Debuts are special. Novel, gig, published poem, stage show, exhibition, album -- that first exposure of any artwork will in one sense always cast a happy shadow over its creative descendants. Debuts are special most obviously for their creators, who experience a thrilling surreality quite like no other when they see their hitherto (and often intensely) private labors made public and have total strangers cast a discerning eye, ear, fingertip or nostril (hello, Piero Manzoni) over them. There's an exquisite sort of miraculousness -- something that goes way beyond mere vanity or the modern pursuit of celebrity -- in making something, then finding out people who don't have to care actually do. (It is no coincidence that quite a number of respected cultural artisans have publicly confided that they once felt like they were winging it.) Today, with the peculiar arm's length intimacy of the internet a standard feature of our everyday lives, that sort of disclosure is more forthright than ever before.

Debuts, though, are special too for those on the receiving end. Yes, they bring us fresh sparkle and pep after we've just slogged our way through another creaky-kneed U2 disc, as well as writing another chapter in the deathless quest for the Next Big Thing. But more importantly and more lastingly meaningful, debuts are for most of us a way into a relationship with an artist, and nowhere is this more pertinent than in the emotion-rousing world of music. In this sense, debut albums only realize their true role retroactively. They form the starting point for everything from our connections with our favorite bands, to more general and widespread movements within music. You only have to fleetingly consider the reverence granted to the likes of the Beatles, Bowie, Joy Division and the Smiths to see that it isn't only about the sounds they made and the words they sang. It is also about what they started. Whether you're thinking about bohemianism, post-punk or simply "Veckatimest", foundations are irremovable, interminable, and consequently fascinating.

Now, I'm not for a minute suggesting that the albums in the following list will provoke sprawling, seismic cultural movements that percolate into the forthcoming decades -- that would be silly. Such things are extraordinary, not to mention unpredictable (and, it could be argued, a thing of the past.) But the point is this: the retrospective significance of debut albums makes them, in the present, things of wondrous interest and potentiality. For great debut albums -- well, even more so.

The ten bands and artists below might not have any lasting impact upon music; some of them might not even make another album. It's worth remembering, in the here-and-now, that this is where everyone once began. That said, it's worth considering that great beginnings are not always great just as beginnings. The best debuts are exciting not only for what they promise, but for what they deliver, too. And the very absence of pressure, preconceptions, and expectations means they can be an experience of willful discovery for their makers and their listeners. So think of these ten albums not as what could be, but also what already is: the best debut records of 2009.

Marshall Amp by tookapic (Pixabay License / Pixabay)

The Innocence Mission continue to sew together a fragile mix of soft instrumentation and unintelligible lyrics on Sun on the Square.

More mood music, less Pure Moods, please.

Pop Heroism, One Song at a Time

Kids and death continue to calm (and inspire) the husband-and-wife duo of Karen and Don Peris on their follow-up to 2004’s album of lullabies.