On the whole, the best music this year told the raw truth — whether it was Hayes Carll’s paean to love and loss or Robbie Fulks’ exploration of his Carolina and Virginia roots. Shovels & Rope turned toward autobiography with their 2016 release, and albums from Sierra Hull and Aoife O’Donovan tossed genre aside in favor of expressing their own true voice.
Last week, we shared the results of your voting in our annual year-end readers poll, and now it’s time to put forth the picks from our staff here at ND. Below, you’ll find favorites from yours truly, our online editor Cameron Matthews, assistant editor Stacy Chandler, print partnerships guru (and books columnist) Henry Carrigan, ad sales gal Sonja Nelson, and publisher Chris Wadsworth. Though there is certainly some overlap with the readers’ list, we find it’s always interesting to see what resonated with the fans and what folks inside the industry thought won the day. Without further ado …
Shovels and Rope – Little Seeds
Ever since its 2008 debut, Shovels & Rope has brandished a rare, raw brand of honesty through music that growls and spits, sweats and swings from verse to chorus to roaring solo. There’s always been something special about this duo, but never has that special thing been so writ-large as in their 2016 release Little Seeds. Plenty has been written already about the duo’s decision to get personal this time, their still-fresh, unexpected parenthood, their reckoning with the dementia of Michael Trent’s father. All of those things are laid bare in this disc; but even if you didn’t know the backstory, the music is itself powerful, whether it’s riding a fuzzy guitar pedal or echoing off the upper registers of Cary Ann Hearst’s acoustic strings. Known for passionate harmonies, Shovels & Rope lapses just as frequently here into octave unison — their two sets of vocal cords ring like one voice echoing against itself. Stylistically, they hop from punk to folk to country, but you’d only know that if you listened very closely. The prevailing vibe of the record is a musical manifestation of Trent and wife/collaborator Hearst themselves. It doesn’t get any truer than this. – Kim Ruehl
Joe Henry & Billy Bragg – Shine a Light: Field Recordings from the Great American Railroad
In a year when America’s identity came up for question, Joe Henry and Billy Bragg delivered an album full of train songs that was so much more than what it seemed. I had the chance to talk with both of them at length about this record, and discovered that their motivation had begun with a great love for songs about the railroad, but grew into more of a comment on American ingenuity and a certain die-hard work ethic that has propelled our democracy forward from the beginning (and will no doubt continue to do so). The railroads connected people who would otherwise have been far-flung, provided routes for trade and travel, and thus each train whistle and passing chug brought with it hope and promise. Having criss-crossed the country on trains a number of times myself, I’ve always felt a kinship with these songs — the workers’ lament of “Hobo’s Lullaby” and “John Henry,” the sheer groove of “Rock Island Line” and “Midnight Special,” the utter hope and sadness of “Waiting for a Train.” What might have been a fun little history project in someone else’s hands became instead, from Bragg and Henry, an existential statement about a nation at once deeply connected and ideologically divided, growing up and not yet self-aware, covered by markers of its own best self: countless miles of man-laid train tracks, glorious architecture in train stations, exquisite terrain in the “middle of nowhere,” and — everywhere — a deep tradition in song. – KR
Paul Simon — Stranger to Stranger
Trying to pinpoint the appeal of Paul Simon’s songwriting can feel a bit like treading into the “dancing about architecture” realm of music writing. For one thing, he’s a master of unexpected, gut-punching lyric lines, from “The Boxer” to “Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes” to “Wristband.” For another, once he opened the door to rhythm in the ’80s, he’s never looked back. His giant rhythm-centered band has been unleashed on Stranger to Stranger, making it an ass-shaker of an album full of commentary on things like the Black Lives Matter protests in Ferguson, Missouri, the work ethic of street musicians, mental health care, veteran suicide, and, of course, love. (All music is a declaration of love for something, after all, and for no songwriter is that truer than for Paul Simon.) Beyond all the glowing criticisms I can write, this is just a damn good record, better than most of what else was put out this year. And, in the scope of Simon’s canon, it’s up there with Paul Simon, Rhythm of the Saints, and Graceland, which is to say better than most of what’s out there in general. — KR
Lori McKenna — The Bird and the Rifle
It’s really not that hard to write a song. If you can carry a tune (most people can), learn at least three chords on an instrument (most people can), and can come up with something to talk about in even the briefest of conversations, then you have all the skills it takes to write a song. It’s writing a good song that’s much more difficult, and most people — even most songwriters — will never do that. Lori McKenna, meanwhile, could probably do it in her sleep. The Bird and the Rifle is a testament to this, presenting ten songs that do all the right things. And while McKenna has whittled them all through well-honed country songcraft and dressed them in the right instrumentation and melody, she’s placed their stories at the center. All that other stuff is just the spoonful of sugar that helps the medicine go down. The medicine McKenna is peddling is empathy, from the allegorical title track right up through album closer “If Whiskey Were a Woman.” And thankfully McKenna, the singer, delivers the tunes straight, with all the raw honesty in her vocals. As singer-songwriter records go this year, The Bird and the Rifle was one of the most obvious standouts. — KR
Parker Millsap — The Very Last Day
Parker Millsap’s last album generated quite a bit of buzz. He was, after all, just a young kid out of Oklahoma who had a knack for pooling together the influence of John Steinbeck and Tom Waits in a number of catchy songs. Clearly Millsap has been heavily stamped by a religious upbringing, as themes of reckoning religious belief and everyday life carry over into his 2016 release, The Very Last Day, as well. But instead of categorically rebelling against churchiness, he seems this time to be focused on extracting truth from its teaching, finding some kind of universality in those ancient ideas. The songs he delivers on this disc depict a songwriter mature beyond his years, and a storyteller whose understanding of powerful nuance carries over from lyrics to the way his voice delivers them. To boot, this album grows with each listen — a feat for an artist of any age. — KR
Aoife O’Donovan — In The Magic Hour
Brooklyn singer-songwriter Aoife O’Donovan’s latest release has lift to it. Tracks float from start to finish on carnival organ sounds, unpretentious fiddle runs, and a simple acoustic guitar melody. In The Magic Hour is a recording of past experiences and future expectations, like “Donal Og,” a traditional Irish song that features O’Donovan’s late grandfather, and “The King of All Birds,” a track dedicated to the lowly yet cunning wren. If it’s your first time listening to this album, get in the car (or get on the train) and just go. It’s an exceptional soundtrack for momentum. — Cameron Matthews
Margaret Glaspy — Emotions And Math
Elliott Smith would probably burst into tears if he had had the chance to hear Margaret Glaspy’s dominance over the guitar. Her ability to turn a phrase on its head, throw in an unexpected chord change, or astound with her vocal weirdness is best experienced with the speakers turned all the way up. I first saw Glaspy several years ago at Wintergrass Festival, where she was performing with Jayme Stone’s Lomax Project (hence her inclusion on this list). Despite Emotions and Math having a definitive rock tilt, like the standout tracks “You and I” and “Somebody to Anybody,” I don’t know anyone who can sing “Shenandoah” as if she were a soloist from 1885 that had time-traveled to the modern era. Her Americana roots run deeper than yours. — CM
Mothers — When You Walk A Long Distance You Are Tired
Singer Kristine Leschper is either the voice you hear right before you die, or the one you hear when you’re alone in a cabin in upstate New York. Her haunting expressions make the hair stand up on your neck — in a good way, of course. “It Hurts Until It Doesn’t” bleeds through the darkness with stunted guitars and a gentle meandering. Get into a giant sweatshirt and inhabit a porch before spinning this underrated gem. — CM
Lydia Loveless — Real
Real is a sonically dense experience. Dueling guitars occupy the same landscape, battling for speaker space in a chaotic recording ultimately redeemed by Loveless’s songwriting. “Midwestern Guys” is a biting criticism (and possibly a loving ode) to a certain type of dude from, I assume, the Chicago metro area. “European,” a brooding country ballad, brings up an oft-used Midwesternism; Loveless sings “When I kissed you on the lips, I was being European,” meaning that she actually showed emotion for something. It’s the thing I love most about her songwriting: a survey of Midwestern vernacular, explored in song. Do not sleep on Real. — CM
Hiss Golden Messenger — Heart Like a Levee
With every new release, M.C. Taylor has established himself as the successor of Levon Helm. Through careful songcraft, deliberately built for peak emotion and Southern nostalgia, Hiss Golden Messenger serves up big themes involving family, love, and the movement of time. Album opener “Biloxi” establishes these themes from the get-go with crushing lines like “But all around my old hometown I was known as a loner / You know I wasn’t lonely, I just liked being alone.” — CM
Dori Freeman — Dori Freeman
I was first drawn to Dori Freeman from her one-of-a-kind story — a young mother in small-town Georgia, she sent a recordings of her songs to singer-songwriter Teddy Thompson via Facebook, and, improbably, he listened to them, loved them, wanted to record them. And he was right. The songs from her self-titled debut are straightforward, shatteringly real. And her voice can shine in an a cappella song, a plaintive duet, or more textured arrangements, all of which populate this well-paced stunner of an album. The ear-grabbing first line — “You say you can’t save me but I never asked you to” — is a declaration of independence and also a clear signal that this woman has something to say, and I can’t wait to hear what’s next. — Stacy Chandler
Sara Watkins — Young in All the Wrong Ways
I first met Sara Watkins after an early Nickel Creek show. I said something gushy about her music, and she said something gushy about my jacket. Older now and wiser, I imagine she’s no less friendly, but she has gained some edge (haven’t we all?), and it’s done something really great to her music. Young in All the Wrong Ways finds Watkins wising up, offering some real talk about life and the people in it and confronting the complexities of staying true to who she is – whomever she might find that to be. It’s a well-worn path for people of a certain age (30-something, let’s say), but it’s a rare artist who can capture that so tunefully and authentically in song. I long ago outgrew that jacket, but Watkins has consistently made music that fits her exactly as she is. Which makes this an album I can’t stop gushing about. — SC
Drive-by Truckers — American Band
It’s hard not to grade the Drive-by Truckers on a curve of their own making. As a Southerner myself, the way they “get” what it’s like to love a place but know that it’s deeply fucked up has resonated with me album after album. While their viewpoint remains distinctly regional, American Band seems to be addressed more broadly, at a fucked-up nation where guns and racial inequalities are problems we’re not willing to solve. Political songs can be boring at best, or preachy if they veer way off the tracks. But DBT sticks to doing what they do best – rocking, for one, and, even more effectively, showing, not telling, what needs to be known. — SC
The Cactus Blossoms — You’re Dreaming
The Cactus Blossoms are a blast from the past in a thoroughly modern way. Their brother harmonies can’t fail to evoke comparisons to the Everly Brothers and other brothers, and the arrangements and lyrics trace a path back to a simpler time. But there’s something about this album, these brothers (Page Burkum and Jack Torrey of Minneapolis), that fits just right in the modern world. Producer JD McPherson wisely steered with a light hand, allowing You’re Dreaming to crackle with life and keep your ear from beginning to end. — SC
John Prine — For Better, or Worse
Lord knows John Prine does just fine on his own, but his collaborations with other folks, on songs he didn’t write, somehow underscore his genius. His voice is noticeably diminished on this album, recorded as he was about to turn 70 and after his second battle with cancer, but it’s hardly unlistenable, and his trademark humor and empathy shine right through. Like with 1999’s In Spite of Ourselves, Prine selects well-known as well as lesser-known country duets and picks just the right people to sing them with. Alison Krauss, Iris Dement, Kasey Musgraves, Lee Ann Womack, and Holly Williams, among others, take their turns, each creating a new combination of voices that feels just right for the song at hand. There’s sly and there’s bittersweet and affectionate and awfully sad, all handled with the heart we know to expect from Prine. — SC
John McEuen — Made in Brooklyn
Roots music done the old-fashioned way; just some of the world’s greatest artists – McEuen, David Amram, David Bromberg, John Cowan, Steve Martin – gathered in one room around a microphone to record songs. The spirit of the room is palpable as the music flows out of the speakers and carries us into its own world. In many ways it’s Will the Circle Be Unbroken for our time. — Henry Carrigan
William Bell — This is Where I Live
Bell never went away, of course, so this isn’t quite a comeback album, but it’s sure good to have a new album – produced by John Leventhal, who plays guitar on the album – by him. Bell is a master of phrasing, and if the songs on this album don’t move your feet and get down into your soul, you’re not alive. — HC
Brandy Clark — Big Day in a Small Town
On her new album, Clark continues to write straight-to-the-heat songs with that tongue-in-cheek, better-listen-closely for the moral of the story character that brings to life the everydayness of the worlds of her song – in this case her hometown – and the characters that populate that world, such as the “Girl Next Door” and the “Homecoming Queen.” — HC
Bonnie Bishop — Ain’t Who I Was
Every track on Ain’t Who I Was floods over us with Bishop’s energetic vocals and music that’s straight out of an older time when soul moved us and stirred our hearts. — HC
Tasha Taylor — Honey for the Biscuit
I hope more people get to know Taylor’s music. A funky guitarist as well as a down-to-the-bone singer, Taylor delivers some of the year’s most moving – lyrically and musically – blues and rhythm-and-blues tunes on this album. “Family Tree” could have easily have come out of Stax or Muscle Shoals or Chess of the late 1960s. Taylor’s vocals follow in the soul family line of Candi Staton and Tina Turner, and she delivers a strong performance on this new album. — HC
Sarah Jarosz — Undercurrent
One of the great bummers that comes from witnessing dexterous instrumentalists is realizing how many of them master the technical skills — they can play lightning-fast through a range of dynamics — without ever tapping into any sort of artistry. The artistry comes from life experience, the thrust-open doors of empathy and emotion, the understanding that just because you can rock a lead line doesn’t mean a song actually calls for one. These are all truths of music-making that separate the skilled players from those who innovate their fields. Sarah Jarosz, it would seem, occupies the latter space. Though her lyricism still has plenty of room for growth, her apparent understanding of her own artistry has hit a level that most players spend a career seeking. Undercurrent is simply the latest testament to this. Thick with songs about being in one’s 20s (self-exploration, finding love and losing it, testing the strength of friendships), the disc doesn’t dally in cliché. Jarosz manages to plant herself firmly in her own experience without alienating those of us who occupy other age brackets. She’s tapped into the secret space of songwriting where the vocals and arrangements can draw a bridge between deeply personal lyricism and the universal human experience. If this all sounds hyperbolic, perhaps it is. But we have rarely had the chance to watch such a songwriter come into their own in this area of music so frequently championed by artists twice — and thrice! — Jarosz’s age. I’ve heard her talk about her musical heroes being folks like Tim O’Brien and Darrell Scott, both of whom have shape-shifter songwriting styles, who are easily among their generation’s most freakishly talented members, whose music is yet so accessible they need not hide behind celebrity, who make everything they do look easy. The dreamy, dexterous, artful, shockingly honest music of Undercurrent has placed Sarah Jarosz within their ranks. — KR
Sierra Hull — Weighted Mind
When I talked with Sierra Hull about her Weighted Mind album earlier this year, she mentioned that producer Béla Fleck had originally suggested she make the entire album solo. Certainly, that would have been an artistically daring proposition — Hull’s delicate soprano matched only with her mandolin would have provided a stirring, unexpected singer-songwriter outing. In the end, however, the pair decided to add bassist Ethan Jodziewicz, a sensitive and imaginative player who manages to pluck and bow his instrument in a way that doesn’t wash out Hull’s dexterous mandolin lines. Here and there they’re joined by Fleck’s banjo, vocals from Abigail Washburn and Rhiannon Giddens, and other ornamentations. But for all the guest stars and flourishes, Weighted Mind still feels like a sparse solo recording, as though Hull is alone on a stage, under a single spotlight. It’s as much a feat of production as it is of performance, and it feels, in a way, like a bright new start for this remarkable young talent. — KR
Other albums we loved:
Mandolin Orange – Blindfaller
Quiles & Cloud — Beyond the Rain
Rob Ickes & Trey Hensley — The Country Blues
Kaia Kater — Nine Pin
Karl Blau — Introducing Karl Blau
Robbie Fulks — Upland Stories
Hayes Carll — Lovers and Leavers
