This year was unquestionably transformative regarding world events: on 9/11, after biking home from work, I cocooned myself in my living room, seeking solace in Bjork’s recently released Vespertine. Even before that date, the music I gravitated towards was in flux. After my brief rediscovery of Top 40 and a somewhat shallow dive into club music, by 2001, indie rock (and pop) had become my mainstays. I listened to WERS extensively, which is where I first heard Emm Gryner, Pernice Brothers and The Soundtrack of Our Lives; I also upped my music journalism intake, mostly via The Village Voice, which is where I first read about The Moldy Peaches, Basement Jaxx and Ted Leo (though for the latter, not until 2003’s Hearts of Oak came out.)

A good chunk of this playlist comprises songs by artists I was already familiar with: Ben Folds’ solo debut (still his best solo track, ever), Depeche Mode’s second-last great single (at least until recently), Gillian Welch’s disarming narrative that did more to humanize Elvis than any number of tributes have before or since, a lovely, essential Belle and Sebastian B-side, an expansive gem plucked from a sprawling Ani DiFranco double LP and the happiest, breeziest song Rufus Wainwright will likely ever write.

The 90s as we knew them were definitively over, but with the internet increasingly dominant, nothing tangible had yet surfaced to completely replace them. Some artists explicitly drew from the past (The Shins’ 1960s-derived garage pop, Ladytron’s 1980s-influenced synthpop) while others both referenced and contemporized it: Daft Punk splicing disco with modern breakbeats, Spoon perhaps the first band to combine edgy post-punk with Fleetwood Mac-derived shadings, Kings of Convenience making like Simon and Garfunkel as if they had been influenced by Belle and Sebastian. Occasionally, something truly original would emerge, like Life Without Buildings’ talky vocalist Sue Tompkins, whom I didn’t even hear until the Spotify age.

Very occasionally, something unexpected would threaten to cross over such as Res’ now-all-but-forgotten hypnotic rock/R&B hybrid, or Cousteau’s loving Bacharach pastiche, which I probably heard on a car commercial before it ever played WERS. But even beyond my own particular, often peculiar tastes (a ten-minute Spiritualized come-down extravaganza? Sure, why not?), you had outfits like The Strokes and The White Stripes breaking out of the indie-rock ghetto. Suddenly, you felt the potential for hundreds of other bands to aspire to the same, and it didn’t yet feel played out. Despite plenty of sociopolitical turmoil by world’s end, there was also an unusual sense of possibility in the air. Ivy’s best-known song (and on some days, best ever single) exuded this promise of renewal. I was ready for it.

2001: We Can Start Over Again

1. Ben Folds, “Annie Waits”
2. Pernice Brothers, “7:30”
3. Res, “They-Say Vision”
4. Daft Punk, “Digital Love”
5. Spoon, “Believing is Art”
6. The Soundtrack of Our Lives, “Sister Surround”
7. Royal City, “Bad Luck”
8. Ladytron, “Playgirl”
9. The Moldy Peaches, “Steak For Chicken”
10. Super Furry Animals, “It’s Not the End of the World?”
11. Steve Wynn, “Morningside Heights”
12. Cousteau, “Last Good Day of the Year”
13. Ted Leo & The Pharmacists, “Under the Hedge”
14. Depeche Mode, “Dream On”
15. Basement Jaxx, “Jus 1 Kiss”
16. Guided By Voices, “Glad Girls”
17. The Shins, “Know Your Onion!”
18. Yann Tiersen, “Comptine d’un autre été, l’après-midi”
19. Bjork, “Pagan Poetry”
20. The Dirtbombs, “Chains of Love”
21. Life Without Buildings, “The Leanover”
22. Ani DiFranco, “Rock Paper Scissors”
23. Emm Gryner, “Straight to Hell”
24. Gillian Welch, “Elvis Presley Blues”
25. Kings of Convenience, “Summer On The Westhill”
26. New Order, “Close Range”
27. Belle and Sebastian, “Marx and Engels”
28. Sam Phillips, “How To Dream”
29. Rufus Wainwright, “California”
30. R.E.M., “Imitation of Life”
31. Roxette, “Real Sugar”
32. Ivy, “Edge of the Ocean”
33. Spiritualized, “Won’t Get to Heaven (The State I’m In)”