20-18. Weezer, The Killers, Ryan Adams

These three veteran artists are lumped together in 2017.  It just made intuitive sense.  They have achieved mainstream success to varying degrees and all enjoy ongoing fandoms that fill arenas to large theaters.  They influenced our culture but have long heard from critics that their only notable artistic success occurred in their early days with The Blue Album, Hot Fuss, and Heartbreaker, yada yada.  They have pressed on with aplomb even if some uneven output is scattered among otherwise great singles and good albums.  Although their 2017 efforts were not revelatory in some significant way, they were enjoyable from front to back and bore the brunt of repeated listens.  Sometimes the most durable records are those that deliver the goods in an expected fashion.

Weezer’s Pacific Daydream sounds exactly like you think it would.  Big hooks and wall-of-sound harmonies.  Polished guitar riffs.  Rivers Cuomo’s goofy sincerity.  Free of any irony, the album is carefree SoCal on a hot summer’s day, and you would be hard-pressed to find another record from this year that is more accessible, catchy, and charming.  Some have moaned over the ultra-gloss production but when you are playing to 10,000 most nights the pull is enticing.  So what?  Weezer is responsible for generational garage (The Blue Album) and emo (Pinkerton) albums, in addition to spectacular misfits (Maladroit).  Though the band has always chased the pure joy of playing guitar-pop, audiences hoist heavy and sometimes unreasonable expectations on Cuomo’s shoulders.  It should be no shock that this album sits right in that unencumbered sweet spot.

The Killers’ Wonderful Wonderful is the band’s fifth studio album and arguably its best since Sam’s Town.  The songs offer a concise electro-rock rundown of what makes the Vegas boys’ earnestness so appealing.  Flowers and his mates reach for huge, often fall short, but nevertheless rocket for the bright lights, this time doing it with a winking nod to their own yearning.  In an age when stadium stars are few and far between, this sort of self-belief matters.  As one critic pleaded with the band even after a middling review: “Please don’t let anything deter you. . . . If you can hold on, you gotta help us out.”

Ryan Adams’ Prisoner is heartland Trans Am rock with a glint of sadness.  Written in the wake of Adams’ divorce from Mandy Moore, the wistful songs might crack under the weight of it all were they not so expertly crafted, buffed out to shining chrome perfection.  The retro-rock production was meant for the highway, steel and rubber peeling off for new sunsets when the mistakes and doubts start crowding out what might have been.  Prisoner easily falls in the upper half of Adams’ discography and is imminently enjoyable even after dozens of listens.

Critics tend to discount fully-formed artists the deeper they move through their career.  The contours of a band's sound and aesthetic have often been defined, and new material must be judged against the heft of a back catalog.  It's an easy narrative to say promising first album!  Amazing follow-up!  Transcendent third album!  But what happens when bands find themselves at album 5, 11, or 16, as is the case with The Killers, Weezer, and Adams?  The D Man resists the urge to discount bands (or someone) you know very well, limitations and all.  They can still surprise or delight you.