Black Sabbath “13”
Once upon a time, Black Sabbath were considered musical troglodytes — dumb, artless wankers, shunned by the cultural cognoscenti. Years later, even after many fans and some critics came around, they were still treated like drunk, possibly murderous threats. It was not until recently, long after Ozzy left, after Ronnie left, after most of the world had reconsidered them, that Sabbath settled into the realm of quaint, rich celebrity. They came to signify the excess and darkness of Seventies Hard Rock and the eventual convalescence from said excess and darkness. By 2013, Ozzy Osbourne was unimaginably wealthy. He was a reality TV star. He was a doddering, comical old man. And yet, despite the passage of time, despite the reputational rehab and despite Ozzy’s defanging, “13” is not funny — not for a single moment.
The Olivia Tremor Control “Garden of Light” and “The Same Place”
Whereas Bill Doss was a hard working free spirit, Will Cullen Hart was more of a boundless tinkerer. Doss’ songs have an easy air about them — they feel well-crafted but also kind of effortless. Hart’s songs, on the other hand, sound unlike anything or anyone else. If The Olivia Tremor Control were a miracle, Hart was the miracle worker. And of the many miracles he performed, none were more miraculous than the ones he manifested on November 29, 2024. That day, at the age of fifty-three, he bequeathed us “Garden of Light” and “The Same Place.” The surprise of these two gifts — the first new music from OTC in fifteen years — was all the more mind boggling, though, when you consider what immediately preceded them. Just a few hours earlier, Will Cullen Hart had passed away from natural causes.
Bon Iver “Sable”
As Bon Iver evolved from loner in the shack to experimental Jam band, Justin Vernon became more diffuse — and more opaque. His voice was everywhere, but his songs were impossible to decipher. His career was simultaneously safe and unpredictable. He was Indie Rock canon verging on Pop canon, but one never knew when or if the next album would come. And one never knew what it might sound like — except that it wouldn’t sound like “For Emma, Forever Ago.” Justin Vernon was not going back.
Huey Lewis and The News “Plan B”
The Nineties were a fallow period for Huey Lewis and The News. Following a decade wherein they released nine albums, the band mustered just two over the next ten years. His platinum-selling, chart-topping days were a thing of the past, but his transition from Heartland New Wave to aging Mom-and-Dad-core was both graceful and inevitable. In some ways it made much less sense that Huey Lewis was ever a bonafide Pop star and more sense that he was a charming screen presence who occasionally put out R&B albums. By 2001, at the age of fifty, Huey had finally achieved his pop culture destiny, settling into his rightful place as Bruce Willis’ less theatrically — but much more musically talented — cousin.
Sebadoh “Defend Yourself”
If Lou Reed was the first and the alpha, then Lou Barlow was the distant second and the beta Lo-Fi Lou. With Sebadoh, Barlow invented the kind of work in progress, kind of perfect as it is style that Guided by Voices and Olivia Tremor Control soon perfected. With Sentridoh, he invented an even quieter, decidedly unpunk alter ego that Iron & Wine and The Microphones cribbed notes from. And before all that, of course, was Dinosaur Jr., where Barlow’s Cardigan Cat Guy guise debuted. Yes — before Kurt Unplugged, before Elliott at The Oscars, and way before Taylor’s Tortured Poets Department — Lou Barlow was whispering the way.
The Baseball Project “Volume 1: Frozen Ropes and Dying Quails”
While they aren’t Hall of Famers, Steve Wynn and Scott McCaughey are the subjects of indie fascination and the stars of The Baseball Project. On “Frozen Ropes and Dying Quails,” Wynn has seven writing credits to McCaughey’s six. Meanwhile, the actual Hall of Famer—Peter Buck —operates as a role player and drummer Linda Pitmon calls the pitches from behind the plate. In The Baseball Project, the frontmen are actually journeymen. Which, I think, is a big reason why the band works—because they are a team. Everyone is working in service of the same goal. And it’s a very specific goal—to make always witty, occasionally poignant songs about baseball’s great history. They’re not aiming for hits, much less home runs—they just want to play ball.
Luna “Rendezvous”
Just a decade earlier with Galaxie 500, Dean Wareham realized something profound and profoundly obvious—it’s hard to be in a band with a couple. Back then, he was the frontman who was also the third wheel. But in 2004, with Luna, he was the frontman and one half of the couple. Which is why “Rendezvous,” Luna’s seventh studio album, was meant to be their last album. Recorded during their farewell tour, “Tell Me Do You Miss Me,” is a feature length documentary about life on the road for a well known, well loved, but ultimately not known or loved enough indie band. There’s a lot of pleasure. And there’s even more pain. On the surface, it’s the story of a band breaking up because they just can’t make a living. But you didn’t have to scratch too hard to uncover the other truth—the story of a band breaking up because their lead singer and bassist had fallen in love.
Pink Floyd “The Division Bell”
For as much as it was a David Gilmour album, “A Momentary Loss of Reason” was also a Roger Waters’ album. Every single review noted the absence of the band’s erstwhile leader, who was himself active and vocal in sharing his derision for the project. And while the record was commercially successful, it was doubly taxing. In its aftermath, Gilmore and Waters finally and painfully resolved most of their legal affairs but almost none of their enmity. For many years there was little hope, and no indication, of any future for Pink Floyd. But then, in 1993, the ink having barely dried on both his marital and professional divorces, Gilmour did something unexpected. He invited Nick Mason and Richard Wright—the latter of whom had been dismissed from the band during the making of “The Wall”—to get together, play some music and talk about the power of talking.
Asia “Phoenix”
If a computer—even a very old one—was tasked with naming an album made by the original four members of Asia who were reuniting for the first time in two decades, I am certain it would land on “Phoenix.” The metaphor of that ancient, immortal, mythological bird rising up again is simply too good to pass up on. “Phoenix” speaks to the passage of time, fire, beauty, erudition and regeneration. It is, in a single word, quite literally the perfect title for Asia’s comeback album—as ridiculous as it is accurate.
Los Lobos “Native Sons”
Over the course of nearly fifty years and seventeen studio albums, Los Lobos have been many things. A wedding band. A Rock band. A Folk band. A Punk band. They’re omnivores — multi-instrumentalists, songwriters, radical interpreters and loyal cover artists. Their influences are as diverse as their influence — members of the band have appeared on records from pretty much every legend who's passed through Los Angeles since 1980. From Bob Dylan to Eric Clapton and from Dolly Parton to Bonnie Raitt. Like their hometown, Los Lobos are diffuse. And like their hometown, they are Mexican. Which is why, more than anything, Los Lobos are underestimated. Pop music comes in many forms, but it gravitates to the specific and the English. Meanwhile, Los Lobos’ greatness lies in the fact that they are almost the complete opposite of those things.
Fastball “Little White Lies”
Nada Surf, Superdrag, Fountains of Wayne, Harvey Danger, Semisonic. There is a cohort of Modern Rock bands from the Nineties who made off-kilter Power Pop and who became briefly, somewhat famous. But Fastball was different in that (a) they were more than just somewhat famous and (b) when they faded, they plummeted. Moreover, unlike their peers, Fastball was not retrospectively considered under-appreciated. In fact, they were hardly reconsidered at all. Fastball never had a second act as prestige artists on an Indie label. Never had a third act as songwriters to the stars. They just — and just barely — kept going, writing great songs and making very good albums.
Phish “Fuego”
I have a Phish problem. Or at least, for the last thirty years I’ve told myself that I have a Phish problem. This problem is in spite of my adoration for the state of Vermont. In spite of my having seen Phish perform live multiple times. In spite of being occasionally, but earnestly, wowed by the wizardry of their jams. In spite of my appreciation for their business acumen. In spite of my loving their Ben & Jerry’s flavor. Yes — in spite of all of it — I don’t abide. Which, for most people, would not be such a problem. But, as a Vermonter at heart, I am left with this unrelenting pull between my Yes-Vermont soul and my No-Phish conscience. It is a battle that, until recently, I had ignored. But it was a battle that I knew — someday, somehow — I’d need to resolve.
Pitchfork “0.0”
It’s been a couple of weeks since Condé Nast’s decision to reorganize and downsize Pitchfork, a move that drew head scratching disbelief and foot stomping ire from everyone with an opinion on the matter. As with all corporate shake-ups, the full implications won’t be understood for some time. But what is knowable now, and for certain, is that (a) many people lost their jobs and (b) Pitchfork was one of the first Condé Nast titles to successfully unionize and (c) the writing at Pitchfork was never better than it had been recently, under Editor & Chief, Puja Patel. Meanwhile, what should have been known to Anna Wintour (Condé Nast Chief Content Officer), Roger Lynch (Condé Nast CEO) and Nick Hotchkin (Condé Nast CFO), is that nobody under the age of fifty gives a shit about G.Q. (the title that Pitchfork was reorganized into) and that many people give many shits about Pitchfork.
Rush “Vapor Trails”
By the time I reached middle age, my longstanding, polite refusal of Rush had settled into a wizened indifference. In fact, since I was not a subscriber to Guitar World or Drummerworld magazines, many years would go by without me hearing a peep about the band I’d once tagged “Loser Van Halen.” But then, one day, I caught wind of “Rush: Beyond the Lighted Stage,” a documentary that was generating buzz on the festival circuit. That buzz swelled, culminating in awards, which begot a short theatrical run, which is where, in the summer of 2010, I was confronted with the most unfathomable of questions: What if the band I liked the least was the one I loved the most?
Coldplay “Music of the Spheres”
And that was the thing about Coldplay — they were fine. Extremely so. But, also, just so — fine. Their bug — a complete lack of tension — had become their undeniable feature. Even in divorce, Chris Martin managed to avoid friction, co-describing his split from Gwyneth not as a divorce or a break-up, but as a “conscious uncoupling.” However, where their consistency was once considered a strength, in time people began to whisper about their boring sameness. At the height of their ascent, Martin had quipped that Coldplay needed to focus on getting better, not bigger. By the second decade of the twentieth century, however, they were neither better nor bigger. They were more hovering blimp than soaring rocketship.
Night Ranger “Somewhere in California”
What happens to our dreams in middle age? Do they still matter? Were they silly to begin with? These are the questions we wrestle with on the other side of forty. And, as much as Night Ranger were an Eighties Rock band, they were also a middle-aged Rock band. Strictly speaking, they were more the latter than the former. While they released five albums during their heyday, they — amazingly — have put out eight albums since. Their most recent album, from 2021, was “A.T.B.O.,” an acronym for “And The Band Played On.” Its predecessor, from 2017, was entitled “Don’t Let Up.” The evidence suggested that Night Ranger wasn’t simply “hanging on.” That they were not content being “the Sister Christian guys.” That there was a destiny yet to be fulfilled.
Devo “Smooth Noodle Maps”
Shortly after Mark Mothersbaugh scored “Revenge of the Nerds II: Nerds in Paradise,” but long before he worked on “Rushmore,” Devo was in flux. Dropped from Warner Brothers, they signed to Enigma Records, a label that specialized in crossover Metal, first rate, second wave Punk and just barely mainstream Art Rock. On paper, it seemed like a perfect fit. Unfortunately for both parties, “Total Devo,” from 1988, arrived with a thud and a sigh. If their Enigma debut anticipated the band’s break-up, though, “Smooth Noodle Maps,” from 1990, sealed it. The first Devo album not to chart in any English speaking country was not so much a commercial or critical failure (though it was both of those things) as it was something that Devo had never, ever been accused of. It was boring.
Goo Goo Dolls “Magnetic”
“Magnetic,” the Goo Goo Dolls’ tenth studio album, was a choice — less left, less right, more middle. The ballads inched closer to Coldplay. The rockers closer to Mumford & Sons. It was a direction the Goo Goo Dolls would stick with in the future, introducing tasteful whispers of contemporary Rock and Pop into their road tested formula. But it was never more than a whisper. And none of it seemed to matter much because their fate had been sealed many years before — frozen in amber along with the Clinton Lewinsky scandal, McGwire and Sosa’s home run chase and John Rzeznik’s blonde highlights. For two decades, they have signified “late Nineties Modern Rock that is in no way Alternative Rock.” They are the apotheosis of the form — the very best at it. And yet, in 2013, 2017 and 2020, they were destined to end up on a float in Manhattan for the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade for the most obvious of reasons: November is pumpkin spice season.
The American Analog Set “For Forever”
Though they broke up in 2008, The American Analog Set started hanging out again in 2013. They’d meet up weekly and play music for the purest of reasons — because they enjoyed being together. It was familiar and comfortable. But in no way did their weekly jams sound like a reunion or even a precursor to a reunion. On the other hand, it did beg the question: If a band plays in a living room for no one but themselves, are they even a band? If a tree falls in a forest, does it make a sound? In truth, nobody knew about these private get togethers and so nobody was asking. But then, a year or so ago, the fading flicker made a pop. Numero Group announced plans to reissue the first three Analog Set albums. A lost track came to light. And then, seemingly out of nowhere, The American Analog Set, who were always as much a dream and a mystery as they were a band, revealed “For Forever,” their first album in eighteen years.
Loverboy “Unfinished Business”
Peak Loverboy is the sound of producer, Bruce Fairbairn, and engineer, Bob Rock. So is peak Bon Jovi. So is second peak Aerosmith and fourth peak AC/DC. It’s a big sound — heavy but not pummeling, bombastic but not ridiculous. It’s also a clean sound — every instrument has its place. It was their knob turning that made Bon Jovi sound like making out, Def Leppard sound like getting off and Loverboy like dry humping. As good as Loverboy was, their brief and unfathomable greatness was really that of their producer and engineer. A quarter century after their heyday, though, without Fairbairn or Rock, Calgary’s finest Arena Rock band returned one more time, as though to prove to Bon Jovi and Def Leppard who really came first.