By Noel Murray

Whole Again

Over the summer, the online entertainment magazine Mr. Showbiz asked readers to vote on the all-time greatest rock albums from the ’60s, ’70s, ’80s, and ’90s. Two things quickly became clear—the ’80s were a far better decade than I had remembered, and the ’90s apparently suck. Only I know this isn’t true. Some of my all-time favorite bands rose to prominence this decade; the problem is that this has been a lousy era for albums. Most of the music I’ve loved over the last eight years has been jarred loose from records that are too long and too ill-focused.

That’s what made 1998 so damned refreshing—it wasn’t just the abundance of great music this year, but the sheer number of complete albums that have entered the fray. Chalk that up to the abiding trends of the past 12 months, including the emergence of troubadours like Lucinda Williams, Josh Rouse, Elliot Smith, and Joe Pernice, craftsfolk who know how to craft.

The trend of the year, though, was almost too subtle to notice: the “project” album. Elvis Costello collaborated with Burt Bacharach, Billy Bragg and Wilco teamed up to flesh out some abandoned Woody Guthrie songs, Vic Chesnutt imagined a song cycle with the help of Lambchop, and Mark Eitzel hired Steve Shelley and Kid Congo Powers to strip his music bare. Even R.E.M. approached their first post-Bill Berry album with an ear toward rediscovering their rationale, and Afghan Whigs took their minstrel-porn rock show on the road to New Orleans (both with mixed results, admittedly). Musicians were taking their art seriously this year, and man was it ever sweet.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that this is the first year in a long time that I shared many favorite selections with the country’s most widely read music critics. If I’ve succumbed to hype, it’s because the hype was backed by quality. Though there was no one record of the year for me—if pushed, I would pick Sloan, whom my better-paid colleagues have unfortunately ignored—but I can recommend that all 20 selections on my alphabetical list below be played from start to finish.

A top 20

Air, Moon Safari (Source/Caroline) This French duo’s lush, mostly instrumental pop orchestrations evoke an earlier generation’s romanticism of technology along with the current generation’s pre-Y2K dread. Already, they’ve been appropriated by Madison Avenue to sell makeup.

Beastie Boys, Hello Nasty (Grand Royal/Capitol) The B-boys return to full-on hip-hop with an overstuffed collection that veers from dilettantish experiments to slammin’ party beats. The most exuberant, most adventurous band around.

Belle & Sebastian, The Boy With the Arab Strap (Matador) Yes, The Smiths did the trilling Britpop thing with more energy, but not as elegantly. Besides, I miss The Smiths.

Billy Bragg & Wilco, Mermaid Avenue (Elektra) What could have been a dry, scholarly exercise becomes a joyous rediscovery of American folk music, true to the spirit of Woody Guthrie.

The Cardigans, Gran Turismo (Stockholm/Mercury) Unlike fellow countrymen Komeda, who add color to their drone, this Swedish group is draining its pop of cutesiness, leaving sing-songy melodies and a brittle groove. Chilly and difficult, but worth the effort.

Vic Chesnutt (with Lambchop), The Salesman and Bernadette (Capricorn) I’ve never cared much for Chesnutt’s rickety, monotone folk, and I’ve perhaps cared too much for Lambchop’s increasingly rote country-soul. Together, though, the two artists illuminate each other, drawing on one another’s strengths—Chesnutt’s vivid story-lyrics and Lambchop’s unfolding, organic sonic environments.

Cornelius, Fantasma (Matador) A cross between the cartoon electronica of Pizzicato 5 and the basement psychedelia of Apples in Stereo, with the frayed shadow of My Bloody Valentine distorting the vision.

Elvis Costello with Burt Bacharach, Painted From Memory (Mercury) A throwback to the days when horns and strings were standard, updated by Costello’s most straightforwardly forlorn lyrics in years.

Idaho, Alas (Buzz) Jeff Martin changes bandmates every year, but his music comes out the same—supple and sad, with a heavy bottom, a wispy top, and a creamy middle.

Neutral Milk Hotel, In the Aeroplane Over the Sea (Merge) The sound of psychosis, backed by a tuba and a singing saw. Folk music never sounded so white-knuckle terrifying.

Pernice Brothers, Overcome By Happiness (Sub Pop) The sweetest folk-pop going—so sweet, in fact, it almost turns to syrup. More often, though, Joe Pernice coaxes his sidemen (from The Lilys) to spin crispy sugar.

Pulp, This is Hardcore (Island) A frank depiction of the sad life of a swinger, carried by music that turns glitter-disco into a fugue.

Rancid, Life Won’t Wait (Epitaph) Another intentional Clash rip-off from these Bay Area ideologues. Punk lives, even if few come to visit.

Josh Rouse, Dressed Up Like Nebraska (Slow River) A near-miraculous debut record, offering instantly memorable melodies, vivid lyrics, and a raspy Southern rock sound that steps lively from R.E.M. to Uncle Tupelo and into a future where genre labels seem quaint.

Sloan, Navy Blues (murderrecords) In which the complete recorded output of 1974 gets melted to slag and then snapped off into hunks of found aural sculpture—smooth in places, jagged in others. Has to be heard to be believed. Has to be heard, period!

Son Volt, Wide Swing Tremolo (Warner Bros.) Slipping out of the narrower focus of Straightaways, Jay Farrar and his country-rock black-belts rediscover riffs as thick as mutton chops and tunes that gently ruffle your hair.

The Spinanes, Arches and Aisles (Sub Pop) Halting rhythms and interlacing guitar sounds highlight this dreamy collection of obscured personal songs by a restless Rebecca Gates.

Tortoise, TNT (Thrill Jockey) Rising to their title as the standard-bearers of rock’s next wave (circa 1997), this Chicago collective broadens its palette of instrumentation for a record that recalls Miles Davis’ In a Silent Way, Michael Hedges’ Aerial Boundaries, and King Crimson’s Red.

Versus, Two Cents Plus Tax (Caroline) With each new record, this band of N.Y.C. romantics learns new ways to layer guitars; here, they mix distorted leads and intricate picking without any rhythmic strumming to hold the cake together. Absolutely captivating.

Lucinda Williams, Car Wheels on a Gravel Road (Mercury) Years spent writing, recording, and scrapping songs, and it still sounds effortless and classic, like all the best folk music.

Honorable Mention: More consistent song selection or a better-realized vision would have vaulted any of the following into the above list. Still, each contains at least a little music that I can’t live without. “Good effort” to Afghan Whigs, Archers of Loaf, Jeff Buckley, Richard Buckner, Chocolate Genius, Cinerama, Creeper Lagoon, Mark Eitzel, Karl Hendricks Trio, Komeda, The Mysteries of Life, Pearl Jam, Placebo, R.E.M., Silos, Silver Jews, Sixteen Deluxe, Elliot Smith, Sportsguitar, and True Love Always.

Five cool collections of dusty old music in shiny new packages

Marshall Crenshaw, The 9-Volt Years (Razor & Tie) A raucous reminder of Crenshaw’s early vitality, before his music stiffened.

Bob Dylan, Live 1966 (Columbia/Legacy) Hardly the greatest rock album ever recorded—not even the best available versions of these songs—but still a remarkable document of Dylan’s transition from idyll to idol.

Ted Hawkins, The Final Tour (Evidence) One of the most indelible voices in acoustic blues, recorded live shortly before his death. Under-heard in life, here’s hoping he gets his posthumous due.

Robyn Hitchcock, Storefront Hitchcock (Warner Bros.) Stands alongside I Often Dream of Trains and Eye as a true portrait of Hitchcock’s craft—beneath the silliness and surrealism is a keen mind, capable of pointedly describing human brokenness. Can’t wait for the movie!

Jason and the Scorchers, Midnight Roads and Stages Seen (Mammoth) When somebody asks, decades hence, what this band was all about and why people loved them so, one could play Fervor or Clear Impetuous Morning or this live album, which bridges all their stages and achieves moments of rare clarity.

Special awards

Bruce Springsteen, Tracks (Sony) Not just the box set, but also the months of discussion and debate that led up to it achieved something that The Ghost of Tom Joad couldn’t—it made Springsteen relevant again.

Velvet Goldmine The movie and the soundtrack, both of which give glam rock and its fans the appreciation and understanding they deserve.

Red Rocket 7 From Mike “Madman” Allred comes this seven-issue, special-format comic book series (now collected!), which explains how alien clones at war influenced the history of rock ’n’ roll. A surprisingly insightful musical lesson, boiled in a typically Allredian pop soup.

Bruce Springsteen, Tracks (Sony) Not just the box set, but also the months of discussion and debate that led up to it achieved something that The Ghost of Tom Joad couldn’t—it made Springsteen relevant again.

Velvet Goldmine The movie and the soundtrack, both of which give glam rock and its fans the appreciation and understanding they deserve.

Red Rocket 7 From Mike “Madman” Allred comes this seven-issue, special-format comic book series (now collected!), which explains how alien clones at war influenced the history of rock ’n’ roll. A surprisingly insightful musical lesson, boiled in a typically Allredian pop soup.