Compiling a year-end "best-of" list is a tradition for most critics, but it has also become something of a tradition to adopt a tone of lofty, humorous disdain while offering them (I think of this style as New York Times Modern). "What a very silly thing to be doing," the critic seems to be saying, "but if you want to waste your time -- here's my list."
You won't find that attitude here. I love end-of-the-year lists.

[Among] the best albums I heard this year, with no apologies (and no fake boredom):

Mojo Box, by Southern Culture on the Skids. Thundering garage rock with a twist of the lip. Is that twist a grin or a sneer? You decide.

(A nod from Steven King … is there higher praise? Call us old-fashioned, but in the words of Thoreau, "when the King of Horror says something is good we would fain improve every opportunity to wonder and worship, as a sunflower welcomes the light!"
- yep roc)

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