1. Arctic Monkeys: Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not
Domino
As if number one could be anything else./ A 13-track A-bomb of raucous, revved-up skiffle, Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not is stuffed with beefy hooks and balls-on-the-line attitude. Musically, the Sheffield youngsters leaned heavily on the trebly revival of post-punk guitar relish, but the proggy theatrics of the newer tracks pointed to a band with a big future. Meanwhile, Alex Turner's evocative and inclusively ordinary lyrics were a true one-off: a giddy brew of social realism and deadpan wit realised with a thrifty surety. Released in January, it was obvious to any sentient human being that this was going to be one of the creative high spots of 2006. Small wonder that it became the fastest-selling debut album in British history. (SB)
2. Amy Winehouse: Back To Black
Island
She started the year amid criticism from all corners over her dramatic weight loss and ended it heralded as the new queen of UK cool; with hair messier than a sleepover with Pete Doherty, a mouth like a drunken fish wife and an album swelling with the kind of lump-in-throat emotional soul last heard sometime in the late 70s, somewhere in Detroit. Hence it was somewhat of a surprise when it reared its sultry head again in 2006, and in Camden of all places. With near genius production from hip pop mainstay Mark Ronson (who also had a finger in the tasty pie that was Lily Allen's debut), stomping, romping punk-rock-jazz was the order of the day as Ms Winehouse showed everyone what being a real lady is all about. (LC)
3. Hot Chip: The Warning
EMI
Along with the disappointed few who placed a cheeky tenner on them down the bookies, The Chip - as nobody calls them - thought this year's Mercury Music Prize was in the bag, but much like with this list, lost out to the Arctic Monkeys and their righteous ASBO-pop. However, the band scooped a far better prize in the shape of the hearts and minds of a nation of part-time ravers, who, like veritable monkeys with miniature cymbals, couldn't help but repeat endlessly how the blokes who looked a little like Timmy Mallet's slow brothers had reinvented dance music by bridging the hefty gap between earnest chill-out and dancefloor mayhem. (LC)
4. Lily Allen: Alright, Still
Regal
On paper, Lily Allen was wrong. She was a celebrity's daughter, which never helps; her voice was undistinguished and her Mockney musings about London life seemed as authentic as a trustafarian's dreadlocks. But it worked. Go figure. It transpired that Allen had personality and cutting wit, not to mention proper tunes (of which song-of-the-summer Smile was the brightest and best). Alright, Still also benefited from great timing - released in July, it became the feelgood hit (vitriolic core and all) of the holiday season. And in bleak midwinter, its effect lingers. Why, oh why, as Allen might ask, would you want to hear anything else? (CS)
5. Ghostface Killah: Fishscale
Def Jam
While Young Jeezy claimed to be "your favourite rapper's favourite
rapper", Dennis Coles proved once again why he remains the hip-hop
connoisseur's emcee of choice. Fishscale, the Wu-Tang Clan wordsmith's fifth solo LP, failed to turn Ghostface in to a pop star, in spite of the presence of the radio-tooled Back Like That, with a sung chorus from R&B up-and-comer Ne-Yo. This may have been no surprise, but is still a shame: Ghost is one of the most dazzling creative talents in contemporary music, a writer of intuitive precision, and a singular vocal presence in a genre with precious little room for emotion or vulnerability. He even released a follow-up a scant eight-and-a-half months later: prolificacy almost unheard of in the modern era. (AB)
6. Joanna Newsom: Ys
Drag City
Such is the well-steeped eloquence of Joanna Newsom that she, and only she, can make a 55-minute album of just five songs woven with tales of monkeys and bears and birds flying into windows and render it thoroughly riveting rather than completely loopy. Not as infectious as The Milk-Eyed Mender, Ys is a richer work, with swollen orchestral arrangements, intricate narratives and lyrical curlicues that at first seem too dense, too overgrown, but with time appear lush rather than impenetrable.
7. Lambchop Damaged
Merge
Lambchop main man Kurt Wagner went into the band's eighth studio album confronting his own fragile mortality full on. With his jaw eaten away by a virulent cyst, Wagner underwent surgery to transplant bone from his hip into his rotting mouth; he then survived a major cancer scare. Lyrical asides on this troubled album also hint at collapsing personal relationships. Like their kindred spirits, Flaming Lips and Grandaddy, Lambchop long ago transcended the alt-country genre that spawned them. Bar the odd plangent swoop of steel guitar, country is a virtual stranger on an album whose musical signature is, rather, a flexible ultra-sensitivity to mood and nuance. Adrift among acoustic alchemy, Wagner murmurs as if merely thinking aloud. (IG)
8. Lupe Fiasco: Lupe Fiasco's Food and Liquor
1st and 15th/Atlantic
In what has been, both creatively and commercially, a disastrous year for hip-hop, the emergence of Lupe Fiasco has felt like a lone beacon of hope on the horizon. The Chicagoan, a friend of Kanye West, broke down the barriers between rap's self-conscious underground and its bling-infected mainstream with a debut album of staggering wit and acuity. Clearly influenced by West, Lupe also owes a debt to his other mentor, Food and Liquor's executive producer, Jay-Z. During 12 months where treading water seemed the best the genre's heavy hitters could manage, Lupe pushed the boat out: but more people need to get on board. (AB)
9. Muse: Black Holes and Revelations
Warners
As their Absolution tour thundered to a close after a trail of blood and broken bones; Matt Bellamy announced that for their next trick, Muse had been heavily influenced by The Strokes. This sounded barmy, as of course it was. But Muse have never been much troubled by reality or reason, and the result of sessions holed up in France and living it large in New York spawned a leap forward even by their standards. Casablancas and Co's smouldering sleaze and boxfresh melody had been assimilated, but after a few times through the Muse filter, it came out sounding like startling sex-funk (Supermassive Black Hole), U2 in pastel shades (Starlight) and an epic battle between Butch Cassidy and a malevolent squadron of Martians (the jaw-dropping Knights Of Cydonia). Outlandish, bonkers brilliance. (DM)
10. Ali Farka Toure: Savane
World Circuit
Released posthumously, Savane is the swansong of a West African guitarist who was - semi-accurately - heralded as the missing link between the blues and African music. Toure was much more than that, of course: mayor of his hometown of Niafunke, a cattle farmer (he and Michael Eavis would had some great chats), and latterly a great enthusiast for collaborating with artists from different traditions.
His collaboration with Toumani Diabate, recorded at the same time as Savane, is another joy. Savane, though, ticks all the boxes. Loping guitars, interjections by ngonis (like a lute) and njarkas (a one-stringed instrument) plus all the space, tranquillity, movement and thoughtfulness of the desert. (KE)
blogs.guardian.co.uk/music/2006/12/blog_top_50.html
