Merry Christmas, everyone! This is Fifty Second Week.

I’ve been writing this year-end wrapup column for nine years now, and this is the first one to post on Christmas Day. It’s a little weird, I agree. But just think of this as a present that I wrapped up and put under your tree. Fifty-two tiny reviews? It’s exactly what you wanted, isn’t it? I know, I know. You’re welcome.

For those of you who don’t know how Fifty Second Week works, here’s the lowdown. I hear more music every year than I can feasibly write about in a weekly column. Much, much more. So this is my way of getting through a chunk of the music I didn’t document here before the year winds down. I have in front of me 52 CDs I didn’t review. I will give myself 50 seconds to review each one. When the timer goes off, I stop writing, even if I’m in the middle of a sentence. Pencils down means pencils down.

I hope these are as fun for you to read as they are for me to write. Here we go. This is Fifty Second Week.

Alice in Chains, The Devil Put Dinosaurs Here.

A clever title, but more of the same sludgy sameness from the post-Layne Staley Alice in Chains. I like Jerry Cantrell, but a little goes a long way, and this is a lot of it. The new singer guy does a capable Staley and harmonizes well. Too bad the songs aren’t as good as anything on Dirt.

Amplifier, Echo Street.

Fourth album from this rock-prog trio is quieter and more soothing, but still menacing. It’s nice stuff, and in just the right dose after the monolithic Octopus album. Still, the songs don’t change quite enough for me. Insider is still best.

Philip H. Anselmo and the Illegals, Walk Through Exits Only.

Short, loud record from the former singer of Pantera. It’s hard to hate an album that starts with a song called “Music Media Is My Whore.” If you liked Anselmo before, this won’t change your mind.

Anthrax, Anthems.

Covers EP from the reunited Anthrax. Songs from Rush, Thin Lizzy, AC/DC, Boston… wait, Boston? This is fine, but it doesn’t do much to expand the Anthrax legacy. The best part is the artwork, with its classic album cover mock-ups. New son

Bad Religion, Christmas Songs.

Yes, this exists. Yes, they take it seriously. Versions of eight Christmas carols played exactly the way you would expect this band to play them. Loud and fast and full of harmonies. Best Christmas record I bought this year, in fact.

Baths, Obsidian.

Dark, thick electronic music from this band. The first song is called “Worsening,” and it’s tremendous, unlike anything else I’ve heard. The rest is not as good, but still interesting. I’ll keep buying new records from them.

Best Coast, Fade Away.

More sad, sweet pop music from this duo on this seven-song EP. Best Coast doesn’t make waves, and they aren’t trying to revolutionize anything. Given that, I think this stuff is fine. There’s more keyboards on this one, but otherwise, the template is unchanged.

Big Country, The Journey.

I wanted to like this so much. Mike Peters of the Alarm is the new singer for Big Country, and this is their first album together. It’s kind of bland, and kind of cheaply made. There are some swell songs on here, but overall, it’s a letdown.

James Blake, Overgrown.

It’s my fault that this magnificent album is relegated to Fifty Second Week. It earned an honorable mention, and deserves one. Blake’s voice is amazing, and his minimalist electronic soundscapes accent it perfectly. It’s a particular style, but one he does amazingly well. Buy this.

The Blind Boys of Alabama, I’ll Find a Way.

Justin Vernon had a busy year, and he capped it by producing the new Blind Boys album. The whole thing bears Vernon’s fingerprint, particularly the array of guest singers. But the soul of the thing is still the Blind Boys themselves, who sing these old gospel songs like no one else.

Glen Campbell, See You There.

Campbell’s this-time-we-mean-it final album is a retrospective, with re-recordings of some of his most famous songs. There’s a new version of “Wichita Lineman” on here, my favorite song of all time, and it may be better than the original. The rest is very good indeed, and Campbell’s voice is still in fine form.

Chvrches, The Bones of What You Believe.

Chilly, delicious synth pop from this Scottish group with a great singer. I like these songs a lot, but the sound gets wearying after an entire album. I’m interested to keep listening, because the first few songs are so damn good.

Harry Connick Jr., Every Man Should Know.

Oh Harry. This is your blandest adult contemporary pop album ever. I know you wanted to stretch out here and try styles you’ve never sung, but man, try some good styles next time. This is warmed-over nothing, and not a patch on the big band stuff you do so well.

Cut Copy, Free Your Mind.

Meh. Decent synth pop from this Australian group, but this is their worst, most thrown-together album. The cover art is pretty indicative of the lack of focus and drive exhibited here. It’s not awful, but it’s not as good as this band usually is.

Dead Can Dance, In Concert.

Holy crap, Dead Can Dance toured last year, and here’s the proof. This live document shows just how good they are, even as it focuses heavily on their comeback album Anastasis. This is really great stuff, and I wish I’d seen them play it live.

Deafheaven, Sunbather.

I’ve never heard anything quite like this. Extreme metal screaming over some dreamy, and yet still fucking heavy music. It’s an interesting mix, but I’m not sure yet whether I like it. The pink cover is pretty awesome, though.

Disclosure, Settle.

Do you like to dance? Then you’ll like Disclosure, an old-school dance music throwback band. This album is pretty great if you like this style. It’s repetitive beats and samples, worked together into a danceable mix. It’s good.

Dream Theater.

I swear I don’t even remember listening to this more than once. Dream Theater’s second album with new drummer Mike Mangini just follows their formula once again. Lots of soloing, long songs with instrumental passages that go on forever, some nice melodies oversung by James Labrie. I may be over Dream Theater. Sad.

Eisley, Currents.

Not sure why I didn’t review this. Fourth album from this family dream pop band is very good. The songs are sharp, the melodies tight, the playing right on. I really need to start prioritizing my reviews next year.

Eluvium, Nightmare Ending.

Two CDs of beautiful ambience and delicate piano work from Matthew Cooper. This is just gorgeous, and it made me want to go back and buy all the Eluvium records. If you like floaty ambient goodness, this is definitely for you.

Ben Folds Five, Live.

Another tour I wish I’d seen. The reunited Ben Folds Five just kills it on this record, slamming through songs old and new. And stacked up next to the old stuff, the new material holds its own just fine, thank you very much. I hope this reunion continues.

Future Bible Heroes, Partygoing.

More sardonic, synthy goodness from this Stephin Merritt side project. This third album is the equal of the other two, easily. How could you not love songs with titles like “Keep Your Children in a Coma,” “Let’s Go to Sleep (And Never Come Back)” and “Love is a Luxury I Can No Longer Afford”?

John Grant, Pale Green Ghosts.

Another simultaneously hilarious and very raw work from the former lead singer of the Czars. This album contains “G.M.F.,” which all by itself should have guaranteed it a review. It’s funny, it’s sad, it’s honest, it’s catchy. It’s John Grant.

The Head and the Heart, Let’s Be Still.

Disappointing second album from a band that I really liked in 2011. Most of these songs are too simple, too basic to hold my attention. There’s some sweet stuff here, but most of it is just too bland. Too bad, I was really looking forward to this one.

Henry Fool, Men Singing.

It took this jazz-prog band 12 years to deliver these 40 minutes. They’re not bad – long, proggy instrumentals with some fine improvisation. But I have no idea what took them so long.

Jandek, The Song of Morgan.

This is a nine-CD set of piano improvisations by a guy who can’t really play the piano. Texas recluse Jandek made headlines with this release, but while it’s fascinating in theory, it’s pretty boring to listen to.

Jellyfish, Radio Jellyfish.

I’ve been waiting for this one, and it’s wonderful. Ten tracks of live acoustic Jellyfish, recorded in the studio at radio stations. Some of these songs rank among my favorites ever, and Jellyfish could really pull off those harmonies live. This is scrumptious. Jellyfish forever!

Kid Cudi, Indicud.

I like Kid Cudi for his smoky, minimalist style. So I don’t much like this third effort, loaded down with guest stars and big production. It’s just not his thing, really. Cudi is still an interesting rapper and singer, but his attempts to be normal he

Linkin Park, Recharged.

Remix record from the sorta-disappointing Living Things. This is pretty good, though, and the new song “A Light That Never Comes” made me smile. Linkin Park still has a way to go to match the great A Thousand Suns, but I hope they can.

Living Sacrifice, Ghost Thief.

Awesome new record from this long-standing metal band. The riffs are tight, the songs epic, the album is just great. Not sure what else needs to be said. If you like loud and fast, this is both of those things.

The Lonely Island, The Wack Album.

Third album from this comedy troupe is still pretty funny, despite some clangers. I love it when Justin Timberlake sits in with them, and as a grammar nerd, “Semicolon” had me fuming until the surprise ending. Not bad, not bad.

Steve Martin and Edie Brickell, Love Has Come For You.

Wow, this is lovely. Martin on his banjo and Brickell with her golden voice tackle a bunch of original folk songs that sound centuries old. They’re wonderful concoctions with a darker side, and these two bring them off marvelously.

Megadeth, Countdown to Extinction Live.

Megadeth runs through their most successful album live in concert. The record still holds up today, I think, as an example of how to streamline a metal band for the masses. It’s way better than the Black Album by that other M-band.

Metallica, Through the Never Soundtrack.

Oh yeah, them. I give Metallica a lot of shit (which they mostly deserve), but this movie was awesome, and the concert it documents is a stormer. The band slams its way through songs both old and new, and they sound reborn. Tight, monstrous. And nothing from Lulu, thank fuck.

MGMT.

Oh my god. What is this? I can’t believe this scattered mess of a record was made by the same people who crafted Oracular Spectacular. It boggles the mind that they were happy with this, and that Columbia Records thought this was worthy of worldwide release. Boggles. The. Mind.

The Milk Carton Kids, The Ash and Clay.

So they’re the Everly Brothers, basically. I saw this two-guys-and-two-acoustic-guitars band open for Over the Rhine, and their songs are sweet and simple confections with deliriously good harmonies. Basically, the Everly Brothers. Nothing here will dispel that comparison.

Mount Moriah, Miracle Temple.

Nice heartland-y folk-rock from this Merge band. Heather McEntire has a strong voice. This isn’t original enough to stick with you, but it’s nice.

Palms.

The Deftones’ Chino Moreno meets the guys from Isis in this thunderous side project. This sounds about like you’d expect it to, but I’m willing to bet that the sound you’re hearing in your head as you imagine this is awesome, and accurate. This is a very good little record.

Queens of the Stone Age, Like Clockwork.

Gah! Why didn’t I review this one? I have no idea. Josh Homme’s outfit pushed themselves on this release and went some places they’ve never been. This is quite good, particularly “My God is the Sun.” I’m sure you all have this already, but if not, buy it.

Joshua Redman, Walking Shadows.

Intriguingly sedate work from saxophonist Redman, along with pianist Brad Mehldau, bassist Larry Grenadier and drummer Brian Blade. That’s a winning combination, so why is Redman making them play a light-jazz take on John Mayer’s “Stop This Train”?

Rush, Clockwork Angels Tour.

Woo, another three-CD live album from Rush. I mean, they’re great and all, and Clockwork Angels was their best in a long time, but how many versions of “Tom Sawyer” and “Limelight” do they think I need? This is fine, but unnecessary.

Savages, Silence Yourself.

This band is very Siouxie and the Banshees, no? Jehnny Beth’s wailing vocals, the guitars, the keyboards, it all fits. I like this album, reservedly, but I’m interested to see where else they can go.

Smith Westerns, Soft Will.

I swear I listened to this a couple times, but I don’t remember it at all. I’m sure it’s another slab of confident pop-rock with melodies that sound sweet when you’re hearing them, but don’t really stick. I could listen again, I guess.

Son Volt, Honky Tonk.

This sounds exactly like you’d think a Son Volt album called Honky Tonk would sound. Old-school classic country twang, Jay Farrar’s distinctive voice, nothing really special about it. There’s even a song called “Bakersfield,” for pity’s sake.

Colin Stetson, New History Warfare Vol. 3: To See More Light.

This guy’s just fascinating. He uses a circular breathing technique to create dense, kinetic, terrifying soundscapes on the tenor and bass saxophone. It’s unlike anything else I have heard. Justin Vernon (him again?) pops up on a couple songs.

The Strokes, Comedown Machine.

The Strokes turn to ‘80s synthesizers, remain pretty shitty. Film at eleven.

Telekinesis, Dormarion.

I’m not sure why I keep buying Telekinesis albums. They’re fun pop, but I don’t remember them 10 minutes after they’ve stopped playing. This one isn’t ringing any bells, no matter how hard I stare at the track listing.

Chris Thile, Bach Sonatas and Partitas Vol. 1.

The biggest Thile and Bach fan I know was disappointed by this. I liked it quite a bit. Thile turns his mandolin genius to these solo violin pieces by Johann Sebastian, and pulls them off nicely. The ultra-fast ones are particularly impressive.

Laura Viers, Warp and Weft.

Another album that deserved a review. Laura Viers has a long track record of writing terrific acoustic folk-pop songs, and this is yet another in a long line of really good records. “Sun Song” is wonderful, the rest of the album follows suit.

Washed Out, Paracosm.

More delightfully icy synth work from this guy. I liked this record a lot too, although I’m struggling to remember much about it now. If you liked the last Washed Out album, this one is better. Or so I remember thinking.

Steven Wilson, Drive Home.

A DVD and CD mini-album from the Porcupine Tree frontman, following up his fantastic solo album The Raven That Refused to Sing and Other Stories. The highlight of this EP is a version of that album’s title track with an orchestra. Wilson can do no wrong.

Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Mosquito.

The cover and first single led me to expect something trashy and fun. This is neither. It’s another attempt at maturity, but the whole thing comes off as a bit of a mess. Which is a shame after the swell It’s Blitz.

And that, as they say, is that. Thanks for reading my silly music column this year (and every year). I’m taking next week off to relax, but I’ll be back on January 8 with more ramblings. Year 14. I can hardly believe it. Merry Christmas, happy New Year. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Leave a comment on my blog at tm3am.blogspot.com. Follow me on Facebook at www.facebook.com/tm3am, and Twitter at www.twitter.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning… and to all a good night.

Here we are at the end of another year, and all I can say is this: I hope your 2013 was as good as mine.

Personally, professionally and musically, this year was pretty great for me. In fact, if I were ranking a top 10 list of years instead of albums, it would likely rate pretty highly. I end this year even happier than when I began it, and that was pretty damn happy. I can’t decide if it’s because my life is actually better than it was this time last year, or if I’ve just grown better at being happy. It’s probably a combination of both. But if you’ve been reading the ups and downs of my life with this column for the last 13 years, know that I am in the best place you’ve ever known me to be.

But enough about real life. How was the music of 2013? Quite frankly, it was all over the place, and those are the most exciting years, as far as I’m concerned. While the highs were not as high as those of the past few years – there’s no A Church That Fits Our Needs, no The Age of Adz to make compiling this list easy – the lows were not nearly as low. The 2013 list contains 10 solid records, in 10 totally different genres. (And that number one record is in 12 different genres all by itself.) There was no rhyme nor reason to it, but for a musical omnivore like me, these are the best years.

Before we hit the list, let’s go over the rules again, just in case you’re new to this game. This list contains only new full-length studio albums released between January 1 and December 31. (Well, December 18, but there’s nothing amazing scheduled for the rest of the year.) No live albums, no EPs, no best-ofs and no covers albums allowed. As I mentioned last week, these rules kept out a couple of my favorites this year, including Shearwater’s Fellow Travelers and Peter Gabriel’s And I’ll Scratch Yours.

But it did leave room for these 10 extraordinary records, all of which moved me and thrilled me this year. There are some real surprises here, even to me – I did not see my top pick of the year coming, for example, and I first heard the album at number nine about two weeks ago. Anyway, ain’t no list like a tm3am list, so let’s get to it.

#10. Little Green Cars, Absolute Zero.

Three of the albums on this list are new discoveries for me, which may be a record. This is the first of them. This Dublin quintet is my favorite new band of the year, and their debut album is a remarkably assured trip through beauty and pain. It kicks off with “Harper Lee,” one of 2013’s most infectious singles, so you know it’s going to be good right off the bat. But what you won’t expect is the depth of feeling the band brings to songs like “The Kitchen Floor,” or “My Love Took Me Down to the River to Silence Me.” Everyone in the band sings, and they make the most of it, trading off lead vocals and harmonizing like angels. Absolute Zero is a deceptively dark record, but it’s one that points to a bright future for a startlingly good new band.

#9. Jason Isbell, Southeastern.

I owe Tony Scott for this one. Two weeks ago, I’d never heard Jason Isbell, and now, I can’t get his haunting, powerful songs out of my head. Southeastern is his fourth record since splitting with the Drive-By Truckers, but it’s his first since getting out of rehab, and every line pulses with fresh perspective. Isbell has crafted the finest set of lyrics I encountered this year, from the glorious love-saves-us opener “Cover Me Up” to the regretful “Different Days” to the shocking “Yvette,” and to the year’s most devastating song, the cancer lament “Elephant.” Isbell’s tales are remarkably well observed, elevating his fairly traditional tunes. No modern Americana artist made a better record this year (or last year, or the year before) than Jason Isbell.

#8. Fish, A Feast of Consequences.

Fish used to be in Marillion, and that’s the only reason I started following the big Scotsman’s middling solo career. Amazingly, though, he’s been on a stunning upswing since Field of Crows in 2005, and this is the apex. I did not expect it, but A Feast of Consequences – funded entirely through fan pre-orders and produced and released on his own – is Fish’s best solo album. The centerpiece, of course, is the five-song “High Wood” suite, in which Fish delves into the horrors of World War I with some of his most dramatic music. But the six songs that round out the album are all consistent and top-notch as well, particularly the heartbreaking “Blind to the Beautiful” and the 11-minute opener, “Perfume River.” Fish has never made an album this consistent, this thoughtful before. A Feast of Consequences is the best kind of surprise, and if it ends up being his last, it’s a terrific way to bow out.

#7. Daniel Amos, Dig Here, Said the Angel.

This record as well could be its authors’ grand finale, and though I would mourn one of the greatest bands of the last 40 years, I’d be all right with this final statement. Terry Taylor and the band funded their first new album in a decade through Kickstarter, and took in thousands more than they asked for. They used that money to create a lush, elegant, rich album about mortality and faith. From the ravages of age that infuse “Jesus Wept” to the dark spirituality of the title track to the celebratory post-mortem “Now That I’ve Died,” death is on Taylor’s mind here, and his perspective is, as always, compelling. The band matches him with some of their sharpest and loudest material, and then caps the album with a glorious singalong called “The Sun Shines on Everyone.” You probably didn’t hear this record, but you definitely should. It’s a tremendous capstone on an amazing career. Go here.

#6. Tom Odell, Long Way Down.

The third new discovery on this list, and my favorite. Odell is only 23, and Long Way Down is his debut, but you’d never know it. This album is so accomplished, so assured, that it feels like the work of a man 10 years Odell’s senior. With “Can’t Pretend,” the British piano-pop wunderkind wrote one of the year’s finest songs, packing more soaring drama into four minutes than most manage in a lifetime. The album that surrounds it is similarly wonderful, with standouts including the exuberant “Hold Me,” the delicate title track, and the absolutely soul-lifting “Heal.” Odell’s voice is huge, rich and full, and it carries this record into orbit. He even gives us a tender, respectful cover of Randy Newman’s “I Think It’s Going to Rain Today.” Of all the new artists I heard this year, Odell’s career is the one I am most excited to follow.

#5. Frightened Rabbit, Pedestrian Verse.

This one grabbed hold of the list early and never let go. The absolutely crushing fourth album from this Scottish band is their finest work, all crashing guitars and the literate, bile-filled lyrics of Scott Hutchison. While their frontman turned his gaze inward, penning songs about his own propensity for darkness and the futility of change, the band turned outward, writing for the rafters. This is an album of full-on powerhouses from start to finish – if you can listen to the one-two-three punch of “Backyard Skulls,” “Holy” and “The Woodpile” and not move, something’s wrong with you. Pedestrian Verse is the year’s best rock record, one that disguises its sickness with sheer force.

#4. Daft Punk, Random Access Memories.

Yes, “Get Lucky” was everywhere, and yes, it’s a great earworm. But it only tells a small part of the story of Random Access Memories, this French duo’s finest effort by a long way. Pulling in real musicians for most of the tracks, including the great Nile Rodgers, was a masterstroke, infusing this record’s throwbacks with real soul. Song for song, this is a tremendous album, one that makes room for a nine-minute electronic stomper in the style of Giorgio Moroder, an operatic powerhouse, an electro-pop collaboration with Julian Casablancas, and a smashing tribute to old-school Hall and Oates. But it’s hearing these tracks in sequence that truly shows the breadth of Daft Punk’s ambition. Only one band made a more diverse album this year, and they’re at number one. Daft Punk have always been inventive, but Random Access Memories is on another level entirely.

#3. Janelle Monae, The Electric Lady.

This woman is an absolute genius. Her second full-length comprises Suites IV and V of her ongoing robots-in-love science fiction drama. It also fully cements her reputation as a winning combination of Erykah Badu and Prince, both of whom guest on this album. Her brand of soul-pop is wide enough to encompass the down-and-dirty guitar jams of “Givin’ ‘Em What They Love,” the full-on party of “Dance Apocalyptic,” the raise-your-hands stomp of “Q.U.E.E.N.,” the honey-dripped balladry of “Look Into My Eyes” and the epic almost-prog of “Sally Ride.” This is a big record bursting with big ideas, and Monae pulls them off with a rare and striking confidence. If I had the ability to put the future of pop music in her hands, to guide and shape, I would do it. The Electric Lady is that good.

#2. Over the Rhine, Meet Me at the Edge of the World.

I end this year feeling contented, so it’s natural that I was drawn to this, the most comfortable and beautiful album Over the Rhine has made. It’s split into two distinct discs, but taken together, it’s a delightful document of peace, of arriving at a special place and just sitting down and taking it all in. The album was inspired by the farmstead Karin Bergquist and Linford Detwiler have shared for years, and it’s rustic and earthy in ways this band has never been. Bergquist still has one of the finest voices of our time, but Detwiler comes into his own as a singer here as well – listen to them trade off on the tremendous “All Over Ohio.” The songs are glorious, the playing and singing sublime. But it’s the warmth that radiates out of every groove, the sense of reflecting on a life well lived and loved, that makes this album truly shine. It’s my favorite Over the Rhine album, and that’s saying a great deal.

But it wasn’t the best thing I heard. This year’s number one flew at me out of nowhere, and it continues to hold me captive. I can’t stop listening to it. I’m as surprised as you are, I promise.

#1. Gungor, I Am Mountain.

I like inventive church music, so I’d been keeping up with Gungor for years. But nothing prepared me – and, I’m sure, the band’s longtime fans – for the wondrous insanity that is I Am Mountain. Every one of these 12 songs takes the band down a different musical path, one they’ve never traveled, but it’s the way this album flows, the way Michael and Lisa Gungor shaped it out of these disparate parts, that really drives this home. Gungor has evolved tenfold in the space of one album, ditching the liturgical concerns that have driven the band in favor of something darker, more doubtful, more grounded. But it’s the music that will drop your jaw. One moment they’ll be delivering a Sufjan Stevens-style acoustic epic with a soaring chorus, the next grinding it out like Jack White, and the next using Darth Vader’s breathing sound as a percussion instrument to elevate a Portishead-style synth aria.

Diversity is one thing – and this album is the most wildly diverse I heard this year. But to corral that diversity into an album that draws you through from one end to the other is just magnificent genius. The finale of this record is an eight-minute stunner called “Upside Down,” and listening to its buildup and crashdown is just astonishing. I Am Mountain contains many of my favorite songs of the year, but it also connects them into my favorite full-length experience of the year, and that’s a feat worth celebrating. It’s just an incredible listen, the band’s most fully realized effort, and the best overall record of the year.

So that’s it. Next week is Fifty Second Week, and then we’re done. I want to thank everyone who read along this year, and who sent me emails and encouraging thoughts. You’re the reason I keep doing this. I’m about to start my 14th year, and it remains worth it. Thank you, all of you. Come back next week to wrap up Year 13.

Leave a comment on my blog at tm3am.blogspot.com. Follow me on Facebook at www.facebook.com/tm3am, and Twitter at www.twitter.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning.

Well, it looks like it’s going to be me against the world again when it comes to Kanye West.

Three years ago, I took the unpopular stance that West’s My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy was a bloated, self-indulgent mess, a waste of the man’s prodigious talents. I’ve mellowed on it since then, but I still wouldn’t put it anywhere near my 2010 top 10 list. And I watched with dismay as critic after critic vaulted Fantasy to the top of their lists, ignoring all the faults I saw in it, and giving West carte blanche to let his ego run wild.

And now the same thing is happening with Yeezus, West’s sloppy, over-loved sixth album. Despite the imaginative production, I found most of the record repulsive. West wrote the lyrics quickly, which means they’re his unfiltered thoughts, and man, they paint him as a repugnant individual. His lyrics not only ruined this record, they defiled it, like spray-painting dicks on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. West remains a fascinating, polarizing figure, but this strange and ugly record is the worst kind of indulgence.

And yet, here’s Pitchfork and Entertainment Weekly and the AV Club lauding it as the year’s best album. I really don’t get it. I mean, I understand what they’re hearing – an iconoclast delivering yet another surprise in a career full of them – but the record itself just doesn’t deserve all the praise it’s getting. Suffice it to say that Yeezus is not on my top 10 list. As you can see by scrolling down a bit, it didn’t even rate an honorable mention. So don’t be surprised when it’s not there.

But enough about what I didn’t like in 2013. Let’s talk about the best stuff I heard.

Next week I’m going to post the top 10 list. This week, though, I’m going to give shout-outs to the 14 albums that earned honorable mentions. That’s down a little from 2012, but that’s largely because 2013 was a more consistently good year. I know that doesn’t seem to make sense, but it does – the highs of last year were higher, but the lows were also lower. 2013 was generally very good. Not outstanding – nothing walloped me quite like Lost in the Trees did last year – but very good. That means fewer records rose above the curve.

Before we get to the honorables, let’s talk about a few that would have made my list, if they were eligible. Two of them are covers records – Shearwater’s Fellow Travelers felt like a new record from this extraordinary band, so elegant were its adaptations, and Peter Gabriel’s And I’ll Scratch Yours rose above its “tribute album to myself” concept to deliver a dozen diverse takes on Gabriel’s exquisite catalog. The third, Quiet Company’s A Dead Man On My Back, was more of a reinvention, as the amazing Austin band re-recorded its debut album, bringing it to new life.

So, on to the honorable mentions.

I never got around to reviewing James Blake’s Overgrown, but I really should have. On his second album, the British wunderkind refined his sparse electronic sound, and gave us another helping of his spectral, haunting voice. I shouldn’t have ignored it. I also slept on Harper Simon’s sophomore album, Division Street, quite a bit too long. Simon boldly broke free from the folk-pop of his debut (and from the shadow of his famous father), crafting a loud, splendid slice of melodic rock. Don’t let my negligence keep you from buying either of these.

The Joy Formidable stormed onto early drafts of the top 10 list with Wolf’s Law. The trio went even bigger and fuller on their second album, crafting a thick guitar symphony. Justin Timberlake, believe it or not, made one of 2013’s best pop records with the original 20/20 Experience. (Let’s pretend the sequel doesn’t exist.) Laura Marling ripped her soul open on Once I Was an Eagle, her astoundingly accomplished fourth record. And the other Laura of 2013, Laura Mvula, stormed out of the gate with a unique soul record called Sing to the Moon. She was one of my favorite discoveries this year.

Neko Case made her strongest (ahem) case with the impressively titled The Worse Things Get, the Harder I Fight, the Harder I Fight, the More I Love You. The Feeling staged a comeback after their dismal third album, issuing the organic and winning Boy Cried Wolf. Speaking of comebacks, Vampire Weekend stomped all over their disappointing second effort with their third, Modern Vampires of the City. Rolling Stone called Modern Vampires the album of the year, and for a while there, I agreed with them.

2013 was a year of returns after long absences. Toad the Wet Sprocket turned to Kickstarter to fund their first record in 16 years, New Constellation. Although much of it reminded me more of Glen Phillips’ solo work, it was worth the wait. Mazzy Star returned after 17 years with Seasons of Your Day, picking up right where they left off, hazy dream-pop intact. But the big prize goes to My Bloody Valentine, who waited 21 years to bring us m b v, an album that remarkably pushes their iconic sound forward in ways no one could have anticipated.

And finally, 2013 saw old-school geniuses recapturing some of that old spark and delivering their best records in ages. Paul McCartney’s New is better than it has any right to be, having been assembled from various sessions. What unifies it is McCartney’s songwriting, at its strongest in many years. But the biggest surprise came from Elton John, who gave us the glorious gift of The Diving Board, his best album in about 40 years. Sir Elton is back on piano, writing as if he were in his 20s again, and the result is marvelous.

Those are the ones that didn’t make the list. Come back next week to see the ten best. And feel free to send me your lists as well. Even if they include Yeezus.

Leave a comment on my blog at tm3am.blogspot.com. Follow me on Facebook at www.facebook.com/tm3am, and Twitter at www.twitter.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning.

Hard to believe it’s December already.

We only have four columns left in 2013, and if you’re a longtime reader, you know what they all are. This week I am rounding up some of the records I missed (and some that have just come out). Next week I’ll list the honorable mentions and some of my favorite ineligibles, before getting to the top 10 list on Dec. 18. And then it’s Fifty Second Week on Christmas Day. Following that will be my customary week off, before we start the new year.

I do this little ritual every year, and I still get a charge out of it. I love lists. I love making lists, and reading lists, and arguing about lists. I hope that there are others out there like me, and my own little list causes a few discussions. I’m also hoping you’ll send me yours, and tell me what I missed.

Speaking of things I missed, here we go.

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It’s December 4, and I may have to revise my top 10 list.

This rarely happens, and when it does, it’s usually my own fault. The record companies hardly ever release good stuff during the end-of-the-year doldrums. (We got a new Brendan Benson album this year, and that’s about the best we can expect.) So if something sneaks onto the list in December, chances are good it’s been out for a while, and it just got by me. I hate that it happens, but it does.

The point being, I just listened to Jason Isbell’s Southeastern for the first time. And then heard it a second, and a third.

Isbell is the former lead guitarist for the Drive-By Truckers. Southeastern is his fourth solo album, but the first one I’ve heard. I’m not usually blown away by heartland Americana music – it uses the same chords in the same order a bit too often for me, emphasizing traditional sounds and authenticity over creativity and surprising melodies. Ryan Adams and Bill Mallonee are about as trad-rock as I usually get. An artist like Isbell, who writes pretty typical-sounding country-folk songs, needs something unique to reel me in.

Isbell has it. Not only is his voice compelling in and of itself, but Southeastern contains the finest set of lyrics I have encountered all year. (Sorry, Frightened Rabbit. Pedestrian Verse is now in second place.) His stories are raw and real, but his verse is imaginative and illuminating at every turn. He had me from the chorus of the tender, wintry opener, “Cover Me Up,” which goes like this: “Girl, leave your boots by the bed, we ain’t leaving this room ‘til someone needs medical help, or the magnolias bloom, it’s cold in this house and I ain’t going outside to chop wood, so cover me up and know you’re enough to use me for good.” That’s just wonderful.

From there, the album moves from strength to strength. “Different Days” is a haunted tune about maturity, Isbell confessing that once he would have used people, but can’t fathom doing that now. “Songs that She Sang in the Shower” might be the best “I miss her” song I’ve heard in a long time, as Isbell reminisces about the titular songs: “Wish You Were Here,” for instance, or “Yesterday’s Wine.” “Flying Over Water” is a lovely song of support, while “Yvette” brings a particular chill – it’s about an abused girl, and what the song’s narrator does about it.

The best and most poignant thing here, though, is “Elephant,” which explores with an unflinching gaze a man’s relationship with a woman dying of cancer. “I’d sing her classic country songs, and she’d get high and sing along, she don’t have a voice to sing with now, we burn these joints in effigy and cry about what used to be and try to ignore the elephant somehow…” It’s heartrending, and remarkably well observed. At the other end of the spectrum is the similarly excellent closer, “Relatively Easy,” about how love makes everything better. “Compared to people on a global scale our kind has had it relatively easy, and here with you there’s always something to look forward to, my angry heart beats relatively easy…”

I’m not sure where Southeastern will rank when I finalize my list this week, but it’s probably going to be there. I’m rarely moved to tears or to big, wide smiles by music of this stripe, but Jason Isbell has made something special here. This is up there with the best stuff I have heard from Ryan Adams, and that’s a huge compliment. I wish I’d heard this earlier – it came out in June – but I’m glad I finally heard it. Thanks to those who recommended it. You were right.

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I recently picked up another album many have suggested to me – Days Are Gone, the debut from sister act Haim. And while this one didn’t strike me as thoroughly as Isbell’s did, I reservedly liked it.

Danielle, Alana and Este Haim are all young – the oldest is 27, the youngest is 22 – so it’s remarkable how steeped in Stevie Nicks-style pop from the ‘80s. Their album is slick and largely synthesized, with that big, hollow Me Decade drum sound and loads of harmonies and countermelodies. It’s all light and fun, even though occasionally it’s so weightless that it floats away. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, of course, but over 11 songs, I found my attention wandering.

The first three songs set the Haim template well. “Falling,” “Forever” and “The Wire” are all pretty similar, with catchy choruses that nevertheless eschew big hooks, and warm synthesizers providing the cushiony bedrock. “Falling” is about perseverance: “I’ll never look back, never give up, and if it gets rough, it’s time to get rough.” Most of the songs on Days Are Gone are about love, in simple, poppy terms. “The Wire” uses a Gary Glitter rock beat, layering sweet guitars and harmonies atop it, while the lyrics are about that one mistake that ends relationships.

The album never hits those heights again, preferring to repeat the formula as often as possible. It’s a nice formula, but it gets wearying over an entire album. The one moment of diversion is a fascinating one: “My Song 5” incorporates more modern production techniques, augmenting a slow, clubby crawl with dark synths and vocal warping. It’s not entirely successful, but it is different. The rest of Days Are Gone represents a nice start from a band with an interesting sensibility. Looking forward to hearing where they go from here.

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Of course, you can have all the potential in the world and still end up squandering it. Case in point: there’s a new Boston album, and it’s awful.

The collapse of Boston has been difficult to watch. As I’ve mentioned before, I still consider their 1986 wonderama Third Stage one of my favorite records, trite as it is. That album took eight years to complete, and was the true start of Tom Scholz’ perfectionism. It paid off on Third Stage – that record sounds labored over in the best possible way, every note contributing to the whole. But it’s been 26 years since then, with only three new Boston albums. The subsequent records were separated by eight, eight and 11 years, respectively, and Scholz was steadily working on them during that time. He’s obsessive.

Unfortunately, it’s been diminishing returns ever since. Six years ago, original singer Brad Delp killed himself, which to me signaled the true end of Boston, particularly after the disastrous Corporate America album in 2002. But no, here’s record number six, Life, Love and Hope. And it’s somehow worse than even their lowest point to date. For one thing, it’s amazing that an 11-year effort by a noted perfectionist sounds this muddled and confused. The arrangements are messy when they should be full and rich. Scholz played almost all of the instruments, and while he remains a bold guitar player, he’s not a very good drummer, and the bedrock of each of these songs is shaky.

Scholz obviously considers himself the only real member of this band, as he taps four vocalists in addition to himself. Yes, Delp is here – he recorded his lead vocals on “Sail Away” before his death, but more egregiously, this album resurrects three songs from Corporate America and includes them, including two that Delp sang. Yes, the same songs from the previous album. One of them, “Didn’t Mean to Fall in Love,” is here in the exact same recording. Quite the rip-off, especially after 11 years.

The new songs aren’t terrible, but they aren’t good either. Lead single “Heaven on Earth,” sung by David Victor, is like a pale shadow of the classic Boston sound. “Sail Away,” written as a reaction to Hurricane Katrina (in 2005!), should be an epic – Delp soars, the guitars crash, the harmonies are where they should be, but the song stays earthbound. The straight-ahead rockers, like the title track and “Someday,” work better, but they just make you want to hear the older stuff again. Scholz himself sings “Love Got Away,” and it sounds just like you expect it would. Except for a couple of guitar fills from Gary Pihl, it’s the first Boston song created by no one but Scholz, and I think that’s the way he wants it.

It’s a shame, really. As much as I like Third Stage, I think Scholz learned the wrong lessons from that experience, and turned Boston into an even more sealed-off entity than it was. Life, Love and Hope is pretty awful, and it pains me to hear the late, great Brad Delp again under these circumstances. In the liner notes, Scholz describes himself as Boston’s harshest critic. I think he needs to find a harsher one. This is nowhere near the standard he has set for himself, and sounds to me like a waste of 11 years.

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In complete contrast to Boston, the guys in Hammock work very quickly.

Last year saw the ambient wunderkinds release their first double album, Departure Songs. Now here’s the follow-up, called Oblivion Hymns, and once again, they’ve made something soul-crushingly beautiful. Hammock music feels like experiencing the expanse and wonder of the universe, all at once. They work not in notes or tunes, but in waves, enveloping you with sound and lifting you off the ground.

So far, Marc Byrd and Andrew Thompson have stuck to their template – lush seascapes of guitar stretching out to the horizon, with some drums and vocals occasionally. But on Oblivion Hymns, they stretch out, and somehow find a place even more beautiful. Most of these 10 songs use a full string section in addition to the glorious, treated guitar work, and many of them bring in a haunting children’s choir. The effect is ethereal, bringing a new dimension to what was already one of the most gorgeous sounds on the planet.

Opener “My Mind Was a Fog… My Heart Became a Bomb” introduces you to the strings, and they’re massive. They’re used more for texture than melody – the string lines don’t move a lot, but rather wash over you. When they glide in halfway through “Then the Quiet Explosion,” it’s like the heavens opening, and then the choir only adds to that feeling. I have no idea what words these kids are singing – everything on Oblivion Hymns is dripping with so much reverb that it all blurs together into a single sound. The choir is given a showcase near the end of “I Could Hear the Water at the Edge of All Things,” and for those two minutes, you won’t be able to imagine anything prettier.

Hammock saves the biggest surprise for the end. Timothy Showalter, of Strand of Oaks, provides lead vocals on “Tres Domine,” the hymn that closes the record out. His vocals are the most distinct element of the album, and when he reaches for the brass ring on “beneath the endless sky,” it’s soul-lifting in an entirely new way. Oblivion Hymns is proof that even though Hammock releases a lot of music – they’re working on an even newer album now – they’re not resting on a formula. They’re experimenting, and in this case, the experiment is a rousing, beautiful success.

Check them out here.

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Next week, the honorables. Leave a comment on my blog at tm3am.blogspot.com. Follow me on Facebook at www.facebook.com/tm3am, and Twitter at www.twitter.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning.