing the shambling, sloppy fire of the early days. Songs like "Radioactive," "Mary," "Mi Amigo," and "The Immortals" all glisten and soar, but nothing can top "Back Down South," which is likely the best thing the band has ever written. A beautiful melody and solid lyrics build to a soulful crescendo, this is the anthem the band always wanted to write.