10. Wilco – Yankee Hotel Foxtrot (2002)

“I am an American aquarium drinker, I assassin down the avenue; I’m hiding out in the big city blinking, what was I thinking when I let go of you?”

Nobody cares about the story if the music isn’t good. An album can’t survive on story. I didn’t listen to Yankee Hotel Foxtrot so many times for years after its release because Wilco left its record label and Jay Bennett left the group.

I recall this album getting a lot of OK Computer comparisons — it was called the American OK Computer — but the two don’t sound anything alike. Both were great albums from very good, somewhat popular bands that pushed the envelope on these respective albums and became undeniably great bands. That was the reason for the comparison, as far as I can tell. People waited five years, and they finally got another album that made them feel the same way.

YHF‘s greatness lies in its many, many layers. It becomes clear after a few listens that you’re going to need to spend some time with this album. It demands it. Not that you won’t like it immediately — you just might. But you’ll like it more and more in time. Everything from the obtuse lyrics to the production lends a heft to the proceedings that says “This is an important album.” How the group manages to keep the ponderous from dragging is the one of the greatest accomplishments of all.

Wilco – “Jesus, Etc.”

9. The White Stripes – Elephant (2003)

“Read it in the newspaper, ask your girlfriends, see if they know … that my strength is tenfold, girl, I’ll let you see if you want to before you go”

Ryan Adams once said it “may be the best rock ‘n’ roll record ever made,” and Elephant is great enough to prevent you from dismissing the statement completely. The title couldn’t be more fitting: This is a gigantic beast of an album.

If you’re digging for a weak spot, I suppose you could pick the songs that feature Meg’s vocals. The closer, “It’s True That We Love One Another,” also features Holly Golightly, but I prefer to hear it as a pleasant, light trifle, a la “Her Majesty.” Not everything has to be so heavy. As far as “In the Cold, Cold Night” goes, well, I like it without apology. I don’t love it, though. That sentiment is reserved for the  majority of the other songs on this album, from the thundering power of “Seven Nation Army” to the epic blues-rock of “Ball and Biscuit” to the zippy blitzes of “Hypnotize” and “Girl, You Have No Faith in Medicine.”  Do you like rock ‘n’ roll music? Try this.

And White’s guitar playing is just sublime here. I’m a sum-of-the-parts type — generally, I don’t dig the debates about technical proficiency when it comes to separate instruments within each song. Too much of that, and you’re not really concerned about the song itself. (That’s also why I have little aversion to Meg’s drumming.) I have a guitar-playing friend who swears that White isn’t  a very good guitarist, and while I respect his opinion, it certainly doesn’t sound right to me. I mean, c’mon.

The White Stripes – “The Hardest Button to Button”

8. My Morning Jacket – Z (2005)

“Gideon, what have you told us at all? Make a sound, come down off the wall. Religion — should appeal to the hearts of the young … who are you? What have you become?”

I never really listened to My Morning Jacket before Z. I wrote them off as another jam band, and while that seems like such an obvious and terrible mistake to make in hindsight, there’s always time to correct initial impressions. At least in music fandom. After stellar reviews and a glowing endorsement from a co-worker at the time, I bought Z.

What I heard was far from what I imagined. This was mysterious, powerful and soulful. And most importantly, there was that voice. Oh, that voice. Jim James was the best rock vocalist of the decade and it wasn’t even close. I’m not a fan of “American Dad,” but as Stan said of James’ voice, in a recent episode dedicated to MMJ: “Do you hear an angel? An angel possessing you, in your heart?” He could sing anything and make it sound good. And he does, taking Madonna’s advice on “Anytime.” (Why the Monsters of Folk album featured so little of James singing lead is a great mystery.)

My Morning Jacket – “Gideon” (live)

7. My Morning Jacket – Evil Urges (2008)

“Have you had enough excitement now? More than you ever did? You never wanted to be treated like a woman — you maintained you was just a kid. Well, at least you were of age my dear — these days kids they grow so fast … you never wanted to be committed to the present, you’re too busy believing in the past”

“Highly Suspicious” was all that some critics needed to hear to write off this album. And a song that contains the lyric “peanut butter pudding surprise” gives anyone a reason to do so.

You might want to listen to the rest of the album, though, because it’s amazing. Evil Urges settles into a groove around the fifth track, the inviting “Thank You Too!” (And no, I don’t get the exclamation point either.) Though the album messes with preconceptions enough on the ends — MMJ is way funkier than you might have imagined — most of the songs sparkle like forgotten AM radio gems. And then there’s the transcendent “Smokin’ from Shootin,” which might be the group’s best song.

I also have this half-baked theory that favorite albums and songs are often shaped by the little special touches. The piano flourish on “Aluminum Park” does this for me. As the fuzzy rocker nears its inevitable conclusion, there’s this little part before the three-minute mark, where the piano takes center stage for just a few seconds, as if it’s trying to barge in on the raucous fun. It always makes me smile.

My Morning Jacket – “Touch Me I’m Going to Scream, Pt.2″

6. The Flaming Lips – Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots (2002)

“Do you realize that you have the most beautiful face?”

For me, The Flaming Lips are at their best when indulging in pop grandeur. The Soft Bulletin did this, of course, and Yoshimi is at least, its equal. Like every band worth remembering, the Lips refuse to remain in one place, but this era of the band’s career will always be my favorite.

Another thing about the Lips: The group has an uncanny ability to tackle the big issues with simplistic lyrics and make it all seem so profound. When Wayne Coyne’s voice, often straining to its meager limits, sings words like “everyone you know someday will die” and “I don’t know where the sunbeams end and the starlight begins, it’s all a mystery,” over the swirling, widescreen production of Dave Fridmann, the result is absolutely heartbreaking. It can’t be calculated. On paper, it doesn’t add up. And yet, there it is. This is why it’s so hard to write about music.

The Flaming Lips – “Fight Test”

5. The Strokes – Is This It (2001)

“Can’t you see I’m trying, I don’t even like it, I just lied to get to your apartment, now I’m staying here just for a while, I can’t think ’cause I’m just way too tired”

The influence of this album on the rest of the decade’s rock music is hard to overstate, but easy to miss completely. Try to convince a casual observer that Is This It would be the decade’s best equivalent to Nevermind. It’s a tough sell. Maybe they’ve heard of the Strokes, but Is This It can’t even sniff the sales of Nevermind and who’s Julian Casablancas anyway? Then you talk about the groups that sound a lot like ‘em, and how radio’s dead, and nobody sells that many albums now anyway, and by the time you’ve reached your point about skinny jeans and “Strokes hair,” there’s no way they’re still listening.

Regardless of its influence, the album still stands up. You realize this each time “The Modern Age” kicks into high gear. It’s tight rock ‘n’ roll with bite, groove and no waste, and it sounds a lot less like Television or the Velvet Underground than everyone thought at first. As for the differing debuts on each side of the Atlantic, “New York City Cops” (and the UK album cover) might be better, but “When It Started” is pretty good too.

The Strokes – “Hard to Explain”

4. Arcade Fire – Funeral (2004)

“You climb out the chimney, and meet me in the middle — the middle of the town. And since there’s no one else around, we let our hair grow long and forget all we used to know. Then our skin gets thicker from living out in the snow”

What strikes me most about Funeral, and did from the start, is its intensity. It’s a dramatic life-or-death album, which is fitting. I really dove into it for the first time at the start of a long early-morning trip. I couldn’t fall asleep the night before, so I thought maybe I would nod off a bit while listening to Funeral. The music wouldn’t permit it. It was too engaging. I was actually in the backseat while I first listened to “In the Backseat.” Then I started again from the beginning.

In lesser hands, which is to say most hands, this sort of rock music — pumped-up, orchestral, unafraid of eclectic sounds — this is merely pretentious, bombastic or both. Those thoughts never enter your mind when listening to Funeral. Even when exploding, it sounds deeply personal.

Arcade Fire – “Wake Up”

3. Arcade Fire – Neon Bible (2007)

“My body is a cage that keeps me from dancing with the one I love, but my mind holds the key”

Arcade Fire already showed a mastery for the anthemic on Funeral. On Neon Bible, the group pushed it to the edge. The first hint was the band’s desire to remake its own song, “No Cars Go,” from its debut EP. “No Cars Go” is the best track on the Arcade Fire EP, but like other creative types who want a chance to improve past work, the song became bigger, brighter and definitive.

Nearly every song on Neon Bible works its way up to an overloaded, majestic climax. Win Butler’s voice is desperate, dramatic and urgent, as if the whole world’s going to hell and only these songs can save it. Yeah, I know the word gets thrown around a lot these days, but Neon Bible is epic. At some point, you would expect to grow tired of it, but the songs are simply too powerful, too good, too gorgeous, and Butler always has something to say — even if “(Antichrist Television Blues)” is only about Joe Simpson, it sounds like so much more. And just as with Funeral, the closer is a doozy — “My Body is a Cage” is the climax to end all climaxes. Where do we go from here?

Arcade Fire – “My Body is a Cage” (the incredible, fan-made, J. Tyler Helms Once Upon a Time in the West video)

2. Badly Drawn Boy – The Hour of Bewilderbeast (2000)

“Please don’t leave me, wanting more, I hope you never die … there’s no need to say why … just promise that you’ll try …”

I bought this album on good word alone, which goes to show there’s still something to be said for recommendations.

Badly Drawn Boy is a bearded, British, bedroom genius in a knit cap, and though I don’t much like the use of “bedroom genius,” it seems to ring true here. (Plus, I liked the alliteration.) The Hour of Bewilderbeast is a bottomless treasure chest full of pop trinkets. Yeah, it’s all over the place at times, but there’s a method to the messiness.

Damon Gough may be tinkering with styles, but everything is rooted in classic pop sensibilities. Hooks come and go with no regrets — there will always be another just around the corner. “Fall in a River” finds its groove just as it ends, and the next part is uncertain, but then, it’s “Camping Next to Water,” which continues on the same theme, only somehow making it lovelier. “Body Rap” is an odd piece, but it’s only a brief interlude before giving way to the melodic “Once Around the Block.” “Magic in the Air” is as enchanting its title. “Pissing in the Wind” is way more enchanting than its title, as is “Epitaph.” Sure, The Hour of Bewilderbeast isn’t perfect, but that only makes it more of an adventure.

Springsteen’s influence loomed large over rock during this decade. That can be traced back to the opening lines of “Everybody’s Stalking,” when Gough offers up the familiar invitation to “strap your hands across my engines.” But this album doesn’t travel down E Street much. The itinerary is original, lost somewhere between Bacharach and Beck.

In the end, listening to this album is familiar in the best possible way. It sounds like going home.

Badly Drawn Boy – “Once Around the Block”

1. The Hold Steady – Separation Sunday (2005)

“The priest just kinda laughed. The deacon caught a draft. She crashed into the Easter Mass with her hair done up in broken glass. She was limping left on broken heels when she said, ‘Father, can I tell your congregation how a resurrection really feels?’ “

I first heard The Hold Steady late at night. “Your Little Hoodrat Friend” was the song. I’d never heard anything quite like it before. It was a jolt of energy — the pure rush of hearing something new, exciting and relevant. It was gritty and exhilarating. Why hadn’t I heard this song before? Where was this band all my life? I listened to the song again. And again. Moments like these are rare.

I’ve probably heard Separation Sunday more than any other album this decade. I still haven’t completely memorized every lyric, and I am very, very good at memorizing lyrics. Perhaps the wordiness adds to its lasting appeal — there’s still some mystery in it. The best concept albums are always the ones that play it loose.

I still hear the criticisms that Craig Finn doesn’t sing as much as he talks, and maybe it’s true, but it never really occurs to me when I’m listening to the songs. As he spits out his words over the righteous rock, bringing the biblical down to the gutters and elevating hoodrats to holiness, my only argument is, “So what? Do you hear this?”

Perhaps it helps if you’re Catholic, as Separation Sunday is a very Catholic album. In Michael Chabon’s novel The Mysteries of Pittsburgh, Art Bechstein calls Born to Run “the most Roman Catholic record album ever made.” Well, we’ve got a new winner. It’s a fitting passing of the torch, too, because I don’t know which album is better, and that’s not blasphemy.

The Hold Steady – “Your Little Hoodrat Friend”