A long look back at the albums that made my 2010s, from SZA to Led Zeppelin
This year I moved back into my teenage bedroom. That’s where I’m writing this now – quite apt for the skip down memory lane I’m about to do. Yes, skip: excitedly, like the child I still was in the early ’10s, because approaching the end of a decade and realising so many albums have defined it is a fascinating thing. It’s even more fascinating that, as I’m 21, it’s the first decade from which I can compile a list like this. It makes me wonder what I will choose in another ten years’ time.
I’ve occasionally tried to go back to the albums I’ll be talking about here but, and this is especially true for the earlier few, it’s hard to experience them in the context of where I am now as opposed to whatever glued them to a particular stage in my life back then. It’s hard to peel these albums back from these times when the glue is already stubbornly dry.
This is different to the album ranking lists music publications do every year, where the contest is obviously about generally perceived artistic triumph rather than anyone’s personal experience. What I like about this list is that it’s pretty much unique to me: it’s mine.
I’ve always been someone who experiences everything quite intensely and internally, with music carrying this along and creating spaces in my head in which I can process things. I realise this is true for many others too, which is partly why I wanted to share the albums of my decade so people could see their experiences of music reflected in mine. But it’s not always that deep – sometimes certain music just makes me feel really good, and I hit play on these songs so often that they end up defining a stage in my life in their own fun way.
Not all of these albums were released in the years that I’m associating them with, mostly because I was either too young to have caught them at their release or I wasn’t even born. However, some of them defined their attributed year largely because they had just been launched into the world. (Especially if by complete surprise. We’ll get to that later.) Sometimes, when that happens, it’s almost impossible to get away from, maybe because it causes a cultural shift… or it’s just that good.
I would love to hear other people’s albums of their decade, so if you’re reading this and already know what all or some of yours would be, please share them with me.
2010: The Script, Science and Faith
The Script were legitimately my first favourite band and my first bought CD. I lived through Busted and McFly but I just didn’t hold onto them in the same way. Because I also grew up in the era of Limewire and Youtube-to-MP3 converters, I can’t remember how I first discovered them or why I got the CD. What I do remember is putting it into the DVD player at home and playing it on the TV, which seems like a really weird thing to do today (well, owning a CD altogether is starting to feel that way). I uploaded it to iTunes and put it on my purple iPod Nano. It was my first proper experience of going through an album and replaying it over and over, actually feeling the emotions of each song even though I’d never experienced the heartbreak and loneliness Danny O’Donoghue was singing about. Maybe I could apply it to crushes I had at school, but that was about it.
Since this album I’ve never looked twice at the ones that came after. Not that I just assumed they’d get worse, but because hearing their next singles on the radio or music video channel was enough: for me, it was just going in the wrong direction. It was, and continues to be for them, the classic ‘we want to explore new avenues’ band thing where they eventually get boxed into the pop genre and then find it hard to find their way out again. But their peak was genuinely this album – there isn’t a bad song, and each one flows into the next like a beautiful stream of guitars and aching vocals.
Favourite track: You Won’t Feel A Thing
2011: Paramore, Brand New Eyes (2009)
Continuing my first foray into contemporary rock (classic would come later), influenced by what people in older years were listening to, I discovered Paramore. Ah, Paramore – they’re a band that you don’t realise hasn’t actually released that many albums until you look back through their discography and notice the gaping holes between 2009’s Brand New Eyes, 2013’s Self-Titled and 2017’s After Laughter (read my review of the latter here). Usually with rock bands, they pump them out nearly every year like a factory. But with a band like Paramore, their work actually seeps into these gaps in time like leaking ink from its depth and lasting influence.
At the time, everything about them seemed fresh: Hayley’s powerful, broadly American-accented belting with the heavy rock was a pairing that I hadn’t come across in my limited musical journey. It was the first female-fronted band I got stuck into, and the ‘female-fronted’ part wasn’t lost on me as a 13-year-old. Up until this point, a rock band meant a group of men who all looked roughly the same clad in all black, shouting into their studio microphones about how awful life and the world was. Not that negative feeling isn’t a strong theme in Paramore’s music; more that it has the feminine force of undiluted vulnerability that’s carried by Hayley’s vocals. Another highlight for me was the fantasy worlds Paramore often constructs, particularly in ‘Brick by Boring Brick’, which paints a picture of a dark and angst-ridden fairytale.
Like Science & Faith for The Script and for the same reasons, this seems to be Paramore’s most classic album.
Favourite track: Brick by Boring Brick
2012: Imagine Dragons, Night Visions
Imagine Dragons seemed like the Big New Thing at the time of their debut, didn’t they? To me, a 14-year-old just navigating the pop rock landscape, at least. I remember being captivated by their huge and epic sound, feeling like I was experiencing the absolute cutting edge 2012 revolution of music as I walked up the hill to secondary school. Now, this is almost snorting laugh-worthy. Even in 2014 it was, when I geared myself up for an amazing set by the band at Leeds Festival, only to be confused and disappointed by their long drum solo interludes. The reason for them, I could only conclude, was to be (or seem) experimental in the live presentation of their music. That set seemed to diffuse any remaining flame of interest I had in the band.
In 2012, however, ‘It’s Time’ was released and its foot-stomping sound caught onto me tightly. It must have been in film trailers or soundtracks, or should have been, which would have only bolstered their identity – again, to me – as this new dystopian, adventurous, inspirational-sounding band. When I listen back, this album is one of those most stubbornly stuck in its year of debut. If it was released today, I’m not sure it would be taken as seriously. Perhaps this is helped by hindsight. Saying that, I would put it in the same category as ‘Centuries’ by Fall Out Boy, which was used in the Assassins Creed film and did come out a couple of years later. 2014 still falls within the era dystopia-obsessed media, however. I think, ultimately, this is what makes me grimace now. Think The Hunger Games – also 2012. The desperate vocals seemed to be larger than any emotion and stretch for miles around you; this was why I loved them at the time, but now, this is probably why they make me uncomfortable. It doesn’t feel quite as human and vulnerable as I want it to. I listen compulsively to Stevie Nicks now, for god’s sake.
I’m criticising Night Visions quite strictly here, but really, it’s still earned a place on this list. It completely defined its year, I listened on repeat, and it felt so different to the existing music trends at the time. Most of all it makes me realise how things, and I, have changed.
Favourite track: It’s Time
2013 (part 1): Arctic Monkeys, AM
How much of my obsession with Arctic Monkeys in 2013 was due to my crush on Alex Turner? Perhaps more than I care to admit. This was a big one though – prior to this, my investment in rock had largely been a hand-me-down from my older sister and what the cool indie kids her age had been listening to. My Chemical Romance, Paramore, You Me At Six. I was mostly on the cusp of being old enough to catch these bands, but not quite in the circle. Arctic Monkeys felt like they were my own ‘cool band’ when they returned in 2012 with R U Mine?, even though they’d been going since 2007 and I hadn’t bat an eyelid. They had revised their sound quite dramatically so that they felt like a new band. The attempt to bring back rock and roll (which was apparently “ready to make its way back through the sludge”, as Alex Turner so literarily put it in his high BRITS speech), helped by Alex Turner’s Grease-style look, was appealing as a 15-year-old.
It’s a similar thing to Imagine Dragons. Clearly, Arctic Monkeys have changed quite dramatically once again after seven years. I strained to enjoy Tranquillity Base Hotel & Casino, still having not granted it a rotation since the week it was released. When I look or listen back to AM, it’s simply soaked in nostalgia. As if it couldn’t be any more of its time, the tracklist literally includes a song called ‘2013’ with the lyrics ‘two thousand and thirteen, all across the galaxy’ and comments about Apple taking over people’s lives. Now, it’s reminiscent of those Tumblr posts that say things like, ‘well done to everyone for getting through 2011’ and it’s dragged up every year with ironic reblogs, becoming some existential joke.
Despite my reservations about Arctic Monkeys as they currently are, their 2013 comeback was completely unforgettable and was a secondary school staple in both the heyday of Tumblr and the early days of Instagram. I delved into Alex Turner’s relationship history, pained at his breakup with Alexa Chung. I felt like I was redefining myself through the album. The combination of rock sound and massive popularity pushed the fascination along. The live set at Leeds Festival sealed the envelope and put a stamp on it.
Favourite track: One for the Road
2013 (part 2): Beyoncé, BEYONCÉ
With the way this post is currently going, you would probably reasonably predict that this section will also end with ‘I feel differently now, though’. Erm – nope. This is still going strong. The only things that I suppose has changed are firstly that I don’t listen to this album often, but it’s stayed on such a high pedestal in my mind since it was released that I don’t need to. That’s the distinction between Beyoncé and the rest of the artists in this post. The longevity for them isn’t there, or isn’t guaranteed to be. Also, Beyoncé has branched out so much since this album in terms of her cultural importance, the richness of her music and her aim to achieve a legacy rather than a number of streams or #1s.
When Beyoncé surprise-dropped BEYONCÉ in December 2013 with zero promotion, I honestly initially wasn’t bothered. So far in her career, she’d slightly piqued my interest with certain songs, but they didn’t feel culturally groundbreaking in the way that they continue to be since this album. They were very well made songs, harking all the way back to Destiny’s Child where she and the rest of the group had a lot of control over their music production and during which she secured many iconic hits. I was particularly excited recently when I found out that not only did Destiny’s Child sample the intro to ‘Edge of Seventeen’ (I can’t believe I didn’t know this before), worlds collided by Stevie Nicks actually starring in the ‘Bootylicious’ video. Apart from that, though, I had accepted the limit her work had reached in my head. When the ‘world stopped’ upon the BEYONCÉ release, this obviously drew my attention to it.
My early explorations into feminism both helped, and were caused by, my interest in this album. The conversations surrounding Beyoncé’s suddenly unapologetic sexuality and women doing this in general were significant to me as a teenage girl. It was an eye-opener to the preconceptions already placed on Beyoncé as a woman and artist, and the hostility to her shattering these – largely due to her blackness. Of course, people weren’t aware that Beyoncé would go onto address blackness explicitly on her next album.
I see BEYONCÉ as the strong marker of a turning point in my music taste towards R&B, and the start of a phase of listening to this genre almost exclusively.
Favourite track: Haunted
2014: Nicki Minaj, The Pinkprint
Continuing from my venture into feminism in music and hearing Nicki’s single collaboration with Beyoncé on ‘Feeling Myself’ (which quickly became a cultural classic at parties and with young women), The Pinkprint introduced itself to me as the first rap album I properly delved into. Significantly, it was by a woman. Nicki Minaj was to me in the rap world what Beyoncé was in the R&B world (well, and in hindsight, now the entire music world): a kind of formidable force miles and miles ahead of everyone else with a steadily increasing justification to say exactly that about herself. That was a huge part of it – the way in which Nicki tells you she’s the best around gives you confidence yourself, but not only that, it’s validated by the skill of her lyricism, the unique quality of her raps and the creativity of her entire brand.
Very much parallel to BEYONCÉ, The Pinkprint was proud in its femininity. This was clear just from Nicki’s reimagining of Jay-Z’s original album title The Blueprint. Now, I think Nicki has moved on from proving herself as a woman and has been trying to prove herself as still the greatest female rapper against new rival talent that has since emerged. The significant example here is Cardi B. Not only this, but she’s moved on to proving herself as the greatest rapper, period. Similar to Beyoncé, except she has to work a bit harder, Nicki has had such a long career that it’s now about pointing out her longevity and retaining it.
To this day I think The Pinkprint is Nicki’s most successful project. I really wanted Queen to surpass it, and although I enjoyed the matured confidence on that album, it just didn’t for me. I couldn’t help feeling like anyone could stick the title Queen on their album to denote superiority, and throw together a bunch of assertive raps. I personally prefer the overall style, vulnerability and more solidified concept of The Pinkprint.
Favourite track: The Crying Game
2015: Lianne La Havas, Blood
I’ve been waiting since 2015 for another Lianne La Havas album. She’s my favourite artist in British Neo Soul, closely followed by Amy Winehouse and Jorja Smith, but she takes time to make her albums. This isn’t really a complaint – I’d rather any album be paid careful attention to before it gets thrown out into the world (I’m reluctantly thinking about Rihanna, here… where is the album though?!) – but Lianne La Havas is so unique and emotionally captivating it’s hard not to miss her as we approach the 5-year mark.
I can’t remember how I got into Lianne, but upon the arrival of Blood, I was fully invested. I loved seeing how her sound had developed since Is Your Love Big Enough? I also definitely wasn’t short of songs to wallow in my hormonal misery as a 17-year-old. Lianne’s gentle voice, not attempting to hide her London accent which injects yet further charm, paints the picture of a quiet acoustic session in a small bedroom on a rainy night. Her unique voice doesn’t strain on the happier songs, either, and just creates more power on tracks such as ‘What You Don’t Do’.
Lianne La Havas brought feminine vulnerability into my music library where a saturation of feminine empowerment meant it fell short. Her vintage style comes through even in the more modernised design of Blood, something that I’m still heavily interested in and I hope continues to shine in her next offering.
Favourite track: Green & Gold
2016: Beyoncé, Lemonade
I had plenty of time after BEYONCÉ to prepare for this release. Yet, although fans knew the album was bubbling under the surface, ready to emerge at any time, they didn’t know when. That was in the hands of Beyoncé and her thumb on the Instagram ‘share’ button. Or her social media team and their thumbs – I don’t know.
I’m that serious that I stayed up all night to watch a shaky livestream of the Lemonade album film on Periscope. Obviously, because the stream was inundated with fans screaming in the comments at the side, it kept crashing. It’s all part of the experience…
This album genuinely changed culture in so many ways: how people think about how well we know artists and their private lives; people realising Beyoncé’s pride in her blackness and the resonance the issues she touches on today; conversations about forgiveness in marriage; historically racial problems of infidelity caused by society’s pressures on black men.
The album fuses so many musical genres, from country on ‘Daddy Lessons’ to rock on ‘Don’t Hurt Yourself’. Another fusion of performance and art is so important for this album too, because it goes firmly hand-in-hand with its film. So much so that I can’t listen to a single song on this album without visualising the scene that goes with it.
This is an album that didn’t just define my decade – it defined this decade’s music culture and industry, irrefutably. This album made Beyoncé into the legend that she was already becoming, and sealed the (already pretty secure) deal that I’ll be a fan for the rest of my life.
2017: SZA, CTRL
Who, after listening to this album and falling in love with it from start to finish, hasn’t laid on their bed with it blaring it into their ears, staring at the wall? With its ‘stream of consciousness’ style lyrics with a fragile and conversational flavour, SZA’s amazingly candid CTRL felt like an insight into the way I think and even write. It’s painfully honest, venturing towards a place that I wish more artists would – especially female. It’s funny in its honesty. SZA also has a genius knack for coming up with the most heart-wrenching melodies without losing the funk of her music.
This album has been put in the high-up category, already resided by the likes of Frank Ocean, of that album you go to when you just want to be sad. The first “lo-o-o-ve” of ‘Love Galore’ is enough to have you zoning out to reminisce.
Whilst I wish SZA felt the same way – she has the classic imposter syndrome that many of us have, albeit adding to her charm – this album is already a classic. In its uncertainty and vulnerability, it joins together to make a beautifully strong chain of emotions.
Favourite track: Supermodel
2018 (part 1): Lily Allen, No Shame
I feel like just copying and pasting what I’ve said above into this section, because No Shame is a very similar idea. However, there’s clearly differences in the concepts of each album: CTRL represents the experiences of a black woman navigating life and relationships in her 20s, whereas Lily Allen’s work seems more specific to her as an individual. Take ‘Come On Then’, an amusingly calm picking of a fight with trolls on her social media. ‘I’m a bad mother, I’m a bad wife…’ It’s a slightly more matured diary entry than SZA’s. However, it’s still deeply rooted in being a woman today. It’s also unavoidably British, with its references to the NHS (which, admittedly, may not age well), Lily’s signature accented vocal, and the features of London rappers Giggs and Lady Chann.
Lily touches on issues of mental illness, social media, strained parent relationships, and feminism, all under the same strained roof of becoming a wife and a mother. The album is largely desperate and sad, but the happy tracks shine blindingly out of the cracks: ‘Pushing Up Daisies’ tells the wholesome dream of Lily and her partner growing old together; ‘Waste’ featuring Lady Chann is a self-assured reggae bop.
This album is a clear sign of Lily’s growth as a woman and artist. Putting this beside ‘Sheezus’ speaks for itself. However, she keeps the honest London charm that brought her to stardom in the first place with her first singles. I can’t wait to see what Lily does next.
Favourite track: Apples
2018 (part 2): Queen, Bohemian Rhapsody: The Official Soundtrack
This film will always stay with me as the thing that kickstarted my love for – [clears throat] here we go – biopics (especially the music variety), the 60s and 70s, vintage, Queen, and classic rock. Looking back, I have the ability to critique Bohemian Rhapsody as a film, but back when I first watched it literally no film critique thoughts crossed my mind. I was too involved in the story of the band. The film felt transcendental and the start of a new era, even as it told the story of one past. Like many of my friends, I knew Queen songs, but didn’t hear them constantly in my everyday life, and there were songs I vaguely knew but didn’t realise or care that they were Queen. This film’s soundtrack was like a wise elder that beckoned me into the band’s discography, starting this education off with the film versions of all the biggest songs.
After you fall in love with a film, often the best way to relive it is to play its soundtrack over and over (if it has one) until that’s no longer enough and you need to watch the film again. The soundtrack combines with the film’s cast, who I continue to adore, and memories of the scenes the songs fall into. This made it my second defining album of 2018.
Favourite track: Seven Seas of Rhye
2019 (part 1): Led Zeppelin, Led Zeppelin (1969)
After Bohemian Rhapsody, I dived headfirst into everything Queen. This included every photo that could be uncovered and every interview I could possibly scrape from the bottom of the Youtube barrel. I found out that Queen had admired Led Zeppelin in their early years – again, a band that I have always known about, but perhaps made presumptions about and, combined with their astronomical status as classic music legends, had therefore never bothered to get into them. Looking back now, I’m incredulous that I never did before this year. Even if I didn’t end up liking them, why had I never considered trying one of their songs? Was it because I vaguely new ‘Immigrant Song’ from that scene in School of Rock and therefore, that was enough that the room in the pop culture section of my brain could accommodate for?
Whatever it was, I’m now thoroughly educated. The first album I listened to was, naturally, their 1969 debut. This has remained my favourite since I have listened to their later work. Now I’m aware that a lot of the album is Zepp-ified covers of existing songs, such as ‘How Many More Times’ and my favourite ‘Babe I’m Gonna Leave You’. Even if they’re covers, though, this doesn’t take away from Led Zeppelin’s musical genius in transforming them. It also helped to paint a bigger picture of the birth of classic rock in the 60s that I ashamedly knew too little about. Working on my university creative writing project at the time, in which I included photography of 1960s-80s working class Britain, it was a fitting soundtrack of the rebellion felt at the time.
Favourite track: Babe I’m Gonna Leave You
2019 (part 2): Elton John & Taron Egerton, Rocketman: Music from the Motion Picture
After the Queen biopic, I really didn’t imagine having the opportunity to experience the same thing all over again with Rocketman. I don’t know why I didn’t expect it. It’s the same era, the same issues touched on. However, I knew even less about Elton John and definitely nothing about Taron Egerton. Oh, how that would change.
Taron Egerton is a stunning force to be reckoned with in this film, and it’s driven forward enormously by his singing talent. I actually think this soundtrack is a masterpiece. It elevates Elton John and Bernie Taupin’s already massive songs into works of musical theatre. It’s just fun from beginning to end, transporting you back to the 70s and 80s with a modern man in the form of Taron Egerton at the helm. The songs are full of cheekiness, humour and joy.
Favourite track: Honky Cat
Honorary mentions (in no particular order)
Stevie Nicks, Bella Donna and Wild Heart
Fleetwood Mac, Greatest Hits
Harry Styles, Fine Line
Mumford & Sons, Babel
Ellie Goulding, Lights
My Chemical Romance, Welcome to the Black Parade
Snow Patrol, Fallen Empires
Drake, Nothing Was the Same
The 1975, The 1975
The Weeknd, Beauty Behind The Madness
You Me At Six, Sinners Never Sleep
BGT writing 