The eMusic Dozen: Best Albums of 2006: 50 - 41

50 Other backpack hip-hop labels maximize in glitched-out electronic and vulgar synthesized squelches, but California label Stones Throw knows the foundation of hip-hop starts with classic soul. The label celebrated their 10th anniversary in '06, and Chrome Children, a partnership with the Adult Swim division of the Cartoon Network, is both a handy summary and field guide to the label's future. Building tracks from cut-up samples and timeless boom-bap, artists like Oh No and Madlib and crooner Dudley Perkins create songs that are full of fire and spirit and — above all else — soul. — J. Edward Keyes

49 The second or third or fourth or fifth Blow album, depending on how you count, is loaded with great first lines: "I guess I'm on the long list of girls who love the shit out of you," "Pardon me, but wasn't that your heart that I felt on the bed, in the bed, in between the sheets?" (If you noticed that they each began with a deferential gesture, why, so they do — the Blow is nothing if not polite.) But then Khaela Maricich’s lyrics go deeper and get darker. "Babay" has a one-word chorus so catchy it's easy not to notice that the verses are sung from the point of view of a creature passing all the way through somebody's digestive system; the Depeche Mode-on-a-20-cent-budget electro synths and handclaps of "Pardon Me" are draped over a desperate plea for more emotional openness from a lover. As most likable, deferential people know, those strategies let you get away with a lot. — Douglas Wolk

47 Forro, dance music from northeastern Brazil, is said to have taken its name from a corruption of English (“for all”) and the idea that this was music for the masses. While this New York group aren’t faithful to the genre’s traditional sound (for one, bamboo flute and guitar replace the usual accordion lead), they share the sentiment. On Bonfires of Sao Joao, Forro in the Dark satisfy all post-sunset appetites. Exhilarating dance numbers give way to slinkier grooves and breezy lullabies. Serial collaborators David Byrne, Bebel Gilberto and Miho Hatori each find a sound that welcomes their vocals — something for everyone, indeed. — Lindsey Thomas

46 Dub-obsessed ghosts in the machine, Basic Channel’s Mark Ernestus and Moritz von Oswald not only merge the spacetimes of dancehall and minimal techno under the moniker Rhythm & Sound, but even created their own one-riddim-album with 2005's See Mi Yah. For this remix album, they brought along the steeliest dancefloor producers to re-work the classic deejays, and so late-'70s dreads like Sugar Minott and Willie Williams get mixed up by producers like François K. and Carl Craig. Chilean DJ Ricardo Villalobos’s remix of “Let We Go” sounds like Steve Reich running a taser up your spine, proving the spirit of dub to be very much alive. — Andy Beta

45 Among the most bumptious and thwacking of the many Arthur Russell gems exhumed in the past two years, Springfield is anchored by a title track that carries lots of weight but trades in marks of ineffable finery just the same. Busy breakbeats and synthesizers splash over parched electric cello and processed trumpet, all while Russell sings “I’ve never been kissed” in his uniquely sad and celebratory falsetto. This is the Russell of ’80s New York: dance clubs with dark corners and spinning disco balls. — Andy Battaglia

44 Beach House is a lovely, unassuming straight pop record played as drone by Alex Scally and Victoria Legrand, two nice folks from Baltimore. On a strictly aesthetic level, Beach House fits neatly into the well-heeled drone/dream-pop lineage, from "I'm Only Sleeping" to the Byrds circa 1967-68 to the Velvet Underground to My Bloody Valentine to Mazzy Star to Fennesz to some kid's bedroom in suburban Florida's well-mulched cul-de-sacs. But whereas many records bearing these same hazy production touchstones shroud themselves in filters of soft white noise and an allergic reaction to melody, Beach House puts its beauty center stage. Some of the melodies are even shockingly flirtatious and almost soul-like, such as "Master of None," one of the album's best songs and a mix-tape essential — Casanovas take note! — Yancey Strickler

43 Erika Wennerstrom lead off the Heartless Bastards' debut by howling "I'm gonna take everything! Everything!" While other bands served up plastic-scuzz new-garage templates, the Bastards had a tangible current of urgency that made their songs feel both more dire and more dangerous. As good as that record was, though, it spent far too much time running in the red — all that thrash and howl can wear a person out, and excessive bludgeoning can desensitize instead of inspire. Which is why All This Time is stronger and more engaging: the Bastards have tightened and tied down all that rage; instead of scraping and thrashing, the songs have an insistent slow burn. (What was that old saw about implication over explication?) There's more danger in the murky sway of "Valley of Debris" than there was in any of the debut's raw vitriol. Rather than attacking outright, the songs tug and surge, creating a consistent feeling of unease. — J. Edward Keyes

42 In the early '70s, a San Francisco man-about-town who went by the name Darondo recorded three flawless seven-inch singles of folky soul, and promptly disappeared back into the fast life. Some thirty years later, having become a cult hero to Gilles Peterson and discerning soul collectors worldwide, Darondo seems a missing link between Al Green’s sacred stirrings and Sly Stone’s all-out freak-outs. This compilation is an absolute revelation, collecting his brilliant singles — the weepy, face-melting ballad “Didn’t I,” the sexy “Legs” and the rousing, protest-themed title track — as well as unreleased demos. Free at last! — Hua Hsu

41 It’s OK to scoff at the notion that Live a Little is the Pernice Brothers’ “back to our roots” album. Over the course of five studio full-lengths, singer-guitarist Joe Pernice has been so consistent in his pursuit of minor-key guitar pop that he’s become a sad-poet caricature, a middle-aged bearded Bostonite with an MFA and a breathy Elvis Costello falsetto. But reunited with producer Michael Deming (who contributed to the 1998 debut Overcome by Happiness) and reverting to the use of orchestral strings, Pernice sounds inspired and positively breezy. When he coos “I’m sick of the cynical” on going-home anthem “Somerville,” the rose-colored sentiment feels entirely new. — Matthew Fritch