50-31 | 30-11 | 10-1 | EP/Live/Compilation
While progressive sludge metal might be a rather sparsely-inhabited sub-sub-genre, Dvne have assuredly claimed their kingship over its fertile lands with Etemen Ænka. Standing tall as an epic journey built upon the stones of crushing virtuosity and wizard-level songwriting festooned in ribbons of grandiose, this Edinburgh quintet have procured an especially astute amalgamation of poise and power with their sophomore LP.
Compared to their 2017 debut longplayer Asheran, the whole affair is noticeably tighter as it follows the story of a civilization’s journey through the centuries. The ‘float like a butterfly, sting like a bee’ production job helps these matters by offering a wide breadth for the myriad layers to breathe, and moreover, work in harmonious fashion to maximize the emotive gestures and unbelievably devastating heavy sections (think Cult of Luna’s Salvation here). There are parts, like the epic peak of “Sì-XIV”, that hit so fantastically hard you’d swear you can feel the tectonic plates below the soil shift to the movement of the riffs. It’s all very dynamic, with every player sounding loose and totally electrified as they tap into the very tactile power of the music they’re conjuring. Truly cohesive and utterly gripping through its entire runtime, this is prog for the peasantry and sludge for the sommeliers. –Evok
[Official site] // [Spotify]
Now, if I may make a couple bold statements: Arab Strap are the best band named after a cock ring and As Days Get Dark is their best album. Somehow. If you conveniently forget their first album, then their bookends, thus far, are the classics of their catalogue. Honest, earnest, drunk and horny. The boys are back in town! Throw in a drum machine, and hey presto, classic. Fifteen years removed from their last, the band which initially started as a joke return seasoned veterans of wistful Scottish indie. Like their best work, As Days Get Dark is introspection of the awkwardly honestly kind. Fewer spilling guts, more wry flashing images of a certain way of life. Everything’s getting older, mind. Twenty-three years ago on Philophobia, Moffat penned the lyrics, “Too drunk and getting old,” and Strap, like the rest of us, have aged. Trading sexy (hairy?) cave drawings for pin-up posters for online pornography of a questionable stepmum kind. The world axis spins and trends change. Arab Strap have changed. Their slowcore tendencies have been almost entirely replaced for a more sophisticated synth-laden silk-robed composition. Originally the album was called Disco Spiderland, and honestly, that would’ve pretty much nailed the sound. In short, As Days Get Dark is like catching up with an old friend, a return to the hug and pint. They’re as warm, crass and funny as you remember, and they’ve aged a lot better than you’d have ever expected. At this point, Arab Strap are debauched laureates of real romance. –callum theatre
[Official site] // [Spotify]
“Woman to woman, I just wanna see you glow”
I ain’t no woman, but, hell, this has got to be the most empowering 2021 lyric. I’ve got an idea of what it means to be an outstanding woman through my mama, but Sometimes I Might Be Introvert might be the most direct musical representation of what it takes to be outstanding. You gotta fight, you gotta work, you gotta forgive.
When such an arrogant yet touching lyrical matter is supplemented by some of the best production you could hope for on a hip-hop album, you come across that category of album that is perfect despite its flaws. Flaws?! Keep calm, cowboy, there are only two: the interludes — rattling the flow of the album despite their purpose and delightfulness — and the music being almost too lush and grand for Little Simz’s rapological technique to properly shine like it did on Grey Area. These are defects, yes, but they are the only ones you could complain about. No 2021 record is at once more grand, lush, punchy, introspective, and downright relatable. It’s an album of growing up, of shouting about that damn ambition you now know for sure will be realised — kinda like Japanese Breakfast’s Jubilee. Boi, she did better than what we could have imagined. What she did here is a 2020s classic.
Yup, a 2020s classic. –Erwann S.
[Official site] // [Spotify]
Just a few years ago, Manchester Orchestra released one of the most monumental records of their career, A Black Mile to the Surface. It stands out as perhaps the greatest album in their discography and remains acclaimed as one of the best in recent years. A Black Mile to the Surface hit deep, feeling intimate, personal, and immersive from beginning to end. Before you ask, no, this is not about A Black Mile to the Surface, but it might as well be. In a way, The Million Masks of God feels intertwined with its predecessor, like a sibling record.
When you first hit play, “Inaudible” sets the scene with atmospheric, beautiful harmonies from Andy Hull that progress into an immersive soundscape that defines the rest of the record. Once the music starts, it flows seamlessly and intertwines each track together in a cohesive way that pulls you deeper into its dreamy embrace. Whether soaring over the ambiance of “Way Back” and “Telepath” or swaying with the groove of “Keel Timing” and “Bed Head”, The Million Masks of God draws you closer with each passing minute, submerging the listener in its atmosphere and aura.
The Million Masks of God may not have the same awe-inspiring climaxes of A Black Mile to the Surface, but what it does have is the ability to flow like a story. Each time this record plays, I’m captivated by the composition as it pulls me deeper into its soundscape, feeling the emotion and narrative embedded within. Instead of looking at this in comparison to A Black Mile to the Surface, let’s look at it as a complement to its foundation. The Million Masks of God didn’t have to outdo what the band have already done. Instead, it did something much grander: it continued the story of its predecessor and expanded Manchester Orchestra’s vision. –Tyler W.
Continuing their rapturous comeback, Low cast another spell at once more abrasive and more personal than its predecessor. Heavily reliant on vocal melodies and walls of pure noise, tracks such as “More” mash these two elements against each other like toy cars. Far from the precise atmospheres of their past, HEY WHAT blurs these disparate elements of pop and noise to drill itself into memory.
Somehow, it never crosses into unpleasant territory. Low threaten at moments of excess, only to back away at the perfect time. They flirt with this notion right off the bat: after the smashing opener “White Horses” peters out, loudening pulses of distortion flutter around for minutes in a supremely aggravating link to the following track. But it knows when to stop: right before you reach for the skip button. Playful as it may be at times, the album isn’t impatient. Cuts like “Hey” are devastatingly beautiful, cultivating waves of sound into a steady pulse, a repetition that’s calming instead of jarring. On the fine line between tranquil and chaos, that’s where HEY WHAT works best.
Low are all about the search for that hypnotizing dream state music can bring us. Anyone who’s seen them live can attest to this captivating quest for groove, and here they don’t just find it, they weaponize it into a memorable, haunting, and strangely moving experience. And for all their emphasis on repetition, Low are hardly repeating themselves. This new record is a brilliant reconfiguration of everything they do best. –neekafat
[Official site] // [Spotify]
Words almost fail to describe this record. The disjointed, bleak experimentation evokes more of a feeling, an emotional experience — more than a description that can be put into simple phrases or common discussion. As the first Injury Reserve record following the death of former member Stepa J. Groggs, By the Time I Get to Phoenix is saturated with grief, despair, hopelessness and loss. Dissonant production with grim, surreal poetry leaves a cacophony of instrumentals and vocals that dig deep into your emotions.
I don’t really know how to put this record into words in all honesty. It’s more than musical composition with bleak lyrical songwriting. It’s an experience of the grief and sorrow felt by the members. It’s the despair of the current state of the world. It’s the saddening reality of life. It’s the dark room where the painful words were uttered. It’s Injury Reserve at their most vulnerable. This is By the Time I Get to Phoenix. –Tyler W.
The biggest fault with The Idyll Opus (I-VI) is that the artistry on display is too damn good. It’s been a very long time since I’ve had a musical experience quite like the first time I sat and listened to Adjy’s debut LP while following along with the immensely detailed lyric guide they created to accompany the album. I became totally enraptured with the story of June, July, and The Alchemist, feeling warmth as the two characters fell in love over genuinely moving dialogue, feeling the frustration of The Alchemist over the supposed futility of the story, and felt a true pang in my heart when July echoes back to “At A Dance Where the Stars Cross” by saying, “… Before I can’t / Spin me” in her dying moments. The music — a sort of lush, folk-based acoustic progressive rock — worked perfectly in tandem with the lyrics, placing me in the beautifully described settings and heightening emotion at perfect moments. Paired with the earnest vocals of Christopher Noyes, I was completely entranced. When that specific listen ended, I pressed play and listened for a second time, diving even deeper into the lore — and after that second listen, a third immediately followed. Luckily, I was snowed into my house with no duties for the day, because after just those three listens, nearly six hours of my day had passed. This extremely theatrical album took up 97 minutes of my life, and I didn’t care because it swept me away in a way that reminded me how special music and art can be.
That brings me back to my initial statement. Ever since that third sitting ended, I’ve been chasing that musical high that The Idyll Opus gave me, and have only been able to find it by sitting down and diving in with no distractions for 97 minutes — and it has been frustratingly difficult to do so. I had listened to The Idyll Opus before sitting down for those three aforementioned listens and, while it was a generally pleasant listen, it didn’t necessarily have any magic. Now I’m able return to it casually knowing the story beats, and while that still makes for a very rewarding listen (my breath always stops in the opening moments of “The Cicada’s Song”), even those listens are nothing like when I have the opportunity to sit down and consume this piece of art in its entirety — fully giving up a large chunk of my day that I truly can’t afford to give up — but I do anyway.
The Idyll Opus as an album is great, but The Idyll Opus as an experience sparks something in me that makes me excited about music for the sake of music again. And part of that makes me hate this album, because it’s nearly impossible to just casually enjoy once you have felt what it has to fully offer. The Idyll Opus reminded me that music can take me away. It rekindled a love for lyrics that used to be my defining enjoyment in music, an enjoyment I had lost as music was forced to become a multi-task activity that went along with working from home or maintaining my house or cooking dinner — all activities that I can’t afford to skip for 97 minutes so I can dive into the world Adjy have created for me. As much as I love The Idyll Opus, I also hate it because it’s reminded me that the effortless joy I used to attain from music now requires much more effort. But Adjy have also fully reminded me that that effort can be more than worth it. –Mathias
[Official site] // [Spotify]
Let’s get this out of the way: the splash Turnstile have been making ever since the release of GLOW ON is incredible. A powerful Seth Meyers performance, a shockingly beautiful NPR Tiny Desk set? It’s safe to say that the band are pushing their brand of punk into the mainstream in a glorious way: unpretentiously, seemingly only interested in putting on the best show regardless of stage, time, or audience. Yet, the one thing that presupposes all this success is the album itself: one shouldn’t overlook the sheer brilliance of GLOW ON.
On their 2021 record, Turnstile have mastered the art of balancing accessibility with punch. There’s plenty of bangers to be found on the album: look no further than “ENDLESS”‘ main riff, the humongous shout-along qualities of “MYSTERY” or approximately everything about “HOLIDAY”. Simultaneously, all of these songs are highly memorable through this very bite: every catchy shout is accompanied by an equally hooky riff. Thankfully, GLOW ON isn’t a one-trick pony: while its highlights largely comprise such punk anthems, the spacey production efficiently accentuates both these tracks as well as the slower, are they pulling a Title Fight?-songs. Collaborating with Blood Orange, “ALIEN LOVE CALL” implements a pleasantly dreamy break before Turnstile return to the raw energy of “WILD WRLD” and “DANCE-OFF”. GLOW ON is a ridiculously fun punk record that is realising its mainstream potential in real time: bask in the glow, dance in the glow. –JesperL
[Official site] // [Spotify]
Illusory Walls is a monumental listen. This isn’t solely due to its seventy-minute runtime, although that does stand out within the discography of a band known for brevity. After all, none of the group’s previous three LPs ever came all that close to reaching an hour in duration, not to mention their plethora of EPs. More than anything, calling Illusory Walls “monumental” makes note of the vast scope of its concern, its ability to seemingly effortlessly weave together the personal and the sociopolitical into an all-consuming narrative which, against all odds, actually succeeds.
This is an extremely political album, arguably even more so than its embittered 2017 predecessor Always Foreign, which drew overwhelmingly mixed reviews. You’d be forgiven for not realizing this, though, as the band’s tone here is relatively subdued, but even more so because the issues this album tackles are so all-encompassing that they don’t feel political so much as natural — indeed, inevitable — if one is writing music while living in contemporary America. There’s the omnipresent power of technology, useful in many ways but also dragging politics and society into the gutter, and mentally draining us all at the same time — or, as it’s more eloquently put in the glorious closer “Fewer Afraid”: “They say there’s nothing we can do and it never stops.” There’s the piercing commentary that comprises the two “Blank” interludes, if the word ‘interlude’ doesn’t sell them a little short. Sure, those tracks’ searing excoriation of modern capitalism might prompt an eye-roll from some listeners, but it’s hard to deny the gut-wrenching power of lines like “a $400,000 drug versus one more time my mother’s hug.” On the more individual side, there’s the poignant repetition of the mantra in “Infinite Josh”: “Our dreams get drowned in a river of present needs / The years float by like fallen leaves.” Maybe that resonates a little too much with me as I edge ever closer to thirty, but what’s not to love?
Musically, Illusory Walls also operates on a significantly grander scale than the band have ever commanded before. There’s plenty of emo and post-rock elements still scattered around, but progginess abounds along with heavy alt-rock (and even maybe a little metal) thrown in for good measure. Could a minute or two be trimmed off the runtime here and there? Probably, but even so this album sees TWIABP&IANLATD (I promise I won’t write that out again) move confidently from being one of the best bands within a self-contained emo revival scene (mostly played out) to one of the best bands in music, period.
I started this write-up by telling you that Illusory Walls is monumental, and so it’s appropriate that I end it by not focusing on the music. Sure, this is a damn fine release which many have connected with, and one which will be remembered for a long time. Most importantly, though, the band created this record for a reason, with their mission statement being spelled out clearly in the coda of “Fewer Afraid”: “The world is a beautiful place, but we have to make it that way.” For all the darkness in a lot of these songs, Illusory Walls ultimately serves as an inspirational anthem, encouraging listeners to fight for decency and togetherness against the seemingly overwhelming forces arrayed against us, and more than anything, to hope. To pretentiously quote that Yeats line which has felt all too relevant recently: “The best lack all conviction, while the worst / Are filled with passionate intensity.” Can music (albeit great music) be enough to rouse people and to shake off the bleak malaise driving nearly everyone I know to tune out and retreat? It may be doubtful that a single album has all that power, but some moments here make me wonder. Bless the musicians behind Illusory Walls for trying. –Sunnyvale
[Official site] // [Spotify]
“We have to go together / When we go, we go together”
How is it possible that Every Time I Die are still improving? 2021 was their twenty-fourth year as a band. Relationships between members appear to be slightly strained as of late. To describe their lineup over the years as a “revolving door” would actually be generous. Their second album, released all the way back in 2003, was a universally lauded classic of the genre that every subsequent follow-up has been measured against. All of this pressure works in Radical‘s favor. Its frayed nerves and palpable rage result in the most singularly focused and confrontational artistic statement in ETID’s catalogue, and a worthy occupant of the #1 spot on our list.
Keith Buckley has brought back the sardonic wit present in his lyricism for years and dialed it up to 110%, mixing it impressively with the more personal and serious style present on 2016’s Low Teens to offer the most effective and jaw-dropping lyrical output we’ve ever heard from him. The more nihilistic bent to his anger is apparent on the scorched-earth “Planet Shit”, early single “A Colossal Wreck”, and dizzying closer “We Go Together”. Drummer Clayton “Goose” Holyoak, formerly of Norma Jean, is easily the best drummer the band have ever had; he’s truly the missing puzzle piece they so desperately needed, lending his chaotic and unpredictable musicianship to the most volatile release of the band’s career. Jordan Buckley plays off his energy perfectly, producing the most aggressive and asymmetrical riffs of his life on cuts like “Distress Rehearsal” or opener “Dark Distance”.
Every tragedy, argument, lost loved one, global catastrophe, fractured relationship: they’re all kindling for Radical‘s unquenchable fire. It sounds like the end of the world in a way no other album managed to this year, serving simultaneously as a warning and an anguished prayer for the flames to finally consume everything in their path. No other album defined or epitomized 2021 quite like Radical did, and I believe it will only accumulate further respect as it gracefully ages. I have no idea where Every Time I Die will go from here, but if this incredible record is any indication, I’m sure they’ll find a way to surprise me. –Jack Mancuso
List of contributing writers (alphabetical order): dedex, dmathias52, Evok, garas, JesperL, Kompys2000, Koris, neekafat, Pheromone, Sunnyvale, tyman128, YoYoMancuso
With special thanks to the following supporting writers: BlazinBlitzer, Mythodea, Prancer, Zig
A thank-you as well to all those who volunteered to write for the community feature as well
As is tradition, cheers to Willie and SandwichBubble for designing the artwork
Total number of valid ballots submitted this year: 116
Total number of invalid ballots that were made valid (AKA “The Number of Users Who Couldn’t Add to 100 [or 30?!] Correctly Award”): too many of you : (
Total number of invalid ballots that could not be saved (AKA “The Colton Award”): 1
