So much great country music came out in 2014. There was music that felt raw and real and far removed from the banal stuff you’re likely to hear on country radio, where fiddle and pedal steel have been reduced to mere flourishes layered on top of pop tracks. There was music that didn’t objectify women, that didn’t repeat the same tailgate party narratives ad nauseum, that didn’t honor rampant idiocy and self-centered machismo. There was music that brimmed with life and story and sadness and hope, and it helped remind the world of country’s thematic roots, even while stretching the genre sonically. Yes, there was country music genuinely worth listening to. Lots of it, in fact.  But it’s the job of a critic to pare things down, so without further ado, here are my 10 favorite country albums of 2014, in no particular order.  Psychedelic, self-lamenting and unapologetically twangy, Sturgill Simpson’s second album has positively dominated the independent country conversation in 2014 – and with good reason. It delivers on the promise of his excellent debut, High Top Mountain, which drew comparisons to Waylon Jennings and made Simpson something of a Mockingjay for the anti-bro-country crowd. Simpson would likely reject such a label, if only because he seems almost flagellantly dedicated to thinking less of himself and his bad habits. But he’s not all misery and gloom. Tracks like Life of Sin may paint that picture, but in their fixation on shame they also reveal some glimmer of hope in Simpson’s perspective on life. Otherwise there would be no point in feeling so jaded about his own recklessness.  Most of country’s most famous men kept scraping the bottom of the barrel in 2014, and for the most part Nashville’s power players kept waving their pom-poms, pretending that there was value in Luke Bryan’s twerking or Cole Swindell’s predatory lyrics. Fortunately, Dierks Bentley aims much higher than most of his cohorts. On Riser, he strikes a sturdy balance between pop-country sensibility (Drunk on a Plane is infused with just enough sadness to elevate it above typical party tunes) and authentic country rock that’s both accessible and moving. Sure, lead single I Hold On begins with a truck, but it quickly evolves into a deeply felt song about commitment – and Bentley’s raspy groan helps sell the whole thing. Bentley sings with actual conviction, a quality that makes Riser one of the finest mainstream releases of the year.  Virtually unknown in the US, the Kiwi crooner (originally born in Canada) has accrued awards aplenty in New Zealand in recent years, but with Dynamite she has crafted something truly special that deserves to explode with country fans around the world. Neilson blends the ambience of Old West saloons with the pastel palette of a 1950s beach musical, and her soulful bellow breathes modern life into a vintage collection. Standout tracks like Cry Over You (at the 3:13 mark) are so lushly imagined and dynamically delivered that it’s hard to imagine Neilson will keep a low profile in the US much longer. At the very least, she seems destined for one of Quentin Tarantino’s high-noon, femme fatale soundtracks.  Among the independent albums on this list, there is perhaps none more poised to click with broad audiences than Sundy Best’s first release of 2014. And that’s not because it’s blandly listenable; it’s because Bring Up the Sun is stuffed to the brim with irresistible hooks. The Kentucky duo’s music evokes the lighthearted party vibe of 1970s rock, but the presence of a cajón, rather than a drum kit, gives their songs an accessible living room feel, rather than the seedy basement vibe that most of mainstream country’s males are peddling. It would be remiss to describe Sundy Best as mere party boys, though. On slower songs like Painted Blue and Smoking Gun they sing with youthful, searching honesty, and their music proves even more rich and appealing as a result.  The South Carolina duo’s fiery chemistry makes their music sound like a cross between the Civil Wars and the Black Keys, with a dash of Bright Eyes’ whimsy thrown in for good measure. The real-life couple, made up of Michael Trent and Cary Ann Hearst, wail alongside each other with audacious abandon on tracks like The Devil is All Around, which evoke both the Deep South’s religious traditions and the voodoo culture of the wetlands. Their gravelly tones, which feel well-earned, are perfectly suited for driving rock music, so it’s all the more exciting when they instead swing and swoon on catchy, humorous tracks like Coping Mechanism and Mary Ann and One Eyed Dan. Swimmin’ Time is one of the most sonically interesting and inviting roots albums of the year.  Don’t take Lambert’s fiery radio identity too seriously. On her fifth album, country music’s current queen tempers her brash, gun-toting persona with the calm confidence and wry humor of a woman on top of the world. The glitzy affair is at its best when Lambert is going for laughs (“What doesn’t kill you only makes you blonder,” she sings in Platinum, an ode to peroxide) or tapping into the unspectacular side of America’s heartland culture, as she does on the excellent Babies Makin’ Babies. Lambert goes for substance more than her fellow mega-country stars – Platinum’s lead single Automatic felt like a fresh daisy in a barren field when it came on the radio – and there’s a reason she’s one of the few stars that commands legitimate respect in a genre increasingly met with eye rolls.  Brooding and beautiful until the very last second, Robert Ellis’s stunning second album elicits huge emotion with simple acoustic arrangements and hushed, sullen vocals. But it’s the austere lyrical imagery and deft turns of phrase that truly capture the imagination on this deeply sad disc. TV Song cleverly uses modern television characters to showcase Ellis’s angsty self-perception, and Tour Song, the heartbreaking album closer, details a deteriorating marriage caused in part by a life spent on the road. “It’s the choice I make/It’s the price I pay/Just to hang out in some shitty bar/Then spend 10 hours in a car,” he says. There are few truer signs of a musically secure artist than one that can sing so frankly about his own insecurity.  Nickel Creek’s brand of cutting-edge bluegrass made the trio a beloved act with country audiences from 2000 to 2007, at which point the members decided to focus on independent projects. This year, though, Chris Thile (mandolin), Sara Watkins (fiddle) and Sean Watkins (guitar) reunited for a new collection of songs that picked up right where the group left off – with rich harmonies and innovative bluegrass arrangements that dance in the ear. The beauty of Nickel Creek is the way its members balance one another out, and on lush, winsome compositions (with smart and angsty lyrics) like Love of Mine and Rest of My Life each member of the group sparkles. A Dotted Line marks a fine and welcome return.  Nikki Lane has got the sass of Loretta Lynn, but she delivers her biting lyrics with the casual cool of a 1960s beatnik. The laid-back delivery on All or Nothing, which was produced by the Black Keys’ Dan Auerbach, has the effect of making a listener lean in to listen close, and when they do they will find much to admire. Lane’s lyrical style is candid, conversational and, best of all, messy. She seems unconcerned with painting herself as someone who’s got her life and relationships figured out, and that sort of honesty is ultimately appealing, even if aggressively naughty songs like Sleep with a Stranger might intimidate prudish listeners. Lane excels at deconstructing the complicated emotions that could exist within a single moment. A song like You Can’t Talk to Me Like That feels suspended in time, as if it plays out entirely within the brief second that it took Lane to furrow her brow at a man’s flirtation.  A tried-and-true country record for fans of traditional country music, Jason Eady’s Daylight and Dark features some of the cleanest and most engaging country production – not overly polished or filled with AutoTune effects – of any album in recent memory. This whole collection, rife with simple fiddle and pedal steel productions, just sounds great. Eady has a fittingly undecorated lyrical style as well, delivering lines like “I’ll be hurtin’ when I wake up on the floor/but I’ll be over it by noon,” from standout song Whiskey and You, with the gruff attitude of a coal miner. Eady’s music is lean and straightforward, and whereas some artists may prefer more experimentation, Eady excels with these humbly constructed compositions, which would make a perfect soundtrack for the sad patron trying to take the edge off at a local bar.
Beyond boorish bro-country there were plenty of rich, emotional records that stretched the definitions of the genre while remaining true to its roots