It’s February! Holy hell.

So let’s talk about singers and voices, and why I think they’re different. I’ve been getting into a few musical arguments lately (some of which have gotten out of hand – sorry about that), and one of the topics has been just what qualifies someone as a good singer, and whether those qualities are important. One of my frequent sparring partners is a trained singer, and looks for the same kind of training in any singer he encounters: good pitch, good control, good tone.

And that’s admirable, I think, but so few singers in the worlds I inhabit ever get there. Kathleen Edwards, whose terrific new album Voyageur I reviewed last week, is one of them – her voice is a strong and supple instrument. But I’d be hard-pressed to say the same about Matthew Caws of Nada Surf, last week’s other contestant. And I like the new Nada Surf album more.

This is going to sound disingenuous coming from a guy who doesn’t like Bob Dylan, but if your voice is interesting, and holds the listener, and you’ve arranged the music to suit it, then it doesn’t have to actually be “good.” A classic example is Tom Waits. He sounds like a gorilla that’s spent the last 30 years swallowing razor blades, but there’s no one else I want singing a tune like “Flower’s Grave.” Tom Waits sings Tom Waits songs like no one else.

And then there’s Leonard Cohen. Never the world’s greatest singer – he sounded like an old poet even at 32 – Cohen’s voice has atrophied into a low, tuneless bass rumble. He’s 77 now, and on his 12th studio record (cheekily titled Old Ideas), he doesn’t really sing. He speaks, in a whisper that could move mountains. But sweet lord, this record is wonderful, and I wouldn’t want anyone else at the microphone. Cohen’s voice, far from being some sort of detriment, actually makes this thing.

Old Ideas isn’t much different from the work Cohen’s been doing lately. The songs are spectral blues pieces, spare and ghostly, and his voice is contrasted with female backup singers (longtime collaborators Sharon Robinson and the Webb Sisters). Anjani Thomas and Jennifer Warnes make appearances, as they have for years. Cohen’s mind is on God, ruined love and old age, and he’s still finding new ways to plumb these well-worn topics.

So yeah, this is a Leonard Cohen album, but it’s a particularly good one. It’s largely shorn of the synthesizers Cohen’s been using since the ‘80s, with producers Patrick Leonard and Ed Sanders casting him in more timeless jazz and gospel settings. The absolutely wonderful seven-minute “Amen” is drums, banjo and pump organ, and little else, as Cohen sings of his own unworthiness: “Tell me again when I’m clean and I’m sober, tell me again when I’ve seen through the horror, tell me you want me then, amen…”

“Darkness” is a dirty blues that tackles the album’s grimmer themes head-on: “I got no future, I know my days are few, the present’s not so pleasant, just a lot of things to do, I thought the past would last me, but the darkness got that too…” Its follow-up, “Anyhow,” is a plea for mercy: “I know you can’t forgive me, but forgive me anyhow…” Cohen is close-miked here, and you can feel the shape of his voice, over a shimmering shuffle and some lovely piano work from Leonard.

There is light within these shadows, however, as there always is. “Come Healing” is a prayer for solace, for water in an endless desert, and it sounds like it. Dana Glover’s harmonized vocals take center stage for nearly a full minute, over spare electric piano: “And let the heavens hear it, the penitential hymn, come healing of the spirit, come healing of the limb.” Cohen’s voice fits into this perfectly, worn and weary and seeking grace.

And on “Lullaby,” he offers that grace in return. One of the few songs here with the Casio percussion that has been a Cohen trademark, “Lullaby” is a balm: “If your heart is torn, I don’t wonder why, if the night is long, here’s my lullaby…” It’s almost a shame when the album ends with the bitter “Different Sides,” a song of recrimination. But it’s just as well. Cohen remains a fascinating figure, torn between the sacred and the profane, and the off-kilter conclusion to Old Ideas retains that tension.

Leonard Cohen remains a singular artist, and this album would not work nearly as well with a more traditionally “good” singer. It’s his old-as-time, deeply authoritative voice that gives Old Ideas its power. For more than 40 years, Cohen has found the perfect collaborators and written the perfect music for that voice, and on Old Ideas, he does that better than he has in some time. His is a voice worth treasuring.

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Another idiosyncratic singer is Craig Finn of the Hold Steady. I’m not sure just how to describe his voice, if you’ve never heard it – it’s pinched, with a rough-hewn quality and something of a sneering tone. It works well in his band, which spits fire all over its tumbling Springsteen grooves. In that setting, it’s another part of the vibe – rousing, nostalgic and yet pissing on nostalgia at the same time.

But so much of what makes the Hold Steady work is that fire. Would Finn’s voice work apart from that setting? Finn’s first solo album is a chance to find out. It’s called Clear Heart Full Eyes (an inverted take on Coach Taylor’s catchphrase from Friday Night Lights), and it’s a quieter, more diverse take on the Hold Steady sound. Finn the storyteller is in full bloom here, but the music behind him is more acoustic, more sparse, and full of color.

Does it work? Sure. Finn doesn’t sound much different here, spitting out complex lines full of consonants, but where the Hold Steady would turn something like “Terrified Eyes” into a punky wall of noise, Finn’s crack band renders it as a sorta-folksy driving song. You’ll notice the difference right away: “Apollo Bay” starts off with a slow beat and fumbling guitars before bringing in the lap steels, and the song takes off about halfway through, but never picks up steam.

“New Friend Jesus” sounds like Uncle Tupelo, Finn’s voice taking on a Jay Farrar twang over rollicking acoustics. It’s my favorite lyric here too: “Now people give me sideways looks when we set up on the strand, but it’s hard to suck with Jesus in your band.” Jesus is a recurring character on this record, cropping up in “Western Pier” and “Honolulu Blues,” and conceptual links connect most of these songs. When the album ends with the sad “Not Much Left of Us,” you feel like you’ve been following a set of characters that have come to their dissolution point.

The sonic shakeup seems to be exactly what Finn needed – this is a much stronger effort than the Hold Steady’s last release, Heaven is Whenever. In retrospect, that album may have been an attempt to do songs like these within the Hold Steady framework, and it simply didn’t work. Clear Heart Full Eyes works, and I hope Finn can bring some of this more reflective sense of adventure with him when he rejoins his band.

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I haven’t heard a lot of complaints about John K. Samson’s voice, but I’ve always found it a little odd.

The Weakerthans singer has a high, reedy quality about him, sort of like Ben Gibbard, but less distinctive. It works very well in the context of his band’s driving, folksy rock, but like Craig Finn, Samson has just stripped everything down to its quietest point for his solo bow, Provincial. And where Finn’s effort is decent, even pretty good, Samson’s is wonderful.

Like the best of the Weakerthans’ stuff, Provincial is sad and wistful, but the music here matches – it’s acoustic guitars and strings and icy textures. A few songs (most notably “When I Write My Master’s Thesis” and “Longitudinal Centre”) crank up the volume and hit the distortion pedal, but for much of the running time, Samson is reflective and thoughtful. These tunes are twisty things, full of little surprises, and Samson’s voice is in fine form.

There’s real sorrow here, and a true sense that these people and places Samson is describing live in his head. Samson has long been an underrated lyricist, and his poems here read like little stories. “The Last And” so completely paints its picture of a broken love affair between a schoolteacher and a principal that you’ll feel like you’ve watched the movie of their story. “After Christmas holidays you never asked to drive me home again, and sometimes in the staff room I catch your eye with ‘why’d it have to end,’ but I know from how you worry at your wedding band, I was just your little ampersand…”

“Grace General,” in fact, could stand by itself as a short story in an anthology. Here it is, in full, in paragraph form as it appears in the liner notes:

“Cruel snow, cracked lips, sun lost by 4. Cold winces through the cardboard window where the cobblestone was smashed into glass, and the bare bulb of moon swings over Portage Avenue, lights the icy ruts they sprinkled with sand, down the dim hall of chain stores to Grace, where the parking lot is full again and I don’t bother locking up. The face, before the doors slide apart, is hers, the day they took away the candy and left gift-shop tulips to frame her alarmed ‘what will I do now?’ What will I do now?”

Elsewhere, Samson devotes an entire song to a petition to get former Philadelphia Flyers hockey player Regge Leach into the hall of fame. But he also finds new ways to describe isolation and inertia in “Stop Error,” and puts you in the driver’s seat in a dead-end small town on “Cruise Night.” Provincial is a lyrical tour de force, and is musically just as strong. It’s a fine solo project from an underrated talent, and his voice carries it beautifully.

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That’s it for this week. Next week, Van Halen. I’m actually hoping this isn’t horrible, but I’m not counting on it. Also possible: Of Montreal, Paul McCartney, and the Fray, plus catch-up reviews of Ian Axel and Jonathan Jones.

Leave a comment on my blog at tm3am.blogspot.com. Follow my infrequent twitterings at www.twitter.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning.

I was hoping this year would get off to a good start. But we lost both Johnny Otis and Etta James already. This is not putting your best foot forward, 2012.

In other sad news, I still don’t have the new Guided by Voices album. Yes, it out. No, it hasn’t arrived at my local music store, and I’m pretty adamant about supporting them when I can. It’s on its way, apparently, so I wait. But that’s OK, because I have a couple of corkers to talk about this week anyway. So we’ll do that, and then we’ll do some miscellaneous wrap-up and call it a week.

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Nada Surf are survivors.

Every time I review a new effort by this New York trio, I have to fight off the urge to start it by saying that yes, the “Popular” band is still around, and still making music, and yes, they’re terrific. This is old news by now. Matthew Caws, Daniel Lorca and Ira Elliot have long since shed their ironic grunge past, and their string of great records now stands at six. I’m sure they get asked about their big hit all the time, but it’s just irrelevant now.

Since 1998, Nada Surf has been releasing one finely-crafted, straight-ahead rock record after another, seemingly oblivious to anyone’s incredulity. They’ve been on Barsuk Records since 2002’s lovely Let Go, and with each new album, they just get tighter, better, and (remarkably) more optimistic. Their new one is called The Stars Are Indifferent to Astronomy, and the title is the only self-serious thing about it.

This album, just like the last few, is a pristine slice of guitar-rock with no frills, no dead spots, and no bad songs. Its 10 tracks glide by in 38 short minutes, but its repeat play value is infinite. I don’t think I’m ever going to get tired of a well-constructed, pulsing song like “Waiting for Something,” or a low-key epic like “When I Was Young.” The latter song evolves over five minutes from placid acoustics to full-bore drama, Caws’ guitar filling all the important spaces while he sings a devastating melody.

It’s been a while since I’ve heard guitars that truly chime the way Caws’ do on “Jules and Jim,” a song that never seems to run out of nifty twists. (And it helps if you’ve seen the movie it’s named after: “I am all three, I am Catherine,” Caws sings, a line that won’t make sense without the source material.) The band shifts from referencing Truffaut to picking up where Katy Perry left off on “Teenage Dreams,” a little pop gem that redeems that title.

This is the kind of album on which every song could have been the leadoff track. The energy never flags, the songwriting never falters. (If the tunes on the new Shins album are this good, I’ll be a happy guy.) Final song “The Future” is no less a winner than the first few tracks, and it brings the album’s theme – the passage of time, and how to overcome it – to a fitting conclusion. (“I cannot believe the future’s happening to me…”)

If there’s a secret to staying indifferent to the years, Nada Surf seems to have found it. If you wrote them off as a one-hit wonder in the ‘90s, you don’t know what you’re missing. A fine guitar-rock record like this one shouldn’t go unnoticed. But I get the sense that whether or not anyone cares, this trio will keep cranking out splendid little discs like this one until the world ends, or they do.

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And now for this week’s edition of I’m an Idiot.

Singer-songwriter Kathleen Edwards first hit the scene in 2003 with an album called Failer. I heard all about it, and held it in my hands once, but never bought it. The same thing happened when she put out Back to Me in 2005. Deep down, I knew Edwards was a talent I should explore – I had heard “Six O’Clock News,” and liked it – but for some reason I just didn’t. Her third album, Asking for Flowers, came and went, and I didn’t even notice.

Now she’s back with her fourth, Voyageur, and the acclaim has been hard to ignore. So I didn’t – I finally plunked down my cash and picked up a Kathleen Edwards album. And now I realize what a moron I’ve been, and I’m in the process of picking up her prior three records. I don’t love all of these songs, but I love enough of them with enough force that I need to hear more.

Edwards is a strong singer, a fine lyricist, and a developing songwriter. The first couple tunes on Voyageur, in fact, are lesser lights, falling into standard strum-and-sang patterns. But the album takes off with a gorgeous piece called “A Soft Place to Land,” a track that seems to be made of clouds. Edwards entwines her voice with that of her producer, Justin Vernon of Bon Iver, and they sound magical together. Vernon’s involvement has led to a lot of attention for this record, and though he plays or sings on nearly every track, he does a remarkable job of standing back and letting Edwards’ vision rule the day.

Other highlights: “Change the Sheets” is as splendid an anthem of independence as I’ve heard in years, taking a bit from Shawn Colvin and running with it. “Sidecar” is just lovely, a rollicking song of companionship with a fuzzy bass line and backing vocals by John Roderick of the Long Winters. Closer “For the Record” is a seven-minute electric-piano ballad that amazingly resists the temptation to build to a climax. “Hang me up on your cross, for the record I only wanted to sing songs,” Edwards laments, leaving you with an off-kilter feeling that somehow really works.

But the gem of the album, the song that convinced me I need to hear Edwards’ other albums rightfreakingnow, is “House Full of Empty Rooms.” Slow and plaintive, built around a subtle organ line, this song is just breathtakingly beautiful. The rising and falling melody brings goosebumps, and though you may not notice it at first, there’s a choir here, buried but crucial to the song’s atmosphere. Vernon and Edwards outdid themselves – it’s the perfect realization of a simple, absolutely crushing song.

So yeah, I’m an idiot. Had I just gone with my instincts nine years ago, I could have been telling you about how sweet it is to hear a record like this from Edwards, having followed her career. But no. Instead, I’m telling you how much I liked this album from an artist I’ve never really paid attention to, and how it’s convinced me to start. If you’re in the same boat as me, you should check this out. And if you’re one of those people who has been here all along, well, I humbly ask your forgiveness. I’m here now, ready to help spread the word.

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So, the next few weeks? They look kind of like this.

Next week sees the new Leonard Cohen, called Old Ideas. (That’s our humble Len.) Mike Doughty will also release a double-disc live album called The Question Jar Show, and Metallica will try to make up for Lulu with a CD release of their Beyond Magnetic EP. And the U.S. finally gets Gotye’s Making Mirrors, the album with “Someone I Used to Know” on it. Yes, that song.

February 7 sees many returns, some happy and some not. Paul McCartney has taken the extraordinary step of calling his new covers album Kisses on the Bottom. (Not making that up, wish I was.) The Fray is back with Scars and Stories, while Of Montreal disco-dances into our hearts with something called Paralytic Stalks. But the real story is A Different Kind of Truth, the first album from the reunited Van Halen. The single is godawful, and I expect the album to follow suit, meaning we may have a winner in the Most Unintentionally Hilarious Record of the Year category.

Not a lot on Valentine’s Day. A Todd Rundgren live album, and a new one from alt-pop collective Islands. But the next week, February 21, sees Field Music return with Plumb, which I promise, cross my heart, I will actually review. Sophie B. Hawkins and Amy Ray will put out new things on February 28, and the Magnetic Fields will grace March 6.

After that, look for that new Shins album, as well as new things from Soulfly, the Decemberists (a live album at last!), Esperanza Spalding, Spiritualized, Iron Maiden, the Mars Volta (a new record with the very Mars Volta title Noctourniquet), Paul Weller, and the reunited Orbital. April 10 sees the new Choir album, which I’m pretty excited about, and the furthest outpost on my release calendar is May 8, when Rufus Wainwright drops his reportedly rocking new set Out of the Game.

So that’ll do it for me this week. Next week, that damn Guided by Voices album, and some other things.

As a quick parting note, my good friend Dr. Tony Shore has unveiled his latest Obvious PopCast, in which he runs down his top 12 songs of the year. It’s a fine listen, especially for fans of melodic power pop. I say this as an impartial observer and fan, despite the fact that he name-checks me for getting him into Quiet Company. (You’re welcome, Doc.) Here, check it out.

Leave a comment on my blog at tm3am.blogspot.com. Follow my infrequent twitterings at www.twitter.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning.

So. Remember last week, when I announced that Let’s Go Eat the Factory, the first album from the reunited Guided by Voices, would be my first purchase of 2012? Yeah, not so much. The release date’s been pushed back a couple of times, and the consequence is that I’ve already picked up six new records this year, and none of them are Let’s Go Eat the Factory, the first album from the reunited Guided by Voices.

Yes, I could listen to the free stream of the record online, but that’s not how I like to do things. You’ll have to wait until next week to hear what I think about GbV. (And so will I.) But that doesn’t mean you’re going away empty-handed this week. In fact, 2012 is off to a promising start, and I’m prepared to tell you all about it.

On tap: an album I expected to like (and did), an album I expected to hate (and didn’t), and a flat-out fun piece of work from an unexpected team-up. First reviews of 2012! Ready? Go!

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It’s been more than three years since Ani Difranco put out an album.

In Ani time, that’s like a decade. The Little Folksinger from Buffalo, New York has been steadily self-releasing records since 1990, sometimes two or three a year – 17 studio albums, three EPs, several collaborative efforts and a whole ton of live efforts. She was one of the first recording artists to establish her own independent label, free from outside influence – in technology terms, she’d be called an early adopter – and she’s used that freedom to do whatever she wants, as often as she wants.

So the fact that she took so much time away since 2008’s Red Letter Day is significant. In that time, she got married to her production partner, Mike Napolitano, and worked on raising their daughter, Petah. And she also slowly and carefully crafted Which Side Are You On, her just-released return to store shelves, over several sessions in 2010 and 2011. Difranco, a notoriously spur-of-the-moment songwriter and record-maker, has never spent so much time on one project before, and she says that allowed her to write a backlog of tunes, and sculpt the arrangements to her liking.

If you’re worried that Which Side is Difranco’s Chinese Democracy, don’t. This isn’t a staid studio project, slaved over until it gasps its last. This is just a particularly well-arranged work, with something new to marvel at every few seconds. Yeah, there are plenty of guest stars – Ivan and Cyril Neville (yes, those Nevilles), Anais Mitchell, saxophonist Skerik, Pete Seeger (on the title track, a cover of a song he popularized in the ‘50s) – but at its core, this is just another Ani album: diverse, well-crafted, full of life, and sporting a set of lyrics worth poring over and reveling in.

On this, her 17th album, the 41-year-old Difranco sounds personally content and politically disillusioned. She opens the record with a warning, in case we’ve forgotten who we’re dealing with: “Every time I open my mouth I take off my clothes, and I’m raw and frostbitten from being exposed,” she sings on the low-key “Life Boat.” As usual, her lyrics are forthright, direct, and searingly honest. You always know Ani’s telling you the truth about how she feels.

And on the political tunes here, she feels let down, but not out. Her recasting of the title track is just wonderful, her crack band sharing space with local singers, drummers and horn players from New York. She adds her own verses, compelling those who agree with her to get up, get out and vote: “So are we just consumers, or are we citizens, are we going to make more garbage, or are we going to make amends, are you part of the solution or are you part of the con, which side are you on?” Seeger’s banjo starts this thing off, and provides its bedrock.

But elsewhere, she’s more reflective, as on “J” when she admits some disappointment with our commander in chief: “You’d a thought we’d have come more far somehow since the changing of the guard and all, I mean, dude could have been FDR right now and instead he’s just shifting his weight…” (From the author of this squirmy ode to Obama, that’s a huge admission.)

And she turns her attention (and her for-better-or-worse bluntness) to women’s rights on “Amendment,” a plain-spoken plea for the ERA. Here’s the best and worst of Ani’s lyrical prowess, from the poetic (“If men can kill and be decorated instead of blamed, then a woman called upon to mother can choose to refrain”) to the stunningly prosaic (“When I say we need the ERA it ain’t ‘cause I’m a fool, it’s ‘cause without it nobody can get away with anything cool”). “Amendment” feels like it wants to be a rallying cry, but it reads more like a first draft with potential.

But that may be because angry, politically-minded Ani takes a serious back seat here to delightedly domestic Ani. Some of these songs are the happiest she’s ever given us, and they’re a joy to hear. “Albacore” takes the prize for me. “I’m no blushing girl, no innocent dove, it took me a long time to find love,” she sings at the start, then gives the ultimate compliment: “When I am next to you, I am more me.” On “Hearse,” she finds a simultaneously funny and touching metaphor: “We’ll be pushing up daisies and my crush will just be getting worse, and I will follow you into the next life like a dog chasing after a hearse…”

After following her struggles, romantic and otherwise, for two decades, it’s genuinely moving to hear Difranco this contented. She sums up her feelings on the raucous blues “If Yr Not”: “If you’re not getting happier as you get older, then you’re fucking up.” She even leaves us with the last verse of “Zoo,” which sounds like her way of preparing us for an even longer wait next time: “And if I should ever quit your spotlight, I hope you won’t think me wrong, says the poet to the moonlight, says the singer to the song, it’s enough just to stay upright in every single way, and pour your love into your children until there’s nothing left to say…”

I hope it’s a long time before Difranco has nothing left to say. But a happiness so all-encompassing it makes her consider giving up music? How could you begrudge her that? Which Side Are You On is a strong return for one of the most distinctive, literate and flat-out talented songwriters we have, and its delightful songs of devotion make up for its occasional blunt-force missteps. Even with those few stumbles, Which Side is the year’s first great record. Whoever said happy people don’t make compelling art should hear this.

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No one is more surprised than me that I like the new Snow Patrol album.

I mean, they’re Snow Patrol. They suck. They write repetitive, go-nowhere “anthems” that bore when they should soar. On five previous albums, they refined a sound that I grew more and more tired of – rigidly repeating eighth-note guitars strumming simple chords while Gary Lightbody plaintively wails, and producers pile sonic muck on top of everything. Their last effort, 2008’s A Hundred Million Suns, was their biggest effort – it concluded with a three-part, 16-minute suite – and yet most of it stuck to their worn-out formula.

So why did I even buy Fallen Empires, their just-released-in-the-U.S. sixth go-round? Because I’m a sucker for flip-the-script narratives, and word was that Lightbody and his crew had done just that. In my review of Suns, I said it took the Snow Patrol sound as far as it could go, and that I would need a reinvention to sign on for album six. Did I get one? In a lot of important ways, yes. In a lot of just as important ways, no. But this record works.

For Fallen Empires, Snow Patrol has become the umpteenth guitar band to embrace electronics. Nearly every song here is peppered with pitter-patter drums and buoyed by synthesizers. The core of Lightbody’s songwriting hasn’t changed much – he still composes repetitive, melody-deficient pleas to the sky – but you’d be stunned at just how much that sort of thing improves when the constant da-da-da-da guitar playing is replaced with something else. They kept most of what defines them, but moved it into a strikingly different context.

But even the more straightforward ones, like “This Garden Rules,” all pianos and strings, work for me this time, and I’m not sure why. I just know that when Lightbody and guest vocalist Lissette sing “you’ll never know how much I love you,” I lose track of the fact that the song is only two chords repeated again and again. Take “New York,” the prettiest thing here. It’s four piano chords, endlessly repeating, but something in the production – the orchestration, the backing vocals, the sweeping tone – turns it special. “Come on, come out, come here,” Lightbody sings, and by the end, I’m singing it too.

Snow Patrol have really only changed a few things, but they’ve worked wonders with them. The title track is barely a song – it’s all on one note – but the electronics add a sense of creeping menace that just wouldn’t have been possible without them. The wall of sound is gone, and in its place are a newfound sense of space and a healthy dose of new tones. Fallen Empires is the first Snow Patrol album I’ve liked enough to listen to more than a few times, and is the first one that has me actively interested in where they go next. It ain’t love, but it’s good enough.

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This new year has a long way to go, but I wouldn’t be surprised if I’ve just heard its most fun record.

It’s called For the Good Times, and it’s the second effort by the Little Willies, a supergroup that thoroughly defies the term. While most people will come to the Willies for singer and pianist Norah Jones, I’m here for criminally ignored New York songwriter Richard Julian. I’ve been a Julian fan for more than a decade, and over six solo albums, he’s displayed the sharp wit and observational honesty of a master. Plus, he can sing and play pretty damn well, too.

So the Little Willies is Jones and Julian, with guitarist Jim Campilongo, bassist Lee Alexander and drummer Dan Rieser, all well-respected players. And when they get together, they do covers of old country tunes, written by the likes of Loretta Lynn, Johnny Cash, Dolly Parton, Ralph Stanley, and their namesake, Willie Nelson. The quintet clearly had a blast making this, and unlike most projects like these, this is just as much fun to listen to. It’s loose, but beautifully played, and shows the deepest respect for these songs.

Just check out their take on “Lovesick Blues,” a song Hank Williams took to the top of the charts in 1949. Julian and Jones wrap their voices around each other, pulling off the near-yodels perfectly, while the band hangs back and lays down a sweetly swaying groove. Jones lets out her inner spitfire on Loretta Lynn’s “Fist City,” and if you think Jones’ usual fare could use a good kick in the ass, check her out on this tune. It’s a lark, but she digs in and sings the hell out of it.

Other highlights: Julian puts his personal stamp on Willie Nelson’s grand “Permanently Lonely,” he and Jones have a great time with Quincy Jones’ “Foul Owl on the Prowl” (famously featured in the film In the Heat of the Night), and Jones does a fine job with Kris Kristofferson’s title track. The record closes out with Dolly Parton’s signature “Jolene,” the most well-known song the Willies have covered, and it’s a low-key rendition, Jones pulling out new colors from the familiar melody.

For the Good Times is reverent when it needs to be, but mainly, it’s just a boatload of fun. And if it serves to bring Richard Julian’s work further into the public eye, then that’s an unqualified good. (Check him out here.) The Little Willies is the best kind of side project – one with its own identity, one that makes its own convincing case. I can’t wait to hear more.

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Next week, Guided by Voices for sure, and one or two other things. Back in the saddle, y’all. Leave a comment on my blog at tm3am.blogspot.com. Follow my infrequent twitterings at www.twitter.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning.

Well, hello! Welcome to the first column of 2012 – coincidentally, my 12th year writing this silly thing. At the end of every year, as the schedules start to implode and my pre-vacation to-do list starts to grow beyond my ability to manage it, I imagine what it would be like to just stop. To just call it a day and end TM3AM for good.

But then my customary two or three weeks away serves to clear my mind, and I find myself re-energized, ready to jump back in come January. The simple truth is, I love writing this column, and I love the musical and personal relationships it’s brought me. I’m no more ready to stop doing this than I am ready to quit buying new music. And if you know me at all, you know the likelihood of that.

It’s not just the time away that does it. Each year comes with a promise of renewal, of new projects and albums that will set me reeling. It’s rare that a year lives up to the potential that shines down on it during these early days, but astonishingly, 2011 was such a year. I had high hopes for it, and it blew those hopes through the sky. I ended 2011 happier, artistically speaking, than I’d been in a while.

So now here’s 2012, with a lot to live up to. But the early signs are good. Here now are 12 reasons to love 2012. There are plenty more, but this is enough to fill me with geeky hope.

1. Guided by Voices, Let’s Go Eat the Factory. This will be the first new album I buy this year. Robert Pollard has released more albums in the last five years than most songwriters do in their whole lives, including an astonishing double-album swan song for his Boston Spaceships outfit. But early word is that he saved some corkers for this, the first album from the reunited Guided by Voices. It’s the first effort from the so-called “classic” lineup of Pollard, Tobin Sprout, Mitch Mitchell and Greg Demos since 1996. And what I’ve heard has been classic GbV.

2. Ani DiFranco, Which Side Are You On. This is Ani’s first album in four years. That may not sound like an awfully long time, but for her, it’s an eternity. It is, in fact, the longest time between records she’s ever taken. She certainly didn’t need a hiatus to recharge – her last few albums have been magnificent. So I’m expecting wonders from this one, centered around the title track, a cover of the old Pete Seeger tune (featuring Seeger himself on vocals and banjo). However the record is, it’s going to be great to have the little folksinger back. That’s out on Jan. 17.

3. Nada Surf, The Stars Are Indifferent to Astronomy. I just love this band, and I love that they survived the ‘90s with their wits about them. Over a series of tremendous little pop records last decade, Nada Surf proved to be one of the most optimistic and catchy rock acts around, and this new one, out Jan. 24, promises to extend that streak. Seriously, if all you know is “Popular” and you haven’t heard The Weight is a Gift or Lucky yet, do yourself a favor.

4. Field Music, Plumb. For some reason, Field Music hasn’t gotten a lot of love in this space. I have no idea why. They’re one of the most inventive pop acts on the scene, a mix of XTC and 10CC that never fails to delight. Their last one, Measure, is amazing – 20 songs, all of them thrilling. And advance word on their fourth, out Feb. 21, is just as good. This time, I resolve to actually review the thing, because this is a band who deserves some attention.

5. The Magnetic Fields, Love at the Bottom of the Sea. Oh, Stephin Merritt. You never let me down. Just a glance at the extreme plush bird closeup on the cover of this new Magnetic Fields album, and I just know I’m going to love it. Merritt is a songwriter’s songwriter, heavily informed by the classic work of Cole Porter and George Gershwin, but armed with synthesizers and a rapier wit. Great song titles this time out: “I’d Go Anywhere With Hugh,” “Infatuation (With Your Gyration),” “I’ve Run Away to Join the Fairies,” “I Don’t Like Your Tone,” “All She Cares About is Mariachi.” Can’t wait to hear the songs they accompany.

6. Andrea Dawn, Theories of How We Can Be Friends. Andrea’s a friend, but she’s also a frighteningly good vocalist and songwriter. She funded the completion of this record – her first major statement on her own – through Kickstarter, and she describes it as dark and unsettling, which works for me. Andrea and her husband Zach have been Brian Wilson-ing this thing in their apartment for a year now, and it’s nearly done. You won’t be able to get it at your local Best Buy, but I’ll let you know when you can buy it direct from the artist herself. First single “Underground” is here.

7. A new Choir album. My two favorite bands are getting ready to release new records this year, and I couldn’t be happier. The first, the Choir, is on an absolute tear lately, giving us two of their best efforts ever in O How the Mighty Have Fallen and Burning Like the Midnight Sun, and then gifting us with an acoustic album on top of that. Now they say they may very well have their new studio record done and out by April. I call that unqualified good news. Check them out here.

8. A new Marillion album and tour. My other favorite band is gearing up to release their 17th (!) album, and they’re touring the United States for the first time since 2004 this summer. (Yes, I have tickets.) Marillion, as well, is on a roll – their 15th, Happiness is the Road, is one of their strangest and best, and their acoustic project, Less is More, is awesome. We’re getting several live albums from the band this year too, and a project from frontman Steve Hogarth with Porcupine Tree’s Richard Barbieri. It’s a great time to be a Marillion fan. You can be one too: www.marillion.com.

9. A new Early November album. Hard to explain why I love Ace Enders so much, but I do. His band The Early November flamed out in 2006, after giving us their masterpiece – the triple album The Mother, the Mechanic and the Path. I don’t expect such a grandiose statement from their reunion record, due out sometime this year. But I do expect catchy and witty songs, from a writer still tapping a deep well of potential.

10. The Shins, Port of Morrow. I’m a little worried about this one, since it’s the first with the all-new band. But James Mercer is still at the helm, and man, can that guy write a pop song. The Shins’ last one, 2007’s Wincing the Night Away, came close to topping my top 10 list that year. Can this one seal the deal? We’ll find out how it is in March.

11. Aimee Mann, Charmer. There’s no set release date for this, but it may be the album I’m most looking forward to in 2012. It’ll be Mann’s seventh, and she says it’s influenced by ’70s and ’80s pop like ABBA and the Cars. I have no idea what that means for her sound, but Mann is one of the world’s greatest living songwriters, and she’s never let me down. Every time she puts out a record, I clear a spot in my top 10 list for it, and she’s always earned that spot.

12. The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey. Yeah, not music, but I think this is the cinematic experience I’m most anticipating next year. I spent 11 glorious hours watching all of Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings trilogy (in their extended forms) over vacation, and holy hell, those are incredible movies. His two-film adaptation of The Hobbit looks to be the same, except this one has Martin Freeman, one of my favorite British actors. He’s Tim from The Office, he’s Arthur Dent from the Hitchhiker’s Guide movie, and he’s the best Dr. Watson ever on Sherlock. And now he’s Bilbo Baggins, off on an adventure. Can. Not. Wait.

So there you have it. This year’s going to be blindingly good, and I’m thrilled that I get to chronicle it here, week in and week out. I hope you’ll join me. Year 12!

Next week, Ani and Guided by Voices. Start the year off right. Thanks for reading. Leave a comment on my blog at tm3am.blogspot.com. Follow my infrequent twitterings at www.twitter.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning.

This is Fifty Second Week.

There’s an awful lot of music released every year, and as hard as I try to hear it all, I can’t. In fact, as hard as I try to review everything I hear, I can’t do that either. Hence this annual tradition, in which I clear my backlog from the year as quickly as I can. This is my way of wiping the slate, and greeting the new year fresh.

How does it work? I have in front of me 52 albums from 2011, none of which received a full review in this space. It’s not that they weren’t deserving, it’s that the march of time is a bitch. So for the last column of the year, I’m going to review them all. I’m giving myself 50 seconds for each one – I have one of those handy desktop stopwatch programs, and when it beeps, I’m done, even if I’m in the middle of a sentence. In fact, it’s more fun if I am.

Fifty-two reviews in just under an hour. This is Fifty Second Week. Ready? Go!

Adele, 21

Adele was everywhere in 2011, with her big, booming voice. There’s nothing really wrong with this soulful little album (except the cover of “Lovesong”), but I can’t listen all the way through. She only has one setting on that voice, and it gets wearying.

The Baseball Project, Volume 2: High and Inside

Second outing from Scott McCaughey and Peter Buck and company. This one is even more ragged than the first, if you can believe it, but there are some great true baseball stories here, including a serious concentration on my Boston Red Sox.

Battles, Gloss Drop

Not nearly the revelation that Mirrored was, this sophomore album skimps on the super-complex instrumental madness of the debut, and adds vocals on some of the weaker tracks. Sure, Gary Numan is here, and that’s cool, but this album is a definite disappointment.

James Blake

This may or may not be my first dubstep album – I have trouble keeping all the electronic subgenres apart. Blake has a really nice voice, and apparently his big innovation is writing actual songs, which he does pretty well here. It’s spooky, but it’s definitely recognizable as pop music.

The Book of Mormon Original Cast Recording

Oh. My. God. Trey Parker and Matt Stone conquer Broadway with the filthiest, funniest musical I’ve heard in years and years. There’s no bad here – the story of two Utah Mormons sent to Uganda to convert the natives is touching and hilarious. Hasa diga eebowai!

Broken Bells, Meyrin Fields EP

I can’t think of any reason these four songs were not appended to the already very short Broken Bells album. The collaboration between Danger Mouse and James Mercer of the Shins sounds exactly the same here, in this bite-sized collection. It’s still pretty good.

BT, These Humble Machines

One of two supplemental records for Brian Transeau’s massive These Hopeful Machines double album, this one condenses that record’s 12 songs onto one disc. I can barely tell you what’s missing, the editing is so good.

BT, These Reimagined Machines

And here’s the other, and the much more substantial one – 17 remixes across two hours, and one of the finest remix projects I’ve ever heard. These songs were largely sublime to begin with, but in these other hands, they’re blissed-out wonders.

Cage the Elephant, Thank You Happy Birthday

Cage the Elephant have exactly one good song, and it was their hit: “No Rest for the Wicked.” You can hear the ideas running out as this second album progresses. It’s not worth your time.

Cassettes Won’t Listen, Kevinspacey

Technically, it’s called Evinspacey, since Kevin Spacey threw a fit, but the hell with that. This is the second album from Jason Drake, and he makes chilly electronic pop music with wonderful melodies. This is bedroom pop at its best, particularly “Echoes.”

Alice Cooper, Welcome 2 My Nightmare

Is this sequel worthy of the 1975 shock-rock original? No, not really. But it is one of Cooper’s best albums in a long time, and it preserves the original’s classy sleaze, if that makes any sense. There are songs called “I’ll Bite Your Face Off” and “Ghouls Gone Wild,” if that helps.

Cut Off Your Hands, Hollow

Proof that all the good band names are taken. This record is a really good slice of country-rock mixed with ‘80s clean-guitar goodness, like the Smiths meets Smith and Wesson. Despite the horrible name, I ended up li

Dawes, Nothing is Wrong

As a regular reader of the AV Club, I want to say this album is the pinnacle of all music, curing all the world’s ills with that sweet Laurel Canyon sound. But I won’t. This is actually a damn fine guitar-rock album from a meat-and-potatoes band that does their thing very well.

Dream Theater, A Dramatic Turn of Events

If you thought Dream Theater would flounder without founding drummer Mike Portnoy, think again. New guy Mike Mangini is less show-offy, and the focus is on some of the best prog-tastic songs DT has written in years. A pleasant surprise from a band I was worried about.

Florence and the Machine, Ceremonials

This is really good, and I’m not sure why I didn’t get around to reviewing it. Florence Welch has a strong and powerful voice, but she uses it in service of some quirky, all-out dramatic songs here, and it works. This is a go-for-broke second album, and I almost always like those.

Foster the People, Torches

Another one that deserved a full, in-depth review. Torches is the electro-pop album of the year, thanks to Mark Foster’s danceable, hummable, infectious tunes. Yes, they’re about dark subjects. No, you won’t notice while you’re dancing.

Hammock, Asleep in the Downlights

Two of the greatest shoegaze bands on earth, Hammock and the Church, team up for this four-song EP, on which every tune sports vocals. This is a new thing for Hammock, but they pull it off – this is hazy, dreamy, beautiful stuff.

I Can Make a Mess Like Nobody’s Business, Gold Rush

Ace Enders, formerly of the Early November, returns with this nine-song collection of decent, singable guitar-pop. He’s come a long way since “Ever So Sweet,” and these songs are among his best, although I seem to prefer it when he goes acoustic.

Alison Krauss and Union Station, Paper Airplane

What’s left to say about Allison Krauss and Union Station? This is a great record. They’re all great. Krauss’ high voice is in fine form, the band’s bluegrass twang is perfect, and this one includes an absolutely wonderful version of “Dimming of the Day.”

Limp Bizkit, Gold Cobra

HEY! HEY!! BREAK SHIT! FUCK SHIT UP!! I’M FRED DURST, AND I CAN SAY FUCK! YOU DIDN’T MISS ME AT ALL!! TRUST ME!!

Loney Dear, Hall Music

A darker and more difficult record from Emil Svanangen, this one piles on brass and strings and other instruments to great effect. It’s still bedroom pop, of course, but this one sounds fuller, more substantial. I like it a lot.

The Lonely Island, Turtleneck and Chain

Second album from Andy Samberg’s crew is just as funny as the first, and includes “Jack Sparrow,” a thing of sidesplitting beauty featuring Michael Bolton. A few bum tracks, but overall a solid second

The Lost Dogs, It Came From the Basement

The soundtrack to a new live DVD, Basement rarely betrays the cramped, overheated, torturous conditions under which it was made. The Dogs sound great here, especially on an extended, crazy, what-the-hell-just-happened rip through “Why Is the Devil Red.”

Lotus

The latest purveyors of danceable mostly-instrumental rock. This album doesn’t do a whole lot to distinguish itself, but it’s a fun time.

The Low Anthem, Smart Flesh

Either this band requires a lot more patience than I have, or their sleepy, lazy, traditional mopes are just about the most boring thing I’ve ever heard. I have tried to get through Smart Flesh half a dozen times, and I just can’t make it. It’s terrible.

Stephin Merritt, Obscurities

Proof that the songs Stephin Merritt throws away are better than the ones most people proudly present as their best work. All of Merritt’s projects are here, and his witty way with both a melody and a cutting turn of phrase is ever-present.

Tom Morello The Nightwatchman, Union Town

An EP with a union theme from this folk troubadour who used to be in Rage Against the Machine. The title track is as typically hardline as you’d expect, and the rest of the album covers songs by Woody Guthrie and others. The highlight is the closing live “Union Song,” played in Wisconsin this year.

Tom Morello The Nightwatchman, World Wide Rebel Songs

And here’s the full-length album, and it’s somehow less impressive. Morello turns up the amps here, and though his songs are the same sort of leftist shoutalongs they’ve always been, they just seem somewhat diminished under the distortion. I like some of this, though.

Peter Murphy, Ninth

Long-awaited new one from the venerable Bauhaus frontman. This record is everything I’ve ever liked about Peter Murphy on one disc. Creepy-cool songs, played loudly, with the old man’s voice in superb form. I’m already excited for Tenth.

Meshell Ndegeocello, Weather

Surprisingly accessible album from this soul-folk wunderkind. There’s no jazz noodling, no soundscapes, nothing but straight-up good, memorable songs, and Ndegeocello’s unforgettable voice.

Gary Numan, Dead Son Rising

Do you miss the industrial heyday of Nine Inch Nails and other bands of that ilk? You may want to check out what Gary Numan’s been doing for more than a decade. If all you know is “Cars,” the fascinating music on display here will flip your head around.

Richard Page, Solo Acoustic

I have always liked the Mr. Mister frontman, but rarely more than I do in this setting. Just Page, his great voice, his fine songs and an acoustic guitar. I love this, especially his takes on “I’ll Remember” (which he wrote for Madonna) and his hits “Kyrie” and “Broken Wings.” You’ve never heard ‘em like this.

Pain of Salvation, Road Salt Two

Second half of a double album in which these Swedish prog-metallers jump headlong into dirty ‘70s rock and balladry. It’s a surprisingly good fit, even if this record gets a slow start. Daniel Gildenlow can sing damn near anything, so it shouldn’t be surprising that he can sing this stuff.

Pajama Club

Every time I think Neil Finn can’t disappoint me more, he finds a way. This tossed-together effort brings in his wife Sharon on bass, resigns one of the best pop voices ever to the drums, and ends up with a load of forgettable grooves in search of anything to make them worthwhile.

Panda Bear, Tomboy

About what you’d expect from this Animal Collective member – psychedelic swirly soundscapes with oceans of harmonized vocals on top. This is really good for what it is, and Panda Bear stands out as the best in a field of one.

Radiohead, TKOL RMX 1234567

I’m on record as liking The King of Limbs, Radiohead’s too-short effort from this year. But these pale and repetitive remixes don’t add anything to it. This is the kind of thing that only exists because it exists.

Real Estate, Days

This is a nice little record. Trafficking in the clean guitar rock of many an ‘80s underground band, Real Estate writes good little songs, and plays them with an almost total lack of pretension. This record breezes right by on chiming tones, and you’ll want to play it again.

Todd Rundgren, Todd Rundgren’s Johnson

Rundgren had two albums in 2011, and they were both different kinds of embarrassing. This one finds him covering the venerable Robert Johnson in full Blues Hammer style, electronic drums and pealing guitars and big Aerosmith-style riffs. It’s pretty awful.

Todd Rundgren, (Re)Production

Another fascinating failure of concept, (Re)Production finds Rundgren covering songs he produced for other artists, but doing them in what he really thinks is a modern dance club style. It’s out of touch and hard to listen to, especially since I’d like to hear straight covers of some of these.

Said Fantasy, Horse of Faded Grandeur

These three short tracks were all we got from Ronnie (Joy Electric) Martin in 2011. The kickoff of a new project that sounds an awful lot like his old project, the Said Fantasy EP is nice and charming and silly, but way too short. More, Ronnie, more!

Duncan Sheik, Covers ‘80s

Now this is how you do it. Duncan Sheik’s impeccable Covers ‘80s starts with an unimpeachable track listing, and casts each song in a stripped-down format perfect for his wavering, lovely voice. I enjoyed the hell out of this.

Smith Westerns, Dye It Blonde

This record did pretty big business this year, and I’m not sure why. It’s nice indie-pop with a Beatles flair, but it’s nothing special. Or, at least, it’s not as special as I was led to believe.

Switchfoot, Vice Verses

Switchfoot goes for volume and aggression over melody and songcraft on this long-awaited effort, and the results are decidedly mixed. I like some of these tunes, but none of them enough to call this a success. And the song on which John Foreman raps…? No. Please.

Tapes N Tapes, Outside

Good third record from this underrated band. Tapes N Tapes play a kind of blocky indie rock that takes some unexpected twists and turns. This is nothing I would shout from the rooftops about, but for what it is, I quite liked it.

Terry Scott Taylor, Swine Before Pearl Vol. 1

First installment in an odds-and-sods series from the genius behind Daniel Amos. This one starts with a whole bunch of newly-recorded acoustic tracks before moving into the usual demos and rough mixes. It’s a great little collection, if you’re a fan, which I am.

Terry Scott Taylor, Swine Before Pearl Vol. 2: Madness and Blindness and Astonishment of the Heart

I know, that title, right? The second installment in the series has more acoustic, live and demo tracks, and is just as much fun as the first. I am particularly taken with an unreleased Daniel Amos track called “UFO,” and a new Taylor tune called “You Ring My Bell.”

Telekinesis, 12 Desperate Straight Lines

Another indie-pop act I’ve been led to expect great things from, and another little disappointment. These tunes are fine, this glimmering pop is certainly enjoyable, but it ain’t great stuff. It’s just pretty well OK.

Tres Mts., Three Mountains

A teamup between Doug Pinnick of King’s X and Jeff Ament of Pearl Jam? How could it go wrong? Here’s how: they failed to write any songs worth hearing. This is wretched, in point of fact, one of the biggest disappointments of my year.

Washed Out, Within and Without

A very well-named band. Washed Out play blissful electronic drone-pop, wafting by on waves of sound that, well, wash over you. It’s good stuff, buoyed by the occasional pulsing drum beat, but it gets old over an entire album.

We Were Promised Jetpacks, In the Pit of the Stomach

This band? This band fucking rocks. The second album from these blistering Scots is all powerhouse riffs, precision guitars, thunderous drumming, and bellowing vocals. It’s kind of amazing, if you’re in the mood for it.

Gillian Welch, The Harrow and the Harvest

Welch, on the other hand, never gets old. She and David Rawlings fill this album with the same heartbreaking heartland folk music they’ve always played, and it never fails. This is just ten more great little songs, played and sung with rare sincerity.

Kanye West and Jay-Z, Watch the Throne

Insufferable. A low point for both Kanye and Jay-Z, this album is just two rich guys bragging about their wealth (during a terrible recession) over lazy, amateur production. And it goes on forever, so there’s that.

“Weird Al” Yankovic, Alpocalypse

And we end with Weird Al. Sometimes he’s more inspired than others, and this is one of the other times. It’s not bad, and it keeps the formula going – six originals, five parodies and a polka. But pop music is so lame these days that the parodies can’t help but follow suit, aside from the savage and wonderful “Perform This Way.” Laughs can be found, but not many.

And that brings us to the end of another Fifty Second Week, and another year. As always, I’ll be taking the first week of January off to recuperate. Thanks, everyone, for reading my stuff this year, and I’ll talk to you in two weeks. Year twelve! I can’t believe it.

Leave a comment on my blog at tm3am.blogspot.com. Follow my infrequent twitterings at www.twitter.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning.

So this is Christmas, and what have we done?

Well, let’s see. In 2011, I got a great new job, I bought my first home, I met many new and wonderful people, and I participated in a musical project I’m very proud of (www.madeinaurora.com). I went to Cornerstone again, I saw Second City, I watched a friend of mine sing with They Might Be Giants, I called 911 for a choking man, and I learned a lot about myself. All in all, it was a really good year. I have complaints, but they seem petty when stacked next to all the good 2011 brought me.

So here we are at the end of it, and I get to survey the musical wonders this year delivered as well. And once again, it was an incredible year. For months on end, something new and magical hit stores every week, and the announcements just kept coming. I made a few new discoveries – two of which made the top 10 list you’re about to read – and saw old favorites step up and deliver like never before. This is, if you don’t mind me saying, an astonishingly good top 10 list.

Like any good list, there are rules. Only new full-length studio albums of (mainly) original material need apply. No live records, no b-sides or remix collections, no best-ofs, no EPs. And each album must hit stores (or the interwebs) between Jan. 1 and Dec. 31, 2011. Eagle-eyed long-time readers will note that I’m allowing a digital-only release onto the list for the first time ever this year, simply because not including it would be ridiculous. So I guess I’ve made my way into the 21st Century. In the end, it wasn’t really a difficult decision at all, as you’ll understand when we get there.

With so many great albums hitting this year, I was spoiled for choice when it came to this list. There have been years when I’ve struggled to fill 10 slots, but this year, I could have made a top 20 list with no problem. That means the list you’re about to read is more about my own taste than just about any I’ve done. With so much greatness to choose from, the particular kinds of greatness I respond to most will make their way to the top. And they did.

That means you won’t see some nearly-universal favorites from 2011 in this list. I want to assure you that I’ve heard them, from Adele to Fucked Up to M83 to Wye Oak to St. Vincent to Steven Wilson. I just didn’t like them as much as everyone else did. I plan to put together in-depth reviews of each of the worthy records I appear to have missed this year for sometime in January. And I’ll explain then why they didn’t make the list you’re about to read.

What did? Well, we have two senior citizens making late-career triumphs. We have two brilliant new bands overcoming the sophomore slump like champs. We have a pair of discoveries, a couple more welcome returns, and at the top of the heap, an angry, defiant, painful, glorious record from one of the best songwriters working today. Shall we?

Here is the 2011 top 10 list.

#10. The Boxer Rebellion, The Cold Still.

The first of my new discoveries. Every couple of weeks, someone asks me if I like the National. I don’t, but until I heard The Cold Still, I couldn’t really put my finger on why. The Boxer Rebellion, an English band on their third album, makes the kind of music the National wishes they could create. It’s simple stuff, all rising and falling chords, slow and soothing and dramatic, but it’s full of life. Just take the opener, “No Harm.” Four piano chords, simple beat, and some guitar flourishes. But when Nathan Nicholson digs into the chorus, it’s unspeakably moving. I wish this hadn’t been my first Boxer Rebellion experience – in some ways, their second album, Union, is better, and I missed it. But I won’t miss any more.

#9. Over the Rhine, The Long Surrender.

This record, the 12th from the husband-and-wife team behind Over the Rhine, came out in January. It’s been hanging on to its spot on this list for longer than any other album here, and it just would not let go. A stratospheric peak for this band, The Long Surrender brings their fascination with jazzy textures to the next level, and combines it with their love for classy balladry. The result is timeless and beautiful, raw and perfectly spit-shined, simple yet deeper than the ocean. I want Karin Bergquist on the list of the most celebrated singers we have. I’m not sure what else she’d have to do to make such a list – her work here is extraordinary and heartbreaking. One of the best albums ever from a band I’ve loved for a long, long time.

#8. The Violet Burning, The Story of Our Lives: Liebe Uber Alles, Black as Death and the Fantastic Machine.

Yeah, take a minute and deal with that title. Now deal with the fact that this album is a two-hour-and-40-minute triple-album concept piece about losing yourself and finding faith. And then, deal with the notion that the band produced, released and marketed this thing all on its own. Quite frankly, I don’t think anyone else could have been trusted to get this right. This is Michael Pritzl at the absolute top of his game, and he takes his band through some of the loudest material in TVB’s catalog, and some of the prettiest. When Pritzl titled one of these three chapters Black as Death, he meant it – the guitars are molten, the riffing explosive, the vocals raw and throat-shredding. But when he titled another Liebe Uber Alles (Love Over Everything), he meant that too – some of the songs here will shatter you, but they will also lovingly show you how to heal. Every listen reveals something new, some hidden meaning or melody weaving the three chapters into a whole. The Story of Our Lives is 2011’s most ambitious undertaking, and one of its most smashing success stories. Go here.

#7. Kate Bush, 50 Words for Snow.

This may seem like an obvious statement for Kate Bush fans, but there is no one else on earth who would make an album like 50 Words for Snow. It moves at its own drifting pace – seven long songs in 65 minutes, with a wintry piano the main (and often, the only) instrument. There are duets with Elton John and Stephen Fry, songs about Bigfoot and sexy snowmen, and an opening track sung entirely by Bush’s young son, Bertie. None of this should work; every second of it does. It’s her most serene record, sounding for much of its running time like staring out a picture window at the season’s first snow. It’s also her most heart-rendingly beautiful. More than 30 years into her career, Kate Bush remains a singular treasure.

#6. Glen Campbell, Ghost on the Canvas.

Yeah, I’m surprised too. Here’s the story: Glen Campbell, a legend if ever there was one, has Alzheimer’s. Ghost on the Canvas is the last album he plans to make, a farewell to a life well lived. You’d think that might lead to a maudlin collection of sentiments, but you’d be wrong. This album, produced by Julian Raymond and Howard Willing, is a joyous statement of contentment and peace. It pulls in songs from Paul Westerberg, Robert Pollard and Teddy Thompson, along with some originals, and wraps them together with interludes by Jellyfish’s Roger Manning. But the key here is Glen himself, sounding strong and in command, and waving goodbye with the most hopeful music you could imagine. Listening to this brings a smile and a tear every time. It’s a lovely way to go out, and Campbell deserved nothing less.

#5. Bon Iver.

A self-titled album usually signals reinvention, and boy, does it here. Justin Vernon, the man with the weepy voice and the sob story about a cabin in Wisconsin, effectively obliterates his past here with a fascinating jigsaw puzzle of a second record. Massive, dense, monolithic, and yet still fragile and gentle, Bon Iver begins with an apocalyptic near-metal march and ends with an ‘80s ballad straight out of Night Ranger. In between, Vernon shifts gears a dozen different times, and layers that voice atop it all, grounding it and letting it soar. It’s a most unexpected move from Bon Iver, but a brilliant one – the album reveals new layers with each listen, and the pieces fall more into place. And it all leads to “Beth/Rest,” one of the bravest and most jaw-dropping songs of the year. Early in the album, Vernon sings, “All at once I knew I was not magnificent.” He’s never been more wrong.

#4. Josh Garrels, Love and War and the Sea In Between.

Until July of this year, I had never heard of Josh Garrels, a singer-songwriter from Portland, Oregon. It’s been my loss. All this year, Garrels has been giving away his sixth album, Love and War and the Sea In Between, for free online. It’s a move that has brought him more notice and more acclaim than ever this year – we journalists love easy talking points – but even if the free sample got you in the door, the sheer quality of this extraordinary album kept you coming back. Garrels has trafficked in folk, pop and hip-hop, but this is the one that brings it all together, an 18-song opus of commanding presence and depth. From the explosive force of “The Resistance” to the delightful lilt of “For You” to the cascading beauty of “Ulysses,” the year’s prettiest song, Garrels never falters, and in the album’s phenomenal final third, he adds a conceptual, Biblical heft that drives the entire thing home. Discovering Josh Garrels has been one of the biggest joys of my year. Try this record – you have nothing to lose. Go here.

#3. Paul Simon, So Beautiful or So What.

Back in 1969, Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel sang a song called “Old Friends.” It imagined the singers as two old men on a park bench, wistfully proclaiming, “How terribly strange to be 70.” Well, here we are – Paul Simon is 70 this year, and while that is terribly strange, his career has been unpredictable and amazing to follow. If So Beautiful or So What, his best album in two decades, is indeed his last, it will be a fine and fitting capper to a life of musical adventure and lyrical genius. Here, over subdued yet funky grooves, he tackles the big questions: is death something to fear, and what’s waiting on the other side? What do you do with all the regret you’ve accumulated? In a simply astonishing set of lyrics, he imagines himself as a man rewriting his own life (“Rewrite”), and as a dead man finding out what lies beyond (“The Afterlife”). It’s all darkly funny, searching, beautiful stuff, particularly the sparse “Love and Hard Times,” which reduces me to tears with every listen. In the end, Simon says, life is what we make of it. He’s made it a song worth singing again and again.

#2. Fleet Foxes, Helplessness Blues.

I was actually worried about this one. After their sublime debut album, would Seattle’s Fleet Foxes be able to at least maintain that level of quality on record number two? Reports of scrapped sessions didn’t help my confidence. But when all was said and done, Helplessness Blues turned out to be another masterpiece. It retains the core of what they do – sun-dappled West Coast folk with enchanting, otherworldly harmonies – but takes it in new directions. Suite “The Plains/Bitter Dancer” exemplifies this, nimbly moving from section to section, soaring on those voices. But it’s the comparatively simple title track that contains the heart of this record, and it’s a beautiful thing, timeless and yet somehow old as time itself. I don’t know how long they can keep this up, but with this second record, Fleet Foxes proved they’re no fluke. They really are what they seem to be – a modern folk band with roots as old as the ground, and dreams as high as the stars.

Which brings us to the top of a very tall heap. The album at number one will be no surprise to readers of this blog, or to readers of ThinkChristian, where my review of it appeared earlier this month. It drew a wide spectrum of responses, from those condemning my doubt to those who shared it. It was a gratifying experience, and I owe that opportunity to my friend Josh Larsen. But I also owe it to this searing, honest, phenomenal record.

#1. Quiet Company, We Are All Where We Belong.

Quiet Company is a band from Austin, Texas, led by a guy named Taylor Muse, who just happens to be one of the finest songwriters I’m aware of. I’ve watched him grow from capable to brilliant in the space of three albums, to the point where I would put his songs up against those of just about anyone else I could name. I can count the disappointing Taylor Muse songs on one hand. None of them are on We Are All Where We Belong.

Had this just been a brilliant pop-rock album by a great band, which it is, it would still have charted on this list. But We Are All Where We Belong is more than that. It’s Muse’s breakup album with God, his final word on the religious upbringing of his youth, and the emotional pain it’s caused him. It’s a conceptual piece about giving up on the very notion of spiritual faith, and turning our efforts to the life we have, and the people we love. It’s a frightening, difficult, and ultimately joyful ride, the most thrilling hour anyone produced this year.

And it affected me deeply. I went through a lot of the same spiritual questions Muse raises on this record, and wrestled with a lot of the same doubts. I came to different conclusions, but then, my journey wasn’t nearly as intense – see the verse about suicide in “The Black Sheep and the Shepherd.” But I have screamed to the heavens with anger, as Muse does on “The Easy Confidence,” and I have yearned to hear the voice of God, and been met with silence. This album captures those experiences so completely, so perfectly, that I relived them as it played.

Some parts of this album, like the two “Preaching to the Choir Invisible” sections or “The Easy Confidence,” are terrifying in their palpable anger. But some, like the impossibly lovely “Midnight at the Lazarus Pit” and “Are You a Mirror” – the perfect new father song – are simply beautiful. And when you get to the final stretch, in which Muse adopts the voice of God himself and concludes that “we’re all gonna be just fine,” it’s the happiest, most freeing musical moment of the year.

Should it be? I’m not sure. That’s the power of We Are All Where We Belong – I don’t fully agree with it, but I’m swept up in it. I’m frightened and fascinated by it. And I can’t stop listening to it. Even as 14 songs on a piece of plastic, it’s the best album of the year by a considerable margin, but as a sweeping statement about rejecting faith and embracing love, it’s powerful in a way I can’t truly explain. It moved me like nothing else I heard this year.

You can hear it too, right here.

So, that’s it. Next week is Fifty Second Week, and then on to 2012. Hope your year was as good as mine, and the next one is just as good to us both. Leave a comment on my blog at tm3am.blogspot.com. Follow my infrequent twitterings at www.twitter.com/tm3am.

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

I can hardly believe that 2011 is over.

Well, we still have a couple of weeks, but for all intents and purposes, it’s a done deal. It’s in the books. Next week I’ll be unveiling my top 10 list – the best damn top 10 list in many years, if you ask me – and then it’s Fifty Second Week, and we’re done. This is my eleventh year writing this silly music column, and I’m grateful for everyone who comes back each week to read it. (And everyone who waits the sometimes two and three weeks it’s taken me to post them this year. I hope to have that problem licked in 2012.)

There’s a danger in treating the current year like it’s over, though. 2011 still has a few gasps of life in it, and I’ve got two of them on tap this week, in addition to an extensive list of honorable mentions for my top 10 list. Just so I’m not duplicating efforts, though, you can definitely assume an honorable mention for both of the records I’m about to (briefly) review.

Onward!

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The popularity of the Black Keys among the indie crowd baffles me.

This is not a knock on the Keys, a band I really like. But they take from sources so alien to the indie scene – Delta blues and ZZ Top, to name a couple – that the fact that every move they make is lapped up by the same audience that appreciates Bon Iver is kind of weird. It’s a good kind of weird, though, especially since it means more press and more love for this dynamic duo.

The Keys are guitarist Dan Auerbach and drummer Patrick Carney. They’ve been on a steady rise for years, but in 2010, they released their breakthrough, a long foot-stomping record called Brothers. Much as I like that record, it petered out by the end of its 55 minutes, wearing out its welcome about 10 tracks in. The Keys have solved that problem most effectively on their seventh platter, El Camino, and they’ve also returned to their thick, pulsing blues sound. The result is an incredibly enjoyable album, whether you’re into Justin Vernon’s beard or Billy Gibbons’.

Auerbach and Carney have teamed up with Danger Mouse again, making El Camino something of a sequel to 2008’s Attack and Release. But where that record exploded their formula, this one celebrates it. Opener “Lonely Boy” may be the best slab of Texas blues the band has recorded, and “Gold on the Ceiling” is snarling and hummable. The one real departure here is “Little Black Submarines,” an honest-to-God ‘70s rock epic in four minutes. It begins with delicate acoustic guitars and tambourines, but ends with molten lead guitars and thunderous Ragnarok-and-roll drumming.

The rest of El Camino is just the Black Keys doing what they do, though, and it’s fantastic. It’s dirty, tight, noisy and bluesy, and it’s over in 38 minutes – pretty much exactly the right length for a Black Keys album. This isn’t a raw experience – Danger Mouse’s production includes liberal sprinklings of keyboards and organs, and a level of gloss you won’t hear on Thickfreakness, for example. But this is the closest to an old-school Black Keys record they’ve delivered in some time, and I love it.

One more note: the album is called El Camino. The album art features pictures of 15 different vehicles, and not one of them is an El Camino. That’s kind of awesome.

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If it’s fair to say that I have a responsibility to review all kinds of music, then it’s also fair to say I’ve badly failed at that mission when it comes to hip-hop.

The thing is, I just hear so little of the stuff that I like. I know it’s probably not true, but it seems like there’s a higher percentage of poorly-thought-out, mass-produced garbage coming from that corner of the music world than many others. As a f’rinstance, in two weeks, you’ll find a negative three-sentence review of Kanye West and Jay-Z’s Watch the Throne, a definite low point for both artists. And those are guys I like.

There are just so few bands like the Roots that every record that Philadelphia collective puts out is worth celebrating. And yet, I never have celebrated one in this space. I love several of them – the straight-up steamroller Things Fall Apart, the messy Game Theory, last year’s mellow How I Got Over, and most recently, Wake Up, the band’s tremendous collaboration with John Legend. I just haven’t taken the time to praise them in this space.

That ends now. Undun, the Roots’ 13th album, is something of a masterpiece – one of the best records in their catalog, and one of the best rap albums I’ve heard. It’s a concept piece about a man named Redford and his ill-fated life, told in reverse chronological order – the first two tracks give us Redford’s violent death, and then we spin backwards down the number line to piece together the choices that brought him there. It’s a great conceit, and the Roots play it out perfectly, bringing in guest stars like Dice Raw and Big K.R.I.T. to play different aspects of Redford’s personality.

Through it all, the Roots – easily the best live band playing this music – lay into some fantastic grooves. Like How I Got Over, this album is surprisingly reserved, with ?uestlove rarely digging into a real explosive beat. The album has a ghostly feel to it, even during good-time party anthems like “Kool On.” The Roots never let you forget that this story ends in tragedy. My favorite is “Lighthouse,” with its unstoppable hook, but every song here is superb, and they all serve the whole.

Undun ends with its most fascinating stretch of music, the four-part “Redford Suite.” It’s based on Sufjan Stevens’ piano ditty “Redford (For Yia-Yia and Pappou),” and at first, the band is just content to have Stevens play it. But over the next three movements, they expand on it, with strings and dissonant jazz piano. If the record begins in death, it ends in the infinite possibility of birth, and this suite (all of 5:18) paints that picture beautifully.

The album as a whole is similarly short and sweet – a grand total of 38:41, slightly less than the length of your average television episode. That turns out to be perfect, exactly enough time to tell this story and leave you wanting more. The Roots have been very good for a very long time, and they’ve rarely been better than they are on Undun. If you only know them from Late Night, check this out. You’re not going to find a more thoughtful, organic rap outfit anywhere.

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So, would you like to see the rest of the honorable mentions? There’s a lot of ‘em. Fifteen, to be exact. But first, I’ll start with a couple of other categories.

For instance, the worst record of the year (and maybe even the decade) has to be Lulu, the excruciating collaboration between Metallica and Lou Reed. People use the word “unlistenable” pretty often to describe perfectly listenable music they don’t like. This album is positively unlistenable. It’s not the year’s biggest disappointment, because I didn’t expect much. No, that honor goes to the Feeling’s lousy third album, the double-disc Together We Were Made. It’s like they ran out of gas, but decided to drive a marathon anyway. Just blah.

The album I most wish I could include in my top 10 list is Peter Gabriel’s New Blood. It doesn’t meet the criteria – it’s reworkings of old songs, not new material – but it’s magnificent. These orchestral recastings of songs I know and love are often breathtaking works of art, allowing me to hear them afresh. It’s a great record, and if the rules were different, it would be on the list.

So now here are the 15 eligible records that just barely missed my top 10 list. In no particular order (except the last one):

David Mead returned with a snarky winner called Dudes, while Jonathan Coulton proved that his enduring Internet popularity is all about the songs with the decidedly un-geeky Artificial Heart. The Click Five released their best record yet, TCV, while Radiohead finally made a pitter-patter electro album I really liked with The King of Limbs. Feist took her inimitable voice to darker places on Metals, while The Joy Formidable exploded onto the scene with The Big Roar.

Lady Gaga delivered her first album that truly deserved the hype with Born This Way, while Fountains of Wayne returned to form on Sky Full of Holes. Frank Turner made his most reflective and best record with England Keep My Bones, and Tori Amos took on classical melodies and orchestral scores with Night of Hunters. The Bangles (yes, the Bangles) made a swell pop record with Sweetheart of the Sun, while Wilco (yes, Wilco) rocketed back to excellence with The Whole Love. It’s the first album from Tweedy’s bunch that I’ve unreservedly liked since Yankee Hotel Foxtrot in 2002.

We bid goodbye to R.E.M. this year, but not before they made one last amazing album with Collapse Into Now. Coldplay continued to prove that they’re more than just arena-sized commercial popsters with the sparkling Mylo Xyloto. And finally, my number 11 (which actually spent quite a bit of time as my number one): PJ Harvey’s dark, devastating anti-war masterwork Let England Shake.

Any 10 of these would make for a fine year-end list. But none of them are on it. This year’s list is pretty damn great. Tune in next week to find out what actually did make it.

Leave a comment on my blog at tm3am.blogspot.com. Follow my infrequent twitterings at www.twitter.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning.

I know a lot of musicians. And sometimes, some of the musicians I know will do something extraordinary, and I’ll want to share it with you. So for the past few years, I’ve written these People I Know columns, all about the marvelous musical minds I get to call friends. But it’s not often I get to write about a project I’m part of. I get to do that this week, and I’m pretty well ecstatic about it.

I’ve been talking about it for three weeks, so here’s the full story. The project’s called Made in Aurora, and it’s a series of vinyl albums bringing together local artists from the Aurora, Illinois area. It’s the brainchild of Steve Warrenfeltz, owner of Kiss the Sky, the record store I’ve gone to once a week for the past six years. It’s one of those stories that warms your heart: Steve saw a huge amount of local musical talent going ignored, so he decided to invest his own money to bring in some much-deserved attention.

He hooked up with my good friend Benjie Hughes, owner of Backthird Audio in Aurora, and set out to find the best bands and artists he could. He ended up with an extensive list: Dave Ramont, Jeremy Keen, Andrea Dawn, Greg Boerner, Noah Gabriel (more on him in a minute), Kevin Trudo, Dick Smith, Hoss, Peter Hix, and on and on. That list of names might not mean anything to people outside the Aurora circle, but if you live here, you know that’s a damn fine lineup.

Needless to say, I’m honored to have contributed to this. The first Made in Aurora album came out in April, on Record Store Day, and it was a huge hit. I played piano on Kevin Trudo’s song “Once a Week Won’t Kill You,” and I wrote the liner note essay. The record was (almost) entirely made up of original tunes, and contained some absolute corkers: Jeremy Keen’s “Charlotte Ave.,” Dave Ramont’s “Piece of the Sun,” Dave Nelson’s amazing “Blue Sally,” Dick Smith’s “Hunker Down,” and Trudo’s “Cost,” to name a few. It was a slab of Americana so good, you’d never guess it was a local artists compilation.

And now, here is Made in Aurora Volume Two, subtitled City of Lights. This one’s a little different – it’s a Christmas album, it’s almost entirely covers, and it includes a number of local artists who weren’t included the first time around. But like the first one, it’s pretty wonderful.

Let me get my full disclosure out of the way up front: I again played piano on Kevin Trudo’s track, a cover of Dolly Parton’s “Hard Candy Christmas.” I also sang on the big group piece, John Lennon’s “Happy Xmas (War is Over),” and I again wrote the liner notes. I’m involved, pretty heavily, so if you want to dismiss this review as self-interest, that’s your right. But even if I hadn’t been under the tent on this one, I’d still recommend the hell out of this album. Let me tell you why.

To begin with, while most Christmas albums I know are pretty consistent in tone (see all three of my reviews last week), this one’s remarkably varied. I’ve taken to describing it as the White Album with Christmas songs. The first side alone begins with a plaintive reading of “Happy Xmas,” followed by Hoss’ horn-driven cover of Trip Shakespeare’s “Snow Days,” Jeremy Keen’s skipping acoustic version of Low’s “Just Like Christmas,” and Andrea Dawn’s sad, slow piano original, “Mr. Evergreen.”

As you move through the record, you’ll get dirty Delta blues (Scott Tipping and Dave Nelson’s “Christmas in Jail”), cello-fueled hippie funk (“Dollar Store Christmas,” by Funktional Family), head-spinning Gypsy polka (Dick Smith’s “Gold Front Tooth”), heart-stopping soul (“Merry Christmas Baby,” by Mary Lou O’Brien) and a jazzy would-be standard (“Christmas is the Warmest Time of the Year”) written by the mayor of Aurora. It’s enough to make you dizzy, but somehow it all works on one piece of plastic (or two pieces of vinyl). Thank Kyle Schmidt, the magician in the mixing and mastering booth, for much of that.

I could spend the next thousand words talking about each track, but I’ll just bring up a few of my favorites. Made in Aurora Volume Two is the lead-singing debut of Mary Lou O’Brien, and she knocked me flat – her soul-stirring “Merry Christmas Baby” is unbelievable, and she somehow breathes new life into Joni Mitchell’s often-covered “River.” (Those high notes! Held for so long!) Hoss takes an old Dan Wilson song, “Snow Days,” and rocks it to the ground, with an assist from Dave Ramont. (“Mrs. Braintree, you’re a chilly northern woman…”)

Andrea Dawn, whose new album comes out early next year, has a stunning voice, and her sleepy, jazzy tune is a winner. Greg Boerner does his Greg Boerner thing all over “Winter Wonderland,” with splendid steel guitar by Chris Walke. Benjie Hughes gathered his friends together, including singers Ben Thomas, Lisa Gloria, David Yeager and Andrea Dawn, to run through the manger story “The Friendly Beasts,” complete with a wonderful backing vocal arrangement. And yeah, the track I’m on is pretty great – Kevin Trudo sings the hell out of it, and the band, which usually goes by Meathawk, is tight and terrific.

Really, though, it’s all good. You won’t be sorry you picked it up. Even if you’re not from around here, and you’ve never heard of anyone on this record, it will still bring you hours of holiday joy. And you’ll be helping out a great cause – proceeds from the sale of Made in Aurora go to the Paul Ruby Foundation, which raises money for Parkinson’s Disease research. You can’t beat that. Go here to check it out.

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Noah Gabriel has been a part of both Made in Aurora albums – that’s him playing one of the sweet, sweet electric guitars behind Mary Lou O’Brien on “Merry Christmas Baby.” But he’s also one of the most prolific local solo artists. He’s released six albums since 2005, and is working on two more. Despite that, even people in this area aren’t too familiar with Noah, and I think they ought to be.

His two new records show both sides of his musical personality – the sparse Mercy Street is his lonely-at-home album, mainly just Noah and his acoustic, while the sprawling Ghosts of Tomorrow shows off his blistering live band, and plugs into a rich, full sound. They’re both worth hearing, since they capture Gabriel moving forward, developing as a songwriter and band leader. And while I still haven’t heard that song yet from him, that tune that stays in my head for weeks and defines him as an artist, the 23 tracks on these two records are very fine indeed.

In many ways, both these records are about performance and vibe, even though they take different roads to get there. Mercy Street was released on vinyl, and you can hear why – it’s an album that makes you feel like you’re right in the same room with Gabriel as he strums and sings. The more sedate first half includes the very pretty title track, and the aching “At World’s End.” Neither of these songs go much of anywhere, but Gabriel sings them with such emotion that you won’t care.

Things pick up on side two, which opens with the brief “Poor Flat Bastard” and then jumps into the (literally) stomping “Cold Blooded Blues.” “Powder Blue” brings in a subtle organ, which is a really nice touch, although the song meanders. The album ends with “Crazy Dream,” the song Gabriel and Greg Boerner recorded for the first Made in Aurora album. It’s still very good, and the electronic drums, while surprising, work well. But before that plays, you’ll hear my favorite thing here, the spooky banjo ambience of “Them Bones.” There’s so much reverb on this it could drown, but the effect is terrific – the song brings chills.

But Ghosts of Tomorrow is by far the better effort here, in my opinion. Credited to the Noah Gabriel Band, this is the one that turns the amps up. Ghosts captures the experience of seeing this band live, and though it gets by more on searing guitar playing and a tightly-wound vibe than on memorable songwriting, it’s an enjoyable and diverse 53 minutes. While I like “Tennessee,” the surprisingly slow-burning opener, to me this record doesn’t take off until “Another Bad Day,” with its soaring guitar solo.

After that, it’s a pretty varied ride. “Fire Fields” is a ballad with some sweet fiddle, while “Fade” brings in the banjo and harmonica for a sweet and folksy five minutes. (I just wish it had a killer chorus. It’s crying out for one.) “Fix It” is an anguished cry, while “Where’s Your Love” cranks up the blues-rock, and “Tomorrow” hits a Jack Johnson groove with a saxophone solo. It really does go all over the place, but every destination finds Gabriel and his band playing with remarkable skill. And, near the end, he whips out “Baby Calm,” one of his finest songs – it’s memorable in a way many of these other tunes aren’t.

And yeah, that’s my one issue with Noah Gabriel – I wish his songs had more immediate melodies, and went more fascinating places. What he does, though, works well. Both Mercy Street and Ghosts of Tomorrow showcase a strong talent that deserves a wider audience. Check him out here.

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Next week, a couple of late-year winners, and this year’s honorable mentions. I can’t believe it’s already that time. Leave a comment on my blog at tm3am.blogspot.com. Follow my infrequent twitterings at www.twitter.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning.

I have a rule in my house: no Christmas music until after Thanksgiving.

I know it’s not something worth grumbling about, especially at this most joyous time of year, but hearing Christmas music in early November (or, lord forbid, late October) just feels… wrong. Before Thanksgiving, you’ll find me at home, avoiding our centers of commerce, unable to fathom hearing “Frosty the Snowman” before there’s any chance of real snow on the ground.

If I must go out – to get food, or some other necessity of life – I bring my decidedly un-Christmas-y iPod with me, to block out the sound of premature carols. In fact, until the day after Thanksgiving, I even stay away from people named Carol. Just to be safe.

But after Thanksgiving? I binge on the stuff. I love Christmas music. And for about 30 days every year, I listen to as much of it as I can. I dig out the old favorites – Sufjan Stevens’ Songs for Christmas gets a lot of play in Casa Salles around this time each year, as do Harry Connick’s three (!) holiday records. And of course, Vince Guaraldi. And this year, I’ve been spinning that new Made in Aurora album, which is full of holly jolly goodness. (More on that next week.)

I also buy a few new ones each December. (Actually, that’s not quite accurate – I buy them when they come out, but I don’t listen to them until December.) This year, the pickings were slimmer than usual. I only have three to dig into, although I will say I haven’t bought into the hype and picked up Michael Buble’s Christmas record yet. I have no doubt it’s a good time, I just haven’t gotten around to it yet. But I do have these three, and they fall into three categories: good, godawful, and glorious.

Let’s start with She and Him. I’ve avoided detailed reviews of this collaboration between M. Ward and actress Zooey Deschanel because it felt a little too much like a precious novelty. But with three installments out now, including the new A Very She and Him Christmas, it’s probably time. It’s not that I don’t like this. It’s cute and fun and fluffy. My biggest problem with it is one that isn’t going away anytime soon, though: Zooey Deschanel has a barely passable voice, and occasionally her wavery tone really bothers me. She’s about as good as the average karaoke singer at your office Christmas party.

But she’s adorkable, whatever that means, so I guess we persevere. And if you can get beyond the vocal weaknesses, A Very She and Him Christmas is a bunch of fun. It’s remarkably traditional, but that’s in keeping with the two previous volumes by this pair. I expect this entire record exists because someone thought it would be cute to have Ward and Deschanel sing “Baby, It’s Cold Outside,” which they do pretty well. Aside from that, it’s acoustic guitar and your usual assortment of holiday tunes: “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas,” “I’ll Be Home for Christmas,” “Sleigh Ride,” etc.

Ward and Deschanel pull out two Beach Boys Christmas tunes, which is a treat – they do sturdy versions of both “Christmas Day” and “Little Saint Nick.” Better than that, they pull off a delightful take on NRBQ’s “Christmas Wish.” Deschanel is quite good in a supporting role on that song, behind Ward’s rough-and-tumble voice.

When she takes the lead on standards like “Blue Christmas,” the results are mediocre, but She and Him are not out to change the world, or redefine Christmas music here. This record sounds like one of those holiday gifts recording studios used to offer – they provide the music, and people off the street get to come in and sing over the top, then give CDs of their performances to family and friends. It’s cute, if sometimes shaky, but if you think of it as a warm and good-hearted holiday present, it’s enjoyable stuff.

On the list of unbelievable things that shouldn’t exist, Zooey Deschanel’s singing career has nothing on Scott Weiland’s Christmas album. Yes, that Scott Weiland, of Stone Temple Pilots and Velvet Revolver fame. Yes, Scott Weiland has a Christmas album, called The Most Wonderful Time of the Year. Yes, he appears on the cover in a tie and a Sinatra-style hat, looking like he has no idea what his agent has gotten him into. No, I am not making any of this up.

Weiland’s inexplicable holiday effort contains the same smattering of traditional songs, performed mainly with strings and pianos and subtle jazz guitars, as if Tony Bennett were going to provide the vocals. But instead, we get Weiland’s stoned-sounding, pinched voice. If you think the guy who sang “Sex Type Thing” might be an odd fit for “I’ll Be Home for Christmas,” let me tell you, you have no idea. Part of me hopes that this is an Andy Kaufman-esque joke, but part of me is praying he’s really serious about this, and keeps making orchestral ballad albums.

OK, so this is pretty awful, and almost entirely laughable. It’s worth hearing once, just so you can prove to yourself that it really exists. I mentioned “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” earlier – Weiland sings this one like a Muppet with a head cold. It simply must be heard. “White Christmas” is similar – the vocals are insanely bad. He fares better on a sort-of-Hawaiian spin on “Silent Night,” complete with cheesy Casio drums, but the music is so awful it beggars belief. It’s clear Weiland didn’t take much of this seriously, but that raises the question: why the hell did he do this?

Every time you think Weiland will pull this off, as on the jazzy rip through “What Child is This,” he delivers another hilarious stumble, like his terrible Perry Como impression on “Winter Wonderland.” The lone original, “Happy Christmas and Many More,” doesn’t exactly expand the pantheon. And I can’t even describe the horror of the closing track, a reggae spin on “O Holy Night” that will make lovers of the traditional carol weep and moan.

While I don’t understand just how something like The Most Wonderful Time of the Year becomes a reality, I guess I admire Weiland for not caring at all what people will think of it. For instance, I’m sure he doesn’t care that I laughed out loud from first note to last, and lamented my lost twelve dollars. He’s got those twelve bucks now, and I hope he enjoys them. Merry bloody Christmas, Scott.

But it’s not all rancid sugarplums this year. In fact, I’ve got what promises to be a bona fide holiday classic around my house in years to come, and I’m beyond glad that I discovered it. The album is Silent Night, and it’s the third effort by Nashville harp player Timbre.

I first heard Timbre Cierpke at last year’s Cornerstone festival. She has a lovely voice, a deft touch with the harp, and the arrangement skill of someone much older than her 27 years. She makes patient, impossibly beautiful music with the help of her family and a cast of dozens. On her last album, she covered Radiohead’s “Like Spinning Plates,” and managed to make a real song out of it. She’s very impressive, and her holiday record is, frankly, stunning.

If you’re not sold by the time you finish “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel,” I don’t know what to tell you. Timbre’s voice draws the best out of this haunting carol, and she accompanies it with sparse harp and bells at the beginning, slowly folding in strings and horns and choral voices. It’s one of my favorite versions of one of my favorite Christmas songs, and the record never comes down from there. The instrumental “Carol of the Bells” is delightful, rich and full and powerful, and “The Robin Red Breast,” a Timbre original, fits right in with the traditional pieces here.

Timbre gives us three versions of “Silent Night” – a full studio reading (which is breathtaking), a snippet of her three-year-old self reveling in the song, and a closing recording of the audience at one of her shows reverently singing it. That last one is the perfect way to finish off this album, a warm and generous embrace on the way out the door. Before that, though, get lost in the positively lovely “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” pump your fist to the tricky and energetic “Joy to the World,” and let the sheer beauty of “What Child is This” wash over you.

One listen through to Silent Night, and I’m in the holiday spirit, fully and completely. I love this record, and it in turn makes me love the Christmas season. Hear and buy it here. And merry Christmas, every one.

Next week, what I promised for this week: a bunch of people I know, including Noah Gabriel and the artists of Made in Aurora. Leave a comment on my blog at tm3am.blogspot.com. Follow my infrequent twitterings at www.twitter.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning.

I’m sneezing and sniffling and holding my throbbing head at the moment, so I’m hoping to keep this one quick. A few thoughts on some end-of-the-year records, and then I’m headed back to bed. Luckily, we’re in the waning days of 2011, when most of the new releases are live albums or repackagings. But there are still some gems in these last few months, and I’ve got a few on tap this time.

Cough. Sneeze. OK, let’s go.

* * * * *

I had a chance to support David Mead, and I didn’t take it.

I’m ashamed, no doubt. Mead is the kind of singer-songwriter the world could use more of. For more than a decade, he’s been so consistently good that the general public has completely ignored him. Granted, it’s hard to get a handle on him – he has seven albums now, and none of them sound alike, from the acoustic country-folk of Indiana, to the more studied chamber-pop of Tangerine, to 2008’s lovely, low-key Almost and Always. You really don’t know what Mead’s going to try next, but at this point, it’s a safe bet that it will be fantastic.

Mead funded his seventh album, Dudes, through Kickstarter, raising production money from fans willing to pitch in. And I should have been one of those fans. I don’t know what happened. This is exactly the kind of thing I normally do. There’s no reason I can think of that I wouldn’t have sent David Mead $20 to help make this thing. And now that I’ve heard it, I really don’t get why I didn’t. Dudes may not be Mead’s best album, but it’s his most fun, and for a guy with a pretty serious catalog, that counts for a lot.

If you’ve never heard Mead before, the first thing you’ll notice is his astonishing, elastic voice. Dudes begins with a shimmering showcase for that voice – “I Can’t Wait” is folksy, with a shuffling hi-hat beat and some lovely pedal steel, and a chorus that sets the optimistic tone: “I can’t wait to get up, get up, get out of bed…” It’s one of the few moments of quiet beauty here – much of Dudes has an energy, an immediacy that Mead rarely traffics in. “King of the Crosswords” is a tremendous pop song, with a “Yakety Sax” baritone that takes it to this whole other place. “Guy On Guy” is about a man exploring homosexuality, set to a drunken carnival beat, like a particularly boozy Rolling Stones b-side.

And yeah, there are some moments here, like “Bocce Ball,” that sacrifice craft for fun. (Although I love the vocal arrangement on that brief tune.) “Happy Birthday Marty Ryan” is a stomper, all snarling guitars and pounding pianos, but it sounds like it was written half an hour before the record button was pressed. Mead scores more highly with pieces like the title track, an acoustic paean to enduring friendship. And though the title led me to expect another throwaway, “The Smile of Rachael Ray” is Dudes’ best tune, sweet and heartbreaking.

David Mead has always been a more considered songwriter, but there’s a likeable looseness to Dudes – hearing That Voice drop f-bombs and shimmy through the deliriously vulgar “No One Roxx This Town No More” is all kinds of hilarious. Some of these songs aren’t worthy of a songwriter of his caliber, and I should be disappointed in them, but I’m not. This record sounds like it was a blast to make, and there are enough pretty, well-put-together tunes like “Don’t Forget” and “Curled Up in the Corner” to keep me on board. Dudes is the most fun Mead has ever had on disc, and even though I missed the chance to support its creation, I’m happy to recommend it. Go here.

* * * * *

I’m about to talk about the new Kate Bush album, but I just want to take a minute and revel in that phrase: the new Kate Bush album.

From 1978 to 1993, Kate Bush released an astonishing run of seven records, every one of them an idiosyncratic, thoroughly individual piece of work. And then she disappeared, for an endless 12 years. It was somewhere in those 12 years that I actually heard Bush’s music for the first time – I initially considered her a Tori Amos ripoff, before shamefacedly realizing my mistake. It was a little depressing, though. How often in your life do you discover a musician like Kate Bush? And then to hear that she’d drifted away in the early ‘90s, and hadn’t been heard from since?

That’s why 2005’s dazzling double album Aerial was such a treat. But now, it’s starting to look like the start of a renaissance. Bush’s new album, 50 Words for Snow, is her second of 2011. That’s right, Kate Bush released two full-length studio records this year. Granted, the first, Director’s Cut, consisted of reworkings of earlier material, but the point remains. Bush is one of the most original, uncompromising, fantastic artists in the world, and she’s back to giving us new material regularly again. This is cause for celebration.

Or, in this case, perhaps quiet reflection would be more appropriate. Bush has perfectly timed 50 Words for Snow for the oncoming winter – it’s uncommonly patient, unfolding slowly over seven long songs and 65 minutes, and most of it is performed on piano, voice, pitter-patter drums and little else. It’s also uncommonly beautiful, if you’re up for it. The first three tracks in particular drift along so quietly, change so subtly, that you’ll either be swept up in them, or you’ll find them too easy to ignore.

I love them. In a very real way, these songs are duets between Bush and drummer Steve Gadd, whose work is perfectly attuned to the wintry mood. “Snowflake” is sparse, like the first hints of flurries coming down, Bush leaving whole empty skies of space between her fragmented piano figures. Bush’s son Albert sings this one, his high choirboy voice fitting the tune’s innocence perfectly. “Lake Tahoe,” the story of a ghost looking for her long-lost dog, fills things out a little more, but not much – Bush wraps her voice around those of Stefan Roberts and Michael Wood, achieving something of a Christmas carol sound.

There’s a moment about halfway through the 13-minute “Misty” when the strings come in, pulling everything together in a bright, melodic sweep. It’s over pretty quickly, but if you’ve been listening all along, you know that the previous 28 minutes have all been leading to that moment. No other Kate Bush album rewards patient and thorough listening quite like this one does – in many ways, it’s all one long song, suitable for driving through snow at night.

Which is why “Wild Man” is initially such a surprise. Nestled at track four, after more than half an hour of delicate piano, we get an old-school, synth-driven Kate Bush tune. “Wild Man” is about a team of explorers who find evidence of Bigfoot, and brush it away, determined to protect the creature. Andy Fairweather-Low joins in on vocals, while Bush half-speaks the verses over thumping bass and a skipping beat from Gadd. At first, it seems like a strange fit for this record, but it kicks off a trilogy of fuller pieces, the album’s cresting wave.

“Snowed In at Wheeler Street” is a dark, haunting duet with Elton John, and perhaps the first thing ol’ Reg has done in about 20 years that doesn’t make me want to stab my own eardrums out. Bush’s piano returns, over a shivering synth line, as she and Elton play two lovers finding each other again after a long separation. The title track is the album’s oddest – the lyrics are a literal list of 50 words for snow, read by Stephen Fry, as Bush cheers him on in the background. (“Come on, man, you’ve got 44 to go!”) It’s oddly magnificent, inspiring stuff. The list includes real words from other languages alongside terms like “erase-o-dust.” (Oh, and “peDtaH ‘ej chIS qo’,” apparently, is Klingon for snow.) It’s a song no one else on earth would create.

50 Words for Snow concludes with “Among Angels,” a return to the wintry piano of the first three tracks. In fact, it’s the only instrument, aside from some subtle strings, and Bush’s glorious voice drifts over it gracefully. It’s a perfect ending to this album, like quietly turning off the lights and watching the snow fall. I was hoping this record would be good. I didn’t expect it would captivate me as much as it has. This is a record unlike any she has made, and yet still one that only Kate Bush would make. I’m so very, very glad she’s back.

* * * * *

I’ve always had a soft spot for Noel Gallagher.

Maybe it’s just that he comes off as less of an asshole than his brother Liam, or maybe it’s that he wrote the best Oasis songs. Or maybe it’s that I have a thing for the behind-the-scenes guys, the ones who do all the work while the loudmouths out front get all the credit. It would be tough to paint Noel with that brush, granted – he’s a pretty substantial loudmouth in his own right – but he does get shafted in favor of Liam pretty often, when he was clearly the brains of that operation.

And my sympathy for him was only heightened when literally every other member of Oasis picked Liam in the split-up. They’re all calling themselves Beady Eye now, and earlier this year, they released a decent debut album, Different Gear, Still Speeding. I can’t help but smile, however, now that I’ve heard Noel’s solo bow, the much-better Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds. He’s still the brainiest Gallagher, the one with the pop smarts, and if it means more records like this one, Liam can have the band and the spotlight.

Where Beady Eye retained most of the snarl of Oasis records, High Flying Birds debuts a more mature, considered sound. First single “The Death of You and Me” sums it up – a Beatlesque bounce, a lovely melody, an acoustic-based arrangement, and a superb hint to “Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite” in the horn charts. “Dream On” is splendid, its rigid beat supporting an absolutely soaring chorus. “If I Had a Gun” is one of the record’s prettiest songs, flowing from one well-written section to another with ease. And “AKA What a Life” rocks the hardest, with nary an electric guitar chord in sight – it’s all pounding pianos and thudding beats.

High Flying Birds also finally finds a home for the long-gestating Oasis track “Stop the Clocks.” It was very much worth the wait – a sweet acoustic number with a (forgive me) high-flying chorus, it provides a lilting finish to this album. The good news for fans of Oasis is that we now have two full-time, full-fledged recording careers to follow, and they’ve both proven to be worthwhile. I’ll admit to liking Noel’s record better, but I’m glad to have both options. Near the end there, Oasis was getting stale, running aground, and now both Gallaghers sound energized, ready for new beginnings. I’m right there with them.

* * * * *

Cough. Sneeze. Sniff. I’m heading back to sleep. Next week, some people I know: Noah Gabriel and the Mainers in Big Blood.

And speaking of people I know, I’ll talk more about this next week, but check out the Made in Aurora Christmas album I contributed to. Sixteen holiday songs by Aurora-area artists (including me, on piano for one track and on backing vocals for another). It’s $25, but you can also get it bundled with a bunch of other local Christmas CDs. Check it out here.

Leave a comment on my blog at tm3am.blogspot.com. Follow my infrequent twitterings at www.twitter.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning.