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DAVID DARLING & the WULU BUNUN: Mudanin Kata (2004): Cross-continental collaborations too often sand down both cultures' singular characteristics to create something accessible for the Starbucks set. Not so with Mudanin Kata, an effortless synthesis of cello composer David Darling's ambient-leaning style and the ethereal a cappella of Taiwanese aborigines the Wulu Bunun. The record strikes a balance between the natural and the modern, most deeply felt on three brief interludes ("Wulu Dream," "Wulu Mist" and "Wulu Sky"), which find Darling playing his lilting instrument against field recordings of the aborigines' environment—a symphony of birds, insects and other wildlife. Communication between the two cultures becomes an underlying theme, and on "Malas Tapag (Celebration)," Darling's playful jazz strut engages in a call-and-response with the Wulu tribesmen. Thankfully, Darling also knows when to back off, and on album centerpiece "Pasibutbut (Prayer for a Rich Millet Harvest)," said to imitate the sound of buzzing bees, the composer offers only a near-untraceable ambiance. During the song's nine minutes, the Wulu build an eight-part harmony from deep, sustained tones, forming an intimidating presence. It's a humbling moment of otherworldly catharsis on a record with no shortage of alien but somehow universal music. Starbucks patrons would probably dig it, too. Sam C. Mac




JAMIE LIDELL: Multiply (2005): Part electro-pop, part IDM, and infused with nothing less than 100% soul power, Jamie Lidell's stunning debut, Multiply, reworks the pigeonholed Warp aesthetic into a strutting, confident and downright funky tableau of glitches and classic R&B gestures. Quick-burst opener “You Got Me Up” still feels like one of the decade’s great introductions, setting the stage for Lidell to work that endlessly malleable voice into all sorts of intriguing shapes across tracks as diverse as the head-nodding “A Little Bit More,” “The City” and the reverent “Game for Fools.” In a welcome coup for his many skeptics, Multiply managed to mutate so many familiar signposts that the results not only feel fresh, but like something of a genre all its own. Jordan Cronk




LIGHTNING BOLT: Wonderful Rainbow (2002): A stunning conflation of dissonant squall, prog dynamics and out-rock provocation, Lightning Bolt's highly influential noise monster Wonderful Rainbow is a sputtering, sprawling and invigorating call-to-arms. The Rhode Island-based bass-and-drums duo of Brian Gibson and Brian Chippendale lets loose a fury of harsh textures over the course of Wonderful Rainbow's exhilarating 41 minutes. Track titles such as “Assassins,” “On Fire,” “Crown of Storms,” and “Duel in the Deep” don’t leave much to the imagination, and living up to their promise, they’re appropriately mind-flaying in response, but it's the creeping, ominous passages such as brief table setter “Hello Morning” and the gracious respite of the title track that provide the necessary contrast for this record to stand out among its many imitations. JC




MANITOBA: Up in Flames (2003): Dan Snaith, working under the Manitoba moniker, unleashed this shimmering follow-up to his by-the-numbers IDM debut in early 2003, and in the process almost instantaneously secured his legacy as a retro-futurist purveyor of blissed-out psych reverie. Up In Flames’ inviting combination of 60s pop and glitchy electro still feels disorienting yet comforting, pastoral yet vaguely ominous, timeless but modern in its sensibilities. The scattered, free-jazz inflected “Skunks” represents the most extreme end of the Snaith catalogue, and its offset by drop-dead gorgeous displays of next-generation psych-pop like “Jagnuggetted” and indelible finale “Every Time She Turns Around it’s Her Birthday.” Snaith has been exploring more tranquil material under the Caribou moniker, much of which is quite wonderful, but it's his final work as Manitoba that is most enduring. JC




MY MORNING JACKET: Z (2005): My Morning Jacket wanna party like it’s 1969—or, maybe, like it’s 2099. They’re a band unstuck in time, a bunch of bearded road-dogs from the Dirty South, winning hearts and souls with each ripping solo or sun-dappled harmony, their ethos crystallized in a bygone era before rock music went to the punks and the cynics. At Dawn has the plaintive folk ballads, It Still Moves the monster jams, but it’s Z, the group’s honky-tonk, space rock stunner, that best communicates their irony-free synthesis of Skynard-meets-The-Band boogie and joyously weird Pop of the Future. “Wordless Chorus” locates the ecstatic (and heretofore unimagined) common ground between The Flaming Lips and James Brown, while “Off the Record” marries surf rock hooks to jangly reggae, before exploding into a jammy duel between squealing guitars and pan-flute synth. Jim James’s reverb-drenched siren call, the most euphoric voice in modern rock, sounds as lonely and ethereal as it ever has. (You can take the boy out of the grain silo…) “Remember the promise,” he coos, mere moments into the record, “as a kid you made.” This is the promise of rock and roll’s adolescence, paid off and grown into ten tracks of blissful anachronism. A.A. Dowd




THE NEW PORNOGRAPHERS: Mass Romantic (2000): Any Best of the Decade list would seem incomplete without at least one mention of The New Pornographers, who enjoyed a steady rise to fame throughout the last ten years. Combining the singing and songwriting talents of Neko Case, Daniel Bejar and AC Newman (plus a slew of other talented musicians), the formation of this Canadian supergroup proved on Mass Romantic, their debut, to be a spectacular idea. The driving keyboards, energetic tempos and powerful vocal performances that would become their trademark are all evident here, especially on the record’s most recognizable tracks, “The Slow Descent into Alcoholism” and “Letter from an Occupant.” Arguments could be made for the strength of the group’s latter work, but the band’s winning formula proves most potent on the album that started it all. Chris Nowling




RIHANNA: Good Girl Gone Bad (2007): Few records attain the blockbuster status of Rihanna's Good Girl Gone Bad. Its initial release prompted five hit singles and its rerelease (Good Girl Gone Bad: Reloaded) produced two more. The macabre "Disturbia" has always felt like a Lady GaGa outtake, but others deserve their successes, and none more so than "Umbrella," the most ubiquitous radio-monolith of the decade's latter half. The track rides a monstrous clatter of percussion, features a brief co-sign courtesy of Jay-Z, and finds Rihanna playing tongue games with the titular chorus. Subsequent Good Girl singles show aesthetic range too few acknowledge; Rihanna's dexterity as a pop artist compensates for her limited vocal ability, flitting between dancehall-electronica ("Don't Stop the Music") and sex-rock aggression ("Shut Up and Drive," where Rihanna compares her body to a car’s). This makes "Hate That I Love You," a comparatively tender duet with Ne-Yo, surprisingly disarming, and it should have long ago quashed accusations of "emotional distance." Admittedly, the record's rounded out by B-side-worthy filler—the whiny "Breakin' Dishes," angst-ridden dirge "Question Existing"—but cohesion was never among its virtues. Good Girl Gone Bad earns its place in the pop pantheon on the basis of its prizefighter singles, and in that regard it's basically peerless. SCM




TAYLOR SWIFT: Fearless (2008): At the intersection of country and stadium-pop, we find Taylor Swift, the best artist mainstream music has had the good sense to embrace in years. Her 2008 sophomore record is the proof: Fearless gathers 13 equally infectious country-pop gems, with no duds. Each could've been undone by Swift's heart-on-her-sleeve earnestness, but instead endear because of that emotional specificity. The 19-year-old is an age-appropriate songstress, spinning lovelorn tales of waiting for Romeo and his white horse, which isn't naiveté—rather, it's potent in its honesty, and no more corny than the best pop songs. There's a particular shine to the album's narrative, which follows the thesis statement of the title track to the shy "Fifteen," the fairytale romance of "Love Story," and finally the pathos-rich maturation of "White Horse," an acknowledgment that such things don't really exist. Swift seems to be recording her romantic discoveries as they occur, and the effect transcends the usual teen diary confessional—partly due to her concise and meticulous compositions, which leave room for rock bombast, country sweetness, and of course her buoyant, delicate vocal. That alchemy proves scarily precise, but Fearless never feels too calculated—just consistent. A genre classic before she can legally drink? Keep your eye on this one. SCM




TED LEO & the PHARMACISTS: The Tyranny of Distance (2004): Ted Leo and The Pharmacists’ sophomore record, The Tyranny of Distance, was anything but a second effort for Leo himself, who had been performing and recording for about ten years prior to the album’s release. And his experience with crafting songs is evident all over the record, his best release with The Pharmacists, and a pop-rock album against which others of the genre will continue to be measured. Melodic and intensely catchy, yet raw and unforced, Leo and Co. remain sharp throughout Tyranny, whether playing jangly pop (“Under the Hedge”), urgent punk (“Parallel or Together”), or a brief but gorgeous ballad ("The Gold Finch and the Red Oak”). It all comes together in a tremendously satisfying way, making these 48 minutes a triumph for the artist and listener alike. CN




XIU XIU: Fabulous Muscles (2000): Arguably the decade's most provocative musical concern, Jamie Stewart's unflinching Xiu Xiu project took a demented leap into the pop stratosphere with their third album, and in the process cooked up something disturbingly perfect. Yet only an artist perverse enough to pick album and song titles as provocative as "Fag Patrol," Knife Play, and “Ian Curtis Wishlist” (the latter of which comes from an album with a stark-naked Asian guy on the cover) could consider this an “accessible” record—after all, its most memorable lyric details a very graphic display of sexually frustrated jock murder. If Stewart's anguished pleas and terrifyingly detailed narratives have made a lot of the Xiu Xiu catalogue impenetrable to casual listeners, Fabulous Muscles finds him cracking the door to his heart wide enough for others to enter. The results are unforgettable. JC




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