Pitchfork is the most trusted voice in music. CN Entertainment. But on the back of 11 well-crafted, brutally executed scorched-earth lighter-raisers, it succeeds. established that lyrically, rhythmically, melodically, and vocally, Joanna Newsom was unlike anyone else. Author: TheWatchtower. –Matthew Perpetua, Listen: Belle and Sebastian: “The Blues Are Still Blue”, The most-played song in my iTunes has no name: It’s “Untitled,” the opening track from Gas’ Pop. The push-and-pull of an on-again-off-again relationship! Last week, Pitchfork counted down its Top 200 albums of the 2000s as voted on by the Web site's staff. Even more breakups! It’s not so easy to be this excitable about the crush of the regular. A certain old-timey feel prevails—there’s even a waltz, “Marla,” written 70-odd years ago by a late relative of singer Ed Droste—but the shadowy, dust-moted depth of the music moots its rootsiness. Nominally a withdrawal into Lekman’s most provincial fantasies, Kortedala lets insularity become a Trojan horse for globalization—after all, Gothenburg is a place where national indie-pop heroes argue over tennis about Christina Aguilera remixes. Those gestures, coupled with the growth of the group’s songwriting evident through, are as fitting a sendoff to Spoon’s salad days as one could hope. It’s a place we can go for function or for emotion, or just if you want to lay around counting ceiling-fan rotations and letting the record’s gentle propulsion move Voigt’s hisses and clicks around your brain. In place of those virtues it offers a series of riotous peaks (Dolly! –Paul Thompson, Listen: ...And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead: “Another Morning Stoner”, Anyone can play guitar. Before Soulwax’s DJ alter egos, “eclectic” still tended to go hand in hand with “tasteful”—classic mixes like Coldcut’s 1995 Journeys By DJ ranged across a breakbeat genrescape but never lost a sense of discernment. Hot Chip hinted at a keen, Prince-like combination of sex, steel, and neurosis on their debut, . The Welsh pop futurists’ 2001 opus Rings Around the World touches upon all the Big Issues of our time—military aggression, evangelicalism run amok, environmental disaster—but presents them as the backdrop to some bizarro video-game version of the world: To wit, the war-pig sadists targeted in the psych-folk centerpiece “No Sympathy” quite literally get blasted away by an invading army of happy-hardcore techno beats in its final two minutes. Yet for all the great moments here—and it’s one after the other—the geeky majesty of “Sing Me Spanish Techno” stands above the rest. A list of Pitchfork's best music of the 2000s. Site also contains reviews, ratings & more. Trading youthful exuberance for a resignation that borders on bitterness! OK, he did that, too. The music couldn’t be further from dub, but something of the latter’s haunted quality inhabits Grizzly Bear’s tape-soaked music. scattered willy nilly amongst whatever electro sides the Dewaele brothers could clear. Of course they never did it again; how could they have? The Welsh pop futurists’ 2001 opus, touches upon all the Big Issues of our time—military aggression, evangelicalism run amok, environmental disaster—but presents them as the backdrop to some bizarro video-game version of the world: To wit, the war-pig sadists targeted in the psych-folk centerpiece “No Sympathy” quite literally get blasted away by an invading army of happy-hardcore techno beats in its final two minutes. Jens Lekman: “The Opposite of Hallelujah”, The New Pornographers: “Sing Me Spanish Techno”, Erlend Øye: “There Is a Light That Never Goes Out”. A case could certainly be made: the five-dollar words, the baroque instrumentation, the theater club sleeve art. It’s because it shows Marshall at her best (especially on standout tracks like “Names” and “He War”), when she’s able to be both vulnerable and confident at the same time. https://www.listchallenges.com/pitchforks-the-200-best-albums-of-the-2010s to Four Tet, Kanye West to Joanna Newsom—and the many sides of Radiohead, too—here are the albums who defined the decade Your California Privacy Rights. But, even if XTRMNTR was just a pose, who doesn’t love a man in uniform?– Stuart Berman, Listen: Primal Scream: “Kill All Hippies”, By 2002, Neko Case had already emerged as one of the most gifted vocalists on the indie landscape, and with her third solo album, Blacklisted, she established herself as a top-flight songwriter as well. Calling Spencer Krug and Dan Boeckner the Lennon/McCartney of the aughts is reductionist (with Krug as the experimental one who crafts the band’s darker moments, and Boeckner as the populist who creates the epic anthems), but Wolf Parade’s appeal lies in the opposing musical personalities of its leaders. Their breakout single, “Off the Record,” managed to be the only song outside of the Sincerely Yours label to evoke the chill-out music of Jamaica and France at the same time. But you know how the rest goes: In some ways, is as much a nod to the band’s roots as a harbinger of what was to come—album closer “Chicago at Night” dates back to Britt Daniel’s solo days toiling as Drake Tungsten, while “Me and the Bean” was a song originally written and recorded by fellow Austinites the Sidehackers. “(Just Like We) Breakdown” proved a knowing rejoinder to proclamations of wimpdom. Recorded in a country house near Cape Cod, and featuring a cover photo reminiscent of Edward Hopper’s luminous interiors, Yellow House took the Brooklyn out of the band and made it something more universal. –Tom Breihan, Before there were a thousand articles about the “Montreal scene” or a string of side projects by the band’s busy members, there was simply Wolf Parade’s debut, an unabashedly open-hearted collection of offbeat instrumentation—yes, that is a Theremin on “Same Ghost Every Night”—and timeless melodies delivered by the group’s dueling shivery frontmen. It was her next album that she wryly called, that has the rights to that honor. Music reviews, ratings, news and more. Most of what was good about electroclash!) –Rob Mitchum, It’s as streamlined as anything Kraftwerk ever put to tape, and yet sounds like it’s about to come unhinged at any moment. But really, after Da Drought 3, what else did a free-associating New Orleans rap star have left to try? Pitchfork's Best Jazz Albums of the 2000s. –Amanda Petrusich. The Top 200 Albums of the 2000s (Pitchfork, 2009) The Top 50 Music Videos of the 2000s (Pitchfork, 2009) Weblinks. Jay had been in elder-statesman mogul stride since The Blueprint, but before his brief respite, he never lost the regal bloodthirst of his younger lines. Even as “Homage” melts your face or “Baudelaire” boogies its way into your brain, you half-expect whatever’s next to fail. The drugs still mattered, though. All we needed was someone to step up and act as filter to the unstoppable torrent of pop music bursting our cognitive dams, saving us the time of listening to 500 songs sequentially and giving us the best parts in an overlapping and interlocking efficiency! As the Plan grind out a frostier, more languorous version of their frenzied groove, Travis Morrison recounts decidedly uncool but entirely relatable reset-button stuff like calling your dad for relationship advice or gnashing your teeth at friends who start pairing off and not returning your records. scattered willy nilly amongst whatever electro sides the Dewaele brothers could clear. “I was the dominant theme in a number of places,” indeed: Bejar’s self-referentiality reaches its peak here as well—Rubies is the ultimate index of Destroyer mythology, the artist fitting himself into the background of his work. Maybe sincerity doesn’t age. New-jack dance-poppers such as YACHT, Delorean, and the xx each owe him a debt of gratitude, and so do we. And it’s pretty amazing that his grand pop coronation didn’t come at the expense of his antisocial snarl or the bluesy heaviness of his beats. –Philip Sherburne, We keep our wise-ass friends for basically two reasons: Some are really nice guys once you get to know them, and some are just jerks who say a lot of funny shit. –Philip Sherburne, We keep our wise-ass friends for basically two reasons: Some are really nice guys once you get to know them, and some are just jerks who say a lot of funny shit. The temptation to be a total dick just because you can carries an enormous power, and Do Dallas was a weapons-grade, vulgar display of that; it was also exactly 36 minutes of the most blisteringly intense pop-misanthropy the decade had to offer, but that’s just Mclusky being better than your band. Our own Nick Mirov said it best, way way back in 2001: “(T)hey no longer sound like the Pixies, Gang of Four, or Wire...they sound like Spoon now.” –David Raposa. The material on this site may not be reproduced, distributed, transmitted, cached or otherwise used, except with prior written permission of Condé Nast. But it’s “Over and Over” that reveals most. Good advice that won’t get you rich: “The best way to touch your heart is to make an ass of myself.” It feels true, doesn’t it? –Sean Fennessey, ...And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead. Ghostface Killah – The Pretty Toney Album ; Clipse – Lord Willin' Bloc Party – Silent Alarm ; Lightning Bolt – Wonderful Rainbow ; Destroyer – Destroyer's Rubies ; Girl Talk – Night Ripper ; Deerhunter – Cryptograms ; Air France – No Way Down ; Wu-Tang Clan – The W ; DJ/rupture – Uproot The music couldn’t be further from dub, but something of the latter’s haunted quality inhabits Grizzly Bear’s tape-soaked music. The duo construct a junkyard of chart-pop’s most ruthless tricks—swooping falsetto harmonies, rickety house percussion, buoyant reggae piano vamps, a swirling mélange of winsome samples—and yet for all this the songs remain as young and unspoilt as a first crush. And, just to make sure their noise mantras came in different colors, Lightning Bolt slipped bits of melody inside almost every machine-like blast. Though the ascents of Dan Bejar and Neko Case would retroactively validate the “supergroup” tag, the New Pornographers began their life more like a ragtag musicians’ roundtable, a small group of upstarts and veterans brimming with talent and mutual respect. It’s a Pied Piper in a stained white T, leading an irony-enfeebled generation to a candy colored land of unfettered joy. Though much of their previous output had come off like charming pastiches of styles from the 1960s and ’70s, the craft on display in “The Blues Are Still Blue” and “Funny Little Frog” left no doubt that these were not approximations, but in fact prime examples of glam rock and Northern soul. It’s hard rock in the form of a bear hug rather than a fist to the face or a grind of the hips. It’s not so easy to be this excitable about the crush of the regular. It was her next album that she wryly called The Greatest, but it’s You Are Free that has the rights to that honor. But such is Colin Meloy’s talent that what in lesser hands could easily inspire nothing but wedgies is here successfully raised to the level of weaponry against the perils of machismo. Kele Okereke is half Paul Revere, half Bono over fighting-trim tracks that stood out as rhythmically vital and melodically sharp even as it seemed like every new hyped band was getting up for the downstroke. An exegesis on routine, lovemaking, dancing, boredom, and the ever-eroding sense of the new in the world– “like a monkey with a miniature cymbal”– this is the band fully formed. Together the two duos made a jarring, indelible sound. And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead - Source Tags & Codes. After years of forcing her will via dog-maddening squeals and beats that could turn Pluto into powder, Björk holds her armies back while exalting carnal desire with the godliness of Marvin Gaye. Leithauser, his warm rasp making him come across like a more emotionally unstable young Rod Stewart, lurches from messy confrontations to moments of disarming empathy, and on “The Rat,” he lays himself completely bare, pleading for recognition with an abandon that is still startling, as his normally bleary-eyed bar-rock band explodes into catharsis all around him. is easily Beck’s most melancholy record, and the shift was temporary (its follow-up, 2005’s, ). It’s a poet who knows shouting “SHE IS BEAUTIFUL” is more effective than, you know, poetry. Even the non-Murdoch songs, typically a stumbling block on Belle and Sebastian releases, were up to the same high standard. A certain old-timey feel prevails—there’s even a waltz, “Marla,” written 70-odd years ago by a late relative of singer Ed Droste—but the shadowy, dust-moted depth of the music moots its rootsiness. There weren’t many portrait-of-the-artist-as-a-young-fuck-up albums this decade that brimmed with as much wit, regret, and wry honesty. Ambiguity! With the Neptunes as their guardian angels, the Virginia duo did more than just talk dope deals. Billowing, multi-part vocal harmonies verge upon the utopian, blowing the New Weird America into a wide-open world where pop meets rural mysticism. On several tracks, Björk’s breaths—some quick uptakes, some smoked sighs—are left intact, providing corporeal commentary to the surrounding hush. But there’s an urgency and intimacy to Sea Change—its heartbreak feels real, and uncontainable—that’s oddly timeless. So this album, judged by the usual standards of dance mixes—consistency, progression, structure, revelation—is deliberately terrible. “Song for Sunshine,” a cut authored by Stevie Jackson and Chris Geddes, stands as one of the band’s peaks, and its gorgeous, seamless merger of sunshine pop and Parliament funk is both a total surprise and the perfect counterpoint to anyone who would write the group off as a nothing more than a bunch of shambling, lisping folkies. Andy Falkous and Steve Albini have made it clear where they fall, so it’s no surprise they teamed up on Do Dallas—the richest depository of quotable malevolence this side of Hell Hath No Fury. That they still had the capability for indelible love songs (to women in “The F-Wor”; to hip hop in “A B-Boy’s Alpha”) magnified their humanity; that they spit every syllable over the majestic, rust-covered doom of peak-power El-P reinforced their legend. Alternative … Despite all the fuss, the songs—or epics, if you will—feel personal. Look at what follows it, and the backhanded buzzword for naysayers and disgruntled fans is “professional.” You Are Free is, to this point in her career, the last time that Chan Marshall has sounded like the Cat Power most admire—the doe-eyed waif gifted with an awkward poetic grace and burdened with world-weary wisdom. And they don’t leave, either, so you feed every detail through your memory machine until all they ever seem to say is goodbye, and they’re gone. But each track’s muscular incline eventually delivers a rewarding endorphin high. Repeatedly! The temptation to be a total dick just because you can carries an enormous power, and, was a weapons-grade, vulgar display of that; it was also exactly 36 minutes of the most blisteringly intense pop-misanthropy the decade had to offer, but that’s just Mclusky being better than your band. The 2000s were an extremely fucked-up political decade, yet we didn’t exactly get a deluge of trenchant social commentary from our best and brightest indie rockers. That’s quite a trick, and of all the bratty New York rock bands that broke through in the early ’00s, no one walked this razor-thin line separating sensitivity and callowness quite as deftly as the Walkmen. It’s metal if the fans traded their pentagrams for smiley faces. A list of the top albums of the year from Pitchfork (2000s). –Ian Cohen, Listen: Mclusky: “To Hell with Good Intentions”, 2 Many DJs ushered in the anything-goes, nothing-matters, shuffle-meltdown vibe of ’00s parties, blogs, and DIY remixers, and some have never forgiven them. But while the rest of the world was ready to party like it was 1999, the Scottish tech-rockers were soberly bracing themselves for the 2000s—which, through their bleary eyes, were already looking plenty bleak even before 9/11 and Bush/Blair wartime alliances muddied the picture further. On several tracks, Björk’s breaths—some quick uptakes, some smoked sighs—are left intact, providing corporeal commentary to the surrounding hush. –Ian Cohen, Listen: My Morning Jacket: “Wordless Chorus”, One weird blind spot when people look back at the British Invasion is the tendency of bands to go off on flights of childlike imagination. It’s a vulnerable yet confident record, and not just because she’s able to effortlessly incorporate contributions from grunge heavy hitters like Dave Grohl and Eddie Vedder like it ain’t no thing. This decade has often been ballyhooed as that of the playlist, where genre distinctions have blurred until, “Hey, man, it’s all music.” Ys is the mid-decade curveball reminding you that—no matter how many Elephant 6 projects you can name while listening to that new Weezy joint—you haven’t heard it all yet, and creative imagination is more infinite than an iTunes library. Blending exquisite ballast, searching psychonautica, greasy glam, thought-eradicating pummelprog, and bleary spindlerock, Source Tags & Codes operates on a grand scale. Just don’t call it coke rap. Those gestures, coupled with the growth of the group’s songwriting evident through, are as fitting a sendoff to Spoon’s salad days as one could hope. But really, after. Despite all the fuss, the songs—or epics, if you will—feel personal. But an upstream to the DFA leagues seemed to invest the group with a new sense of power– now when Alexis Taylor and vocal partner Joe Goddard sang, it wasn’t under a harmless bed of softly stroked keyboards. “You’re trying too hard—surrender,” she tells herself; “I can’t say no to you,” she admits. Stagnation! As Heard..., on the other hand, starts with a grotesque hippo-legged prog cover of “Peter Gunn,” slaps Basement Jaxx on the top, and blasts off. And this: “I don’t rap, I just shit like a newborn.” It’s dedicated to Wayne’s grandma, and he hopes you got it for free. ’Ye reflects on criticisms of his image (“Everything I Am”), gets overcome by the stress of his collaborative/competitive relationship with Jay-Z (“Big Brother”), compares himself to one of the most widely disliked athletes of our time (“Barry Bonds”), and, in “Stronger,” winds up turning the old “what doesn’t kill me only makes me stronger” maxim into an exhibition of self-aware arrogance that somehow scans like actual charm. View reviews, ratings, news & more regarding your favorite band. Pitchfork's 200 Best Albums of the 2000s - Page 2 show list info From M.I.A. We all talked a good game back then, but how long before you eventually got back to cutting people off in traffic, pissing on public toilet seats, off-handedly boasting about your cool shit, and caring more about The Bourne Identity and the World Cup than the news? Pitchfork's Top 200 Albums of the 2000s. Few songwriters could be responsible for both the bouncing neon synths and David Bowie warble of “I’ll Believe in Anything” and the swaggering slow-burn and breathy, Bruce Springsteen–ish croon of “This Heart’s on Fire,” but Wolf Parade prove that one band certainly could be. As the Plan grind out a frostier, more languorous version of their frenzied groove, Travis Morrison recounts decidedly uncool but entirely relatable reset-button stuff like calling your dad for relationship advice or gnashing your teeth at friends who start pairing off and not returning your records. –Joe Colly, If Radiohead spent the turn of the millennium pondering the disassociating effects of technological over-dependency, the Super Furry Animals reveled in the absurdity of it. Projection! –Ryan Dombal, Though the ascents of Dan Bejar and Neko Case would retroactively validate the “supergroup” tag, the New Pornographers began their life more like a ragtag musicians’ roundtable, a small group of upstarts and veterans brimming with talent and mutual respect. –Tom Ewing, The fact that her most explicitly sexual album is also her most submissive might be a bummer to those who got off on Björk-as-huntress power trips of yore. Few songwriters could be responsible for both the bouncing neon synths and David Bowie warble of “I’ll Believe in Anything” and the swaggering slow-burn and breathy, Bruce Springsteen–ish croon of “This Heart’s on Fire,” but Wolf Parade prove that one, Belle and Sebastian had been toying with R&B, glam, and funk for much of their existence, but by the time the group recorded, , their musical chops had finally caught up with the quality and ambition of Stuart Murdoch’s songwriting. –Grayson Currin, Heading into the 2000s, Beck Hansen was the poster-boy for self-aware emotional detachment—his most famous come-on (“I’m a loser, baby, so why don’t you kill me?”) may have very well helped usher in the (not so golden) age of irony. Comedy may equal tragedy plus time, but on, , the Furries get their laughs in before it’s too late: “Earth will become Saturn II,” Gruff Rhys declares on the title track, describing a planet so addicted to consumption that it’ll one day be encircled by its own waste. And despite the bullshit whispery Neptunes tracks and a tiny bit of filler, the end result is nearly as viscerally satisfying. But Erlend Øye’s DJ Kicks was one of the key records that helped eliminate those genre barriers. drafts an East Coast heavyweight like Just Blaze for two of the album’s greatest tracks (“King Back,” “I’m Talkin’ to You”), it’s not a cynical post-regional stardom grab; it’s just another form of banger for him to tear to pieces. –Tom Ewing, The fact that her most explicitly sexual album is also her most submissive might be a bummer to those who got off on Björk-as-huntress power trips of yore. One day after Pitchfork published their list of the top 100 songs of 2020, they've shared their list of the 50 best albums of the year. From M.I.A. Pitchfork is the most trusted voice in music. And despite the bullshit whispery Neptunes tracks and a tiny bit of filler, the end result is nearly as viscerally satisfying. Though My Morning Jacket kickstarted their critical and popular acclaim repping Kentucky, marathon live shows, Flying Vs, and flying hair, what makes them one of the great rock bands of the decade is how their best record turned out to be a stunningly concise, 45-minute, retro-futurist opus helmed by the guy who produced The Bends. The irony is that returning to it, what strikes you is how shrewd their song choices were—licensing-forced covers aside everything here, mashed or unmashed, displays impeccable taste in pop. Fairy tale parables of animal liberation and lessons learned through sadness and family illustrate, in the end, the urge only to beat boundaries. That sense of defiance drives this album’s personality even more than the nods towards house and electro that augment his characteristic soul-infused production. Listening to Mary Lattimore’s Silver Ladders feels like blinking awake on New Year’s Day: There’s some melancholy over ... Yaeji: What We Drew. found Grizzly Bear shedding the crackly, lo-fi chrysalis of their formative years. –Paul Thompson, ...And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead: “Another Morning Stoner”, Anyone can play guitar. But during their Arista years, Pusha and Malice seemed to be doing just fine. –Rebecca Raber, Listen: Wolf Parade: “I’ll Believe in Anything”, Estrangement from spouse and offspring! 100 Best Albums of the 2000s 100 Best Albums of the 2000s The 50 Best Albums of 2020. Jay had been in elder-statesman mogul stride since, , but before his brief respite, he never lost the regal bloodthirst of his younger lines. Fairy tale parables of animal liberation and lessons learned through sadness and family illustrate, in the end, the urge only to beat boundaries. Yes, Mass Romantic has enough breezy power-pop hooks to fill five or so lesser records. Pitchfork's Best Punk Albums of the 2000s. –Matt LeMay, The New Pornographers: “Letter From an Occupant”, Nobody really took Jay’s retirement seriously, but, did close one book: It was the last time we heard Jay’s snarling swagger fully intact. It’s a vulnerable yet confident record, and not just because she’s able to effortlessly incorporate contributions from grunge heavy hitters like Dave Grohl and Eddie Vedder like it ain’t no thing. Self-doubt! See which albums are sitting at the top of this year's charts. “Boy From School” marked a trembling sense of vulnerability, without sacrificing groove. On Vespertine, heaven is lust. Act more stupidly.” That line from “Can’t Tell Me Nothing,” the first single off Kanye West’s third album, has a way of sticking with you after every agitated all-caps blog post or awards-show freakout the man’s responsible for: West knows he’s making a scene, but like it or not, that’s just what he does. Sea Change is easily Beck’s most melancholy record, and the shift was temporary (its follow-up, 2005’s Guero, recalls the goofy excess of Odelay). –Sean Fennessey. –Ian Cohen, It’s true that the Thornton Brothers took a great leap after them crackers at Jive stopped playing fair. In place of those virtues it offers a series of riotous peaks (Dolly! And that kind of utility is rare. McCartney III is the surprise third entry in a series that began with his 1970 solo debut McCartney and seemed to end with 1980’s McCartney II, two dramatically different records born of dramatically … Radiohead, 'Kid A' "Kid A is like getting a massive eraser out and starting again," Thom Yorke said in … It’s probably a stretch to call Do Dallas “subversive” when the production gives your speakers razor burn and the “ballad” is called “Fuck This Band.” But think about 2002, when the prominent memes of rock music were wish-fulfillment fantasies of empathy, togetherness, hope, solace... heck, most of the anger was more of a cry for help than anything. , the three-year wait between the group’s only major label effort and their full-length Merge debut was long and seemingly interminable. to Four Tet, Kanye West to Joanna Newsom—and the many sides of Radiohead, too—here are the albums who defined the decade. Pitchfork's 200 Best Albums of the 2000s show list info From M.I.A. The material on this site may not be reproduced, distributed, transmitted, cached or otherwise used, except with prior written permission of Condé Nast. Our new-new-romantic overanxious urbanite narrator of the Dismemberment Plan—let’s call him Travis—seems to have got himself good and heartbroken sometime between 1999’s landmark art-funker Emergency & I and 2001’s Change, and, just like when it happens to you, it weighs on every moment. Yes, has enough breezy power-pop hooks to fill five or so lesser records. Lil Wayne’s most recent truly great mixtape should probably be remembered as the one that forced its stoned creator to look outside rap if he wanted to get much higher. –Paul Thompson, “I feel the pressure, under more scrutiny/ And what I do? Most of what was good about electroclash!) Feelings of displacement, even in a longtime locale! –Paul Thompson, For folks smitten with the leaps and bounds Spoon made between their Matador debut and. So this album, judged by the usual standards of dance mixes—consistency, progression, structure, revelation—is deliberately terrible. But it’s “Over and Over” that reveals most. It’s glam for guys who wear off-the-rack Wranglers from Wal-Mart. –Marc Masters, Listen: Lightning Bolt: “Dracula Mountain”, What a dumb name for this album. It’s a place we can go for function or for emotion, or just if you want to lay around counting ceiling-fan rotations and letting the record’s gentle propulsion move Voigt’s hisses and clicks around your brain. After all their misguided evolutions, it’s hard to describe the Neptunes in their prime. But King works best on slow-ride bangers like “Top Back” and “Bankhead” and the almighty “What You Know,” wheelhouse trunk-rattlers from one of the greatest ever to do them. A list of Pitchfork's best music of the 2000s. –Tom Breihan, My Morning Jacket probably could’ve remade At Dawn over and over again and still ended up with the same font size on festival bills. That classic-rock archetype still holds a lot of weight and if you don’t believe me, well, Kings of Leon had a top 10 single this year. –Marc Hogan, , and you’ll find a performer whose work (both in-studio and onstage) was often derided as amateurish. Fennessey,... and you Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead for a resignation that borders bitterness! Sea Change—its heartbreak feels real, and so do We with as much wit regret. Commentary to the surrounding hush lyrically, rhythmically, melodically, and uncontainable—that ’ s “ Over and Over that... Grow up place of those virtues it offers a series of riotous peaks Dolly! Arranged songs taking shape amidst a rich soundfield, greasy glam, thought-eradicating pummelprog, and so... 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