I love lists. I love all the “best of” lists that magazines, newspapers, and bloggers publish at the end of every year. I especially love “discovering” the best albums of the year –sampling a bunch of songs, then heading down to the local record store with a list scribbled out on a used envelope.

This year I decided to try my hand at making one such list. I realized however, that if I were to attempt a “best of” list, I might feel obligated to consider artists I respect but I don’t necessary love, or artists who had a huge influence on pop music, but whom I don’t think are worthy of the hype. Instead, I present my ten favourite albums of the past decade:

1.) Arcade Fire Funeral (2004)
Take the transcendental moments that happen in U2’s best songs and the righteous viserality of The Clash and you have an inkling of the kind of power Arcade Fire’s music has on me. Despite being an album about death, Funeral is filled with clear-eyed hope. Amidst a world encased in snow and ice, scraggily haired children tunnel from window to window –innocence remains as the neighbourhood begins to build a new future.

2.) Sufjan Stevens Illinois (2005)
A concept album about the State of Illinois, Sufjan creates a wholly original brand of progressive folk to accompany tales of aliens, zombies, American folk heroes, biblical characters, ghosts, leukemia patients, and serial killers. His understated tenor acts a counter point to his ambitious arrangements –which reference folk, classical, and pop traditions. His lyrics have the unique ability to note the bizarre irony of the world without glossing over the tragic moments of his characters’ lives. The arrangements are big without being over produced or indulgent, leaving room for the raw power of just a banjo and a voice.

3.) Broken Social Scene You Forgot it in People (2002)
I really didn’t know what I was getting into the first time I listened to Broken Social Scene. “What’s going on? Can this be by a band? Every song sounds so different.” I felt like I was listened to a mix tape: each song hand picked, representing one facet of a larger scene. I found out later that was part of the point. This Toronto collective were not only deconstructing the idea of an “album” but the idea of a “band”. But in a healthy turn of post-modern genius they didn’t stop there; instead they reconstructed both terms, submitting their music with the proud, but sad stamp: “broken”. As their music grew inside me, the disparate songs growing closer together with each successive listen. Broken and brilliant.

4.) M Ward Transfiguration of Vincent (2003)
M. Ward made waves in Indiedom with his album Post-War, and caught the greater public’s eye with his excellent work in She & Him and Monsters of Folk. But for me this
is the album where it started –and is it ever beautiful. M. Ward has a one-of-a-kind voice: gravelly, warm, arresting, broken, gentle, both sincere and ironic. His voice is the constant traveller in a geography of found sounds, intricate finger picking, rag time piano, fuzzed out guitar riffs and snippets of lo-fi recordings.

5.) White Stripes White Blood Cells (2003)
I could have easily picked Elephant or De Stijl, but for me this is where White Stripes began. I remember placing the plain white CD in my discman with hardly any preconceived ideas. I hadn’t heard any songs on the radio, nor seen any videos; I didn’t even have the linear notes or the CD case. Once that raw, punk-sounding guitar kicked in I was hooked. The energy was infectious: so messy, yet concise and direct. It sounded like classic rock chopped up by the kind of punk who spends his time listening to old blues LPs.

6.) Fleet Foxes Fleet Foxes (2008)
Like most people I heard “White Winter Hymnal” first. Bloggers kept throwing it on their playlist of the week. So I gave it a listen. The song’s a cappella opening caught me off guard. This was not your typical brood of indie hipsters. Instead, here were young musicians steeped in old mountain music, singing about a mythology all their own, their voices and instruments drenched in swirling river of reverb. The music quietly worked its way into in my head and humbly refused to leave. Each new song I heard only increased my appetite for more. I was rewarded when I finally bought the album on vinyl: the potent melodies carefully embedded in a steady stream of harmonies sounded that much warmer. Come, Brother, Sister, wade in the water.

7.) The Decemberists The Crane Wife (2006)
Colin Meloy and company take an ancient legend of man who discovers he’s married to a bird and fashions three songs of beautiful melancholy. These songs sit at the thematic centre of this incredible album, filled with rousing chamber folk and intriguing characters –most, it would seem, living in the 19th century: butcher boogie men pick at their fingers with their knives, starving soldiers, bank robbers, sailors lost at sea, and sailors joyously coming home.

8.) Feist Let it Die (2004)
I admit, I resisted Let it Die at first. I hadn’t yet made peace with keyboards –and here were synth riffs reminiscent of –gulp- muzak. Yet Feist’s voice was the furthest thing from fake. And what a voice she has. It’s a voice full seeming paradoxes: fragile and strong, trained and untrained, lounge and punk. Is it any surprise Feist played in a punk outfit before literally losing her voice? She seems to retain that history while moving effortlessly between styles: singer/songwriter’s Ron Sexsmith “Secret Heart” sits beside the Bee Gees’ “Inside and Out”; the old timey blues of “When I Was a Young Girl” seems just as visceral as the radio-friendly “Gatekeeper”.

9.) Daft Punk Alive (2007)
How many folks would put a live album on a list like this –especially one by a dance artist. The concept may not look appealing on paper, but will blow your mind despite any preconceptions. Recorded in Paris, at the start of the French duo’s 2007 world tour, this is the kind of dance music you carry around on your iPod –just in case you’re at a house party where the energy starts to lag. Each track is a brilliant medley –a mash up of their own singles (themselves a mash up of sorts). How they were able to mix and master this concert so beautifully is beyond me: the bass is so round, their studio recordings sound wimpy in comparison.

10.) Vampire Weekend Vampire Weekend (2008)
Some cynics enjoy dismissing these Brooklynites as a bunch of waspy Ivy Leaguers who appropriate afro-pop for their own purposes. Even if this accusation were true, I don’t know if I could stop listening to this album. These talented lads mix joyous afro-pop with the driving force of punk, while adding flourishes all their own. While the band’s prep culture references may seem pretentious or superficial at first –see their lyrics, garb, and album art – I found myself drawn into their tightly constructed narratives. Perhaps they’re simply being honest about where they come from. I’m sure it helps to retain this clarity while navigating the ethical questions on how to play music from other cultures with respect and humility and joy.

Illustrations by Sunil Angrish