Most hydrangeas bloom in late spring, but there’s a variety called a “Peegee” that blooms well into the summer. Two Peegees flank the front of the house, and the pink-trimmed white bloom is striking not just for its own color, but because by that time of year, nothing else on the block has color except the yellowing weeds desperate for water. It would be unreasonable if I suddenly wanted them to bloom at a different point in the season, or to bloom with a different color (supposedly determined by soil chemistry). So I enjoy them for what they are.

So do you enjoy the sound of Future Islands? I do! They aren’t changing. Enjoy their sound for what it is.

7

2024, 4AD

This has been playing non-stop for about 6 weeks. It’s playing right now. At first, the artists that invited shoegaze into the studio after a COVID-induced thaw wanted to push the genre’s limits (Yves Tumor), or fuse it with - I know this is shocking - electronica (Jane Remover). In strolls a Brooklyn outfit that remembers what Kevin Shields knew by instinct: melody counts for more than just bonus points. Melody, not style, hooks you into repeat listens. Melody, not technique, makes tracks like “I Thought You’d Change” and “Stump” feel effortless. Of course, very few works are totally original, so if you’re going to pick up influences, you could do far worse than the ringing guitars of Hüsker Dü. This is an unexpected gem, the best kind.

10

2023, Third Man

The remastering of our previous subject didn’t do much to sway my opinion. It’s already a classic as is. But this might be the only remix I’ve ever heard to force total reevaluation of the original. Truly, when the overdrive of Little Mascara kicked, my eyes almost popped out of my skull. The original is notorious for tinny drums, thin bass, and squishy vocals. Ed Stasium Frankensteins the tracks from start to finish, and several listens are necessary to appreciate how talented this group was. At last, Paul Westerberg - the most underrated pop songwriter - has the music to match his pen.

10

2023, Rhino

He hated the original album cover, which is understandable, so what you see here is the new one. But for Crenshaw - or more likely some Satan from the record label - to hold this album from streaming services until it could be remastered is criminal.

I assume that’s what the holdup was, because Crenshaw’s best effort was a conspicuous absence from YouTube Music. The original production from Steve Lillywhite is flush with echoing instruments and faded vocals, but somehow that never diminished Crenshaw’s earnestness and positivity in the face of adversity. You get the sense this is exactly what Buddy Holly (a thousand praises be upon him) would have sounded like if the studio tech were available to him in 1958. The remaster is an improvement to be sure, though it won’t sway a detractor on its own. Lillywhite did a fine job on his own.

10

1983, Warner Bros.

I am not a Dylan discography aficionado, or even someone who immediately genuflects at the utterance of his name. But this is the one. The one you can put on any time, anywhere, and derive new pleasures on each listen. The one that you will catch yourself humming on a walk, navigating the highway at dusk. The unwavering bass will be ringing in your head long after the last Buckets of Rain have fallen. Witness an absolute triumph of songwriting, an artist who perfectly channels the turbulence of young love cut short, and instrumentals as raw as they are inviting.

10

1975, Columbia

Here we have a rare moment when the “indie” band effortlessly walks a tightrope between the charm that made them successful and experimentation with subgenres that elevate the songs. You can admire the instrumental influences (Pixies, the Smiths, My Bloody Valentine) and the seductive coolness of the collegiate songwriting just long enough before the band pulls you into the next masterfully crafted track. Take heart that we haven’t exhausted every worthwhile pop synthesis.

9

2022, Polyvinyl

I am not alone in this body. Pain is an illusion.

8

2001, Volcano

You caught me: I play too many video games, but a review like this is a chance to write laterally and opine on a game. Calling TUNIC a gem is undervaluing it. It’s a puzzler’s paradise of unique mechanics, engaging gameplay, and layered secrets. The soundtrack itself is (literally) one of those secrets, and it lets you perfectly recapture the excitement of your first play-through. Every use of the overworld theme is purposeful, every motif teases a clue. Pure joy.

9

2022, LOOPDISK

Contrast keeps this effort afloat, at times airborne. Vibrant arrangements mostly mask an abiding loneliness; meticulous production mostly conquers freneticism. The influence of The 1975 is unmistakable and somewhat regrettable. On the plus side, I never made it to Bain’s first LP but now I am interested.

6

2023, Dirty Hit

It’s usually a red flag when an album clocks in shorter than it feels, but this is an exception because the tracks get stronger from start to finish. Tight harmonies swoop in to save “Just Before The Morning” from becoming a slog. “Ava” is the standout, rising above corny stanzas with an electronic moan and gentle piano.

6

2023, Loma Vista

It started promising. Even when the shouting kicked in “All” it seemed like the band had shaken off the boring instincts of 2010s “indie pop”. The writing was better too. A few tracks later they were right back in their comfort zone.

4

2023, Glassnote

If you are going to write something like “Sex Type Thing”, you need an inflection in your voice that makes it obvious that the song is a social critique. Scott Weiland (God rest his soul) doesn’t have that, (though I believe him when he says he intends to be critical). Plenty of good riffs, especially on the first track which kicks you in the teeth, but the songs overstay their welcome.

6

1992, Atlantic

Don’t stare or else you will go blind from the shine. Maybe this is snow blindness? It’s their most produced (OK, refined) effort yet, and once the first track is out of the way, don’t you dare stand in its way. Granduciel has completed his Dylan transformation, even if the rain on Desolation Row is occasional. But where does he go from here? If he’s following a standard path, this is the point where the stadium anthems begin reversion to what made the band popular in the first place: the mysterious, the ephemeral. “Victim” is a good approximation, and maybe the best track of all. (It sound’s like “Wheel of Foutune”. I’ll buy a “U”, Pat.)

Live in Philly two years ago, Granduciel persevered through a bad case of (probably) COVID, and I expect the same full effort on the next go-around. Please revisit R.E.M.

9

2021, Atlantic

This is technically a compilation, but functionally an album: three standalone tracks from this year, bundled with other singles released since their last effort (which is somehow 5 years old). I wish they had ordered the tracks chronologically, because the pandemic’s impact on their sound would be more obvious. Wye Oak came into the decade touting crisper, brighter tones and assertive beats, with a melodic synth or guitar at the center. Since then something has reawakened their dream pop instincts, with Wasner’s voice putting in most of the work above airy timbres that evoke a warm, grassy breeze at the end of summer. The lyrics are ponderous as usual, but I also detect a somber thread weaving its way through these songs, a thread that tries to pass for acceptance of the state of personal affairs and relationships.

7

2023, Merge

Still completely earnest, and that’s half the battle for an indie solo project, especially (and perhaps unfairly) when you’re a woman. The other half is some serious chops, and this effort is much more focused than the first, riffs and all.

8

2021, Matador

This didn't sniff the top of any of the decade wrap-ups floating around the interwebs. Some albums and tracks benefit the from the timing of their release, a fact I like to internally deny as I try to discern if this one will "hold up". So I'm letting my guard down, because in March 2014, this one barreled into my headphones and tore at the seams of every emotion that filled the space of those lonely months. It's not Granduciel's mastery of texture that keeps you coming back, beautiful and foreboding as they may be. Somehow, it's his voice that turns these tunes into landscapes of some memory that you would have sworn had slipped but are so grateful to find hanging on.

10

2014, Secretly Canadian

Look, no more listens are going to move the needle here. The padroness of phlegmatic pop presents a poignant if predictable and partially pornographic playlist that will entertain family members of most ages for most of its hour plus run time. Isn't that enough? Take social commentary where you can get it. Guess I'm running with the wrong crowd.

7

2019, Polydor/Interscope

I'm becoming concerned that I'll never listen to a Neil Young album I won't love from start to finish. More concerning when the artist himself hates it so much it goes out of print. Setting aside the mystique that comes with rarity, so many of these tunes are rough enough around the edges to imagine concertgoers with puzzled looks. Young pushes his range on the rowdy "Yonder Stands the Sinner" and strains the band's muscle on the appropriately named "Last Dance," the mellow sounds of Harvest inadequate preparation for this kind of music. I'm a sucker for the well-timed quiet ballad, and "The Bridge" is up there with the best of them. It peels the veneer off Harvest and leaves no doubt Young is most at home it the ditch. Just the thought of a symphony orchestra at one of his live performance borders on full belly-laugh.

9

1973, Reprise

Hey, this is grunge! A bit slicker and more rhythmically complex than Soundgarden, angrier than Helmet, with hooks to match Alice in Chains. Keenan is the revelation, a voice that seems incapable of such power during the quiet refrains, such as they are. This is all just enough to counterbalance the unchecked brooding and rage and keep the band in the mainstream, albeit with a Haley's Comet-shaped orbit. You'll hear the term "thinking man's metal band" thrown around with abandon, but seriousness applied like a sledgehammer holds their debut back. Especially the last track, which is "prog rock" in all the wrong ways.

6

1993, Zoo

This is an album evoking motion. The stillness of vulnerability, the rattle of anger, the drift of sorrow, the soar of hope, with every distortion and loop gracefully expanding the surface area of what folk can be. The drumming is subtly masterful, keeping time without concealing the fragile ensemble wrapped around it. There's something new to discover on every listen. The steady trot and horn crescendos of "Cattails" will move the wheels of your car.

8

2019, 4AD