Best Albums of the Decade: Folk & Blues
Somehow it doesn’t feel right putting albums like these into a list — even if it does remain un-ordered. It’s akin to lining up all the most treasured personal moments in your life and just prodding at them with a ruler. Because for me, some of the most affecting music of the last 10 years was either acoustic, folk-tinged or bluesy in concept. There was probably an argument to include a lot of these in the ‘Alternative’ write-up, but I wanted to give them their own room in a list with like-mooded records; the ones for long nights of the soul, for slow Sundays, for lonely train journeys. There was definitely a dip over the first few years of the decade where I felt there wasn’t anything really groundbreaking or challenging coming from that corner of music. But then, around the midpoint things started to get really interesting again; and now many of the year-end lists I’ve seen for 2019 have been topped with the likes of Big Thief, Aldous Harding, Bill Callahan, Julia Jacklin and more artists with folk music at their hearts. Here are the albums I held tightest through the 2010’s; the ones that comforted me, showed me reflections of myself and let me know I wasn’t alone.
Eels — End Times (2010)
I’ve always been a sucker for a breakup album (see also: Lido’s Everything) and in 2010 Mark ‘E’ Oliver Everett released one of the best. Even from the title, he captures the mood succinctly; the end of a relationship can truly feel like End Times. In some ways, the album reminds me of Michel Gondry’s 2004 masterpiece Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind — another singular portrayal of heartbreak. The record begins with a memory of when things were good, then drags you right back to the present day where everything is fucked. The rest of the album careers up and down the confusing feelings that come with that sadness — remorse, self-loathing, abandon. Songs like ‘Unhinged’ and ‘I Need A Mother’ delve into the more complex, painfully adult realities of the end of an affair. But the one song with the most universal familiarity must be: “I drew a line into the dirt, and dared her to step right across it. And she did” A simple yet damning reflection on what it means to stare down a failing relationship and walk away.
Listen on Spotify: End Times
Bright Eyes — The People’s Key (2011)
The opening 2 minutes of the album feature a Jeff Bridges-soundalike discussing theories on space, time and The Devil, and from there onward, Bright Eyes’ most recent album as a full band doesn’t get less weird. It’s clear that this time round, Conor Oberst wanted to make something with more teeth; and the electric guitars across the album really bite and snarl. But there are certainly still more familiar sounds from the band as on ‘Approximate Sunlight’ Yearning slide guitars and a drum beat like an old ticking clock house the singer’s hallmark hopelessness “All I do is follow this hollow you around” But the album essentially ends on a high; offering some serenity of positivity for the future. In many ways, The People’s Key feels like the perfect distillation of Bright Eyes’ double-opus of 2005’s I’m Wide Awake.. and Digital Ash.. It heaves with the former’s world-weary wisdom and folky spirit while simultaneously capturing the latter’s restless experimental flair and disorientating sound palette. It was the last we heard from the band but what a note to leave on.
Listen on Spotify: The People’s Key
Keaton Henson — Birthdays (2013)
You only have to take a look at singer/songwriter Keaton Henson to get a pretty good idea of the kind of music he makes. Rail-thin and hidden behind and impenetrable beard he is the ultimate reluctant star. Until the success of this, his sophomore made it impossible to avoid any longer, he didn’t even play live because of his shyness. Early single ‘Lying To You’ is the perfect example of Henson’s sorrowful charm; a sort of spiritual descendant of Dylan’s ‘It Ain’t Me Babe’ reimagined by a jaded Briton. The album plays off variations of these themes throughout; guilt, apologies, worthlessness, indecision, failure. The only time it breaks out of the mire is for a short detour into rage as a full band backs him as he sneers “Are you gonna let me take your soul? My god, you lead me on; I’m gonna eat you whole” It’s unsettling and unexpected, placed right in the middle of the album as if to remind you that real sorrow is not safe to be left unchecked. A difficult listen throughout, one that assures you it was harder still to make.
Listen on Spotify: Birthdays
King Krule — 6 Feet Beneath The Moon (2013)
With a voice that sounds somewhere between Billy Bragg and Tom Waits, it’s insane to think that this was released on King Krule — AKA Archy Marshall’s — 19th birthday. But it was clear from an early age that this was an artist with a spirit far greater than his years. His snarl sounds like a man more than twice his age, staggering home alone full of liquor and laments for a life that got away. But the music somehow makes his voice sound like the narrator for a particularly heady dream. The guitar — often the only accompaniment to Marhsall’s vocals — is always drenched in nocturnal reverb that places the record firmly in the country’s capital. Full band, post-punk numbers like ‘A Lizard State’ hinted at what was to come but his masterpiece comes right at the end with ‘Out Getting Ribs’ — a song inexplicably first released when he was only 16 years old. The music lilts like a lullaby while he paints the tale of a man too tired to carry on. Still genuinely one of my favourite songs of all time.
Listen on Spotify: 6 Feet Beneath The Moon
Lykke Li — I Never Learn (2014)
Yes, it’s another break-up album. You should have braced yourself for this going into the category, as folk-tinged music is the go-to in a musician’s arsenal when it comes to long nights of the soul. No-one knows this better than Lykke Li who turned her heartbreak in 2014 into a sweeping, windswept epic led by her wounded and beautiful voice. Singles ‘Gunshot’ and ‘No Rest For The Wicked’ however, don’t sound weak — rather they soar with the power of a dying romance. Elsewhere though, on songs like ‘Love Me Like I’m Not Made of Stone’ the singer sounds like she’s on her knees, bereft and exhausted. It’s the kind of music that naturally hushes you so you don’t miss a single breath on the record. There are still the hallmark sounds of the Swedish songwriter’s love for 60’s girl-group melodies, and although sad, every one of the 9 song’s choruses lodges in your head longterm. After I Never Learn, Lykke Li went back to her usual sound, as if the record was a kind of exorcism or a funeral. It showed the beauty in finality and in starting from scratch again.
Listen on Spotify: I Never Learn
Joanna Newsom — Divers (2015)
Let me preface by saying Newsom’s 2006 album Ys is in my opinion one of the greatest albums ever made — so everything else she releases exists inevitably in its shadow. The harpist said that Divers, her latest album, was the most fun she’s ever had in creating an album and it absolutely shows. Where detractors could say her impish voice, impossibly long songs and sometimes medieval instrumentation could make for a dense, po-faced listen; this album rose above all that. The songs were shorter and had a pomp to them which in turn made her voice sound closer to pop than baroque. She said at the time that her marriage (to actor Andy Samberg) had made her immediately more tuned into our limited time together, and the vulnerability in caring for someone else’s mortality as well as your own. This comes together best in the album’s climactic title track; a 7 minute opus which on the surface sounds closest to the high watermark of Ys, but closely listening reveals something more human than before — “I ain’t saying that I loved you first, but I loved you best”
Listen on YouTube: Divers
Father John Misty — I Love You Honeybear (2015)
They say the love of a good woman can save a man’s soul…but it doesn’t always go without a fight. On Josh Tillman’s second album as FTJ, we get to see that struggle play out in the open, warts and all. In one sense, this is a concept album about love and marriage, but it also encompasses drug overdoses, the big bang and ‘President Jesus’ It’s misanthropic, sarcastic, masochistic and frequently unhinged — and yet, it’s still one of the most fiercely romantic records I’ve heard in my life. It’s kind of like wedding vows written by someone terrified of monogamy and commitment — there’s something almost more brave about it. Backed by lush orchestration, we hear Misty realising that he’s met his match and that however crazy the institution of marriage is, letting her go would be even more insane. His self-awareness is best heard on freak-out ‘The Ideal Husband’ where he practically howls “I came by at seven in the morning, I said, ‘Baby, I’m finally succumbing!” Said something dumb like “I’m tired of running’” and you’re right there with him.
Listen on Spotify: I Love You Honeybear
Sufjan Stevens — Carrie & Lowell (2015)
Up until this, his seventh album, Sufjan Stevens could safely have been described as a maximalist songwriter. He would take lofty concepts and build whole worlds around them. But after the death of his mother — a woman who struggled with her mental health and abandoned her family when Stevens was 1 — he looked inward. The resulting record is almost unbearably hushed, populated only by soft, finger-plucked guitar and the singer almost whispering elegies to a woman that meant so much to him and yet was so absent. There’s something so admirable about working through grief on a record; especially one tinged with so much conflict. The closing song is perhaps the most haunting, as his lyrics “Just when I want you in my life” give way to a sort of pining coo sound. Of it, he said “I didn’t know how to say goodbye on the last track with articulation. So I quit playing piano and vocals and just stopped. I wanted to surrender her to the beyond with noises that sound bigger than just me” and that’s exactly what he achieved.
Listen on Spotify: Carrie & Lowell
Bon Iver — 22, A Million (2016)
In 2007/8 Justin Vernon completely reset the sad-man-and-guitar paradigm with his stunning debut album. His sophomore expanded to a full band but remained pretty alpine in its sound. So no-one expected his 3rd album ’22, A Million’ to be the shape-shifting beast that it was. I don’t think it’s hyperbole to say that — given time — this album will be seen as doing to folk music what ‘Kid A’ did to rock. Yes, it’s short at little over half an hour. Yes, the song titles are impossible to say out loud. And yes, Vernon was great at what he was doing before. But for me (who privately found the 2nd album a bit too safe) it was an absolute thrill to hear the artist take his breathtaking skill for melody and transpose it onto a chaotic, electronic-led palette. And besides, much of it was just evolution. The skittering drums of ‘The Wolves’ are blown out, distorted and return here. The auto-tuned transcendence of ‘Woods’ is given wings and soars throughout this album too. All great artists experiment, but few of them this successfully.
Listen on Spotify: 22, A Million
Rex Orange County — Apricot Princess (2017)
There is a strong argument to be made that this album is neither folk nor blues. ‘Bedroom Pop’ would probably be most accurate, but there’s something about Alex O’Connor’s earnest, homegrown poeticism that made it feel right that his breakthrough album sat among the other albums in this category. Also, the last time I felt quite like this about a record on first listen was the debut Lightspeed Champion album — another shape-shifting, star-gazing folk-indebted project. Aged just 19 when Apricot Princess released, O’Connor succeeded in what so many artists try to do — he perfectly bottled the feeling of young love. There’s a beautiful innocence throughout; heart placed firmly on his sleeve with lines simple and powerful like “this ain’t a fantasy, she’s my best fucking friend.” But simultaneously you can tell he’s aware of his youth, aware that this is all fleeting. Conversely too, while it is entirely set in the bedroom, Rex brings in violins, cello, sax and a wealth of other voices to thrilling effect. IT’s no wonder Tyler The Creator picked him up.
Listen on Spotify: Apricot Princess
Honourable Mentions
Listening back through these albums for this write-up, I slowly realised why I’d drifted away from the genre in the first place. Listening to really good folk or blues music makes me feel weak. The right minor chord, a simple lyric that cuts through you, the creak of an acoustic guitar — these small cues come together to tear me apart like paper. There were whole years this decade when I just couldn’t bring myself to be laid that bear, so I avoided those songs, albums. But, with hindsight I know that actually when great art prompts that reaction in you, it’s good to let it in. Some of the most startling music this decade has come with the least fanfare; almost daring you to ignore it. But I’m so glad I didn’t — that I opened myself up to it. I’d have missed out on so much if I’d just shut myself off from all of it for the sake of ‘staying up’ This was one of the hardest segments to narrow down, so enjoy 10 more albums that did the decade proud:
Gil Scott-Heron — I’m New Here (2010)
Another parting gift from a legend. ‘I’m New Here’ came just a year before Scott-Heron’s passing, and it felt every part the majestic retrospective you could hope for. The Jamie xx remix album was a classic in its own field, but the original source material was the reason it worked so well. The bookending ‘Flashing Lights’ sample gets me every time.
Laura Marling — I Speak Because I Can (2010)
Wherein child prodigy Laura Marling quickly proved that her enchanting debut was anything but a one-off. On this second outing her scope grew, her voice got more powerful and the songs sounded infinitely bigger for it. ‘Blackberry Stone’ and ‘Goodbye England’ showed the folk troubadour was still there, but this was a huge step up.
Fleet Foxes — Helplessness Blues (2011)
Fleet Foxes were also out to prove they were more than rural-minded folk lovers and that they had grander ambitions. Their sophomore tussled with existential doubt; casting their gaze upward and outward with rich imagery. Although he was then only 25, frontman Robin Pecknold already sounded like he’d already seen it all.
Bobby Womack — The Bravest Man In the Universe (2012)
There is something so reverential about an artist’s final recording. During the album’s creation Womack was hospitalised with pneumonia then shortly afterward treated for colon cancer. He recorded it with Damon Albarn and XL Recordings boss Richard Russell, the latter of which also helped Gil Scott-Heron craft his swan song.
Damien Rice — My Favourite Faded Fantasy (2014)
After going separate ways from long-time artistic partner Lisa Hannigan, this would mark his the songwriter’s first truly solo record, and his first release in 8 years. Partnering with Rick Rubin behind the boards was a great shout, and songs like ‘It Takes A Lot To Know A Man’ reminds you of his genius all over again. Cinematic.
Sun Kil Moon — Benji (2014)
It’s a shame when an artist’s shitty personality overshadow their creative output. Back in 2014, before Mark Kozelek was exposed to the wider world by this excellent album — he was simply the stoic storyteller. Each song is so descriptive, so detailed that it’s like reading a collection of short stories. The tales are so personal that it feels like he’s confiding in you.
Beck — Morning Phase (2014)
The spiritual successor to my favourite Beck album Sea Change was always going to be great, but it had no business being this good. Perhaps the quintessential Sunday Morning listen of the decade; its hazy, laid back folk pop acoustics sound like early sunshine teasing past the curtains. It actually makes you feel warm just to listen. Beck at his best.
Leonard Cohen — You Want It Darker (2016)
Another tough one to listen back to; this was released just 19 days before Cohen’s departure from this world. Taking an unfaltering stare into death and what comes after, the legendary songwriter fixed his gaze on higher powers, bringing the Shaar Hashomayim Synagogue Choir along with him to add to the weight of his journey. Unforgettable.
Mount Eerie — A Crow Looked at Me (2017)
I’d been a huge fan of The Microphone and Mount Eerie for years, but nothing prepared me for this. Recorded in the months following the death of his wife, Phil Elvrum tries to figure out in real time how he is going to continue looking after their 1 year old daughter alone. As a father now myself I struggle to get through it but it’s such a vital listen. Death is real.
Phoebe Bridgers — Stranger In The Alps (2017)
I was late to the wonders of Phoebe Bridgers and only went back and properly appreciated her flawless debut after becoming obsessed with her boygenius side-project. This is not one to miss; it completely made me fall for feather-light folk music all over again, reminding me just how much power very little volume can have. Beautiful.
