Some kinda love
A scattershot look at some of the music that earned my attention in 2023.
In my newspaper and zine days, I would dutifully compile a list of what I claimed to be the 20 best albums of the year. It was clear this was the opinion of one thirtysomething white guy because my photo usually ran with the piece… and because the list was overwhelmingly populated by the work of twenty-to-sixtysomething white guys. My tastes have evolved, but the absurdity of a ranked list remains. It was preposterous then, and would be even more preposterous now. At the least, any ranked list should clearly be seen as the opinion of one person — or the aggregate of several such opinions if you're looking at something like the Pazz 'n' Jop list of old.
But truly, the idea of even one person ranking albums, of saying that one is demonstrably better than another, is silly. At best, it is a ranking of what they heard, which is a teeny, tiny, infinitesimal slice of everything that is available. Again, this was ridiculous back in the 1990s when I would base it on what I amassed on physical media (CDs or tapes that I purchased, augmented by the (mostly major label) promos I received. Perhaps something was ubiquitous enough on the radio that I didn't need to have the CD in hand to feel as if I knew it well enough to weigh in, but it was usually limited to what I had in hand.
Today, with millions of songs available at the tap of a phone screen, to think any one person has listened to enough to render an opinion about the merits of an album relative to everything else out there is laughable.
However, that doesn't mean that I don't love reading these lists. I like to be validated, of course, but better is to learn of something I had either dismissed or missed. So, after this windy preamble, it should be clear that I will offer no ranked list, but I will add my favorites to what I hope is an ever-growing list of things you will listen to as you pore over the multitude of wrap ups out there. It was a difficult exercise. I listened to so much that there was rarely time to revisit something enough to consider it a favorite. What follows are the albums that kept me coming back.
The albums I listened to the most this year are jazz (or given the fact that not much of it would air on our local jazz station, creative music or something closer to that definition is probably more accurate).
Jaime Branch and James Brandon Lewis were heroes of the year, each with two albums I listened to quite a bit. For Branch, who left us in 2022 but had one more masterpiece in the can, it was Fly or Die Fly or Die Fly or Die ((World War)), as well as Stembells by the Branch-led Bridge Sessions. Each is a showcase for the trumpeter's increasingly sophisticated, exploratory music, each finding her experimenting more with electronics and voice in a way that showed just how much we lost with her passing.
For saxophonist Lewis, 2023 was his biggest year yet, starting with Eye of I on the larger Anti- Records. It was a dynamic trio recording that also featured a blistering tune with the instrumental rock trio Messthetics. Despite those fireworks, I prefer his other 2023 release, For Mahalia, With Love, which found him playing with the same group from his breakthrough LP, Jesup Wagon, this time playing songs made popular by Mahalia Jackson. It's a soulful collection and a fitting follow-up to that earlier highlight.
Chief Xian aTunde Adjuah, who I first heard when I helped bring him to the Iowa City Jazz Festival in 2013 when he was known as Christian Scott, leaves his trumpet behind on Bark Out Thunder Roar Out Lightning, where he plays a number of self-made percussive instruments. The results are no less stirring, and while I'll miss his trumpet should he keep it sidelined, I'll be ready to hear what he does next no matter his instrument of choice.
Piano-led music made up a big part of my listening this year, as Jason Moran returned with From the Dancehall to the Battlefield, leading a larger group through work written or performed by early 20th century Black band leader James Reese Europe. Drummer Tyshawn Sorey, who I also met when he played with Vijay Iyer at the Iowa City Jazz Festival in 2016, issued a second album with his wonderful piano trio, Continuing, featuring the deft playing of Aaron Diehl. And Kris Davis (yes, we brought her to Iowa City as well, in 2017), issued a fantastic double live record with a group she's calling Diatom Ribbons (named for her remarkable 2019 album of that name that shares a few players here), Diatom Ribbons Live at the Village Vanguard. None of these albums sound a bit alike, showing that the instrument found gathering dust in many suburban homes is also a powerful tool for creativity in the right hands.
Beyond that, the passing of two legends added considerably to my playlists. I found myself listening to a lot of Wayne Shorter throughout the year, glad that he left behind so much wonderful music that I'll be able to enjoy despite his death. Two archival releases of live material from Ahmad Jamal — Emerald City Nights 1962-1964 and 1966-1968) sent me to his lengthy catalog to explore beyond those gems to discover a lot of music I had missed.
As a transition from jazz to other music, I'll offer two adventurous albums that also earned time in the headphones: Echolocation by Mendoza Hoff Revels (which also features James Brandon Lewis), and The Flower School by Zoh Amba with Chris Corsano and Bill Orcutt. I heard Amba and Orcutt this fall at Iowa City's FEaST festival, though not together. That's a shame, because the combination here really brings out the best of tenor saxophonist Amba's work. Each of these albums features players who are heard on albums labeled as "jazz" as often as not, but they also show that, as Duke Ellington is reported to have said, there are only two kinds of music: "Good music and the other kind."
What did you listen to this year? Let me know in the comments.
Let's get this out of the way: anyone who knows me is aware I'm a massive Guided by Voices fan. Plenty of years with GBV releases have found them absent from my year-end lists. I may love nearly everything Robert Pollard releases, but I'm still able to know when something I admire is average. That wasn't a problem this year. Pollard has been with the latest incarnation of GBV since 2017, issuing a staggering 16 albums (two of those double LPs) in that time. It has been a surprisingly strong run, but this year in particular was a boon for fans. Two of the three LPs issued this year are among his best (for perspective, the first of the current GBV lineup's albums was Pollard's 100th release under GBV, his own name and scads of others). I would put the latest, Nowhere to Go But Up, and particularly its predecessor, Welshpool Frillies, up against all but the best of his handful of '90s classics.
Four older acts earned a lot of time in my ears this year. Califone's Villagers was a strong return to form, backed up by an odd but satisfying performance in Davenport this fall by the Tim Rutili-led outfit. The Clientele issued its first album in six years with I Am Not There Anymore, which finds the London-based band playing with its 60s-driven formula with satisfying results. Yo La Tengo hasn't made a bad record in its 40-year career, and This Stupid World runs no risk of ending that streak. It captures everything I love about the band — the hushed melodies, the guitar squall, the sweet hooks — yet never feels as if it is repeating the past.
Robert Forster deserves his own paragraph. I first fell for the Go-Betweens because of the subsequent solo work from his partner in that band, the late Grant McLennan. He was the pop songwriter who complemented Forster's more elemental, wordy songs. I didn't really listen to the band until they had split, and even then focused more on McLennan's contributions. The band reunited, issued three good-to-great albums, McLennan died of a heart attack, and that seemed to be the end. But I read Forster's wonderful Grant and I, a memoir about their time together in the band, and was so taken that I sought out his solo music, fell for his Go-Betweens songs, and now love them equally.
OK, I guess he gets two paragraphs. His most-recent album is typical for Forster musically, but with a more compelling backstory. His wife, Karin Baumler, developed cancer, and wanting to make music with her while locked down with his family during the pandemic, he created his most affecting, most bare-boned album to date. The Candle and the Flame has overt nods to Baumler's illness, such as the opener, "She's a Fighter," but much of the work speaks to that situation more in the feel than in the lyrics, some of which predate the diagnosis.
A few more albums hit for me this year. Love in Exile, by the trio of Vijay Iyer, Arooj Aftab and Shazad Ismaily, was one of those "greater than the sum of its parts" moments. I have been a fan of Iyer's piano playing for years (yes, yet another Jazz Fest booking… we had quite a run there for a while), and fell for Aftab when she played here in Iowa City a few years back. Together with Ismaily, they have created an affecting, otherworldly blend of sound that supports Aftab's haunting vocals. It's hard to categorize, save for that "good music" tag, which seems to fit.
Two albums that I admire but haven't fully absorbed will continue to earn spins in the new year. Margo Price's Strays deserves a deeper listen (and I haven't even gotten to its companion, Strays II yet), and Iris Dement's Workin' on a World is the sort of "wisdom of age alleviating the weight of current events" album we all need right now.
Two more albums show the power in the guitar-bass-drums lineup from opposite ends of the generational divide. The Feelies, long in the tooth themselves, offered the most joyful album of the year in Some Kinda Love a live set of even older Velvet Underground covers. Long labeled VU acolytes, the band leans hard into that tag by offering an album that I'd almost rather hear than one by the Velvets themselves. It's a ragged blast that deserves a listen by any self-respecting fan of Reed and Co.
Some young'uns used the same setup to make another high-energy LP full of guitar-driven pop songs. The Tubs Dead Meat is so short — 9 songs in 26 minutes — that you'll be thankful for the repeat button. Led by the guitar and vocals of Owen Willaims’, the band is part of a loose collective of bands that offer a similar feel, if in different styles. He and vocalist Lan McCardle also front Ex-Vöid, which made one of 2022's best LPs.
When I need to unwind, plenty of acts fit the bill in 2023. Seawind of Battery's Clockwatching came out in 2022, but a spate of one-offs and live tracks last year kept the band in rotation. The "band" is essentially guitarist Mike Horn, making soothing, occasionally soaring ambient music. Blue Lake is another one-man band making quieter music. Jason Dungan blends quiet folk and jazzy elements on Blue Arc, creating one of the albums I listened to the most in 2023.
Chicago guitarist Bill MacKay was also busy in 2023, issuing LPs with Black Duck (MacKay, bassist Douglas McCombs and drummer Charles Rumback), and as BCMC with Bitchin' Bahas' Cooper Crain. The self-titled Black Duck LP is more varied, as each of these three accomplished soloists finds space to explore, while BCMC's Foreign Smokes is a much quieter, contemplative collection.
Two other guitarists issued great live LPs this year: The prolific Ryley Walker's Live in Malmo and William Tyler's Secret Stratosphere are ripping sets that showcase their ability to take structured songs into new territory. When you need to shred, they have you covered.
Special reissue note: It seems there is a mint to be made by '80s bands willing to strip the '80s from their work. Two of the most satisfying releases of the year found success in exercises of "less is more:" The Replacements' Tim box (yes, I've come around, though I still hate what was uncovered/added to "Waitress in the Sky" and "Here Comes a Regular," and the set's title is dumb (and Tommy agrees with me)) and the Chills' Brave Words. The latter, scrubbed of the murk, is a revelation that puts it on par with the band's masterpiece, Submarine Bells.
In closing, a few misses. A year with new albums from Belle and Sebastian, Teenage Fanclub and the New Pornographers would usually be a standout, but none of these did much for me. I'll keep going back for a bit to see what I may be missing, but I may find it just isn't there.