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Year in Music: Best 25 albums of 2014

Illustration by Krzysztof Poluchowicz. 2014. © Happy New Year, everyone! Beautiful music still exists. Here are my favorite albums of 2014. º Plus a Spotify playlist: Best songs of 2014 Much warmth,

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25. Amen Dunes - Love

24. Ital - Endgame

23. Aphex Twin - Syro

22. Dean Blunt - Black Metal

21. Planningtorock - All Love’s Legal

20. Christina Vantzou - No. 2

19. Mirel Wagner - When the Cellar Children See the Light of Day

18. Perfume Genius - Too Bright

17. Lawrence English - Wilderness of Mirrors

16. Marissa Nadler - July

15. Ben Frost - A U R O R A

14. Sharon Van Etten - Are We There

13. FKA Twigs - Lp1

12. Dillon - The Unknown

11. Fear of Men - Loom

10. iamamiwhoami - Blue

09. Ariel Pink - Pom Pom

08. Andy Stott - Faith in Strangers

07. Susanna / Jenny Hval - Meshes of Voice

06. Mica Levi - Under the Skin

05. Birds of Passage - This Kindly Slumber

04. Angel Olsen - Burn Your Fire for No Witness

03. Bing & Ruth - Tomorrow Was the Golden Age

02. Pharmakon - Bestial Burden

As if the body had a voice, Margaret Chardiet recorded its laments and howls as the result of a harrowing surgical procedure she endured in 2013. The New York native, known for her tumultuous noise compositions and her ferocious uproar, learned, amidst her suffering, the cruel reality of corporeal dependency and our vulnerability towards the body's volatile methods of self-defense. The surgery involved the removal of a large benign cyst and an organ it had attached itself to. Chardiet remained bedridden for an extensive recovery period, tormented by her abrupt condition and the experience of being in a hospital -- not only sick, but also surrounded by disease and death -- she gathered the ideas that would later grow into her sophomore album, Bestial Burden.

In Chardiet’s own words, the album is about “the disconnect between mind and body; a desire to show the body as a lump of flesh and cells that mutate and fail you and betray you—this very banal, unimportant, grotesque aspect of ourselves.” Bestial Burden is indeed gory and visceral -- ranging from tracks made up entirely of Chardiet gasping, coughing and choking, to more elaborate pieces that mix its disturbing themes with colossal percussion and potent timbres. Yet, despite all the chaos that reigns these songs, a sense of peace can be found. In all of its destruction and violence, one can reach a point in which the noise becomes a soothing remedy. The climax of the album’s final track, “Bestial Burden,” surrounds the listener with infernal laughter that grows more tortured as Chardiet tirelessly repeats “I don’t belong here”, making the atmosphere so dense, it feels as though it is drowning you into a black hole. It builds up thicker and tighter until it blurs and suddenly the tension turns into serenity. It is a formidable effect that can only be reached at such levels of intensity and though it may not be tolerated by everyone, those tenacious enough to sustain the terrors of Pharmakon’s universe, will experience something quite profound.

Brutal as Chardiet's Pharmakon project is, one can assume it to be likely misinterpreted as rage and anger. At first glance, it is so immediately unsettling, that it takes willpower to continue to explore it. This isn't limited to the music, but also its gruesome album covers, and Chardiet's deeply raw, arresting live performances. But what could be mistaken for noise and screaming, is a woman who is putting her entire life into that one guttural roar that can pierce through a heavily packed crowd of people (as I've seen it myself) and occupy every corner of a room, no matter how large, as she stomps around, sometimes with something as simple as a metal sheet and a contact microphone. It is this idea of simplicity and physicality unified that feels so primal about Pharmakon and that is ultimately so captivating about seeing her reaching in for the type of subject matter many would prefer to ignore.

01. Grouper - Ruins

The devastating quality of Grouper’s music is not measured by lyricism. it is conducted by a melodic palette consisting of field recordings and instrumental collages that Liz Harris has meticulously crafted over the course of 10 years. Indecipherable, yet fundamental, Harris’ words are murmurs that although complement the emotional structure of her songs, are kept hidden in the background, drowning and disintegrating beneath thick layers of sound, like buried treasure chests holding puzzle fragments of her enigmatic narrative.

Ruins, recorded in the remote town of Aljezur, Portugal, in 2011, is significant departure from Harris’ earlier work, bringing forth her most emotionally charged songwriting thus far and stripping her musical aesthetic to the barest with a limited arrangement of an upright piano, a portable 4-track, and of course, her gentle voice. Here, Harris sings about love -- she’s accompanied by the sound of animals in the night, storms pouring heavy rain and thunder, and domestic artifacts that occasionally surface as notches of reality to the otherwise bewildering atmosphere the album casts upon its listeners. It is a romantic and desolate body of work, appropriately characteristic of Grouper’s catalog, but its clarity is far more confrontational than Harris has ever allowed herself to be.

“Holding”, the album’s penultimate track, is the most vulnerable song Harris has ever written, and therefore, one of her most compelling. It is a moment of absolute openness -- a beautiful poem both stark and warm that breezes softly over sparse piano notes as she sings about tears falling down in patterns on the windows, mirrors opening up in the water, the moon illuminating silver rivers and the tide erasing their lining. She places her voice delicately over every illustration, honoring the enrapturing stages of falling in love, but also mourning her failure to sustain it and the loss that follows. Rain comes again; droplets to torrents, it washes away all sentiments as it bleeds onto the closing, “Made of Air” -- a reminiscent drone and reverb mammoth soundscape that encapsulates everything like the eye of a storm, overflowing with life as it expands -- water, wind, one can almost see bits of sunlight shimmering through deep clouds and breathe the cold mist that remains as it dissipates in the distance.

What is so remarkable about Harris’ output as Grouper is the fact that this is the work of one woman alone. Every sound, no matter how vast or minuscule, is orchestrated by Harris as though she had a divine connection to nature and all of its forces. Her ability to disguise herself behind these deeply atmospheric realms adds to the abstraction of her character and in return, it focuses on the music as a territory of free interpretation, while leaving her feelings unattainable. Thus, the heartbreak that is felt throughout Ruins is all the more poignant as it is the only moment in which Harris has truly built a vessel where her vulnerability grants the listener a sense of relatedness. It reveals that Harris, like everyone else, is on the same journey to explore the challenging perimeters of love; hurt and flawed, but willing to expose the beauty that is found even in those moments of utter despair.