Localized The decade in local music: 2008

It's December, and you know what that means: lists. But this isn't just the end of a year, it's the end of a decade, which means even bigger lists (and an even bigger chance of pissing people off by forgetting something). Here, The A.V. Club presents the final installment of the year-specific lists of our favorite local albums. Is it a best-of? Not quite. We thought it would be more interesting to make it a little looser in scope, the better to highlight both some of the most well-known albums and also the ones that we love even though they've gotten a little lost in the mists of time. We've limited each artist to one album for the entire decade, and limited ourselves to no more than six albums for each year.

Check out the others in the series: 2000, 2001, 2002, 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, and 2009.

Cecil Otter, Rebel Yellow (Strange Famous Records)
The artist: Cecil Otter is the ramshackle beat poet/beatmaker of the Doomtree crew, eschewing punk and/or rap style in favor of a beat-up fedora, which is as neat a summary of his music as his appearance.
The album: This is the rap album DJ Shadow should have made back in '96, although no panoply of guests could have provided the kind of unified vision that Cecil Otter does here. As both producer and MC, he runs his finger through the dust collected on everything forgotten, then rubs it off on tracks that mix menace with heart. "1999" begins with the always-creepy tinkling of a music box before a cardboard kick and snare come sauntering in, and when the giant crash cymbals and bass arrive on Otter's count of "one, two," the song blooms big enough to fill  headphones, car, living room, club, arena, North America. Over that massive sound, he drops references to Thin Lizzy, nursery rhymes, Pee-wee Herman, and more. His tales of alienation, slightly askew women, and late nights might not be unique topics (especially in Minnesota hip-hop), but as a rapper, he's like the Yakuza boss in the Simpsons episode where Marge runs afoul of the Mafia. Like Homer says, "That little guy hasn't done anything yet. Look at him! He's gonna do something, and you know it's gonna be good."

Cloud Cult, Feel Good Ghosts (Tea-Partying Through Tornadoes) (Earthology Records)
The band: After Craig Minowa's 2-year-old son, Kaidin, died mysteriously one night in 2002, the grief-stricken father drove himself obsessively into his music. Over the course of his band's next five albums, Minowa found deep inspiration in his son's memory, and what began as therapy turned into catharsis, and from there into a profound and surprisingly optimistic exploration of love, death, family, and the very question of what it means to be alive. It's as if The Flaming Lips were starring in Six Feet Under.
The album: After so many songs circling around the same topic, Minowa couldn't avoid repeating himself. Yet Feel Good Ghosts doesn't sound like a retread of previous work, perhaps because he seems to be thinking about his core songwriting questions in their most universal terms even when the song is clearly about Kaidin. If he raises more questions than he answers, it's also true that nobody else has completely puzzled out whether we have a soul, or what it's for, or where it goes later. As he sings: "Even though I don't know God / I'm happy with the mystery / And I'm certain that I feel it / every time that you sing to me." Ghosts also features some of Minowa's most beautiful tunes, particularly the sweetly existential "Everybody Here Is A Cloud" and the string-led "When Water Comes To Life."

Dallas Orbiter, Motorcycle Diagrams (Princess Records)
The band: These five guys dared to strip away the theatricality and bombast of '70s glam rock, only to find there was something substantial underneath it after all.
The album: For anyone who thinks that all the fun of glam rock comes from the stage show and makeup, Dallas Orbiter proves that notion false. Motorcycle Diagrams sucks listeners in from the start without even a hint of eyeliner, and it's hard to shake afterward. "Hallelujah, The Jetpack Dandies" sounds like it could have been on David Bowie's Aladdin Sane or Hunky Dory, while "Ampbuzz Is For Lovers" has an ear-splitting intro that would turn Josh Homme green with envy. But what holds the gleaming, slippery, mercurial stew together is the Farfisa organ. Syd Barrett-era Pink Floyd fans may cry foul, but the rest will simply listen and wonder why glam rock isn't more popular today.

Muja Messiah, Thee Adventures Of A B-Boy D-Boy (Black Corners)
The band: Muja Messiah garnered much critical acclaim on the strength of his mix-tape MPLS Massacre, Vol.1, which served as an appetizer to his remarkable debut album, released just a few months later.
The album: The differences between mainstream and underground rap have always been a bit tenuous, as mainstream is often more political and message-based than it gets credit for, while underground hip-hop's misogyny and regressive themes tend to get ignored. Muja Messiah shatters the implicit split between the two camps, deftly crafting a hip-hop masterpiece that combines indie's nuance and honesty with mainstream's swagger and charisma. Muja makes sure to differentiate himself from the area's famed emo rap while continuing to rep his city hard (Messiah has the letters MPLS—spelled out in guns, swords, and dollar signs—tattooed on his neck). In lead single "Get Fresh," he takes on those who are "backstabbin' my city / like it's all backpackin' and hippies / like it ain't crackin' in my city." With a winsome flow, Muja covers everything: cocaine deals and money-fetish materialism, progressive politics and introspective thoughts, dark reminiscences, well-spun punchlines. The album is refreshingly multifaceted, exactly the kick in the pants hip-hop needed.

The Plastic Constellations, We Appreciate You (Frenchkiss Records)
The band: In the mid-'90s, four Hopkins teens started playing around town, quickly becoming known for their high-energy indie rock and penchant for dragons. Unlike most high-school bands, they stayed together for more than a decade. The group went on indefinite hiatus in 2008, but plays a reunion show Jan. 23 at the Cedar Cultural Center.
The album: A running theme in TPC songs is the idea that we can survive anything, good times and bad, if we just stick together. So it's not all that surprising that The Plastic Constellations would dedicate their last album to their fans. The sentiment is directly tied to the music: To use the band's own term, it plays "inclusion rock," the kind of music that can make a group of strangers raise their fists in solidarity (see also: Bruce Springsteen and The Hold Steady). While their past fight songs may have been about bandmates or significant others having their backs, the "you" in these songs is most definitely you. Such gratitude is startling in rock, probably more so for folks who still think of TPC as kids. But even as the guys became more technically proficient (those synchronized guitar parts require precision), they never forgot that being in a rock band with your friends is fuckin' fun.