I present to you a collection of ten records from the year that I either felt weren’t up to some of the incredible hype they received, were letdowns compared to a band’s previous release, or just ended up as personal disappointments. It’s been a great year and I couldn’t ask for any more excellent albums, but there’s always going to be some bad with the good, and 2009 wasn’t any different.

It’s a nearly impossible feat to choose thirty songs over so many awesome albums, especially in year as good as 2009. But after a few months of fine-tuning and multiple switches, below are my top songs of the year. A few notes: I made it a rule to only allow one song per artist, and I’m definitely not spoiling my best-of- 2009 albums list, as only eleven of those albums are represented here. Comments/thoughts/replacements encouraged…

For Virginia Beach rap duo Clipse, what more fitting time to release their third album than when the weather starts to turn white? Brothers Malice and Pusha T have long made their name on critically-acclaimed, popularly-ignored hardcore rap that largely focused on one thing and one thing only: cocaine, and all the business ventures and death threats that go along with it. From their brutal lyrics, relentless flow, and minimalist Neptunes-provided beats, they’ve always seemed darker than their contemporaries, more real and, most importantly, more believable. But after yet another long layoff and another sub-standard mixtape to whet their fans’ appetites, Clipse have found themselves in a weird place: successful, and with nothing to prove…

Second place has often been called just the first loser, and for New York City dance-rock band the Bravery, it’s been an apt description. Just another cynical band aping New Order when they wandered onto the scene in 2005 with “A Honest Mistake,” they were beaten to the dance-punk punch by the Killers and lost in the shuffle of a myriad of impersonators. Their sophomore effort barely registered a blip on the national radar, a victim of their own ability to translate their ear for a hit single over the course of a whole album. Stir The Blood, meanwhile, comes at an interesting juncture in the band’s life; singer/guitarist Sam Endicott seems to have found his calling as a pop writer, co-writing three Shakira songs and an unreleased track off the new Christina Aguilera CD. Unfortunately, you wouldn’t know it from listening to Stir The Blood, a record that does little to advance the Bravery’s reputation past that of a middling rock band still coasting by on a tired sound.

Throwaway pop artists, despite the heaps of critical and elitist disdain heaped upon them and the negative connotations they routinely perform under, couldn’t exist under a more precarious balancing act. Record a shitty, everyday pop song, and you’re scorned, your artistic credibility sunk, torn down as overly derivate or robotically manufactured, and your long-term career doomed to happy hour residencies at Margaritavilles in family-styled resort towns once the record company declines your third album option. But write that perfect pop song and you become acceptable, nay, cool to like, someone that critics and prepubescent girls can mutually agree successfully taps that hidden bone in our body that makes us move our hips like “yeah.” Write two and you’re set. Write two whole album’s worth, and you have Norwegian electro-pop savant Annie.

Many an American Idol winner has had difficulty transferring their success on the show to success on the Billboard charts, at least for any longer than a few months. Don’t tell that to country megastar Carrie Underwood, though; from multiple Grammys to multiple platinum records, Underwood has virtually dominated Nashville, and America, since 2005. Yet the Carrie Underwood of that Idol finale and the Carrie Underwood of late 2009 is, for better or worse, practically the same performer, a cheery, charming performer whose girl-next-door persona belies her talented pipes and ridiculously good looks. Still hitting the same notes, still achieving that equilibrium between country roots and mainstream pop, Play On is an apt title for Underwood’s third effort, an album that does little to stretch beyond what came before. It’s not that what Underwood has done before is all that bad; on the contrary, some of her previous singles have been some of the best the genre has had to offer, and debut Some Hearts was an earnest, energetic record that, while shallow, was a pioneer of the new wave of country-pop records. Nowadays, though, her shtick is old news, and it’s been co-opted by artists like Taylor Swift, talents younger and more in-tune with contemporary audiences than the relatively old Underwood. When Underwood sings about heartbreak and cheating boyfriends on songs like “Cowboy Casanova,” it lacks the emotional honesty of her younger peers or, worse, comes off as contrived, lovesick longings…

With 2007’s deceptively layered breakout record The Con, Tegan and Sara Quin, along with uber-indie producer Chris Walla, reveled in the darker recesses of indie pop, merging unconventional song structures and atypically diverse instrumentation with the kind of incisive, realistic lovelorn tales the two long ago perfected. Few would have expected the record to chart as well as it did, and it’s probably no coincidence that this, their sixth record, capitalizes on this. It’s perhaps the band’s most accessible to date, but these identical lesbian twins are hardly the likeliest candidates to be mainstream sellouts. Rather, Sainthood is a full-bodied, meticulously crafted rock record, one that stands firmly on its bedrock foundation of guitar, drums, and bass and lets the duo’s way with words and distinctive personalities shape the album into yet another uniquely Tegan and Sara album.

When it comes to musical comedy, few do it any better than acoustic-folk duo Flight of the Conchords. Ever since I first heard the sexy slow jam “Business Time” and the hilarious failed theme song for Lord of the Rings, it was obvious that the New Zealanders Bret McKenzie and Jemaine Clements possessed that very elusive skill - the ability to marry well-structured pop and genre exercises with deadpan, back-and-forth skits marinated in pop culture references and everyday observations. Their well-honed act struck the perfect balance between music and humor, the kind of combo that perhaps only Tenacious D’s debut has fully realized before…