By Bill Friskics-Warren

John Waters ended his film Pecker by having one of his characters raise a toast to the death of irony. Waters, of course, was at some level being ironic. But taken at face value, his gesture could just as easily sum up the year in pop music—or at least the records that I cared about, most of which eschewed sarcasm and obfuscation in favor of sincerity and direct self-expression.

Granted, you’d expect such transparency from tortured mopers like Richard Buckner, Elliott Smith, and Mark Lanegan (who made good records), or from literate Southerners like Vic Chesnutt and Lucinda Williams (who made great ones). But from culture vulture Beck Hanson, insurgent satirist Jon Langford, avant-rocker Sue Garner, or wry provocateur Liz Phair? Hardly. And yet 1998 saw each of these artists release searching albums that linked them, content-wise if nothing else, to the confessional singer-songwriters of the ’70s.

And it wasn’t just troubadour types, or those who made troubadour-type records this year. Veteran hip-hoppers Public Enemy, Queen Latifah, Gang Starr, and P.M. Dawn all made irony-free records laden with meaning, as did young MCs Canibus, Lauryn Hill, and Atlanta’s Organized Noise troika of Goodie Mob, Witchdoctor, and OutKast. Even perennial smart-asses the Beastie Boys showed their sensitive side without being too crafty about it.

This list could go on, what with PJ Harvey getting naked about obsession, Madonna seeking illumination, Amy Rigby and Pulp ruing the onset of middle age, and turntablists UNKLE and Fatboy Slim sculpting sound with no discernible cheek. There were exceptions to this trend, most notably the rock ’n’ roll sideshows of Garbage, Marilyn Manson, and Nashville Pussy. But what’s interesting here isn’t so much inventory as what this new wave of sincerity might say about where pop music is headed.

Personally, I welcome the respite from irony, especially since it has become a pose—or worse, a mask that so-called artists hide behind because they lack their own voices. But if this revival of heart-on-sleeve is indeed a trend, adherents would do well to make room for irony—or at least for other forms of humor—as Chesnutt, OutKast, Rigby, and Billy Bragg and Wilco do on their latest records. Otherwise, all this sincerity might prove too much of a good thing as artists sink into self-indulgence and run the risk of having no one to talk to but themselves.

The top 20

1. Lucinda Williams, Car Wheels on a Gravel Road (Mercury) Sure, the songs and production here kick down the door to your heart. But what makes Car Wheels such an epiphany is how completely Williams has internalized the blues, much as Bob Dylan and Van Morrison did before her. I’m not talking about blues so much as a style, but as a feeling, an emotional reserve. When Williams snarls, “You had no right to take my joy, I want it back,” you’d think that the guilty party—perhaps the simps who rode her ass for taking so long to finish the album—had stolen her soul.

2. OutKast, Aquemini (LaFace) Hip-hop’s battle lines are now drawn North-South rather than East-West, and this Atlanta duo looks like a contender for the heavyweight crown—and not just for the way they sweeten their West Coast-styled thump with skanking beats and down-home funk. With their third full-length—which features help from Erykah Badu, George Clinton, and Wu-Tang’s Raekwon—MCs Andre and Big Boi have crafted a post-gangsta marvel, a collection of street-wise morality tales that aren’t preachy or PC.

3. Alejandro Escovedo, More Miles Than Money: Live 1994-96 (Bloodshot) “I wear sin like a ring of beauty,” Escovedo sings on “Broken Bottle,” revealing the leitmotif of this live album and de facto best-of. This is no boast. As the reflective cast of this onetime punk’s chamber-rock attests, it’s the confession of an aging sinner coming to terms with his private hell and finding a measure of redemption. If that sounds clichéd, so be it. Escovedo’s a grievous angel if ever there was one.

4. Air, Moon Safari (Source/Caroline) Awash in Moog, Fender Rhodes, and Vocoder, this French duo’s beat-poor full-length debut should have been the most insipid and hopelessly retro record of the year. Instead, it’s one of the coolest and best—a kitsch-free homage to ’70s synth-pop that manages to sound warm and sexy. Some of this is due to vintage analog gear; most of it, though, is owing to Mssrs. Godin’s and Dunckel’s fondness for the dreamy pop lyricism of Bacharach, Gainsbourg, and Jobim.

5. Vic Chesnutt, The Salesman and Bernadette (Capricorn) Chesnutt’s tortured romanticism has always had an affinity with the anguished ballads of Otis Redding; here, mining the lighter side of Stax/Volt, he renders the connection explicit. His secret weapon: the honky fatback of Lambchop, 12 Nashville cats who dig the tangled roots of hillbilly music and R&B.

6. Lauryn Hill, The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill (Ruffhouse) Like Stevie Wonder—with whom, thank God, this former Fugee also shares a gift for melody and melisma—Hill can be grandiose and pedantic. But whether she’s holding forth on family, faith, or fame, her shit signifies, and her self-produced beats and rhymes back her up. Flowing freestyle over Tuff Gong riddims here, lighting a quiet fire there, she got game.

7. Sue Garner, To Run More Smoothly (Thrill Jockey) Kindled by her lustrous soprano, Garner’s solo debut emits a living-room glow—fitting for a record the Run On bassist made in her New York apartment. Fiddling with samplers, sequencers, and overdubs, she wraps her ambient, vaguely twangy pop in a quilt of warm beats and aching melodies. The overall effect, to my ears, is that of Young Marble Giants’ Colossal Youth if it had been made by a Georgia native plumbing the rhythms of her conflicted heart.

8. Beck, Mutations (DGC) Who knew? On what was supposed to have been a between-projects mess-around, Beck dispenses with his irony and his sampler to dispatch a searching, latter-day troubadour album that should reduce Elliott Smith to tears.

9. The Beastie Boys, Hello Nasty (Grand Royal) The Beasties were never in danger of being mistaken for the Meters, or even Rose Royce, so it was high time they gave up the funk and got back to whining, scratching, and copping beats—in other words, doing what they do best. Their sanitized but still killer rhymes might belie the record’s title, but their guitar noise doesn’t.

10. Johnny Dowd, Wrong Side of Memphis (Checkered Past) The last thing this 50-ish furniture-mover from upstate New York wanted to do was capture his bluesy twang at home on a four-track recorder—he just didn’t have the money to do otherwise. But it’s just as well. Not only do the album’s gaunt settings lend themselves to Dowd’s creaky warble, they mirror the violence and self-loathing of his lyrics. Unlike lo-fi aesthetes who merely emulate folk art—Palace’s Will Oldham, say—there’s little distance between Dowd and his music. Instead, his artless racket offers a window into his corrosive heart.

11. Canibus, Can-I-Bus (Universal)

12. Billy Bragg & Wilco, Mermaid Avenue (Elektra)

13. Garbage, Version 2.0 (Almo Sounds)

14. George Clinton & the P-Funk All Stars, Dope Dogs (Dogone)

15. PJ Harvey, Is This Desire? (Island)

16. Tricky, Angels With Dirty Faces (Island)

17. Amy Rigby, Middlescence (Koch)

18. Cheri Knight, The Northeast Kingdom (E-Squared)

19. UNKLE, Psyence Fiction (Mo’ Wax/London)

20. Jon Langford, Skull Orchard (Sugar Free)

Rock & soul reissues

1. Various Artists, Nuggets: Original Artyfacts From the First Psychedelic Era 1965-1968 (Rhino)

2. Various Artists, The Perfect Beats: New York Electro, Hip-Hop, and Underground Dance Classics 1980-1985, Volume 1-4 (Tommy Boy)

3. Charlie Feathers, Get With It: Essential Recordings (1954-1969) (Revenant)

4. Booker T. & the MGs, Time is Tight (Stax)

5. Various Artists, Ernie’s Record Mart (Ace)

In its own class

Bob Dylan, The Bootleg Series Vol. 4 Live 1966—The “Royal Albert Hall” Concert (Columbia)

Technically a new release, “the world’s most famous bootleg” has been available for so long that it’s hard not to view it as a reissue. In any case, it wouldn’t be fair to compare this, one of rock’s greatest epiphanies, with music that’s still defining its moment.

In its own class

Bob Dylan, The Bootleg Series Vol. 4 Live 1966—The “Royal Albert Hall” Concert (Columbia)

Technically a new release, “the world’s most famous bootleg” has been available for so long that it’s hard not to view it as a reissue. In any case, it wouldn’t be fair to compare this, one of rock’s greatest epiphanies, with music that’s still defining its moment.