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.
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