Happy Boxing Day, everyone. This is Fifty Second Week.

For the past eight years, I’ve been bidding the year goodbye with this little exercise. It clears the decks for next year, it’s fun to write, and I hope it’s fun to read. While the top 10 list is naturally more positive, I think Fifty Second Week gives you a better idea of the scope of the year. Fifty Second Week started as a way to clear out the backlog of unreviewed records. These albums weren’t necessarily passed over because they were unimpressive. In many cases, I just couldn’t find space for them during the year, so they ended up here.

What is Fifty Second Week? I have in front of me 52 albums from 2012 that I heard, but just didn’t get around to reviewing. I’m giving myself 50 seconds to write about each one. I have a timer, and when that buzzer goes off, I will stop writing, no matter where I am in a particular review. Sometimes I’ll have enough time to type three dots at the end of an incomplete thought, but sometimes I won’t. And sometimes I’ll get buzzed out halfway through a word. Wherever I am at the time, the hands come up and I move on to the next one.

All right, let’s see just how bad of a year it was. This is Fifty Second Week.

Alabama Shakes, Boys and Girls.

This barrelhouse rock band is basically just a delivery system for singer/guitarist Brittany Howard, whose raw voice and passion elevate this simple blues-rock material above a lot of similar-sounding stuff. Still, no great shakes. Heh.

Tori Amos, Gold Dust.

I’m OK with Tori’s new songs sucking, but to redo the old ones and make them suck too is just sacrilege. Tori plays with an orchestra here, and while that’s nothing new for her, these new takes on songs like “Precious Things” have all the life sucked out of them. It’s another chapter in her sad decline.

Anathema, Weather Systems.

I should have reviewed this one. This former metal band now plays wonderfully atmospheric progressive rock, full of lush keyboards and terrific melodies. This flew under the radar (Get it? Weather Systems, radar…) but it really shouldn’t have.

Animal Collective, Centipede Hz.

Man, and I really liked Merriweather Post Pavilion. This is just formless, repetitive, annoying synthy noise, and all the massed backing vocals in the world can’t save it. I suppose I should give it another go, considering the acclaim it’s getting, but I could barely make it through the first time.

Band of Horses, Mirage Rock.

Lineup changes have not done these guys any favors. They’re now bland and faceless semi-Southern rock. I’ve heard this thing more than once, and I don’t remember any of the songs. A bonus disc with five more doesn’t help matters.

Barenaked Ladies, Stop Me If You’ve Heard This One Before.

This is one of those cases in which the band hasn’t announced it’s breaking up, but it may as well. This is a collection of leftovers and b-sides, and while it includes a few gems, it’s really just a sad reminder of how good they used to be.

Brendan Benson, What Kind of World.

Being in the Raconteurs with Jack White has brought a ton of new attention to Brendan Benson, and he uses it wisely on this album. It’s full of his usual power pop goodness, even if it is a little anonymous.

Cat Power, Sun.

Man, people went nuts over this. I just don’t get it. Repetitive electronic grooves, deficient melodies, not much in the way of substance, and an 11-minute snoozefest tucked in at the end. It’s baffling to me why this received so much attention.

Cardinal, Hymns.

For some reason, the most overlooked reunion of the year. Even I overlooked it. Cardinal is Eric Matthews and Richard Davies, and their second album after 18 years apart is more low-key melodic goodness. Keeping up with Matthews is getting more difficult, but this is worth tracking…

The Chieftains, Voice of Ages.

With this album, the venerated Irish band celebrates 50 years together. Think about that. 50 years. Now think about this – on Voice of Ages, they team with Bon Iver, the Decemberists, the Punch Brothers and the Civil Wars, to name a few, and not only keep pace, but kick ass.

The Civil Wars, Live at Amoeba.

This poorly-produced Record Store Day document nonetheless captures this duo in better times, sweetly singing tunes from their debut album Barton Hollow. It’s lovely stuff, even the cover of Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean.” (Better than Chris Cornell…)

Cloud Nothings, Attack on Memory.

Loud, raucous, full of sloppy energy, this record also got a lot of acclaim, but in this case it’s easy to see why. This is powerhouse rock – it comes in, fucks your shit up and leaves in about half an hour. Recorded by Steve Albini for that extra anti-shine.

Coldplay, Live 2012.

Coldplay gets a lot of crap, but this is a good reminder of how many solid songs they’ve written. It draws mainly from their last two records, which are their best, as far as I’m concerned. There are hits here, and yes, they’re still Coldplay, so this won’t make you like them if you don’t. But for fans, this is a nice document.

Elvis Costello and the Impostors, The Return of the Spectacular Spinning Songbook.

About time we had a new live album from Costello. The Spinning Songbook tour saw the band erect a giant wheel with song titles on it, and leave the setlist up to chance. The band is in top form here, and Costello sings and plays his little heart out. The accompanying film is awesome as well.

Dirty Three, Toward the Low Sun.

More creepy, sparse instrumentals from this strange trio. They’ve been plying this trade for a long time, but they still find new ways to use their three instruments (violin, drums, guitars) as this brief yet superb little album shows.

Mike Doughty, The Question Jar Show.

Poor Mike Doughty. He really could have been a contender, but he’s been making the same percussive racket for way too long now. This, one of two releases in 2012, is a live album in which the between-song banter far outshines the tired songs.

Mike Doughty, The Flip is Another Honey.

Mike’s second album of 2012 is all covers, but he doesn’t cover these songs as much as he just… turns them into Mike Doughty songs. The Stone Roses’ “Tightrope” is particularly hard done by, but he also ruins songs by Cheap Trick and Low, among…

Dr. John, Locked Down.

Bought on a recommendation, and partially because it was produced by the Black Keys’ Dan Auerbach. It’s not bad – swampy blues with attitude, and some genuine musty atmosphere. May be Dr. John’s best. May be his worst. Hell if I know.

Bob Dylan, Tempest.

Some records are bad, and some are experiences akin to medieval torture. This is one of the latter. Dylan’s voice is a ruin, his songs are boring, and the endless (ENDLESS) title song just repeats over and over and over until I want to set myself on fire. Not recommended.

The Early November, In Currents.

Another reunion I ignored, for no good reason. I’ve enjoyed watching Ace Enders evolve, and here he returns to his band with a set of solid, hummable songs. This is the most polished Early November album, and it’s quite good.

Farrar, Johnson, Parker, Yames, New Multitudes.

The Woody Guthrie lyrics project continues with this sumptuous double-disc set that brings four alt-country luminaries together. The results are about what you’d expect, but if you like this twangy sort of thing, this is a treasu

First Aid Kit, The Lion’s Roar.

No lions roaring here. Just more tender acoustic folk-rock from the Soderberg sisters, who harmonize like birds (well, birds with vocal training) over these simple, yet winning confections.

The Gaddabouts, Look Out Now.

Second record from Edie Brickell’s new band with old-time studio pros. This sounds like you’d expect – polished, spit-shined old-time folk-rock, without much to make it stand out. But for what it is, it’s not bad.

The Gaslight Anthem, Handwritten.

Three albums ago, the Gaslight Anthem decided to become a mix of Bruce Springsteen and the Alarm, and they keep that up on this new one. There are no surprises here – songs with titles like “Too Much Blood” and “National Anthem” are exactly the fist-pumping hardworking tunes you expect.

Great White, Elation.

Yes, I’m still following this band I liked in the ‘80s. This is their first without original singer Jack Russell, and the new guy is not nearly as distinctive, rendering this just another bar-band blues-rock album. It’s acceptable, but it doesn’t make me remember being 15.

Grizzly Bear, Shields.

Yes, it’s shameful that I didn’t give this a full review. But Grizzly Bear bores me, and aside from a few winners here (“Sleeping Ute,” “Sun In Your Eyes”), this album doesn’t interest me much more than any of their others. It’s sleepy, meandering acoustic with minimal melody.

Glen Hansard, Rhythm and Repose.

Hansard’s first album since breaking up with Marketa Irglova is hushed and heartfelt and, unfortunately, pretty boring. His voice is still worth loving, his songs less so, and the overall effect is one of depressed sleepiness.

Here We Go Magic, A Different Ship.

If it’s possible to be low-key and kaleidoscopic at the same time, this band manages it on this short, yet swell album. The songs are all over the place, but the tightly controlled atmosphere keeps it grounded and surprisingly quiet. The 8-minute title track is a highlight.

Hundred Waters.

This one is neat. This is danceable folk music, bringing in influences from around the world. Somehow, this band has made this sound appealing to dance music lovers all over the world – they’re touring with Skrillex, for pity’s sake. One of the most interesting debuts I heard this year.

Jellyfish, Stack-a-Tracks.

Instrumental versions of Jellyfish’s two albums doesn’t sound all that interesting, unless you’ve heard Jellyfish’s two albums. They’re immaculately produced, intricate pop affairs, and in these versions, I’m hearing things I’ve never heard before. Well worth the money.

Paul McCartney, Kisses on the Bottom.

Easily winning the Worst Album Title of 2012 contest, McCartney’s new album is a set of standards performed with Diana Krall and her band. If you like Paul the crooner, and you have an inexplicable urge to hear him sing “Ac-Cent-Tchu-Ate the Positive,” this is for you.

Metallica, Beyond Magnetic.

Desperately trying to get beyond Lulu, their disastrous collaboration with Lou Reed, Metallica has released these four leftovers from the Death Magnetic sessions. And they’re great – complex, crushing metal – but it’s still not enough to wash the stink away.

Rhett Miller, The Dreamer.

Miller is a country-punker in the Old 97s and a pop songsmith on his own. His latest solo album is another smooth collection of sorta-twangy tunes that show off his voice. It’s good stuff, and I never want him to have to choose between his two sides.

A.C. Newman, Shut Down the Streets.

The New Pornographers mastermind delivers another set of tuneful pop. If you liked Newman before, you’ll like this. There’s really not a lot more to say about it.

Of Monsters and Men, My Head is an Animal.

I really should have reviewed this one. OMAM is another great atmospheric band from Iceland, and their debut album is a lovely, dramatic, sweeping thing. It’s so good that I forgot about it completely, putting it on my pile and not coming back to it for months. Silly of me.

Of Montreal, Paralytic Stalks.

Kevin Barnes has confused me before, but I simply have no idea what he’s up to on this overly complicated mess of an album. In some ways, it’s genius, and it sounds like it was very difficult to put together. But I think he’s finally let his complex nature get away from him.

Alanis Morissette, Havoc and Bright Lights.

I do sometimes wonder if I’m the only one still buying Alanis records. On this one she embraces electronic beats and textures, and they work just as well with her idiosyncratic lyrics and distinctive voice as any other style. She’s stuck in a rut, but it’s…

MxPx, Plans Within Plans.

The long-running pop-punk band also mixes in some electronic beats on their new album, but the focus is where it’s always been – three-chord melodic punk rock. Still, it’s better than any of the new Green Day albums, so I guess that’s something.

Our Lady Peace, Curve.

Billed as this Canadian band’s Best Record Ever, this is really just another set of 10 solid modern rock songs. There are definite highlights, like the melodic “Heavyweight,” and lowlights like “Fire in the Hen House.” So it’s really just another Our Lady Peace album, for good and ill.

The Rocket Summer, Life Will Write the Words.

Bryce Avery’s been writing these grandiose, unironic anthems for as long as I can remember, and while he’s very good at it, the sound of The Rocket Summer – big, loud, reaching for the sky – hasn’t changed a bit. This is just another in a long line of same-sounding records.

Sleigh Bells, Reign of Terror.

I officially don’t get it. This is another one critics fawned over, but it’s just abrasive drumming, over-the-top guitar riffing and no songs to speak of. Abrasive, in fact, is a good word for the whole thing. A few more might be “talentless pile of shit.”

Snow Patrol, Fallen Empires.

Like Bryce Avery, Gary Lightbody has been writing the same kind of song forever. In his case, it’s repeated-eighth-note radio pop. He makes a few strides here, adding electronic sounds to his template, but not enough to be interesting.

Regina Spektor, What We Saw From the Cheap Seats.

On the plus side, Spektor is unafraid to be goofy and unappealing. On the minus side, same thing. This album is one of her best, but she still spoils quiet moments with cartoonish voices, and sends the overall tone of her album scattering to the four winds.

Spiritualized, Sweet Heart Sweet Light.

I just. Don’t. Get it. This is another critically acclaimed piece of crap. It’s basically repetitive pub rock, like the Dandy Warhols used to play, with orcheatral flourishes and no songs to hang them on. I have tried to get Spiritualized and I just don’t.

Tenacious D, Rize of the Fenix.

To their credit, the dire reaction to their film The Pick of Destiny is kind of the central theme of the D’s new album. It’s funny here and there, but not a patch on their self-titled debut. I rather liked “The Ballad of Hollywood Jack and the Rage Kage,” though.

The Twilight Sad, No One Can Ever Know.

Scottish band embraces a more industrial dance sound on their third album, and it works for them. Of course, this is the first Twilight Sad album I have heard, so I don’t know if their earlier styles worked better. This sounds like Peter Murphy hanging out with a noise-rock band. Pretty cool.

Various Artists, Mercyland: Hymns for the Rest of Us.

Again, I should have reviewed this. Phil Madeira’s dream project pairs him with an amazing roster of country and folk artists to deliver a set of songs that examine God and love and life. It’s mesmerizing, beautiful stuff.

The Violet Burning, Pentimento I.

What a great couple of years for the Violet Burning. On the heels of their triple-disc magnum opus The Story of Our Lives comes this two-part acoustic offering, full of hushed versions of their new songs. Stripped to just Michael Pritzl’s guitar and voice, with Lenny Beh on

The Violet Burning, Pentimento II.

cello, these takes are haunting and wonderful. It’s great to hear full-on rockers like “Graves” delivered acoustically, and beautiful pieces like “The Light Poured Down on Me” are made even more so in this setting. Get this now.

M. Ward, A Wasteland Companion.

Ward is better known these days for teaming up with Zooey Deschanel in She and Him, which is unfortunate. His solo work is rooted in old-time folk, and this record is a little treat. It’s simple stuff, but very effective.

The xx, Coexist.

More chilled, minimalist music from this London outfit. At points on this record, the material is stripped back almost to nonexistence – a voice, an electronic tom, maybe a bit of bass. It sounds like it wouldn’t work, but it does.

Yeasayer, Fragrant World.

In much the same vein as 2009’s Odd Blood, but with weaker songs. Yeasayer’s third album isn’t difficult – I listened about half a dozen times before I gave up looking for hidden depths. It’s just a lesser effort, and I hope for more and better from this fascinating band.

And that’s that. Of course, there are more records in the to-be-reviewed pile from 2012, but I’ll get to some of those next year, during the slow months. It’s time now to put 2012 to bed, and hope that 2013 runs rings around it, at least musically. As always, I am beyond grateful for all of you who read my ramblings, and share them. You’re the reason I keep doing this. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

I’ll be taking next week off, but look for a new column on January 9. Have a happy new year, everyone. Next stop, year 13! Leave a comment on my blog at tm3am.blogspot.com. Follow my infrequent twitterings at www.twitter.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning.

This is my favorite column to write each year.

As longtime readers can tell you, I’m almost relentlessly positive in this space. It isn’t always easy, particularly in a music year like this one, in which the disappointments almost outnumbered the unqualified successes. It’s a balancing act, maintaining a positive tone while navigating an onslaught of mediocre-to-painful new releases, and I do my best.

But the top 10 list column is my chance to be unabashedly giddy about music. This makes me happier than I can tell you. Each year, I spend an inordinate amount of time hunting for the music that brightens my days, the music that, at its very best, reorders my life and lets me live inside of it for a time. And each year, at the very end, I get to tell you that story, and bring you the very best musical moments I discovered. This makes all the work I do to find those moments worth it.

As I said last week, this was not a great year for music. It wasn’t a bad one, exactly, and I’d put my top five up against the best of any other year. But the bright spots were fewer and farther between. It’s funny, because my real life was just the opposite – this year held so much positivity, so much joy, that even the darkest moments (including the loss of a great-uncle and a grandmother, both of whom I loved very much) couldn’t dampen it. For me personally, 2012 was a very good year. Musically, that’s a different story.

But that’s not the story we’re here to tell. This is the good stuff, the edited highlights, the best of the very best. You guys know the rules by now, but here they are again, just for posterity: only new studio albums released this year are eligible for the list. That means no covers albums (and there were several good ones, including Field Music and Mike Doughty), no live albums (so no Live Blood from Peter Gabriel), and no hits, re-release or remix packages. Some critics, I’m sure, will put the Beatles vinyl box on the top of their lists, but that’s a no-no around here.

What I’m looking for are the best new albums of the year, made up of the best new songs of the year. Simple, straightforward, direct. I heard about 260 albums in 2012, and here, as far as I’m concerned, are the 10 best.

#10. 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.

Fiona Apple’s first album in seven years boasts 2012’s longest title, but her fans have come to expect a certain level of eccentricity from her. What they probably didn’t expect was the music within – these raw, complex songs have been stripped bare, often played on just piano and percussion. It’s unlike anything she’s done, and somehow feels like her most honest, personal statement. Not one moment of this album invites you in – you have to work at it, particularly when Apple sends her stunning voice into new, throat-shredding areas. She tops the whole thing with “Hot Knife,” a joyous sex song delivered a cappella, Andrews Sisters-style, over rolling tympanis. It’s a welcome moment of release after a fearless, difficult, absolutely stunning piece of work. Apple’s a batshit genius, and this album proves it.

#9. Amanda Palmer and the Grand Theft Orchestra, Theatre is Evil.

This is the first of four albums on this year’s list to be fully funded by fans instead of record labels. The revolution is underway, and Palmer is leading the charge – she raised more than a million dollars to create, package and release Theatre is Evil on her own, and it shows. This is the record of her life, the one on which all of the disparate strands of her career come together. It’s sprawling, almost impossibly dramatic, and full of songs with titles like “Do It With a Rockstar” and “Smile (Pictures Or It Didn’t Happen).” But it’s also remarkably intimate at times, never more so than on “The Bed Song,” which traces a sad, stagnant relationship by the beds the couple sleeps in through the years. Palmer went for broke on this album, mixing the theatrical with the personal more thoroughly than she ever has, and wrapping all that up in massive, rolling waves of sound. It’s the best thing she’s done, and her Kickstarter donors definitely got their money’s worth.

#8. Rufus Wainwright, Out of the Game.

I was really hoping Rufus had another album like this in him. After a string of detours, culminating in the piano meander All Days Are Nights in 2010, it was beginning to feel like Wainwright’s days as a master pop craftsman might be behind him. But he came charging back with this glittering gem, working with Amy Winehouse’s producer Mark Ronson to add extra shimmer. While the drums pop and the strings glisten, the real stars here are the songs, hook-filled wonders like “Welcome to the Ball” and “Perfect Man.” I love hearing Wainwright’s voice in just about any setting, but it’s best when delivering perfect pop numbers like these. Far from being out of the game, Wainwright sounds reinvigorated here, and he remains one of the best songwriters in the biz.

#7. Shearwater, Animal Joy.

I’ve liked this unique Austin band for a while now, but this album, their seventh, is the first one that’s knocked me out. You’ve never heard a singer quite like Jonathan Meiburg, and while his pipes added an ethereal layer to Shearwater’s earlier, more ambient work, he really shows what he can do on the galloping, sweeping guitar-rock here. They’re still Shearwater, and they still traffic in atmospheres, but on Animal Joy they rock like never before. “Animal Life” sounds like flying over the African veldt, and “Breaking the Yearlings” is like crashing back to earth. Here’s hoping they continue down this path, because this album is remarkable.

#6. Ben Folds Five, The Sound of the Life of the Mind.

Yes, I was worried too. When Ben Folds announced a reunion of his old band, and even scarier, a reunion album, I expected a quickie cash grab that would sink to the bottom of Folds’ catalog. Silly, silly me. The Five – Folds, Darren Jessee and Robert Sledge – clearly delighted in playing together again, and this tremendous, cohesive, fan-funded album is proof. Some criticized it for not capturing the bratty energy of the original records, but this is an older and wiser Five, and these lovely, beautifully-crafted songs suit them well. They still stomp their way through piano-pounders like “Michael Praytor, Five Years Later” and “Do It Anyway,” and they add a delicate touch to sad songs like “Hold That Thought” and “Sky High.” This is a reunion album that justifies its own existence, and then some.

#5. Bryan Scary, Daffy’s Elixir.

A 70-plus-minute insane pop opera about a steampunk wild west? It really couldn’t be anyone but Bryan Scary, if you think about it. This Kickstarter-funded project finds the one-man Queen in brilliant, completely unfiltered form – this is Scary’s magnum opus, a whirlwind of ideas and crazy arrangements and lush, wondrous harmonies. From the nimble, proggy “Cable Through Your Heart” to the manic “You Might Be Caught in Tarantella” to the gentle “The Tale of Opal Dawn” to the mammoth, jaw-dropping closer “Data Mountain,” there isn’t a weak, compromised moment here. Packaged as an illustrated book of short stories, Scary’s piano-fueled tales have never sounded better, fuller, more complete. It’s a testament not just to him and his frightening talent, but to the joys and rewards of artistic independence. Also, it’s freaking awesome.

#4. Husky, Forever So.

A late entry, but a stunning one. Husky is an Australian band led by a guy whose real name apparently is Husky Gawenda, and they play beautiful, beautiful music. This album occupies the Fleet Foxes spot this year, but Husky’s songs are less rooted in centuries-old sounds – they play a modern version of woodsy acoustic folk. The songs are marvelous things – the album’s opener, “Tidal Wave,” will stay with you for weeks, and “History’s Door” harnesses a power few songs this year managed. The band’s harmonies are impeccable, and Husky’s voice is soft and fascinating. Best of all, their album makes me feel like I’m sitting around a campfire, warm and happy. It’s quite an achievement for a new band, but if they can keep writing and playing songs like this, they’ll be around for a long, long time.

#3. Punch Brothers, Who’s Feeling Young Now?

2012 was the Year of the Punch Brothers. You may still never have heard of them, but thanks to this album and a number of high-profile appearances throughout the year, they’re not an ignored little group any more. And that’s cause for celebration, because they’re one of the best bands in the world right now. The Punch Brothers sport a classic bluegrass lineup – guitar, bass, fiddle, banjo, and the mandolin mastery of Chris Thile – and while they’re capable of traditional finger-pickin’ goodness, they more often play a mix of alt-rock, pop and prog. The title track could fit nicely on ‘90s alternative radio, “Movement and Location” is an astonishing feat of skill and speed, and “This Girl” is one of the year’s best bouncy pop songs. This album also features a note-for-note cover of Radiohead’s electronic nightmare “Kid A,” performed entirely on those acoustic instruments. The popularity of the Punch Brothers is a victory for real musicianship, and Who’s Feeling Young Now is a remarkable, accessible distillation of what they do. Even if you think you hate bluegrass, my bet is you will love the Punch Brothers.

#2. Marillion, Sounds That Can’t Be Made.

Marillion’s been at this game a long, long time. Sounds is their 17th album, and the current incarnation of the band has been together for more than 20 years. What’s amazing, then, is that they’re still finding new avenues to explore, new styles they haven’t conquered yet. This completely fan-funded album finds them stretching out over eight long songs, most of them heading new places, none of them sounding alike. But what makes Marillion one of the best bands on earth isn’t just their restless experimentation, it’s their ability to craft complex, powerful music that aims directly for the soul. This album begins with a 17-minute epic called “Gaza,” written from the point of view of a child growing up in the Gaza Strip. It’s heavier than anything they’ve done, but the heart of it is Steve Hogarth’s plaintive “It just ain’t right, it just ain’t right,” sung over delicate piano. They pull this trick off over and over again on this album, from the soaring guitars that end the ‘80s-inflected title track to the astonishing buildup of “Montreal” to the soulful chorus of “Invisible Ink,” all the way to the heartbreaking, glorious final minutes of “The Sky Above the Rain.” This is an album you feel, and that they’re still able to create music this intricate and emotional after so many years together is amazing. They’re one of my favorite bands, and they keep on earning my devotion.

Still, they didn’t capture the top spot. The album that did came out of nowhere, moved me like nothing else, and wouldn’t let go. If you’ve been keeping up with this column, you know what it is. My love for it hasn’t changed since I first heard it in April.

#1. Lost in the Trees, A Church That Fits Our Needs.

It’s been said that the best art comes from tragedy. That may help to explain why A Church That Fits Our Needs is so haunting, harrowing and sublime. It’s dedicated to lead singer Ari Picker’s mother – that’s her on the front cover. Stricken with cancer, she took her own life on the day of Picker’s wedding. This album – this glorious, difficult, emotional beyond all reason album – is his attempt to make sense of the senseless, and put her soul to rest.

Only he can say whether the record succeeds at those goals. All I can tell you is that it’s the most powerful, cohesive artistic statement I heard all year. Picker’s songs are full of personal allusions, the way old Tori Amos lyrics used to be, and if you know his story, they’re heartbreaking. His twin sisters, who died after a premature birth, are eulogized in “Red.” His mother’s artwork, in many ways the center of her life, comes up again and again, Picker even quoting from her suicide note at one point. In all my years as a music listener, I have rarely heard such a specific and personal outpouring of the soul. It sounds like cleansing, like rebirth, like setting fire to the past and walking through it.

The music on these 10 songs is the richest I’ve heard in years. Picker created all the arrangements himself, and the sweeping strings augment these delicate (and not-so-delicate) pieces beautifully. The transition from the gorgeous “This Dead Bird is Beautiful” to the room-shaking cello of “Garden” is one of my favorite musical moments of the year, and all of “An Artist’s Song” and “Icy River” just brings me to my knees. In many ways, though, it’s the unadorned closer “Vines” that packs the biggest punch, a tender moment of resignation after nine songs of ethereal, searching pain.

While this is an album meant to be heard as a single work, in sequence, it’s also one of moments, and several of them have stayed with me for the majority of the year. When Picker sings of dumping his mother’s ashes in “Icy River” (“Don’t you ever dare think she was weak-hearted, like a ribbon of silver, I poured her body in the river…”). The moment in “Vines” when Picker admits that there are things that songs can’t say. And the heart-stopping pain and love Picker brings to a single line in “This Dead Bird”: “I’ll carry her, because she breathed I breathe.”

This is what art is for. This is what music is meant to do. In 10 short songs, Ari Picker thoroughly examines his own pain, and shares it with us in ways that will leave you shaking. But there is healing here, there is wonder, there is moving on. I won’t be able to explain to you in words what Lost in the Trees have done here. As Picker himself sings, there are things that words can’t say. That’s why we have music. To wipe our tears, to hold our hands, and to guide us to the next place, wherever that may be.

And that wraps up the best of 2012. Tune in next time for Fifty Second Week, as we bid farewell to this year, and welcome in the next. As always, thank you for reading. Without you I’m nothing, and I will never forget it. Leave a comment on my blog at tm3am.blogspot.com. Follow my infrequent twitterings at www.twitter.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning.

Oh, hey, look. 12/12/12. Or, as my musician friends have been referring to it, National Soundcheck Day. (Raise your hand if you get that.)

Hard to believe we’re at the end of another year. This is the first of my three-part farewell to 2012, and anyone who has been reading this column for any length of time knows what’s coming. This week we’re going to look at the honorable mentions for the year, next week we unveil the top 10 list, and finally, we get to a thing I’ve been calling Fifty Second Week. What is that? Tune in on Boxing Day to find out.

Last year was a great year for music. This year, well, wasn’t. On paper, it looked terrific. But as the months rolled on, and the disappointments kept piling up, the outlook became more and more bleak. In fact, I racked up so many disappointments this year that I’m able to fill a whole section of this column with them, for the first time.

Not to worry, I do have 10 splendid records to fawn over next week, and I also plan to bestow 19 honorable mentions. But let’s start with the letdowns, since they most accurately represent this year. These aren’t just bad albums (in fact, some of them aren’t all that bad), they’re albums I fully expected would knock me over, based on their authors’ track records. Listening to each of these was a disheartening experience, one I’m not eager to repeat.

It hurts when a band or artist I’ve championed turns in a weak effort, but it hurts even more when I was one of the only voices doing the championing. I took a lot of shit for recommending Linkin Park’s A Thousand Suns, and I stand by it – it was a quantum leap from the Linkin Park of old. The follow-up, Living Things, limply retreated to safer ground, leaving confusion over the band’s direction. I take even more shit for liking Owl City, and defending Adam Young against unfair and lazy Postal Service comparisons. But he sold out everything that made him interesting on the putrud The Midsummer Station, a record I can’t even listen to. So thanks for that, Adam.

Jukebox the Ghost was a late discovery for me in 2010, and I hoped their third album, Safe Travels, would uphold their own high standard. It didn’t – it mostly sounds like a band sanding off their own rough edges on purpose, although there are some highlights. (“Everybody Knows” is one of my favorite pop songs of the year, in fact.) Sixpence None the Richer returned after a decade in the wilderness with the mediocre Lost in Transition. And Joe Jackson broke his hot streak with the misguided, mashed-up Ellington tribute The Duke. Which is a shame, because that was quite a hot streak.

Now we come to the bands and artists who have made previous appearances on my top 10 list. These are the real heavy sighs, the ones that left me confused and sad. Mumford and Sons made a huge impression with their debut, Sigh No More, so when sophomore effort Babel offered the same sound, but weaker songs, it felt like moving in the wrong direction. The Shins have broken up and re-formed more than once, but their latest incarnation, the one behind Port of Morrow, is apparently a coffee-warm adult contemporary band, and it’s the least interesting suit they’ve worn.

I’ve watched Keane’s evolution from piano-pop band to weird and wonderful experimentalists with fascination, but that all came crashing down with the safe, bland, forgettable Strangeland. I like a few of these songs, but the production is so mom-and-pop minivan that any charms are lost. Aimee Mann – Aimee Mann! – released a slight, simple effort with Charmer, breaking her streak of wonderful albums with the same snapping sound depicted on the album’s back cover. And Muse, who have long flirted with the ridiculous, took a screaming dive over the top with their absurd mess of a sixth album, The 2nd Law.

In the end, though, no one quite disappointed like Green Day did. Which may be because no one else disappointed three times. The much-anticipated Uno, Dos, Tre trilogy turned out to be a major-league bust, the band celebrating its former, more juvenile self instead of continuing down the road paved by American Idiot and 21st Century Breakdown. I’ll review Tre next year, but suffice it to say that it follows in the footsteps of its predecessors, save for a couple songs that bring back the ambition. But it’s too little too late to save this bloated, uninspired trio of flops.

So all right, enough with the bad news. As I said, I have almost 20 honorable mentions to hand out, so let’s get started. Before I do that, though, I want to mention this: every year, there is one album that ends up on every critic’s top 10 list except mine. This year, that album seems to be Frank Ocean’s Channel Orange, which I liked, but didn’t love. So you won’t find that here, or in next week’s rundown, sorry to say.

OK, the honorables. For a while there, it looked like 2012 was building momentum, and two of those early releases have stayed with me ever since. Nada Surf remains one of the most underrated bands in America, and they proved it again with the sharp, blissful The Stars Are Indifferent to Astronomy. And John K. Samson, formerly of the Weakerthans, turned in a literate, wonderfully observant solo bow with Provincial. That album stayed on the top 10 list for a long time, a testament to its graceful songs.

Two of my longtime favorites turned to their fans this year to help finance their latest efforts. Richard Julian moved his New York attitude to New Orleans and came up with the stomping, funny, sweet and sentimental Fleur de Lis, a valentine to his new hometown. And Bill Mallonee, who has authored more than 50 albums in his three-decade career, made another Americana-tinged winner with Amber Waves.

A pair of electronic artists took huge steps forward this year. Shiny Toy Guns get no respect, but their third record (wittily titled III) is an uncommonly strong electro-pop platter, particularly the more mature, sedate second half. And Passion Pit hit a solid triple the second time up to bat with Gossamer, a sparkling collection of ruminations on love and modern life, wrapped up in danceable, hummable wonder. Gossamer is such a massive leap forward that it barely sounds like the same band.

This was the year of fun., the band behind the hits “We Are Young” and “Some Nights.” Their second album, Some Nights, was almost too big to properly assess, but listened in isolation, its joyous songs and go-for-broke spirit prove irresistible. Beach House made a jump forward in popularity as well with their lush, lovely fourth record, Bloom – this one refined more than redefined, but the band’s sound is so singular that it hardly matters. And little-known songstress Lauren Mann convened her Fairly Odd Folk and made a beautiful little second record, Over Land and Sea. This album’s a gem, and anyone who likes pretty piano-pop should hear it.

Speaking of beauty, we have Hammock, the best shoegaze band on the planet. Marc Byrd and Andrew Thompson released a double album this year, called Departure Songs, and it proved to be one of their best – more than 100 minutes of clouds and skyscapes, with transcendent guitar and wonderful melodies. They still didn’t outdo Sigur Ros for unearthly beauty, though. Valtari was an album that surprised even the band that made it, and it’s one of their most fragile and sweeping. It’s almost unbelievably beautiful, particularly the second half.

And then there is the Choir, whose 12th album, The Loudest Sound Ever Heard, is undeniably a step down from their two previous works. But they’re still the Choir – they still have the lovely voice and guitar of Derri Daugherty, the slippery bass of Tim Chandler, the off-kilter yet perfect drumming of Steve Hindalong, the sax textures of Dan Michaels. They are still a band that shouldn’t work, but does, time and time again, and even though I can’t call this album one of the year’s best, I’ve grown to love it. I hope they keep the tunes coming.

Which brings us to my Number 11s, the albums that missed my top 10 list by the slimmest of margins. Anyone calling any of these records one of the 10 best of the year would get no argument from me. We start with Tame Impala, whose psychedelic second album Lonerism impressed with its sprawling, anything-goes sensibility. Then there’s Bob Mould, who finally recaptured his Sugar-y sweet fire with Silver Age, the loudest and best solo album he’s made in… well, ages.

Speaking of people who have made their best album in some time (or ever), we have John Mayer, who seemed to discover earthy honesty on his fifth, Born and Raised. The acoustic, naturalistic country-folk on this album was a big surprise, as was the willingness of its author to forego radio hits for a more sincere artistic statement. Shawn Colvin also went dusty on her new album, All Fall Down, working with Buddy Miller to deliver her first major tonal shift, and perhaps her best record. Colvin’s voice works well in this twangy, sparse setting, and her new songs are tremendous.

Local wunderkind Andrea Dawn was on my list for a long time, thanks to her swell new album Theories of How We Can Be Friends. A dark pop record with surprising hidden depths, Theories should be Dawn’s calling card. It’s a million-dollar record on a thousand-dollar budget, and a showcase for her sultry voice and blossoming songwriting. Buy it here. Natasha Khan also made a remarkable dark pop album with The Haunted Man, her third as Bat for Lashes. It’s stranger and less immediate than anything she’s done, but no less stunning.

And finally, an album that actually appeared on the first draft of this year’s list. Paul Buchanan’s first solo album, Mid Air, is one of the year’s most gorgeous things, stripping back the layers of sound that defined his band the Blue Nile to reveal intimate, graceful piano sketches. Of course, Buchanan sings them in That Voice, a powerful instrument that loses none of its force in this quiet setting. In the best way, this album is like eavesdropping on Buchanan’s private thoughts, and I’m grateful he let us hear them.

All right, all right. Next week, the list. Be there, or be… elsewhere, I guess. Leave a comment on my blog at tm3am.blogspot.com. Follow my infrequent twitterings at www.twitter.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning.

My grandmother, Edna Salles, passed away last week.

She was only a couple weeks shy of her 97th birthday, and had been doing just fine until a week before her death. Doctors think she had a stroke – she stopped eating, and couldn’t find the strength to move. It had been nearly a year since I’d seen her, since I only get to Delaware around Christmas, and I’d already made plans to visit during my time off at the end of December. And now I won’t get to.

But I still have memories. My grandparents lived in Florida when I was a kid, and we would visit them during the summer (along with Disney World, which was right nearby). I loved their house, with its orange and kumquat trees in the backyard and its sliding doors, which I pretended were spaceship panels. I remember one year my parents bought a copy of Michael Jackson’s Thriller on cassette for my sister and me, and we spent that vacation dancing around Granny and Pa’s house.

And I remember when my grandfather died. He’d suffered a stroke more than a decade earlier, and Granny had patiently taken care of him since then. I remember worrying that without someone to watch over, she’d sink into despair. I was never happier to be wrong. From then on, Granny embraced life – she lived on her own, made friends, went out, had a great time. And even when her body started failing her, and she needed to be placed in a nursing home, she had a tremendous optimism about her. She was always so glad to see me, always asking about my job and my life.

I’m grateful we had so much time with her. I’m grateful she lived long enough to meet her great-grandson Luke. She had a good, long, blessed life – 96 good years, 340-some-odd good days, and only seven bad ones at the end. We could all only hope to be so lucky.

Rest in peace, Granny. We’ll miss you.

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So my Christmas will be a little sadder this year, but I’m not going to let that stop me from reveling in one of my greatest sources of joy: Christmas music.

Now, I have this rule. Christmas music is only OK between the day after Thanksgiving and Christmas Day. I know some people love hearing it all year round, and some are all right with the notion that the Christmas shopping season now begins in October, but not me. It’s a special time of year, and the only way it stays special is if you have to wait for it. I buy a lot of Christmas music every year, but I never listen to it until the day after Thanksgiving. And then, on December 26, it goes back on the shelf for another year.

The thing is, I love Christmas music. So in that tidy 30-or-so-day window, I binge on it like crazy. It’s almost all I’ve been listening to for more than a week now, and I’ve been buying new Christmas albums nearly every day. Yes, it’s 60 degrees here, with not a flake of snow on the ground yet. But in my house, it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas. Or at least sound like it.

I’ve bought eight new Christmas collections this year, with more to come. Some of them have been less terrific than others – I wasn’t blown away by the melancholy Holidaydream, from the Polyphonic Spree, for instance, and despite my love for all things Savatage, Trans-Siberian Orchestra’s schtick is starting to get old. But some of them have been magnificent, exactly the tinsel my tree was looking for. Here’s a brief rundown of the best.

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I’m always wary of various artists compilations, even when they’re not Christmas-themed. It’s true that I loved the first few A Very Special Christmas collections when I was a kid – hearing artists like John Cougar Mellencamp, U2 and Tom Petty take on holiday songs was fun, and I still think Sting’s version of “Gabriel’s Message” is lovely. But quality varies wildly with these compilations, and I’ve often found myself plunking down cash for one or two tracks I want to hear, and being stuck with an hour of dross.

I didn’t have that problem with Holidays Rule, the Concord Music Group’s foray into multiple-artist Christmas platters. This one is solid, and wonderful. It was curated by Sara Matarazzo, who has supervised music for some very cool movies and TV shows over the past five years, and by Chris Funk of the Decemberists. It collects tracks by the Shins, the Civil Wars, Calexico, the Punch Brothers, Andrew Bird and a bunch of others.

Even the weakest tracks here are worth hearing, but the strongest are simply knockouts. The Punch Brothers deliver a haunting version of “O Come O Come Emmanuel,” Heartless Bastards take on “Blue Christmas,” and the Civil Wars give us a delicate, delightful “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day.” (That may be the last track we hear from them in a while, so it’s bittersweet.) The Shins do a nice job with Paul McCartney’s blah “Wonderful Christmastime,” and McCartney himself croons “The Christmas Song,” with Diana Krall and her band backing him up.

Rufus Wainwright and Sharon Von Etten give us a traditional take on the classic duet “Baby, It’s Cold Outside,” while The Head and the Heart glide their way through a dramatic “What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve?” Most surprising to me was Calexico’s gorgeous version of “Green Grows the Holly,” which stands as the most beautiful track here. Just when you think it can’t get any better, the subtle horns come in. All by itself, it’s the counter-argument to my trepidation: I didn’t buy Holidays Rule for this song, but it’s my favorite.

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I’m also wary of buying new versions of things I already have. Four years ago, the Violet Burning issued their Christmas album, Divine, as a download-only affair. Now they’ve remastered it, added two songs, and released it on CD. If you’re a physical objects freak like I am, it’s already worth buying. But even if you already have Divine, the new version is a huge improvement, and the bonus songs (a version of “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing” and an older original called “Room in My Heart”) are wonderful.

The Violet Burning has always balanced its rock and atmospheric sides well, and they continue that tradition here. Opener “Little Drummer Boy” is loud, Michael Pritzl’s guitars taking on a Siamese Dream-level thickness. But just listen to the band’s lovely take on Wham’s “Last Christmas,” that kitschiest of kitschy holiday tunes. And Pritzl sings his heart out on “O Holy Night,” probably my favorite carol. “Room in My Heart,” which first appeared in 2003, is a Violet Burning classic, dramatic and lovely.

The biggest surprise, if you’ve never heard Divine before, is “Blue Christmas/Sandy Claws is Coming to Town,” which features Mike Roe of 77s fame doing his best Elvis impression. The Violets are, by and large, a very serious band, so this moment of levity brings a big, wide grin. Divine is a terrific Christmas offering from an unjustly obscure band, and now it sounds better than ever. Get yours here.

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I will admit, after last year’s brilliant, scathing, anti-religious We Are All Where We Belong, a Christmas EP from Quiet Company is kind of a surprise. But it’s a welcome one. Winter is Coming contains five songs over about 18 minutes, and it’s a nice burst of the band’s full-color power pop. The packaging looks amazing, too. I have yet to receive my copy, but I’ve been dancing about to the download for a week now. I can’t wait for this to pop up in my mailbox.

Winter is Coming is essentially an upgrade of the band’s 2007 three-song Merry Little Christmas digital EP. The rollicking versions of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” and “Angels We Have Heard on High” are still terrific, and the dramatic read of “O Holy Night” remains among my favorite versions. The two new songs include a splendid, guitar-orchestrated shimmy through “I’ll Be Home for Christmas,” and a sparkling “All I Want for Christmas Is You.” The latter finds Taylor Muse unleashing his falsetto while the horn section blares. It’s great.

Quiet Company is one of my favorite bands, so I don’t mind the fact that I’ve downloaded this version of “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” three times now. Winter is Coming is a little delight, like a candy cane hanging on the tree. Looking forward to the full package. You can get one at their site.

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Another sweet surprise: One Christmas at a Time, an out-of-nowhere collaboration between Jonathan Coulton and John Roderick. Coulton is the snarky, geeky Internet superstar behind hits like “Code Monkey” and “Re: Your Brains,” and the guy who made one of last year’s coolest records, Artificial Heart. Roderick is the lead singer of the Long Winters, who made a swell album called Putting the Days to Bed in 2006, and have been working on the follow-up ever since. Roderick guest starred on Artificial Heart, and that evidently led to this, one of the weirdest Christmas albums I’ve ever heard.

To start with, it’s all originals – no carols for these guys. As you might expect, it looks askance at the Christmas season, going for the laughs more often than not. This ain’t the record to put on when your aunts and uncles are visiting. But it’s perfect for when you’re stuck in traffic at the mall, or trying to get the lights on the tree to work. Before it runs out of steam at the end, One Christmas at a Time is a stocking full of sarcastic fun.

It even has a couple of Coulton classics. Opener “Uncle John” is about that relative who ruins Christmas every year: “He borrows Nana’s car, staggers in at 3 a.m. with a new girlfriend, this one barely speaks, she studies cosmetology… she’s got a Hitler neck tattoo.” And then there’s the record’s best tune, “2600,” a paean to the original Atari game console that we all wanted in the ‘80s. (Don’t lie. We all wanted these.) While Roderick sings “2600” in the background, Coulton repeats, “There’s only one thing that I want, there’s only one thing that I want.” It’s catchy and danceable and among Coulton’s most fun.

Things get sweeter with the wistful, jazzy “Christmas in July” and the classic rock-flavored, skip-the-family-holiday anthem “Christmas With You is the Best.” Well, relatively sweet: “We’ll have no turkey or guests, sleep in late but before we get dressed, I want to give you a present…” I’m also fond of the tender “The Week Between,” on which Roderick celebrates those seven days between Christmas and New Year’s Day.

I just wish the record didn’t peter out in its final third. Coulton pads things out with a new version of his old tune “Christmas is Interesting,” and the final two tracks smack of drunken late-night joke sessions. “Wikipedia Chanukah” finds Roderick reading the Wikipedia entry for Chanukah over a junky electric beat, while “Christmastime is Wunnerful” repeats its title phrase endlessly, again and again, for four minutes. Which I’m sure is the joke, but it gets old remarkably fast. Still, One Christmas at a Time is a fun, unexpected little present, and I’m glad to have it. You can pick one up here.

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There is no one who has dissected, analyzed and reassembled Christmas music like Sufjan Stevens.

Every year, Stevens records a Christmas EP for family and friends. But these are not quick one-offs, these are in-depth explorations of the soundtrack of the holiday, replete with original songs, radical reinterpretations of old favorites, and a sense of scientific curiosity about this corner of the music world. Stevens wants to know what makes Christmas music tick, and he’s dedicated himself to this endeavor with remarkable vigor.

Six years ago, he made the first five of those EPs public, in a box set called Songs for Christmas. The front cover illustration was a crayon drawing of a Christmas tree, the CDs were designed like vinyl records, and the whole thing was very 2006 Sufjan. Back then, he was a safer artist, although we didn’t know it at the time. He’d just released Illinois in 2004, and was reveling in its success, while wondering what to do next. Songs for Christmas follows the pattern of his music from 2001 to 2005 – folksy, acoustic beauty with horns and strings, becoming more ambitious as the set went on.

Since then, of course, Stevens has flipped that script on its ear. After a six-year break, he returned with 2010’s brilliant, messy The Age of Adz, an album smeared in electronic noise and emotional chaos. Whatever box we had him in six years ago, he no longer fits. The same can be said of his second Christmas box set, Silver and Gold, which covers the Adz years – 2006 to 2010. This one is louder, stranger, more unpredictable than the first, and while it doesn’t really sound like Christmas, it does sound like Sufjan Stevens, the uncompromising artist. Even the box art is wilder and odder.

Silver and Gold actually starts fairly traditionally, with 2006’s Gloria. With Bryce and Aaron Dessner of The National in tow, Stevens turns in some lovely acoustic lullabies, from “Silent Night” to the 16th-century “Coventry Carol.” Aaron Dessner writes four original Christmas tunes, and they stick to the strummy, woodsy feel of the whole thing. This EP fits in nicely with the first five.

But then things get weird. 2007’s I Am Santa’s Helper mashes 23 songs into 43 minutes, and many of them are throwaway trifles. It’s a whirlwind listen, from the overly long “Christmas Woman” to a few Bach chorales to three versions of “Ah Holy Jesus” to the annoying rockabilly “Ding-a-Ling-a-Ring-a-Ling.” Even the hidden gem “Mr. Frosty Man” can’t make this thing coherent. If Stevens intended to depict hyperactive confusion, he succeeded.

2008’s Christmas Infinity Voyage is even stranger. Here is where Stevens begins experimenting with the electronic sounds that would permeate The Age of Adz, and he first unveils them on a nine-minute version of “Do You Hear What I Hear.” The anti-dance arrangement works well for the first few minutes, but the tender melody is increasingly drowned out by glitchy noise. It feels like a rough draft for parts of “Impossible Soul,” an impression only strengthened by the chorus of that song appearing in this version of “Joy to the World.” Midway through this crazy record he covers Prince’s “Alphabet St.” for no reason whatsoever, and he ends things with “The Child With the Star on His Head,” a truly great four-minute song that goes on for a quarter of an hour. The final minutes are taken up with formless electronic gibberish. He’s like a kid with a new toy, one he’ll slowly learn to use over the next two years.

2009’s Let It Snow feels perfunctory to me, a quick, more typical 21 minutes. It’s strange – this record shows a leap in ambition and execution from most of Songs for Christmas, but after the insanity of the last two EPs, it feels like it was tossed off too quickly. Cat Martino guests, and sings beautifully. Sufjan whips out new arrangements of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” and “Sleigh Ride” and “A Holly Jolly Christmas,” and gifts us with a wonderful original called “X-Mas Spirit Catcher.” There’s nothing wrong with this collection, but in this big box of crazy, it’s pretty safe.

Have no fear, though, because 2010’s Christmas Unicorn is everything a modern Sufjan fan could want. It effectively merges his orchestral folk and thudding electro sides, just like Age of Adz did. It includes the flat-out coolest version of “Up On the Housetop” you have ever heard, all sinister beats and synths. Its instrumental interludes are delightful, the skipping take on “We Need a Little Christmas” is lovely, and the originals that close things out are among Stevens’ best Christmas pieces. Of special note is the 12-minute title track, a fantasia of glorious nutball joy that somehow seamlessly incorporates the chorus of “Love Will Tear Us Apart.”

Listening to Silver and Gold all the way through will take you a little more than three hours, but it’s like listening to Sufjan Stevens evolve. It’s a behind-the-scenes treat bridging the gap between two of the most brilliant albums of the past 20 years, and though I can’t say it provides non-stop Christmas entertainment, it’s fascinating stuff. He started off exploring how Christmas music ticks, and ended up showing us how he does. I hope he never gives up on this tradition.

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And that’s it. Next week, the end of the year festivities begin with the honorable mentions of 2012, followed by the top 10 list and Fifty Second Week. Time is a river flowing on… Leave a comment on my blog at tm3am.blogspot.com. Follow my infrequent twitterings at www.twitter.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning.