UTK Off The Rails

2022 Top 20 Albums

For years, I’ve let my inner Lester Bangs go. I don’t pretend I’m a great writer, a great music critic, or anything else, but there’s something about it that organizes the way I listen to music for better than the time I’ve written professionally. The difference between what I normally do and this frees me up a little. So I do it because I want to, and because I enjoy it. As a subscriber, if this isn’t your thing, skip it, delete it, ignore it, and I’ll see you about injuries and sports very soon. If it is, or if it exposes you to some music you might not otherwise have listened to, I’m happy. I’d love some feedback, or notes on things I may have missed, or even why I’m wrong, if you can make your case. Here’s a Spotify playlist of a sampling from each of my picks, plus there’s videos below:

Let’s get to it:

1. Gang of Youths, angel in realtime

I saw Gang of Youths live early in the year and it was religious. Dave Le’aupepe and the boys kept the spirit of their evangelical upbringing and brought it into a raucous rock n roll show. Le’aupepe left the stage, circled the balcony, hugging the girls and high fiving me, all while singing “Magnolia,” a song about his attempted suicide and coming out of it dancing. (Yes, I have the video.) They’re an anthemic, stadium-sized live band that plays clubs in the US because somehow, they haven’t really cracked the market. Their version of Australo-English pop-rock remains wordy, dense, and difficult, but also, easy enough to just rock out and sing along to (if you have enough air.)

Their latest album isn’t quite a concept album, but it’s of a single story, one of Le’aupepe seeking out the real story of his father’s life after his death. It turns out, much of it was a lie designed to protect him. There was a whole hidden family, a history of half-truths, and that the discovery was in and of itself a new story. It doesn’t sound like it would be as much of a rush, but it is.

Gang of Youths spent the pandemic not able to play live, the place they shine, and in England, where what could have been constricting ended up only tightening things up nicely. They explode at times, either finding the emotional core or simply letting go, as they do on “In The Wake of Your Leave”, which becomes a Gene Kelly dance number in the video, or “Spirit Boy”, which takes indigenous sounds and turns the band into some kind of tribal symphony.

By the time you reach the end of the album, swimming through the outpouring of the last three songs, an elegy and an explanation for his father in life and death, you’ll be exhausted in the best way, uplifted in spirit, and ready to push play again. Don’t forget that these songs are all solid, done in service of the story or at least informed by that quest. They stand alone, but work better as a piece, then better still live, where the Gang of Youths shine more than almost any other working band.

2. Ethel Cain, Preacher’s Daughter

Play someone the song “American Teenager” and tell them it’s from Taylor Swift’s new album. I bet nine out of ten don’t spot that it’s not. Then play them the rest of Ethel Cain’s album and you’ll hear Lana Del Ray, Florence Welch, and Charli XCX, but done in a way that never loses her unique voice.

Then again, this gothic epic semi-concept album - a beast at almost ninety minutes - is almost a constant over-reach. It’s just so, so big, in sound and scope, that it shouldn’t work, and yet it does in so many ways. The songs work, the concept works, the voice works, the production is never overwrought, nor underdone. It’s near perfect.

My apologies if the pronouns are wrong. Cain is a fictional construct, the musical alter ego of a transgender 24 year old, Hayden Anhedonia, that escaped a Baptist upbringing in the Florida panhandle, which is all absolutely laid bare here. There’s that gothic Del Ray storytelling in several songs, a few Springsteen/Cassidy young couple goes west stories, a stunning and stark “Gibson Girl” which is the centerpiece of the album, as in your face and modern as anything you’ll hear this year. And the end? I won’t spoil it for you, but if this doesn’t become a movie or at least a Ryan Murphy series, I’ll be surprised.

Back to “American Teenager,” which could be a pop classic. It’s so natural that you don’t notice how slickly it’s done. It builds to a stark call for Jesus, then breaks to an overt reference to “Don’t Stop Believing” in the arpeggios screaming behind the chorus. I’d really like to know who did the guitar here and on “Strangers”, because it’s great work that is in service of the song when it could be completely self-indulgent.

Someone that sounds like the moment usually doesn’t have this clear a vision or the ability to tell deeply textured stories. Cain pulls it off in a way that leaves me pointing at all the ways this could have gone wrong and that it didn’t, that it ends up one of the albums that hangs with me long after the last songs, is pretty astounding. It’s an announcement.

3. The 1975, Being Funny In A Foreign Language

This is The 1975’s Taylor Swift album. They leaned into some of the places they’ve been, especially 2020’s “If You’re Too Shy” which was a half-step from being an actual lost Tears for Fears song, so it’s no surprise that they could go more poppy. What is surprising is what happened when they got there. A little focus, largely from the crystalline production from Jack Antonoff that’s of a piece with Taylor’s two pandemic albums, has allowed them to get experimental but within the space. I don’t think The 1975 can be pinned down too long with anything.

“Part of the Band” is a lyrical masterwork of punctuation and syncopation, repeated lines and twists you didn’t see coming, again. When I first heard it before the album was released, it was confusing, a melting pot of plucked strings and unusual rhythm. It’s certainly not the obvious pop song as a first “single”, whatever those are these days. The rest is as challenging, though occasionally they go back to form.

(Aside: one of the joys of this year was the YouTube/Patreon regular vlog from Justin Hawkins, the lead singer from The Darkness and a star of the Taylor Hawkins tribute shows. He basically watches a video of a song, new or old, and then comments on it. Some is snark, some is Song Exploder type breakdowns, along with him perfect pitching his way through. It’s supposedly unrehearsed and certainly feels that way, even with edits, but it’s fascinating to me. His breakdown of “Part of the Band” really made me come around on the song.)

The purest of that is “I’m In Love With You,” which is as simple in structure and words as any and yet it’s an absolute classic. The band has taken the most basic things, the most overused lyrics, and a song structure that builds to the start of “You Only Get What You Give” for the out-chorus. Who even has the audacity to try that? Maybe Swift, maybe Antonoff, but even then, neither have done as simple a pop song since Jack was in the desperately missed fun and Taylor was Shaking It Off. (Contrast this with Swift’s “Labyrinth”, which takes a similar simple, call out to Joni Mitchell chorus and makes it sound novel and melancholy despite the subject. Healy’s taking things simple, Swift is doing the opposite, at least here.)

There’s not a misstep here. Even the retro-sounding “Oh Caroline” comes off as the latest proto-Toto nostalgia and pulls it off due to the multi-layered production that’s best heard in Atmos, where the whispers of the secondary lyrics swirl around. (Speaking of Atmos, the remixes of REM put out this year are stunning. I wouldn’t have thought Automatic For The People would become something new in surround sound, but man, it does.)

This isn’t actually a Taylor Swift album, but The 1975’s (version) of one is good enough for almost anyone. They continue to be the most interesting band working, big enough to headline festivals, small enough for people to still have the thrill of discovering them. Don’t be late and miss out on this moment in their career.

4. Taylor Swift, Midnights

Taylor Swift is coming off a run, a twist of acoustic coffeehouse pandemic pop that went away from her Capital-P pop music. Those two albums were flat classics, on par with 1989 and Red, which established Swift as the biggest star in music. So, would Swift stay with that, or shift back? She split the difference with Midnights, maybe leaning a bit back over to Reputation’s more dark, more frankly adult pop. She’s not scared to curse, not scared to be angry, not scared to be the villain and even reveling in it a bit on a couple songs.

Swift’s always been a bit darker and angrier than people noted, largely because people have mostly ignored that she’s grown up. She’s in a stable relationship, she’s doing some acting projects, and spent a decade on “All Too Well” as a film, making sure we never forget it was Jake Gyllenhall and that dude will never live it down, ever. She’s willing to be the “Anti-Hero” and do some “Vengeance Shit” on a song clearly aimed at Scooter Braun. “It’s me, hi. I’m the problem, it’s me” echoed in my head for far too long, but that confession as chorus is the kind of thing that only Swift seems to pull off.

(I realized after the original writing of this that Anti-Hero’s popularity and Swift’s stadium tour is going to result in 75,000 people simultaneously singing “It’s me, hi” and I’m pretty sure that’s not irony, but I don’t know what the proper term is for that many individuals speaking to introspection. It’s a big German term, I’m sure.)

Quick - listen to the bridge on “Anti-Hero” and compare it to the chorus variations on The 1975’s “Part of the Band.” (Yes, I know I already compared a different Swift song to this 1975 song.)There’s rhythmic similarities and similar effects on how it hits the song. I’ll argue that the sonic variant of “Part” is starker, but that Swift’s variant is more effective because of how it leads into a gut-punch chorus. “It’s me, hi!” is so bleeping brutal and simple that almost everyone can relate. It put me in tears the first time I heard it. I still can’t resist the hand motion that comes with the “Bejeweled” chorus/video either. I don’t know how anyone can.

Call this a consolidation album for Swift. It’s not a classic, maybe not even great, but she could tour for another couple years on it if she wanted, as she did with Reputation, Ticketmaster willing. My guess is we’ll see yet another transition. Could Swift do some pop version of The Highwaywomen or The Pistol Annies? Of course she could, though I have no idea who’d be the rest of the group. (Lana Del Ray? Um, she was barely there and was blown away. Ethel Cain? Ok, now I’m intrigued, but no.) I’m also really intrigued about the idea that she might go back and do a country album, but like a real country album? How about a diva turn with a movie like the oft-discussed Bodyguard remake? The fact is it could be any of these, especially with her firmly in control.

One thing that occurs to me is that a case could be made that Taylor Swift is really following the pattern of Dolly Parton. It’s a stretch in ways, but Parton went to acting when she was 35. Swift is 32. I’m more intrigued that Parton really only did a handful of movies and few really good ones. Actually, most are really, really bad - Rhinestone’s not close to the worst in her catalog, but it might be Stallone’s worst, which says something. The comp doesn’t work because Parton’s career is both singular and odd. She basically took the 90’s off, doing her collaboration with Linda Rondstadt and Emmylou Harris (great) and cashing checks from her songs (also great), but what most people remember her for were written in one afternoon in 1974, which is pretty stunning in it’s own right.

By the way, the production on this is Jack Antonoff, again, but that’s once again a not-so-secret weapon. There may be no more ubiquitous producer now, but as Matt Healy said, it’s not because he’s popular, it’s because he’s good. Midnights might be a master work, in that he could have done anything with this, but is usually just in service of the song, while finding unique textures that hide behind the pop shine. There might be no album that sounds as full or serves as why Apple’s spatial sound is such an advance.

A non-great Swift album is still better than most and this position in this year, which is as deep as I can remember it, is no small feat. There’s a lot of really, really good albums that got pushed off this ranking. I just can’t help thinking there could have been more here, and I wonder what the next push will be to innovate, in a world where Swift simply does not have to.

5. Ghost, IMPERA

I don’t know if Tobias Forge is a Satanist, but I don’t think so and it doesn’t matter. Ozzy Osbourne and Alice Cooper wrote the playbook, but Forge is the modern master. His masked rock and roll circus is mostly a one-man show, but he gets that it has to be a heck of a show. Live, it is, and the care and detail he puts into all of it is impressive. There’s not many bands willing to go to the detail and depths Ghost and Forge do.

Impera finds itself in that abandoned slot where hair metal used to live, occasionally getting serious enough to put out a great album. With Impera, Ghost gets close to some of those classics, like Pyromania, Powerage, Lights Out, or where I really see an actual influence, Self Destruction Blues. And yes, classics - I said what I said.

Driving drums, multiple guitars, and solid vocals underpin things, but the Papal vestments and nods to the demonic make some wonder if this is just a goof. (You’ll notice a theme in this year’s list.) The answer to both is yes, but with their last two albums (and tours), Ghost’s leaned more into the “okay, we’re taking this more seriously now” part of the show. They’re still absolutely electric live, with Forge one of the best frontmen around, even as he lets the Faceless Ghouls - the backing band - step forward more. My hope is that’s to keep this version happy and around longer.

Songs like “Spillway” are pop metal masterpieces, but others get a bit darker and more experimental. “Call Me Little Sunshine” is somehow both dark and fun, the driving minor power chords sounding like a lost Blue Oyster Cult record, and yes, I mean that as compliment.

You may not care whether Ghost is what they appear to be, or if they’re the best Swedish import since Ace of Base. What you don’t have to do is do anything but enjoy an album that deserves to be heard and rewards the listener who’s still willing to give this style of music a go without needing the show.

More Justin Hawkins greatness:

6. Midland, The Last Resort: Greetings From

On Midland’s first two albums, I wasn’t sure if it was an act. Sure, Mark Wystrach has a honey voice that can recall George Strait and Buck Owens, sometimes in the same song, and the Laurel Canyon harmonies recall both The Byrds and the whole Urban Cowboy era - there’s a lot of Roy Acuff Countrypolitan in here too. But yet, the seventies tint on their videos, the hats and suits and way too tight jeans made it seem like it was an act.

If it is, they’re committed to it. Weird Al was a gimmick, but there’s also talent, even if he wasn’t creating the songs. Midland can seem like that at times, like everything’s a cover, a remix, and so familiar that you know you’ve heard this, you just can’t place it. If it’s not an act, this is genius songwriting, playing, and putting a couple different things into a nostalgia blender and coming out with art.

So yes, Wystrach was a model, but he’s proven himself talented and maybe we can look away from the gimmick and just see the makings of one heck of a catalog. Midland has a pretty clear lane right now and could find themselves ascendant with a couple more albums like this. A George Strait comparison is likely to get you punched in Texas, but I’ll take that punch because I think it holds. I’ll stand right here while you listen to “And Then Some,” which is one of those country classics that gut punches you with the play on words.

Want more Hall of Famer comps? They do a nice Buffett/Chesney song with “The Last Resort”, then channel Brooks & Dunn on “Sunrise Tells The Story.” There’s some Clint Black, some Collin Raye, and by god, that’s some Aaron Tippin on “Paycheck to Paycheck.” How in the name of Garth Brooks did no one come up with the lyrical hook of “Longneck Way To Go” before now?

Again, that’s all with some 70’s and 80’s lenses on, but this is more than just a spot the influences album. It’s good, and it’s original, but it never sounds unfamiliar. Somehow, it’s like songs you should already know and feel like you do. It’s a new pair of shoes that feels broken in. Still new, but doesn’t feel that way somehow. That’s a pretty good trick on it’s own.

Fun fact: Wystrach is the brother of NFL Network talent Alex Flanagan.

Stetson. Rolex Day-Date. That’s about as cool as you can possibly be, isn’t it?

7. Orville Peck, Bronco

So what we have here is a mask-wearing gay South African by way of Canada punk drummer who sounds like Conway Twitty. I’m not sure what post-modern bingo that hits, but again, if it seems like an act or a gimmick, the voice belies all of that and the songwriting is strong as well. Orville Peck came onto the scene as something like one of those biennial country roots revivals. It played too straight, to an era that no one seemed nostalgic for.

Instead, the subversion is doing this at all. Queer love songs done in the style of George Jones, with the same baritone ache and country twists of phrase? Whipsmart lyrics over classic compositions like “C’mon Baby Cry” that leave a hint of leather in the snarling chorus? Galloping story ballads like “The Curse of The Blackened Eye” putting the western into country? Check, check and check.

The question should be less about the authenticity of a guy singing from behind a fringed mask and more about a front-to-back album that’s note perfect for what it is, even if that “it” is a unique mashup of both sound and influences, tied together with a vibe that never wavers. There’s full commitment, aching passion, and a soaring sound to this album that few in the mainstream country realm approached not just this year, but for a whole era. Steve Earle said that country music has become hip-hop for people that don’t like black people. Peck is for people that love country music.

8. Randall King, Shot Glass

Randall King has been big in Texas for a while and that can be a blessing or a curse. You can make a career and never get out of the state, playing all the venues around the state and the occasional jaunt to Colorado. King’s from Hereford, up in the panhandle and cut his teeth in Lubbock. A friend that first turned me on to him a couple years ago works near Amarillo and said that King playing a local spot was a guaranteed … umm, I can’t use the term he used, but let’s say ladies come out to see King sing. He sounds like George Strait, with just a little lower growl, and looks like James Marsden, which has to be a good combination. Another friend, a female, once said about King that “he only sings about heartbreak, not lonely, because if that boy’s ever been lonely a night in his life, it was by choice.”

King’s an easy Strait comp, with the kind of smooth voice and songs that can light up a dance floor or make you stare into your glass, but you learn in scouting school to never comp someone to a Hall of Famer. It’s almost never going to work out, so I’m saying King is in that genre, not blaspheming. Moreover, the album itself is complete and according to King, a bit of a concept. Every song happens at a bar and comes from a different perspective. I’ll be honest, I don’t hear it, but it’s solid regardless.

“Shot Glass” and “Around Forever” are the kind of songs you could play at a wedding or a funeral, and his closing song, a modern interpretation of “I’ll Fly Away” is an exclamation point for a debut album. I’m not saying any of these are “The Dance” or “If Tomorrow Never Comes,” but the comp is there. There’s also that little growl in his voice - heard best in the opening verse of “You In A Honky Tonk” and in the stutter of the “Baby Do” chorus that could make him famous.

No less than that man, Garth Brooks, called King the future of country music and it feels like it’s time for that kind of revival again. Bro Country has had the stage for a decade and while there’s certainly more diversity, country always seems to come back to its roots time and again. There was a time in the late 80s where Randy Travis, Steve Earle, and Dwight Yoakom came in quick succession, then a few years later Brooks showed up. He had classics from the get go and if you weren’t there in 89 and again in 90 when “Friends In Low Places” first hit the jukebox, I can’t explain it to you.

If some of the joy of music is discovery and if you can appreciate Texas music, Randall King’s ‘debut’ album, followed by an EP that might have stronger songs, is one for you. I didn’t find Garth Brooks before everyone else, but I’m early and strong on King.

9. Soccer Mommy, Sometimes, Forever

One of my favorite bands of the 90’s was The Sundays. They were jangly Britpop differentiated by the soaring sunny vocals of Harriet Wheeler. The band faded as they raised a family, but their first three albums hold up in an era when not much did. Soccer Mommy reminds me of that, especially the ethereal first album, and if Soccer Mommy dropped a cover of “Here’s Where The Story Ends” it would fit right on this album. Forget B-side, it would just fit.

Soccer Mommy is a critical darling, the project of 25-year-old Sophie Allison, and has been since breaking on to the scene as a precocious 19-year-old out of Nashville. She was seen as something between Liz Phair and Taylor Swift, a bit too poppy to be the former, a bit too angry to be the latter, but nicely placed and talented. But mainstream? That’s a tougher place to get these days.

So naturally, Allison went to experimental producer Daniel Lopatin, who’s recently done David Byrne’s American Utopia reworking of his catalog, and has worked with The Weeknd, including his new album (below for more.) It’s an interesting pairing, but one that seems more texture than a reworking of Allison’s sound, which seems far too defined to be tweaked too far.

The result is slightly more atmospheric than her previous work, but not over-slick or poppified. What could have been pushed too far is often dialed back, softened, and even slightly nostalgic. Julianna Hatfield is the obvious reference point, but Tanya Donnelly is in there too, maybe even a bit of Cocteau Twins. That sounds like a mess, but the songs keep it from being too much so and again, it keeps coming back to The Sundays for me.

My question is whether this is as far as this can go. None of those influences got big. They were critical darlings that too often were ignored. I’m not sure the Spotify and festival music economy that exists is better constructed to support this kind of top-tier artist with third-tier commercial potential and that remains a damn shame.

10. Porcupine Tree, CLOSURE/CONTINUATION

I’ve been waiting so long for a Porcupine Tree album it’s hard to be objective about it. As another Steven Wilson project, it fits in, but is it a Porcupine Tree album or just another Steven Wilson album? I think it’s the former - the band is there and involved - but it’s so tough to separate Wilson from Tree, Tree from Wilson that there’s really no point, especially when it’s this good.

Wilson steps into more collaborative, even communicative work. It’s not as “prog” as many would expect, if they go back to peak Porcupine Tree, but it’s less “pop-prog” than late Tree or more recent Wilson, especially the most recent Wilson solos. It’s definitely musical, sounds better than 99.9 percent of albums out there, and power moments like “Harridan” show that there was a reason to bring this band back together after so long.

The downside here is that if Porcupine Tree is simply personnel, then the lack of differentiation from one project to another makes it harder to hear any changes from one era to another. This is less an evolution than a drop-in, likely, and while reunions can be good fun, they seldom amount to much. That’s difficult for a band as good and as ignored as Porcupine Tree, especially when they sound as good as they do decades on.

If this is more continuation than closure, it’s a good return. If it’s closure, it’s a worthy addition to the Porcupine Tree catalog, if different. Anything that happens decades down the road shouldn’t be the same. That’s just nostalgia and while there are plenty of acts that live there quite nicely, Porcupine Tree isn’t an act that will get by just singing the hits.

11. Gabriels, Angels & Queens Part I

I’m going to regret putting this album this low. This is only the first half, with the second half being delayed until 2023. Gabriels - a band made up of an American Idol contestant, a classical composer, and a filmmaker, a mix we haven’t seen ever, but recalling Big Audio Dynamite - burst into consciousness with their song and video “Love and Hate in a Different Time” (below, still powerful and trust me, watch the whole thing) that is a jaw dropper.

There’s songs here, especially the title cut, that are every bit as strong. Jacob Lusk’s voice recalls Anonhi (Antony and the Johnsons), who recalls Nina Simone. It’s not the cutting falsetto of a Prince or a D’Angelo, but a natural tone that is in the same range as those and simply demands that you stop and listen. It’s a tone that says “something important is being said, even while you’re dancing.” The lyrics, the music, and the visuals are all carefully crafted, but not concocted. Lusk’s gasping vocals over a slinky bass-line and stop-start rhythm on “Angels and Queens” will make you wonder if it’s a love song, a lust song, or a simple cry for help, and it’s all three at once.

It’s the context Lusk’s voice is placed in that’s the real magic trick. Someone will listen to this and hear the Simone influence, the 60’s soul groove, the subtle funk and say retro. Someone will listen to the synths and drum machines and think modern. Somehow it’s both, and neither, and something entirely modern and of the moment. Lusk could be singing protest songs, in a Paris cabaret, or on a street corner, but it’s the whole of this that works. Look, Lusk had a great voice when he was on American Idol, but it took this project to really find something to do with that voice. Go back and listen to his entirely mediocre 2018 solo album and you’ll see.

(An aside: why doesn’t American Idol or The Voice work, in the sense that so very few, and fewer every year, have any sort of career? Kelly Clarkson was year one, and Carrie Underwood is still big, but there’s not even a Daughtry these days. Morgan Wallen’s success did not come from his appearance on The Voice and it’s barely a footnote to his career now. Quick - tell me anyone who won The Voice and where they are now. Who’s the biggest, Danielle Bradberry? How many winners never released an album? Why doesn’t it work, when the shows are still seemingly filled with talent?)

The production here, from Kendrick Lamar collaborator Sounwave, is outstanding, with samples and echo, with strings and drums, with big swirling orchestration and jazz evocations. The horns stabbing with the snare drum crack throughout “Taboo” as Lusk slinks around, taking the strings through the soaring chorus. It’s the opening strings of “To the Moon and Back”, which sound like a 1940’s film overture, Lusk’s voice coming in and almost whispering through to the chorus and then going exactly where he told you it was going in the title. It’s the simultaneously retro and progressive on “If You Only Knew”, which is heartache without era and a hit in any time in a just world.

Again, it’s the context placement, putting this music right in the now, that’s the feat. There are so many moments that it’s almost overwhelming at times. This isn’t an album where you’ll sing along, or that will be stuck in your head. It’s an album you have to truly experience, but not one that loses magic with repeated listens. If you’ve ever seen Penn & Teller do the cups and balls trick with clear cups, that’s what this is - something that is still astonishing, maybe even more so, because you see the thing happening and still are amazed.

I knocked this down because while it’s exquisitely done, it’s half done as well. Work like this takes time and even in an age where we go years without albums - looking at you, U2 and Damien Rice - there’s times when I can appreciate it. Waiting does not always get us a clunker like Chinese Democracy and if a few more months makes the back half of Angels & Queens the same kind of quality, I’m really going to regret putting this so low. It’s worth a listen now, and the wait.

(One other note on this, largely because of Sounwave’s production - a lot of people will ask why Kendrick’s album isn’t on here. Look, I’m a white guy in his 50’s and while I can appreciate Kendrick - Damn was at the top of my list a few years back - he does not speak to me. He and so many rappers do not and don’t want to speak to me. I’m ok with that. I can appreciate, I can support, but it’s tough to actually enjoy that. His live show, available on Amazon, is a far better experience for me. He puts on a heck of a show, makes great music, but he’s like Thomas Keller’s food to me - exquisite, but not for me. It does say something for how important an album is when I feel the need to explain why it’s not here.)

12. Amos Lee, Dreamland

I once described Amos Lee as a male Norah Jones. That’s not fair to either of them, but it’s not the worst comp either. They have that soft coffeehouse vibe, they both lay in between jazz and Americana, and they’re the rare brown face in that genre. They’re both talented, but pigeonholing either isn’t helpful.

On Dreamland, Amos Lee is almost nothing like Norah Jones, or Jones as most think of her. He’s barely what he’s been, taking a hard step to the side and going for more power. There’s a moment on “How You Run” that sounds nothing like “Windows Are Rolled Down” or “Arms Of A Woman”. Instead, Lee channels Steve Perry, with a big power chorus that echoes through it’s repeated call. It’s frankly stunning, largely because if you’ve listened to Lee for the better part of twenty years, you probably didn’t think this was there. And when you do hear it, you wonder why this is the first time and you start thinking you missed it and listen to the back catalog and no, this is the first time so let’s listen again. Moments like that in music are rare, and special.

There’s other spots where Lee goes back to his Sunday morning ease, putting tracks you could put on a mixtape to your girlfriend or your mom equally, like “Worry No More.” There just seems to be an extra gear that Lee hasn’t shown, even there, willing to go a little bigger, a little more loud and clear. It’s a good sound for him and shows there’s even more coming from an artist who’s been interesting, but hardly challenging.

13. Koe Wetzel, Hell Paso

I’m a huge, huge fan of Koe Wetzel, but I’m a bit worried about him. Outlaw country artists often cross the line between the act and real life, which Wetzel has clearly been known to straddle. His big black Texas streak of outlaw has been his strength, but there’s a weariness in it on Hell Paso. Just the title is a clue, harkening back to the other side of Texas and the wild west town that was just out of Roy Bean’s reach.

On much of the first half, Wetzel is playing to his hard country strengths, finding more melody than you’d expect in his grunge-inflected Waylon Jennings songs. “April Showers” could be his most straight country single, while “Cabo” finds him stretching a bit, if only to add a little Kenny Chesney to the standard mix.

It’s on “Cabo” where the weariness comes in. He’s living hard in the Mexican resort, getting rolled by party girls and looking for more where that came from. He’s gone from the fun guy at the party to the drunk uncle that your parents don’t want you too close to at the holidays in a hurry. It’s wearing on him and even on his voice, with the album ending suddenly in a smoker’s hack. It’s a bit, but it’s also not.

There have been suggestions that Wetzel’s tired of the act too, that his next album might be straight country. Pulling a reverse Sturgill Simpson would be an interestingly perverse move for Wetzel and he certainly has the talent to pull it off if he chooses. As Simpson has shown, there’s no need for anyone to stand still. I’m just hoping Koe Wetzel stays standing.

14. The Weeknd, Dawn FM

Dawn FM came out early in the year and I listened to it first coming back from Chicago with snowy landscapes the whole January drive home. The gimmick of being some lost radio station works, with Jim Carrey buying in and really making it work, much in the way Stephen King did for Shooter Jennings’ brutally overlooked Black Ribbons, and by the time I got to the end, I said that if I heard ten better albums than this the rest of the year, it’d have been a pretty good year.

Well, it was, and placing down here in the latter half is no knock on Dawn FM. The Weeknd has become a bit of a performance artist, but there’s still some really good performances here. The guy may be little more than a Michael Jackson imitator in terms of voice, but he’s found a sound where that doesn’t work against him.

Whether the persona can stay detached when he goes full Euphoria with his own HBO star turn later this year remains to be seen, but Tasfaye/Weeknd has shown there’s more hits in there. There’s no “Blinding Lights” or “The Hills” here, but there’s a steady level and enough songs that having you tapping and nodding as you drive to not miss that big hit at all.

The Weeknd is already big enough to play the Super Bowl and go do some acting. If he’s going to take some time away from music, he left us with a lot to chew on with Dawn FM. It’s a rare pop/dance album that causes as much thinking as dancing. (It occurs to me that Black Ribbons was also an album I listened to first coming back from Chicago. That album might be the most overlooked classic around, and one that deserves more listens these days. Shooter knew what was coming.)

15. Elvis Costello & The Imposters, The Boy Named If

i distinctly remember seeing Elvis Costello for the first time. It was SNL, with that wonky camera angle, an unsteady Buddy Holly pose, and a snarling music that was unlikely anything my young ears had heard before. Elvis is 68 now, having long outlived his namesake, but still makes the same kind of music and is somehow still as snarling, still as sharp, still as angry, with a whole new Britain to shake his fists at.

It might sound like an insult to say that songs from The Boy Named If - especially “Mistook Me For A Friend” and “Paint The Red Rose Blue” - sound like they could drop in on an album like My Aim Is True. That isn’t to say that he’s made no progress; his early albums are flat out classics and he’s making music just as good, in substance and sound, despite almost 50 years between them.

There’s different sentiment inside the songs, in places, but so often, Costello’s lyrics remind us that the things he was pointing to then remain problems and are often worse. The social commentary thread throughout his career could make for an interesting study, or you can just drop the needle and rock out to a catalog that is both varied and familiar, filled with the ache of love and the heartbreak of loss and death. Elvis Costello’s life is reflected in song and each new album just adds to that richness we’re all so lucky to share.

This isn’t from the album, but my god how good is this?

16. Tyler Childers, Can I Take My Hounds To Heaven

What even is an album in this age of streaming services? Is listening to a full album like binging a show, or is it the intended experience, sequenced by the artist as a whole? With Spotify and vinyl equally popular, I can tell you that I don’t know the answer. Given his newest album - albums? remixes? - I can tell you Tyler Childers doesn’t seem to either.

This album is really three. A standard version that Childers did with his solid backing band. It’s more in line with what you’ve heard from Childers before his pandemic dive into bluegrass and politics. The second version is the same eight songs, done a bit bigger. There’s horns, strings, and just … more. It works for some, for some it’s more subtle.

It’s the third version where Childers loses me, but proves he doesn’t care. The third version is pure experiment, with drum machines, spoken word samples, and … well if the second version was more, this one is way more. It loses the heart of the songs and too often just does it to do it, rather than for a discernible purpose. Which is fine. Childers wants to, it doesn’t cost you more or take away from my experience. It’s like dessert - if you don’t want it, don’t order it.

The eight songs at the heart of this triplicate are strong and will add to Childers’ already great catalog. It feels almost like he’s going the Lyle Lovett route, with songs that can be done with the Large Band or with a smaller one, or stand on their own like classics. Childers is a very different artist from Lovett, but he’s on the same track. He could do this for years, be great at it for years, make a darn good living, and do exactly what he wants along the way.

17. IV and The Strange Band, Southern Circus

The numeral in question here is Coleman “Hank” Williams IV. Yes, that Hank Williams and it’s immediately apparent that he has his father’s voice, which is his great-grandfather’s, one of the classic voices of country. It could be a party trick if he just used it to do twists on the hits, or just a jukebox show, but like his father, IV goes his own rock and roll direction. IV isn’t quite as extreme as III in his rejection of country, but III always found his way back, either because he had to pay the bills or because he couldn’t deny what he could do with that voice.

And that voice. Yes, it’s painfully reminiscent of the original. IV never breaks down and gives us the song that completely carries over to that side and gives the direct comparison, though the record scratchy start of “Son of Sin” is both the closest we get and the strongest statement of originality on the album.

I do wonder - what happened to ol’ Bocephus’ voice? Not that he didn’t have his own strengths and hits, but he certainly didn’t look or sound like his father, nor his descendants. He had his own album out in June, Rich White Honky Blues, which is just a shell of the things he’s done before through a MAGA lens.

Genetics aside, Southern Circus is strong without the name. Putting it out just as “IV” isn’t much of a hide, but he’s not playing on it strongly either. In interviews, Coleman said he was inspired by DIY music and house shows as much as anyone else and the ethos shows. There’s a subtle musicality to it that can make even thinner songs sound better than they normally would. That’s credit to The Strange Band and the production. But oh, that voice.

18. Good Looks, Bummer Year

Good Looks is an Austin band, but you have to dig in to really find any of the influences you’d expect from there, or when you learn that everyone in the band is from somewhere in Texas. Instead, the clear influence is a straight line from The War On Drugs back through Wilco to Uncle Tupelo. There’s even some Replacements in here, which is something we just don’t hear enough of these days.

The songs are solid, and start with an opening track in “Almost Automatic” that’s a statement piece. There’s more alt than country here, but there’s a twang in Tyler Jordan’s voice that betrays his South Texas roots. It’s the simplest of break up songs, starting with what if and ending with dammit, but taking us on a journey in between guided by jangly guitars, smart lyrics, and a sound that is more than influences. The lyrics and delivery to “21” are what Drive By Truckers tried to do on their last couple albums and somehow never quite hit. It’s political, wistful, and telling, all at once.

Good Looks feels like the kind of band that could grow fast, like TWOD, but still hold on to its core sound and commitment, also like TWOD. That’s a lot to ask, but a debut album like this, seemingly out of nowhere, is enough to dream on and at worst, this is one of those Joe Charbonneau stories, where you point to that one great moment if there’s not a next.

19. Bartees Strange, Farm To Table

For a couple albums, people have been talking up Bartees Strange and I didn’t get it. Nice voice, interesting concepts, solid production, and a synthesized viewpoint and sound were all plusses, but it didn’t quite reach me, even with an album of The National covers.

Farm To Table is both personal and detailed, with a clarity of production that wouldn’t seem out of place with a pop album. It’s crisp where his previous work was slightly muddy and (likely intentionally) lo-fi and buzzy. At it’s best here, there’s echoes of The National again, but there’s the jangly soaring sound of bands like The Church and late-period R.E.M. I’d really like to hear Strange hit Athens for his next album and see what happens.

People were right for touting Strange, so add me to the chorus. He’s one of the more unique artists and I’m interested to see what comes next, but also to click play one more time on an album that I came back to again and again over the last year, which to me is the highest compliment I can give an album.

20. Zach Bryan, American Heartbreak

On the one hand, Zach Bryan put out a 34-song “album” that’s more of a data dump than a de facto album. It’s choppy at best, amateur at times, and utterly fascinating. Just the difference between the first song, which sounds like it was recorded on an iPhone, if I’m generous, and the second, which sounds professional and just better. Is it that it’s a better song? Is it that “Something In The Orange” is the song that would have made the album if this was a traditional album, whatever that is? The answer’s always yes with Bryan, it seems.

He’s popular, engaged, and digital first. He’ll put out songs whenever, wherever, and there’s not a lot of editing. For a digital native, he’s not an overproduced bedroom wizard. Indeed, he’s often the opposite, to his own detriment. Some would call it authentic, I’d just call it half-assed. There’s greatness here, but not all of it, and that excess subtracts more than it could ever add. When he hits, he hits and it makes it frustrating when he misses so badly. He’s a 250 hitter with power, but he’s capable of being Aaron Judge, or maybe Jason Isbell is the better slugging comp.

Bryan is one heck of a songwriter, not a bad singer, and I’m told a very good live performer. I do wonder how these songs would play in a bigger venue, but many wondered that about Jason Isbell. Bryan could be an Isbell starter kit and that’s a high compliment from me. Songs like “Heavy Eyes” could veer off into standard country (in a good way), but there’s a gravely Ryan Bingham vibe to it as well. (Bryan popped up a lot on Yellowstone, even playing at the “county fair” in an episode. Nice fair if they’re getting this kind of act!) Behind him, there’s a bigger band and there’s moments where it recalls peak-Mellencamp as well. Then again, it speaks to how good his use of modern media is when he’s getting so much more notice than Shane Smith, Colter Wall, or even Bingham. (Who all also featured on Yellowstone this season.)

Bryan needs someone that can tell him no, or we could just keep taking all he gives us, the good with the bad. After watching “Get Back” this year, I wonder more and more just what the heck George Martin actually did. It certainly wasn’t the technical sound or the editing we were all told was his genius. I realize that late period Beatles probably weren’t coachable, but Zach Bryan’s next step has to involve either himself or someone else that can make him focus.