
As a boy I ran the dirt roads and I scraped my knees.
Hey there, Ma and Pa, here I am
Money’s running out all the same
Just close my eyes and bring it on home again.
Loving you has gotten weird.
That’s alls I need.

The Cardinals' finest moment. Before they took the Dead impersonation too far. It's a shame they didn't do better later.

For late nights on the floor. Contains one of my favorite lyrics ever:
That must be her up there
Perfume and cigarette smoke in her wild hair
She smells a little like a train
Hauling lilacs through the rain

You can't live in East Nashville and not like this record. Personally, I don't think you can live anywhere and not like this record.

If nothing else because this album introduced me to his father through a cover. Also because of the way Rufus sings:
So please be kind…if I’m...a…mess.

Now the world was empty on the day when they made it
But heaven needed someplace to throw all the shit
That is all.

Their most “indie,” if such a phrase means anything at all. Their most Omaha? To me, it is just the rawest-emotion pushed all the way to the front. And that’s enough.

Often hailed as Bright Eyes finest, it lacks, for me, the immediacy and/or raw feeling of some of the other albums. But, that’s just relative to a damn fine discography, and this is a fine recording nonetheless.

I stumbled across this EP while going through the piles of CDs we received everyday when I was working at Paste magazine. The accompanying press release was funny enough to make me take a chance on a record that turned out to be a great pop album with some hidden layers that call for repeat listenings.

You can’t get here fast enough
You can’t get here fast enough
You can’t get here fast enough
I will swim to you
A rare study in urgency in minimalism; begging and pleading for that something or someone to come and save you, in the quietest and most immediate way possible.

Indie punk, I think. Play it LOUD and remember your early twenties and what it took to push through them.

A girl in one of my creative writing classes sent a mass email to the class containing an mp3 of “Anthems for a Seventeen-Year-Old Girl” as a “break from the stress of finals” or something of that nature. And it was. That song-and subsequently the album-had and has a way of winding itself around yourself until it sticks with you and you just can’t let it go. Or it won't let you go.

It’s hard to say. The track list needs editing, it’s way derivative. But it started my Ryan Adams obsession. And when I go back to it, there are portions that still stand as absolutely great.

Just a solid singer-songwriter record I accidentally discovered because Ryan Adams produced it. I’m glad I did.

Enter: Jason Isbell. The Truckers enter their best era. Thank you, sir.

This should be the only record played at any party held in the summer. Ever.

The only thing I have to say about this album is that it makes me happy. It’s not a happy album, and I don’t know why it does, but it does. And sometimes that’s all you need.

So this was never actually released. And it’s overlong. If these two things had been remedied, this could have been one of the best albums of the decade. Maybe the best. But such is Ryan Adams, I guess, and we take what we can get.

Probably the beginning of the end for the 97's run as the most consistent current band. But they hadn't lost the edge yet, and this is a fine pop record.

Late Autumn. Stark. Gray. Cold. All in six songs. With one deceivingly happy sounding fire in the middle that gets you through. Barely.

They sound like the Basement Tapes. They do it well. And that is awesome.

I listened to this for the first time in a long while a few weeks ago and was struck by how well it holds up. It’s a layered album, and though I loved it when it was released, I feel I’m now almost listening to a different album—taking different things from it than I did before. And I forgot that “Thin Blue Flame” is one of the best songs. Ever.

A box set encompassing all of Molina’s range, from stark and solo acoustic to full-band. Worth the price of admission just for the “Nashville Moon” disc, but be glad the rest is there, too.

No man in his sixties should be able to write like this. But Dylan is, obviously, like no other man.

This album is a lot higher on most of these decade lists I've read than it is on mine. I think it’s a great album and I listen to it a lot, but for some reason it’s never attached itself to me personally the way that each album above it on this list has. Maybe one day…

I came to the Weakerthans through their “Left and Leaving” album, and for a long time that was the one I preferred. But, one by one, each song on "Reunion Tour," starting with “Sun in an Empty Room,” kept somehow attaching themselves to me. It's funny and weird like that.

For a long time I couldn’t figure out why I kept coming back to this record. It’s pleasant, but lyrically I think Conor occasionally oversteps his ability as he tries to turn his inner interest onto the world at large. But I think I’ve figured it out: this record is Spring. It makes me happy. It makes the sun shine. I don't understand it-probably never will-but I'll take it.

On the TV one day there was some dude singing about this girl he'd been kissing on and her sister that he'd been thinking about the whole while. Later, his CD was in a shop, and soon in my car.

Definitely one to work your way back to in the Steady’s catalogue. But once I got there, I kept discovering little moments that keep me coming back. I’m still discovering them. Also, dig those one-liners.

You know the story by now: record company got in the ass, deserved it, and Wilco got a great record. One that actually lives up to the hype.

Molina’s most consistent work since this moniker’s self-titled. He captures perfectly the restlessness of the departed and the departing.
Lightning on our tail, we gotta run, run, run
Lightning on our tail, we better go, Jo

On this album, Conor finally found the balance between 18-year-old emo Conor and the one that spread his net too wide, trying too hard to sum up the world in a couple of lines. And it’s beautiful.
If I loved you, well, that's my fault

My favorite current singer. And she emerged on this album as a helluva songwriter. There’s this weird, subtle haunting going on under the suface of this record, and I come back to it over and over to see if I’ll ever figure out exactly what it is. I doubt I will. And that's the point.

To quote my old friend Jolinda Kennedy: “Those Avett brothers sure are some sappy fucks, ain’t they?” And this EP is where they finally let that sappiness invade completely, six acoustic songs with an occasional banjo and piano. But they do it so well. One of those records that just came along at the right time for me. I’ll always sort of hate “If It’s the Beaches” because it's a constant reminder of the whole Death of the Romantic thing, but that’s a story to be left for another time.

The first time I was ever in a recording studio, we told the producer we wanted the production for our songs to sound like this record. I'd still like to make a record that sounds like this. Marah is also one of the best live band’s I’ve ever seen. If only they could keep an actual band together. Damn temperamental rock stars.

My first Truckers experience. The production annoyed me at first, but I kept coming back for reasons that I couldn’t explain. When I finally saw them live at the 40 Watt, I got the explanation. Not only did they rock, they had the songs to back it up. Four years later and the band seem like dear, dear, dear friends.

This record has it’s spots that are off, but the songs that are on are so good that some forgiveness is required. Namely, “Red" and "Kansas City," the first two songs, make the record worthy just on their own merits, not to mention establishing Will Sheff as one of the preeminent songwriters of (and hopefully beyond) the decade. I don’t know if I’ve heard a sadder line than:
I’m full of fictions and fucking addictions, and I miss my mother.

By the time I got to “I Never,” there was no way I could not love this record.

If this album only contained the track “This Year,” it would still be on this list. The pleading in the repeated line “I am going to make it through this year if it kills me” is palpable, the exact feeling you have when you know you’re at the end but just have to, somehow, hold on a little longer to make it through.
Also, fortunately for us all, John Darnielle is a good enough songwriter to put that song on an album with 12 more songs nearly as good as it is.

When I heard this for the first time, I felt that if I could have written a record perfectly documenting the previous two years of my life, this would have been it. I love the record for that and hate the fact that I wasn’t able to do it first. That I’m not able to do it at all. This record is the heartbreak when you realize you are getting older and what used to work doesn’t work anymore. It's the hell when you realize that really, it probably never worked in the first place

Dark, gray, lonely…it’s raining through this record. If you listen closely you can hear it. And it’s just sad sad sad. But so is love, when it’s hell.

I’d been a fan of Rilo Kiley, but I when I heard the first two tracks from this record late one night, I knew this was the venue for Jenny’s voice and songwriting. If you ever find yourself looking for a way to make it through the winter, this will help.

You can probably make an argument that the Steady’s entire discography can be read as a concept, but this is the most cohesive, lyrically, of any of their albums. And it has the best lyrics. The hadn’t started writing choruses yet, but they didn't need them to tell this story. And it, you know, Rocks.

Got this when I was eighteen and a freshman in college. It was exactly what I needed, and I needed it a lot that year. And for years after.

Only the second album I immediately and completely fell in love with (behind Oasis’ Morning Glory). To me it was the Strokes, out of all the “garage-rock revival bands,” that did the most to bring just plain rock music back to the public consciousness. They didn’t have the staying power of the White Stripes, but this album was the one that, start to finish, started it all. It also didn’t hurt high-school David was still in his New York infatuation stage when this came out.

On paper it sounds like a horrible idea: a collection of leftover tracks from a decade or so that didn’t fit on any other album. But by now I’ve learned that Tom Waits can make anything a good idea. But in this case he turned it great. Some of my favorite songs spread across three discs divided by style. It could easily be a greatest hits collection had any of these songs been released before.
Got me into, and subsequently through, some serious shit. And I came out alive. Melodramatic? Sure, but so is the album. Despair to hope and back again, all cloaked in a midwestern American rock that'll grab you every time and just may never let go. “Hold On Magnolia” may be my favorite song ever—with the power to be hopeful one listen and hopeless the next. Sometimes it's both at the same time.

Ryan Adams is probably the artist I spent the most time listening to this decade, all in all. I think it came down to the fact of how relatable he was to me. I guess he still is to an extent, though I listen to him relatively rarely these days, and never play his post-2005 output.
Heartbreaker was the second Adams album I got, after Gold. Gold was more immediate, but I eventually settled on this one. The second best break-up record of all time (behind Blood on the Tracks), it covers it all, and with a subtle beauty that’s indescribable—just listen.
I distinctly remember hearing songs from this record for the first time. I was at my last apartment in Athens, soon to graduate college, and found my way to the band’s MySpace page. Three songs were posted: “Stuck Between Stations,” “Chips Ahoy” and “Southtown Girls.” Halfway through the second song, I knew this was my new favorite band. I bought the record the next day and listened to it for about two months straight.
Today I don’t listen to it as much, it’s kind of too much to take sometimes, with all the things it conjures up in me from that time. And it turned out to be a rough time. But every time I do it's hard imagine a version of my life without it. It's that important.
And often the strongest single image associated with the record for me is being tequila drunk in a parking lot, laughing at the top of my lungs about trains while this record played in a car behind me. It seems fitting.