10 Happiest Albums of the Decade

Two-thousand through 2010 was a thrilling decade for entertainment. Videogames continually defied storytelling expectation, film delivered both brains and brawn (albeit more clumsily), television consistently impressed both the public (the behemoth that is American Idol) and critics (Big Love), and novels like and Away and The Post Birthday World proved great authors still exist. The most creative growth, however, took place in the realm of music. From the anthem pep of the Red Hot Chili Peppers' Stadium Arcadium (2006) to Britney Spears' darkly futuristic pop in Blackout (2007), Shania Twain's genre-bending Up! (2002) and the solemn free-by-download In Rainbows by Radiohead (2007), music in the 2000s was as diverse as it was frighteningly similar. Shimmering electro-pop (Madonna's Confessions on a Dance Floor, 2005) and slinky throwback (Solange's Sol-Angel and the Hadley Street Dreams, 2008) were trends both widespread and pervasive, from superficial pop to underground hip-hop. But ten albums stand out in my mind as excellent, innovative from a creative standpoint and, as is most important to The Happiest Activist, a hell of a fun listen.

10. Kings of Leon, Only by the Night (2008)


















It's rumored Caleb Followill wrote Only in a single night, beginning with the haunting, desperate "Closer," about a vampire looking to feed. This is not their Happiest record of the decade, but the general tone and musicality of the album wins with major style points.

Happiest Track: "Revelry"


9. Sam Sparro, Sam Sparro (2008)


















Sparro's debut is unabashed 80's-style pop, but occasionally-deep lyrical content appears when least expected.

Happiest Track: "Too Many Questions"


8. Robyn, Robyn (2008)

















Simple, perfect pop.

Happiest Track: "Handle Me"


7. Feist, Let It Die (2004)

















Happiest Track: "Inside and Out"


6. Lady Gaga, The Fame Monster (2009)
















I was tempted to rank this higher on the list--no other female pop record was quite as fun in the 2000s--but the album is still fresh.

Happiest Track: "Bad Romance"


5. The Postal Service, Give Up (2003)

















Possibly also the Happiest Album Art Award?

Happiest Track: "Nothing Better"


4. Lily Allen, Alright, Still (2006)


















Lily Allen was and still is the most believable pop music brat. And her brand of humor has been copied again and again...(Katy Perry, Ke$ha, Kate Nash...lot's of K's, for some reason)

Happiest Track: "Knock 'Em Out"


3. Fiona Apple, Extraordinary Machine (2005)


















Happiest Track: "Better Version of Me"


2. The Killers, Hot Fuss (2004)


















There are a lot of faux-Brit rockers in the music world, but none as slick, sexual or pared down as Brandon Flowers and his less-relevant band members.

Happiest Track: "Smile Like You Mean It"


1. Amy Winehouse, Back to Black (2006)


















Cutting selections from this list--which began much larger than the ten you see here--took a lot of careful consideration and research. I wanted to include a Madonna album, simply for the impact she's had on my life in the past decade, but no single album is better than the above ten (2000's Music came close). I also wanted to throw in Rihanna's Rated R (2009), which is altogether a better record than The Fame Monster but, let's all be honest, the Lady deserves a spot here. There were a hundred others--Shakira (for She Wolf, 2009) and John Mayer (Continuum, 2006), M.I.A. (Kala, 2007) and even electro-pop goddess Annie for the dazzling, whirling disco of Anniemal (2004). But when I had to make a choice for Happiest album, there was no doubt in my mind. Amy Winehouse is a legend in the making. She has a voice without peer and an ability to write lyrics as sharp as shattered glass--and as heartbreaking as the worst breakup you've ever been through. Paired with Mark Ronson's addictive beats and as-of-yet-unmatched talent at mimicking the rasp of vintage recordings, one can only hope her heart is broken again. And that's black.

Happiest Track (of the Decade): "Back to Black"

HappiestList 2K8: Number #5, #4, and #3

#5: Michelle Obama

Michelle Obama's cool and all, but she has not been bestowed this mighty honor--one of the Happiest of 2k8--just because she's 'cool.' M-Bama is the Happiest because she is married to a President with benefits. America's changing for the better (like, way better), and while we are all blessed enough to be alive to watch the transformation, M-Bama's got the best seat in the house.

Oh, and there's this:

#4: Sam Sparro

Sam Sparro is an enigma. A gay ex-soul singer son of two preachers from Australia, there are so many adjectives applicable to his description--sexual, effervescent, genuis--there aren't enough descriptions in my vocabulary to describe him. Impressive production qualities aside, his debut Sam Sparro created its own disco vernacular: the ominous single "Black and Gold," the sparkling dance track "Cut Me Loose"--cuts that speak directly to the spirits of the young and the restless. Sparro's also become somewhat of an icon, with a personality ill-fitting any stereotype. If I may be childish for one moment, (LOLZ) the one flaw in Sparro is his horrible style. Neon is sooo 2k7. Agreed?

For a full review of Sam Sparro, click here.


#3: Preps

It was a good year for the preps. No, the preps aren't some alt-indie folk band or a new STD (or is it?). I mean what I say. Sorors, fratties, rich white kids and Ivy League types all benefited from 2k8. The election of BaROCK-N-RObama the sole exception, the cult of being preppy has once again ascended the pop culture ladder and now sits proudly on the peak. Why, you ask? Why, because the alts and the emos have lost their sting. What is 'mnstrm' is now what is 'alt.' So what's "alt" now? How can one differentiate themselves from the herds of American Apparel zombies?

Throw on a sweater, pull up some khakis and kick off your Toms. If you're a girl, you've got only one clothing option: Nike running shorts, a teeshirt that makes you look rich ('I <3>) and nike running shorts. For evening, swap out the shorts for black tights that end mid-calf and a pair of brown Uggs. I promise you'll feel better. Don't believe "prep" is the Happiest of 2k8/possibly the Happiest of 2k9? Two words: Gossip Girl.

You're reading the blog of a guy who bought his first pair of Sperry's last night. Prepare yourselves, people, for the altapocalypse has begun.

New Music: David "lil' Archy" Archuleta, Paris Hilton, and far more relevant artists

The past few weeks of music releases have been strong. Not strong in the lasting sense--no one's going to care about Lloyd or David Archuleta's new releases ten years from now--but as a sensory distraction, nothing can beat "Year of the Lover," off Lloyd's Lessons In Love, functioning as this fall's "Bed." It's dirty, but it's beautiful. Lloyd comes off a little lizardy in my opinion, slithering around in a manner far too like a salmonilla-spreading komodo dragon, and that detracts from the believability of the track. (I'm not sure calling Lloyd "lizardy" constitutes an argument, but listen and you'll get me.)

If there's one thing studying at UT has taught me, the weekends are all about letting loose. Interpret that as you will, but two songs I never would have listened to have been brought to my attention by the kind DJs of 6th. "Swing," from some irrelevant "rapper" that is too unimportant to be named, is an infectious track with a bass line so deep is basically encourages drunken girls with fake IDs to grind until one of them passes out. Literally, I (or he, or she, or you) walk into a venue, and if "Swing" is playing, I (or he, or she, or you) will follow his commands: "Oh sh**/shake that a**/now move it like you're tipsy/...drop it low, down to the floor..." Sick. The only knock I have against "Swing" is Soulja Boy's verse, the musical equivalent of vomit on a birthday cake. Watch out, SB wants you to "let him" pull "yo hurr." Really, pull her hair? That's hot now?

The other track is an ancient Jibbs number called "King Kong." Funny story: the first time I ever heard this track was in Finish Line Sports with two friends of mine. One of them, Kevin, was bobbing to the beat (=faggoty sentence, sry), and I totally blew it off. That was over two years ago.

"King Kong" is a blast. It's so straightforward. There's really nothing beyond a chopped and screwed vocal sample as a clever metaphor for massive car speakers. In fact, speakers so heavy they flatten tires and make the "doors fall off." Jibbs, like the rapper behind "Swing," is certainly not a player in the industry this year, but he's got a great sense of humor. Remember "Chain Hang Low?" You know, the creepy track with children singing modified nursery rhymes about gangster bling?

I'm so sick of writing about Kylie Minogue. I don't like her near as much as my blog would lead you to believe. She's fun, but I can only use the word "glittery" as her musical description so many times before...well, before I just stop writing about her. "Nu-di-ty," a track I resisted for a while, is wholly worth a $1.07 purchase. Off X, her now-defunct "comeback" album (that I don't hate), "Nu-di-ty" sounds like a better version of Britney's "Piece of Me." Admittedly, it's odd hearing a fully-grown, married mother commanding, "let me see nudity," telling her partner to "expose it," but at least she hasn't developed that scary stretched-face muscleman syndrome so common in her elderpop counterparts. You know who I'm talking about. The beat hops and changes tempo constantly, synchronizing with the jumpy vocal samples; the production on "Nu" is better than your typical pop track, which is why it won't be a hit, but it's also why it's worth your time.

The Killers have a new single out called "Spaceman," and it's kind of a disappointment. I was really hoping for a Sam Sparro-esque influence for their upcoming album, but it sounds like they'll be going for a Sam's Town/Hot Fuss hybrid. Blippy production with cryptic lyrics and obnoxious vocal flourishes from Flowers.

David Archuleta released his debut album this Tuesday, and while it's getting ravaged by critics, I happen to like a few of the tracks. "Running" is nice--the critics' darling--but, like the rest of the album, it's boring. Nice, though. "Touch My Hand" is scaled-back and emotional, hinting at a bright future for Archuleta. It's clear by the cover art that Clive Davis will be pushing for a more grown-up image--the Jonas Brothers have the tween market carved clean--and I wonder how radio will respond. "Crush" was fluttery and accesible, but "Touch" will be the real test of his mettle.

Now, for the grand opus of guilty pleasures. Paris Hilton, in case you didn't know, released a horrid album a year or so ago, to little commercial fanfare. She had some random reggae track called "Stars Are Blind," which was too lyrically confusing to be enjoyed by a Paris Hilton fan, who's reading experience likely chalks up to the back of cereal boxes and the track listings for old Backstreet Boys' albums. BUT, her second single, "Nothing In This World," is one of those irresistable tempations in life, like reading People at the checkout line or watching Into The Blue, and after two years I gave in and downloaded it. The chorus is, um, kind of like an exploding pinata, and if the song was a pinata, "Nothing In This World" would definitely be made out of paper mache, and would definitely contain those nasty candy neclaces. If you can tell, I'm avoiding any direct compliments to this track, which is simply a reflection of my natural instincts telling me to avoid humiliation.

Music: Ultraviolet Sound

A very good friend of mine turned me onto an electro-pop group who call themselves Ultraviolet Sound. They aren't exceptionally talented--more so than Dangerous Muse but lacking the originality of Crystal Castles or Neon Neon--but they have quite a few tracks on which to build a decent musical foundation (unless their garish album cover is any indication). The lead singer, a woman with a nondescript vocal style and, tragically, a look that just won't sell to the American public (okay, she's ugly), is moderately entertaining, chirping like an over-processed crack whore on "Babyz" and "The Thrill Can Kill," but hitting the perfect balance between Sam Sparro spotlight-grabbing and Cascada vocal placeholding on "Ooh I Like It," far and away the best track on the EP/LP hybrid. "Brainwashed" demonstrates some clever writing and vocal diversity (almost Kelis-like in tone), but "Ooh" steals the show here.

"Ooh" is a track that's actually surprising, which is well, erm, surprising considering the set is free. Beginning with a ferocious opening lyric--a muzzled, sexual confession of dancefloor ecstasy--that tricks the listener into thinking the chorus has already been spoiled, "Ooh" is actually a slow burn, with purple-tipped flames rising until the middle of the track where Ms. Nondescript oozes out a suitably electro-zapped, "I liiiiikeeee itttttt..." to a relentless bass and well-placed synths. It's the only track in the collection that really stands out, which should be expected--what artist would honestly give away their best work for free in an Adidas campaign?

Speaking of Adidas, I find it kind of comical that this is their way of promoting their new shoe line. I'm in advertising; Adidas has no relevance in the market right now, and I'm pretty sure shilling a half-decent electro band like Ultraviolet Sound will only drive them further into the abyss of forgotten brands (remember K*Swiss? Didn't think so). Although, if they are marketing towards emos, which I believe has grown to about 30% of the mall population and is therefore a demographic all its own, this is a smart route to take.

But honestly, the emos are far to busy dying their hair and shopping at Hot Topic to listen to Ultraviolet Sound. We all know they're actually listening to Boys Like Girls anyways.

Music: Beck, Kerli

I don't really understand my iPod's "played count" ticker. There are songs I listen to on repeat for weeks, and other songs I forget about (or avoid)--my little iPod ticker, however, disagrees.

Case in point: Sam Sparro's debut has been spinning (incorrect usage, but a nice alternative to "playing") on my iPod for two weeks now. The most plays on a single song are 20. 20? On an album I can't stop listening to?

How is that possible?

More gruesome than that is how many other songs end up with twenty to thirty-plus plays without my intentionally listening. Lindsay Lohan's "Bossy," a song that lost it's sheen for me about seven plays in, has a count of 18. "I'm Grown," by the ultra-typical, ultra-embarrassing Tiffany Evans, has 12. Janet's "LUV" has 52.

There are many more instances of this music ticker enigma, on both sides of the equation. The Caeser's "Jerk It Out" and the X-Ecutioner's "Like This" have under 20 plays, but I feel like I've been listening to them for eternity.

But on to the important stuff. Today is a good music Tuesday.

We'll start with Kerli, as at least one reader is interested in hearing what I have to say about our Estonian-born Avril Lavigne lookalike. Firstly, my ego won't allow me to continue until I brag about how I had Kerli's EP in January. Oh, that's right (cue evil grin). It all started when I played Burnout: Paradise and heard "Creepshow," a track so off the chain I don't really know how to describe it with regular adjectives. It's not musically pleasant, per se, but you've got to respect an artist like Kerli for totally relinquishing any fears about public perception and letting it all hang out in her North American debut. That doesn't mean it's always healthy to do so, however; Love Is Dead is the musical equivalent of a Moulin Rouge circus in the middle of Iceland. The musical effects are so bizarre, especially on adventurous songs like "Creepshow," that it's difficult to listen to the album unless your working out or in a seriously chilled mood; really, it's difficult to listen to period. Even "Walking On Air," a fluffy track with tinklings of ice crystals and a decent hook, is only so-so for me. (I gave it up in February.) Granted, Eastern-European pop has never been my bag--Bjork's show at last year's ACL did not change my mind--and Kerli is most definitely channeling her heritage. Good for her, though. I'll just stick with "Creepshow."

Beck's new album dropped today. I'm not as thrilled as I was in 2006, for The Information, but that album left me so empty I have no Beckcitement left. (oh, I made a lol!) I don't mean that in a good way; music is supposed to help fight boredom, not induce it. Modern Guilt displays a new, Spoon-influenced sound for Beck, and it's actually not that boring! My favorite track, and the only track I would recommend putting down cash for, is the title track. "Modern Guilt" has Beck cooing his raspiest, most nonchalant vocal against a perky bass line and piano peppering the background. The end is weak, though, as Beck seems to just fall off the song into a repetitive murmuring of "lalas" and other Blink-182 fillers. Guero still Beck's strongest album with his strongest songs, and I'm afraid Guilt won't change that.

3OH!3 and Imogen Heap's return on the way...

Review: Sam Sparro, "Sam Sparro"

In a world where Miley Cyrus hates exactly seven things, the Jonas Brothers are burning up, and The Pussycat Dolls want to "grow up" and become whores (dream big!), a star with a little depth and soul is sorely needed. Sam Sparro, a gay Australian gospel singer, has arrived to fill the void in everyone's iTunes libraries--you know, the empty space in between all of your guilty pleasures. Because, you see, Sparro's debut is just commercial enough that everything clicks, but eccentric enough that you can feel selective and unique when listening to it.

It's I-Can't-Believe-It's-Not-Pop-Music.

Over the course of the album's 55 minutes, ten of which aren't necessary, listeners will be warped to a planet where life is sparkly and spray-painted, everyone's sexy, and there's really no reason to leave the dance floor. Sparro is an artist of transportation, and the tracks on Sam Sparro are a testament to his ability to take concepts that are entirely unoriginal and infuse them with, well, magic.

There are missteps, however, and they begin early; the opening track is not only grating, but contains few musical qualities beyond the garbage-lid drum line. Sparro is a pretty smooth guy, so spitting words like "seductive" and "in the mood" in his overly digitalized vocal track almost works, but falls short when compared to other electronic artists like Daft Punk, a group that is most likely the primary inspiration for this album--even if Sparro won't admit it. There are traces of Confessions-era Madonna, Goldfrapp, and more recently, Australia's own Kylie Minogue. "Speakerphone," off of Minogue's X, could easily fit into Sparro's synthesized set.

Rather than jumping into the fastest cuts, Sparro lets the album burn slowly. (I said he's a smooth guy.) Enough has been written about "Black & Gold," even on this blog, but Sparro's sensual touch is undeniable here. The bass slowly creeps in, Sparro withholding the vocals until the sixty second mark. The lyrics on "Black & Gold," however cryptic, are bizarrely energetic--he begins with a casual reflection on Darwinism, and bursts into "nothing but black!" halfway through the song, bringing to mind the image of a solar system strobing to the monotonous, double-time synths.

"Too Many Questions" follows, and while considerably less exciting on a visceral level, the track is far more stimulating lyrically: "I will go without hesitation/to my own unknown destination/with the music like syncopation/and explore my own imagination." It sounds rhyme-y on paper, but Sparro's delivery is extremely strong rhythmically, so strong you may be singing the chorus on repeat for a few days. Sparro reaches his emotional peak on this track early on, which is to his advantage; the rest of the songs on "Sparro" are too busy having fun to notice the crying kid in the corner. But who's complaining? No one wants to dance with that kid anyway.

The rest of the album is hit or miss as a whole, but Sparro has shuffled the tracks in a clever way as to make songs like "Sick"--a beautifully-produced club track with a futuristic melody but a trite hook--seem more interesting when stuffed between far better material. In other words, he's squishing Crisco in a non-fat formula. "21st Century Life"--of the lean, non-fat variety--is another early highlight, despite its tonal similarities to Seal's "Get It Together" off of Seal IV.

After the useless and wholly uninteresting couple of "Waiting for Time" and "Recycle it!" (the latter reminiscent of the interludes on Justin Timberlake's Future Sex/Love Sounds), Sparro hits gold with "Cotton Mouth," a creole-tinged confession of drug use and alcohol. Or, "polluted water." The following track, "Hot Mess," is another fatty filler, but is buoyed by "Pocket," Sparro's cautionary tale of enemies he let slip away. Sparro shows a bit of emotion here, which is nice after the dry "Mess," and one cannot help but wonder if his sexuality is the origin of his enemies' animosity. Even if that is not the case, Sparro should consider the consequences of his honesty. Sure, the critics like him, but they all declare him "this year's Scissor Sisters" or "the new Mika"--openly gay musicians they pin to Sparro because of his homosexuality. Not only is this a narrow way to critique Sparro, far more talented than either of the latter, but it adds depth to the lyrics of "Pocket": "Keep your friends close, and your enemies in your pocket." Rolling Stone is not a homophobic magazine--in fact, they are aggressively anti-homophobic, bordering on maniacally accepting of minorities--yet they still stuck Sparro in a box by comparing him to gay contemporaries. But they gave him a good review, so are they his friends? Or enemies he let slip away? The song was written beforehand, anyways, so clearly it's not about Rolling Stone, but it's an interesting thought.

It's a good thing all that introspection is rewarded by the strongest track on the album, "Cut Me Loose," a no-nonsense, no-comprehension-necessary dance cut in which Sparro tells a female club goer "I can't leave right now/these tunes are serious!" When Sparro's having fun, it doesn't ooze through the speakers. It gushes. On "Cut Me Loose," the bass line is heavy and the synths are so hyperactive they seem to stutter in their delivery, overwhelmed by the excitement of Sparro's rapid-fire chorus. More than any other song on the album, "Loose" embodies the spirit of dance, and more importantly, the qualities in music that transport listeners.

Closing with the paradoxical "Still Hungry," a song with both humor and heart, Sparro drops us back off on planet earth, where the butter, sadly, has 145 calories per tablespoon, and the girl who walks up to you on the dance floor is probably drunk--or maybe that's just a personal experience. Regardless of your earthly encounters, "Sam Sparro" is an album that belongs in your 2008 library. It has weak tracks, but like anything glittery, there has to be something for the diamonds to be compared to--and the diamonds on Sparro's debut far outshine the dull spots.