The new Choir album is called Shadow Weaver.

I mention this up front because it is the single most significant piece of musical information I learned over the last seven days. I’m certainly not shy about proclaiming my love for the Choir – they’re probably my favorite band, and every time they announce a new record, it’s a major event in my house.

It’s hard to explain, really – why do I get so excited about new music from a basically unknown group of old guys from Nashville, who play out only a few times a year, often to a crowd of merely dozens? Thankfully, the music speaks for itself, and most people who hear the Choir end up loving them. They play a darkly ambient form of pop music, all expansive, reverbed guitars and fascinating beats and glorious little melodies. They’ve never made an album I don’t like – even the worst ones, like Diamonds and Rain, have some classics, like “Render Love.”

Shadow Weaver comes out in March sometime. It’s being self-released by the band, like every album they’ve made for 10 years, and it was fully funded through a successful Kickstarter campaign. It’ll be their 15th, following up The Loudest Sound Ever Heard, from 2012. I gave that album a lukewarm review, but it’s steadily grown on me, to the point where I love it about as much as its two predecessors. I find it a little earthbound, still, so I’m heartened by the fact that every snippet of music I’ve heard from Shadow Weaver has been spacey and dreamy and sublime.

I’m spending so much time talking about the new Choir album because we’re still in that part of the year where the upcoming albums are more exciting than the ones hitting stores. I’m right now listening to what I consider the first major release of the year, Transatlantic’s Kaleidoscope, and even that isn’t what most would think of as an important new record. Broken Bells’ After the Disco, out next week, comes closer, but the first real event is Lost in the Trees’ Past Life on Feb. 18. The year is going to be great, but it isn’t quite yet.

So let’s keep talking about the great stuff making its way to us over the next few months. For instance, Beck just released the first full song from Morning Phase, his reportedly low-key comeback. It’s called “Blue Moon,” and it’s gorgeous. Yes, this album is overhyped. But listen to this. If it’s all this good, the hype won’t matter.

Speaking of gorgeous, one of the guys from Explosions in the Sky has teamed up with the guy from Eluvium to form a new band called Inventions. I can only imagine how absolutely gorgeous this is going to be. If you don’t know, Explosions are a “post-rock” band, making instrumental soundscapes with glorious guitar tones, and Eluvium is a one-man ambient project, mixing drifting drones with lovely piano pieces. So yeah, this album – out April 1 – is pretty high on my list of things to look forward to.

And speaking of unlikely yet perfect team-ups, Aimee Mann and Ted Leo have just announced the self-titled debut from their collaborative project, The Both. This is a pairing that I never imagined, but hearing the first tune from it, “Milwaukee,” it’s clearly one that should have happened before now. Mann is one of the best pop songwriters alive, and Leo ain’t too bad himself. Their mixture seems to capture the melodic grace of Mann’s work and the spiky, guitar-fueled energy of Leo’s. It’s kind of perfect, and I can’t wait for this. It’s out April 15.

It seems like more goodness is announced every day. For now, all we can do is wait.

* * * * *

Well, that’s not completely true. I do have something worth reviewing this week, and it was an altogether pleasant surprise.

If you’ve been reading this column for a while, you know that I’m a big Bryan Scary fan. He’s one of those folks out to save real pop music. You know, the kind with big, bold melodies and inventive arrangements, the kind that comes packed with sweet surprises every few seconds. The last time Scary made an album, it was called Daffy’s Elixir, and it was amazing. (Hear for yourself.) It’s the kind of insanely great record that makes you realize that some people’s brains work at faster speeds and higher gears.

Scary’s new project is possibly his most ambitious. It’s a band of sorts called Evil Arrows, and under this umbrella, he plans to release 60 or so new songs this year. They’ll come out in monthly installments, one EP at a time. The first one is out already, and you can hear it here. It’s six short songs, mostly performed with drummer Michael LaVolpe and guitarist Graham Norwood. But Scary says some of these Evil Arrows tunes will be full band efforts while some – like two of them on this first EP – will be solo efforts. And Scary’s good enough that it takes some effort to tell which is which.

On the surface, nothing about the Evil Arrows material is surprising. It’s all quirky, catchy pop music that could sit nicely next to much of what Scary’s done before. But these songs are all easier to digest than the crazy whirlwind of Daffy’s Elixir. “Romancer” is practically a ditty, and “Silver Bird” finds Scary slipping into a bit of a Bob Dylan riff, with plunking ragtime piano over the top. “Wide Open Yonder” is a terrific little driving song, with a convincingly rock and roll chorus. These tunes are all tightly written, compact little wonders.

The only problem is, it’s over before you know it. I could have gladly listened to five more songs as enjoyable as “Jennifer Kills the Giant (Once a Week),” which appears here in a piano-and-drum-machine sketch. “Laura Lies” is an acoustic ditty that leads into old-time whistle-led piano-pounder “The Lovers” perfectly, but three minutes and one second later – after a superb “la-la-la” outro – it’s over. And I want more. It’s going to kill me to wait a month between each of these Evil Arrows projects. But I guess that’s what we’ve been talking about this whole time. Waiting and waiting.

* * * * *

Next week, Kaleidoscope, which is kind of awesome. Leave a comment on my blog at tm3am.blogspot.com. Follow me on Facebook at www.facebook.com/tm3am, and Twitter at www.twitter.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning.

Last week I enumerated 14 different potential pop culture landmarks coming our way this year. But I forgot a big one, and I’m ashamed. Let me correct that mistake now.

This week, Quiet Company hit record for the first time on their fourth studio album, which frontman Taylor Muse says will be called Transgressor. If you’ve been reading this column for any length of time, you know of my love for Quiet Company, and Muse’s songs. Their second album, Everyone You Love Will Be Happy Soon, contained some of the best pop tunes of 2009, and their third, the absolutely astonishing We Are All Where We Belong, was my favorite record of 2011, and still awes me and scares me in equal measure.

QuietCo is a band that has not put a foot wrong yet, so I’m very much anticipating this fourth go-round. (They’ve also released a pair of terrific EPs and, last year, they reinvented their debut album Shine Honesty as A Dead Man On My Back.) You should hear everything they’ve ever done, and you can, right here. But certainly listen to We Are All Where We Belong, a searching, scathing, heartfelt breakup album with God. Once you do, you’ll understand why I’m looking forward to Transgressor.

While we’re at it, a few other things I didn’t mention last week, mainly because I didn’t know about them: Foster the People has just announced their second album, Supermodel, which will be out on March 18. The great Elbow will release their sixth, The Takeoff and Landing of Everything, one week earlier. I’m looking forward to trip-hoppers Phantogram’s second album, Voices, on Feb. 18, which will also bring us the first new album in way too long from Suzanne Vega. And there’s that self-titled St. Vincent album on Feb. 25.

Gonna be a good one, folks.

* * * * *

This year, I made what to some of you is going to sound like a weird New Year’s resolution. I vowed to listen to every album I buy in 2014.

I am, right now, looking over my pile of unheard music from last year. It’s fairly extensive, and if the pile of music I heard weren’t four times its size, I would feel bad about even compiling a 2013 top 10 list. I buy a lot of music, and like everyone else, I only have 24 hours in each day. I do try, but I usually find by March or April that my purchasing has outpaced my listening. I know this seems like the epitome of a first world problem, but there you go.

So I’ve resolved to hear them all this year. Every album I buy. I’m doing pretty well with that so far. I’ve picked up four new releases, and heard three. I’m going to talk about two of them today, but the third one I heard – Until the Colours Run, the debut from Lanterns on the Lake – is pretty cool. Kind of ethereal shoegaze music with some nice textures and a sweet singer. (The fourth disc I bought is the self-titled record from De La Tierra, a Portuguese-language side project of Sepultura’s Andreas Kisser, and I’ll hear that one tomorrow.)

I’m not sure if I’ll keep listing all the records I buy here, but I hope to stick to this. With that in mind, here are my first two reviews of 2014.

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I think people are surprised when I tell them I like Switchfoot.

I’ve actually been something of a fan for more than 10 years. Their early works are convincingly spunky, their middle ones much better than their reputation, particularly Oh, Gravity. Jon Foreman has a way with a fist-pumping lyric, and when the band is on, they write some catchy yet interesting pop-rock songs. They’re not innovators by any stretch, but they do what they do very well.

Or at least, they used to. Lately, I’m not sure Switchfoot themselves know what they’re up to. I enjoyed Hello Hurricane, despite its lack of ambition, but I just can’t get behind the abrasive and tuneless Vice Verses. And now they’ve gone running in the other direction with their ninth album, Fading West. This is the glossiest, poppiest, most radio-hungry album they have ever made. Everything their blinkered detractors think they have been for the past decade is in evidence here. And it’s a shame.

I’ve been referring to Fading West as Switchfoot’s Coldplay album, and it’s not far from the mark. Most of these songs are simple things, blown far out of proportion by the production. Here are electronic drums and synthesizers underpinning most everything, huge sticky wads of backing vocals, and an excess of sonic frippery. It’s the furthest from their stripped-back beginnings they’ve traveled, and there’s a definite sense that they’ve gone too far. The record starts with a pair of fairly bland tunes – opener “Love Alone Is Worth the Fight” and single “Who We Are” – overproduced within an inch of their meager lives.

For a while after that, it sounds like Switchfoot will right the ship. “When We Come Alive” is the most soaring anthem here, even if it’s the one that sounds the most like Coldplay. It features a simply huge “whoah-oh” chorus, backed up by massive guitar chords, scaling heights the album never reaches again. “Say It Like You Mean It” is the most impressively live-sounding thing on this record, all Larry Mullen drums and Adam Clayton bass, while ballad “The World You Want” is a little overdone, but still effective. “Who you love is your religion, how you love is your religion,” Jon Foreman sings, further evolving a theme that has permeated his work.

The next two songs, the boring “Slipping Away” and the odd “BA55,” are unremarkable. But then the album plunges right off the rails, concluding with a quartet of buzzy pop songs so outside the band’s normal purview that it’s almost jaw-dropping. When I first heard the sub-Sugar Ray “Let It Out,” I nearly choked. The synth bass, the insipid melody, the effects on Foreman’s voice, everything. I get the same feeling from this that I got from Weezer’s “Beverly Hills” – it’s the sound of sellout. And it doesn’t get a lot better before the record grinds to a halt with “Back to the Beginning Again.”

I like to give credit when bands try new things, and Fading West certainly treads new ground for Switchfoot. But most of that ground is terrible, leaving only a handful of decent songs in its wake. This whole album smells of money, and that’s a stink that doesn’t come off. I prefer honest mediocrity to something this shiny and empty.

* * * * *

Eight months ago, the great Sharon Jones and her band, the Dap-Kings, announced the imminent release of their sixth album, Give the People What They Want. And then tragedy struck – Jones was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. She postponed the album indefinitely, and started treatment. And her fans around the world prayed that we’d get to see the stunning soul giant take the stage again.

In many ways, the release of Give the People What They Want is cause for celebration. Jones is well enough to play out again – and given the sweaty, kinetic shows she puts on, that’s well indeed. And the album itself was worth waiting for. It gives us 10 more reasons to adore the vintage-sounding funk that the Dap-Kings lay down, and even better, the band sounds re-energized after their more subdued recent platters. This is a really great Dap-Kings album, and makes the case in 33 short minutes for Jones’ place in the pantheon of soul singers.

Seriously, if you can hear the powerhouse opener, “Retreat,” and not dance, you may be dead. It’s just a superb slice of swinging soul, and Jones gives a lung-busting vocal performance. The saxophones of Neal Sugarman and Cochemea Gastelum give “Stranger to My Happiness” a real kick, playing off Binky Griptite’s guitar work. “Now I See” is just wonderful, dripping with killer horn lines and exploding into a tremendous chorus. “Making Up and Breaking Up (And Making Up And Breaking Up Over Again)” somehow spins its title into a silky hook, and the fantastic “People Don’t Get What They Deserve” just smokes, Jones harmonizing with the Dapettes on the kickass refrain.

Every cut on this album is great, like it was plucked from the heyday of funky soul with a time machine. It’s a fitting celebration, welcoming Jones back to health with a foot-stomping, trumpet-blaring party. This could easily be your first Dap-Kings record, if needed, and when it’s over, you, too, will be elated that she survived her bout with cancer, and has come out swinging. And swinging hard.

* * * * *

Next week, a bunch of new stuff. Leave a comment on my blog at tm3am.blogspot.com. Follow me on Facebook at www.facebook.com/tm3am, and Twitter at www.twitter.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning.

Well. 2014. I promised myself I wouldn’t make the same Death Cab joke again, so I’ll just say happy new year to everyone and move on.

So. How are you? How was your holiday? I had a glorious two weeks off (and a little longer thanks to weather), and I spent it with family and friends. (And with the Doctor Who Christmas special, but we’ll get to that.) It was a marvelous opportunity to recharge, and that’s good, because looking at the year ahead, I’m going to need all the reserve energy I can get. This is the year I turn 40, and it’s getting harder and harder for this old man to keep up with the whippersnappers who keep cutting through his lawn.

But I try. This new year is shaping up to be pretty great already. Granted, 2013 threw down a fairly sizable gauntlet, but one of my new year’s resolutions is to be more hopeful. So I’ve gathered up a few reasons why I think 2014 is going to rock. There are 14 bits of potential awesome listed below, but there are way more than 14 reasons to expect a good year – the new Broken Bells album, for instance, is coming next week, and Phantogram’s second is in February. I also had Neil Finn’s new solo album, Dizzy Heights, on this list a few weeks ago, but then I heard some of it. It’s a stark reminder that potential awesome doesn’t necessarily translate to actual awesome.

Anyway, here are 14 things I’m looking forward to in the new year.

1. Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings, Give the People What They Want. (Jan. 14)

This new release from the queen of old-time soul was delayed last year when Jones was diagnosed with bile duct cancer. Now she’s back, and so is the album, which promises another slab of vintage horn-driven excellence. It’s on this list partially because Jones is fantastic, and her band is one of the few playing this style with a real sense of history. But it’s also here to celebrate her return to better health. Here’s hoping it’s a permanent one.

2. Lost in the Trees, Past Life. (Feb. 18)

I could not be more excited about this one. Lost in the Trees made my favorite album of 2012 last time out, swooping down out of nowhere to tear my heart right open. What I’ve heard from this third album is more stripped-back, but I expect the album will be no less affecting. There’s a spot reserved for this on the top 10 list, and I hope it earns it.

3. Neneh Cherry, Blank Project. (Feb. 25)

I will always love Cherry for being among the first to combine rap, soul and rock on the extremely underrated Homebrew album from 1992. She’s been sporadically active since then, fronting a band called CirKus and releasing a collaborative record with jazz group The Thing in 2012. But this new one, produced by Four-Tet, will be the first time in 18 years that Cherry has given us a personal statement. Should be great.

4. A new Choir album. (February)

Or, Kickstarter is miraculous, part one. The Choir, one of my very favorite bands, is in the process of recording a 15th studio album, which they will chase with their fourth live album. They raised more than $54,000 on Kickstarter to accomplish this, more than twice what they asked for. Over the last two decades, the Choir has created some of the most magical music of my lifetime, and I’m overjoyed to get the chance to hear more.

5. Beck, Morning Phase. (February)

The first album in six years from this extraordinary chameleon (not counting that book of sheet music) has been described as a successor to 2002’s Sea Change, a melancholy affair that ranks as one of the man’s best. It’s a peculiar way to stage a comeback, but this is Beck we’re talking about. Even if I think I know what this is going to be, I’m sure he’ll find a way to surprise me.

6. Imogen Heap, Sparks. (March 3)

A new Imogen album is an event in my house. This one’s doubly special – she’s spent the last few years creating it in a variety of locales and circumstances, and she’s released several tracks from it as online singles. The songs I’ve heard are just as insanely detailed and wondrous as anything she’s done, but somehow more fascinating, pushing her into new realms. “You Know Where to Find Me” is already one of my favorite songs of 2014. I can’t wait for this one.

7. The Veronica Mars movie. (March 14)

Kickstarter is miraculous, part two. In one of the most successful Kickstarter campaigns ever, Rob Thomas raised $5.7 million to bring his beloved creation, Veronica Mars, to the big screen. I happily gave to this effort, and in fact I’m wearing my “official Kickstarter backer” t-shirt as I type this. The fact that this movie exists is one of the most awe-inspiring stories of fan support I can think of. Plus, if the trailer’s anything to go by, this film will be pretty fantastic.

8. Tori Amos, Unrepentant Geraldines. (Spring)

I mentioned above that I’m trying to be more hopeful, right? Geraldines will be Amos’ first pop album in five years, after two dalliances with orchestral music and a stint as a theatrical composer. I like the title, which is pretty much all I know about it right now. But every time out, Amos has the potential to change my life, and even though she hasn’t since delivered anything with the power and force of her first three albums, I still look forward to each new Tori album, hoping this will be the one.

9. A new Steve Taylor album. (April)

Yes, I just typed the words “a new Steve Taylor album.” The man’s a legend, and he hasn’t released a record since Squint in 1993. But he has a new backing band called the Perfect Foil, and he raised an astonishing $121,000 on Kickstarter to make this new one. Taylor is one of the most important figures in this corner of spiritual pop music I love, and I never thought I’d hear new music from him again. Plus, I get to see Taylor and the Perfect Foil live at AudioFeed Festival this summer. Life is good.

10. Andrea Dawn’s second album. (April)

Andrea’s a friend, but even if she weren’t, I’d be excited for her new album. She’s a terrific songwriter and singer, with a dramatic edge – think Fiona Apple, but not as self-consciously arty – and her first record, Theories of How We Can Be Friends, was one of my favorite things in 2012. She raised the money for her second on Kickstarter, and is aiming for a Record Store Day release. If you haven’t heard her stuff, listen to Theories here. You’ll see why I’m anticipating this.

11. Two Bad Plus albums. (Spring/Fall)

I haven’t mentioned The Bad Plus much in this column, which is my bad. They’re one of the most inventive jazz trios you’ll hear anywhere, expanding their piano-bass-drums format to embrace all manner of song. In 2014, they’ll release two records – first, their arrangement of Stravinsky’s “The Rite of Spring,” which should be amazing, and second, another full album of originals. I should really review them one of these days. They’ve been great for a long time.

12. A new U2 album. (Spring)

There aren’t many bands that can inspire such anticipation and dread in me. The venerable Irish quartet has been working on their 13th album for years, recording and re-recording with several different producers. You never know with U2 – the result might be an absolute mess, like 2009’s No Line on the Horizon, or it might be a masterpiece, like 2004’s How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb. This could go either way, but whatever they do, it will be an event.

13. A new Postal Service album.

And now we’re in the realm of the purely theoretical, of course, but the rumblings are there. A second album from Ben Gibbard and Jimmy Tamborello has been discussed, rumored and denied for ages – almost ever since the first one, Give Up, was released in 2003. It may be impossible for a sophomore record to escape the shadow of the incredibly influential debut, but I’ll be glad to hear them try.

14. Peter Capaldi as the Doctor. (September)

And finally, the thing I am perhaps most excited about. Doctor Who has been on an incredible high over the past four years, with Matt Smith playing the titular Time Lord and Steven Moffat guiding his adventures. On Christmas Day, Smith went out on a towering high note – the Christmas special capped off a trilogy of defining episodes, and spun a final fairy tale for this most magical of Doctors. In its final seconds, it also introduced us to Doctor #12, played by the amazing Peter Capaldi. It’s hard to tell how he’ll be in the role – all we know is that he doesn’t like the color of his kidneys, and can’t fly the Tardis. But Capaldi is an astoundingly good actor, and with Moffat still behind the wheel, the show is in good hands. The 34th (!) season premieres in September, and I’ll be right there watching, as I have since I was six years old.

So there we go. This is just the stuff I am most excited about, of the stuff I know about. The best moments of the year always sneak up and surprise me. That’s what makes life so exciting, so worth living. Get out there and live it. See you in a week, as we kick off Year 14 in earnest.

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

See you in line Tuesday morning.

Merry Christmas, everyone! This is Fifty Second Week.

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

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

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

Alice in Chains, The Devil Put Dinosaurs Here.

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

Amplifier, Echo Street.

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

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

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

Anthrax, Anthems.

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

Bad Religion, Christmas Songs.

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

Baths, Obsidian.

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

Best Coast, Fade Away.

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

Big Country, The Journey.

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

James Blake, Overgrown.

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

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

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

Glen Campbell, See You There.

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

Chvrches, The Bones of What You Believe.

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

Harry Connick Jr., Every Man Should Know.

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

Cut Copy, Free Your Mind.

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

Dead Can Dance, In Concert.

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

Deafheaven, Sunbather.

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

Disclosure, Settle.

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

Dream Theater.

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

Eisley, Currents.

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

Eluvium, Nightmare Ending.

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

Ben Folds Five, Live.

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

Future Bible Heroes, Partygoing.

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

John Grant, Pale Green Ghosts.

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

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

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

Henry Fool, Men Singing.

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

Jandek, The Song of Morgan.

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

Jellyfish, Radio Jellyfish.

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

Kid Cudi, Indicud.

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

Linkin Park, Recharged.

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

Living Sacrifice, Ghost Thief.

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

The Lonely Island, The Wack Album.

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

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

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

Megadeth, Countdown to Extinction Live.

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

Metallica, Through the Never Soundtrack.

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

MGMT.

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

The Milk Carton Kids, The Ash and Clay.

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

Mount Moriah, Miracle Temple.

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

Palms.

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

Queens of the Stone Age, Like Clockwork.

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

Joshua Redman, Walking Shadows.

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

Rush, Clockwork Angels Tour.

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

Savages, Silence Yourself.

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

Smith Westerns, Soft Will.

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

Son Volt, Honky Tonk.

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

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

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

The Strokes, Comedown Machine.

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

Telekinesis, Dormarion.

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

Chris Thile, Bach Sonatas and Partitas Vol. 1.

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

Laura Viers, Warp and Weft.

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

Washed Out, Paracosm.

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

Steven Wilson, Drive Home.

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

Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Mosquito.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#10. Little Green Cars, Absolute Zero.

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

#9. Jason Isbell, Southeastern.

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

#8. Fish, A Feast of Consequences.

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

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

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

#6. Tom Odell, Long Way Down.

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

#5. Frightened Rabbit, Pedestrian Verse.

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

#4. Daft Punk, Random Access Memories.

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

#3. Janelle Monae, The Electric Lady.

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

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

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

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

#1. Gungor, I Am Mountain.

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

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

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

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

See you in line Tuesday morning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, on to the honorable mentions.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

See you in line Tuesday morning.

Hard to believe it’s December already.

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

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

Speaking of things I missed, here we go.

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Check them out here.

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

See you in line Tuesday morning.

I recently discovered (and then promptly misplaced the URL for) a website that lists public television station schedules going back 40 or so years. This site allowed me to confirm something I’ve always held true: I started watching Doctor Who when I was six years old. That’s when WGBH Channel 2 in Boston began running the Tom Baker stories, and those episodes completely entranced me. I didn’t really understand them, but I loved them.

The show was then in its 17th year across the pond, but I didn’t know that. All I knew was that it starred a funny guy with big curls, big teeth and a big scarf, and it featured monsters and time travel and a blue box that was bigger on the inside. I honestly needed nothing else. Doctor Who aired on weekdays at 7 p.m., and my bedtime was extended to 7:30 p.m. because of it. I vividly remember watching the old episodes on the television in my parents’ room, and hearing my mom say “go to bed” as soon as the familiar closing credits theme began playing.

It’s amazing what sticks in the memory from such a young age. WGBH ran through Tom Baker’s seven-season run twice before moving on to Peter Davison, so I had a couple years with the man with the scarf. As I’ve bought these episodes on DVD over the past 10 years, I’ve been surprised by how much I remember. The creepy titular Robots of Death, for example, have stayed with me, as has the giant robot from (ahem) Robot. I can remember watching the deflating rubber mask from The Sontaran Experiment like it was yesterday. That freaked me out.

With all that, it was Baker’s successor, Peter Davison, that really hooked me. Davison is my Doctor, the one I hold dearest. Thanks to the advent of the VCR, I watched his stories over and over again as a pre-teen. I gasped when Adric died (and was earnestly taken in by the silent credits that played over his broken gold star for mathematics). I loved the Black Guardian stories, particularly Enlightenment. I remember even then thinking that Time-Flight was terrible, and too long by half. But The Caves of Androzani is still one of the most thrilling, moving things I’ve ever watched.

So yeah, Doctor Who hooked me early. I drifted away more than once – until 2005 or so, I’d never seen a Colin Baker or Sylvester McCoy story, for instance. I watched the 1996 TV movie when it aired, and thought it was lousy. My fandom sprung back to life about eight years ago, as the revived series renewed my interest in the classic one. I now have every available Who DVD, and I watch and re-watch it more than any other show. Still, for most of that time, it’s been a pretty lonely thing. Between age 6 and age 36, I met maybe a dozen other Who fans.

And now, as the show turns 50 years old? They’re everywhere. And I couldn’t be happier.

Consider this. On Saturday, Nov. 23, the show’s 50th birthday, I watched the 75-minute anniversary special as it was simulcast in 93 countries around the world. Ten million people in the U.K. watched it as it aired, and it broke all records for BBC America. And two days later, I gathered a group of friends and saw the special again, in a sold-out movie theater. In 3-D. My little show is now a global phenomenon. And not just the new stuff, either, although that would be fine with me – I love the new seasons, and Matt Smith is my favorite Doctor since the early days. No, there were a lot of Tom Baker scarves on display on Monday. The old show has found its way into people’s hearts.

There could be no greater gift for me on the 50th anniversary. I can scarcely fathom it – Doctor Who is 50 years old, and is now more popular than ever. I credit the infinite possibility of the premise. Doctor Who is about a guy who can go anywhere in time and space, and can regenerate his body when he dies. The show can literally be anything. One week it will be a dense sci-fi drama with Davros and the Daleks, and the next a farce set in the waning days of the Roman Empire. If you don’t like an episode, wait a week. And if you don’t like the actor playing the Doctor, wait a couple years. Like everything else in this show, it will change. Doctor Who is about renewal and rebirth, and there’s no reason it can’t run forever.

Like anything with such a long history – we’re about to launch into season 34 – Doctor Who is inconsistent. In fact, inconsistency is sort of a trademark. This is the show that ran The Caves of Androzani and The Twin Dilemma back to back, after all. But I think we’re in a shining golden age right now. The current showrunner, Steven Moffat, is not only brilliant, he’s a dyed-in-the-wool fan who understands the show down to its DNA. And I mentioned Smith earlier. He’s got everything I look for in an actor playing the Doctor – he’s older than his years, he’s naturally quirky, and he has a surprising gravitas.

Together, Smith and Moffat have crafted three seasons of (mostly) excellent Doctor Who. It’s now a deeper and darker story than it’s been, but it still retains the core of the show – that eternal wonder at the vastness and beauty of the universe. Though the show is dark, Moffat doesn’t really do tragedy. The River Song arc, twisty as it was, ends in redemption, and the big sad ending for Amy and Rory found them sent back to the past to live their lives in peace and happiness.

And now, with the 50th anniversary special The Day of the Doctor, Moffat has outdone himself. I’ll say up front that I think it’s the best episode of the show, period. I’ve seen it three times, and I keep thinking about moments of it and smiling. It’s a remarkable celebration of 50 years of this show, while at the same time clearing the decks for a bold move forward. That’s as it should be – any anniversary special should not be mired in nostalgia, but should be a joyous “to be continued,” reveling in the fact that the tale goes ever on.

This special certainly does that, but it also does two other important things miraculously well. I’ll have to get into some spoilers here, so if you haven’t seen The Day of the Doctor, skip to the end of this column.

So here are those two things, and why they’re important.

1. The special wraps the past seven seasons into one epic tale. It does this by finally addressing the Last Great Time War, the wound that has been at the heart of the series since its return in 2005. The Doctor we met in Rose was haunted by his actions in the war, and wracked with survivor’s guilt. And his two subsequent incarnations struggled with it, David Tennant’s 10th Doctor growing angrier and prouder, while Smith’s 11th tried to forget. In fact, Smith’s Doctor tried to erase himself from the universe entirely.

During Tennant’s time, we learned that the Doctor wiped out his home planet of Gallifrey, killing the Time Lords and the Daleks in one fell swoop. Of course, the Daleks survived, which only added to his sense of shame – it was all for nothing. At the end of last season, we met a forgotten incarnation of the Doctor, played by John Hurt. It was he who pushed the button, using a sentient weapon called The Moment to commit double genocide. And for that crime, the Doctor banished him from his own memory.

For a long time, The Day of the Doctor looks like it’s simply going to show us the Doctor’s moment with the Moment. But in a magical sequence that only this show could do, the Doctor visits his former self (twice, actually), and finds a way to rewrite his own narrative. It was the guilt over pushing the button that allowed him, over 400 years, to evolve into the man who could think his way around pushing the button, while preserving the timeline. The solution is elegant, and it brings the entire revived show full circle. The Doctor has healed himself. It’s absolutely beautiful.

2. It sublimely connects the old and new shows into one glorious whole. There has always been some debate over whether the revived series is a continuation or a reboot. Moffat has definitively answered this in the best way possible. He started with The Night of the Doctor, a seven-minute prequel that brought Paul McGann back to the role after 17 years. (I want a McGann miniseries. He was amazing.) But The Day of the Doctor outdid it, uniting the Doctor’s timeline from his earliest incarnation to now. All of his regenerations take part in the thrilling climax – even 12th Doctor Peter Capaldi, making his first appearance – and the special references the old show left and right.

Best of all, the wonderful ending brings back Tom Baker, playing a future incarnation revisiting an old face. I can’t tell you how emotional it was for me to see Baker back in Doctor Who, for the first time since 1980. It was a gift, and a lovely one. And in a splendid twist, Moffat worked in an older Doctor not as a nostalgia trip, but as a clear sign that the Doctor will live on, and he will be happy. That was incredible.

I haven’t even talked about what a superb double act Tennant and Smith made, or how well Hurt fit into the mythos, often speaking for grumpy fans of the old series. (“Timey what? Timey wimey?”) It was, in every way it could be, absolutely perfect. I have never been prouder to be a fan of this show, and it was such a treat to share this moment with so many people. I know Doctor Who fans all over the country now, and in fact in a few other countries too. This was such a great moment for all of us, uniting not just the eras of the show, but fans of all of those eras.

Fifty years is such an achievement, but the show isn’t resting. It’s constantly moving forward, and that’s what makes it special. We get Matt Smith’s final appearance as the Doctor at Christmas, and then Capaldi’s first episodes next year. The show’s about to renew itself again, about to set the stage for its next few years. There’s no reason it shouldn’t do that forever. I’m not even 40, and I’m certain this show will outlive me. There’s magic in that. It’s bigger than all of us.

Thank you, Steven Moffat, for penning a fitting celebration for a show unlike any other. Thank you to everyone who has contributed to the joy this show has brought me since I was six years old. And thank you, Doctor Who, just for being what you are. Here’s to the next 50 years, and to the madman with a box.

All of time and space, everything that ever happened or ever will. Where do you want to start?

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

See you in line Tuesday morning.

This is far from the most original observation I’ve ever made, but recording a cover is like trying on someone else’s clothes.

Sometimes the fit is awkward and uncomfortable, and you can hardly move without tearing or tripping over something. But sometimes, it’s so perfect that you learn to strut inside those borrowed duds, to the point where even close friends don’t recognize you. You don’t look like you, or like the person who owns the clothes – you’re some strange, unrecognizable hybrid of the two.

That is, if you do it right. Covers can be fascinating, or they can be a complete waste of time. If you’re going through the motions, playing a slavishly faithful rendition without bringing anything of yourself to it, then you’re just filling the air. As a wise woman once said, ain’t nobody got time for that. If I’m going to buy a covers album, it’s because I want to hear something I can’t imagine. If it sounds just like I thought it would, I’m bound to be a bit disappointed.

Let’s take my favorite covers project of the last few years, Peter Gabriel’s Scratch My Back. I could never have guessed just how Gabriel covering Arcade Fire’s “My Body is a Cage” with a full orchestra would have sounded. It seems unfathomable, and yet, there it is, and it’s probably my favorite thing on this record. This year, Gabriel finally released the companion volume, And I’ll Scratch Yours, with the artists he covered each doing one of Gabriel’s tunes. It’s a similar delight – you think you know what Bon Iver would do with “Come Talk to Me,” for instance, or how the Magnetic Fields would recast “Not One of Us,” but hearing these renditions is revelatory.

Every year there’s a crop of covers records – some worth it, some not. But 2013 seemed to have more than the usual share. I have three very different ones to discuss this week, starting with the third volume of Matthew Sweet and Susanna Hoffs’ Under the Covers series. Sweet is a power pop genius with a knack for self-harmonizing, while Hoffs made her name as one of the Bangles, and has a number of glistening pop records to her name. Every few years, the pair takes on a different decade’s hits and deep cuts. They celebrated the ‘60s in 2006, and the ‘70s in 2009, which means it’s time for the ‘80s.

But here’s the thing about Sweet and Hoffs (or Sid n Susie, as they call themselves in this context): they haven’t changed their sound since that first outing. So this is a group of ‘80s songs played by a band straight out of the ‘60s, with that Sweet-style analog production. That’s an interesting wrinkle, and it adds spice to this collection.

Even if you haven’t heard them together, you can almost imagine the way Sweet and Hoffs would harmonize, the lovely sounds their intertwining voices would make. And you’d be right – they sing together beautifully. But by the third volume of these covers, we’re used to that, so it’s the arrangements that make this record. Granted, they do choose songs that fit their template, but this is still one of the most organic ‘80s tributes I’ve heard.

Volume 3 kicks off with a dynamite version of R.E.M.’s “Sitting Still,” a clear indication that Sweet and Hoffs are not going to stick to the tried and true. It’s remarkably faithful, Sweet playing those ringing Byrds-ian guitar figures perfectly. Their note-perfect version of Dave Edmunds’ “Girls Talk” (written by the great Elvis Costello) rocks, as does their resurrection of “Big Brown Eyes” by the dBs. Who wouldn’t want to hear Hoffs sing “Kid” by the Pretenders, or hear Sweet crash his way through the delightful English Beat tune “Save It for Later”? In both cases, the pair pays homage to the original while bringing a new dimension to it.

Throughout this volume, Sweet and Hoffs pogo back and forth between well-known songs and forgotten classics. I’m not sure I ever needed to hear Tom Petty’s “Free Fallin’” again, even in a setting like this, but I very much appreciated Hoffs’ tribute to the Go-Go’s, revving up “Our Lips are Sealed.” And while there are certainly other Smiths songs they could have chosen, “How Soon is Now” remains wonderful. On the flip side, there’s Kristy MacColl’s delightful “They Don’t Know,” which Hoffs knocks out of the park, and the Bongos’ “The Bulrushes,” a song I’d never heard. They dig deep into the XTC catalog to find “Towers of London,” and close things out with Lindsey Buckingham’s great “Trouble,” here stripped of some of its eccentricity, but none of its elegance.

Is Under the Covers Vol. 3 successful, despite hewing pretty closely to the originals in most cases? I think so. It’s great fun to hear these two golden-throated singers weave their way around this material, smoothing out the more angular ones (like “Towers of London”). The song selection gives an interesting insight into both Sweet and Hoffs, and all told, it’s 50 minutes of pure pop delight. I can’t hardly wait until they get to the ‘90s – aside from Sweet’s own work, there wasn’t much melodic pop to be found, so I’m interested to hear what they choose. This series is a winner, as far as I’m concerned.

While Sweet and Hoffs do stick pretty closely to their source material, they’re definitely not trying to clone the original singers. That’s a trick that our other, much less likely pair pulls off on their out-of-nowhere covers record. I’ve been saying this out loud to people to see if they believe me – Billie Joe Armstrong of Green Day and Norah Jones have teamed up to faithfully cover an entire Everly Brothers album from 1958. Yes, this is a real thing you can really go buy right now.

They’ve titled it Foreverly, but really, it’s the Everlys’ Songs Our Daddy Taught Us, itself an album of traditional songs and covers. Jones and Armstrong have altered the order a bit, but changed little else – the sound is vintage, despite being fuller, with drums and harmonicas, and the harmonies remain as they always have. Jones takes Phil’s tenor parts, while Armstrong handles Don’s baritone lines. And it works – I was very surprised at how well their voices dance together. They don’t mess with the vocal arrangements at all – Jones doesn’t have to slip into falsetto on “Long Time Gone,” for instance, but the pair mimics the Everlys remarkably well.

The original album was rootsy and acoustic, but Foreverly adds some richer studio touches. “Lightning Express,” for instance, now sounds like a Jon Brion special, with shuffling drums and chimes, while “Rockin’ Alone (In an Old Rockin’ Chair)” is now a piano ballad. These arrangements, while certainly filling things out, remain respectful of the originals. Foreverly is sweet, and while Jones could do this stuff in her sleep, Armstrong is the unknown quality here, and he acquits himself well.

Still, Foreverly is a bit of a novelty, and as interesting as it is, I probably won’t pull it out too often. It’s a neat document of an unlikely pairing, and if it gets more people to listen to the Everly Brothers, great. But the original album isn’t a favorite, and this reinvention is nice and reverential, and that’s about it. It answers its central question – yes, Billie Joe Armstrong can sing this stuff, and can harmonize with Norah Jones well – within the first 30 seconds, and after that, it’s much less fascinating.

Luckily, our third covers album doesn’t fall into the same trap. It’s remarkable from start to finish, the finest of the trio on tap this week. It’s called Fellow Travelers, and it’s by Shearwater, the ambitious Texas band led by the amazing Jonathan Mieburg. The thrill of Fellow Travelers is that it sounds like a new Shearwater album – the band clearly put as much care into the song selection and arrangement of this thing as they do with each new studio effort. Plus, the song choices are generally obscure enough that they may as well be new Shearwater songs.

Case in point – the record opens with Jesca Hoop’s brief “Our Only Sun,” performed on piano and Mieburg’s soaring voice, before crashing into Xiu Xiu’s abrasive, propulsive “I Luv the Valley Oh!!” Shearwater smooths this song out – well, it couldn’t possibly be less smoothed-out than the original – and they drive it home with a pounding beat and huge guitars. Elsewhere they cover tunes by Wye Oak, Clinic and David Thomas Broughton, bringing something new to each one. It’s probably for the best, though, that these songs are all pretty obscure, since Shearwater is not a band that can disappear into a cover. Mieburg is too distinctive a singer for that.

Fellow Travelers is definitely not a catalog of the band’s influences. It’s more of a snapshot of songs by contemporaries. Mieburg sings the hell out of Broughton’s “Ambiguity,” transforming this haphazard folk ditty into a tiny epic, slowed down and graceful. The band also recasts Wye Oak’s “Mary is Mary” as a folksier number, half as long as the original, with a delicate electric piano, and they close things out with a gentle reading of the Baptist Generals’ “Fucked Up Life” that puts a sweeter bow on things than you’d expect.

Shearwater does drop some fascinating surprises. They cover Coldplay’s “Hurts Like Heaven,” stripping it of all the Mylo Xyloto excess and playing it straight, on pianos and ambient guitars. They take on St. Vincent’s “Cheerleader” with aplomb, playing it sloppy and joyous, and Mieburg doesn’t alter the lyrics one jot, to his credit. And in the most surprising turn, they deliver a convincing, raucous take on Folk Implosion’s ‘90s dance tune “Natural One.” The Shearwater version sounds a bit like Depeche Mode, but it keeps the original’s sense of menacing groove.

Fellow Travelers is what a covers record ought to be – it celebrates the original songs while asserting the band’s identity throughout. These tunes are all reinvented, to one degree or another, and they all end up sounding like Shearwater – so much so that the one original, “A Wake for the Minotaur,” fits right in. If I told you this was an album of new Shearwater songs, even the longtime fans would believe it. Mieburg and company have tried on these clothes, made some alterations, and found that they’re remarkably comfortable. They’ve made something special here, something that perfects and transcends the idea of covers albums. It’s still ineligible for my top 10 list, but it’s wonderful.

Next week, I say happy birthday to Doctor Who. Then, I bat cleanup on the year as we head into the home stretch. Leave a comment on my blog at tm3am.blogspot.com. Follow me on Facebook at www.facebook.com/tm3am, and Twitter at www.twitter.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning.

I’m pretty sure this is all David Bowie’s fault.

Showbiz personas certainly existed before Bowie, but he’s the first worldwide rock star I can think of who brought drama school character-playing to popular music. Bowie wore costumes and face paint to play Ziggy Stardust and Aladdin Sane, among others, erecting a wall of artifice between himself and his audience. And he made it look cool. He infused his work with theatricality, rarely if ever playing himself, and his conceptual play-acting got under the skin of those who believe all art should be “authentic” and “real.”

I’m not even sure it’s possible to see true authenticity in art. We’re seeing whom the artist wants us to see at all times. Even the most naked and raw art I know is subject to that same filter – we can’t read an artist’s mind, or live an artist’s life. We can only experience what they want us to. Image-conscious myth-making has been part of pop music since the very beginning, with Elvis’ sneer, Mick Jagger’s pout and the Beatles’ moptops as much a part of their appeal as the music. (Hell, you can go back to Frank Sinatra’s suit and whiskey glass.) Bowie just kicked that up a few notches.

The advent of MTV made theatricality almost mandatory. Younger readers may not believe this, but there was a time when MTV aired music videos, almost exclusively. The best and most popular of them were the most dramatic, with costumes and characters. The ‘80s were a decade in which Bono was considered one of the most authentic rock stars in the world. Think about that. And even he decided to dress up and step outside himself in the ‘90s. U2’s “lost decade” was all about the notion of finding art within the artifice.

I think you can draw a straight line from Bowie to Madonna to Lady Gaga. All three use their natural theatricality to try to get at something real, and all three use their fame to comment on their audiences. But as the latest iteration of the costumed character pop star archetype, is Gaga actually saying much? She’s called her third album ARTPOP, all caps, as a mission statement – she believes she is melding artistry with popular culture like no one else. On the strength (or lack therof) of the album, I’d say she’s delusional. But she’s certainly trying.

ARTPOP is a blindingly ambitious mess that holds Gaga’s audience at arm’s length, promising insights but delivering shallow commentary on mass popularity. About half of it works, including the first four tracks, so for a while, it seems like Gaga has taken the next step forward after the validating Born This Way. This is certainly more of a deliberate pop record – the longest song is 4:29, and all 15 tracks are done in less than an hour. That seems a direct response to criticism that Born This Way was bloated and overstuffed, but it’s also in line with what she’s trying to do here – meld her artistic ambitions with our singles-driven culture.

Her best musical moments here come awfully close to pulling that off. On opener “Aura,” she works with Israeli EDM duo Infected Mushroom, and the result is dazzling. An Ennio Morricone intro gives way to some Middle Eastern shimmying on guitar, which then slams into a KMFDM-style industrial stomp, which in turn blossoms into a pure pop chorus. That’s all in the first two minutes. Gaga offers a convincing Euro-pop dancefloor strut on winners like “G.U.Y.” and “Sexxx Dreams,” and she resurrects her sweeping piano anthem side on “Gypsy.” None of these songs skimp on melody, and at their best, they’re as good as she thinks they are.

Too bad she has to sing over them. The lyrics on ARTPOP are generally insipid – shallow, banal, barely counting as commentary. “Do you want to see the girl who lives behind the aura,” she asks in the first song, but then never shows her to us. The character Gaga is playing here is obsessed with pop culture, and has nothing to say about it. I certainly hope she doesn’t think that devoting an entire (admittedly catchy) song to calling Donatella Versace a spoiled bitch counts as cogent commentary. We come out of ARTPOP knowing only that the Gaga character loves sex and attention – a line like “love me, love me, please retweet” could be seen as satire, but she delivers it straight. This is what she thinks a melding of art and pop is – glittering, head-spinning songs about fame culture.

That works up to a point, but when the songs falter, the album follows suit. After the swell opening quartet, Gaga shoehorns in “Jewels ‘n Drugs,” an uncharacteristically awful tune that seems to exist just to give Twista, Too Short and T.I. space to rap about nothing. “Do What U Want” is an interesting idea – it’s about separating sex from intimacy, and image manipulation from truly knowing someone. But the music is earthbound, and R. Kelly offers nothing except to rhyme Gaga’s “do what you want with my body” with “in the back of the club, doing shots, getting naughty.” “Dope” is the sensitive piano ballad this time, but it gets all Meat Loaf, and when she sings “I need you more than dope,” it’s hard to suppress the laugh reflex.

You can’t say Gaga isn’t trying to make this character work. But I’m wondering if it’s worth it. Even more than last time, Gaga is all artifice on ARTPOP. The album ends (somewhat awkwardly) with “Applause,” the first single, and it sums up the record – she’s all about the attention and validation. I’m pretty sure she’s satirizing people like Paris Hilton, but she feels lost inside this character, and it’s tough to find her on this album. She’s naked on the hideously designed front cover, but she’s airbrushed into something plastic, something inhuman. This is probably what she’s getting at, but she’s such a promising artist that making that point over and over again seems like a waste.

Here’s something I never thought I’d say – if you want to see a pop star who truly has grown, check out Eminem’s new record. The once and future Marshall Mathers made his name playing a particularly irresponsible character named Slim Shady, and his most famous works – the opening one-two of The Slim Shady LP and The Marshall Mathers LP – found him engineering a grand-scale social experiment as satire. Could the world love someone as violent, vicious and irredeemable as Shady? And as he got more and more depraved, would popular culture reject him, or would fans continue to idolize and emulate him?

As the years have passed, Mathers has answered his own question by rejecting Shady himself, and putting him away. His lyrical sleight-of-hand has not faded – he may be the most interesting rapper in the world for a grammar nut like me – but his concerns have matured. He backslid on 2009’s aptly titled Relapse, but on 2010’s Recovery, he sounded like a man reborn. No characters, no shock tactics, just Mathers rapping about becoming a better man and a better father. It was riveting, uplifting stuff.

Which is why I was initially wary of his new project, The Marshall Mathers LP 2. Why on earth would the Mathers that made Recovery want to pen a sequel to his least responsible album? Turns out, though, this is unlike any hip-hop sequel I’ve ever heard – it’s more of a full-length apology for the man he used to be. This is Mathers surveying his legacy, and shaking his head. It’s an album about where he is now, and how much he’s grown. And with all that, it’s still thrilling stuff.

The record opens with “Bad Guy,” a seven-minute psychodrama that throws down a gauntlet. It’s a sequel to the chilling “Stan,” in which a crazed Eminem fan kills himself and his girlfriend while emulating Slim Shady. The first half of “Bad Guy” finds Stan’s brother reenacting that fatal crash, only this time it’s a kidnapped and bound Marshall Mathers in the trunk. Stan’s brother Matthew gives Mathers a lecture on responsibility before crashing and killing them both, and then Mathers wakes up and spits out a dynamite rhyme about self-doubt and shame, taking himself to task for becoming everything he once hated.

Much of this album is about comeuppance. The one skit, “Parking Lot,” follows the heist from “Criminal” to its logical and bloody end. “Asshole” finds Mathers raking himself over the coals for filling that role for too long: “Women dishin’ but really thinkin’ that if anyone talks to my little girls like this I would kill him.” He acknowledges his own hypocrisy when dealing with the height of his success: “Fame made me a balloon ‘cause my ego inflated when I blew,” he raps on “The Monster.” And on “Evil Twin” he works to accept that Slim Shady is a part of him – in fact, that without him he wouldn’t be as good as he is – but works to control him.

The record’s most surprising moment is “Headlights,” the follow-up to “Cleanin’ Out My Closet.” The earlier song was a non-stop torrent of invective against his mother, but on this sequel, he admits that he cringes when he hears that song now, and spends five minutes praising his mother and telling her how much he loves her. It’s unlike any hip-hop song I’ve heard, and I’ll admit to being moved by it. This is real personal growth.

I don’t want to give the impression that Mathers has cleaned up his act. He still uses “faggot” as a pejorative, which is indefensible. He still includes “So Much Better,” an angry breakup song that goes too far into misogyny. (“I got 99 problems and a bitch ain’t one, she’s all 99, I need a machine gun…”) He still includes “Love Game,” a terrible piece of shit about “crazy” women. He still engages in oblivious hypocrisy, and still makes every crass joke that comes to mind. No amount of skill – and there are monumental amounts of skill on display here – can atone for that. Mathers has grown, but not enough.

But if you focus on how far he’s come, The Marshall Mathers LP 2 is remarkable. “So Far” is a song about growing old, watching the rap game pass you by, and not caring. Check out “Rap God,” six minutes of the fastest tongue-twisting hip-hop boasting you’ll ever hear, full of respect for his betters and complete confidence. Listen to “Stronger Than I Was,” a mostly sung anthem of resilience. And then marvel at the fact that in every line, every groove of this record, Mathers is laying himself bare, warts and all, with the promise that he’s not finished working on himself.

I haven’t even mentioned the music itself. Rick Rubin’s at the helm, so there are many references to classic rock mixed in with the powerhouse beats – see “Rhyme or Reason,” which rewrites “Time of the Season” by the Zombies, or “So Far,” which makes liberal use of Joe Walsh’s “Life’s Been Good.” The hooks are strong, including choruses sung by Rhianna and Nate Ruess of fun. Musically, it’s up to Mathers’ high standard, but the focus is on him. He’s a lyrical master, twisting syntax and even using syllable tenses in ways other rappers wouldn’t even dream of. Fourteen years after we first heard him, he’s still a thrill to listen to.

But most of all, he’s proof that emotional honesty trumps play-acting. With every beat of The Marshall Mathers LP 2, you get a real sense of Marshall Mathers the man, and while it’s not always a pretty picture, you can chart the journey he’s taken, and feel his desire to keep growing. The cover art of this album shows the same Detroit house from the original Marshall Mathers LP, all boarded up. But the album proves that Mathers is still very much alive and vital. It may be the most important album he’s made. It’s certainly the most real.

Next week, a pair of unlikely covers albums. Leave a comment on my blog at tm3am.blogspot.com. Follow me on Facebook at www.facebook.com/tm3am, and Twitter at www.twitter.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning.