Filmų muzika

na, siaip dekada yra 10 metu, ir pagal viska, tai nuo 2010 iki 2019 yra jau dekada praejusi ir laisvai galime daryti visokius listus playlistus, tik as tingiu dabar. 

Top 200 of 2010s decade pagal discogs portalą

https://blog.discogs.com/en/the-200-best-albums-of-the-2010s/

1980-89 eighties

1990-99 nineties

2000-09 noughties.

Pakeitusiu muzika ir ikunijusiu išliekamąją verte savo darbais populiarioje formoje, ne klasikinėje muzikoje. 

Ką reiškia svarbiausi? Turintys daugiausia mass appeal (t.y. tinkantys masėms)? Inovatyviausi ir peržengiantys nusistovėjusias populiariosios muzikos dogmas? O gal labiausiai provokuojantys ir iššaukiantis nesibaigiančias diskusijas? Tokiom definicijom aš neoperuoju ir nelinkiu niekam operuoti. Vienintelis terminas, kurį aš suprantu, be paties subjektyviausio „mėgstamiausi“, yra „geriausi“, bet ir tai, geriausi kame ir kokioje srityje, kokiame žanre? David Bowie ir Kendrick Lamar kažkaip nepalyginsi pagal gerumą, mano galva. 

P.S. dekada dar nesibaigė. Dekadų skirstymas nuo nulinių metų yra toks random... Ar kai tavęs prašo suskaičiuoti iki dešimties, tu pradedi 0, 1, 2...? Dėl to 68 % amerikiečių, apklausoje nurodę, kad dekada yra 2010-2019, yra durni kaip tapkės. Jie turbūt irgi nežino, kad Jėzus negimė nuliniais metais pagal Kristų. Aš, kaip pradedantis skaičiuoti nuo 1, dešimtmetį irgi skaičiuoju nuo pirmųjų metų. 

Čia nėra mano jaunystės muzika. Daugiau orientuojuosi tarp 1988 ir 1997

Aš negalingas šitam plane... 

susidaryk ispudi koki nori, kiekvienam skirtingai. mano topas butu visiskai kitoks.

Tai susidariau įspūdį, kad praėjusios dekados svarbiausių muzikantų būtų toks 10-ukas

1.kendrick lamar

2.kanye west

3.father john misty

4.bon iver

5.lana del rey

6.lcd soundsystem

7.david bowie

8.coldplay

9.radiohead/thom yorke ir bjorke! Bjork'e. Bjorke

Dar swans, muse, arctic monkeys, aphex twin, nick cave, tame impala, the black keys, mgmt, arcade fire. 

Top40

keli paminėtini albumai iš UK ir US (Billboard) praėjusio dešimtmečio perkamiausių albumų.

99. Lady Antebellum, Need You Now (2010)

82. The 1975, I Like It When You Sleep, For You Are So Beautiful Yet So Unaware of It (2016)

58. Sufjan Stevens, Carrie and Lowell (2015)

56. Bon Iver, Bon Iver (2011)

49. David Bowie, Blackstar (2016)

33. Janelle Monáe, Dirty Computer (2018)

32. Tame Impala, Currents (2015)

31. Lana Del Rey, Born to Die (2012)

27. Billie Eilish, When We All Fall Asleep, Where Do We Go? (2019)

12. Daft Punk, Random Access Memories (2013)

Štai keli paminėtini albumai iš Pitchfork paskelbto praėjusio dešimtmečio 200-uko.

Anti-/Fish People

191. Kate Bush: 50 Words for Snow (2011)

On Kate Bush’s only studio album of the decade, she sings about catching a snowflake out of the sky, warning a hunted yeti, and sleeping with a dissolving snowman. And she does so wide-eyed and full-heartedly, even painstakingly. 50 Words for Snow, named for the myth that the Inuit have such a vocabulary, boasts all of her trademark magical realism, fantastical lovers, and far-flung settings, but the songs are more quietly ambitious than past works—almost like chamber pieces. The material is more wistful: Where Bush’s best singles have often been about having something beautiful that you’re about to lose, much of 50 Words for Snow addresses things that are already lost. The wistfulness is often self-referential, as on “Snowed In at Wheeler Street,” a tale of star-crossed lovers with lyrics threaded with references to her old songs. It's music that rewards close attention in an age where that is increasingly rare. –Katherine St. Asaph

Asthmatic Kitty

168. Julianna Barwick: The Magic Place (2011)

Singer and ambient composer Julianna Barwick has mentioned the importance of seeing Empire of the Sun, Steven Spielberg’s epic war film, at a formative age. Most crucially, she remembers its score by John Williams, which featured a boys choir singing the Welsh lullaby “Suo Gan.” Her breakthrough album, The Magic Place, summons similar moments of peace amid chaos. Her primary mode of expression is her voice and a loop pedal, layered to feel completely enveloping: the reverb-coated sound of singing and breathing, echoed until you forget where it’s coming from. Arriving early in a decade that would find other young artists drawing inspiration from the once-maligned New Age genre, the album represented a shift in how the underground could embrace the celestial. As the world was getting louder, Barwick was building her own sanctuary, full of light and space and strange enough to feel like home. –Sam Sodomsky

Milan

154. Mica Levi: Under the Skin OST (2014)

With her soundtrack to Jonathan Glazer’s 2013 body horror film Under the Skin, the electronic musician and composer Mica Levi drew on the dissonance of avant-garde icons like John Cage and Gyorgy Ligeti, adding her own, distinct chill. Throughout the score, violas, cellos, and drum machines are slowed down to grim effect, perfectly mirroring Scarlett Johansson’s performance as a seductive, murderous alien. Beyond amplifying the visuals, Levi explored the pure physicality of noise: the thrum of blood rushing to the head, the prickling of small hairs, a soft touch, or the sensation of an otherworldly lifeform drinking you down to your last drop. –Andy Beta

136. Tim Hecker: Ravedeath, 1972 (2011)

When Tim Hecker released Ravedeath, 1972 in 2011, critics interpreted the Canadian producer’s clash of organic pipe organ and synthetic corrosion as a comment on music’s chances of survival in a digital world. In 2019, that matter seems superficial compared to Ravedeath’s unavoidable contemporary resonance. Its grimy, eddying tundras are nothing less than an omen of our promised apocalypse, where decay has defeated living matter and noise has drowned out signal. The music, however, remains gorgeous and rooted in the metaphysical. While the forlorn cirrus wisps that writhe and glimmer through the static don’t offer anything so trite as optimism, they cast the ruins in the sobering relief that elevates Ravedeath, 1972 from ambient reverie to enduringly urgent confrontation. –Laura Snapes

134. M83: Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming (2011)

Around the time Anthony Gonzalez wound down the tour for 2008’s Saturdays = Youth, the M83 frontman left France and moved to Los Angeles. The city inspired his biggest, best, and most cinematic album, Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming. These songs are steeped in a kind of magical realism stemming from the intensity of adolescent emotions, full of heart-on-sleeve choruses, slap-bass funk, vintage synth swells, and a desire for home or love or something just out of reach. The album contains a loose narrative that has something to do with brothers and sisters, but you don’t need to know any of the story to get swept up in the neon-lit groove of “Midnight City” or swept away by the tidal wave that is “Steve McQueen.” Gonzalez’s nostalgia is very specific, very personal, and very idiosyncratic, which makes Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming sound so universal and inviting, not to mention sturdy enough to withstand the wave of imitators that sprang up in its wake. –Stephen Deusner

128. Radiohead: A Moon Shaped Pool (2016)

When A Moon Shaped Pool entered the world in May 2016, many of the horrors Radiohead had spent more than two decades warning us about were coming to fruition. Campaigns for Brexit and Trump were spreading odious strains of nationalism. The Earth’s temperature was reaching precipitous new highs. Nefarious companies were harvesting data from tens of millions of Facebook users in order to undermine American democracy. The record also arrived amid acute personal tragedy for Thom Yorke, who had announced a separation from his partner, Rachel Owen, the year prior. (Seven months after its release, Owen died following a long battle with cancer.) It’s no wonder that, according to one scientific analysis, A Moon Shaped Pool was found to be the infamously bleak band’s most depressing album.

And yet the record does not wallow. The stubbornly forward-facing quintet allows itself to look back—most notably with “True Love Waits,” a live fan favorite since the mid ’90s, finally put to tape in the studio—while avoiding self-parody or indulgence. On the luminous ballad “Daydreaming,” Yorke sounds like he’s levitating when he sings, “We are just happy to serve... you.” It’s a nod to the symbiotic bond Radiohead keeps with their listeners through the worst of times, a bond that this album elegantly upholds. –Ryan Dombal

112. Daft Punk: Random Access Memories (2013)

Thomas Bangalter and Guy de-Homem Christo spent more than a million dollars to make their triumphant comeback record, Random Access Memories. It showed. In rejection of the frictionless EDM sounds then at their commercial peak, Daft Punk went straight to the source in their quest to revive some of their favorite analog styles. They booked time in a handful of the world’s most renowned studios to record the disco pioneer Nile Rodgers, several hall-of-fame session musicians, and vocalists including Pharrell and Panda Bear, then painstakingly pieced together their work into songs that span poppy funk, prog, new wave, soft-rock balladry, and even spoken word (courtesy of electro godhead Giorgio Moroder). As a whole, the album plays like an eclectic radio transmission beamed in from an imagined past.

The highlight remains “Touch,” a psychedelic showstopper sung by ’70s songwriter Paul Williams, best known for his work with Barbara Streisand and the Carpenters. At one point in the intricately arranged song, a space-age choir gives way to Williams’ voice—delicate yet firm—backed by nothing but a grand piano. “Sweet touch, you’ve almost convinced me I’m real,” he muses, a mouthpiece for the mysterious duo who remind us just how tangible music can be. –Noah Yoo

Aphex Twin: Syro (2014)

Syro is the kind of album you return to in order to remind yourself why you fell in love with electronic music in the first place. To enjoy it is to luxuriate in perfectly executed fundamentals of composition: the resolution of a chord progression, the precise arrangement of percussion that transforms a straight beat into a syncopated one, the discernible shape of a melody that drifts and changes without losing its essential character. And while the music comes from many sources—techno, house, ambient, and various branches of electropop are always present, in ever-shifting proportions—you get the sense that this particular arrangement of sounds, with its rhythmic quirks and signature tuneful flourishes, could only come from one person. After the shock of hearing new music from Richard D. James subsided—released with little warning, Syro was the first new Aphex Twin album in 13 years—we had time to appreciate that this was one of his very best records, which is to say that it’s one of the best instrumental electronic records ever made. –Mark Richardson

77. Four Tet: There Is Love in You (2010)

For the first time in his career, Kieran Hebden decided to test out new songs—the material that would become There Is Love in You—by blasting them in clubs. When “Love Cry” reached the partying masses, they screamed with approval, and each time he played it, he tightened it more and more based on the crowd’s reaction. Fresh from collaborations with the iconic percussionist Steve Reid and in an arguable creative peak in his career, Hebden harnessed the thrill of these surroundings to create a tribute to music’s transportive power, its ability to make you feel so chemically blissed-out that the stresses of life fall away. He even plants the seeds of his own autobiographical joy, amplifying the literal heartbeat of his godson and recording a friend’s kid playing a toy piano. It’s an album that focuses on the love within all of us, and to get us there, Hebden meditates on his own happy place. –Evan Minsker

56. Björk: Vulnicura (2015)

On her eighth studio LP, Björk returns divorce to the arena of biblical sin. A monstrous take on the breakup album, Vulnicura bypasses heartbreak records’ usual sensitivities, demanding “emotional respect” like an angry god berating a malign species. Zero-gravity beats (co-produced by Arca) splice with close-miked vocals and string section heraldry, situating Björk’s despair in an ancient tradition—one that knows agony is a form of majesty. On “Black Lake,” she sings to her ex, “You fear my limitless emotions.” Emotional maximalism is not a chance fact of this superstar’s existence, the album reminds us, but her core philosophy. By lamenting one man’s failure, she demands reckoning from all her listeners, illuminating the sacred bond between art and principle. –Jazz Monroe

16. Joanna Newsom: Have One on Me (2010)

Joanna Newsom has called Have One on Me her “early ’70s California singer-songwriter album”—and indeed, there are implicit references to Joni Mitchell and the smooth, layered arrangements of Laurel Canyon in centerpieces like “In California” and “Good Intentions Paving Co.” Her songwriting, newly direct here, often concerns falling in and out of love, drinking and dancing, leaving home and coming back. Among the most beautiful ballads in her catalog, “Baby Birch” pairs her harp with electric guitar to stark, almost confessional effect; it’s the rare Newsom composition that could be drawn from the traditional American songbook.

As the follow-up to 2006’s wildly ambitious Ys, even just the barroom title of Have One on Me seems to signal a more earthbound turn from a harpist who often composes with a full orchestra in mind. But through these songs, Newsom’s greatest asset remains the cosmic grandeur she brings to even the most familiar scenes. “You give love a little shove and it becomes terror,” she sings on “Soft as Chalk,” a quiet warning from a songwriter known to dissect the simplest truths until they turn mystical and strange. –Sam Sodomsky

4. Kendrick Lamar: To Pimp a Butterfly (2015)

When Kendrick Lamar released his third studio album, To Pimp a Butterfly, he spoke about the title’s contrast between a butterfly—delicate, bright, free—and “pimp”: a word that hearkens aggression, deviance, and exploitation. The album itself is a dance between this dichotomy, one black Americans know all too well: between pain and beauty and what happens when one is informed by the other. Lamar invites us to Compton to watch him sermonize from his front porch while jazz, funk, and soul bands rove through, providing the melodies to his experimental beats. With assists from Kamasi Washington, Thundercat, the Isley Brothers, and George Clinton, he shows the range and harmony of black creativity; with his sharp and empathetic lyrics, he gives us the playfulness and joy of “King Kunta,” the frustration and didacticism of “The Blacker the Berry,” and the plain hope of “Alright.”

There’s music made by black people and then there’s black music: songs that hit you in the chest and make their way into your bloodstream, that become part of you. TPAB was released in the spring of 2015, three years after Trayvon Martin was gunned down, and over a year after Michael Brown and Eric Garner were murdered; Lamar knew that pain and knew, too, that more was to come. But with this album, he steeled us against the future and gave us not just anthems but prayers. He gave us the album he knew we’d need to keep going, as we always have. –Kara Brown

Beyoncé: Beyoncé (2013)

“We be all night,” Beyoncé proclaimed on “Drunk in Love,” the most meme-ready track on her self-titled album. She was singing about riding her husband’s big body like a surfboardt, but she may as well have been referring to the way listeners gulped down Beyoncé, which dropped at midnight on a Thursday and seemed to envelop all of social media into the dawn hours while also revolutionizing how albums are conceived and released.

The first major pop album to adapt to the way we listen to, and watch, music in the YouTube age, her first “visual album” couldn’t have worked if it weren’t Beyoncé at her absolute best. Over 14 tracks, she peels through her exhaustive musical vocabulary: married-woman trap bangers, ’80s-influenced roller-rink jams, grown-ass R&B, burlesque backseat scores, contemporary blues ballads. And then there was “Flawless,” which sampled Nigerian novelist Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s 2012 TEDX talk and helped establish Beyoncé as a fierce interpreter and purveyor of black feminist thought for the pop masses.

It’s difficult to understate how enduringly Beyoncé shifted culture (“I woke up like this!”), reasserting the artist as a full-spectrum visionary who was also dreaming up the future, invigorating the industry, maturing in her marriage, and blossoming into first-time motherhood. There is no doubt we’ll still be discussing it for decades to come. –Julianne Escobedo Shepherd

2. Kanye West: My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy (2010)

The sheer audacity of Kanye West’s My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy is matched only by its overwhelming appetite. Born in a period of strife amid self-imposed exile, during a near-mythic island summit of rap superfriends in Hawaii, MBDTF is an exercise in God-level debauchery. It is at turns baroque and symphonic, with song-length Auto-Tuned codas, posse-cut performances that redefined the form, and an immense phantasmagoria of light and sound that threatens to overshadow its A-list cameos. It was a creation that accurately reflected West’s massive ego, in a period of rare bruising: By 2010, he’d drunkenly antagonized Taylor Swift, symbol of All-American sweetness, and been called a jackass by a sitting president. But instead of apologizing, Kanye conjured a warped, all-encompassing vision of excess, a toast to the assholes, a battle cry for fellow monsters. It was a huge risk that proved not just redemptive but deifying.

MBDTF’s songs are meticulously designed set-pieces that ably house all their drama. West goes bar-for-bar with Raekwon on “Gorgeous,” leveling some of his sharpest critiques of race, class, and rap iconography, only moments after pairing beatmaking legends RZA and No I.D. together on an epic deserving of an opera house. The endearing douchebag anthem “Runaway” stripped Kanye of any remaining pretense, his singing bald and honest, and reintroduced Pusha T as his attack dog. With the industry in flux and rap sales lagging, the new landscape began to take shape in My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy’s wake. It spearheaded the first wave of great albums produced this decade; the two biggest rappers of the next generation, Drake and Kendrick Lamar, followed Kanye’s lead overtly on their breakthrough records. Bon Iver’s profile was exponentially boosted by this album. Pusha and Nicki Minaj aren’t really Pusha and Nicki Minaj without it. And for Kanye, MBDTF remains the most pristine jewel in a collection of rare artifacts—a perfectionist’s brush with perfection. –Sheldon Pearce

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