The 2010s: My favorite albums
Over the coming weeks, I will list and briefly discuss my favorite films, albums, and books, of the 2010s. These are not meant to be an exhaustive review of the Best artworks, simply a catalog of what I loved, what meant a lot to me, and what I could remember while I was compiling this list.
(I lost steam here, which is why not every album has a blurb. Know that I cherish them all)
Albums listed alphabetically with artist names secondary.
The ArchAndroid — Janelle Monáe
Janelle Monáe’s debut album is a fascinating preview of what would come from her over the years. A concept album portraying a world of oppressed androids and the love affair between two female robots, the eclectic mix of songs show off Monáe’s incredible musical range. She sings romantically over lush orchestrations on “Neon Valley Street,” raps alongside Big Boi on the thumping percussion and horns of “Tightrope,” finds time for radio-hosted skits and rockabilly horror tales such as “Come Alive (War of the Roses).” With the fabulous pop stylings of “Faster” and “Locked Inside” she shows her ability to marry the fun and the dramatics in invigorating ways. Mixing Afrofuturism with the world of Fritz Lang’s Metropolis should not work as well as it does here, but the album’s movement across genres keeps it fresh and the tragic romance of its narrative keeps it poignant.
The Age of Adz — Sufjan Stevens (2010)
I came to this album just last year, after coming to love the self-described “strummy-strum acoustic guitar song” king’s state albums and 2015’s Carrie and Lowell, so its bombastic electronic sound took me for a big surprise. The sonic experiment works wonderfully. Each song here is a densely layered mixture of synthesizers whirring, syncopated rhythms, and computerized dreamscapes spread across themes of sickness, love, and regret. Paired with Stevens’ trademark vocals these dynamic sounds become anthems of a chaotic mind holding on for more of life’s beauty (the album was partly inspired by a mysterious chronic pain) The final songs “I Want To Be Well” and “Impossible Soul” are lengthy (the latter being 25 minutes) multi-part extravaganzas of despair pushed back on by resilient hope. The resulting album is endlessly replayable and filled with new discoveries upon each spin.
The Black Box — aivi & surrasshu (2013)
I listened to The Black Box constantly during the decade, with “Distance (Bicycle Trip)” especially in high rotation on my myriad biking playlists, and always felt like I was being taken for a waltz through the sweetest parts of the Internet. This Bandcamp album is full of glittery chiptunes and piano melodies which buoy ones spirits no matter the outside forces countervailing against them. I always wondered why I was left with just these 11 beautiful tracks until one day I noticed some familiar names in the credits for the animated series Steven Universe. Turns out aivi & surrashu had been making more excellent, big-hearted tunes the whole time.
Blonde — Frank Ocean (2016)
This is the album of the decade, to me. The follow-up to another masterpiece, hotly anticipated for years, delayed to the point of fear for the music and the musician, and released like a thunderbolt. Everything surrounding Blonde made it a fascinating cultural product and a touchstone for the anxieties of the times. Frank Ocean’s sophomore album managed to overcome all of that and be an otherworldly great sonic achievement. The first time I heard it I was driving to the beach with my best friends on a hot summer day and it completely sucked me in. From those first auto-tuned lines on “Nikes” I was hooked. The beautiful, eclectic production made each song a revelation, and Ocean’s majestic singing voice flooded me with emotion. “Self-Control”’s earnest romantic pleading has undone me dozens of times over, while the pained shouting on “Pretty Sweet” has both been a war cry and a salve in times of trouble. Every song here dazzles with intricate moments like the exactly-halfway-through-the-album beat switch on “Nights” or the Beatles interpolation in “White Ferrari.” Blonde is a towering marvel of what popular music can be, and if it winds up being the last Frank Ocean album we ever get, we will be lucky just to have had it.
Blood Bitch — Jenny Hval (2016)
I have loved all of Hval’s production from 2015 to now, 3 albums and an EP, but Blood Bitch stands out as the high point of this period. Blood Bitch is focused on female subjectivity, desire, and the ability to reclaim power by bringing together the body and art. Over the thumping bass of “Female Vampire,” Hval’s trademark soprano voice hunts out her own presence alongside that of those who would force her sublimation into “the original crevasse.”
Channel Orange — Frank Ocean (2012)
Choose Your Weapon — Hiatus Kaiyote (2015)
A funky band with a funny name, Hiatus Kaiyote reached new heights on this endlessly listenable album. Wielding delectable neosoul grooves to fantastical lyrics on songs like “Laputa” and “Breathing Underwater.” The baritone vocals of “Prince Minikid” have been echoing in my head since I first heard the song, an ode to a bat. Several of the tracks start slow and gain pace during their often lengthy durations, becoming loud but never overpowering and maintaining their strength as energetic rhythms come together. The album feels like a lengthy, live jam session while also retaining the beautiful mixing of a studio project. That raw energy oozes from every song and keeps me spinning this record again and again.
CTRL — SZA (2017)
“That is my greatest fear, that if I lost control or did not have control it would be fatal,” SZA’s mother tells us in a recording at the start of her daughter’s debut album. That fear runs across each song, as SZA’s beautiful voice sings about unexpected heartbreak, the challenges of feeling adrift in life, and finding oneself in a position no longer tenable. “Supermodel” is an entrancing build towards self-acceptance and vulnerability, intertwined poles familiar to every young person I’ve ever met. Her hit single “The Weekend” walks the same road as she ponders the joys and sorrows of being someone’s side chick. SZA gets Kendrick Lamar and Travis Scott to turn in decent verses but this show belongs to her, that angelic voice, and her personal turmoil over the years. It all rounds out in “20 something” and its reach to make sense of the senselessness swirling through her life. The song articulates the anxieties of the interconnected but isolated era we face today, bridging the space between SZA’s personal longing and that of her audience.
Dirty Computer — Janelle Monae (2018)
An explosion of creative force and queer energy brought us 2018’s finest album, helmed by the ArchAndroid herself. Janelle Monáe made a statement with the Prince-aided “Make Me Feel” and the glorious extravagance of its bisexual-lighting filled nightclub music video. Monáe later released a fabulous film filled with videos for various tracks tied together by a story of forced repression, co-starring her then-girlfriend Tessa Thompson. The package is both visually and sonically resplendent, with songs such as irresistible bops such as “Crazy, Classic, Life” and “Screwed” keeping the party going. Monáe gets introspective on the album as well, describing her personal and political fears on almost every song. Here is Monáe at the height of her powers and self-acceptance, revolutionizing her sound and leaping to mass appeal.
Drunk — Thundercat (2014)
Emotion — Carly Rae Jepsen (2015)
I am ashamed to admit that somewhere in Stetson University sits written proof that I did not care for Emotion upon release. The mediocre review I gave to Carly Rae Jepsen’s sophomore effort certainly reflects more on my mental state at the time than it does this delightful pop tour de force. Jam packed with catchy hooks, CRJ’s effervescent vocals, and stellar production this album has become an anthem for myself and many of my friends. The opening riff of “Run Away With Me” is enough to get every fiber of my being up and roaring into a dance. Even the tracks I specifically dragged in that review, such as “L.A. Hallucinations” and “I Really Like You,” have become absolute bangers to my ears in the years since. My apologies, homosexuals.
Fez — Disasterpeace (2014)
The soundtrack to Phil Fish’s puzzle game Fez is a stunning masterpiece of the chiptune style. Disasterpeace built endlessly entertaining songs which evoke emotions within and beyond the game itself. When I hear “Beacon” (also my alarm clock) I feel a wave of nostalgia and warmth. “Adventure” opens the album with a rushing sense of joyful purpose. Tracks like “Sync” and “Nature” intricately reconfigure themselves into elegant crescendos that I almost always need to listen to on repeat. I have never actually finished Fez but its soundtrack has stuck with me over the years, with a song for every feeling and a notion of Right whenever I listen to it in full.
Final Fantasy X: Remastered — Nobuo Uematsu, Masashi Hamauzu and Junya Nakano (2014)
I’m cheating a tiny bit here. Square Enix published Final Fantasy X in 2001 for the PlayStation 2, alongside its splendid soundtrack. But I wouldn’t play that version until I was in high school and I wouldn’t play the game through entirely until college, when I spent much of a winter break plowing through the HD Remastered edition on my PS3. And there I fell in love with its music, initially composed by three masters of Japanese Role Playing Game. Hymn of the Fayth, a short religious piece sung by various voices across the game’s world, has become an important touchstone for me in times of sorrow and joy (and inebriation). A soothing playlist of select pieces helped get me through college papers and “Wandering Flame” has become one of my favorite songs for almost any occasion. Though FFX was the first game with full voice acting in the series, this soundtrack upheld the silent games’ legacy of stellar themes and tension riddling battle music.
Flower Boy — Tyler, The Creator (2017)
good kid, m.A.A.d city — Kendrick Lamar (2012)
High As Hope — Florence + The Machine (2018)
Lush — Snail Mail (2018)
I spent an ungodly amount of time in the summer of 2018 blasting Lush around anyone who dared pass me the aux. “Heat Wave” opens with luxurious guitar licks unfurling into a resigned lament about the doldrums of youthful parties before racing into its heartbroken wails. That song, and its companion “Pristine,” became daily must-hears for months. Lindsey Jordan’s uncanny ability to tap into timeless emotions in her teenage years made her debut album a tour de force which resonated with me in almost every situation. Her slow, sorrowful renditions of these songs live only served to reinforce the sense that this was a song-smith whose star will continue to burn hot well into the next decade.
MASSEDUCTION — St. Vincent (2017)
By the time MASSEDUCTION came out I was a full-blown St. Vincent obsessive, so I would have spent the weekend playing it on repeat no matter what, but it helped that this album fucking rules. Continuing the steady and controlled evolution of her sound from baroque pop to rock goddess, the Dallas native here turns fuzzy as she shreds on “Los Ageless” and “Fear the Future” with her signature technicality. The tender piano playing in “New York” and “Happy Birthday, Johnny” underpin her reflections on lost or damaged relationships with poignancy. Co-produced by Jack Antonoff (of Bleachers and Taylor Swift fame) this album beautifully binds his predilection for hooks and glitz with St. Vincent’s acclaimed instrumentation and willingness to plumb her own depths. The ensuing album roars to life throughout its run, reaching a zenith on the kink-laced breakup song “Savior.”
No Regerts — Chastity Belt (2013)
I didn’t encounter this debut from Chastity Belt until late last year but it completely blew me away. The group of Seattle punks formed in college and the album gleams with their youthful energy and understanding. On “Seattle Party” the repetition of “Are we having fun?” toes the thin line dividing maudlin and joyful. A similar feeling is found on “Black Sail” and “James Dean,” but this album isn’t all haunted examination. The raw exuberance of “Giant Vagina” and “Pussy Weed Beer” (which my friends and I have shouted along to towards the tail end of many parties) palpably flies off the record. No Regerts is a soundtrack for the transitional period from young adult to just adult crafted by women in the throes of life’s confusion.
Random Access Memories — Daft Punk (2013)
That the decade only saw one Daft Punk album is a shame, but when its this good you can’t blame the French robots for taking some time off. Random Access Memories brought together music legends spanning decades to build a soundscape mixing, to quote collaborator Giorgio Moroder, “the sound of the 60s, of the 70s, and the sound of the future” with incredible results. From the mega hit “Get Lucky” to the metamorphic ballad “Touch” this is Daft Punk at their finest, top to bottom. The meticulously developed tribute to the music they love also paved the way forward for a new vision of music wherein House mechanisms are imbued with human hearts.
Strange Mercy — St. Vincent (2011)
“Oh little one, I’d tell you good news that I don’t believe/If it would help you sleep/Strange Mercy” Annie Clark sings midway through her best album’s title track, my favorite song ever written (a friend painted that lyric as a Christmas gift to me. I sleep below it). Strange Mercy is an often quiet, metronomic album driven by repetition and regrets. Clark looks back with hurt on “Cruel” and “Neutered Fruit” at those who have discarded her feelings without a second thought. Her razor sharp guitar riffs here established her reputation as a guitar goddess. They appear in blasts from the ether to raise the emotional stakes of each song, whether its kink and awe of “Chloe in the Afternoon” or the sycophantic fervor of “Dilettante.” This was the album that made me fall in love with St. Vincent, and its lasting influence is spread across the rest of this list.
Stock Neon — Also Also Also (2016)
Largely self-produced by Canadian singer-songwriter Eden Rohatensky, this project of dark synths and pulsing percussion crackles with electricity. The opening melodic buzz of “Waltz Between the Head and the Heart” sets the tone. Rohatensky oscillates between higher and lower octaves with ease on the opening track. Their singing rumbles at the lower end throughout much of the album. It’s fitting for the lyrical content which traffics in heartbreak and self-preservation. “Soldier,” one of my favorite songs of the decade, stands as a testament to resilience, recounting the ways they’ve been knocked back whilst refusing to stand down. The annunciation of “to fumble all my regrets/my flaws outweigh my intellect” still brings a chill to my spine. Stacked with exciting moments and genuine emotion, Stock Neon is a gem of independent music making.
We got it from Here… Thank You 4 Your Service — A Tribe Called Quest (2016)
The first Tribe album in nearly twenty years and tragically their last is a stellar return to form for one of raps greatest groups. Q-Tip and the late Phife Dawg (he succumbed to his diabetes during the album’s production) rap with the urgency of men who realize they wasted their primes on squabbles and need to reunite. The chemistry between the two is palpable on tracks like “The Space Program” and “We The People” where, alongside original member-turned-chef Jarobi White, they satirize American gentrification and indifference to oppression. Released the week of Trump’s election, the politically charged album seemed perfectly timed to reflect the decade’s accelerating news cycle of horrors. But at its heart it is a tribute to a fallen brother and a group’s legacy. Collaborators range from old-friend Busta Rhymes to Elton John (both of whom are fantastic on “Sold Walls of Sound”) and a host of others paying respect to some of rap’s most innovative and original performers.
