This month, with over 50 releases vying for the staff’s attention, some threw up their hands in despair. (“This is too much! I can never listen to all of these albums in time!”) But other staffers took their nets to the ocean of sound, and a few prime collections managed to bob to the surface long enough to be caught and adored.

For better or worse, August was all about Caspian. ROTM votes either went for them or against them. The top spot was theirs to lose, and Panoptique Electrical, the darkest of all dark horse candidates, stole the gold. As Chris Berman says, “That’s why they play the game.” Hats off to the ambient artist; but if it’s any consolation to the post-rock group, their album did still place in front of every other candidate.

The Caspian and múm review scores highlight a crucial element of our site: difference of opinion. Readers may be wondering, “How did these releases make the ROTM list with 6.5’s, while higher-scored albums missed the list?” The answer is simple: in order to make this list, at least one staff member has to step up and declare, “This is the best release of the month.” And the members of our staff have notoriously diverse, sometimes even polarized opinions. This is a boon to the reader, because it allows for a variety of views. But while we may differ in taste, we are all passionate about music. Let the debates continue!

 

 

 

He who desires but acts not breeds pestilence. The rich, gorgeous power of ambient music will not be challenged by its adherents, but its strength – subtlety – often limits the scope of its practitioners to subtle goals. While the aims of some of these artists are admirable (and lead to my appreciation of the genre), it is greatly rewarding to encounter a positive, sweeping affirmation in the form, and Panoptique Electrical manages to achieve this beautifully on Yes to Fear, Yes to Desire. The album’s sweeping, groaning drones may not be transcendent in the Stars of the Lid sense, but instead fully human: filled with doubt, fear, and the triumph of overcoming one’s self to realize the beautiful. It is not often that we get to see such a bold, emotive baring of the mind’s hidden depths, and the fact that it is accomplished so effectively makes Yes to Fear, Yes to Desire a must-listen release for ambient fans in a great year for the genre. (Zach Mills)

Tertia is as essential and riveting as the wind in the trees, a woman smiling on a summer day, staring eye-to-eye with a predatory creature. Far surpassing any of their previous work, Caspian treat the willing listener to a rock narrative that bleeds, cries, empathizes and above all triumphs with every note and production choice. From the secret clearing in the woods at the beginning to the heroic gallop at the finish, there is a special quality to the stories Caspian have woven here; every song is a superb piece of balance and emotional performance. The compositional intelligence on Tertia is simply stunning as the band move passionately from supremely melodic guitar mythologies to gracefully reserved piano and vibraphone suites to tidal waves of distortion. This is one of those rare albums that breaths and suffers with whatever the listener is doing. I shrugged at their previous albums, but now I am proud to have been converted. Tertia is an instant classic and one of the best instrumental albums of the decade. (Nayt Keane)

Sing Along to Songs You Don’t Know is the first major Icelandic release since the nation’s financial collapse, an event which led to rioting, the toppling of the government and the shattering of the nation’s psyche. As such, it has a lot riding on its shoulders, and múm’s trademark exuberance, while still in place, is dented, muted, undercut. Songs about ancestors and fish reference the nation’s perseverant past. Others celebrate frugality: “Show me the way you worship little things.” The title track speaks of challenge: “You’ll never know what could have been if you don’t sing along.” And finally, a boatload of reassurance pulls into the dock. The Japanese version (with 3 bonus tracks) concludes with the marvelous “Krippling:” “I will teach you to sleep again, to eat again, to sing again.” Honoring its cover, Sing Along to Songs You Don’t Know is a candle in the wilderness, a glow among the green, a tiny beacon in a troubled land. The descendants of Vikings may be down right now, but as múm reminds the citizens of this seafaring nation, they’ve “seen it all before; it was in another world, that’s all.” (Richard Allen)