The D Man's 101 Favorite Songs of All-Time

Robbie hounded us to put together our Top 100 Songs of All Time in the wake of Rolling Stone's recent list.  I simply did not have the bandwidth for that detailed calculation.  But it was not too difficult to approximate my favorite 100 songs of all time (with one extra song for good measure because Robbie said all the songs had to be in English, and I refused to leave Sigur Ros off the list).

Mostly in real time over the arc of my life, arranged in chronological order, these are my 101 favorite songs, i.e., the songs that drew/draw nearest to me.  High, middle, and lowbrow--all inconsequential, all here.  Just one difficult limitation: one song per artist.  Otherwise, it would mostly be '80s yacht and soft rock, New Order and Blue Nile tracks, all of Blue Sky Mining and August and Everything After, and heavy does of Radiohead and Sufjan Stevens, etc.  Enjoy.

• “Like A Rolling Stone” by Bob Dylan
• Arguably the greatest rock song from arguably our most gifted writer.
• “Wouldn’t It Be Nice” by The Beach Boys
• While “God Only Knows” is a navel gazing pocket symphony for the ages, this Pet Sounds track sees the horizon.
• “The Only Living Boy in New York” by Simon & Garfunkel
• Alone in the city, Paul’s glorious love letter to Art while he is away filming in Mexico.
• “If You Could Read My Mind” by Gordon Lightfoot
• I wrote a poem called “Turning Into Gordon Lightfoot”; my dear departed mother-in-law loved him.  The apex song from early ‘70s singer-songwriters.
• “Famous Blue Raincoat” by Leonard Cohen
• Maybe the finest writer who ever tried his hand at music.
• “Walking on the Moon” by the Police
• Showcasing the space and texture from the trio’s regatta de blanc.
• “Once in a Lifetime” by Talking Heads
• Finally hearing this giddy masterpiece performed live was transfixing.
• “Arthur’s Theme (The Best That You Can Do)” by Christopher Cross
• This quintessential movie theme song once got stuck in my head for five months.
• “Hungry Like the Wolf” by Duran Duran
• The video is one of my earliest MTV memories; colonialism with keyboards.
• “Don’t Change” by INXS
• It’s either this early anthem or “Never Tear Us Apart”; Hutchence always a bird of prey.
• “Maneater” by Hall & Oates
• This song scared and thrilled me as a little kid.  That intro quivers with mystery.
• “Let’s Dance” by David Bowie
• I love early ‘80s, Labyrinth Bowie, dance lord of all he surveys.
• “Age of Consent” by New Order
• One of the best tracks of all time from one of the most imitated bands.
• “True” by Spandau Ballet
• That breathy chorus will melt every pretense, you know this much is true.
• “Stuck on You” by Lionel Richie
• The height of Top 40 R&B.
• “West End Girls” by Pet Shop Boys
• Still as evocative and transportive as ever; a watershed moment in British pop music.
• “Drive” by The Cars
• Of all the late-night ‘80s car songs, this might be the best.  It was meant to be.
• “Dancing the Dark” by Bruce Springsteen
• When the Boss started pumping iron and twiddling synths, i.e., blue jean heaven.
• “Take on Me” by a-ha
• The definitive 80’s time capsule; the video still bangs, the high notes still ring.
• “The Captain of Her Heart” by Double
• Vacuous yacht rock that sways in the breeze; remember listening to it in the truck circa 1985, still pulses with nostalgia.
• “Power of Love” by Huey Lewis & The News
• Guitars, amps, skateboards, life vests, late for school, damn, I loved Marty and this band.
• “Graceland” by Paul Simon
• A masterclass in songwriting, rhythm, recording, and losing love.
• “Running Up that Hill (A Deal with God)” by Kate Bush
• When art school marries pop perfection.  Yoohoo.
• “There is A Light That Never Goes Out” by The Smiths
• There is no combination as strikingly peculiar as Morrissey and Johnny Marr.
• “Lady in Red” by Chris Deburgh
• A perfection of the form.  Junior Prom, future wife in red, cheek to cheek.
• “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” by Tears for Fears
• Eternal, overwhelming, everything.
• “Bonny” by Prefab Sprout
• This superb song—and the entire record—is the most underrated of the ‘80s.
• “In Your Eyes” by Peter Gabriel
• The greatest pop-rock song of all time.
• “Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now” by Starship
• My Mom did not know I was watching Mannequin on HBO.
• “Everywhere” by Fleetwood Mac
• This late-era gem is still mesmerizing; Buckingham’s tape-slowed guitar intro, McVie’s vocals, all of it.
• “Alex Chilton” by The Replacements
• It is still incredible that Paul Westerberg’s guitar-pop brilliance flew under the radar.
• “Where the Streets Have No Name” by U2
• There is a reason they have filled arenas across the world.  This is #1.
• “Just Like Heaven” by The Cure
• This colossal rush of new wave, goth, and romance paved the way for Disintegration, “the best album ever” according to Kyle from South Park.
• “Under the Milky Way” by The Church
• I know what I’m looking for: one of the the most sublime songs ever recorded, shimmering and white.
• “Elephant Stone” by The Stone Roses
• Seems like there’s a hole in my dreams.  Or so it seems.  A sparkling track from the UK originals.
• "Man in the Mirror" by Michael Jackson.
• Make a change.
• “The Promise” by When in Rome
• The summit of late-80’s synth-pop.  Escaping the chorus is futile.
• “Have I Told You Lately” by Van Morrison
• I always swoon for the Irish singer, and I'm always a sucker for late-career diamonds.
• “Downtown Lights” by The Blue Nile
• Scotland’s sophisti-pop stalwarts revel in romance and late-night noir.
• “All This Time” by Sting
• I have turned this favorite into a lullaby for my kids—hundreds of recitations.
• “Blue Sky Mine” by Midnight Oil
• Who’s gonna save me?  This entire album, really.
• “Caribbean Blue” by Enya
• The Celtic Queen has soundtracked some of the most poignant moments of my life.
• “Here’s Where the Story Ends” by The Sundays
• Leaves me tongue-tied; Harriet Wheeler’s voice is heaven sent.
• “Rush” by Big Audio Dynamite II
• If I had my time again!  I’d still listen to it before my junior high basketball games.
• “Nightswimming” by R.E.M.
• Eight albums in, America’s greatest band still created pop epiphanies.
• “Found Out About You” by Gin Blossoms
• There is a reason Ted Lasso loves ‘em.
• “Bizarre Love Triangle” by Frente
• Summer night, top down in Rob’s jeep, and the magic of this New Order cover.
•  “So What-Cha Want” by The Beastie Boys
• Well, I’m Dr. Spock, I’m here to rock, ya’ll!
• “Mr. Wendal” by Arrested Development
• Be strong, serve God only, know that if you do, beautiful Heaven awaits.
• “Hip Hop Hooray” by Naughty By Nature
• Gangsta rap’s party anthem soundtracked my 8th-grade VHS hoop highlights.
• “Runaway Train” by Soul Asylum
• Brandon Smith called me: “It’s on the radio!”  I ran and caught the last half.  Still know every word.
• “Two Princes” by Spin Doctors
• I know what a prince and lover ought to be!  They don’t make’em like this anymore.
• “My Name is Jonas” by Weezer
• The first shot of The Blue Album is spectacular; and I was the first kid in Spanish Fork to hear it.
• “Rain King” by Counting Crows
• There is a world where this was the best album of the ‘90s, i.e., my bedroom.
• “Selling the Drama” by Live
• I loved Live.  So did a lot of other people.  Now they forgot.
• “Windmills” by Toad the Wet Sprocket
• Tilting windmills, those imaginary foes, and wrecking my heart too.
• “No More I Love Yous” by Annie Lennox
• A not-in-love love song, strange and beautiful.
• “Thirty-Three” by Smashing Pumpkins
• Billy Corgan writes about Jesus during his band’s imperial age.
• “Off He Goes” by Pearl Jam
• Damn, this wistful downer off the weird No Code gets me every time.
• “Mo Money Mo Problems” by The Notorious B.I.G.
• Biggie and Puff together, times were simpler, tapping cells 'coz their flagrant.
• “Ce Matin-La” by Air
• The French duo’s space-lounge horns got me through an early month of the pandemic.
• “In Need of a Miracle” by New Radicals
• I still feel the throbbing angst waiting for Shelley to return home from her study abroad.  I think it’s time you tell me where we stand!
• “Olsen Olsen” by Sigur Ros
• They sing in Icelandic.  Take that, Robbie.
• “Race for the Prize” by The Flaming Lips
• All-time refrain: They’re just humans with wives and children!
• “Everything in its Right Place” by Radiohead
• The unsettling sound of the world falling into the 21st Century.  A millennial masterpiece.
• “One More Time” by Daft Punk
• The closing scene dance anthem to end all closing scene dance anthems.
• “Silver & Gold” by Neil Young
• From Uncle Neil’s finest “old man” album—another long-time lullaby for my kids.
• “Desire” by Ryan Adams
• He has written better songs.  But this one, man.
• “I Love NYE” by Badly Drawn Boy
• This gorgeous instrumental has accompanied our kids' home movies and my parents' 60th birthday montage.
• “Clarity” by John Mayer
• Crisp Ohio fall morning, sun shining, driving to law school, my life in front of me.
• “Golden” by My Morning Jacket
• One of the best open road songs of all time; pair with “Mahgeetah” for ultimate impact.
• “Window” by The Album Leaf
• Otherwordly, forlorn, beautiful; In a Safe Place was produced by Jonsi and recorded in Iceland.
• “Homesick” by Kings of Convenience
• Two soft voices blended in perfection.
• "Weightlifting" by Trashcan Sinatras
• The Scottish tunesmiths hit glorious highs again.
• “Streetlights” by Josh Rouse
• This alt-country song touches Big Star rafters.
• “Float On” by Modest Mouse
• Isaac Brock managed to make his zany nihilism huge and comforting.
• “Touch the Sky” by Kanye West
• Before Kanye’s recent holy messes, his impeccable productions soared.
• “Wake Up” by Arcade Fire
• The indie-rock totem of the ‘00s.
• “Abacus” by Fionn Regan
• This timeless folk track—later sampled by Bon Iver—is tucked at the back of the Irish troubadour’s best record.
• "In Front of the House" by Human Television
• Jangle pop that would make R.E.M. blush a bit.
• “Your Arms Around Me” by Jens Lekman
• We are rarely worthy of the Swede's splendid gifts, whimsical and life-affirming.
• “Lump Sum” by Bon Iver
• Considering his staggering oeuvre, it is hard to remember Justin Vernon marooned in a snow-banked cabin.
• “Daniel” by Bat for Lashes
• Black magic, Karate Kid, and arresting pop alchemy from Natasha Kahn.
•  “Heaven’s on Fire” by The Radio Dept.
• Apex indie-pop from the mid-tempo mavens of the North.
• “Chinatown” by Wild Nothing
• I never stray far from Jack Tatum’s dreamy, new wave collages. 
• “Bloodbuzz Ohio” by The National
• I still owe money to the money I owe; a debt that flying back home may never pay off.
• “On Melancholy Hill” by Gorillaz
• The singular Damon Albarn, sans his usual assortment of friends, hits his zenith.
• “Midnight City” by M83
• Indomitable pyrotechnics from one of France’s all-time greatest exports.
• “Dear Friends” by Elbow
• I could listen to Guy Garvey sing about mowing his lawn.
• “Suicide Demo for Kara Walker” by Destroyer
• This sprawling track is incomparable; so is Dan Bejar’s inscrutable genius.
• “The House That Heaven Built” by Japandroids
• In the Bayou, all the Reid men together, blasting this epic track down the highway.
• “Step” by Vampire Weekend
• I feel it in my bones.  The best track from one of the last decade's best records.
• “Red Eyes” by The War on Drugs
• The moment Adam Granduciel lifted off by distilling Dylan, Springsteen, and ‘80’s heartland rock through the prism of his Jazzmaster Fender.
• “Death with Dignity” by Sufjan Stevens
• The greatest folk song of all time.  It left Shelley and me in tears on our first listen together.
• “Wildflower” by Beach House
• All dazzling romance, Legrand’s vocals and Scally’s guitar licks find another perfect pocket.
• “The Less I Know the Better” by Tame Impala
• This groove is undefeated.  There are no signs of stopping it.
•  “Run Away with Me” by Carlie Rae Jepsen
• The Canadian sneakily became our best pop siren.
• “I’ve Been Lost for So Long” by American Football
• Midwest emo’s champions deliver another heart wrenching internal dialogue.
• “Begin” by Shallou
• This brainworm and its friends accompanied me on hundreds of bike rides.
•  “Bright Horses” by Nick Cave
• A staggering aesthetic triumph in the wake of unspeakable loss.
• “Sunblind” by Fleet Foxes
• An instant classic.  Robin Pecknold is a singer-songwriter for the ages.

1. Shore / Fleet Foxes

And in your rarified air I feel sunblind
I'm looking up at you there high in my mind

Only way that I made it for a long time
But I'm loud and alive, singing you all night, night

Shore is a magnificent.  It is an instant American classic.  Its perfect folk-pop songs glisten in the sun, soaring with optimism, a glorious antidote to almost everything in 2020.  That’s that, Robin Pecknold sings, we’re a long way from the past—I’ll be better off in a year or two.

On his fourth Fleet Foxes record, Pecknold is generous and thoughtful, paying homage to friends and looking down the road with renewed conviction.  He is undeniably a songwriting genius in the ranks of Brian Wilson, Paul Simon, and the nineteen artists he tributes in “Sunblind,” the year's best song, including passed on heroes Richard Swift, Elliot Smith, David Berman, and Arthur Russell.

While stuck in New York City, Pecknold went for drives upstate along the Hudson River Valley.  It was a form of escape and helped him collect lyrics for the bright music he was recording.  Where 2017’s Crack-Up was anxiety-riddled, knotty, and nocturnal, Shore is a soothing morning breeze, welcoming listeners to every pleasing aspect of Fleet Foxes' oeuvre: multi-part harmonies, sweet melodies, choral arrangements, and intricate folk-based orchestrations.

Pecknold’s recording process included playful flourishes.  Shore is flush with rich instruments: electric harpsichords, treated congas, vibraphones, an organ belonging to Fela Kuti and a drum kit belonging to Frank Sinatra.  The guests are wonderful too.  The Westerlies play trumpets and trombones.  Grizzly Bear’s Christopher Bear (drums) and Daniel Rossen (guitars) play on multiple tracks.  Hamilton Leithauser’s small children provide backing vocals.  After hearing unknown Uwade Akhere sing “Mykonos” in an Instagram clip, Pecknold wrote opener "Wading in Waist-High Water" to showcase her sparkling voice.  On “Cradling Mother, Cradling Woman,” he uses a sample of Brian Wilson counting and giving instructions on how to layer vocal harmonies during the Pet Sounds sessions.  “Hearing that clip, when I was a teenager,” Pecknold recounts, “more than any other thing made me want to get into overdubbing and making songs.”

While the songs are meticulous, they are also transportive and life-affirming.  There are near-mythic pop anthems (“Sunblind,” “A Long Way Past the Past”), featherweight folk whimsies (“Featherweight”), summer morning solos (“Wading”), quiet reveries (“I’m Not My Season”), late-night torches (“Quiet Air / Gioa”), and chamber-pop grooves (“Cradling Mother”).  Every moment is richly textured and destined for timelessness.

“I resent lyrics sometimes,” Pecknold said.  “I’ll spend all this time on a melody or a chord progression, and then I can ruin the song with a bad lyric.  It’s very delicate.  You can’t have a classic song with bad lyrics.”  It’s clear he knew what he had with Shore and, fortunately, his lyrical prowess meets each moment, incisive and evocative.  Unlike past efforts, where his stories conjured deep forests, ancient ruins, or weathered protagonists, his subjects here are rooted in the present, reaching out for deeply personal connections.  “The whole [pandemic] experience gave me so much additional perspective on what community means, what death means, what gratitude means, what privilege is,” he said.  “This is my least personal album.  I wanted it to be mostly about how I felt about other people.”

Those feelings—gratitude, humility, and love—permeate every joyful sound of the year’s best album.  #GiveThanks

2. Have We Met / Destroyer

Just look at the world around you

Actually, no, don’t look

January feels like a long time ago.  Who knew then that Dan Bejar would end up sound tracking 2020? It should not have come as a surprise, his sardonic voice long a surveyor of apocalypses great and small.  Did you realize it was hollow?  Like everything that’s come before, you are gone.  The idiot’s dissonant roar.  That exquisite gong struck dumb . . . cue synthesizer . . .

Have We Met is Bejar’s third Destroyer masterwork alongside Rubies and Kaputt.  His hermetic observations are fierce poetry.  His longtime producer John Collins' soundscapes are the perfect foil.  Though Bejar's signature drawl may be daunting for the uninitiated, his 13th album is one of his most accessible entry points because of the record's massive synthesizers, crackling drum loops, and wicked guitars, parts seemingly lifted from a studio dustbin after decades.

Eerily presupposing the pandemic, Bejar recorded vocals at night at his kitchen table in Vancouver, singing into a microphone connected to his laptop.  He sent the clips to Collins, who worked on the songs on his iPad at his home in Seattle and turned the wordsmith's visions into exquisite odysseys.  “I’d just give the whole thing to John and have him just blow it up, flesh it out—swap my crappy fake drums for cool drums, play bass, make the synths cool and not generic, and make the songs move.”

And move they do.  The songs pulse with jittery life, hidden spaces, and unexpected consequences. They drive and turn and float in seductive ways, evoking similar noirish scenes listeners visited in Kaputt: late-night streets, dark corners, empty buildings, or rain-soaked city parks.  I find the silence unbearable?  What does that say about the silence?  And your empty pen?  And this ridiculous paper?

No couplet is wasted.  Bejar's riveting lyrics capture more in essence the irony and tragedy of our personal isolation and institutional disintegration.  Went to America, went to Europe, it's all the same shit.  He is cynical about the big things and wryly optimistic about the little things, keeping the door slightly ajar for the forgotten or misunderstood.  And he appreciates a little dramatic flair.  We throw the game and, oh, how good it feels to be drunk on the field . . . again.

It seems Bejar eyed 2020 before it really got going, another rough beast slouching toward a strange kind of doom, and he wisely shrugged and kept his cool distance, releasing another magnum opus just before the fires started.

Well, I hope you've enjoyed your stay.
Here in the city of the dying embers.

3. The Avalanche / Owen

We are fragile and hopeful and wounded.  We just need to be heard sometimes.  And when we do, we pray someone is listening.  On Mike Kinsella's 10th and best solo album (always as Owen), he shares deeply personal struggles related to sobriety, divorce, and self-defeat.  He laid bare his soul and augmented my own in 2020, over and over again.

After deep diving in American Football (Kinsella's seminal emo band) during quarantine, it was another boon when he quietly released The Avalanche in June.  His life appears tattered on the record, but there are breaches to repair, maybe, as his shimmering guitar and resonant voice carry the hope of reclamation.  Recorded in Bon Iver’s Wisconsin studio with member/producer Sean Carey at the helm, the production introduces subtle pedal steel guitars, strings, and electronic sounds to the mix, accentuating one of the most gorgeously sad records of recent memory.

It’s hard to call The Avalanche a confessional record when Kinsella has long exposed his fault lines.  But something here is honest and heartbreaking in unmistakably 2020 ways, resulting in a vulnerability that is transgressive and captivating.  “New Muse” is one of the year’s best tracks, with beautiful sweeps of guitars and backing vocals that ache with self-doubt and plead for renewal.  Dear Lord, he sings, let me be anything but bored or in love.  After the sorrow of parting, he needs a new muse: if she sings for me, I'll sing for you.

On “Dead for Days,” Kinsella describes his father’s death from a head injury—likely due to inebriation—and poignantly worries he could meet the same fate: “Tell my Mom she was right all along / And tell my kids this is where my head hit.”  It is sobering speculation.  As the song cracks open parallels, he warily acknowledges he will try a different path from his father: “This is what a life in flux looks like / I ain’t got a bed to rest my head / This is how I hide from a guilt that won’t subside / I ain’t got a good reason for leaving."

“On with the Show” throttles like an American Football track, its intricate guitarwork supporting Kinsella as he liberates himself in ironic self-pity: “This is the role I was born to fake / a crucified villain, middle aged / I memorized my lines / and taught myself to cry / On with the show!”  Though a reputation for screwing up precedes him, he is willing to perform with unvarnished gusto.

Sitting in the album's heavy center, “The Contours" ruminates over his recent divorce and cuts deep with self-deprecation.  “I’m in therapy / She’s in therapy / Turns out all the answers / Are just questions / For next week’s session.”  As the song closes, ambient swells of noise grow still and he cannot let go: “Do you mind if I stare? / Or if I put my hands here? / Can I call you mine? / For one more night?”  It is devastating and moving songcraft, which is what Kinsella keeps getting right, year after year.

It is often a strange aesthetic truth: the more specific, the more universal.  The Avalanche hit me hard and buoyed me up at the same time.  Kinsella's problems are not my own; however, by sharing his inner world in such painstaking candor--alongside his stunning musicianship--it unlocks empathy and understanding and resolve.  He sings, we listen, muses together.

4. The Ascension / Sufjan Stevens

Sufjan Stevens’ eighth record is a discordant head trip.  He is tired and worn thin.  He wrestles with inner and national demons, his weary gaze moving beyond the personal to the cultural, deeply exasperated about the state of our discontent.  “I have changed,” he said.  “I’ve grown old and world-weary.  I’m exhausted.  I’m disenchanted.  I’m a curmudgeon.”  For the first time, Sufjan says, “I’m speaking to you.  You are the subject of this record.  You, the listener.” 

He reaches for love in the chaos, but the chaos overwhelms.  The music seemingly swallows up his best intentions in America’s post-fact and conspiratorial world.  The Ascension substantially modifies his Age of Adz electronics to heighten our troubling descent; it is glitchy, frenetic, and digressive.  “Lamentations” skitters across the floor with bleeps and disembodied vocals.  “Die Happy” repeats its only lyrics (“I wanna die happy”) as the track grows increasingly darker and claustrophobic, waves of synths and drumbeats and choral harmonies rushing in, building up, and squeezing the air out of the room.  Sufjan asks on “Ativan”: Is it all for nothing? Is it all part of a plan?  The disquieting track is aptly named after a drug that treats anxiety.  (“Put the lotion in the basket / Now jump off the overpass / It takes some time before the skin comes off.”)  “Death Star” is a retro-future house dirge, something that could be played in the alleyways of Bladerunner’s Los Angeles.  (“Trash talk, violate / Witness me resist the hate / It’s your own damn head on that plate / Death star into space.”)

Amid the confrontations, there are moments of pop splendor.  “Video Game” is a 80’s synth-pop ode to self-empowerment and defying the culture, easily the most radio-friendly track Sufjan has ever recorded.  (“I don’t care if everyone else is into it / I don’t care if it’s a popular refrain / I don’t wanna be a puppet in a theater / I don’t wanna play your video game.”)  “Sugar” is a melancholy but buoyant dance track, channeling Prince and pleading for connection during serious relationship troubles.  “Tell Me You Love Me” seeks solace in a radiant electro-R&B slow jam.  (“My love, I’ve lost my faith in everything / Tell me you love me anyway / My love, I feel myself unraveling / Tell me you love me anyway.”)

Dismissing concerns about being didactic or preachy, Sufjan notes this simple truth: “I’ve been doing this for 20 years, and how many songs have I written about my own personal grievances [with] judgment against myself, self-deprecation, and sorrow?  I was like, No, I don’t want to write another song about my dead mother.  I want to write a song that is casting judgment against the world.”

But the most powerful moment is where Sufjan casts judgment against himself, too, second guessing everything he’s ever done.  The arresting title track is a staggering confessional and may be the saddest song he has written (which is saying something), mostly because he considers giving up, wondering whether his holy aesthetic efforts have been nothing but performative and immaterial.  Is this the disciple’s path?  Look at where we are at!  We chose this!  Unlike “Impossible Soul,” which closes out The Age of Adz, there is no immediate catharsis. 

But the prophecy fell back as it gave me an invitation
Show them what is right, show them what is blessed
But now it strikes me far too late again
That I was asking for too much of everyone around me
 
And now it frightens me, the dreams that I possess
To think I was acting like a believer when I was just angry and depressed
And to everything there is no meaning, a season of pain and hopelessness
I shouldn’t have looked for revelation, I should have resigned myself to this
I thought I could change the world around me
I thought I could change the world for best
I thought I was called in convocation
I thought I was sanctified and blessed

But now it strengthens me to know the truth at last
That everything comes from consummation, and everything comes with consequence
And I did it all with exultation while you did it all with hopelessness
Yes, I did it all with adoration while you killed it off with all of your holy mess
 
What now?
What now?

5. Your Hero Is Not Dead / Westerman

This is easy money.

Will Westerman's debut, Your Hero Is Not Dead, is meticulous and unbound by time.  It will have devoted followers decades from now fawning over its technical proficiency, lucid lyrics and melodies, and obsessive nods to myriad influences.  Distilling sounds as disparate as Thomas Dolby's The Flat Earth, Talk Talk's The Spirit of Eden, and a variety of folk musicians from Arthur Russell to Nick Drake, the 28 year-old Westerman drifts across the artier part of the '70s and '80s soft rock landscape with gorgeous precision. 

The British singer-songwriter released successful singles and EPs after winning several "country night" competitions in London clubs.  With the aid of noted producer Bullion aka Nathan Jenkins (Sampha/David Byrne), Westerman takes his spacious bedroom pop to abundant worlds while emphasizing every negative space to subtle but thrilling effect.  He floats in and out of the frame as both lead and backing vocals, giving the strange impression he is standing inside and next to his own record. His peculiar sound feels lasting, a place for continuous exploration, owing to an alluring combination of his evocative voice, confessional lyrics, and curious musicianship.

It almost seems inappropriate to listen to the record without headphones, a concern which likely stems from my endless walks with the dogs in the spring of 2020.  Westerman's cool gaze over his life and the rest of the world--cautious, thoughtful, and pointed--provided 40 minutes of heady respite and resulted in endless listens. 

6. folklore / Taylor Swift

Everything has been said and written about Taylor Swift’s surprise “indie” album folklore, a wistful and nostalgic late-summer record showcasing the strongest songwriting of her career.  Ten of the tracks were co-written by The National’s brilliant multi-instrumentalist Aaron Dessner, who shares stately piano/guitar arrangements alongside Swift’s sharp storytelling.  Longtime collaborator Jack Antonoff ably lends his meta-pop instincts to the other six tracks.  Justin Vernon shows up for a brilliant duet.  It is all grand and escapist and deeply magical.  The record was written and recorded remotely and only recently did everyone meet up to play the songs live from Dessner’s upstate New York recording studio.

The best moments, for me, are the lyrical climaxes in each song, where Swift’s narratives arrive at their emotional payoffs with perfect refrains: see “the last great american dynasty (“I had a marvelous time ruining everything!”); “exile” (“I gave so many signs”); “mirrorball” (“I’m still trying everything to keep you looking at me”); “august” (“For the hope of it all”); “this is me trying” (“At least I’m trying”); and “invisible string” (“All along there was some invisible string tying you to me”).  It's been a long time since our culture shared a musical moment together; folklore had tweens, college students, and dads in minivans across the country singing these same moments together.

In the years ahead, folklore will unsurprisingly top lists of Swift’s best albums.  It will also be remembered for being the record of 2020, when we needed something safe to run off with during the August of our unease, something reassuring and recognizable, which is what Swift is and was, daring us to dream for just a bit longer.

7. The Universal Want / Doves

Hello, old friend
It's been awhile
It's me again

When I heard Jez Williams blitz not one but two guitar solos on "Prisoners," it was exhilarating during our weird pandemic summer, like your favorite mate showing up out of nowhere.  The surprise lead single for Doves' fifth album was chock full of acoustic/electric guitars, electronic swells, ooohs and aaahs, and Jimi Goodwin's rough and reaching vocals, displaying the best instincts of the Manchester trio.  When The Universal Want proved to be just as potent from top to bottom, it was a godsend. 

Twin brothers Jez and Andy Williams (drums) met Goodwin (bass) in high school and formed various dance-rock groups in the '90s.  Their trailing rhythmic impulses threaded through their first album as Doves in 2000 and underscored the band's unique sound through three more until going on hiatus in 2009.  

In the crowded Britpop field at the turn of the century, Doves squeezed in as a strange companion.  Less important than Radiohead, edgier than Coldplay, more atmospheric than Travis, and much cooler than Muse, the band grew a devoted following at home and indie-level success abroad.  When I saw the trio in a small club (with My Morning Jacket opening), they were about to score the number one record in the U.K. with 2002's supernal The Last Broadcast, which goes to show the Brits often have a better ear than we do.

After staying out of view for more than a decade, The Universal Want charted at #1 in the U.K., which is absolutely stunning for 50-year-old guys in a rock group, especially in today's competitive and decidedly non-rock/pop-saturated scene.  Wisely, the band does not stray from its autumnal sound but dives deeper into its spell with a set of fan-pleasing tracks that play to their strengths and are among their very best.  The record's dense layers of electronics, complex rhythms, and squalls of guitars come close to prog-rock, as the music seeps into every nook and cranny, but it is still more roughhewn and groovy than overly mathy.  

While a sad and weary beauty hangs about, The Universal Want is propulsive and cathartic, with deep wells of feeling storming through the knotty arrangements.  It is a maximalist grower, the best kind, encouraging listen after listen, rich, angular, and spacey. 

8. The Slow Rush / Tame Impala

The D Man's biggest concert disappointment of 2020 was missing Tame Impala at Vivint Arena.  But time is a strange and shifting thing, as almost every song on The Slow Rush explores, and my feeling is we will cross paths down the road because the universe is on our side.

After the canyon-sized grooves on the instantly classic Currents, Kevin Parker moves toward dreamy coastlines on his fourth record.  The eminently likable Australian mostly ditches the guitars from Currents and homes in on euphoric textures with slithery basslines and spacey synthesizers.  The result is heady and smooth, an alchemy of disco, psych-rock, and hip-hop, hitting on decades of touchstones while sounding in and out of time.  If you think you hear echoes of Pink Floyd, Bee Gees, Duran Duran, Prince, or others, you probably do.

Per usual, Parker played every instrument and mixed every sound on The Slow Rush.  His studio wizardry over the past decade has created an aesthetic world that is wholly his own, an idiom that can only be Tame Impala.  It is what the best artists do.  While recently hitting the stratosphere by selling out arenas and headlining festivals is a triumph, it is this singular vision of trailblazing but highly-accessible pop music that has captured a global fanbase and this listener's repeated listens.  

9. American Foursquare / Denison Witmer

American Foursquare is a gift for the homebound.  Patient and observant, Denison Witmer's acoustic record carefully follows his family life and resounds into the halls of your own head and heart.  His graceful songs are filled with appreciation and wonder for his wife, his kids, his friends, and his recent return to his hometown of Lancaster, Pennsylvania.  The songs do not seek to question or solve but to unfold what is most fulfilling.  Music critics often ignore records about domestic life—contented, no less—but this 41-year-old married father of five found it deeply moving.

After relocating his family from Philadelphia to a 100-year-old house in Lancaster, Witmer started a carpentry business and took a long break from recording.  American Foursquare is his first album since 2013 (released on Sufjan Steven’s Asthmatic Kitty label) and is created with the same attentiveness you imagine he crafts the Mennonite furniture in his workshop: sturdy, plainspoken, and heartfelt.  “I’ve two children and a wife," he sings, "when the day folds over, I don’t have much extra time." 

Witmer’s guitar fingering is lovely and understated, accompanied here by pianos, strings, and drums.  His arrangements typically expand in the middle with beautiful choruses and bridges, where his pleasing voice shares little discoveries he is making each day.  He sings about his old home (“An American Foursquare / On a tree-lined avenue / What am I going to do now?”); raising strong children (“How do you raise a confident and sensitive child? / Why would you cage an animal that wants to run wild?”); the salve of music (“Lay me down / on a river of music / and push me out / back into myself”); and his former life touring with dear friends (“Six weeks straight on the road / driving late after the shows / sleep in places nobody knows").  

On "Simple and True," to ease his restlessness and make himself useful while his wife is out of town, Witmer folds laundry, washes dishes, and rearranges furniture. "Then I found your picture and put it in a frame / Thought about how ten years later I still feel the same."  It plays out like your home, or a home you would like to visit, unfussy and filled with abiding love.

The stunner is "Birds of Virginia," backed by the talents of Karen and Don Peris from The Innocence Mission.  It is Witmer's devotional to his wife and one of the most resplendent you will hear.

You are the light of my home
you are the mother of my children
You are the calm and my wild
You are my everything
You are the birds of Virginia

As his imagery evokes scattered birds taking flight, it is an apt metaphor for the expansiveness and mystery of the women we may share our lives with, transcending from the ordinary into something approaching the divine.

10. Suddenly / Caribou

Dan Snaith is a Canadian house wizard.  With a doctorate in mathematics from Imperial College of London, and as the son of a math professor, he had an uphill battle convincing his parents he could earn a living making music.  His lo-fi, DIY psychedelia on 2003's Up in Flames spawned a successful cult following.  Since then, under the moniker Caribou, he has taken his compositions to ultra-deluxe places, and Suddenly might be his best record yet.

Six years after Our Love’s high gloss takes on house, hip-hop, and garage, Snaith continues to smother his music with strangely reassuring and soulful earworms.  His incredible ear for production emphasizes every drum beat or hi-hat, resulting in a maximalist headphone experience.  His affability also engenders a deep connection to his listeners, especially here as his honeyed falsetto results in the finest singing of his career.  Though his lyrics address his family's recent struggles, you might miss them initially because of the songs’ playful exuberance. 

He seemingly repurposes a lost Scandinavian electro-pop hit from the early ‘90s on “Never Come Back."  He splices a woman’s voice to serve as the backbeat for a trippy R&B bouncer on "New Jade."  He sings about losing someone close while a bed of dreamy synths provides melancholic uplift on "You and I": you can take your place in the sky / I will find a way to carry on down here.  He gradually transforms "Magpie" from bedroom pop into a well of sadness, while he chases the blues away on “Ravi” with lilting, disembodied vocals and his simple closing words: It’s always better when I’m with you / And you hold me like you used to do.

On centerpiece single, “Home,” Snaith cuts up little-known R&B 70’s singer Gloria Barnes’ expressive vocals (“Baby, I’m home, I’m home”) into a deeply inviting refrain, recalling the creative use of his Marvin Gaye sample from his mesmerizing 2014 track “Can’t Do Without You.” The result is a song that sounds simultaneously fresh and well-worn, the kind of heady warmth that is increasingly Caribou’s impressive ply and trade.