The 40 Best Albums of 2006

20. Lupe Fiasco, Food & Liquor
For a guy who spends a few dozen bars on "I Gotcha" telling us how great he smells, Lupe Fiasco certainly seemed bummed by the time Food & Liquor dropped (its release was delayed for the better part of a year). On the lush single "Kick, Push," he was skateboarding for fun; but by the time the sequel, "Kick, Push II," rolled around, his deck was a means of running away from a chaotic home life, and there was a void nipping at his heels. It looked like Lupe was going to be the next Jigga, but it turned out he's the hip-hop Morrissey, which is exactly what the genre needs. K.A.

19. The Raconteurs, Broken Boy Soldiers
We love Meg just as much as the next guy pawing through her garbage, but fact is, nights out with the boys have done Jack White a world of good. Brendan Benson and the Greenhornes are just the kind of journeymen a retro visionary needs, with melodic and rhythmic chops to spare. And in helping White edit the tastiest of early-'70s rock into judicious, pop-leaning grooves that allude to bong-hit prog-outs, they lead him away from the minimalist monastery. And the things that make him uptight -- technological advances post-1970, ambition, the love that adults share -- interest his bandmates just enough that he doesn't feel compelled to crusade against them. You can almost hear the beer cans popping open. NICK CATUCCI

18. The Streets, The Hardest Way to Make an Easy Living
Mike "The Streets" Skinner ascended to semi-celebrity with his first two records by rapping about what few others would -- losing his cell phone, being late for a date, standing in line for chips (a typical day in the life of a geezer, as his catchphrase announced). Here, on his pop-star coming-out, Skinner's lyrics dip into bling and blow, but retain the warm, intimate vibe of his earlier stuff. In the world of the Streets, experience isn't a hierarchical concept: Skinner does, therefore he is. MIKAEL WOOD

17, Neko Case, Fox Confessor Brings the Flood
Neko Case need only do one thing to make an excellent record: open up her mouth and sing. Her music is a study in visceral pleasure; when those pipes kick in, it's like sunlight piercing storm clouds. But Case couldn't leave well enough alone. Her fourth proper album is a brainy, highly idiosyncratic exercise in genre recombination and literary fable-making, and it's as pitch-perfect as her brassy vocals. The sound is mutating California rock, with precise dissonance, while the inspiration is Bulfinch's Mythology and a black heart. The gal can belt it out, sure, but here's to hearing her voice. N.C.

16. Editors, The Back Room
This quartet of former music-technology students reclaimed moody, minimalist English dance rock from Interpol and made it sound even more English. The Back Room is a restless, spooky masterpiece, full of stately bass thumps and squealing, otherworldly guitars that swirl and dive. When Tom Smith presides over lines like "All sparks will burn out" or bemoans the state of the working class on "Fingers in the Factories" over jumpy high hats, it's unclear whether you're supposed to dance or cry. This album proved that sometimes the only option is to do both. K.A.

15. Lady Sovereign, Public Warning
If grime reminded us Yanks that no matter where you're from, hip-hop is framed by class, it took a savvy rapper to break free from London's council estates, top TRL, and bridge the Atlantic the same way Tony Blair did: by establishing a common enemy. (In this lady's case, poverty, blue-collar jobs, hard consonants.) Lily Allen may hint that Sov's accent is too Cockney, but that scrappy, sharp-tongued flow, paired with brilliant sidewalk-boombox beats, masters Jay-Z's rule of empire -- if you want to bring the music to the streets, bring the streets to the music. M. MAERZ

14. T.I., King
Hip-hop's ruling class spent most of 2006 in various states of repose: retired, tired, acting, or in exile. So the throne was T.I.'s for the taking, and he presided effectively by speaking to all in his dominion. He effortlessly glided from street-corner grit to bottle-service glam, from superthug mythos to just-another-D-boy-out-the-trap. He united East Coast hip-hop values, like lyricism and creativity, with Dirty South drawl, hooks, and charm. And with the royal keyboards of "What You Know" -- hip-hop's '06 national anthem if there was one -- the crowning was complete. CHRIS RYAN

13. Jenny Lewis with the Watson Twins, Rabbit Fur Coat
With all due respect to Breaking Bonaduce, never before have the emotional resonances of growing up as a child star been given such exquisite voice. Fronting Rilo Kiley, Lewis delivers indieland's sultriest big-picture rock; accompanied by the cucumber-cool Watson Twins, she breezes through the back pages of country soul with an easy but therapy-deep self-awareness, musing philosophically about financing her mom's addictions and seeking God with the winks and fireworks you'd expect from Hollywood. If celebreality has cultural currency, this album is it. N.C.

12. Hot Chip, The Warning
If Hot Chip broke up tomorrow, they'd always be remembered for two things: (1) inventing a pop-electronic-soul-disco genre that even the most adjective-addled music fan couldn't properly describe, and (2) creating one of the best dance-till-you're-down anthems of all time with "Over and Over," the chorus of which will stay in your temporal lobe until someone physically reaches in and scoops it out. The Warning is hot-blooded music that's sometimes a bit frigid -- they are British, after all -- but on songs like the ballad "Look After Me," it's also filled with heartfelt charm. B.R.

11. The Decemberists, The Crane Wife
It makes perfect sense that songsmith Colin Meloy's love of antique diction and musical storytelling would lead him to make a set of Ye Olde Prog Rockery, complete with chugging Moog synthesizers and a three-part folk-rock suite based on a Japanese tale about a man marrying a bird (spoiler alert: It doesn't work out so well). But his band's emotive narratives, which also invoke remorseless murderers, heartsick soldiers, star-crossed lovers, and seafaring dreamers with autoharps and hurdy-gurdys, feel very much here and now. And somehow the dude can make a couplet like "We'll build our walls of aluminum / We'll fill our mouths with cinnamon" signify like a generational rallying cry. WILL HERMES