This is Fifty Second Week.

It’s also likely the last Fifty Second Week. I haven’t mentioned this anywhere else, but it feels appropriate to do so here: at the end of next year, it is my intention to bring Tuesday Morning 3 A.M. to a close. It feels like the right time to finish this project off. Next year will be my 20th year writing this weekly music column, and sometime in September or October I will pass 1000 columns. Both of these seem like sufficiently round numbers to satisfy my mildly OCD brain.

But more importantly, this column has become more of a burden than a joy over the past couple years. The weekly deadline has felt more like a punishment than a healthy challenge, and I’ve fallen behind more often than I would like. This year I even took an entire month off to get my mind straight, and while I was happy to get back to writing, it was then that I made the decision to finish off this two-decade-long effort.

I’m not even sure what kind of readership this site has. I never wanted to make money with tm3am, or to promote it like a business, which I’m sure has cost me in terms of exposure. Lately, though, it’s felt quite a bit more lonely, like I’m shouting into a vacuum. I hope you’re still out there. And if you are, I hope you’ll stick around for the last 50 or so of these things. But even if you have jumped ship and will never read these words, I hope you know what your support has meant to me over the years. I’m eternally grateful.

So yeah, I expect the last Tuesday Morning 3 A.M. column will run on the last week of 2020, and I don’t want to waste that spot with Fifty Second Week, fun as it is. So this is probably the last one, which means it’s the last time I get to explain what this is and why I do it.

Put simply, I buy a ton of music during the year, much of which is worth writing about. But I never have time nor energy to devote to full reviews of everything. At the end of each year, I take a look at my backlog from that year and select 52 albums that I probably should have written about. And then I give myself 50 seconds to review each one. I have a little timer on my desktop, and when it dings, I stop writing. Even if I’m in the middle of a sentence. (Though truth be told, I’ve been doing this long enough now that I am hardly ever in the middle of a sentence when the timer dings.)

It’s a fun way to wrap up the year, and I hope it’s as enjoyable to read as it is to knock together. If you’re ready, I have 52 albums to get through. Let’s begin.

Ray Alder, What the Water Wants.

Ray Alder is the lead singer of Fates Warning, and his solo album sounds like his band, if perhaps a little more mellow. That means the melodies aren’t quite what they should be, but the instrumentation is fine and Alder’s voice more than carries this off.

The Aristocrats, You Know What…?

Grateful to Kevin Trudo for turning me on to this insane instrumental trio. These three guys are all masters at their instruments (guitar, bass, drums) and they play incredibly complicated songs with a sense of humor and joy. Really worth it even if you aren’t a musician.

Bad Religion, Age of Unreason.

Bad Religion has (almost) never sounded any different than this, so if you like (almost) anything they’ve done, this will work for you. I think if we ever needed a band like this one, now is the time. This one takes powerful aim at the age of Trump, because of course it does.

Bent Knee, You Know What They Mean.

I have no idea how to characterize this band. They’re prog, they’re rock, they have a big-throated lead singer and they incorporate a few dozen styles from around the world. This record is weird. I mean, it’s really weird. But give it a few listens and it starts to make sense.

David Byrne, American Utopia on Broadway.

As I type this review for this live album I am realizing that I never reviewed the studio record it’s based on. Big oversight. Byrne’s solo career has been delightfully idiosyncratic and American Utopia is no exception, but it’s also always been brilliantly composed and performed.

Calexico and Iron and Wine, Years to Burn.

This is quite a nice little artifact. Sam Beam’s voice blends very well with Calexico’s folksy instrumentation, and the collaboration strikes gold with the extended “The Bitter Suite.” Very enjoyable.

Bruce Cockburn, Crowing Ignites.

I will ignore my slight disappointment that one of the most politically aware and astute songwriters on earth has chosen now to release an instrumental album. Cockburn is a tremendous guitar player, though, and Crowing Ignites is a collection of songs and jams that shows just how good he is.

Cold War Kids, New Age Norms 1.

I got suckered in by the promise of ambition again. This is purportedly the first in a trilogy of new albums, but it sucks so hard that I don’t see myself buying the next two. This is an average-to-good band aiming for stadium-filling pop stardom and it hurts to listen to.

Paula Cole, Revolution.

I love that Paula Cole is still making records. Her new one is a personal and political thing, crying out for love both intimate and universal. It’s swell stuff, especially when she stretches out on songs like “Silent” and “Universal Empathy.” Really worth checking out.

Shawn Colvin, Steady On (30th Anniversary Acoustic Edition).

This is exactly what it says it is: a re-recording of Colvin’s excellent Steady On with acoustic instruments. I like hearing her older and wiser voice tackle these tunes, and the tunes themselves hold up nicely.

Comrades, For We Are Not Yet, We Are Only Becoming.

Audiofeed has been great for introducing me to new metal bands, and Comrades is one of my favorites. They have a sense of beauty that they explore in greater depth here, while still bringing the heavy. This is a lovely thing, up there with the best metal of the year.

Harry Connick Jr., True Love: A Celebration of Cole Porter.

This is a no-brainer. Connick’s own songwriting is heavily influenced by Cole Porter, so a whole album of his arrangements of Porter tunes really should have happened by now. Connick is his usual self, singing these songs with silky aplomb, and his arrangements are strong, if unimaginative.

Sheryl Crow, Threads.

I hear this hodgepodge of duets and guest appearances might be the last Sheryl Crow album. I wouldn’t be too sad if that turns out to be the case.

Jamie Cullum, Taller.

This British wunderkind keeps on making records, and somehow they keep failing to live up to his early promise for me. He has a lovely jazz-singer voice, he plays piano well, but he hasn’t yet written a set of songs that surpasses his first record.

Death Cab for Cutie, The Blue EP.

This five-song document comes on the heels of Thank You for Today, an album that showed some renewed vigor. This EP is pretty good too, with songs like “Kids in 99” and “Before the Bombs” standing tall with the ones on the main album. Glad to have them back.

Eluvium, Pianoworks.

A two-CD collection of Matthew Cooper’s piano-based pieces. This is lovely stuff, and good for someone like me who just discovered Eluvium a few years ago. Cooper isn’t a virtuoso player, but his pieces are designed to set moods, and they do them beautifully.

Fastball, The Help Machine.

Fastball has had a whole career after their one hit, and this is yet another brief but well-written chunk of power pop from these guys. I’m glad I’ve followed along, because there are always a few gems on each album. “All Gone Fuzzy” is my favorite this time.

Flight of the Conchords, Live in London.

As someone who never really watched the show, Live in London was a revelation. These songs are brilliant, sharp, funny and melodic. I am kicking myself for depriving myself of the likes of “Iain and Deanna” for so long.

The Flower Kings, Waiting for Miracles.

Possibly the best classic prog band on the planet, the Flower Kings took several years off after a run of lackluster records. This new one is excellent, a full-on political progtopia with bite and enough instrumental interplay to keep even the most discerning listener entertained.

Josh Garrels, Chrysaline.

I’ve always liked Garrels, and always been OK with his straightforward worship lyrics, but somehow those became a little overwhelming for me on this long, kinda slow record. Nothing here is bad – it’s all ornamental folk-pop with a sense of melody – but except for “Butterfly” it kind of sits there for me.

Grateful Dead, Ready or Not.

This is pretty cool. It’s a live record made up of the songs that would have been featured on the Grateful Dead’s follow-up to Built to Last. That album never got made, and Jerry Garcia’s death means it never will, but hearing these latter-day tunes all stitched together is neat.

Rachel Grimes, The Way Forth.

I bought this because featured player Timbre Cierpke told me to, and I’m glad she did. This is the aural equivalent of researching the life of a small town through moldy old library books, and it’s really something special. It’s quirky enough to be a stage play, and I kind of hope Grimes takes it in that direction.

Hammock, Silencia.

This album concludes a trilogy that has taken Hammock’s gorgeous ambient music from despair to hope, and it’s been a lovely ride. This is a calm and peaceful record with only hints of darkness. It’s mostly like looking out over still waters.

Hozier, Wasteland Baby.

I’ve never been in the camp that believes that Hozier is worth paying a lot of attention to, but even so, this is a disappointing follow-up album. I can barely remember these 14 songs, and only his voice remains in my memory as a reason to enjoy this.

Inter Arma, Sulphur English.

Another stunning piece of heavy atmospherics from this band. This is huge and doomy and widescreen, and if you’ve ever liked them before, you’ll find a lot to enjoy here.

Michael Kiwanuka, Kiwanuka.

Enjoyable and eclectic third record from this underrated musician. I love “You Ain’t the Problem,” and I love how stripped-down the early tracks here are before the strings come in and send this album into orbit. I don’t know what it would take to make Michael Kiwanuka more well-known, but we should do that, whatever it is.

L7, Scatter the Rats.

Not all of these ‘90s band reunions go smoothly. This new album from these punk-rock stalwarts is fine, but nowhere near as good as they used to be. It’s a shame, really.

Madonna, Madame X.

I’m still not too sure what to make of this thing. Madonna invites a host of collaborators and takes on a number of world-music styles, and the resulting album is a bit of an ambitious mess. Some of it is embarrassing, but some of it works. I’m just not sure her fans will agree on which is which.

Bill Mallonee, Lead On, Kindly Light/This World and One More.

This long-awaited double album from Mallonee sounds exactly like you’d expect it to – the songs are classic Americana with traditional instrumentation and biting lyrics, and even though Mallonee’s voice is weaker lately, he can still pull this off. If you like his songs, here are 23 more of them.

The Mavericks, Play the Hits.

I’m amazed that the Mavericks are still at it. This covers record finds Raul Malo and company tackling the likes of “Don’t Be Cruel” and “Hungry Heart” alongside some old-school country classics, and they’re still a one-of-a-kind combo.

Alice Merton, Mint.

Merton made her name last year with the smash “No Roots,” and while it is certainly the best song on her debut album, the rest of it is pretty good too. This is danceable pop-rock with a sense of individuality, and I’m interested to see where she goes next.

Thurston Moore, Spirit Counsel.

This is awesome. Spirit Counsel is three extended pieces for guitar armies, and the sheer mass of sound generated here is amazing. If you’re into Sonic Youth for their brash rock and roll, this is something else entirely. But this, to me, is Moore’s true art.

Neal Morse, Jesus Christ the Exorcist.

In retrospect I should have given this one a WTF Award. This is a full-on two-hour prog-rock musical about Jesus, taken very seriously, and it’s giggle-worthy. I can only imagine how funny this must be to see staged live, and I can only imagine the church that would stage it.

No-Man, Love You to Bits.

Steven Wilson and Tim Bowness return with what is basically a disco-fied “Shine On You Crazy Diamond.” It’s two long pieces with minimal deviation and thump-thump electronic drums, and while it isn’t bad, this feels like something Wilson did on a weekend to keep busy.

Of Monsters and Men, Fever Dream.

Wow, this is terrible. I don’t know what happened to this band, but where once they created vast and original soundscapes, now they’re churning out auto-tuned balladry for radio. The difference between this record and anything else they’ve done is absolutely and depressingly immense.

Angel Olsen, All Mirrors.

I need to give this one several more listens. What I have heard has been beautiful – string-laden epic pieces sung with conviction. My first listen through this one was extremely positive, so I don’t know why I just never made it back to it. But I will.

The Rembrandts, Via Satellite.

Always nice to have a new Rembrandts album. They’re the same as they always were – jangly pop ditties with witty lyrics and hummable melodies. I’m not surprised this didn’t set the world on fire. It’s just another set of fun tunes.

Russian Circles, Blood Year.

This is great. But then, Russian Circles are always great. This one is right in line with their others: post-rock that builds to massive towers of sound. Check this one out, or literally any other album they’ve done.

Slayer, The Repentless Killogy.

Slayer says they are finished after this tour, so this might be the final live album we ever get from them. It’s a pretty good one, even without two of the members who made this band what they are. The latter songs certainly do suffer from direct comparison to the earlier work, though.

Son Volt, Union.

A more traditional-sounding album from Jay Farrar’s outfit, this one recorded in a couple famous places. This is all nice stuff, even if it never breaks free from the old-time folksy mold it’s cast in.

Soundgarden, Live from the Artists Den.

It’s nice to have this extended document of Soundgarden live, because they were a massive beast on stage. Chris Cornell was a one-of-a-kind singer, and he’s in fine full-throated form here, powering his way through a lengthy set of classics and then-new songs.

Sweet Oblivion Feat. Geoff Tate.

You don’t expect a whole lot from Geoff Tate these days, but this new collaboration is far more interesting than anything he’s doing with Operation Mindcrime. These are soaring pop-metal songs and Tate relishes the chance to dive into them, vocally speaking. Really surprising, this one.

Tesla, Shock.

This one is also a surprise: it’s produced by Phil Collen of Def Leppard, and it sounds like it. This is a glossy pop-metal bid for radio play, if radio still sounded like it did in 1988. Tesla’s more rough-and-tumble sound doesn’t mesh too well with this – it feels like an odd and uncomfortable fit to me.

They Might Be Giants, My Murdered Remains.

The follow-up to I Like Fun is 32 songs long, and it’s just as witty and wonderful as you’d expect. This is another collection of Dial-a-Song tunes, which means it feels slapped together, but in a good way. It’s remarkable that these guys are still at it, and still this good.

They Might Be Giants, The Escape Team.

Even better is this short record intended to accompany a comic book project of the same name. The eleven songs on The Escape Team each highlight a character from the comic, and in lieu of another album of kids’ songs, this will do nicely.

Tow’rs, New Nostalgia.

Another AudioFeed band I’m so happy to have discovered. Tow’rs play expansive folk music with strings and horns and harmonies to die for. New Nostalgia is their sharpest and most fully realized effort, and it really deserved more attention from me. It may be too little too late, but you should hear it. www.towrsmusic.com.

Sharon Van Etten, Remind Me Tomorrow.

This one was another surprise: Van Etten covers these songs in electronic noise, which sometimes masks how personal they are. It’s another good one from her, and “No One’s Easy to Love” is one of the year’s best things.

Vanden Plas, The Ghost Xperiment: Awakening.

Yeah, this band is completely ridiculous. Yes, this is another two-part concept piece from them, and yes, it’s silly. But Vanden Plas also play convincing prog-metal as well as anyone in the game, and I appreciate them for that. This is more fun to listen to than you’d think.

Wang Chung, Orchesography.

Hands up if you expected Wang Freaking Chung to put out an orchestral album. I didn’t, but their electronic-pop songs sound really good in this setting. I’m especially fond of “The World in Which We Live,” given a new epic sheen here. This is good stuff.

War of Ages, Void.

Another AudioFeed metal band. Void is another in a long line of War of Ages albums that sound basically the same. Shouty vocals, jackhammer riffs, some electronic touches. It’s fine, but I’m waiting for this band to discover another path and start to take it.

Derek Webb, Stockholm Syndrome Live in Texas.

While we wait for Webb’s new independent release, he celebrates the 10th anniversary of his first independent release with this live recitation. I sometimes forget how good this album is, and it’s nice to have a reminder. These songs still can slice you open.

The Wonder Stuff, Better Being Lucky.

And finally, Miles Hunt and his band of the week return with a strong slice of fist-pumping rock with Hunt’s usual brand of cutting wit. Most of these songs are kind of simple, but there are no bad ones here. The Wonder Stuff continues to go unheralded on this side of the Atlantic, and I wish that were not so.

Lamenting the continued obscurity of a long-running band feels to me like a fitting way to close out this chapter of Tuesday Morning 3 A.M. Next up for me is a two-week break, as I finish up my vacation and get ready for the final year of this thing I’ve been doing for nearly half my life. If you’ve walked with me for any length of this journey, thank you very much.

Happy 2020, everyone. May the best thing that happened to you this year be the worst thing that happens to you next year. Come on back in two weeks as we set sail for the sunset.

See you in line Tuesday morning.

I have a lot of thoughts about Star Wars.

I won’t go into them here, but suffice it to say that I truly hated The Rise of Skywalker, and the more I think about it the angrier and sadder I am about it. One of the reviews I read noted that the film was “made in bad faith,” and I think that hits at the center of my problems with it. The film was clearly designed as a repudiation of Rian Johnson and anyone who appreciated the directions he tried to take Star Wars, and with such petty and cowardly motivations at its center, it couldn’t help but fail. It was also lazy and stupid to boot.

I guess getting kicked in the face by Star Wars was something of a fitting end to a year I cannot wait to see the other side of. The music of 2019 was one of the few bright spots, getting me through more than one rough patch, so let’s concentrate on that, shall we? In fact, let’s celebrate the very best of the best of 2019, the music that stirred my soul even as the world outside was battering it.

As with most years in which the worthy musical selections were plentiful, the following list reflects my taste more than it would in a year with clear standouts. Check the lists around the internet and you’ll see no clear consensus for 2019. Of course, my own list has more than one entry on it that didn’t make anyone’s list, as far as I can see, which I’m used to. I’m surprised the album at the top didn’t get more traction, but that’s how it goes, I guess.

It’s also no surprise that this list is a little bleaker, a little sadder than others you may find. While some prefer to use happier music to set their moods (and certainly the album at number four this year helped me with that), I have always found honest sad music to be the best salve. Much of this list is about finding hope in dark places, about sinking below the surface and seeking out whatever light can break through.

In short, these are the songs that helped me get through 2019. Here we go.

#10. Coyote Kid, The Skeleton Man.

I admit some trepidation when I heard that Minneapolis favorite Marah in the Mainsail had changed their name to the more pedestrian Coyote Kid. Thankfully their big, wild sound hasn’t diminished in the slightest. The new name signals a shift in their storytelling – The Skeleton Man is the first chapter in a post-apocalyptic dystopian western full of new characters and twisty plot developments. The music still bristles with a go-for-broke energy. Like the best conceptual pieces, songs like “Strange Days” transcend their contexts to provide scream-along anthems for a year of confusion and discord. The Skeleton Man provides a clean slate for a band that feels like it’s just getting started. Listen here.

#9. Bat for Lashes, Lost Girls.

Speaking of transcending conceptual contexts, here is Natasha Khan’s brilliant tribute to the supernatural films of the 1980s. The title’s reference to The Lost Boys makes Khan’s inspiration clear, and she fully immerses herself here in the sounds of the era she’s celebrating. Lost Girls is heaven for fans of old-school synth-pop and Khan feels fully in her element in a way she hasn’t for a few records now. And this newfound comfort gives us wonderful songs like “The Hunger” and “Safe Tonight” and, finally, with “Mountains,” one of the year’s finest odes to loneliness and loss. Khan’s been great for a long time, and Lost Girls is one of her best.

#8. Over the Rhine, Love and Revelation.

Married couple Karin Bergquist and Linford Detwiler have been plying their trade for 30 years, and they still know how to open a doorway right to my heart. Love and Revelation is a brief record with a lot of magic to it. These are songs of fighting through isolation and sadness to find peace, and their simple settings keep the focus on Bergquist’s sublime voice. (I’m not sure why she’s not universally considered one of our finest singers, but in my house she is.) As if songs like “Given Road” and “Broken Angels” were not gorgeous enough, the pair offers up a perfect benediction with “May God Love You (Like You’ve Never Been Loved),” simply one of the most beautiful songs of grace I have ever heard. May they keep this up for another three decades.

#7. Peter Mulvey, There Is Another World.

Mulvey has always been a poet (despite his misgivings about poets in general), but never more so than here. Written during a harsh winter in a midwestern small town, There Is Another World provides sketches of isolation and natural beauty as Mulvey contemplates changing his life. These brief acoustic pieces rest in a complex soundscape that adds depth and dimension, and connects these songs into a single 33-minute thought. The result is the most transporting and affecting album of Mulvey’s career, one that sounds like 2019 in ways I cannot even describe.

#6. Bryan Scary, Birds.

I waited four years for progressive pop wunderkind Bryan Scary to finish Birds, and it was worth every second. As promised, this effort is a more folksy and less manic one, but that doesn’t mean the songs are any less brilliant. Scary draws on decades of folk-pop here, from Fairport Convention to 10cc to Supertramp, and each song feels like he labored on it for all four years. If you have even a passing interest in classic pop sounds, masterpieces like “Seagull” and “Quick, Wendy, Wake the Sparrow” will feel like someone speaking your secret language. This is an album that moves effortlessly from the down-home acoustics of “Royal Soil” to the absolute insanity of “Loon on the Lake,” and Scary makes it all look as natural as, well, birds flying.

#5. Coldplay, Everyday Life.

The more I listen to Everyday Life, the more I think it is Coldplay’s best album. It is certainly their most artistically restless, mixing together musicians and genres from across the world as a metaphorical statement about unity, and the band seems to have taken every detour possible away from the sound they are best known for. At first this record sounds scattered, like sixteen songs in search of a vision, but keep listening and it starts to make perfect sense. And then it starts to sound like magic. I love that Coldplay chooses to be this weird, to jump from the gospel of “Broken” to the jazz nightmare of “Arabesque” to the doo-wop of “Cry Cry Baby,” and then to sum it all up with a title track that rises above its simple lyrics to feel like an earnest cry for togetherness. I love this album, and it’s only this far down the list because the next four are so wonderful.

#4. Lizzo, Cuz I Love You.

We all needed some encouragement during 2019, and thank God, here was Lizzo preaching and living self-love and self-care with an exuberant joy and infectious confidence. This would all be enough to make me like and admire her, but she went and made one of the best pop records I’ve heard in years as well. Cuz I Love You is just a powerhouse, one great song after another come to lift your spirits. “Soulmate” was basically my jam for most of the year, and “Water Me” played backup. Virtually every song on Cuz I Love You bursts with melodic exuberance, powered by the irrepressible personality of Lizzo herself. She’s an absolute superstar, and her record is absolutely superb.

#3. Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, Ghosteen.

This one could not be more different from the album before it in this list. A 68-minute meditation on loss, Ghosteen finds Nick Cave working through the death of his teenage son, taking us on a journey of grief that is almost too much to bear. I cannot adequately describe what it is like to listen to this album straight through. It’s an emotionally devastating trip, one in which Cave finds his usual methods of storytelling out of his reach, unable to help him. And then he closes this album with a story, one about the omnipresence of loss, that shows him finding his footing again, however weakly. Ghosteen is a masterwork, one I cannot listen to very often, but one that speaks to me every time I do.

#2. Keane, Cause and Effect.

Keane’s long-awaited return was always high on my list of anticipated albums this year. What I didn’t expect was that their comeback album would be a sad yet hopeful song cycle about Tim Rice-Oxley’s divorce, one that dissects that ugly period in his life as openly and bluntly as Noah Baumbach’s Marriage Story does. I was not expecting a Keane album to make me cry, or to hit me as fully and powerfully as this one did. These songs don’t rise with the same youthful fervor as Keane’s classic material, but they’re more thoughtful, more considered than any they’ve given us. The heart of the album lies in deeply autobiographical pieces like “Thread” and “I’m Not Leaving,” and Tom Chaplin sings his angelic heart out, telling his dear friend’s stories as if they were his own. Even the bonus track “New Golden Age” is a stunner, one of my favorite songs of the year. I don’t know what this means for Keane’s long-term future, but this album won my heart even more with each revisit. I hope they make more. I’m satisfied even if they don’t.

If you thought that was an idiosyncratic choice, my pick for the best album of 2019 will be a real surprise.

#1. Amanda Palmer, There Will Be No Intermission.

She could have called it There Will Be No Competition. I remain stunned and surprised that this record came and went with virtually no fanfare. To me it’s the most moving, extraordinary ride of the year. It takes 78 minutes to listen to this one, and getting from one end to the other is emotionally draining like few other records I know. It’s also beautifully uplifting in strange and perfect ways, confessional yet universal, tackling big topics and diving deep inside one woman’s experience. That Palmer wraps all of this together into a cohesive and beautiful whole is nothing short of artistic wizardry.

It’s a rare artist who can begin an album with ten minutes of herself at a piano and still draw you in effortlessly. “The Ride” is one of my favorite things from this year, and it tells you what kind of uncompromising journey you are in for. Palmer guides you through a wildly produced alarm bell song about global warming (“Drowning in the Sound”), a heartfelt reflection on a beloved author and her impact (“Judy Blume”), a long, ukulele-fueled, anguished cry for grace (“Bigger on the Inside”), and a stunning story-song about her failures as a parent and how she takes strength from them (“A Mother’s Confession”). Along the way she gives us “Voicemail for Jill,” the most empathetic song about abortion I have ever encountered.

And through it all she looks around at this broken, hateful, pain-filled world and she tells us what she sees. It’s not always easy to hear it, from the sinking feeling of permanent loss detailed in “The Thing About Things” to the boy who writes her after his rape in “Bigger on the Inside.” That boy asks her how she keeps fighting, and I think much of There Will Be No Intermission is her answer. The hope here is hard-won, because the agony is unflinching. But it’s love and empathy and the belief that we are all struggling, and we are all worthy. That’s what this album is about.

This record also revels in the artistic freedom that only crowdfunding can offer someone like Palmer. No label would have released this as is, and any tampering with it would have sapped some of its magic away. Every time I have listened to There Will Be No Intermission, I have come away grateful that it exists in all its messy glory, exactly the way its author intended. It’s a perfectly imperfect thing, a hard and incisive listen, an album that thrilled and moved and exhausted me like no other this year. It is exactly the right one to represent 2019 for me, exactly the right one to sit atop this list. I love it dearly, and I couldn’t imagine this year without it.

That’ll do, pig. Next week is Fifty Second Week, and then I’m taking at least a week off as we head into 2020. Have a wonderful holiday, everyone, and thank you for reading.

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

By the time we reconvene on Christmas Eve, I will have seen The Rise of Skywalker.

Oddly, I don’t feel much about it at all. I’m marginally excited, mainly because I expect this thing will look and sound like Star Wars, and I always appreciate that. I would never pass up the chance to hear John Williams’ final Star Wars score, either. But I don’t care about it the same way I cared about the original trilogy, or even the prequels. The story of Star Wars was complete for me in 2005, and these bonus films haven’t filled me with the same joy.

That said, I did adore The Last Jedi for actually saying something new with Star Wars. It was a film that took aim at the things holding the franchise back – the Skywalker family, the Jedi order, the fans of around my age who refuse to let Star Wars grow. So of course it was roundly hated, and every early notice I have seen of this ninth and final film tells me that it veers right back to safe nostalgia, trampling the lessons of The Last Jedi as it goes. But we will see.

More on that next week, I expect. We’re not here to talk Star Wars, we’re here to talk about the end of 2019. I’m writing this, as usual, from my mother’s home in Massachusetts on my extended holiday break, and I’m enjoying the opportunity to take stock of the year. Personally, it was a terrible one, and I end it a lot less happy than I have been in a long time. But thankfully the music of 2019 was pretty damn good, and that’s what we come to praise, not bury, this week.

As longtime readers know, I compile a top 10 list every year, and I adhere to a few rules when I do it. Only new full-length studio albums consisting of mostly new material released between Jan. 1 and Dec. 31 are eligible. That means no live albums, no greatest-hits collections, no covers records, no albums of re-recordings and no reissues are eligible. Which means there are plenty of pretty splendid releases each year that are disqualified out of the gate.

I’d only like to mention a few of those this year, but there were many. Perhaps the most painful omission for me is With Friends from the Orchestra, the 19th Marillion album. It cannot appear in the top 10 list because it’s a revisit – the band re-recorded nine of its best songs with strings and horns. But I wish I could include it, because this album brought a new dimension to their work, even for me as a longtime fan. Including both “This Strange Engine” and “Ocean Cloud” (totaling 34 minutes between them) was a gift, and I love all of these new versions at least as much as their original counterparts, and some of them more.

I also wish I could laud Interpreting the Masters Vol. 2 by the Bird and the Bee as one of the year’s best. It’s a wild left turn for this synth-pop duo, taking on the early Van Halen oeuvre, and they reinvent these songs as if it were as easy as breathing. Their pulsing take on “Ain’t Talkin’ Bout Love” is one of the coolest things I heard this year, and it’s just one highlight on a record full of them. It’s so much fun.

It would be lovely to include Marc Cohn and the Blind Boys of Alabama on the top 10 list. I listened to Work to Do more than almost anything else this year. It’s an absolute delight. It’s also three new songs and seven live recordings, so I couldn’t make it fit the rules. But trust me that this thing is wonderful, particularly the long and gorgeous take on “Silver Thunderbird.” I deeply hope this record and tour has revitalized Cohn and that we hear from him again very soon.

This was also a tremendous year for reissue box sets, and I only want to mention a couple. I will probably delve further into the Frank Zappa estate’s amazing year, but there were four (count them – four) killer sets from Zappa this year, including the new Hot Rats Sessions six-CD monster that hits next week. All told we got more than 18 hours of archival Zappa goodness in 2019, and I very much enjoyed diving through it all.

But the standout has to be Prince, whose estate released what I hope is the first in a comprehensive set of boxes of classic material. This one celebrates his 1982 masterwork 1999 with a remastered version of the album, two discs of unheard rarities, a disc of alternate versions and two full live shows. This is the way it should be done, and while I wonder whether Prince would have wanted us to hear most of this, I’m happy to have it. This set is revelatory, and hopefully serves as the blueprint (purpleprint?) for future reissues.

Which brings us to the also-rans, the records that didn’t quite make the top 10. I have quite a few this time – since there was such a bounty this year, the final 10 selections reflect my personal taste a lot more than in years with fewer choices. That means your favorite of the year might have ended up here, in the runners-up list, but that’s OK. I wouldn’t quibble with anyone who claims any of the below as favorites. My list is just my favorites. Your mileage may vary.

Anyway, let’s begin. BT is another artist who had a hell of a year, giving us three new studio albums. I’ve only heard two of them, since the third comes out next week. But of the two, his collaboration with singer Christian Burns as All Hail the Silence knocked me out. This is a straight-up synth-pop homage to Depeche Mode and Erasure, and it’s an absolute delight. “English Town” is one of my favorite things of the year, and I remain grateful that I was turned on to BT back in the ‘90s. He’s been a fun artist to watch.

Jenny Lewis made a swell new solo record with On the Line, tackling some dark material with bright melodies. Same can be said of both halves of The Civil Wars, John Paul White and Joy Williams, who impressed on their respective solo albums. Joe Jackson returned with one of his very best, a proggy pop monster called Fool, which shows that this cranky old man still has it even after 40 years in the business.

I owe Jeremy Krommendyk for getting me to listen to French metal masters Alcest – their new one, Spiritual Instinct, is a beast, but a fragile and beautiful one. On the other end of the spectrum (though not really) is ambient duo Hammock, who completed their recent trilogy with the peaceful, beautiful Silencia. These two records feel like different sides of the same coin, both bands interested in creating the most gorgeous music they can, in their own ways.

And then there’s Devin Townsend, who has been an under-the-radar genius for decades now. He seemed to take a leap forward with Empath, a record that threw all of his many genre experiments and influences into a blender and presented the mixture without concession or apology. It’s heavy, it’s proggy, it’s quirky, it flies by without giving you a moment to catch your breath. It’s the ultimate Devin Townsend album, and it came close to the list this year.

But it didn’t quite get there. And neither did these last six selections, which I would call the number elevens. In an alternate universe quite like this one, any of these records could be on the list proper. I love all of these records, and if you want to argue for their inclusion, I would not put up a fight.

In no particular order, then. Brittany Howard took a step forward out of Alabama Shakes to make a strange and glorious solo record called Jaime. Virtually none of it sounds like what you’d expect from Howard, and that makes me excited for her future efforts. David Mead’s Cobra Pumps sounds exactly like you’d expect from him – it’s ten short, rocking, immaculately crafted pop tunes, delivered with style.

English band Foals hit us with a double album in two parts, called Everything Not Saved Will Be Lost. With a more clockwork first half and a more live-band, raucous second half, Foals showed off all sides of their math-y sound to great effect. Fellow Brits Elbow returned with one of their very best records, Giants of All Sizes, and while there’s nothing surprising here, it’s all splendid stuff.

One of my favorite returns of the year was Pedro the Lion, roaring back after ten years of leader David Bazan’s solo career. Phoenix is about the titular city, but also about rising from the ashes, and it’s a well-considered return to a sound and a subject matter I thought he’d left behind. And finally, there is Leonard Cohen, whose first posthumous album, Thanks for the Dance, overcomes the odds to feel like a perfect capper to an extraordinary career.

That’s what I have for you. Next week we’ll dive into the 2019 top 10 list, and I’ll probably have some words about Star Wars. Until then, I plan on enjoying my vacation. Here’s hoping you all get some well-deserved time off with family and friends. Talk to you on Christmas Eve.

See you in line Tuesday morning.

It’s beginning to look a lot like… well, autumn, to be honest.

But we’re only two weeks away from Christmas, which means this year is racing to a close. As you may know, I have a personal philosophy about Christmas music – that it should only be played between the day after Thanksgiving and Christmas Day. Thanksgiving was 12 days ago, and it’s been non-stop holiday joy around Casa de Salles. I have a lot of perennial favorites, and I’ve been joyously cycling through them.

I also had the thrill of seeing Over the Rhine’s Christmas show this year in an intimate venue in Chicago, and that was wonderful. The set was made up of songs from the band’s three holiday records, and some of the best tunes from their new record, Love and Revelation. Linford Detwiler joked during the show that they’d invented a new genre: the reality Christmas song. And it’s true. After a difficult and painful year, fake cheer would not have gone down quite as well as these hard-won tales of hope peeking through the darkness. It was exactly the mood I needed.

That’s not to say that the holly jolly tunes aren’t working for me this year. But I’ve had to rely on my old standbys, because 2019 just didn’t come through with the new Christmas albums. That’s not to say there haven’t been any – we wouldn’t be here discussing it if there were none – but they are few. In fact, for new Christmas records that I added to my collection this year, there are only two. (No, I didn’t buy John Legend’s record again just to get the newly updated “Baby It’s Cold Outside.”)

But the two I bought are great, so let’s talk about them. First is Sara Groves, one of my favorite singer/songwriters. I rarely think of her when listing my favorites, but I’ve never heard anything from her that I haven’t loved. That includes her previous Christmas album, the glorious O Holy Night, from 2008. That album has been such a part of my Christmases for so many years that I almost didn’t want a follow-up, for fear of disappointment.

I shouldn’t have worried. Groves is just delightful, and her second Christmas album, Joy of Every Longing Heart, is gorgeous. Its seven carols and two originals are all impeccably arranged, and Groves’ warm voice still feels like an old friend. She rewrites the melody of “O Come O Come Emmanuel,” a bold move in any case, but doubly so with one of my favorite carols. Except she nails it, giving this most lovely of laments a new spin that actually works. She sticks close to the originals otherwise, mixing the traditional (“Come Thou Long Expected Jesus”) with the whimsical (“Winter Wonderland”).

And there at track five, she gives us a Sara Groves classic in the form of “We Wait,” a superb cry out into the darkness with a clever piano figure and a sweet chorus. Her other original, “Just Like They Said,” is similarly lovely, a first-person account of the birth of Jesus from a forgotten bystander. That’s one thing Groves does very well: she finds a person who hasn’t been heard and gives that person a voice. Joy of Every Longing Heart is missing a novelty tune as great as “Toy Packaging,” but otherwise is a terrific second Christmas record from a tremendous talent.

Eric Owyoung also has a history of Christmas music. His one-man project, Future of Forestry, issued three EPs in a series called Advent between 2010 and 2013, and they’re terrific. Owyoung plays epic pop music and sings it with an expansive voice. His work is heavily orchestrated, soaring, room-filling stuff, and his fourth Christmas record, Light Has Come, is no exception.

This is basically a fourth volume in the Advent series in all but name. It contains four originals and three carols, all of which are performed in classic Future of Forestry style. There’s a fragile beauty to these songs, no matter how big the arrangements get. Owyoung’s own songs here are sweet and poppy – “We Are Home” is a particularly pretty one, though the title track is likely my favorite.

The carols are where my heart lies, though. Owyoung also does “Come Thou Long Expected Jesus,” and it’s great, but “I Wonder as I Wander” surpasses it. I’ve always loved this song, and Owyoung’s version of it gives me goosebumps. Future of Forestry is independent and obscure, and Owyoung deserves a wider audience. Check him out at www.futureofforestry.com.

And that’s it. Well, not quite. I did buy one other holiday record, but it celebrates a different holiday. I don’t know where I first heard about Hanukkah+, but I’m glad I did. This is a collection of Jewish artists singing mostly original songs about Hanukkah, and it’s a total delight. Much of this is delivered with a wry sense of humor, as evidenced by the first two tracks: Jack Black bellowing out the traditional “Oh Hanukkah” and Adam Green (of the Moldy Peaches) smirking his way through “Dreidels of Fire,” a song that offers up the central miracle of Hanukkah with a chuckle: “How the hell do you explain that shizz?”

That’s not to say this record is not a serious reflection. Haim does a swell job with Leonard Cohen’s immortal “If It Be Your Will,” for instance, and Craig Wedren, formally of Shudder to Think, closes things out beautifully with his own “Sanctuary.” Others split the difference: the Flaming Lips and Loudon Wainwright III give us songs that are right in line with their catalogs, and the Watkins Family Hour (here just Sean and Sara Watkins) zip through a fun instrumental called “Hanukkah Dance.”

Hanukkah+ is a lot of fun, and even though I am sure there are jokes I don’t get, I’m drawn in by the humor and the genuine affection these artists have for their tradition. I’m more than happy to add this collection to my holiday listening. It’s helped me enjoy the end of what has been a downer of a year. May your holidays be bright, whatever your tradition, and may the music of the season help you find light in the darkness.

Next week, the honorables and also-rans from the year.

See you in line Tuesday morning.

2019 is officially out of gas.

I don’t mean that as a criticism in any way. Every year runs out of gas around this time, when it comes to new music. We’ve seen the last big new music Friday of the year, and it’s one I’d been anticipating for some time. Last week I chose to concentrate on Coldplay, but this week – my last straight-up review column of 2019 – will take a look at the other big ones from Nov. 22.

But here’s a quick look at what else to expect through the end of the year. Last week gave us a live version of The Soft Bulletin from the Flaming Lips, and a massive re-release box set for Prince’s brilliant 1999 album. (I’ll be digging into this over the coming days.) This week will see the release of The Decalogue, a piano piece by Sufjan Stevens performed by Timo Andres, as well as the new album from one half of The Who. And December 13 will bring us the debut from Canadian supergroup Anyway Gang and a live record from Gary Numan. All interesting, but nothing that I expect to change the shape of the year.

The two I have on tap this week were bright spots in my new release calendar, though, records that could have rewritten my top 10 list. This is always a possibility this far into the year, and given how much enjoyment I am getting out of (and how many words I spent on) the new Coldplay record, you can imagine that this is a case in point. Could this happen again, this late into the year?

Enough preamble for you? Fair enough. The first of our contestants this week is Beck, whose new Hyperspace is his 14th album. Hands up if you heard “Loser” in 1994 and thought, “Now there’s a guy who will stick around for 25 years and one day have 14 albums to his name.” I certainly didn’t, but Beck Hansen has proven himself a remarkably versatile and interesting artist. His catalog has a number of ups and downs, as you’d expect from someone who takes as many risks as he does, but he’s been on a hot streak lately with the gorgeous Morning Phase and Colors, his more mature take on “party Beck.”

I wish I could say that Hyperspace keeps that streak alive, but it’s pretty forgettable, alas. This is, for some reason, Beck’s radio pop album, full of pretty average programmed beats and autotuned vocals and cliched lyrics. I tried to make a case that Beck is satirizing this style, the way he took on sex-funk on Midnite Vultures, but I can’t. This is just a boring stab at music that never sounds like a good fit for him.

Hyperspace was largely produced by Pharrell Williams, and it’s tempting to lay the blame at his feet. The half-hearted hip-hop of “Chemical,” for instance, sounds like something Williams would have conjured up for someone more steeped in this genre, and Beck gamely takes it on, but never seems comfortable. But then, I think the same about “See Through,” a truly awful bit of pseudo-club-soul, and that one’s produced by Greg Kurstin.

No, I think this is mainly Beck’s doing – he’s taking another risky step sideways, and this one didn’t quite pay off. There are certainly songs I like, most notably “Saw Lightning,” which picks up the pace like nothing else here. The closing mini-epic “Everlasting Nothing” is pretty decent folksy Beck too, although by that point I have been ready to turn this off, every time. I know in a year or two he’ll be back with something that sounds nothing like this, and hopefully that one will work better for me. As it is, I am putting Hyperspace on the “interesting failures” pile.

I was a lot more worried about our other big-deal release of the week, Leonard Cohen’s Thanks for the Dance. Cohen was, to me, one of the finest and most compelling songwriters who ever lived, and I’m still mourning him even though he died three years ago. The final album of his life, You Want It Darker, came out 19 days before his death, and it was the perfect capstone to a peerless catalog. The songs on Darker found Cohen facing death without much hope for something better on the other side, and it was unflinching and powerful stuff.

Did we need another album after that one? Before I heard Thanks for the Dance, I would have said no. I’m always wary of these posthumous affairs – I feel like if Cohen wanted us to hear this, or to consider this part of his oeuvre, he probably would have said so. I braced myself for a collection of scraps, of recorded conversations set to music, of unfortunate outtakes that only serve to diminish Cohen’s legacy. I am overjoyed to report that Thanks for the Dance is none of those things. It’s quite wonderful, and I hesitate to find out more about how it was made, lest its spell be broken.

Dance was produced by Cohen’s son Adam, and he enlisted an army of brilliant musicians, including Beck, Daniel Lanois, Patrick Leonard, Matt Chamberlain and Damien Rice to create the musical accompaniment. Cohen is only credited with lyrics here (except on “The Hills,” which he wrote in its entirety), which gives the impression that these tracks were recorded as poems, and Cohen’s low, rumbly voice sticks mainly to speak-singing here, as he’s done for some time.

And man, it’s so good to hear that voice again. It sounds like truth to me, like wisdom, especially in these later albums where he is gazing into the abyss and reporting back to us what he sees. All of these lyrics fit in nicely with his usual themes, and none of them seem unfinished to me. (Maybe “Puppets,” the one here that seems a little facile.) It’s as dark as midnight, and that tone is set by the first track, “Happens to the Heart.” By the time it ends with this couplet – “I was handy with a rifle, my father’s 303, I fought for something final, not the right to disagree” – you’re swept up in Cohen’s imagery, and his despair.

The music here is perfect. I feared a tendency to over-egg these pieces, to try for larger orchestration in an attempt to make them more impactful. I shouldn’t have worried. Adam Cohen has a lot of experience working with his father’s words, and he has crafted a subtle, at times nearly inaudible, bed for them to lie on. The erotic “The Night of Santiago” is beautiful, ten musicians coming together to make something so quiet, so focused on the lyric, that I can imagine Leonard nodding in approval. That’s the feeling throughout, that the lyric is the most important thing here – when Sharon Robinson adds her voice to “It’s Torn,” she slips into the background, supporting Cohen beautifully.

My fears, it seems, were unwarranted.Thanks for the Dance is a lovely final bow from Cohen, aided by a team of artists who all clearly revere him and his work. The closing track, “Listen to the Hummingbird,” could not be more sublime: “Listen to the hummingbird whose wings you cannot see, listen to the hummingbird, don’t listen to me,” Cohen says as a benediction, and I have no trouble imagining him sanctioning these as his final words. It’s just the touch of spirituality and humor that made him a legend. I’m grateful for one last chance to hear from him, and I’m afraid I’ll be disobeying his final exhortation as often as I can.

That about wraps it up for 2019, and my schedule for the final four weeks is as follows. On Dec. 10 I’ll dig into some Christmas music from the year, on Dec. 17 I’ll list my honorable mentions and ineligible-but-worthy releases, and on Christmas Eve I will post my top 10 list. That leaves New Year’s Eve for Fifty Second Week, and then we’re into 2020. Thanks to all who have come with me on this journey. Excited to dive into year twenty.

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See you in line Tuesday morning.