Top 100 albums of the decade, 10-1

10. BLOC PARTY: Silent Alarm (2005)

Way back before Kele Okereke decided that grime was the greatest thing since sliced bread, Bloc Party actually did that most unfathomable of things and made bloody excellent music. Their 2005 debut bristles with restless energy, marrying ludicrously talented guitarist Russell Lissack's wayward guitar yelps with bonkers drummer Matt Tong's unusual, calamitous timekeeping. The result is a record that grabs you by the scruff of the neck and forces you to listen; from the filthy dance-punk stomp of 'Banquet' to the hedonistic charms of 'So Here We Are', 'Silent Alarm' offers countless delectable surprises, ones that will remain with you long after the CD's finished its final whirl. Now if only they could find this magic again...

9. JIMMY EAT WORLD: Bleed American (2001)

And yes, it is called 'Bleed American.' None of this 'self-titled' rubbish. That's just the international music industry being chickenshits, scared that putting the word 'bleed' next to the word 'American' so close to the horrifying events of 9/11 would somehow be perceived as 'insensitive' by a clearly brain dead (in their eyes) general public. Never mind that the phrase can also be interpreted as intensely patriotic... oh no, quick, recall the album, repress them all, GET THIS 'JIMMY EAT WORLD' OFF THE SHELVES NOW! Ah dear. When will these idiots learn, eh? No matter; it really makes no difference what you call it. The World's 2001 album stands out as one heck of a career highlight regardless. 1999's 'Clarity' may have introduced everyone to JEW's particular brand of emo-punk ('Static Prevails' is a bit different, no?) but 'Bleed American' provides its perfect distillation. This is a record for the masses, 'emo' writ large, emboldened by towering guitars, humongous riffs and the sort of choruses that Simon Cowell would die for (well, maybe...) Just check out those singles: 'Sweetness' couldn't be poppier if it tried, 'The Middle' is an anthem for a generation and the title track, well, it's one of the most exciting things to happen to rock music in years. That riff still sends shivers down my spine. And of course, there's 'Hear You Me', a tearjerkingly beautiful ode to lost friends that's probably soundtracked a gazillion lonely nights in a gazillion homes across the globe. A bona fide classic.

8. THE GASLIGHT ANTHEM: The '59 Sound (2008)

Every once in a while, a band comes along so perfectly formed that it's hard to believe they haven't been magically constructed in a weird futuristic science lab and then set loose upon the world to do some nutjob's evil bidding. It happened with the Arctic Monkeys in 2005 (although, admittedly, we didn't like them too much...) and towards the end of the noughties, it happened in an altogether more pleasing fashion with New Jersey's The Gaslight Anthem. For all 'The '59 Sound' isn't their debut record - that honour goes to 2007's 'Sink or Swim', also in this top 100 list - there's still no denying that these guys are absolute masters of their art; that there couldn't be any better synthesis of punk, country and grass-roots Americana if Bruce Springsteen resurrected Johnny Cash and Joe Strummer and started busking his way across the mid-West. From start to finish, this is an album of the utmost sincerity, celebrating the poetics of the everyday through some of the finest melodies your ears are ever likely to hear. Something of a gem.

7. MANCHESTER ORCHESTRA: Mean Everything to Nothing (2009)

The follow-up to 2006's excellent 'I'm Like A Virgin Losing A Child' (also in the top 100) is undoubtedly Manchester Orchestra's magnum opus, a superlative distillation of their quintessentially bleak, yet unquestionably anthemic, sound. At times, it's a difficult listen; its despondency is initially unwelcoming and takes some time to truly appreciate, but, as with all good things, perseverance pays dividends. From the colossal emotional gravitas of the tender 'I Can Feel A Hot One' to the stomach-churning suckerpunches of the phenomenal 'Shake It Out' and 'I've Got Friends', Manchester Orchestra splatter heart, soul, blood and guts all over the record, giving you everything they’ve got, and for that, they should mean everything to everyone.

6. BIFFY CLYRO: Puzzle (2007)

It may send the most hardened of Biffy purists into a fit of rage but the fact remains: the band's cross-over into the mainstream is also their very finest moment. For all 'Blackened Sky', 'The Vertigo of Bliss' and especially 'Infinity Land' are damn fine records, they just don't have the same timeless quality as 2007's 'Puzzle.' At times, perhaps, the Clyro were trying just that little bit too hard to be awkward; here, they put aside all notions of active radicalism and set about being the most colossally fucking awesome rock band in Britain. From the off, this is an album that holds nothing back, flooring you about twenty times over with the greatest introduction to anything ever in the form of 'Living Is A Problem Because Everything Dies' and its minute and a half of out-of-time drum crashes, and then doing it again and again with the monumental 'Saturday Superhouse', the effortlessly catchy 'Who's Got A Match?', the mouth-wateringly epic 'As Dust Dances', the elegiac 'Machines'... the album just throws classic after classic at you and watches with the utmost glee as you lap up every last thrilling second. Proof positive that music doesn't need to be complicated to be sodding outstanding.

5. BRAND NEW: Deja Entendu (2003)

It's hard to believe, now, that Jesse Lacey and the boys started out life as peddlers of the sort of one-trick pop-punk-emo that Taking Back Sunday are still churning out today (God, Adam Lazzara, would you stop it? Please?) A quick listen to their 2001 debut, 'Your Favorite Weapon', an album cherished by many a broken-hearted teen as 'the story of [their lives]', would seem to suggest an all-too-brief career for the band; a flirtation with mainstream popularity, perhaps, followed by the inevitable fade into obscurity once they realised they couldn't convincingly sing about how 'lame' it is to be betrayed by your friends anymore. Thankfully, though, things didn't quite turn out that way. Brand New grew up and so did their music; a brave, brave move in an industry so monolithic. 2003's 'Deja Entendu' bridges the gap between 'YFW' and the band's later material, retaining the punky, self-aware essence of tracks likes 'Jude Law' and 'Seventy Times Seven' but marrying it to a far richer musical palate and, at times, a deeper, more introspective and poetic lyricism. There are anthems here - the aggressive, twisted 'Sic Transit Gloria', the self-assured 'Okay I Believe You...', the cumtastic 'The Quiet Things That No One Ever Knows' (that middle eight man!) - but they sit side-by-side with more melancholic numbers like the beautifully shocking 'Me Vs Maradona Vs Elvis' and the truly outstanding 'Play Crack the Sky', still one of the greatest things they've ever done. 'Deja Entendu' is the sort of album that really gets under your skin, demanding you revisit it time and again, until its music, lyrics and themes are so deeply ingrained in your conscience that you just can't help but adore it. And, remarkably, it isn't even their best record...

4. MUSE: Absolution (2003)

Let's face it boys and girls, in the presence of Matt Bellamy, we truly are not worthy. If Screenaged Kicks bestowed Godlike Genius awards on individual musicians in the same vein as the New Musical Express, then Teignmouth's finest ivory-tinkling, guitar-buzzsawing sonic chameleon would be the hands-down winner every year, no question about it. There really is no contemporary match for Bellamy's talent, his ability to make dear, sweet love to any instrument he cares to lay his hands on. Give this man a kazoo and he'll write you the most moving ballad you've ever heard. Honest. 'Absolution', his band's third album, provides the perfect synthesis of his mind-bogglingly impressive songwriting ability and the ridiculous extravagance at the heart of Muse's music. As ridiculous as it may seem, given the quite literal bombast and stark raving lunacy of the entire album, virtually every song could be a single: the war-movie dramatics of 'Apocalypse Please' are married perfectly to an irresistible chorus, while the orchestral solemnity of 'Blackout' makes for deliciously haunting listening. Of course, many of the tracks were released into the wilderness of the UK's 'hit parade': 'Butterflies and Hurricanes' with its lush piano crescendos, 'Sing For Absolution' with its epic invocations, 'Time Is Running Out' with the greatest finger-clicks of the century, 'Hysteria' with that fucking riff and 'Stockholm Syndrome' with, well, just about everything that makes music so exciting. This is a truly masterful piece of work, a record that towers head and shoulders above so much that passes for rock, that is so far ahead of the pack that it'll take another millennium or two before anyone even begins to catch up. And by then, Muse will have annihilated the concept of 'music' anyway.

3. IDLEWILD: 100 Broken Windows (2000)

Oh, Idlewild. How quickly the world forgets, eh? In the opening years of the decade, Roddy Woomble's band of merry Scotsmen were championed by many as the brightest stars of the noughties, the ones with the potential to, as they say, 'go all the way.' And for a while, it seemed like the Mystic Megs were on to something. 2002's 'The Remote Part' went top ten, gave them a few hit singles and saw magazines as irritating as Q a Mojo celebrating the arrival of 'the new R.E.M.' And then, somehow, it all went horribly wrong. The music industry fell in love with post-punk again, just as the 'wild were reigning things in and turning introspective, and by the time nu-rave came around, nobody cared that the band were continuing to put out superbly crafted pop-rock records (2007's 'Make Another World', this year's criminally overlooked 'Post Electric Blues'.) The Zeitgeist was, and to some extent still is, too concerned with shoving MDMA up its arse and listening to the Klaxons. No matter. It doesn't change the fact that when the dust settles, Idlewild's albums still stand the test of time. Their sophomore effort, released just as the decade began, is an absolute monster of a record, packed to the brim with intense punk rock thrills, utterly bonkers choruses ('Gertrude Stein said, "that's enough"/I know that that's not enough now', 'This wooden idea is your method of repetition/This wooden idea is how you sell reduction') and twelve of the most brilliantly crafted melodies of all time. Roddy's vocals have never sounded more immediate and impassioned, Rod's guitars are unmatched in their scuzzy intensity and those closing ballads... well, we challenge you not to choke up as soon as Woomble hits the high notes in 'Quiet Crown.' It'll be sadly overlooked in most end of decade reviews and frankly, there is no justification. '100 Broken Windows', quite simply, is fucking magnificent.

2. INTERPOL: Turn on the Bright Lights (2002)

They say you will not find a better soundtrack to the sights and sounds of New York City nightlife than this, Interpol's debut album. Of course, having never been to 'the city that never sleeps', I couldn't possibly comment on such an assertion, but that hardly seems to matter. 'Turn on the Bright Lights' sounds so universal that it seems to speak for every metropolitan hell-hole and its interminably crushing sense of loneliness. There is a palpable coldness to the record, magnified by Daniel Kessler's monolithic, brazen guitar chops and Paul Banks's sullen, defeatist vocals. Contrary to expectation, however, this process actually makes for something truly uplifting. There is real beauty in this record's melancholy: the minimalist desperation of 'Hands Away', the cathartic lilt and sway of 'NYC', the nonsensical rock weirdness of 'Obstacle 1' and 'Roland'... they all reach far beyond their inherent miserablism to a place that is genuinely euphoric. For all 'Turn on the Bright Lights' may not be the most immediately enjoyable listen, it is, nevertheless, one that proves endlessly rewarding. One hell of an achievement.

1. BRAND NEW: The Devil and God Are Raging Inside Me (2007)

And what were we saying about Brand New's pop-punk-emo predilections? 'The Devil and God Are Raging Inside Me' is so far beyond any of those genre limitations that it's hard to believe the record was produced on the same planet, never mind by the same band. Following 'Deja Entendu', Jesse Lacey and co. left all trace of their rather more juvenile roots behind them and proceeded to pour heart, soul, sweat, tears, mind, body and just about anything else that came to hand into producing one of the finest works of art (because yes, that's what it is) we've ever had bestowed upon us. The result is a snapshot of a band at their most intensely personal, a record that bleeds emotion from every orifice. Jesse's vocals are heartwrenchingly cracked throughout, opening in painfully broken fashion with the quiet 'was losing all my friends' before soaring high above all of our heads with a frighteningly aggressive delivery that transforms 'Sowing Season (Yeah)' from a powerful rock song into a motherfucking beast. And it never stops. 'Millstone' is jaw-droppingly gargantuan, 'Jesus Christ' spine-tinglingly simplistic, 'Degausser' probably the most terrifying song ever written. The record juxtaposes the aggressive and the tender to create something unrelentingly dark (the astonishing 'You Won't Know' is probably the best demonstration of this), but the genius of it is that you will never look away. 'The Devil and God' is utterly, utterly compelling stuff, a record wrought with pure, visceral human emotion, of which you will never tire. Brand New consider this to be their career highlight and there really is no question why. Even the instrumentals are bloody amazing. Probably the closest thing we will ever get to flawless.

Top 100 albums of the decade, 25-11

25. FRANK TURNER: Sleep Is For The Week (2007)
24. BRIGHT EYES: Cassadaga (2007)
23. WE WERE PROMISED JETPACKS: These Four Walls (2009)
22. GLASVEGAS: Glasvegas (2008)
21. AT THE DRIVE IN: Relationship of Command (2000)
20. QUEENS OF THE STONE AGE: Rated R (2000)
19. THE GASLIGHT ANTHEM: Sink or Swim (2007)
18. AGAINST ME!: Searching for a Former Clarity (2005)
17. FRANK TURNER: Love, Ire and Song (2008)
16. BRIGHT EYES: I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning (2005)
15. BRAND NEW: Daisy (2009)
14. DEATH CAB FOR CUTIE: Plans (2005)
13. GREEN DAY: American Idiot (2004)
12. AGAINST ME!: New Wave (2007)
11. MUSE: Origin of Symmetry (2001)

Top 100 albums of the decade, 50-26

50. RYAN ADAMS: Cold Roses (2005)
49. MINUS THE BEAR: Minus El Oso (2005)
48. CONOR OBERST AND THE MYSTIC VALLEY BAND: Conor Oberst and the Mystic Valley Band (2008)
47. SAVES THE DAY: Stay What You Are (2001)
46. JIMMY EAT WORLD: Futures (2004)
45. THE XCERTS: In The Cold Wind We Smile (2009)
44. QUEENS OF THE STONE AGE: Songs For The Deaf (2002)
43. THE LIVING END: Roll On (2001)
42. ALKALINE TRIO: From Here To Infirmary (2001)
41. PROPAGANDHI: Today's Empires, Tomorrow's Ashes (2001)
40. FUGAZI: The Argument (2001)
39. BEN FOLDS: Rockin' The Suburbs (2001)
38. MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE: The Black Parade (2006)
37. YEAH YEAH YEAHS: Fever To Tell (2003)
36. ALKALINE TRIO: Alkaline Trio (2000)
35. MANCHESTER ORCHESTRA: I'm Like A Virgin Losing A Child (2006)
34. THE CRIBS: Men's Needs, Women's Needs, Whatever (2007)
33. INTERPOL: Antics (2004)
32. THE ARCADE FIRE: Funeral (2004)
31. BIFFY CLYRO: Infinity Land (2004)
30. DEATH CAB FOR CUTIE: Transatlanticism (2003)
29. EELS: Daisies of the Galaxy (2000)
28. BAD RELIGION: The Empire Strikes First (2004)
27. IDLEWILD: The Remote Part (2002)
26. MANIC STREET PREACHERS: Journal For Plague Lovers (2009)

Top 100 albums of the decade, 100-51

Just a list for now, I'm afraid. Still, this was bloody difficult...

100. VAMPIRE WEEKEND: Vampire Weekend (2008)
99. THE VINES: Highly Evolved (2002)
98. FRANZ FERDINAND: Franz Ferdinand (2004)
97. GRAHAM COXON: Happiness In Magazines (2004)
96. SIX BY SEVEN: The Closer You Get (2000)
95. DANDY WARHOLS: Thirteen Tales from Urban Bohemia (2000)
94. STELLASTARR*: Stellastarr (2003)
93. THE KING BLUES: Save The World, Get The Girl (2008)
92. THE FUTUREHEADS: The Futureheads (2004)
91. WE ARE SCIENTISTS: With Love and Squalor (2005)
90. GREEN DAY: Warning (2000)
89. EDITORS: The Back Room (2005)
88. R.E.M.: Accelerate (2008)
87. FOALS: Antidotes (2008)
86. THE GET UP KIDS: On A Wire (2002)
85. LOW: Things We Lost In The Fire (2001)
84. WEEZER: Weezer (Green Album) (2001)
83. THE KILLERS: Hot Fuss (2004)
82. RISE AGAINST: Siren Song of the Counter Culture (2004)
81. THE BRONX: The Bronx (I) (2003)
80. KINGS OF CONVENIENCE: Quiet Is The New Loud (2001)
79. SNOW PATROL: Final Straw (2003)
78. THE WEAKERTHANS: Reconstruction Site (2003)
77. THE DESCENDENTS: Cool To Be You (2004)
76. RIVAL SCHOOLS: United By Fate (2001)
75. HELL IS FOR HEROES: The Neon Handshake (2003)
74. JJ72: I To Sky (2002)
73. SILVERSUN PICKUPS: Swoon (2009)
72. SYSTEM OF A DOWN: Toxicity (2001)
71. THE POSTAL SERVICE: Give Up (2003)
70. THE LAWRENCE ARMS: The Greatest Story Ever Told (2003)
69. NOFX: Pump Up The Valuum (2000)
68. RADIOHEAD: In Rainbows (2007)
67. FUTURE OF THE LEFT: Travels With Myself and Another (2009)
66. ASH: Free All Angels (2001)
65. SIGUR ROS: Takk (2005)
64. DEFIANCE, OHIO: The Great Depression (2006)
63. THE FLAMING LIPS: Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots (2002)
62. BLOOD RED SHOES: Box of Secrets (2008)
61. NADA SURF: Let Go (2003)
60. EVERCLEAR: Songs From An American Movie, Vol 1: Learning How To Smile (2000)
59. BILLY TALENT: Billy Talent (2003)
58. MEW: And The Glass Handed Kites (2005)
57. THE NATIONAL: Boxer (2007)
56. THE BOUNCING SOULS: How I Spent My Summer Vacation (2001)
55. RYAN ADAMS: Heartbreaker (2000)
54. DILLINGER FOUR: C I V I L W A R (2008)
53. MILLION DEAD: A Song To Ruin (2003)
52. MODEST MOUSE: Good News For People Who Love Bad News (2004)
51. WILCO: Yankee Hotel Foxtrot (2002)

The 20 worst singles of 2009: 10-1

10. KASABIAN: Underdog



In probably the most depressing 'statement of fact' to have been uttered in 2009, Kasabian's Tom Meighan proudly informed us all that, now Oasis have imploded under the weight of the Gallagher brothers' over-inflated egos, "Kasabian are the biggest band in Britain!" Yeah, cheers for that Tom. I really needed another reason to want to chew my own foot off. Jesus Christ, this bunch are dull. Honestly, where's the heart? Where's the soul? Where's the sense that the band are making music because they love the art form, not just because they want to suck Ian Brown's dick? Oh come on, you know it's true. Every sodding song Kasabian have ever released is too busy sodomising the rotting corpses of The Stone Roses and the Happy Mondays to give a damn about being any good. 'Underdog' is no exception; it plods along with its Madchester 'swagger', thinking it's the epitome of cool, when actually it just looks and sounds like a twat. Put those Charlatans records away Kasabian and leave us the fuck alone. Now.

9. BLOC PARTY: One More Chance



Oh God Kele, what are you doing? Honestly, is it too much to ask that a year goes by where you don't take a massive dump all over everything good that you've ever recorded? It really is becoming difficult to believe that this is the same band responsible for 2005's seminal debut 'Silent Alarm', a record that ranks amongst the very best albums of the decade. And yes, sure, we all understand that bands need to progress, that if they keep churning out the same material, it'll lose its lustre (Kasabian, take note... actually, on second thought, they never had any fricking lustre in the first place), but COME ON. This?! Early 90s 'minimal techno'? The sort of dance music that sounded dated ten seconds after it was originally recorded? What were they thinking? 'One More Chance' is the kind of record that sadistic torturers might lock their victims in a room with, playing it on a perpetual loop until they snap. Truly horrifying.

8. JAMIE T: Sticks 'n' Stones



Jamie T's such a cheeky chappy, isn't he? Aw look at him, what a little scamp! Running around in his slightly cocked cap, Argos jewellery and burberry jacket, singing songs about 'getting in trouble with your mates' (heaven help him - he's 'stuck in Hampton Wick'!), trying to fit in with the nation's charvas. He's such a cad! Or a prick, whichever takes your fancy. Okay okay, so perhaps I'm being a little harsh with that pikey accusation, but 'Sticks 'n' Stones' makes no qualms about being something of an anthem for the brutish and belligerent and, as a result, every two-bit male poseur with a penchant for macho posturing has taken it to their bosom, resulting in its ludicrous over-playing on radio stations and in clubs up and down the country. It's a thoroughly irritating little shit of a song, the aural equivalent of that six year old brat who keeps ringing your doorbell and then legging it down the street because he thinks it's funny. What 'Sticks 'n' Stones' needs is a good slap; yeah, that'd sort it out. Or something.

7. DIZZEE RASCAL: Bonkers



This may come as something of a shock, but some people think Dizzee Rascal is bonkers, you know. Of course, he just thinks he's free. Remember: he's just living his life, there's nothing crazy about him. After all, some people pay (PAY!) for thrills (would you believe it?) Dizzee gets his for free. Man, he's just living his life, there's nothing crazy about him. Bell-end.

6. THE HORRORS: Sea Within A Sea



Clocking in at a horrifically unforgiving eight minutes and twenty four seconds of purest pretentious wankery, the lead single from The Horrors' excruciatingly self-indulgent sophomore record 'Primary Colours' is the sort of track that cares not for the bothersome art of actually being enjoyable to listen to, and is far more preoccupied, instead, with giving the world's chin-strokers something to discuss besides the new Animal Collective album. Yes, this is another one for the hipsters, a song to drop casually into the conversation as you're gazing at your shoes, trying to figure out whether they're still on the right side of cool. 'Sea Within A Sea' is a criminally hollow record from a hopelessly empty band; hopefully, sooner rather than later, they'll disappear so far up their own arses that they won't be able to crawl back out again. We can but dream.

5. HOLLYWOOD UNDEAD: Undead



Returning for a second appearance in the top twenty, here's Hollywood Undead with their self-professed 'band anthem.' Loaded with macho posturing and homophobic insults ('faggot ass punks', 'faggots who hate'... the list goes on), 'Undead' feels like a desperate attempt for self-validation... and that's exactly what it is! The band clearly feel a little irked at the fact that many of us see right through their pre-pubescent sarcasm and over-compensating shock tactics and, as such, have written the lyrical equivalent of a 'ner ner ner ner ner ner!' to get us back. Thus, we're treated to laughably pathetic lines like 'You cowards can't, you never will, don't even try to pursue it/I took the chance, I payed the bill, I nearly died for this music' (um, when?), 'What? You think I just got lucky, didn't work for this shit?/Bitch, I've been working at this ever since I was a kid/I played a million empty shows to only family and friends' (a million? I think that's a *slight* exaggeration, don't you? And in any case, it's little surprise really, given your music...) and my personal favourite, 'What kind of person disses a band that deserves to get big?' Um, they're called critics, darling. They have opinions. And if you're going to survive in this dog eat dog world of - admittedly unfathomable, in your case - musical success, you're going to have to learn to deal with 'em. Hollywood Undead, we don't really care that you worked your asses off (or so you say) in order to 'make this music.' Fact is, the music sucks. Big time. So really, you're all chumps for expending so much time and energy in making it. And now we're going to point at you. And laugh. Endlessly.

4. FUCK BUTTONS: Surf Solar



"Oh ja Timothy, I just purchased the limited edition Sparkly Cowbell seven inch of the new Fuck Buttons single. You know, the one with the twenty minute Stick It Up Your Ass And Smoke It Dubelectrosynthrave Remix." "Oh really Quentin? That's so controversial." "Oh I know, they don't even blot the word out or anything. It just says 'FUCK' in massive capital letters on the front... you should have seen my dear sweet mother's face when I walked in with it last night." "You're so naughty, Quenters!" "Oh I know, I know, I just can't help myself." "So what's it like?" "What?" "The song?" "I don't have the foggiest, I haven't put it on yet." "Well, they're quite... minimalist... or something, aren't they?" "Oh ja ja." "I think that's what NME said about them." "They're all the rage in the underground, honestly. So hot right now." "Oh marvellous." "Not enough people know about them yet, so we don't have to move on. The mainstream haven't really got to grips with them, you know." "Thank Heavens." "Yes." (Silence) "So, shall we play it on Youtube?" "Oh yes, let's!" (Thirty seconds later) "Fancy some James Blunt?" "I thought you'd never ask."

3. MISTABISHI: Printer Jam



It's the sound of paper jamming in a printer. With a drum and bass/dub beat. Do I really need to say more?

2. LA ROUX: In For The Kill



Looking like Jimmy Neutron on crack and sounding like twenty tabby cats being fed feet-first into a meat grinder, La Roux was 2009's 'break out' star, achieving considerable success with a number of unforgivably atrocious singles, the most unrelentingly insipid of which was this delightful number. For four minutes, Neutron wails and warbles over a shoulder-shruggingly turgid beat, complementing each actual lyric with a line of 'oooooooooo oooooooooooooooh!'s; a format so painful that it makes you want to claw your own eyes out with a toothpick after about fifteen seconds. The song goes on and on and on (or so it feels), slowly choking the life out of modern music, never quite satisfied that the last round of tuneless chalkboard-scraping was enough to keep everyone self-medicating for rest of their adult lives. Truly and utterly horrible.

1. brokeNCYDE: Freaxxx



And just when you thought La Roux had shown us all what the nadir of contemporary alternative music looks like, along come brokeNCYDE to sweep us off our feet and tell us, in their very own 'crunkcore' style, that 'we ain't seen nothin' yet.' Screamo and crunk are two genres best avoided at all costs and yet, inexplicably, these fake plastic scenesters had a collective 'eureka!' moment one fateful evening a few years ago in which they decided it would be a "freaking awesome" (or something) idea to mix the two together and produce an all-new musical style that they could use to take the industry by storm. So yeah, what we have here is three kids messing around with $2 drum machines, synthesisers and vocoders, alternating between wannabe Kanye West raps and the sort of vomit-inducing guttural yelling that would embarrass even Bert McCracken. Any semblance of melody gets lost amongst this horrendously repugnant hotch-potch and the result is a record that is patently unlistenable. Worse still, brokeNCYDE insist on bashing their own music's - admittedly rather puny - brains in with an ill-advised penchant for sexist machismo. 'Freaxxx' contains such repulsive lines as 'I got these bitches all tipsy trying to sex me/I know they want it, alcoholics are some sex freaks' and this writer's personal favourite, 'If you want me baby feel me in/'cause I don't waste my time with lesbians.' And the problem, boys and girls, is that they mean it. 'Irony' is a concept far too complex for brokeNCYDE; to quote the LA Times' August Brown, "to ask 'are they kidding?' is like trying to peel an onion to get to a perceived central core that, in the end, does not exist." This very probably is the absolute rock bottom, the absolute worst that music has to offer. There isn't a single redeeming feature about the song, and the only manner in which it is even remotely worthwhile is in the fact that, as Warren Ellis points out, its music video is "a near-perfect snapshot of everything that’s shit about this point in culture." There just aren't the words.

The 20 worst singles of 2009: 20-11

Well, we've done a lot of celebrating here at Screenaged Kicks Towers in the past week or so. Now it's time to flip the coin and begin lamenting some of the very worst things to happen to music in 2009. So, without further ado, I present you with part one of the traditional Screenaged Kicks 'worst 20 singles of the year'.

20. ANIMAL COLLECTIVE: My Girls



Thousands of the world's finest chin-stroking wankpots are devoting a frankly ludicrous amount of their time to telling every disinterested fucker within a twenty mile radius that Animal Collective are "changing the face of modern music." Their current album, 'Merriweather Post Pavillion', tops a new blogosphere 'record of the year' entry every 1.4 miliseconds, despite the fact that 80% of those who HAVE heard it didn't make it past track three. Yes, the LP is another exercise in, to coin a band name, woefully mindless self-indulgence, an attempt to be as musically 'radical' and 'avant garde' as possible, to the detriment of any semblance of enjoyment whatsoever. 'My Girls' is the perfect encapsulation of 'Merriweather's depressing lack of life, a five minute meandering mess that goes absolutely nowhere and feels like it's deliberately pissing all over your earlobes JUST BECAUSE IT CAN. Avoid.

19. MARILYN MANSON: Armagoddamnmotherfuckinggeddon



Brian Warner seems to have forgotten that he ceased to be at all interesting about six years ago (you know, around the time he started massacaring already-rather-shit 80s pop songs) and still insists on putting out new records, despite the fact that the listening public really couldn't give a shit. Where once he could whip American neo-conservative nutjobs into a frenzy of excitable panic simply by breathing on FOX News, now even the most steadfast of uber-right wing hard-asses finds it difficult to take any of his antiquated shock tactics seriously. Honestly Manson, do you really think adding 'goddamn' and 'motherfucking' to the word 'Armageddon' is going to rile anybody? Are you deluded enough to believe that couplets like 'First you try to fuck it/Then you try to eat it' are going to come across as anything other than embarrassing, half-arsed attempts to recapture former controversial glories? You're not even trying, Brian! Hell, the song's just 'Disposable Teens' with dirgier guitars. Come back when you've got some original ideas. Next!

18. FRIENDLY FIRES: Jump In The Pool



Oh please do, guys. And make it the shallow end, would ya? I'm not sure how much more of your soulless drivel the world can take.

17. HEALTH: Die Slow



Ah, NME. How thoroughly sodding evil you are. Thanks to the magazine's recent bandwagon jump onto the fetid, diseased cock of half-arsed, pompous 'indie electronica', we now have to put up with complete and utter doggerel like this on every self-respecting music channel and in virtually every indie/alt club in the UK. It barely matters who the artist is, the output's always the same. Lazy synthesisers, muffled vocals, the absence of any sort of melody. HEALTH are just the latest peddlers of this achingly cool trend, and 'Die Slow' is just another example of why the music industry is in dire need of a good fucking cleansing. They don't even look like they're interested in their own music, for God's sake! Truly mind-numbing.

16. LITTLE BOOTS: New In Town



Oh, just look at Little Boots, eh? Look at what she can do! Within the space of a single minute, and armed solely with her depressingly average vocal chords, she gets half of down-town LA's ever-burgeoning gangster population to swap their weapons for dancing shoes and start gyrating in rather stunningly choreographed fashion to her latest La-Lady-Lily-Pixie-Winehouse knock-off! With that sort of power, what the hell is she doing making mundane crap like 'New In Town'? Someone mail her to Iran quick, before Ahmadinejad decides to press the red button instead of the yellow one. At least then she'd probably be unable to get anywhere near a recording studio.

15. LADY GAGA: Paparazzi



For all 'Poker Face' might not be the most Earth shattering single of all time, at least it isn't as thoroughly excrable as this bucket of horse manure. 'Paparazzi' is about as irritating as a bout of genital herpes, and frankly, the genital herpes have a lot more going for them. At least they're probably the result of something enjoyable. 'Paparazzi' comes from a place devoid of any redeeming features whatsoever, a black hole of pop detritus that just will not stop spewing its diarrhoea at you until it's satisfied that your soul has drowned in its murky depths. You won't be able to avoid it, regrettably, but you can do your best to counter its effects by carrying a sledgehammer at all times and using it to obliterate any device that is being used to give it airtime. Simples.

14. FLORENCE AND THE MACHINE: You've Got The Love



As if the countless - and we really do mean countless - remixes, re-releases and re-recordings of The Source (featuring Candi Staton, importantly)'s deathly hollow early 90s dance car crash weren't enough to keep the human race ticking over for about, oooh, twenty millennia, in 2009, Florence felt the need to unleash her sorry excuse for a Kate Bush imitation on the bloody thing. Result? A cover version so completely devoid of life that it threatens to send you into a catatonic state every time it's spunked all over by Zane Lowe, Jo Whiley and just about every other mindless automaton on British radio.

13. 3OH!3 (feat KATY PERRY): Starstrukk



Where to begin? The lacklustre beats? The Vanilla Ice rapping? The tuneless warbling? Katy Perry's insipid guest appearance? 'Starstrukk' is just one of many virtually unlistenable 'party songs' (or some such bollocks) on 3Oh!3's debut album; you know, the one that NME described, in a roundabout sort of way, as "the worst thing to happen to music in years". And that's saying something, coming from the magazine that actually enjoys The Horrors. At first, you may be inclined to think that there's something 'ironic' in 3Oh!3's unashamed shittiness; that the half-baked minimalism and abundant cliches are actually a knowing nod to the increasingly image-obsessed and consumerist Zeitgeist. Then you realise that no, they're just fucking awful.

12. HOLLYWOOD UNDEAD: Everywhere I Go



And here's another lot that could do with a good fucking culling. Not only does 'Everywhere I Go' contain possibly the single most eye-gougingly irritating melody of the century, but it's also a great big dollop of unashamed sexism, a brash assertion of the masculine prowess of one particular member of the band and his 'weenie' that he just 'loves to show'. "Oh but it's a joke!", cry Undead's - quite probably lifeless - followers, "You're not supposed to take it seriously!" Yeah, well, it ain't big, it ain't clever and it most definitely is the furthest thing from funny. Hollywood Undead are effectively a poor man's Bloodhound Gang and that, my friends, is probably the biggest insult there is.

11. PAPA ROACH: Hollywood Whore



'Hollywood WHOOOORE!/Passed out on the FLOOOOOR!/Can't take it no MOOOORE!' Well, Coby Dick, sorry, Jacobi Somethingorother, your lyrical prowess has certainly improved with age, hasn't it? Ah dear. When will these idiots learn? Yes, guys and gals, just when you thought it was safe to come crawling out of the hole you'd dug for yourself after 'The Paramour Sessions', Papa Roach are back to empty their sphincters all over your earlobes one more sodding time. Laughably, 'Hollywood Whore' is about 'the glorification of the entertainment industry' and is effectively a load of holier-than-thou finger-pointing at 'out of control' celebrities like 'Britney Spears and Paris Hilton' (Shaddix's words, not ours). Yes, Jacobi, because you've never gotten pissed out of your skull or snorted cocaine off someone's backside, have you? Oh no, this guy's the freaking poster child for abstinence. And in any case, don't you think it might be a little more beneficial to, oh, I don't know, do something to help these poor, broken individuals rather than giving them more reasons to feel bad about themselves? I'm sure Paris is just jumping for joy at the fact that you've called her a 'whore' several times during the course of this song. Yeah, that's really going to help her out. Dickwad.

Top 50 singles of 2009, part five: 10-1

10. THE TEMPER TRAP: Sweet Disposition



9. MUSE: Uprising



8. MUMFORD & SONS: Little Lion Man



7. MANIC STREET PREACHERS: Jackie Collins' Existential Question Time



6. BIFFY CLYRO: That Golden Rule



5. MANCHESTER ORCHESTRA: I've Got Friends



4. THE XCERTS: Crisis In The Slow Lane



3. BIFFY CLYRO: The Captain


Biffy Clyro - The Captain

Biffy Clyro | MySpace Music Videos

2. BRAND NEW: At the Bottom



1. MANCHESTER ORCHESTRA: Shake It Out

Top 50 singles of 2009, part four: 20-11

20. SILVERSUN PICKUPS: Panic Switch


19. FAKE PROBLEMS: The Dream Team



18. TWIN ATLANTIC: Lightspeed



17. FUTURE OF THE LEFT: The Hope That House Built



16. THE GASLIGHT ANTHEM: Great Expectations



15. GRIZZLY BEAR: Two Weeks



14. WE WERE PROMISED JETPACKS: Quiet Little Voices



13. FUTURE OF THE LEFT: Arming Eritrea



12. METRIC: Sick Muse



11. WEEZER: (If You're Wondering If I Want You To) I Want You To

Top 50 singles of 2009, part three: 30-21

30. SUCIOPERRO: The Dissident Code

Sadly, there's no video for this wonderful single, so head on over to www.myspace.com/sucioperro to give it a listen. You won't be disappointed.

29. RISE AGAINST: Savior



28. STELLASTARR*: Graffiti Eyes



27. BEANS ON TOAST: Myspace Picture



26. WHITE LIES: Farewell to the Fairground



25. THE KING BLUES: Save the World, Get the Girl


Save The World. Get The Girl

The King Blues | MySpace Music Videos

24. IDLEWILD: Readers and Writers



23. ALEXISONFIRE: Young Cardinals


Alexisonfire - Young Cardinals

Alexisonfire | MySpace Music Videos

22. THE CRIBS: Cheat On Me


The Cribs - Cheat On Me

The Cribs | MySpace Music Videos

21. WE WERE PROMISED JETPACKS: Roll Up Your Sleeves

Top 50 singles of 2009, part two: 40-31

40. THE TWILIGHT SAD: I Became A Prostitute



39. PULLED APART BY HORSES: I Punched A Lion in the Throat



38. WHITE BELT, YELLOW TAG: Remains



37. VAMPIRE WEEKEND: Cousins



36. BLOC PARTY: One Month Off



35. FRANK TURNER: The Road



34. WILD BEASTS: Hooting and Howling



33. THE BIG PINK: Dominoes



32. THE MACCABEES: No Kind Words



31. FUN.: All The Pretty Girls

Top 50 singles of 2009, part one: 50-41

50. KEVIN DEVINE: I Could Be With Anyone



49. PORTUGAL, THE MAN: Do You?



48. MEWITHOUTYOU: The Fox, the Crow and the Cookie



47. GREEN DAY: 21 Guns



46. MEW: Repeaterbeater



45. ANTI-FLAG: Sodom, Gomorrah, Washington D.C.



44. GALLOWS: London Is The Reason



43. THE PAINS OF BEING PURE AT HEART: Everything With You



42. DEATH CAB FOR CUTIE: Meet Me on the Equinox



41. FLOOD OF RED: Home, Run (1997)

Television review: Doctor Who 'The End of Time, part one'

'The End of Time, part one'

Wr: Russell T. Davies
Dr: Euros Lyn

Synopsis: The Ood warn of a danger that spreads across the whole of the universe. On Christmas Eve, the Master is reborn.

Review: Okay. So it's the end of an era. The man responsible for the rejuvenation of what was once the most vilified science fiction show on British television, who has made it absolute must see TV, not only for the cultists among us but for the entire sodding nation, is bowing his cap, throwing down the gauntlet and joining the - metaphorical - choir invisible... and he's taking his finest star with him. Yes, this is Russell T. Davies and David Tennant's mutual swan song and, understandably, they're both rather excited about it. Tennant's been all over our screens for the past few weeks, giving 'revealing' press interviews, hosting Never Mind the Buzzcocks, appearing in Hamlet, flying around the BBC's Christmas trailers... it's actually something of a surprise when a minute passes by in which his unfathomable quiff ISN'T blocking your view. But of course, we don't really mind. Not when he's the best thing to have happened to Doctor Who since Jon Pertwee transformed into a Bohemian lunatic. Davies, meanwhile, has chosen to express his excitement in an altogether different fashion... yes, the man who is probably the second best thing to have happened to the show since that delightful moment at the end of 'Planet of the Spiders', has decided to wave an enthusiastic goodbye to all sense of perspective and bash his own brains in with the typewriter he traditionally uses to pen his scripts. And then sit down to write 'The End of Time, part one.'

You see, the trouble with Russell T. Davies, ladies and gentlemen, is that he just doesn't know when to stop. Hand the man a simple premise with stringent parameters - werewolf terrorises the residents of a house, for example - and he'll deliver the goods. Tell him that he was to write the finale to end all finales and that all restrictions are lifted, and a wealth of ideas, some promising, others execrably ludicrous, will flood his brain, flushing out any notion of what makes a good story. Faced with the prospect of upping the ante, he'll try to outdo himself ten times over and in the process, will start blindly throwing things at the page in the hopes that somehow, some way, they'll stick together and produce something watchable. Sometimes, miraculously, this process actually works; the fourth season finale, as big a clusterfuck as it was, ended up being the most fun Who has had since its initial regeneration. At others, however, it results in the most cringe worthy television this side of a Hollyoaks omnibus and unfortunately for us all, when faced with the biggest challenge that he's been given in his five years in the hot seat, it seems that RTD has dropped the ball one final time.

Let's face it guys, 'The End of Time, part one' is a mess. The plot, if you can even call it that, is treated with such wilful disdain that you find yourself uncertain of what exactly it is that you're watching. Stuff happens, then more stuff happens, and then a whole truckload of stuff happens, and then we're done. Logical narrative progression? Pah! Reasonable pacing? Sod that! Explanations? Who needs 'em? We've got an audience to impress and they want action, they want amateur dramatics, damn it, they want John Simm! Pile it all on before they get restless! Quick, mother's getting up, make something explode! Now! This clambering for the money shot, the constant preoccupation with oneupmanship, makes the episode feel hopelessly disjointed and frankly, at times, rather embarrassing. The Master's 'resurrection', a development that should be terrifyingly dramatic, falls depressingly flat because it's treated in such a throwaway manner. Davies speeds us through half an episode's worth of plot in two minutes with some ridiculous gumf about 'the hidden books of Saxon', spouted from the mouths of a bunch of woefully one-dimensional archetypes, and then obliterates every semblance of credibility that the character of Mrs. Saxon ever had by having her deliver the kind of deux et machina that would make a staff writer on Voyager cringe. Where did her 'followers' come from? How were they able to produce a potion that would 'obliterate' the Master, or rather, counter whatever the hell it is that the other barking mad individuals are doing? Hell, when did she have time to orchestrate any of this when she's been in jail for eons? Davies clearly doesn't think we should bother ourselves too much with this stuff; he'd probably tell us that it's Christmas, that we're all full of turkey and, more than probably, a little alcohol, and that we should just sit back, relax and "enjoy the ride." Let it all wash over us. Well frankly, screw that. There's only so much you're getting away with Mr. D, and treating us all like brain dead morons certainly isn't on the list.

Of course, Mrs. Saxon doesn't succeed. Oh no, she just blows herself up, along with several others, and proceeds to turn John Simm into the kind of relentlessly irritating comedy villain that made Who the butt of so many jokes in the old days. It's a nicely disturbing idea, I suppose, to have him restless and hungry, although exactly how he managed to survive the gargantuan explosion and why he turned this way is anyone's guess. Mind, the character inexplicably survived at least seven brushes with certain death in the 1980s, so what's one more for the record books, eh? Russell probably thinks it's "a good laugh" or something. Yeah, that'll be it. So anyway, Simm lives to fire electricity at the Doctor (don't ask) and have at least a couple of well written scenes with Tennant but inexplicably, he decides to put on his very best thespian garb and utterly ham everything up in the process. Oh sure, he was never particularly subtle in his former appearances, but at least he didn't attempt the dreaded 'villainous cackle' every thirty seconds. Here, it's practically the only line he has. Why is it so difficult for actors to understand that their audience will see straight through insincerity? An actor of Simm's calibre should realise that, in order to scare the viewer, to horrify them and keep them on the edge of their seat, they should play megalomania completely straight, without any hint of irony or hyperbole. The plainest villains are the most terrifying precisely because they're recognisable. Start gesticulating wildly and making bombastic exclamations and a distance is immediately established. It just doesn't work. And now, of course, we're faced with the prospect of an entire planet's worth of John Simms in part two, each scene filled with countless copies of his maniacal head, guffawing endlessly to one another. Great.

As if all of this wasn't frustrating enough, we're also forced to endure the pathetic Naismiths, a pair of completely plastic pseudo-villains whom Davies barely even bothers to introduce, let alone actually explain (and in light of this, you can't really blame the two actors for putting in utterly horrible, over-the-top performances), another pair of throwaway aliens (cacti this time) who could actually be slightly interesting if the plot bothered to stop and give them some attention, and a load of witless nonsense involving Wilf and a gang of elderly citizens, concocted solely to give June Whitfield the cameo that Davies probably thought she deserved. In amongst this depressing hotchpotch, David Tennant and Bernard Cribbins try to salvage some good and they do sometimes succeed. Predictably, the pair bring a naturalism and grace to everything they do and their scenes together are positively electric. The highlight of the episode, undoubtedly, is their quiet conversation in the cafe, in which the Tenth Doctor finally begins to face the reality of his impending 'death.' Tennant is outstanding here, flipping emotions in the blink of an eye, effortlessly conveying the alien nature of the character but simultaneously tugging at every one of our heartstrings. This is what we need to see more of, Davies. This is what you're good at. To be fair to him, it does seem like the second instalment will be a quieter affair, in part at least, but we could have done with seeing more reflection and pacing in this episode, rather than so much drama and apocalyptic bombast.

It is entirely possible, of course, that 'The End of Time, part two' may put some of the inconsistencies and loose ends of its predecessor to bed. There's still time for Davies to better explain the Master's resurrection, his wife's attempt to kill him, exactly how the Time Lords are back in business and so on and so forth. And to be honest, I don't doubt that, at the very least, the latter point will be afforded the attention it deserves (the miraculous healing machine, anyone?) However, that doesn't change the fact that far too much blindly occurs here that we, as an audience, are simply expected to chew up and swallow without question. If you have an explanation, Russell, give us it now instead of making it seem like you're just winging it all the way through. It also doesn't forgive this episode its horribly scatter shot plotting; often, the narrative feels like it's been cobbled together out of a series of discarded post-it note ideas, barely hanging together at all. And as for John Simm... please, please, please can someone take him back to Acting 101 and show him to portray a convincing villain? The prospect of seeing him laughing his way through every sodding scene of the next instalment is enough to make you want to gouge your eyes out with a spoon. There's still time to salvage this one guys, to give Tennant the respectable send off he deserves. I'm crossing my fingers and toes for New Year's Day... and ignoring the naysaying voices in my head. 5.0