Put up the balloons, pop the streamers and someone get the champagne in, because today is a special day. Today, Unrecorded turns five years old. That’s right — in one guise or another, the team here at UN towers have been obsessing over music publicly for five whole years now. Those of you who have been here from the beginning will know that we look a little different to when we started but, for once with milestone anniversaries, we hope you’ll agree that we’re only getting better with age. We certainly feel it.
We feel so good, in fact, that we’re in the mood to celebrate. Lately, we’ve been reflecting on the last few years and revisiting some of the musical moments that have made them so memorable for us. Now, we want to share them with you. We’re going to indulge ourselves and spread the party out over the week, with a look at our favorite songs and underrated records from 2010-15 coming a little later on. We start this afternoon, however, with Unrecorded’s 100 favorite albums. These are what push us to do what we do — the records that have touched us and stayed with us as time has passed. These, truly, are the records that make us feel as though, in some way, we’re always celebrating something.
There is, of course, one supreme reason we’re able to celebrate anything today, and that is the UN family. The team of people who have worked for Unrecorded (and LBYB) in the past, and those who do it now, all do it for free because they love what they’re doing. It means that we’ve always had a team of writers who are completely genuine about what they’re writing. We’re not shackled to advertising or sponsors, so our content doesn’t change or become diluted just to increase page views and advertising revenue. We really do believe in what we’re writing.
Listen Before You Buy would never have become Unrecorded, and everything we’ve done in the past and have planned for the future would not be possible, if it wasn’t for the people who have given their time, energy and talent to this website. If I can speak as the founder for a moment, to them I say thank you. And to those of you who still visit us daily after all this time, I thank you, also.
Stay tuned over the next few days for more but, in the meantime, why not put one of these albums on and join us in raising a glass? Happy Birthday, Unrecorded. Here’s to the next five years.
1. The National – High Violet
The National have always been able to give voice to angst. Indeed, the chronicling of a peculiarly modern, western angst is one way of listening to their discography as a whole. Nowhere, however, has it been presented with the sheer force of the band’s fifth studio album, High Violet. Nowhere else have they married the mysterious terror of contemporary life with such a confidence of expression, completely losing themselves in the creative environment while sacrificing nothing in artistic integrity. The entire record is as tightly wound as a morning commute during a mid-life crisis, constantly moving around an indefinable, yet acutely-felt breaking point; minds race, bodies stiffen and fear seems to wait around every corner.
There’s much to be said about every track here but the LP’s commencement is deserving of especial mention. In every conceivable way, “Terrible Love” heralds all that follows it. The troubling juxtaposition of the title is echoed through a five-minute swell of tempestuous proportions during which thick, distorted guitars coat the song’s base, wrapping up the distant drum beat like a malignant fog. At first, the pace is steady and the mysterious spiders scuttle through the lyrics like shadows. But not for long. Surging up, as if from some secret, oppressive dwelling, comes Berninger’s confession: “And I can’t fall asleep without a little help/It takes a while to settle down”, followed shortly by the startlingly clear, still declaration: “It takes an ocean not to break”. At it’s best — which is to say, at almost every point — High Violet is like being cast adrift on such an ocean, whilst never quite being sure whether it’ll drown you or not.
Other highlights are legion, from the anthemic “Bloodbuzz Ohio” and its dream-like “swarm of bees” imagery to the quietly devastating “Lemonworld” (“I was a comfortable kid, but I don’t think about it much anymore). The centerpiece, however, simply has to be “Afraid of Everyone”. Containing a little of everything the band have ever done well, it sits there like a concentrated reduction of The National at their finest. The vocal moves from luxurious baritone to panic-stricken yell, the instrumentals build methodically and irresistibly towards the controlled frenzy of the climax, and the lyrics, once again, tell of an emotional chaos that lurks just beneath an apparently calm surface. It’s in that space, just below the surface, that the band have always found their most compelling material and on High Violet they mined it relentlessly. The result was an extraordinary achievement. – Rory McCluckie
2. Kanye West – Yeezus
Yeezus has no artwork, but its blank appearance resembling a pirated CD-R sums up the music better than any George Condo portrait. Kanye West’s beats, built in support by hundreds of other producers, sound bloodless, industrial and crudely compressed. Most importantly, the music here is designed to be disseminated in stealth, like a burnt disc made to be illegally copied and passed around in secret. While he embraced maximalism to the point of excess in his previous releases, this album conversely values the power of brevity and immediacy.
From the first second of the album, with the corrosive opening note of “On Sight”, Kanye West instantly lets it be known Yeezus is his most unapologetic record. Never does he intend to meet people halfway, nor does anything seem out of bounds. Nina Simone’s “Strange Fruit” is crushed out heavenly by TNGHT’s militant horns. Martin Luther King Jr.’s “thank god almighty, free at last” quote gets flipped as a prelude to raunchy sex. Consequently, the record gets a rep as Kanye’s most divisive work due to its subversive qualities. It’s a cost that Yeezus suffers as arguably the artist’s most ideal creation — this is Kanye at his most uncompromising.
The audacious spirit extends to the core dialog vocalized aggressively on the album. Many heavy issues rise from the scorched earth: the racist perception of blacks as monsters, new slavery perpetuated by the media-controlling one percent, the legal pitfalls of marriage, and so on. His lyrics spill shamelessly candid, obnoxiously loud, and terrifyingly blunt, just like the electronics powering his sermon. Ugliness, especially, is a virtue here and also the reflection of Kanye’s reality. The lack of poise may be a personal flaw, but then again West has thrived off this imperfection his entire career; it finally crests as a formidable force in Yeezus.
It’s easy to forget that this album was written right before the musician’s impending role as father and husband. This was his last opportunity to air out his dark, twisted fantasies before giving up his ego for good. But while he indulges his vices, Kanye also searches for comfort in committed love. He seeks for the right one who can handle him at his worst, when he’s under more scrutiny. His portrait of love is messy, rough, and disintegrating like everything else here, but the stakes and fragility make the passion feel more real, intense and human than anything he has recorded. More than perfection, Yeezus strives for honesty. And sometimes such a beautiful motive leads to the ugliest things. – Ryo Miyauchi
3. Bon Iver – Bon Iver
Many music writers (me included) find it hard to describe Bon Iver’s sound or the exact meaning of his sonic adventures. Usually, we do it by using extensive, horrendous metaphors, the sort that not even creative writing masters are willing to teach their students, with “the man who recorded an album in the woods” being the most famous (and inaccurate) yet. Justin Vernon is an allegory himself: the man who set out to a cabin to sing and write about heartbreak in the most antiquated fashion possible; the man who created his own mythology. This, specifically, is why it’s so hard to describe what Bon Iver, the self-titled album, is sonically.
In Bon Iver, Justin Vernon and his ensemble embody the myth that’s made all his music so interesting in the first place, ending up feeding the fantasy that put his songs on the map back in 2007. Everything is amplified and once again Bon Iver’s persona is nowhere to be found in the lyrics. The separating factor between this self-titled and Justin Vernon’s previous work rests, rightfully, in the sound: the auteur is hidden under infinite layers of echo and new-wave gimmickry, making it hard to depict what’s real and what’s not.
But who cares about reality in pop anyway? Pop music is almost never exactly what we hear or understand. Pop songs aren’t just harmony, lyrics and everything else combined. They can also be the result of careful examination of events, the creation of characters and, more importantly, the unfolding of mythology before our very eyes.
Bon Iver’s 2011 album is the sound of him coming to terms with the end of his own fable. For Emma, Forever Ago might benefit from its storyline and the myth we’ve bestowed on it, but its successor reaches higher by somehow aiming lower lyrically. His lines are still cryptic, but they beg to be seen as a whole. That’s the reason for the then-new ambient sounds and interludes: they make the mystery appear richer.
Bon Iver can also be seen as tale as well. His previous album’s main character steps out of the woods just to discover sunlight and the surroundings. That’s why so many songs here actually resemble the feeling of astonishment that accompanies the discovery of new worlds and possibilities. There’s the slow burn of “Perth” that quickly flows into “Minnesota, WI”, with “Wash” being the sonic equivalent of staring at a campfire and contemplating the otherworldly possibilities awaiting you there. And finally, there’s “Holocene”, whose video tries to evoke the sense of wanderlust the album so beautifully evokes.
The most important accomplishment of this album, though, is demonstrated by Vernon’s ability to chronicle his character’s youth. As we’ve come to know, Bon Iver is a work of fiction, an album whose storyline is about a very simple tale: heroes emerging from the woods to learn about the world. Yes, this little portrayal of youth and discovery should sound selfish to some people — even unimportant sometimes — but that’s just until you hit play and dive in. – Danilo Bortoli
4. Joanna Newsom – Have One On Me
So there’s folk. And there’s freak folk. And then there’s ethereal woodland-nymph folk that, as a category, results more from the gathered mystique of a certain musician’s image than from the core content of the musician’s work. Multi-instrumentalist Joanna Newsom manages to uphold, redefine, and surpass these categories on her ambitious 2010 release, Have One On Me — a triple album that is, at its best, transcendent, and at its less-than-best, very, very good. Carrying elements over from her previous releases — The Milk-Eyed Mender and Ys — Newsom threads together an album that haunts in ways her first two albums do, all while pulling back slightly, creating subtle space that allows her folkloric, chorus-free lyricism, cascading harp, and orchestral accents to flourish in a way that is unique to Have One On Me alone. Despite what the length of this album might imply for some, Newsom uses these subtleties to her advantage. Each song gently drifts into the next, never dragging, rarely failing to transfix.
Have One On Me consistently blooms with literary lyrics that, at a glance, seem to wander into mythological territory, but with something more succinctly intimate thriving at their core. “Go Long”, in particular, tumbles through both of these realms, opening with the description of a dream which takes on a metaphorical backbone for the song, while suddenly focusing in on more earthbound snapshots throughout, asking, “Will you tuck your shirt, will you leave it loose? You are badly hurt, you’re a silly goose”. The result of this hybridized lyricism is a beautiful, forlorn balance that leaves the album feeling hyper-personal, yet oddly vague.
Elements of jazz can be heard on “Good Intentions Paving Company”, while “On A Good Day” floats like a Celtic lullaby. Newsom’s voice matures on this album, lending itself to a softer delivery. But to say that Newsom is ever merely “pulling something off” amidst these contrasts and divergences from her first two albums is starkly unfitting. What defines Have One On Me is the sense that Newsom has honed something others might attempt to “pull off” in the future, mimicking her. But what Newsom presents is so earnestly, incomparably, her own. It is an album which clearly reflects the result of intense, rigorous craftsmanship, but in a way that feels neither crammed nor showy. A coded lyrical approach, combined with luminescent harp compositions, comprise a form of expression of which it seems only Joanna Newsom is capable, defying categorization without this defiance being the central intent of the album itself. This singularity is what upholds Have One On Me as an entrancing, immersive album a full five years after its release, gaining momentum as it pendulums between genres, between interpretations, ceasing to settle as it unfolds with each listen. – Lee Barnes
5. Arcade Fire – The Suburbs
If you’re a loyal listener to any rock-leaning radio station, then it’s unlikely that Arcade Fire’s much celebrated album, The Suburbs, would have strayed too far from present memory. Over the years, I have often thought of it as one of those rare LPs that stays very much alive years after its original release. The reason for its vitality is partly due to heavy-handed radio play, as suggested, but it also comes down to the individuality of this record. Here, Arcade Fire do something that few bands can achieve — they create a narrative. This means that when we click play, the album becomes the equivalent of opening up our favorite bedtime story. So, here goes; five years later, and we’re still ready to adventure through the suburbs with Arcade Fire.
Throughout every song/tale, there’s one consistent factor — nostalgia. The band’s collective indulgence in it saturates every lyric. Take, for example, the opening lines of “Wasted Hours”: “All those wasted hours we used to know/Spent the summer staring out of the window”. This gives the whole record a retrospective taint through which we’re taken back and forth between blurry-eyed memories of suburban summers and the biting winter of the present. In 2010 we placed The Suburbs at #6 for that year, and it continues to be in our top ten albums because nostalgia is one of the most relatable emotions that artists can draw upon. More than that, when it’s fleshed out with plush violins, vibrant drums, twinkling keys and layers upon layers of reverberated vox, it’s hard not to be totally absorbed into Arcade Fire’s world.
There are so many wonderful singles on this LP, most notable of which is the title-track, with its grand piano, spurs-like tambourine shakes and yawning guitar riffs that summon fragmented memories of front man Win Butler’s childhood just outside Houston, Texas. However, to get onto a personal level here, my favorite single would have to be “Rococo”. From the first acoustic chord it creates a totally different vibe, almost sacred, and further exaggerated by its hymnal refrain, “Ro-co-co, ro-co-co, ro-co-co, ro-co-co!”. Despite the various cultural and political implications of this single, if you’ve ever had the pleasure to see Arcade Fire perform live, you’ll understand the power of this particular song, with its ability to connect a whole crowd through one, swirling word. – Hannah Thacker
6. Jai Paul – Jai Paul
It shouldn’t even exist. It shouldn’t even be consumable by more than a handful of people, and yet, in the middle of April 2013, there I was, sitting at my computer, gleefully listening to an album that I never thought would see the light of day. And it was blowing my fucking mind.
Calling Jai Paul’s Jai Paul an album, however, is being too generous, as it was stolen from his laptop and uploaded to Bandcamp “without his or his label’s (XL) permission” (the official statement). What, exactly, was it? Sixteen tracks of untouchable electronic, R&B-infused, hip-hop-inspired, indie-dance-hybrid jams that settle in your chest and rattle your bones to their core. Sixteen tracks that flit between the otherworldly and the paranormal, all of which were “Untitled”, most of which were rough recordings, five of which were short snippets or Harry Potter samples, three or four of which we knew already, and one that was a cover of Jennifer Page’s 1998 pop hit, “Crush”. The rest were all new. Nobody else was (or is) making music like that.
It was taken down from Bandcamp after a couple of days, but the reaction to it was fascinating. Everyone had been (and still is) frothing at the mouth for him to release more than just his previous two tracks, “BTSTU” and “jasmine (demo)”, that it spread like wildfire, with almost everyone disregarding its unfinished quality or the unscrupulous means by which they’d acquired it. It’s also inspired others since then to try to create music in the same vein. They’ve almost all failed, but it shows just how original, elusive and enigmatic the artist is. It may be rough, it may be raw, and it may even be illegal, but Jai Paul is breathtaking. – Frank Bell
7. Beach House – Teen Dream
Isn’t it interesting how we reinterpret the past? The pervasive feeling is that there was a time when everything was simpler, calmer, even hopeful. Beach House’s third album, Teen Dream, wholly captures that rose-colored paper we often wrap our nostalgia in — sonically, anyway. Alex Scally’s loopy guitars glide in and out in his jangly dream-pop way, and Victoria LeGrand’s keyboards shimmer along the album’s 10 tracks — their raindrop-like droplets feel like the album’s one constant motif.
It’s hard to write an album that feels light, but Teen Dream, does seem to levitate. Recorded with producer Chris Coady (TV on the Radio, Blonde Redhead), there’s a noticeable shift from the lo-fi swampiness of their previous ventures into the confident, almost pop (certainly more melodic and more approachable) numbers found here. Legrand’s voice is more pronounced as well — a new deepness and grit reminds us in songs like “Walk in the Park” that, despite the glittering melody, the truth behind our memories is a little darker than we might like to remember.
Heartache hides deep within each track. The shimmering keys and bold bass drum on “10 Mile Stereo” make for a dreamy, ethereal intro before the soft facade explodes into a percussive squall at the four-minute mark. The magic here is the subtlety. The little crescendos never feel like disruptions. Beach House’s world is one of cascading gradients; there’s no black and white. It means Legrand’s more somber vocal deliveries (“Walk in the Park”, “Real Love”) don’t take away from an overall feeling of tranquility, but the album is all the richer for having the deeper meanings there to find.
In a way, Teen Dream is better than our rose-colored memories. Here, hidden beneath the sheen, is something that feels strikingly in the moment and true. – Susan Kemp
8. Radiohead – The King Of Limbs
For all its modesty, The King Of Limbs is arguably the most consistently relevant Radiohead album. The band’s eighth studio record might have a mere eight tracks, but there’s a plethora of life brimming from it. While Hail to the Thief felt like the execution of all the different sides of Radiohead, The King of Limbs is the execution of what the band (at this point in time) were and could be. Despite the heavy use of samples and loops (evident right from the get-go with the spiralling piano on opener, “Bloom”), there’s a wonderful, engorging kind of organic feel to the album that the band hadn’t touched on until this point in their career. Multiple drum tracks intertwine on near enough every track, feverishly sprouting in the most complex and compelling ways, while the band go between sounding like they’re grasping for air in an enclosed room (“Morning Mr Magpie”) to breathing in the clean air of a wide open landscape (“Separator”).
The organic feel was what artist Stanley Donwood found too, imagining “immense multicoloured cathedrals of trees, with music echoing from the branches”. It’s easy to hear what sounds like a branches on a tree growing in real time when you listen to the awakening stretches of “Lotus Flower”, while the graceful, flanged, and draped piano chords of the majestic “Codex” sound like a tree falling in slow motion. The King of Limbs might have it’s critics (it would be foolish to deny this), but it’s most definitely still as essential a part of Radiohead’s discography as In Rainbows or Amnesiac. Los Angeles Times writer Ann Powers said the album “can be heard from several different angles” and she hit the nail on the head; The King of Limbs can cater for a multitude of moods and levels of attention, but no matter how you approach it, it still remains a richly rewarding album capturing a band growing their own limbs and branching out in new unexpected ways. – Ray Finlayson
9. Fiona Apple – The Idler Wheel Is Wiser than the Driver of the Screw and Whipping Cords Will Serve You More than Ropes Will Ever Do
“That’s where the pain comes in, like a second skeleton, trying to fit beneath the skin — I can’t fit the feelings in.”
This simple image arrives at the start of Fiona Apple’s The Idler Wheel Is Wiser than the Driver of the Screw and Whipping Cords Will Serve You More than Ropes Will Ever Do. “Every Single Night”, the opening track, tentatively untangles Apple’s thoughts and feelings in such an articulate and well constructed way, it’s shocking to anyone listening because right away we’re being treated to thoughts without any sense of self-editing. There’s no cautious withholding, no doubt, no overwrought sense of pity-seeking, just a bare series of thoughts, laid out for all to see. It’s not even that emotive; every line is stated so matter-of-factly, it’s sometimes completely jarring. “I don’t cry when I’m sad anymore; tears calcify in my tummy”; “All that loving must have been lacking something if I got bored trying to figure you out”; “We could still support each other, all we’ve got to do’s avoid each other”; every single word bears weight, and listening to The Idler Wheel… becomes this personal and relatable excursion into the mind of someone who, for the most part, looks completely broken by life and love.
On “Regret”, Fiona Apple turns the following into a chorus: “I ran out of white doves’ feathers to soak up the hot piss that runs from your mouth every time you address me”. I think I’d be forgiven if I’d typed that line out in all capitals, such is the force with which it is delivered. Half spat, half roared, Fiona Apple doesn’t allow you to pity her, she doesn’t want it. She positions herself as someone way beyond needing pity, as an ally, and all she wants to do now is to cope and to live. She wants you to feel what she feels, and you do. You delve into her world, and it is both beautiful and terrifying. – Barnabas Abraham
10. James Blake – James Blake
Having already proven himself as a young dubstep technician and sub-bass disciple, James Blake released his debut self-titled LP and completely reinvented the wheel. What we heard from his early EPs (Air & Lack Thereof, Klavierwerke, CMYK) was mainly left field, bedroom-produced dubstep. Blake would sample small fragments of his voice, only using his Macbook microphone. His intricate sound design and art-slanted electronic rhythms were the centerpiece. But when he dropped, we got to know a new artist — a raw, human artist with a voice that could both cut through and disguise itself as smoke.
Opening with “Unluck”, blithe synth chords step over one another as syncopated high-hats and storm cloud snares command the rhythm forward. “Only child, take good care, I wouldn’t like you playing, falling there”, James croons through an auto-tuned filter, suggesting his upbringing as an only child. We’re immediately entranced into a truly contemporary sound, where the lines between vocal-led songwriting and UK dance music blur like a city skyline fading into smog. “The Wilhelm Scream”, one of the album’s standout tracks, follows. Giving an ode to his father, James Litherland, he borrows a vocal from “Where to Turn”, repeating the mantra, “I don’t know about my love, all that I know is I’m falling, falling, falling”. Bursts of distorted electronic drums and wall-shaking layers of bass guide his voice to a point of reverb-induced catharsis. James’s ability to take a single lyric and dynamically spread it across a full song is unparalleled.
Perhaps his biggest claim to fame is his cover of Feist’s “Limit To Your Love”. This is a true testament to the young producer-singer’s genius. He uses three elements — his voice, a grand piano, and an electronic drum kit — to create one of the most haunting tracks on the LP. The minimalism and patience employed is astonishing. As if his gorgeous, hazy voice swelling in his signature slow-paced vibrato wasn’t enough, he destroys us with one of the darkest bass lines in modern music. There are no words to describe the emotional effect of Blake’s voice crooning, “there’s a limit to your care”, underneath an ocean floor of droning sub-bass.
As a whole, it made perfect sense for us to choose Blake’s self-titled LP as one of our favorite albums of the past five years. He redefined the boundaries of collaging songwriting and modern dance music. With other highlight tracks like “I Never Learnt To Share” and “I Mind”, James Blake is easily one of the most innovative, game-changing albums in the past five years. – Sam Friedman
11. Kanye West – My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy
12. Kendrick Lamar – good kid, m.A.A.d city
13. Angel Olsen – Burn Your Fire For No Witness
14. The National – Trouble Will Find Me
15. Beyoncé – Beyoncé
16. St. Vincent – Strange Mercy
17. Vampire Weekend – Modern Vampires of the City
18. Grimes – Visions
19. Sun Kil Moon – Benji
20. LCD Soundsystem – This Is Happening
21. Julianna Barwick – Nepenthe
22. Shabazz Palaces – Black Up
23. Japandroids – Celebration Rock
24. The Knife – Shaking The Habitual
25. Deerhunter – Halcyon Digest
26. Sufjan Stevens – The Age Of Adz
27. Jessie Ware – Devotion
28. Frank Ocean – channel ORANGE
29. Sleigh Bells – Treats
30. Beach House – Bloom
31. Godspeed You! Black Emperor – Allelujah! Don’t Bend! Ascend!
32. Swans – The Seer
33. Sylvan Esso – Sylvan Esso
34. Sky Ferreira – Night Time, My Time
35. Joyce Manor – Never Hungover Again
36. Robyn – Body Talk
37. Titus Andronicus – The Monitor
38. Danny Brown – Old
39. Chance The Rapper – Acid Rap
40. Chvrches – The Bones Of What You Believe
41. Majical Cloudz - Impersonator
42. Cloud Nothings – Attack On Memory
43. Wild Beasts – Smother
44. Giles Corey – Giles Corey
45. San Fermin – San Fermin
46. Waxahatchee – American Weekend
47. Deafheaven – Sunbather
48. Four Tet – There Is Love In You
49. Run The Jewels – Run The Jewels 2
50. Darkside – Psychic
51. These New Puritans – Field of Reeds
52. First Aid Kit – The Lion’s Roar
53. Destroyer – Kaputt
54. Spoon – They Want My Soul
55. Swans – To Be Kind
56. Grumbling Fur – Preternaturals
57. My Bloody Valentine – mbv
58. Tim Hecker – Ravedeath, 1972
59. Killer Mike – R.A.P. Music
60. Kyle Bobby Dunn – Ways of Meaning
61. Tegan And Sara – Heartthrob
62. Real Estate – Days
63. Django Django – Django Django
64. The Roots – undun
65. Julianna Barwick – The Magic Place
66. The War On Drugs – Lost In The Dream
67. Laura Marling – Once I Was An Eagle
68. Pusha T – My Name Is My Name
69. East India Youth – Total Strife Forever
70. Cut Copy – Zonoscope
71. St. Vincent – St. Vincent
72. Waxahatchee – Cerulean Salt
73. Purity Ring – Shrines
74. PJ Harvey – Let England Shake
75. Lykke Li – Wounded Rhymes
76. Flying Lotus – Until The Quiet Comes
77. Drake – Nothing Was The Same
78. M83 – Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming
79. Best Coast – Crazy For You
80. Beyonce – 4
81. Haim – Days Are Gone
82. Sharon Van Etten – Epic
83. SBTRKT – SBTRKT
84. Death Grips – The Money Store
85. Drake – Take Care
86. Miguel – Kaleidoscope Dream
87. The Weeknd – House Of Balloons
88. The Flaming Lips – The Terror
89. Rustie – Glass Swords
90. FKA Twigs – LP1
91. Fleet Foxes – Helplessness Blues
92. Jon Hopkins – Immunity
93. Andrew Bird – Break It Yourself
94. Savages – Silence Yourself
95. Kurt Vile – Smoke Ring For My Halo
96. Grizzly Bear – Shields
97. The Antlers – Burst Apart
98. Lil B – God’s Father
99. Laura Marling – A Creature I Don’t Know
100. Julia Holter – Loud City Song