We’re getting towards the sharp end of our mammoth count down now. Here are songs 30-21 of our favourites of the past ten years.
30 Bear Bones – Oil And Lacquer (2010)
An eight-piece folk explosion of rousing, thickly accented, swagger and swing.
29 James McMurtry – Copper Canteen (2015)
Opening with the quasi-funny, possibly serious “Honey don’t you be yelling at me while I’m cleaning my gun“, plucked banjo and descending guitar plot the staging posts of a jaundiced marriage – one of America’s finest, and uneasiest, singer-songwriters.
28 Cave Singers – At The Cut (2009)
A three minute, foot-tapping, bone-trembling dust-up. At The Cut is the Cave Singers at their sweaty, percussion-heavy finest.
27 Eddy Current Suppression Ring – Colour Television (2008)
The insistent guitar is ravaged with a punk attitude I thought was long dead. Could have come from 1976 and share a gob full of spit with the best of that era, by that I mean The Clash and there is no greater praise I can bestow. Another story televised / Another billion hypnotised. Quite
26 The Lumineers – Flapper Girl (2012)
Simple, sincere, parlour-room folk of the most heartfelt and vulnerable kind.
25 Junip – Line Of Fire (2013)
Wistful and reflective; there’s more than a kernal of truth in these insightful lyrics: You realise it’s just a whim/And you notice it matters/Who and what you let under your skin.
24 We Are Augustines – Ohio (2011)
Our second cover in the countdown, We Are Augustines’ stunning take on Damien Jurado’s wonderfully evocative and painfully sad tale of parental kidnap.
23 Jamie T – Spiders Web (2009)
The pretty acoustic guitar motif is offset by Jamie T’s uniquely rasping vocal of part rap, part song and part slur, and all backed up with a rowdy chorus that could blast stone from a quarry.
22 Howling Owls – A Wordsmith’s Reverie (2011)
More queasily understated folk from Howling Owls. With an almost waltz-time feel, here is another perfectly delivered everyday tale of resignation and failed expectations.
21 Damien Jurado – Metallic Cloud (2014)
“It’s a temporary fix / In case you don’t come down’ – and maybe it is. A lingering air of melancholy over a simple soaring musical arrangement, this is (in a way) the musical religion of Damien Jurado. All seeing, all knowing, quietly anthemic and ethereal.