It's most stunning track may be "The New," a love song simultaneously brutal, beautiful, and honest. "I can't pretend/ I need to defend/ Some part of me from you," Banks sings, "I know I've spent some time lying." And then he flips it: "I can't pretend/ I don't need to defend..." Both sentiments seem absolutely true, contradictory though they are, and anyone who's ever felt new love knows that this is not denial, not doublethink — both statements are fully true. I can tell you anything, but not everything. The most revealing line in the song is the first: "I wish I could live free/ I hope it's not beyond me." Look carefully at the words there. "I wish I could" implies plainly that he knows he can't, and yet... "I hope." Hope against hope, perhaps, but there is no wrong kind of hope. This is the kind of emotion that this record leaks from every seam — confused but never jaded, earnest, and totally without irony.

To say that Turn on The Bright Lights grows on you is to sorely understate its creeping impact. It grows under your skin, drawing you back again and again with snatches of melody that won't get out of your head, and keeping you planted in your seat to ponder its introspective brilliance, until finally you understand that this is a jaw-droppingly great record. I've eaten my words before, so I'll prepare for that possibility as I say this:

This is the best album of 2002.

Please also see this review.