2020 Albums of the Year
By: Andrew Smith
Tags: Album Review, 2020, Aoty, 2020 Music, Music

PUNISHER — Phoebe Bridgers

I genuinely don’t think I’m capable of overselling this record, one of the most exquisitely devastating and emotionally honest albums to ever (ever!) see the light of day. Each song’s production quality somehow rises to the level of Phoebe’s unparalleled songwriting abilities, from the dreamy post-chorus waltz of “Moon Song” to the dusty Boygenius harmonies that lift “Graceland Too.” Its coda — apocalyptic horns, crashing cymbals, and a pair of anguished, primal screams — is stunning and instantly iconic, showing the artist at her peak playing with the form; it’s the reflection of our current moment that I want to hear on whatever “classic rock” radio is in decades, if radio exists, and if we do.

NOTES ON A CONDITIONAL FORM — The 1975

Frankly, this album had no business landing as effectively as it did — a group with a (mildly unfair) reputation as a singles band lurching from shimmering brit-pop (“Me & You Together Song”) to radio-friendly country (“Roadkill”) to boy-band singalong (“Tonight”) to clubby instrumental (“Shiny Collarbone”) is transparently ridiculous. And yet…this druggy, adventurous, 80 minute musical walking tour/costume party goes down as the most thrilling listen of the year, and likely 2020’s most ambitious mainstream work. It’s something of a Sgt. Pepper’s (yeah, I said it) for the modern age; it’s the band’s best work to date (having Phoebe in their corner certainly helps), proving they can do just about anything they want.

SAINT CLOUD — Waxahatchee

All Katie Crutchfield’s done for nearly a decade now is gift us with quality album after quality album, ranging from low-fi bedroom folk to arena-sized indie rock. We can now definitively say, though, that she does Americana best. It somehow feels wrong that this isn’t my album of the year — every song unfolds patiently, and each is sunnier, prettier, and more thoughtful than the last, detailing her path to sobriety and self-fulfillment.

MARIGOLD — Pinegrove

Marigold was released several lifetimes ago (mid-January, aka the Before Times), but still managed to serve, however inadvertently, as a record of pandemic life — time is warped beyond recognition, night and day blend without warning or logic, and everyday life is shrunk down to only its essential domesticity. Their show at the Roxy in West Hollywood was the last bit of live music I saw before lockdown — I went alone, but the music’s intimate, inward focus actually contributed to a meaningful and memorable communal experience that I mentally return to with some frequency. Sometimes songs about empathy, self-improvement, and small, substantial moments with just one other person are enough.

THE BABY — Samia

A steady stream of highly enjoyable singles dating back to 2017 hinted at the promise of this debut full-length, but Samia absolutely knocked this one out of the park. Like the artist behind my album of the year, she has one of the most alluring voices in indie-alt-whatever today, along with a knack for poetically detailing uniquely millennial anxieties and intimate lost moments, but her sound tends to let a bit more daylight in (see: “Fit N Full,” a raucous little number about, uh, getting naked in a restaurant). An exception to that rule is lead single and album closer “Is There Something In The Movies?”, which doesn’t need much more than that voice and an acoustic guitar to fully drop your jaw.

MELEE — Dogleg

I voiced this exact sentiment last year, but: no lukewarm “rock is dead” takes allowed without having given this album a shot. There are reference points for what Dogleg is doing here — Attack On Memory-era Cloud Nothings feels like an unmistakable one — but this record is unmatched in its constant ferocity, in its willingness to commit to an all-out sprint for more than half an hour until “Ender” finally relents with a lovely string exit. This was made for moshing and sweating and shouting along, and I hope these guys get to properly show it off to the world in the coming year.

HOW I’M FEELING NOW — Charli XCX

I realize that the internet has fully torched our attention spans and every media cycle now moves at the speed of sound, but I wish we could have lingered a bit longer on what an accomplishment this record was. Tossed together at home in the blink of an eye and workshopped with real-time fan input, it’s a “quarantine album” in the truest sense — except it sounds slicker and catchier than maybe any project she’s released to date. Take it to the bank — “Anthems” is gonna slap harder than any song in the whole world when live shows return.

PRINTER’S DEVIL — Ratboys

Ratboys remain the most consistent rock band in the biz — not bad for what was just a scrappy little duo straight out of Notre Dame’s WVFI halls. Julia Steiner’s songwriting is criminally overlooked; in particular, she mines childhood memories so effectively it feels like we’re being let in on a new secret with each passing track. They get more out of a crunchy, ’90s indebted guitar tone than maybe anyone working right now, resulting in absolute rippers like “Alien With a Sleep Mask On” and “Anj” — they just don’t miss.

SHORE — Fleet Foxes

Shore is a generous album, full of sunny, optimistic arrangements that feel grounded in reality and not naivete, something that would come as a surprise in this of all years if it weren’t for Robin Pecknold’s well-earned reputation as one of our most adept songwriters. His artistry is grounded in an American tradition explicitly laid out in “Sunblind,” which pays tribute to a host of late, legendary musicians. As my favorite piece of music writing this year beautifully lays out, the album lends retroactive context to its predecessor, Crack-Up, tying the Fleet Foxes catalogue together and adding to the band’s own legend.

WOMEN IN MUSIC PT. III — HAIM

No one makes music that sounds more like Los Angeles than HAIM — those “Leaning On You” harmonies and that riff just, I don’t know, sound like the Valley. Their sound is as breezy and accessible as ever (Rostam continues to work absolute magic in the producer’s chair), informed by decades of touchpoints ranging from Joni Mitchell to bouncy early aughts R&B, but it’s certainly their most emotionally vulnerable collection of songs yet. My only qualm is that the (very good!) pre-release singles should get more justice than being tacked onto the end of the album as “bonus tracks” — album sequencing still matters to me, dammit.

COLOR THEORY — Soccer Mommy

The lyrical content of this album is predictably crushing — Sophia Allison ruminates on paralyzing self-doubt, on family illness, on depression, all informed by shifting color moods throughout. In spite of that weight, she’s somehow able to present a listening experience that, when compared to that underlying content, is relatively breezy. “circle the drain” could have been locked on repeat on ’90s pop radio, and “yellow is the color of her eyes” is Soccer Mommy’s biggest swing to date, featuring a whole lot of elegant and exceptionally crisp guitar work.

BIG HEART MANNERS — Atta Boy

For large swaths of 2020, I gravitated towards records that unabashedly leaned into twang, into dirt roads and desert vistas (hmm, wonder if this had anything to do with being perpetually stuck inside my house). One prime example is the second LP from Atta Boy, their first since 2012 — it’s tender and wistful throughout, but never not self-assured. The gentle, hammered-on guitar line in “Halfway” is one of the most serene and reassuring pieces of music of the year.

HANNAH — Lomelda

There’s an undercurrent that runs through Lomelda’s catalogue that I would characterize as (I use this term quite frequently, actually) Kind Vibes; her work is affectionate and full of warmth, often reducing songs down to two simple elements. Hannah, though, adds a bit of post-rock muscle to that coziness, invigorating this record without losing a fraction of its familiarity. It’s about as self-titled as an album can be without actually sharing its name with the band, with three “Hannah” tracks serving as a unifying thread — the real kicker, though, is “It’s Lomelda,” appropriately and literally placing her own work alongside aspirational peers like Yo La Tengo and Frank Ocean.

PLUM — Widowspeak

Widowspeak really accomplished something with Plum — without doing all that much to alter their signature sound, they managed to put forth the band’s most significant artistic statement and best sounding album by a country mile. “The Good Ones” is utterly hypnotic, driven by a fidgety bass groove and unfussy percussion that excel in tandem. On the whole, it’s lush but admirably understated, doing just the right amount to make close examinations and background listens equally enjoyable.

LIVE FOREVER — Bartees Strange

This is an absolute monster of a debut record, a 35-minute-long flex from a wildly talented musician I wish I would have tuned into sooner (if you like The National, dive into this man’s back catalogue with some urgency). “Mustang,” the album’s cornerstone, absolutely whips like no other song this year (and references The Antlers’ Hospice for good measure, be still my beating heart), while “Boomer” effortlessly veers from pop-punk to hip-hop to bluesy rock and roll before you can catch your breath. It’s a death blow to the very concept of genres, and a lightning rod jumpstart to what’s sure to be an illustrious career.

PETALS FOR ARMOR — Hayley Williams

Paramore’s once and future band leader is one of those artists I feel like I’ve grown up with — she’s seen almost unfathomable success and earned her fair share of love and acclaim, but that success always felt hard-won and personally taxing. Her first full-length solo foray is equal parts resilience and chameleonic musical prowess, a statement of self that gives each song the space to blossom into its own genre-agnostic best self. Her candor is refreshing and frequently devastating, even more so than her still best-in-show vocal abilities.

SUGAREGG — Bully

Bully found itself again thanks to band leader Alicia Bognanno’s decision to reintroduce the group as a solo act, a move that paid dividends in the form of the best and most fiery work she’s released yet. Her raspy but pitch-perfect howl and sardonic songwriting instincts serve as perfect complements to the near-constant wall of guitars that blankets the album from front to back. The story within detailing Bognanno’s battle with self-doubt and anxiety is worth tuning into — she has a knack for simplicity and lucidity that makes her own story feel universal — but you’d be forgiven for surrendering to the sound.

HEAVEN TO A TORTURED MIND — Yves Tumor

This album is a straight up trip, centered around Yves Tumor as a sort of Prince doppelganger fresh out of Twin Peaks’ Black Lodge, purposefully disorienting the listener and mutating itself at every turn. It’s sultry, it’s sleazy, it’s alien, it’s sinister, it’s hallucinogenic — I could go on, this project gleefully layers multitude on multitude while maintaining a highly precise and cohesive sound — but it’s mostly a document of visceral passion and love as a high-wire act at the edge of the world. The urgency with which Yves and Sunflower Bean’s Julia Cumming deliver the mission statement “floating through what feels like / a declaration of love / our hearts are in danger” tells you all you need to know.

LOST IN THE COUNTRY — Trace Mountains

This record sounds the way it feels driving to a camping destination with good friends, when you follow a bend in the road and suddenly you’re tracking a pristine, rushing river and you all roll down your windows and give each other the eyes, because just like that, it’s only you and the trees. That sounds unabashedly corny, sure, but Lost In The Country manages to transcend middling REI-core folk-rock — for all its fuzzy sentimentality and brisk beauty, there’s an underlying resigned sadness directed at the fallen, absurd, alienating culture we’ve constructed. It doesn’t get much bleakly clear-eyed than “fuck the world / it’s gone insane,” but the curtain eventually falls on a note of acceptance and grace.

GRAE — Moses Sumney

Moses Sumney is so animated and full of vigor here that græ feels like a living, breathing organism — to hear the album’s narrator of sorts tell it, the price of admission is to recognize and consider the artist’s “inherent multiplicity,” and this album gives us ample opportunity to do just that. It’s a prism, sparkling and revealing new refracted beauty with each listen; across two discs and 20 tracks, it feels like we might be discovering news folds and intricacies in this spiraling masterpiece for years on end. If you’d like to start with the condensed version, this incredibly artful, dazzling set is one of my favorite musical performances in some time.

YOU’LL BE FINE — Hot Mulligan

Consider my minor obsession with this record penance for not fully leaning into the obligatory emo/pop-punk phase until my mid-20s. These tunes aren’t exactly breaking new ground, but who needs musical adventure when you can shout along to choruses this punchy and fun? It’s loud, it’s brash, and it’s simply a good time, which is why I chose to shut off the outside world and revel in this album this so often.

THE PRETTIEST CURSE — Hinds

Hinds don’t shy away from melancholy when it’s called for, but their propensity for bouncing back up and sharing truly joyful art is a gift I’m endlessly appreciative of. The Prettiest Curse is, like their past work, tailor-made for enjoyment on a bright Friday afternoon patio hang or a windows-down oceanside drive (see: the “Hey! Hey! Hey!” backing chants on “Boy,” one of the album’s strongest and most playful tracks). The work is never not magnificently catchy and stuffed full of ebullience and life, in large part due to the rotating vocal dynamic, but they also prove their instrumental bonafides on tracks like “Riding Solo,” whose rip-roaring outro is the high point of the record.

ALFREDO — Freddie Gibbs & The Alchemist

It’s not supposed to look this easy. With Kanye West still doing his absolute best to torpedo his own legacy on a daily basis, Freddie Gibbs is the closest we have to a sure thing in hip-hop today. Alfredo is casually psychedelic and soulful, the work of two savants who know how to get the absolute best out of the other.

SUNDOWNER — Kevin Morby

Sundowner is explicitly a companion piece to Saint Cloud in just about every way — in the clean guitar tones that still sound like they’re shaking off dust, in the artistic presentation, and of course in Katie Crutchfield’s cameos on the stellar “Campfire” and the album’s music videos. It’s a memorable work in its own right, another enjoyable chapter in Morby’s deeply American, wandering-bard canon. Its reverence for western skies and midwestern lean-tos afford it a charming, escapist appeal that Morby is so skilled at crafting.

I’M YOUR EMPRESS OF — Empress Of

Empress Of has long been remarkable for her ability to weld a knack for idiosyncratic club bangers and acutely personal minutiae, and as this LP’s title suggests (following Me and Us), it’s her most penetrating and self-reliant work yet, featuring frank voicemail contributions from her mother and little outside collaboration. Even in moments that probe past relationship failures and small acts of masochism, there’s a consistently buoyant kiss-off attitude that at least cracks the door to contentment open. It gets there by leaning into life’s dizzying complexity, taking solace in family and self, warts and all.