Shall we begin...
U.F.O.F.
Folk : Listen
Usually I don't include two albums by the same artist on any given year's/decade's list, but Big Thief's double effort in 2019 is so mesmerizingly haunting that both deserve recognition. The second made it on our previous list, 2019's Honorable Mentions, but U.F.O.F. is clearly the superior of two utterly fascinating albums. Parts are gossamer wisps, like "Cattails" and "Open Desert," songs so delicate and beautiful that you find yourself tearing up in sheer awe. Others are heavy, James Gang-esque rock moments, like the screams and hard guitar picks at the end of opener "Contact," or the jazzy strut of "Strange." Not even Beach House--generally a perfect band in every way--with their double effort in 2015 (Depression Cherry and Thank Your Lucky Stars came out the same year) were as absolutely correct as this. Big Thief wowed me in 2017 with Capacity; this album floored me. Moments on U.F.O.F. are so jaw-dropping that I still continue to jump in and out when I need something light to listen to.
Every note is so expertly calculated that you can hear their thought process: a collection of songs that express every possible emotion with as little extraneous sound as possible. Little flashes of weirdness, like background screams on "Contact," or the theremin and static noises on closer "Magic Dealer," keep the traditional instrumentation from turning stale. "Open Desert" shows its face as your standard Feist cover...that is until it reveals a chorus so beautiful and delicate that to sing louder than a whisper would destroy it. It is a moment so eye-opening and mesmerizing as to produce tears. "Century" follows a more traditional songwriting format, but includes hints of Joni Mitchell, and a bass line to die for. The inclusion of an Allman Brothers-esque guitar solo is a respite from the sensory overload that comes in the first half of the album; and "Terminal Paradise" sees Adrianne Lenker effortlessly shape-shift from Beth Gibbons, to Bjork, to Natasha Khan, proving that this sonic landscape is in the deftest of hands. U.F.O.F.'s major standout is the penultimate track, "Jenni," which takes the lightness and fragility of the previous ten songs and throws them at the wall in a fit of heavy reverb and fuzz-delay so masterfully mixed that My Bloody Valentine would blush with inadequacy. It is a statement that proves Big Thief know exactly what they're doing in every sense.
There aren't enough thesauruses to provide the synonyms required to describe the beauty of this album. A picture is worth a thousand words, but can a song be worth a thousand tears? A thousand sighs of fulfillment? A thousand burdens made lighter? There are moments listening to U.F.O.F. where you can be totally transported out of yourself, like a cartoon ghost. The delicacy of Big Thief's mission is so abjectly important that every guitar string gets it's own channel, every vocal recorded in a room lined with plush down. The comforting quality of every sound on U.F.O.F. is so persuasive and inviting that you'll be completely limp by the end of its brief 43-minute journey, numb and tingling to move again. This album will melt you. The acoustics are so sumptuous you could suffocate in them like the mid-Atlantic summer air. Every song sounds like Big Thief is sitting around you, with their instruments pressed to your ears, trying as best they can to make the world's first ASMR-folk album. This is Big Thief's most subtle, most empathetic, most ethereal work yet, but they're not begging for your attention. Rather, it emanates from the center of the universe and waits for you to find it and claim your reward. A biblical flood distilled to a wispy dream, U.F.O.F. is--and I don't say this lightly--a perfect album.
2020
Folk Rock : Listen
In 2017, Richard Dawson released one of the most unique and fanciful folk albums of all time. Peasant was a modern take on 10th Century British songs and poems, for which Dawson did an immense amount of research. It is clear that Dawson put the time and work in to become intimately familiar with a period of such brutality and squalor. But his ear for sumptuous strings, clever songwriting, and resonant lyrics made the album not only intriguing, but intrinsically beautiful. Peasant was the present full of past; a timely work from another time. When Dawson announced 2020, it was a surprise (at least to me), especially with the announcement single, "Two Halves," a light-ish song about Dawson's most memorable childhood soccer game and his father's slightly overbearing coaching. The chorus, "man on, man on, an empty stadium yells 'man on,'" is so incredibly English and catchy, that the gloomy memory of Peasant begins to fade away. Still, the song is written with undeniable talent, and Dawson's "new" sound seems just as interesting as ever. But then, 2020 actually released, and we got so much more.
“Civil Servant,” the opening track, proves just how revolutionary Dawson’s writing is. “I don’t want to go into work this morning; I don’t think I can deal with the wrath of the general public,” he sings in what might be the single most comedic line in modern music. The verses are punctuated with a jarring, repetitive, off-time, Swans-esque guitar and synth (a new instrument for Dawson), skewing the listener’s perspective of time and tempo just as being stuck in the titular civil servant’s office is mundane and disorienting. "The Queen's Head" is a cheerful little ditty about...having all your possessions flooded out? Once again, Dawson masterfully disguises dark subject matter with delightful instrumentation and carefully-chosen vocals. 2020 picks up where Nothing Important left off lyrically, in that many of the songs are presented literally; what you hear is what Dawson saw. But can describing things with no additional subtlety still make a distinct statement about our time and place in the world? A song like "Jogging," about...well...jogging to try to improve ones health, with lines describing how Dawson is using the exercise to relieve his anxiety and reduce social paranoia. And epic "Fulfillment Centre" is about just that, working in a *cough* unnamed online marketplace's fulfillment center to the point of monotonous insanity. The lyrics include listing almost everything Amazo--I mean, the unnamed company, sells, peppered with stories about employees peeing in bottles to avoid taking breaks, collapsing at their stations from exhaustion, and having full-on psychotic breaks only to be escorted from the building and never seen or heard form again.
With 2020, Dawson has crafted a memorable and colorful parallel to the mundanities of every day modern life, set to some of the most splendid guitar-and-drum tunes to come out this decade. The album is also a powerful statement that while modern life might not be some grandiose adventure every minute of every day, it is, well, life, and we can still be appreciative of what we have while working to make the world better. Yes, the planet is on fire, and we're all stuck in jobs where our minds are filled with naught but existential dread as we continually press that same button over and over and over. But sometimes you just have to say "hang the sense of it" and keep yourself busy. Let's go jogging!
Remind Me Tomorrow
Indie Rock : Listen
It is my undying and extreme pleasure to place this album at #1 for 2019. On Remind Me Tomorrow, Sharon Van Etten has constructed some so beautiful, so pure, and so everlasting it will surely go down in the annals of music history with the other indie rock giants like Yankee Hotel Foxtrot and In the Aeroplane Over the Sea. I have been utterly obsessed with Sharon's music since the inimitable Are We There was released in 2014, and then...I waited, patiently, for five years. In that time, Sharon has clearly been very busy exploring new sonic textures, and honing her already perfect songwriting craft. Let's just jump right into it.
Opener "I Told You Everything" begins with a sparse, echoing piano chord progression, while Sharon's voice enters splendidly. During the chorus her vocals are layered beautifully as the piano is joined by a bare drum kit and a dusty upright bass. Soon the production mastery of John Congleton comes into view: the hidden, swelling synths, the reverb-ed violin plucks pulled forward in the mix; what was meant to be a crooned ballad becomes a slow burn. "No One's Easy to Love" picks up the pace and introduces us to new sounds in Sharon's catalog: fuzzed synth-bass and processed percussion loops. The song begins as a condemnation of a relationship with too much time in it, but eventually comes around to the idea that love is work, and it's a work worth the effort, accented by Moby-esque plinking piano and Congleton's signature St-Vincent-mumble-guitar.
Sharon explores entirely new sonic territory on "Memorial Day," using turntablism-style samples to create an entirely synthetic beat, while singing at the upper end of her register to the point of falsetto, lending the song and almost creepy air. Standout single (and one of the best songs of 2019) "Comeback Kid" sees Sharon going full 80s arena rock to tell us how being purposefully anti-social may look cool when you're in high school, but is just kind of sad when you hit 40. Complete with a near-shout chorus, blown-out organ, and pounding drums so catchy you'll be humming it to yourself for days.
"Jupiter 4" is closer to a single from Are We There, and the sound most Sharon fans would be familiar with, though it does still make use of the newfound sampling and looping. Her vocals are soulful and pleading, "my love is for real." This is the sound of someone who is not willing to give up on that love they worked so hard for, whirling chords lift ever higher like a high-tension point in a Hans Zimmer score. "Seventeen" is probably the most obvious story, as she recounts her past indiscretions to a teenager who is doomed to repeat the same actions as their parent(s). We're never really told if the pep talk works, but either way it's one we all probably could have used when we were that age (even though we probably would have rolled our eyes).
"You Shadow" is an amazing slap at all the people who try to mimic Sharon's sound and storytelling (I'm not exactly sure who the song is pointed at, but it's pretty obvious Sharon is really upset with them). "You say you changed your mind / Yeah, I let you / ... / You don't do nothing I don't do," she croons over a loud party-tune, really digging into the subject. And closer "Stay" may be the most delicate and lovely song Sharon has ever written. Again she uses her upper register to remain as soft as possible over a simple slide guitar, an unpretentious church organ, and the reemergence of that sparse piano from the beginning. "Find a way to stand, and a time to walk away / Letting go to let you lead, I don't know how it ends." There is more heart and soul here than I can bear.
Remind Me Tomorrow is a gift. It is a manifesto on the difficulty of love, a warning to not waste your youth, and a clapback at copycats so hardcore you'll have an hand print on your face. Remind Me Tomorrow is as great a collection of short stories as anything in print, and an unforgettable listening experience. Sharon, never leave us.
Thanks for reading, everyone! 2019 was great for music. Here's to an even greater 2020!
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