OK, here are mine.
The New Pornographers, Together (2010)
The Pr0ns went from quirky geek-rock to quirky earnest power-pop, and it was a given that one of their albums should occupy a spot on a list celebrating music of the Aughts. Right around this time in their career they were due for either their more-of-the-same album that fell flat, or their out-of-left-field experimentation that left people feeling kinda cold. Instead they turned out their best album ever. As usual, Neko Case is their muse and guiding angel, transforming and elevating decent songs into sublime ones. The other secret ingredient on Together is the Wall o' Cello -- who knew?
Green Day, American Idiot (2004)
No doubt many of the popular choices in this contest will involve a hefty dose of jaded sophistication. Ironic detachment. Cleverness. I myself am jaded, sophisticated, often detached, and, on my better days, a little clever. And yet in my aging years I find myself often drawn to something else in music -- to the proverbial punch in the gut. The barbaric yawp. The unironic power chord.
After some middling work in the 90s, Green Day came out with this operatic post-9/11 gem. The lyrics are best absorbed indirectly, without listening too closely. The second and penultimate tracks are rambling, multi-stage epics in the best tradition of their idols, The Who. Have your air guitar handy while you listen, and a clear space on the floor around you to flail your limbs.
Tom Waits, Mule Variations (1999)
I dreamed once that Tom Waits had died and that only afterward did the world realize that he was the second coming of Jesus, and we had missed it. In waking hours I don't actually believe that to be true, but there is no denying that Waits' gritty world of the down-and-out is the one Jesus walked in and would walk in again were he around these days, and that something in his gravelly voice, at its best, pierces the veil and connects with the divine. Doubters are directed to tracks #5 and #8, but this album also has plenty of Waits' junkyard-band oddities as well.
Arcade Fire, Funeral (2004)
Like the Pr0ns, it was a given that something from Arcade Fire would have a place here -- they are lush without being twee, walking that fine line, pushing up against being too overwrought, but somehow always staying just wrought enough. The harder choice was settling on an album -- Neon Bible has some incredible tracks, and Suburbs is thematically tight and plugged right into the zeitgeist. But their first offering is still the one you can listen to front-to-back and feel that nothing in it is misplaced, and so it gets the nod.
The Decemberists, The King Is Dead (2011)
I resisted these guys for some time -- see my thoughts on "cleverness," above. Sure, their lyrics were super-smart and all literary and stuff, but my musical tastes have always tilted to the actual music, with lyrics often ignored and, if weak, easily forgiven. So it makes no sense at all that the album that broke the ice for me, Decemberists-wise, is the one they infuse with, of all things, a country twang. Because I don't particularly like country twang. Maybe the frequent nods to R.E.M. helped it go down easier. Or maybe it's that, twang and all, this album is more about turning out a series of well-crafted pop songs, and not some meandering thought-piece. Whatever the case, it made me go back and appreciate a lot of their other stuff, though this album still takes the prize.
The White Stripes, Elephant (2003)
The documentary It Might Get Loud features Jack White, The Edge, and Jimmy Page. All are great guitarists. But coming away from the movie you realize that only one of them can make a guitar out of random farm implements. Only one of them plays until his fingers bleed because of a hunger burning inside him that cannot be appeased. That is Jack White, Jack White is (let's be honest here) The White Stripes, and this was their best album.
The Killers, Hot Fuss (2004)
When we listened to synth-based pop in the Eighties we imagined it was like this. It wasn't -- most of it was much worse -- and it took a couple decades for someone to come along and do that thing but do it so much better.
New Year's Eve, 2007, Siam Reap, Cambodia. The main drag is choked with people, equal parts locals and tourists. Everybody's out celebrating, and one particular bar has set up their speakers facing out, trying to get a little dance party going at their doorstep. It doesn't really catch on until a couple tipsy Americans (Nate and Sarah) start in while their spouses (Suanna and Matt) cool their heels at another bar down the way. Their enthusiasm is infectious and the dance party builds, and builds. Sarah is swarmed with guys trying to get her attention. Nate drags shy Korean tourists out onto the improvised dance floor. Eventually the dance party covers the whole road -- if you're a person trying to get by you can try to squeeze around it but you're better off just barreling through, and if you're a car, forget it. And just when it seems like it couldn't get any bigger, The Killers' "Mr. Brightside" comes on, and it is the perfect song at the perfect moment, and this crowd in a remote part of the world, people from all corners of the globe, achieve some sort of sublime kinetic union at the eve of the new year.
Then the poor speakers blow, and the dance party dissipates. But that Killers song was the capstone of the experience. And the best thing you can say about this album is that any number of other songs on it could have been played in Brightside's place and achieved exactly the same effect.
Radiohead, OK Computer (1997)
Not really sure how this one scooted in to the allowable picks, but since it's allowed I can't very well not nominate it. The best album from the most genius band in the world -- which is not the same as a band whose music is fun to listen to. But this album was, and is.
J. Roddy Walston and the Business, Hail Mega Boys (2007)
Somewhat indulgent pick #1: this may qualify as a local band. At any rate they haven't achieved a great deal of national exposure. They appeal to the same part of me that digs Green Day. One part southern roots rock, one part Queen, one part whiskey neat, this is the band you want playing when you get to the epic bar fight scene in the soundtrack of the movie of your life.
The Pernice Brothers, The World Won't End (2001)
Somewhat indulgent pick #2: they aren't local but they're not as well known, it's true. But if you ask Colin Meloy or Win Butler or Carl Newman about Joe Pernice, they will speak of him in the most glowing and reverent of tones, and probably use the word "influence." This album and the one preceding it are their high point. They are also for me the soundtrack of Common Grounds coffee shop in Clarendon, Virginia, which for a few bright shining years was everything you could ever want your coffee shop hangout to be.
