#1 Radiohead
Kid A
Kid A. Even the name suggests enigma. To hear the gentle modulations and eerily disembodied vocals of the first few bars of ‘Everything in its Right Place’ in y2k was to hear the sound of music being reshaped, forever. Thom Yorke’s processed voice on the title track, the Eno-esque ambience of ‘Treefingers’, the whirring no-dance drum machines of ‘Idioteque’ and the Dadaist randomness of the lyrics (Yorke famously pulled lines out of a hat in an attempt to overcome writer’s block) were, in combination, a potent deathblow to the rhetoric of instrument-based determinism.
After Kid A, anything was fair game for anybody, and the notion of a major band producing its “difficult” or “experimental” album had become banal, if not redundant. In a decade where music has been defined by its variety and democracy, it is entirely apt that Kid A be remembered as a kind of a singularity, a jump-off point for the advances which were soon to follow in its wake. That Kid A hit #1 on the billboard album charts as a result of buzz generated by a series of viral “blip” advertisements and an advance Napster leak was not only delightfully serendipitous, but also further evidence that Radiohead were, as always, ahead of the game. They had, in one fell swoop, erased the past, defined the terms of the present, and forecasted the future. Simply put, Kid A is the best album of the last ten years because when it came out it sounded like nothing else, but by the decade’s end you could practically hear its influence in everything that had been made since.
—Kim.
#2 Arcade Fire
Funeral
I can think of at least ten albums that I’d rather listen to right now than Arcade Fire’s Funeral—but that’s a good thing. It means it’s become an integral part of my collection, in the vein of Abbey Road, Chutes Too Narrow and Kid A. Sure, I may stray in favour of newer and more exciting releases, but I’ll always return to my old faithfuls—and when I do, I’m once again struck by their brilliance, which never grows old. Funeral is one of those albums where you pick up something new with each listen. It’s sincere, thoughtful and emotional, as well as astonishingly well-formed for a debut—and despite its theatrical element, it has none of the pretentiousness that plagues certain other indie bands. And what’s more, it acts as a reminder of music’s cathartic power, in an era when unfortunately, it’s all too easy to see it as a commodity.
—Elle.
#3 Panda Bear
Person Pitch
Panda Bear just seems to nail everything on his 3rd album, Person Pitch. Even though it seems kinda reductive to reference Brian Wilson when talking about Person Pitch, it’s somewhat unavoidable—while reggae/dancehall and minimalist techno play important parts in the album’s construction, it’s the exultant warmth and beauty of Lennox’s voice over his flawlessly looped pop dreamscape that sees Person Pitch rise head and shoulders above the rest of the pack. Children playing among handclaps, chants and a fucking Cat Stevens sample may not seem credible ostensibly, but once you finish the epic ‘Bros’, it manages to fit wonderfully. An incredible album that not only subverted the expectation of music fans entirely, but became a Wilsonic tome that is yet to be equalled. As close to pop perfection as you’ll get in this decade.
—James.
#4 Kanye West
The College Dropout
Of course there’s going to be something by Kanye in the top ten albums of the decade. The question was which: Late Registration is a gem, and Graduation ain’t half bad either (there was no 808s as far as I’m concerned). It was, however, The College Dropout that won the enviable number four spot. This album marks Kanye’s leap from first-class producer to respected rapper/pop-star, a role he’s adopted with aplomb. It’s The College Dropout’s frankness (the forthright discussion of religion in ‘Jesus Walks’) and humour (the frenetic pace and tongue-in-cheek comedy of ‘The New Workout Plan’) that make it an instant classic. Hell, on ‘Through The Wire’, the dude is rapping with his jaw wired shut. I’ll just come out and say it: I love Kanye, and if you dispute this placing, I’ll fight you. Okay then? Okay then.
—Elle.
#5 LCD Soundsystem
Sound of Silver
Imagine for a moment that you’re in a room with a friend or two, just relaxing, having a conversation. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to you, people are quietly slipping in through the doors and windows, and before you know it, there’s a full-blown party going on with you at the centre. This is what Murphy’s beautifully subtle dance/punk hybrid feels like: he builds his songs up with such a quiet, workmanlike intensity that they often catch you by surprise. The culmination of his talents is Sound of Silver: a painstakingly crafted work that roots you to the spot as you discover its layers of complexity while simultaneously commanding you to forget your troubles for a moment, get up, and just dance.
—Ryan.
#6 Grizzly Bear
Yellow House
With atmospheric flourishes used to intensify core pop sensibilities, Grizzly Bear’s second album marked a turn away from the oughtie’s instrument du jour: synth. Yellow House is like a collection of sinister little lullabies, but just as we drift off to sleep on Droste’s droll voice, eerie knocking sounds (‘Marla’) or crashing cymbals (‘Lullabye’) jolt us back to reality. ‘Knife’ and ‘On a Neck On a Spit’ are standout tracks; their hum-ability testament to Grizzly Bear’s impeccable melodic songwriting, while their inability to be done justice in the shower point to the vital layers of instrumentation stacked into every song. Yellow House heralded a welcome return to vocal harmonies: Fleet Foxes, Department of Eagles and Bon Iver soon followed suit, but none so delicately, none so darkly, none so well.
—Maggie.
#7 The Strokes
Is This It
Is This It is important for a couple of reasons: firstly, it served as a broker between the mainstream and the growing underground garage rock revival, and secondly, in a time when bands were beginning to discard the traditional ideas of what a rock band should sound like, it showed what great music you could still make with a couple of guitars, bass, drums and vocals. Lead singer Julian Casablancas has called it a “time capsule” and that’s exactly what it is. In fact, Is This It sums up the prevalent garage rock sound of the early 00s so well you wonder why the other bands even bothered.
—Ryan.
#8 Death From Above 1979
You’re A Woman, I’m A Machine
“FUCK DFA RECORDS FUCK JAMES MURPHY WE DECLARE JIHAD ON THEM HOLY WAR ENDING IN THIER DEATH AND DISMEMBERMENT… james murphy is a selfish piece of fuck that will burn in the flames of a specially dedicated rock and roll jihad. if i had the resources i would fly a plane into his skull.”
This is what Sebastian Grainger and Jesse F. Keeler wrote after Murphy’s label forced the then-1979less Death From Above into changing their name. Their singular album, You’re A Woman, I’m A Machine, doesn’t so much speak the same sentiment as it does scream it. The whole album is the decade’s loudest “fuck you”, sizzling by in a maelstrom of kiss-off shallow lyrics, curb-stomping riff brutality, and the ability to deliver more beats than Ike Turner. They broke up soon afterwards, but thanks to this album, DFA1979’s legacy remains brutally untouchable.
—James.
#9 Interpol
Turn on the Bright Lights
One of the least discussed musical trends of the last ten years has been the quiet death of the guitar solo. It is entirely fitting, therefore, that the best guitar album of the last decade doesn’t feature a single moment of 6-string showboating. The clever dynamics and telepahtic interplay of Paul Banks and Daniel Kesseler on Turn on the Bright Lights captivate in a different, and altogether more genuine fashion than the often heavy-handed attempts of axe heroes of yore. But despite the peerless excellence of Interpol’s musicianship, the central irony of Bright Lights is that it’s the consistently unshowy vocals of Paul Banks which really steal the show. The essence of his performances is an at times unsettling tendency towards naked emotional honesty. And like Ian Curtis before him, the dryness of Banks’ baritone voice ensures that he can deliver great lines (“She puts the weights into my little heart / And she gets in my room and she takes it apart”) without ever running the risk of sounding overwraught.
—Kim.
#10 Danger Mouse
The Grey Album
To those who would pose the question of whether the mashup is a valid form of art in and of itself, I would respond with a three-word answer: The Grey Album. Yes, it represents a landmark moment in music history, and yes, it took some serious confidence to mix and mangle the work of the most successful band and the most successful MC of all time, but none of that really matters. What matters is that The Grey Album succeeds unequivocally as an album. Furthermore, Danger Mouse’s arrangements not only cast Jay-Z’s songs in a new light, but they also extend them into previously untraversed realms of sonic possibility.
—Kim.