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The 10 Best Albums of 1997

These are the best albums of 1997 as selected by Slant’s music writers.

The 10 Best Albums of 1997

In my introduction to Slant’s list of the 100 Best Albums of the 1990s, I described nostalgia for the decade as “an idealized vision of a time when Bill Clinton was the fresh, young Democrat on the block, beepers were the hottest new tech items, and every major record label and Top 40 radio station was scrambling to discover the next big alternative to run-of-the-mill pop.” I went on to lament: “It’s human nature to look back on things with irrational fondness and nostalgia, overlooking the bad and romanticizing the good. But while the ’90s had its fair share of ‘crap,’ it’s hard to deny that the ‘good’ was exceptionally good.” So good, in fact, that we decided to dust off our lovingly curated list of over 400 albums to compile individual Top 10s for each year of the ’90s. Many of these titles are already widely—and rightfully—celebrated, but these lists also give us the opportunity to honor some typically overlooked gems. Sal Cinquemani

Honorable Mention: Nuyorican Soul, Nuyorican Soul; Mariah Carey, Butterfly; Company Flow, Funcrusher Plus; Cornershop, When I Was Born for the 7th Time; The Prodigy, The Fat of the Land; Godspeed You Black Emperor!, F# A# Infinity; Modest Mouse, The Lonesome Crowded West; Mogwai, Young Team; The Verve, Urban Hymns; Kylie Minogue, Impossible Princess


The 10 Best Albums of 1997

10. Bob Dylan, Time Out of Mind

In hindsight, it’s incredible to think that Bob Dylan’s stock was ever wavering, but this is the context unto which he released Time Out of Mind. The 1980s were a tumultuous decade for Dylan, and in the first half of the ’90s he was suffering from a distinct creative drought, with the underwhelming Under the Red Sky earning a middling reception at best. Time Out of Mind introduced us to a new Bob Dylan, his world-weathered lungs reveling in this raw sound. “Love Sick” feels like it’s sung from some dusty, eerie blues bar, while “Not Dark Yet” sounds like the dying words that his detractors had erroneously predicted. Huw Jones


The 10 Best Albums of 1997

9. Janet Jackson, The Velvet Rope

The Velvet Rope is handily Janet Jackson’s most personal effort and, Rhythm Nation excepted, one of her most important creative statements, diving headlong into the politics of personal and sexual self-actualization. But unlike other topical pop records, and despite its sadomasochistic overtones, The Velvet Rope’s textures are warm and inviting, striking a balance between soft and gritty that’s reflected right in the album’s title. Jackson’s breathless dirty talk has since grown tired, but Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis’s expert use of her looped whimpers and moans—and, of course, those luscious harmonies—on standout cuts like “My Need” and “Rope Burn” is nothing short of orgasmic. Cinquemani


The 10 Best Albums of 1997

8. Sleater-Kinney, Dig Me Out

More raw than what passed as emo and more rebellious than what passed as punk, Sleater-Kinney’s Dig Me Out found a trio of reformed riot grrls crashing the alt-rock boys club in unimpeachable style. The searing guitar licks on “Words and Guitar” showed that they could play with as much swagger and ingenuity as any “classic” rock act, while “Little Babies” called out patronizing male fans even as it gave them something to dance to. But their secret weapon was Corin Tucker’s hurricane wail, never put to better use than on the standout “One More Hour.” Here Tucker anguishes over her breakup with bandmate Carrie Brownstein; the fact that the band stayed together and stayed awesome for the next decade suggests that the song must have been as hugely cathartic to perform as it is to hear. Matthew Cole

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The 10 Best Albums of 1997

7. Portishead, Portishead

Portishead’s eponymous second album, their most adventuresome and engrossing to date, confirmed the band as trip-hop’s reigning melodramatists. It begins in the throes of absolute menace, and the phantasmagoric mood is impressively sustained throughout, even during unexpectedly vampish timeouts like “All Mine.” The Old West meets sci-fi meets the jazz halls of the 1940s throughout, and of all the stars in the album’s sonic sky, none pulsate as manically and wildly as Beth Gibbons’s voice (electronically pulsated to insane effect on nearly every track, most memorably on “Half Day Closing”). The effect of these theremin-wielding space cowboys’ ploys—all that sampling, all that scratching, all that distorting—is one of danger and deception. These torch songs sound as if they’ve reached us via some alien transmission, and you spend the duration of Portishead’s relentlessly ominous running time wondering if the band comes in peace. Ed Gonzalez


The 10 Best Albums of 1997

6. Erykah Badu, Baduizm

“Most intellects do not believe in God, but they fear us just the same.” Hubris much? Damned straight, and served with a gunshot-rimshot. One of the most confident debut albums of, well, ever, Baduizm doesn’t mince words, it gifts them. And if you still seriously resent her Soulquarian arrogance (“Who gave you permission to rearrange me?”), then you need to pick your Afro, daddy. She’d go on to flex her sense of humor and shake the tweeters later on. In the thick of a very-Diddy 1997, Badu’s humorless tribal overtures, earthy wisdom, and neo-Billie Holiday vocals were their own reward, but Baduizm continues to endure thanks to its uncluttered neo-soul elegance and a low end hefty enough to give A Tribe Called Quest pause. Eric Henderson


The 10 Best Albums of 1997

5. The Chemical Brothers, Dig Your Own Hole

I shared Keith Murray’s curiosity when he asked, “Who is this doin’ this synthetic type of alpha beta psychedelic funkin’?” beneath a blitzkrieg of propulsive hi-hats and snares, warped Pacman sound effects, and distorted sirens on “Elektrobank.” I was duly told that I was listening to the Chemical Brothers, and as “Elektrobank” sinuously flowed into the syncopated funk of “Piku,” I knew I was being treated to something special. Dig Your Own Hole spearheaded something of a revolution in electronic music, and set a benchmark that has unfortunately never been bettered. Here, the kitchen sink is hurled at the listener full force, but every component is wholly necessary to accentuate these massive soundscapes. Jones


The 10 Best Albums of 1997

4. Missy Elliott, Supa Dupa Fly

Supa Dupa Fly introduced the world to the stoner queen of hip-hop and her genius king of beats. Missy Elliott and Timbaland are so tight, as Missy riffs on “The Rain,” that they get their styles tangled. Already a sought-after production duo, the pair recruited their friends—702, Ginuwine, and Aaliyah among them—to throw one killer block party, and in doing so, made hip-hop history. Timbaland’s synthetic beats sounded like they were from an entirely different time, an unpredictable collage of primitive thwacks and slick, space-age funk digressions for Missy to rhyme over. The Southern MC is in fine form herself, sounding stoned and sexy on “Sock It 2 Me,” stoned and sad on “Why You Hurt Me,” and just plain stoned on “Izzy Izzy Ah.” Best of all: She’d only get weirder. Cole

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The 10 Best Albums of 1997

3. Daft Punk, Homework

Daft Punk threw their collective dick down on the dance floor with the thick house jam “Musique,” which basically repeated the same word and filtered sample ad nauseam, almost daring you to counter that it wasn’t what its title claimed it to be. Their first LP, Homework, proved that endurance wasn’t going to be an issue. Their indescribably funky blend of fat house beats, squelching synthetic compression tricks, on-the-cheap veracity, and borrowed Studio-54 sheen would wear you out long before Thomas Bangalter and Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo were ready to finish roll-calling their teachers. From the loopy disco of “Around the World” and the deep, syncopated rhythms of “Revolution 909” to the roaring momentum of “Rollin’ & Scratchin’,” Homework is pure, distilled club essence. Henderson


The 10 Best Albums of 1997

2. Radiohead, OK Computer

A mere two years after The Bends established Radiohead as a uniquely serious force in the alternative music scene, OK Computer shattered the notion that Thom Yorke and company even belonged within the limits of a standard genre. On OK Computer, Radiohead places us directly into a Huxley-esque world that we only caught glimpses of throughout previous albums, where the band—paranoid, helpless, and fatigued—is simultaneously alienated and entranced by the dominance of computers. In technology, there’s both the beautiful and mundane: “In a neon sign scrolling up and down, I am born again,” Yorke sings on “Airbag,” and alternately, “One day, I am gonna grow wings, a chemical reaction,” on “Let Down.” The album glistens in the angst and pleasure of that contradiction, and its remote, disquieted beauty has rarely been surpassed. Liedel


The 10 Best Albums of 1997

1. Björk, Homogenic

If Björk’s Post flattered the decade’s penchant for eclecticism, Homogenic snapped all its trends into sharp focus even as it widened the scope with fin de siècle zeal. The Icelandic siren’s “emotional landscapes” have never been more volcanically formidable (“I’m a fountain of blood in the shape of a girl”), more self-effacingly wry (“I thought I could organize freedom/How Scandinavian of me!”), or more happily violent (“I’ll heal you with a razor blade”). And her music has never been as confident, inquisitive, or uncompromising as it is here—realized with the considerable assistance of the late Mark Bell. All traces of “shhh, shhh” pastiche have been silenced in favor of neo-classical glowstick chamber music, and the album’s build from the stabbing warpath of “Hunter” and the tolling majesty of “Unravel” (soul sister to Lars Von Trier’s Breaking the Waves) to the celestial beauty of “All Is Full of Love” works with the unity of a great concerto. It’s no exaggeration to muse that the century of Schoenberg, Debussy, and Prokofiev culminated in Homogenic. Henderson

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