Buzz Aldrin. That's what kept coming to mind when I was trying to characterize this album. Sure, the dude's famous, but he'll always be known as the second man to walk on the moon. Not that making a mellow folk album and releasing it with less than 24 hours' notice is equivalent to walking on the moon, but you catch my drift.
Evermore is a sonic extension of Folklore, plus a drum loop or two. I don't have a ton to say about it. Folklore's ceiling is higher; there are more songs I genuinely love. Evermore is probably more solid throughout. The two albums are destined to be forever intertwined.
The world should be unerringly grateful for Taylor's contribution to this accursed year, but 31 songs of cottage couture in six months is a lot. Still, if this had been released next year sometime, I'd doubtlessly be disappointed that it sounded so similar to her previous effort. Releasing it as a sister album was the right choice, but it dampens the impact a bit.
My favorite song on the record is "Champagne Problems," largely because it sounds like a demo version of "All Too Well." What a gift to the culture "No Body, No Crime" is, with its stellar refrain: "I think he did it/But I just can't prove it." I will take solace in that phrase every time I'm 99% sure a student cheated, but I don't have a smoking gun. I'd definitely be interested in future HAIM collaborations. The title track featuring Bon Iver doesn't quite match the highs of Folklore's "Exile," but it's an outstanding closer.
Critics are gushing over Taylor's ode to her opera-singing grandmother, "Marjorie," but I prefer the more lively "Dorthea" as far as song titles featuring women's first names go. "I come back stronger than a '90s trend" on the album's opener, "Willow," is the most clever turn of phrase. That's probably the extent of tracks that I'll be adding to my "Essential Taylor" mix, but as I noted, it's not like the album is full of filler.
If Evermore were released before Folklore, it's quite possible I'd have the former graded higher. And if Buzz Aldrin walked the moon before Neil Armstrong, he'd be the household name. As it is, I dug Evermore slightly less than Folklore. As much as I've enjoyed this phase, I'm anxious for Taylor to go back to mixing in some snappy pop songs, in the same way that I'm anxious to go back to eating in restaurants and watching football at friends' houses. Quarantine cottage couture has its limits.
Often called "Game of Thrones in space," which does a disservice to both shows. The Expanse, although it has supernatural alien elements, is much more grounded in reality than Thrones. It's a nice balance of space action and political wrangling for power and resources between planetary factions. It's easily the best sci-fi series since Battlestar Galactica, although there's not a ton of competition there.
Or maybe this is the best science fiction series since Battlestar? Except that the sci-fi in Rick and Morty is mostly fi, and the sci is played for laughs. There are entire episodes that fall flat, but there are at least two or three per season that become instantly iconic.
Ostensibly a (very funny) comedy, You're the Worst actually contains insightful and honest looks into weighty topics such as depression, PTSD, and the death of one's parents. Every character is memorable, but Kether Donohue's Lindsey is the GOAT.
I've seen a lot of critics leave this off their end-of-decade lists, despite singing its praises at the time. The fact that Louie C.K. seems to have an issue keeping his penis in his pants does put a bit of a damper on this brilliant show, which provides many laughs and tackles serious issues with introspection o' plenty. Some of my favorite moments of television this decade came from Louie, and it seems priggish to try and deny that.
At its worst (that one episode during Season Two), it's pretty terrible. But at its best, Stranger Things is the most fun you can have on television. Season Three was a remarkable comeback, but I hope the Duffer Brothers resist the urge to undo the consequences of the finale. It's probably time to leave Hawkins, which will make it tricky to keep the gang all together. I don't have a ton of confidence in the show moving forward, but what a ride it's been.
Almost certainly the show on this list the casual t.v. viewer would not have heard of. That's too bad; it's an outstanding baseball show, a great portrait of addiction, and it's profanely funny as hell. Hank Azaria's washed-up announcer is a national treasure; put his plaid sport coat in the Hall of Fame.
My enjoyment of this show increased exponentially once I realized, despite the characters speaking in English, that I should be watching with the subtitles on. I'm not sure I ever really figured out what was going on in Season Three, for instance. But the last couple seasons have been outstanding, and my man crush on Cillian Murphy knows no language barriers.
I can't think of a weirder network t.v. show; it's a miracle that Community lasted as long as it did on NBC. Perhaps more famous for off-screen drama involving Chevy Chase and creator Dan Harmon, Community paved the way for way for more great television (Rick and Morty, Atlanta), even as it remains exceptional on its own terms.
I've called this gem "the best show nobodoy's watching." I'll admit that I found myself thinking its quality would suffer when the Louie C.K. stuff blew up and he disassociated himself from the show. However, creator Pamela Adlon's vision was clearly the star all along, as Better Things hasn't missed a beat and has even evolved in really interesting ways. Alternately funny and tender, its episode-to-episode unpredictability is a large part of its allure.
The spiritual heir to Seinfeld's
brand of cynical comedy, it's now the longest-running live action
sitcom in American history. It gets penalized a bit because lots of its
classic episodes ran in the century's first decade, but there was more
than enough to cement its legacy in this one. Last season was a bit
rough, but I'll continue to watch as long as "The Gang" keeps going. It's
just so much fun to wallow in their disdain for each other...and
themselves. 
It would be impossible to write the story of the decade without this satirical sketch show. Its reach spans from NFL celebrations to forever altering name pronunciations to performing one of the characters alongside the President of the United States. Enter in "Key & Peele gif/meme" into Google, and see how many results you get. Oh yeah, its success also allowed Jordan Peele to make Get Out and Us. So, kind of a big deal.
Although I enjoy the film, I had zero interest in revisiting this world when I saw the first previews. I couldn't have been more wrong. If you gave me the choice between being able to watch the Coen Brothers' film or Season One of the show, I'd take Noah Hawley's version with Billy Bob every time. Key and Peele also play bit roles here, which may have subconsciously pushed me to juxtapose them. Season Two is also outstanding (except for the silly flying saucer), and Season Three started rough but wrapped up nicely. I eagerly await Season Four.
I was even less enthused about the prospects of this show than I was a about Fargo. I like Silence of the Lambs well enough, but I hadn't enjoyed or hadn't seen any of the follow up films. Plus, NBC? A broadcast network is going to make a dark, grim, bloody show work? Well, I still don't know how it happened, but the three seasons of Hannibal are unquestionably great, even if I'm not always sure what Mads Mikkelsen is saying. He somehow even makes cannibalism look appetizing.
Penalized a bit because its early brilliance came at the end of the last decade, but there was still enough good stuff during the 2010s to merit inclusion here. If nothing else, it gave us the decade's best saying/meme: "Not great, Bob!" I liked the ending well enough, and Elizabeth Moss is a natural treasure (minus the scientology).
A spare, lovely little show that never got the attention it deserved. The hook is protagonist Daniel's early release from prison due to new DNA evidence after being convicted of his girlfriend's murder, and the resulting whodunnit. That mystery is satisfyingly wrapped up by the end of the show's run, but it's all the languid moments in between that give the show its wrenching impact. I would have never believed watching a man give a swimming pool a new paint job would be mesmerizing, but such is Rectify's power.
This is Netflix's best show (no, not Orange is the New Black- that sputtered out...and no, definitely not House of Cards, which was a bad show even before the Kevin Spacey disgrace). Alternately funny and full of pathos, BoJack takes an absurd premise (animals live among us and act as humans while maintaining many of their native qualities) and delivers an incredibly relatable, hilarious show about our weaknesses, fallibilities, and the trappings of fame. It also boasts the broadest range of celebrity voices in recorded history; if there's an actor you like, he/she has almost certainly guested on BoJack.
The show was obviously created to capitalize on Breaking Bad's popularity and momentum; old villains are featured and callbacks abound. But a funny thing happened: Slippin' Jimmy McGill became as equally fascinating as Walter White. And the people in his orbit, such as his older brother Chuck and love interest/legal partner Kim, are better drawn than most of the supporting characters on Bad. Better Call Saul lacks the violent adrenaline of its parent show, but its portrayal of flawed people and their relationships with each other is equally as rewarding. It would not surprise me in the slightest if once BCS finishes its run that I'll have it ranked higher than Breaking Bad.
I'm not sure what took the entertainment industry so long to come around on Timothy Olyphant, but between this and Deadwood he's as clear a t.v. leading man that exists. Pure pulp goodness, Justified does an excellent job of mixing story-of-the-week episodes with season-long overarching serialization. The unquestioned supreme Big Bad was of course Emmy-winner Margot Martindale, but don't sleep on Neal McDonough's psychopath Robert Quarles in the insanely enjoyable Season Three. Keeping Walton Goggins active for the entire run of the show is a masterstroke.
Not nearly as fun as network sibling Justified, but a whole lot more poignant and tension-filled. The Americans' thrilling concept (two deep-cover Soviet spies living a seemingly normal life in the suburbs of D.C.) masks the show's excellent portrayal of something much more mundane: marriage and family and all the complications those entail. The two leads are brilliant: Matthew Rhys as the world-weary Philip, who'd probably rather just forget all the espionage and be a normal husband/father, and Kerri Russell as Elizabeth, the true believer with enough passion to keep the guise going and even expand it to her daughter. Set in the '80s, this show will likely age incredibly well as people discover it on Amazon Prime.
We're about eight months out from the disastrous series finale, which I hope is enough perspective to settle on the show's proper placement. This feels about right. When it's good, which is often, Game of Thrones dwarfs (pun lamely intended) everything else on television. Season Eight wasn't the only time the show fell short of its dizzying highs, but the failure to stick the landing will unfortunately be a big part of the show's legacy. Which is too bad, for this is the defining t.v. show of the decade.
I tried to temper myself from ranking this too high but finally just gave in. It's total guilty pleasure entertainment; there's nothing all that poignant, thematic, or hell, believable about this show. But holy shit, is it fun. It is so fun. I would go into the premise, but it's largely preposterous. Banshee is like if you took all the great things about The A-Team and added sex and much better action set pieces. I would've watched these four characters punch/shoot/stab their way out of trouble for roughly 20 seasons. This will absolutely be the next show I re-watch.
Here's another fun show, much more grounded in reality. I don't have anything new to say about the tense, thrilling descent of Walter White from science teacher to crime lord. It began in 2009, but the first season is easily its weakest. From there, every season got more intense and stakes-filled until those last few gripping episodes. Probably the decade's second-most defining show, after Thrones.
It's probably the funniest and is definitely the meanest show of all time. It cements Julia Louis-Dreyfus on the Mt. Rushmore of t.v. comedians. It has the most "holy crap, I need to rewind that to hear the joke again" moments of any show, ever. It has a brilliant ending that perfectly encapsulated the show's cynical sensibilities and Selena Meyer's endless, craven quest for fame. It makes literally any actor on it seem like one of the funniest people alive. Other than that, meh.
Critically praised but criminally underseen, I guess this show, about the aftermath of an event where 2% of the world's population inexplicably and abruptly vanishes, is not for everyone. But holy hell, is it for me. Nothing else on t.v. this decade comes close to the emotional impact The Leftovers packs, with its meditations on grief and loss. It's hard to even begin to tally up the chill-inducing scenes it provides over its sublime three-season run. Darkly humorous, beautifully shot, and wonderfully acted (Carrie Coon wins the decade with her haunted, moving portrayal of Nora Durst), the ambiguity of The Leftovers makes it endlessly re-watchable. I plan to do so once every few years, whenever I need to have all the feels. 