Year in Review 2009 - InRO's Top 15 Albums of the Year
![Feature by InRO Staff: The integration of underground music into the mainstream has been a slow but sure process since around the mid point of the last decade. But it wasn’t until 2009 that this uneasy progression seemed to reach its logical end point. No longer are audiences forced to choose between pop and high-art, inspiration or influence. Nowadays, it's not uncommon for the same iPod to house both Lil’ Wayne and Liars, Rihanna and Deerhunter—in fact, it’s rather typical. This turn has been marked by any number of releases, including albums by the aforementioned artists, but in a year that saw two of the most stridently idiosyncratic bands of our time (Animal Collective and the Dirty Projectors) achieve their very own ideal of a pop breakthrough, this inherent disparity began to blur into a sort of comfortable confluence of impulses. It’ll certainly be interesting to see where this traditionally cyclical relationship takes some of our most beloved artists in the coming decade—let’s not forget the mid-90s grunge fallout, a bygone landscape which bears more in common with our current musical climate than most would probably like to admit. It’s even more intriguing in the interim to note some of the other, more unique offerings of ’09, and in turn chart a kind of alternate route around this internet-approved duo of pop landmarks.
So while our very own list isn’t contrarian enough to deny these major works (or a handful others), it’s also indicative of the cross-genre evolution that we continue to embrace. In fact, two of the year’s major genre trends—metal and ambient—have unfortunately been sidelined by most of the more established publications in favor of InRO-ignored fads such as chill-wave and lo-fi pop. That’s not to suggest that these movements aren’t of note, but when taken in relation to some of the more intimidating artistic statements that define this list—and to one in particular which marries these two impulses to near apocalyptic effect—it’s difficult not to find reverence in the strides these musicians are making to enhance their craft. The year 2009, then, could be seen as the proceeding nine years in microcosm, with notions of experimentalism and willfully obtuse recording and album-structuring techniques bubbling forth into a pop landscape that has irrevocably changed alongside technology’s emergence. If nothing else, the last 12 months have only reiterated that anything remains possible in the world of music. And so, the following fifteen albums, no matter how accessible or currently recognized, are shining (and often surprising) examples of our generation’s continuing effort to marry art, commerce, integrity and entertainment. [See our staff’s individual lists here.] Jordan Cronk


I'm not sure I can top Diplo's description of Florine—"the sound of Care Bears making love"—which pretty much nails the appeal of the warm embrace this music offers. To listen to what Julianna Barwick has created here is to be transported to some heavenly place, and so it makes this list despite being only an EP. The reasoning I ascribe to that is the completeness Florine achieves—whereas many EPs feel like teasers for the coming attraction, Florine is a singular, stand-alone work, so fully-realized that it doesn't so much leave me anticipating Barwick's eventual full-length, but skeptical as to if she can top her smaller-scale work. Four tracks, totaling just 24 minutes, take you from a particularly ethereal daybreak ("Sunlight, Heaven") to the full-blooded climax of "Bode." The aesthetic is a unique one in that it utilizes the reverberated vocal layering of dream pop but nixes the rhythm section, replacing it instead with gliding, ambient textures, suggesting clouds floating through—or, more appropriately, gentle waves lapping up against Barwick's by turns pained and euphoric vocals. The occasional phrase emerges from the dense fog (the titular, looped refrain of "Choose"), but Florine is mostly the sound of feelings unarticulated, and it's this ambiguity that keeps drawing me back to the haunting atmosphere of this otherworldly transmission. Sam C. Mac


Black metal/eco-warrior troubadours Wolves in the Throne Room turn in the most blistering and focused release of their short, genre-defying careers with Black Cascade. Caught somewhere between metal and ambient, the record creates a world of its own, buried beneath pulsing drums, layered guitars and a subterranean, primordial growl. But along with the “ass-kicking,” “skull-crushing” descriptors usually applied to the assessment of a metal album, this record invites earthly catharsis. With four tracks, all clocking in at over ten minutes, listeners should play Black Cascade from beginning to end. And this is the exact allegorical experience I keep having: pulled into dark, turbulent waters, at once comforting and threatening. Wolves in the Throne Room readily admit a spiritual bent that runs more ecological than Satanic, and it's not hard to find evidence of nature’s forces—whether it be a vibrating wind or a roaring fire—amidst the undulating riffs and textures. Nathan Weaver’s roughly hewn vocals, woven deep into the mix, work less as a vehicle for words than an effigy of humanity, boiling with sadness, hope and frustration. No other album this year does a better job translating the chaos and beauty of our modern world than Black Cascade. Kathie Smith


Mos Def’s latest, The Ecstatic, had the worst kind of expectation weighing upon it when it was released, the sort borne out of several years of disappointing output and necessitating more than a flash of brilliance to recapture the listener’s attention. Fortunately, Mos was more than up to the task when he dropped the lean and eclectic 16 tracks of The Ecstatic, which he rips through in 45 minutes with an inspirational and infectious energy. The album is a mess of influences and ideas, including Middle Eastern instrumental loops, tribal drum beats and retro hip-hop, but the sketch-like approach of many of the songs and the significant musical variety only adds to the undeniable appeal of the whole. Mos Def’s politically and socially-charged ideologies are given center stage (he even opens with a speech by Malcom X), and even though his messages are often intensely presented, any agenda is of a positive nature. And though there are clear highlights—the Iraq-focused “Auditorium” (featuring Slick Rick), the soulful “Workers Comp” and the epic “Life in Marvelous Times”—no moments are wasted on this exciting comeback album. Chris Nowling


Here ye here ye, doth thou seek an anthem? A righteous melody to lift thy spirits? A mighty epic to set thy head to banging, thy fists to pumping, thy devil horns to throwing? Hark now and wait n’er more, for young rock gods Baroness walk among us. Four stout, bearded lads, southern lords from the land of Savannah, come with Blue Record, a new offering of songs most heavy and true. Lend thy ear to these rouges, who sing of war and wisdom and rhythm, steel that sleeps the eye, and a grand steed known only as Golgotha. Quiver before the howitzer howl of Master Baizley, and the lighting-quick shredding of his glistening axe. (Tis more dragon’s force in his riffs than those of Dragonforce.) Kneel before the bone-rattling blast beats and the pulverizing power chords! Marvel at the witches’ brew of wicked tunes, as the four kingdoms of Prog, Thrash, Sludge, and Post-Rock unite for 45 thunderous minutes. Dare thee laugh at the banjo strumming interludes? Nay, they are but the calm ere the storm! Weep for Bullhead and his lament. Weep more for the beauty and the power of “The Gnashing.” Thrust thyself into the teeming pit, roaring to the heavens above: “All my hands are callous and cruel!” Perchance this is a greater record even than that of the mighty Mastodon. Wondrous well these beasts bang upon thy skull. Beseech thou brethren for a Pabst and speak of how they kinda, sorta sound like Fugazi. Art thou not rocked? Verily. A.A. Dowd


Armonico Hewa is the sound of prog eating itself, of pop radio desecrating its own legacy, of the punk ethos disintegrating before our eyes until all remaining influence equals no remaining influence. With their sixth album, these four Japanese females have transcended genre in ways even their more testosterone-identified counterparts in Boredoms haven’t yet managed, approaching a sort of pre-adolescent syllabic correspondence where the alphabet dissolves into a series of irregular cognitive response patterns. Even sans context, it’s clear OOIOO have roots in the Japanese underground, but rather than overwhelming with sheer volume (though, when called upon, these ladies can ignite a hurricane like nobody’s business) they instead overload us with pleasure-center pop signifiers, somehow splitting time equally between post-Soul Discharge splatter, micro-fracture prog, R.I.O. tussle and riot-grrrl punk, as if all these sounds came crashing through Osaka on the crest of the same tidal wave. At any given moment, then, Armonico Hewa can represent both the filth and the fury, its dizzying array of near-perfect juxtapositions, interpolations and highly detailed origamic constructs building toward individuated climaxes with little to no regard for formal boundaries. The record’s grooves form a swirling sonic wormhole, dropping us headfirst into the most gloriously swank, crayon-colored alternate universe imaginable. And by the time you think you’ve finally pinned them down, they go and retrofit a Turkish girl-group tune into the year’s most tongue-in-cheek send-off. File under: Awesome. JC


When Phil Elverum first discussed his flirtations with Black Metal, I thought it was merely pretension that drove him, or perhaps an attempt to gain credibility (which would have been ridiculous, as the man is revered in most independent music circles). However, seeing Mount Eerie perform a solo set in 2008, in support of the Black Wooden Ceiling Opening EP, I realized I was way off the mark. Elverum took the stage with a weary-looking electric guitar, a distortion pedal, and a fog machine. He began playing in the subdued manner I expected, but upon reaching the chorus, he stomped the distortion pedal and unleashed something massive and powerful. As the performance continued, he lost himself in the music, seeming almost oblivious to the crowd, until the between-song banter brought him back to Earth. The Wind’s Poem LP sees Elverum achieve this ideal fusion of form and content. The bleak, expansive atmospherics of black metal are perfectly suited to accompany the singer’s ruminations on the mysterious and awesome powers of nature. Monolithic guitar and drums nearly drown out Elverum’s quiet vocals on every track—an unprecedented expression of mortality and insignificance in the face of ageless stone and the forests described in these songs. Wind’s Poem demonstrates this singular artist’s restless search for understanding and ancient knowledge, and dispels any remaining notions of artifice. Lukas Suveg


Only an outfit as flat-out ferocious as Mastodon could cut an hour-long, seven-track concept album about inter-dimensional travel and get accused of “going commercial.” When you rule the heavy metal roost, as these iron men have for the past decade, suspicious eyes fall on your every move. Will this be the record they go soft on us? Post-Leviathan, Atlanta’s finest have remade the underground American metal scene in their own hulking image. The last of their kind to do that subsequently cut their hair, sued their fans and hired Bon Jovi’s producer to get them on the radio. Blessedly, Crack the Skye is no Black Album—you don’t make the leap from arenas to stadiums writing ten-minute, acid-wash epics about Rasputin the Mad Monk. More a tweaking of the band’s fearsome formula than a reinvention of it, their latest malevolent masterwork turns down the thrash and hardcore elements, amps up the stoner rock riffage, and finds Blood Mountain’s fruitful flirtation with 70s prog blossoming into a full-on love affair. Hitmaker Brendan O’Brien scoops some murk out of the mix, but he can’t sand down the rough edges fast enough—this may be Mastodon’s mellowest record, but it’s also their strangest. The five-piece settle into thunderous grooves, only to begin picking at them like scabs, weaving peculiar flourishes into the margins. A little banjo here, a little vocoder there. Is that a sitar buried beneath the spidery guitar lines of “Quintessence”? Is John Carpenter playing keyboard on “Crack the Skye”? Sure, there are pop sensibilities at play, but they sound like lonely buoys bobbing along in a churning black sea. “Divinations” boasts an infectious sing-along chorus… you just have to wade through Troy Sanders’s barking, squealing, convulsing hysterics to get to it. The album’s biggest and brightest hook arrives damn near seven minutes into the droning, swirling abyss of “The Czar.” And the operatic harmonizing on the title track is just a melodic counterpoint to the bile-choked bellow of Neurosis frontman Scott Kelly, who shrieks “Momma, don’t let them take her down/Please tell Lucifer he can’t have this one.” In what kind of nightmarish alternate universe do these psychedelic monster jams register as pop? Cause I think I want to live there. AAD


That Grizzly Bear’s Veckatimest was one of the more popular indie releases of the year was to be expected, but that shouldn’t take away from the progress the band has made on their third effort. Veckatimest might not even be better than its predecessor, Yellow House (it’s difficult to say), but it does feel like the most accomplished and perhaps significant work the band has yet given us—an obvious but welcome step forward. We’ve been told that every detail on the album was labored over, with each sonic texture and exquisite vocal harmony carefully considered and rerecorded until the desired effect was captured. Yet, for every moment of intentional pop perfection—the lovely “whoa whoa” refrain of “Two Weeks” or the heavenly melody of “Cheerleader”—there exists a rougher, less refined passage, like the thunderous climax of “I Live With You,” a reminder of the quartet’s mastery of dynamic compositions, and of their desire to create something more lively and interesting than just a set of sterile studio recordings. So while nothing on Veckatimest sounds casual or off-handed, the record also avoids seeming over-processed or emotionally distant, a notable if less obvious success than the immaculately executed songs themselves. Like any great record, Veckatimest is a singular creation, a work that only the four members of Grizzly Bear could have produced, which carries with it the assurance—or at least the hope—that even the band themselves will avoid attempting to recapture that experience. CN


Hospice remains one of the most intimate and personal records of 2009. Peter Silberman, once the lone member of The Antlers, is reluctant to talk about the inspiration behind the music, but the heaviness of loss and death and the descriptive nature of the lyrics on his latest album make its topic seem close to the singer-songwriter's heart. Or perhaps Silberman just has one hell of an imagination and knows how to tell an emotionally powerful story through the songs he wrote while in self-described “isolation.” Either way, he and his two new bandmates have crafted something remarkable with Hospice, a haunting and especially compelling concept record concerning a bed-ridden cancer patient. There’s a bit of familiarity in the trio’s brand of atmospheric indie rock, but the way in which their latest effort is executed sets it apart. Silberman’s quivering falsetto is supported by a variety of settings, including hazy piano, washed-out guitar, and less-identifiable textures and sounds. The songs themselves generally eschew traditional structures; lengthy, reverb-drenched ballads like “Kettering” and “Wake” require some patience as they ebb and flow out of (relatively) more aggressive and straightforward moments. Standout track “Two” brings the vocals to the forefront over an insistent mandolin riff; and “Bear” is the album’s most rock-oriented tune. Even the darkest and dreariest songs reward an attentive listener, as when “Wake” transitions from Silberman’s lonely vocals to an epic climax of messy guitar, which in turn morphs into the closing, acoustic “Epilogue.” Both immensely beautiful and intensely sad, Hospice is the kind of album that sticks with you for long after it ends, and nearly demands your frequent return. CN


In a year that saw numerous bands discovering newfound strengths, The Flaming Lips reached back into their catalogue, a repertoire spanning almost thirty years, and pulled out a throbbing beast of enormous dimension and imagination. For the last ten years, beginning with 1999’s The Soft Bulletin, the Flaming Lips have aimed to craft music of startling detail; and around the time of 2002’s pop-opera hymn to the glories of existence, Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots, the Lips turned themselves into a considerable touring force. Their live shows have become compulsory rites for every music fan—if you’ve not had Wayne Coyne roll over your head in a plastic ball, or danced with enormous bright colored animals, or been showered with confetti at the climax of "Do You Realize?," I’m sorry, but you’ve missed out on one of the finer things in life. The question, then, that the Flaming Lips found themselves faced with when it came time to record their 14th studio album, was one of: Where to next? A holding pattern seemed antithetical, yet what new creative ground could they mine? The answer was Embryonic. With the title suggesting an early stage of development, predating birth, the Lips seemed intent on a fool hearty voyage backward, toward a point of re-discovery. Appropriately enough, the noisy, jazz-infused thrum, echo-drenched soundscapes and dark lyrical undertones of Embryonic not only remind us of a much younger band, but show that their age has only made them more adventurous, as they continue to explore the farthest reaches of psychedelic art-rock. Yorgo Douramacos


When listening to Karin Dreijer-Andersson’s Fever Ray or her work with brother Olaf in The Knife, it’s clear she's a fan of Dr. Carl Jung’s “shadow theory.” According to one Carolyn Kaufman, “Psychologist Carl Jung believed that in spite of [the shadow archetype’s] function as a reservoir for human darkness—or perhaps because of this—the shadow is the seat of creativity.” In this case, Dreijer-Andersson’s shadow self is not only the seat of her creativity, it’s the driving force. No other album in 2009 pushed the boundaries of when music stopped being just music and when it became a physical, tangible entity than Fever Ray’s self-titled debut. Upon first listen, the album is an almost violent shock to the system: the hugely distorted and slightly demonic voice that leads opener “If I Had A Heart” is eerily broken up towards the middle part of the song by Dreijer-Andersson's undistorted, almost childlike vocal. It’s a pattern that remains throughout the rest of the album; each song is almost a duet between the singer and her shadow self. This is a trick she first began utilizing on The Knife's records, discovering that by making her voice sound inhuman she effectively blurs the line of her own artistic identity. As the album progresses, the listener is transported through many different dark soundscapes, each more peculiar than the last. And by the time of “Keep the Streets Empty for Me,” the only song where Dreijer-Andersson doesn’t play with her vocals, it’s hard to tell where her real voice ends and the effects begin. It takes a distinct palate to enjoy Fever Ray, but if one opens their mind they'll surely be engrossed in the weird and gloomy fairytale world Dreijer-Andersson creates. Mitchell Kissack


When The xx released their self-titled record near the end of the summer, it was easy to forget that it was only their debut. It’s rare that a band produce a sound as fully formed as what the Bristol-based group laid down on record—and the fact that they did it so confidently makes it all the more impressive. The xx carefully combine elements of post-punk, R&B, dream pop, and indie-rock to produce a unique sound that’s all their own. The result is a somewhat monochromatic, slow-burning record to be sure, but these songs are so meticulously crafted—boasting a perfect balance of negative space, icy guitar and synthesizers—that it’s easy to get lost in the sparse arrangements. The xx make use of plenty of male and female vocals, chilly, Interpol-esque riffs, and a drum machine in ways that bring to mind many other bands, but there’s a real sense of discovery and trail-blazing here that makes the record gripping from start to finish. The reason that we’re still playing and discussing this record (and the reason it appears on this list) is because it provides such a rich listening experience and does so primarily through its understatement (as our proper review pointed out). Guitarist Romy Madley Croft and bassist Oliver Sim share vocal duties throughout the album and it’s hard not to hear their exchanges as whispered dialogue between lovers: “I can’t give it up to someone else’s touch, because I care too much,” Croft sings on “Infinity,” and there’s a wealth of emotion hiding under those words. Whether the lovers on xx are falling in love or breaking up is difficult to discern. And it's this light/dark dichotomy that makes xx the most alluring and, indeed, the sexiest album of the year. Gavin Breeden


In the lead up to the release of Monoliths & Dimensions, the core Sunn duo of Stephen O’Malley and Greg Anderson made it a point to reiterate that their forthcoming record would not simply be “Sunn O))) with strings.” Of course, taken at face value, this is exactly what stands out about this truly gargantuan accomplishment. However, the leveling of any such reductionist assessment of these four epic tracks will inexorably crush the unexpected by sheer force of will. You see, despite the heart-stopping strings of “Big Church” and the elegiac horn edits which buttress the full-bodied resonance of Alice Coltrane tribute “Alice,” this is the same Sunn who recorded such landmark drone efforts as The Grimmrobe Demos and Black One, just one with a newfound humanist streak. This isn’t to say that Sunn have turned their backs on the darkness—“Aghartha,” if nothing else, is one of the most suffocating dirges they’ve yet constructed—but that the dialectic relationships they so expertly contrast here between the beautiful and the grotesque, the pitch blacks and the snow-blinding whites, are now at a level that can make extreme spiritual forefathers such as Earth, White Noise, Swans, Pauline Oliveros and La Monte Young feel rather modest by comparison. And as the calendar year turns on arguably the most self-destructive and malicious decade in American history, it’s this very shadow-play technique that Anderson and O’Malley have now mastered, as if the black hole on the album’s cover has sucked consumerism and capitalism into a vortex where black metal, drone, minimalism and modern classical can swim in the same volatile waters as transgressive world governments and war-torn societal ills. Monoliths & Dimensions somehow blurs these kinds of lines and posits these types of questions, and as we continue to move away from what are looking like political, spiritual and social ground zeros, here is one album that will undoubtedly be left standing in the wake of society’s inevitable destruction. JC


David Longstreth has enjoyed his fair share of respect and acclaim over the course of his career, but I think few would have predicted the type of breakthrough he had with Dirty Projectors this year. Whereas the band’s appeal would have been considered somewhat limited to more adventurous listeners in the past, Bitte Orca transitioned Longstreth and company into the genuine, widely recognized pop group (of sorts) behind the sexy, soulful tune “Stillness Is the Move,” an easy pick for one of the year’s best singles and a clear sign that Dirty Projectors were now operating at both a higher and more accessible level. The fact that Solange Knowles loved the song so much she decided to cover it should help put the band’s newfound fame in perspective. The remainder of the record is perhaps less immediate than that first single, as Dirty Projectors retain their strangeness, but the nine tracks comprising Bitte Orca clearly show a more inviting approach, to both the songwriting and the execution of this material. Only occasionally does Longstreth indulge himself in some aimless noodling, far more often impressing listeners with abstract but concise riffs that allow his skills as a guitarist to shine. Even the most challenging tracks—the lengthy, jagged “Useful Chamber”—find ways to showcase the band’s uniquely experimental style without alienating or frustrating the listener. It’s the striking moments of pop clarity, however, such as delicate ballad “Two Doves” and the crooned chorus of “No Intention,” that help make this record a resounding success, the likes of which had previously eluded Dirty Projectors—fortunately, the band’s most popular album is also their best. Whether it was a natural evolution or a purposeful foray into more accessible territory, Bitte Orca is the realization of the potential Dirty Projectors had shown before, but hadn’t yet realized. CN


In terms of music, 2009 peaked early. Certainly there were triumphs throughout, but the generally accepted highpoint was released no later than the 20th day of the year’s first month. Before the passing of The King of Pop and the start of a near-revolution in Iran, Animal Collective released a little record called Merriweather Post Pavilion, which emphasizes the importance of perseverance and consummate creativity. This was appropriate, since the band's pop potential wasn’t exactly inherent from the start—Animal Collective’s first album, released in 2000, is a difficult and noisy listen. However, over the course of ten years and several albums, more gravitated to the band's loosely defined noise-folk aesthetic. And by the time of 2004’s Sung Tongs, most listeners who fancied themselves adventurous either had formed an opinion about Animal Collective's music, or were about to. Of course, like most of their early work, Sung Tongs would likely clear the dance floor at hipster mixers across the globe. It’s a challenging listen to be sure—jittery, loud and richly layered. In other words, it was the perfect album to cement their reputation as figureheads of the opaque “freak-folk” movement.
The band has released one album for every year of their recording life, including 2007’s love-it-or-hate-it masterpiece Strawberry Jam, which seemed to state in no uncertain terms that Animal Collective was not about to meet its audience halfway—new converts at this point were unlikely. But what, then, can we make of Merriweather Post Pavilion? A warm and humanizing album, it opens up in layers of soft, washing textures, and even though it features more traditional song structures, the band still seem so intuitively attuned to their material that they can introduce a new element or switch gears entirely at a moment's notice, and all without the traditional hallmarks one would normally associate with pop music. The album’s debt to the surging melodic experimentalism of Brian Wilson certainly cannot be overstated, but neither should comparisons be solely relied upon. Merriweather Post Pavilion is as unique in its accomplishments as it is indebted to its influences. What this amounts to is Animal Collective's blossoming into an essentially populist band, giving the people what they want without betraying nearly ten years of strident weirdness. YD

Honorable Mentions: A Sunny Day in Glasgow - Ashes Grammar; DM Stith - Heavy Ghost; jj - jj nº2; Circulatory System - Signal Morning; Isis - Wavering Radiant; Yeah Yeah Yeahs - It’s Blitz; P.O.S. - Never Better; Memory Tapes - Seek Magic; The Pains of Being Pure at Heart - The Pains of Being Pure at Heart; and Raekwon - Only Built 4 Cuban Linx Pt. II

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InRO Staff](5_Year_in_Review_2009_-_InROs_Top_15_Albums_of_the_Year_files/shapeimage_1.png)
January 5, 2010
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