My 100 Favorite Albums of the 2000s: #10-#1
We've made it! My 10 favorite albums of the 2000s, and probably my 10 favorite albums of all-time. If you've read this whole crazy series, thanks so much and I hope it led you to revisit or think about some of your favorite music and memories. I'll be back soon with 20 honorable mentions, because I can't do anything in moderation, apparently. I haven't actually written those yet, so it might take a little time. Feel free to do anything else with your life until then.
Let's do it. Here are the most important albums of my life.
10. Graham Colton - Here Right Now (2007)
A friend tried to introduce me to Graham Colton Band sometime after the release of their 2004 album Drive. I remember brushing off the recommendation at the time, thinking they sounded too poppy, too country, too something for my sophisticated music tastes. But something changed between then and the release of Colton's first proper solo album Here Right Now in 2007. I don't remember exactly how or why the tides turned, but I was eagerly awaiting the album's release and it didn't disappoint. In 2007 I was playing in a pop punk band, just starting to learn guitar, and getting more serious about writing my own songs. This album, and Colton in general, became a huge inspiration to me as a songwriter. His relatively simple compositions and heart-on-sleeve storytelling made me believe that I could create something worthwhile on my own. I saw Colton perform many times over the ensuing years, and each time it reinforced my drive (no pun intended) to pursue my own music. My song "Katherine," which became a proof-of-concept for my solo work, was written after bingeing the highly-affecting hidden title track "Here Right Now." For several years I would have considered Colton my favorite songwriter, and aspired to be like him as a writer and performer. I still return to his music every few months and find immense comfort in it, like I'm visiting an old friend.
9. Muse - Absolution (2003)
In 2003 I hadn't heard much in the way of prog rock, or virtuoso musicianship. Then this album came along and blew my damn mind. From the off-kilter piano that kicks off "Apocalypse Please" to the endless arpeggios to Matt Bellamy's now-oft-parodied falsetto and wail, I was all in on everything this album delivered. The lead single "Time Is Running Out" and the spastic "Hysteria" sucked me in with their huge hooks, and before I knew it I was listening to this album on repeat in my room for weeks on end, at volumes that make me appreciate my parents ever more in retrospect. The climax of "Sing for Absolution" makes me utterly aware of my neck hairs. I was in a band in college with an incredible songwriter and guitarist whose compositions were heavily informed by this album. Even though it's the only band I've ever been a part of where I had little to no part in the songwriting (not to mention some serious imposter syndrome from playing with a bunch of guys who were much more musically accomplished than me) I was a huge fan of the music we made. Songwriting is one of my greatest passions, but I will also ride for anyone successfully emulating Matt Bellamy, circa 2003.
8. Incubus - Morning View (2001)
The late '90s and early 2000s were the days when I was still discovering my musical tastes and getting all of my music from radio. Lucky for me, then, that Incubus had some giant hits from the Make Yourself/Morning View era ("Drive," "Pardon Me," "Stellar," "Wish You Were Here," "Nice to Know You," omg) which led me to adopt them as one of my first favorite bands. Morning View was and still is my favorite Incubus album for its gentler undertones while maintaining the addictive pull of its predecessor. Before I had any musical talent or could sing whatsoever, I wanted to sound like Brandon Boyd. I wanted to be able to scream through "Under My Umbrella" (my underdog pick for one of Incubus' best songs) and croon through the groovy "Are You In?" The band was, unbeknownst to me at the time, paving both the harder and softer roads of my musical journey, and showing me that I could travel both simultaneously. I had a science teacher in middle school who would let students bring in CDs to play during lab work, and I had this CD with me every day. I'll always remember the excitement that I felt being able to soundtrack my experience, and sharing music that I loved with others. It's a rush that I still seek out to this day.
7. Silversun Pickups - Swoon (2009)
2009 was a transitional year for me. It was the year that I graduated from college, got my first full-time job, saw my long-term relationship come to an end, and dipped my toes back into the waters of dating. I picked up this album around its April release date, the month before leaving college. But it didn't become a pivotal album for me until months later, after the summer had come and gone, the fallout from my breakup had settled, and I was trying to balance the beginning of a career with the beginning of a new, adult relationship. I was struggling to wake up early enough to get to work on time (I still couldn't shake my college schedule of staying awake until 4 am) and I was generally stressed and exhausted as I transitioned into being a contributing member of society. Every day when leaving work I was faced with a choice; take the highway north to my parents' house, or south to my new girlfriend's place. Naturally, I spent a lot of time on the road trying to put the office behind me and speeding toward her tiny apartment. It was an escapist feeling that I had never known until I truly had something to escape from, and those twilight drives were where I rediscovered and became enamored with Swoon. For weeks on end, the CD was on repeat in the car as I navigated the highway traffic, looking forward to better times ahead and contemplating my place in this new season of life. There are no weak spots on this dreamy, hooky, shoegaze-y affair, but the impossibly sultry "Catch and Release" might contain my favorite moments.
6. Something Corporate - North (2003)
I was introduced to Something Corporate through their impeccably-capitalized debut single "iF yoU C Jordan" in 2001. The next year I heard "I Woke Up in a Car" and had to have their full-length album Leaving Through the Window. I was a sucker for rock with a piano and SoCo quickly became one of my favorite bands. By the time North came around in 2003, I was eager for more and Andrew McMahon and company delivered. It had the pining rockers like "Only Ashes," "The Runaway," "Ruthless," and "Break Myself." It had the softer songs like "As You Sleep," "Me and the Moon," and "She Paints Me Blue" that showed the maturation of McMahon as a songwriter. These songs had everything I could pour my 16-year-old heart into, and they cemented McMahon as one of my favorite artists and songwriters for life.
5. AFI - Sing the Sorrow (2003)
Sixteen is such an impressionable age. Everyone getting driver's licenses, experiencing their first taste of real freedom, and going through high school where every emotion feels like a life or death proposition. I'll always remember getting together with friends in the summer of 2003, going on drives, playing basketball, goofing off in basements, and during it all blasting Sing the Sorrow. These songs became the unofficial anthems of our coming of age, and they had the passion and gravitas to suit the occasion. The album blends alternative rock and post-hardcore with incredible guitar solos and a magnetic frontman in Davey Havok. Reading the tracklist is like checking off a list of personal classics. It's hard to think about growing up without thinking about AFI.
4. The Working Title - Bone Island (2009)
The Working Title were an up-and-coming band that released a very good emo rock record About-Face in 2006. I came to the album a few years late, but quickly grew to love it and wondered when I would be able to hear the follow-up. Bone Island came in 2009, and it was weird. The pop sheen was gone and in its place were these jangly, quavering tunes that sounded like they exploded out of a sweltering room on a haunted island. I'm pretty sure every existing fan of the band instantly hated it. As it turns out, every band member departed in the years between the two albums, leaving singer Joel Hamilton to record what was essentially a solo album in his stomping grounds of Charleston, South Carolina. It also happens that the summer this album was released found me spending a whole month in South Carolina myself, trying to enjoy the directionless freedom of having graduated college and not yet landing a job. Exploring the lowcountry at that time in my life and being awash in this music was just a perfect confluence of events that left me viscerally attached to this album. It doesn't hurt that Hamilton gives a masterclass on confessional songwriting and stretches his sound in every direction over these 13 tracks. "Darkness" is one of the most affecting pieces of music I've ever heard, with a slow build to a sublime climax that might be the most reliable source of catharsis I can think of. Every year when the weather turns and the summer sun starts to swelter, I put the windows down and take a drive with Bone Island. There are some feelings that you have to try to recapture whenever an opportunity comes along.
3. The Format - Dog Problems (2006)
I was a casual Format fan before Dog Problems. I loved "The First Single," but didn't fully attach to their first full-length Interventions and Lullabies. Dog Problems came along in May 2006, but I think I delayed listening to it until July, when the physical CD was released. I was a stickler for owning albums on CD until about five years ago (when I sold off my collection of over a thousand shiny discs). The colorful dogs on the packaging drew me in right away, but I bristled at the music at first listen. I recall hearing the lush arrangements full of instruments that aren't normally present in rock music, and thinking they sounded like something that would be heard at a carnival. This album might be unique in that I remember exactly where I was when it clicked. Sitting in my car on a hot summer afternoon, windows down, sun shining through the sunroof. I had just dropped my little sister and her friend off at a palatial house that sat on a succession of vast, green, rolling hills. "She Doesn't Get It" was coming through the speakers, and suddenly I realized how infectious it was. I turned the volume up and proceeded to fall deeper in love with the album, each song growing on me more and more over the following months. This album's arrangements and melodies truly revolutionized my songwriting. I was just starting to seriously write my own songs during this time, and the pop sensibilities of this album can be traced from that moment in the summer sun to the present day. A truly masterful pop record.
2. Butch Walker - Sycamore Meadows (2008)
Everyone who loves music remembers the joy of discovering the artist. The band or musician or songwriter that seems to speak to you on every level. The release of Sycamore Meadows revealed Butch Walker as my undisputed favorite artist, which he has remained ever since. The songs penned by Butch after losing his home in a California wildfire vacillate between aching and rowdy, from the barnburning "The Weight of Her" to the stripped-down and impossibly emotional "ATL." Along the way, we get the coming of age story of "Going Back/Going Home," and of course, plenty of heartache ("Here Comes the...," "Ships in a Bottle," "Passed Your Place, Saw Your Car, Thought of You," and "Summer Scarves," my pick for the most underappreciated song in Butch's discography). I knew a few Butch Walker singles prior to Sycamore Meadows, but after hearing this masterpiece I went back to the perfect emo-pop of 2004's Letters and the absolute blast of a record that is the glam rock The Rise and Fall of Butch Walker and the Let's-Go-Out-Tonites. Butch has a song for every mood, every thought, every moment of my life. He has continued to reinvent himself from album to album, and the journey his music has taken me on over the years has enriched my life immeasurably. I will always love Sycamore Meadows for being the origin of my relationship with Butch Walker's music.
1. Blindside - Silence (2002)
This was the easiest decision out of the 100 spots on this list. Silence, unquestionably, has been the most important album of my life to date. I was on one of my frequent trips to Ocean City, MD with my parents when I bought this album at the mall as an afterthought. I was mainly there to pick up Tomorrow by SR-71, but I saw the new Blindside album on a display at the front of the store and decided to give it a try, since I'd enjoyed the lead single "Pitiful." Silence quickly overshadowed Tomorrow and I listened to it at least 20 times in the first weekend I brought it home. I was entering my sophomore year of high school, extremely insecure, and deep in my teenage angst. I had met my first girlfriend in Ocean City earlier in the summer and was struggling through a long-distance relationship without any experience navigating romance under normal circumstances. I was also taking Accutane for severe acne, which, combined with the usual pubescent hormones of adolescence, made for a pretty moody cocktail. The tension and release of the songs on Silence, and the beautiful melodies that bloomed out of frontman Christian Lindskog's controlled screams, were the perfect vessel for my unease. It is hard to imagine another album coming along that could carry more weight than this one did at a time when everything meant everything, and every emotion I felt could be poured into a punishing vocal, or crashing cymbal, or buzzsaw guitar chord. I am not and have never really been a big fan of post-hardcore, but this album has hook after hook that are engrained in my subconscious. I've never been a big fan of screaming vocals, but they are deployed so perfectly, and Lindskog is so adept at blending his delicate singing voice with his ferocious unclean vocals, that they give the songs the poignancy that they deserve. There is a moment in "Sleepwalking" where Blindside pauses their onslaught for a quiet bridge where the drums slowly build. As the levee is about to break, the band cuts out entirely and Lindskog descends to his lowest note in the song on an a capella "goodbye." Then the band comes crashing back in with full fury while he repeats "goodbye" in a guttural shriek, a moment of absolute catharsis that is extraordinarily rare to hear on a record. It might be my favorite musical moment, period. Blindside may no longer be my favorite artist, but they were my hands-down favorites at a time when music was essential, and life was turned up to 11. There is no other album that could have ushered me through that dark and decisive period of my young life in quite the same way as Silence.