After wowing critics with 2021’s excellent debut album, Mercurial World, Magdalena Bay have delivered another one for the ages with their fantastical, psychedelic electro-pop epic, Imaginal Disk. Over 15 tracks, the duo have created a conceptual techno-opera about self-discovery and personal transformation. Shiny, blissful pop tracks bounce and jitter against a dystopian cyberpunk landscape. While most tracks are great on their own, the real achievement is a six-song musical tour-de-force in the middle of the record (starting with “Image”) that overflows with unbelievable climaxes and brilliant musical ideas. With this record, Magdalena Bay have gone from a band to watch to a band to imitate. By Paul Veracka

Singer/songwriter and guitarist Nilüfer Yanya mines the depths of herself on My Method Actor, unpacking her inner world amidst warm pools of entrancing guitars and elliptical rhythms. The record finds Yanya navigating feelings of uncertainty and insecurity, yet she frequently meets these feelings while reveling in the unknown. “What you looking for? / Shut up and raise your glass if you’re not sure,” she orders with the album’s opening lyrics on “Keep on Dancing.”

Though she has slightly softened her sound from her previous two records, her melodies remain tense and coiled, with her velveteen vocals wrapping tightly around warm Radiohead-esque guitar tones. Yanya transmutes these tensions into lush and lithe indie rock, somehow making unveiling her anxieties look effortlessly smooth and refined. By Caleb Campbell

It may have taken 16 years for The Cure to release their long-awaited fourteenth album, Songs of a Lost World, but it was definitely worth the wait. If the first decade of The Cure saw them release a colossal eight albums between 1979 and 1989, the latter day version of the band aren’t quite so prolific. But what Robert Smith can and always has ensured is a degree of quality control, meaning no Cure album could ever be described as filler or an excuse to make up the numbers. And in the case of Songs of a Lost World, they’ve arguably created their most exquisite statement of intent since 1989’s Disintegration.

Over half of these songs had featured in The Cure’s live sets since 2022, so while there may have been an air of familiarity around the likes of “Alone,” “I Can Never Say Goodbye,” and “Endsong” (to name but three), to finally get to hear them recorded as part of this record only enhanced their presence further. Songs of a Lost World might be a record steeped in sadness—its overriding themes are loss and regret—yet it also has an uplifting feel about it that only a band like The Cure can manifest. It’s an album that whets the appetite even more for The Cure’s well documented fifteenth long player, which according to Robert Smith should see the light of day next year. We await with baited breath… By Dom Gourlay

The one-word description for Fontaines D.C. is changeable. The Irish group has released four albums in five years, but its initial, well-deserved hype dwindled with each release—until now. The glow up with the James Ford-produced Romance is dazzling. Don’t let the dramatic change in the group’s appearance distract you from this utterly thrilling album, on which Ford directs the Fontaines’ limitless talents around the correct corner. They pillage far and wide on Romance, mainly from the ’90s. Their easy switches from grungy to shimmery, raw to shiny, guttural to orchestral flow as fast and fun as a flipbook. By Lily Moayeri

With the full band back in the fold and Cave’s recent personal tragedies of loss, grief, and sorrow in the rear view, Wild God plays out with a spirited imagination and a cohesive effort to evoke optimism. A joyful record full of life and vigor, Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds bring a depth of instrumentation with enticing hooks and dynamic shifts in melodies and tempos, often accompanied by rousing choirs/choruses crashing through the speakers with an almost euphoric crescendo. Wild God explores the depths of human emotions through music and lyrics with each track expressively and articulately sung by Cave. It’s nice to see the band poking their heads up again and producing intelligent and effusive music. By Matt the Raven

With her third album, My Light, My Destroyer, Cassandra Jenkins dissolves any barrier between the everyday and the transcendental. She narrates quotidian experiences like wandering through a pet store to stave off loneliness on “Petco” with the same devastating gravity as her meditations on cosmic meaning and human existence on “Aurora, IL.” Each experience is treated as another side of the same coin, all rendered via arrangements that feel equally vast and intimate. Spoken word portions, field recordings, and orchestral swells melt effortlessly with Jenkins’ gentle vocal tones and soothing balladry. It is an album that brings poignancy to life’s smallest moments while also offering a gentle reminder of how small every moment ultimately is. By Caleb Campbell

Mahashmashana is a masterful return to Josh Tillman’s usual well of existential wit and orchestral grandeur, weaving themes of mortality and impermanence into some of his most expansive and affecting music yet. With lush arrangements, sharp storytelling, and an emotional vulnerability that sees his old cynicism taking a back seat (though it’s never fully gone), the album feels both intimate and apocalyptic. By Scotty Dransfield

The Smile have pulled off not one, but two great albums in 2024, and who’s really surprised? Their 2022 debut, A Light for Attracting Attention, was a vibrant, eclectic rock experiment that satisfied many a Radiohead fan and beyond. On the follow-up, Wall of Eyes, the group is leaner, cleaner, and all-around more refined. “Teleharmonic” is warm and synth-drenched, subtly climbing to a shower of cymbals and trippy programming. “Bending Hectic” climbs even more subtly, only to offer an eruption of distortion as its satisfying payoff. Over eight tracks, Wall of Eyes is a confident and virtuosic exploration of the many galactic corners of rock. By Paul Veracka

Big Thief frontperson Adrianne Lenker came through this year with her best solo offering yet. The production is shaggy, folksy, and immediate, and Lenker’s singing is effectively heartbreaking as always. The songwriting on Bright Future is so strong that it rivals Lenker’s main band’s output, with songs like “Free Treasure” and “Sadness as a Gift” destined to be staples in her catalog. By Scotty Dransfield

Jessica Pratt’s Here in the Pitch sounds like an album out of time, both in its pitch-perfect recreation of vintage pop songcraft and in its indelible dreamy haze. Pratt effortlessly recalls the heyday of Laurel Canyon folk, and ’60s studio experimentalists, embellishing the airy chime of her vocals with feather-light drums and delicate synth layers. She sweeps her influences up in a panoramic swath of the sounds of yesteryear’s Los Angeles pop, using the studio to refract and reframe touchstones like Brian Wilson or Phil Spector. The results feel both timeworn and timeless, easy on the ears but weighing deeply on the heart. By Caleb Campbell

Its title drawn from a New York Daily News headline concerning a commercial airliner whose roof was torn off mid-flight, Vampire Weekend’s fifth studio album merges dreams and history, the indie rock elder statesmen attempting to grapple with the triumphs and tragedies of the modern age. Only God Was Above Us is rich with the poignant sociocultural observations now expected of frontman Ezra Koening, who manages to convey his crushing concerns with a sense of deep poetic empathy, as on the stunning “Capricorn” and millennial lament “Gen-X Cops.” Here, Vampire Weekend demonstrate that the indie spirit is alive and well. By Austin Saalman

Charli XCX’s sixth studio album informed the summer’s popular aesthetic, its likeness permeating a diverse range of spaces—from Roblox to Kamala Harris’s presidential campaign. Behind the spectacle, however, Brat is a wistful ode to the luminescent 2000’s rave scene from which Charli emerged, a biting nostalgia for that now fabled era and location palpable on each track. Despite the album’s overwhelming mainstream recognition, Charli has not deserted her signature avant-pop roots, placing the album comfortably at the intersection of experimental art and popular music. Accordingly, Brat remains among the year’s most captivating listening experiences. By Austin Saalman

It’s hard to find a 2024 debut that sounds as confident and assured as British rock outfit The Last Dinner Party’s Prelude to Ecstasy. The five-member group’s Baroque instrumentation and melodies almost feel like they were ripped straight from the 17th century; their bold lyrics—which often center around the estranged and sometimes nihilistic nature of reality, relationships and desire—feel simultaneously fine-aged and inherently modern. It often takes bands years, and several albums, to find their proper sound, aesthetic and purpose. If Prelude to Ecstasy tells us anything, it’s that The Last Dinner Party have figured it out in one go. By Kaveh Jalinous

On their debut album, English Teacher demonstrated that the British post-punk scene is not just thriving—it’s hit new heights. The Mercury Prize-winning This Could Be Texas beat out more zeitgeist-laden records (ahem, Brat) on its path to Britain’s top indie honors. That success alone should show you how unique and genre-defying this record is. Even before the band’s breakout hit “R&B” appears on the album’s B-side, they’ve displayed their ability to slalom through genres: shoegazey “The World’s Biggest Paving Slab,” spoken word “I’m Not Crying, You’re Crying,” art-rock “Not Everybody Gets to Go to Space,” and the fantastic heartbreak freneticism of “Nearly Daffodils.”

Melodic and tender, yet bearing sharp irreverence akin to their contemporaries (Black Country, New Road; Squid; Wet Leg), This Could Be Texas is a strong start from a young band with lots of road before them. By Ben Jardine

The WAEVE’s second album, City Lights, comes hot on the heels of the duo’s self-titled debut from 2023. While not sounding like a replica, City Lights picks up where the ideas from The WAEVE left off, punching them up and leaning into a swagger that was absent previously. As the duo’s Graham Coxon (Blur) and Rose Elinor Dougall (The Pipettes) get comfortable with each other personally and professionally, not to mention forging a stronger bond with the arrival of their daughter, the titular “Eliza May,” their confidence comes through in bold strokes on City Lights. Another 2024 winner for producer James Ford. By Lily Moayeri

The Smile’s second album of 2024 suffers the fate of many a younger sibling—overshadowed by its big brother. Cutouts is the product of the same recording sessions as Wall of Eyes. (One wonders if Johnny Greenwood, Tom Skinner, and Thom Yorke shouldn’t have curated a single album instead of two releases.) Cutouts showcases the embarrassment of riches that the trio had available to them. Side two, especially. Check out “Don’t Get Me Started,” in which Yorke sounds like he’s in a flotation tank as he sigh-sings, “You don’t get me.” On “Tiptoe,” piano notes pick their way around stabs of dramatic strings. “The Slip”—a contender for The Smile’s most catchy melody to date—in which the springy beat becomes a trampoline for the vocals and jaunty guitar. By Stephen Humphries

With 2020’s Saint Cloud, Katie Crutchfield reinvented Waxahatchee from the project’s fuzzy indie rock beginnings, delving into warm, amber-hued sprawls of country and Americana. That shift in direction has proved a perfect fit and her latest effort, Tigers Blood, settles further into her newfound sound, discovering serene and spellbinding tones to Crutchfield’s voice. She sounds more settled and self-assured than ever before, but she also dissects and interrogates that stability, questioning what it means to live and grow alongside someone else.

Crutchfield’s band is also tighter than ever. She is joined throughout the album by alt country’s latest guitar luminary, MJ Lenderman, and the combination of her voice and his guitar works wonders. Together, they craft open-hearted lyrical beauty as Crutchfield ambles down life’s trails, offering poetic words of wisdom and songwriting that feels beautifully worn and lived in. By Caleb Campbell

Ever since their return from an 18-year hiatus back in 2014, Ride have gone from strength to strength—recording and releasing three albums that stand proudly alongside the records which afforded the four-piece their legendary status in the first place. Nevertheless, if 2017’s Weather Diaries and 2019’s This Is Not a Safe Place were a sign of things to come, this year’s Interplay—Ride’s third album since reforming and seventh overall—might just be their most accomplished collection of songs since the halcyon days of Nowhere and Going Blank Again some three decades ago. Interplay is the sound of a band constantly moving forwards and reinventing themselves, searching for new ideas then executing them in a way that sounds as if it were recorded in the future rather than the present. Whether it be the pristine guitar pop of “Peace Sign,” electronically tinged “Monaco,” or epic drama-laden likes of “Light in a Quiet Room,” and “I Came to See the Wreck,” Interplay is an album bursting with optimism and innovation that suggests Oxford’s finest sons are far from becoming a spent force just yet. By Dom Gourlay

The New Sound is a dazzling maelstrom of prog-rock excess, Steely Dan-esque sleaze, and former black midi frontman Geordie Greep’s bravado, all delivered with wit and theatrical flair. It’s an album full of maximalist arrangements and intricate character studies. Its lyrical preoccupations are downright literary, and the ambition and craft on display—no surprise for black midi fans—make it an exhilarating marathon of a listen. The New Sound, for Greep, is that of crumbling masculinity rendered in baroque detail, and it’s a sign of his continuing mastery of awe-inspiring left turns. By Scotty Dransfield

With a collective CV that includes the likes of Electralene, Wire, and It Hugs Back among their number, Verity Susman and Matthew Simms cut irrepressible figures when it comes to creating unique, genre-pollinating music that crosses boundaries with consummate ease. So, bearing all of the aforementioned in mind, MEMORIALS should be nothing short of a mouth-watering prospect. So, it goes without saying the duo’s debut long player, Memorial Waterslides, more than lives up to expectations. Not only does it focus on very contrasting aspects of MEMORIALS’ make-up, due in no small part to the two multi-instrumentalists the band is comprised of, it also demonstrates their unassuming knack of being able to knock up precocious three-minute pop songs with gleeful abandon whilst simultaneously retaining an air of mystique. “Acceptable Experience” and “Cut It Like a Diamond” perfectly illustrate the former while the melancholic “Name Me” and atmospheric jazz odyssey of “I Have Been Alive” takes Memorial Waterslides far beyond its wildest dreams. By Dom Gourlay

The thought that instantly pops into one’s head when listening to Yard Act’s second album Where’s My Utopia? is: “I bet this lot are really fun to hang out with.” The tongue-in-cheek sense of humor is threaded through this mishmash album. Where’s My Utopia? is storytelling in its lyrics and chaotic in its sound sources—albeit clever in its production, thanks in part to co-producer Remi Kabaka Jr. of Gorillaz. In fact, if you mush up some Gorillaz with The Avalanches and sprinkle with Arctic Monkeys, you’ll have Yard Act. By Lily Moayeri

The project Mount Eerie finds Phil Elverum at his most raw and nocturnal, as he surrenders to the most vulnerable and manic aspects of the human experience. Night Palace is no exception; Elverum pulls back the curtains of privacy to give voice to the darkness through poetry, self-reflections, politics, humor and deep contemplations. At 81 minutes and 26 tracks, Night Palace is the longest Mount Eerie album yet, but it never feels overextended. Each song is richly diverse, exploring a wide range of sounds and genres, from post-rock to ambient to slacker rock. Despite Elverum’s bold, often abrasive sonic experimentation, the album flows unexpectedly, with ending climaxes and ambitious shifts that keep the listener’s attention. There is not a moment of filler.

Night Palace is spiritual in its nature and existential in its sound, yet what stands out most is Elverum’s finely tuned mastery of both lyricism and composition. His brilliance is summarized on “I Spoke With a Fish” in its absurdity yet deeply reflective lyricism or “(soft air),” where the track’s abrasive exhale speaks volumes—without speaking at all.

This might be Phil Elverum’s strongest work yet—a project where every element, from poetry to intentional noise embellishments, is executed with unmatched precision. Clever and audacious as always, Elverum cements himself as one of the most creative and authentic artists alive today. By Marina Malin

Maverick British alt rockers Elbow hit the refresh button again, leaning on the more energetic and sonically dense styles of their past but with a definite slant towards funkier grooves. With instant earworm classics such as “Lover’s Leap,” “Her to the Earth,” and “The Picture,” AUDIO VERTIGO astounds with syncopated bass lines, electronic beats, and swirling sound effects that are refreshingly unfamiliar yet fabulously Elbow. The richly layered album-oriented rock is stacked with shrewd melodies and it’s nice to see Elbow stepping outside their comfort zone and reaching back a bit to reconnect with their daring and adventurous ways. By Matt the Raven

Loma’s third album begins with a track titled “Please, Come In.” Upon entering Loma’s world, the listener will encounter music quite unlike anything else released in 2024. Conventional paths—verse, chorus, verse—are mostly ignored. Composer Jonathan Meiburg, multi-instrumentalist Dan Duszynski, and captivating singer Emily Cross forge unconventional itineraries, guiding the listener through foreboding territories on pieces such as “I Swallowed a Stone” and “Broken Doorbell.” The album folds in natural sounds such as crashing waves, barking dogs, and birdsong. It’s three-dimensional. When the trio chance upon beautiful musical vistas along the way, the impact is revelatory. You’ll want to book a return trip. By Stephen Humphries

Under the Radar cover star Maya Hawke has left her celebrity parents in the dust with her laudable, multi-pronged accomplishments, not the least of which is her third album, Chaos Angel. Intimate and narrative, Chaos Angel feels like a good friend giving you a cozy pep talk. Gentle and affectionate, uplifting and funny, Chaos Angel makes Hawke even more likeable than she already is. And even when she autotunes on “Better,” it’s amusing, like she’s doing a funny voice to cheer you up. By Lily Moayeri

Few artists other than Kim Gordon could make a record that sounds like a blue light-induced headache and make it as ice cool and addictive as The Collective is. Gordon’s second solo record is a kinetic patchwork of explosive trap and industrial rock, littered with twisted and fraught reflections on technology, capitalism and misogyny. The record begins with a blast with the panicked chaos of runaway anthem “BYE BYE” and remains inventive throughout. It’s a noisy triumph. By Alfie Verity

The follow-up to 2021’s Boy from Michigan, John Grant’s sprawling “funk odyssey” casts a much wider net than any of his previous work. The Art of the Lie is a shifting and glossy—at times deeply dark—journey through the mind of the funk polyglot, through his childhood, through the lies we tell ourselves. As always, Grant’s voice is manipulated and ethereal, steeped in longing, heartbreaking memory (try not to well up at the lyrics on “Father”). By Ben Jardine

With a need to care for generations ahead of her and behind, Laura Marling finds herself on the fulcrum of looking back and looking forward. On “Your Girl” she reflects on aging parents, but conversely covers a song of her father’s, “Looking Back,” that he wrote in his 20s. These shifts in time are not nearly as hard to follow as it would seem. Which makes Patterns in Repeat one of Marling’s most direct and stripped down outings to date. If consistency is key, Marling just delivers one gem of an album after another. By Mark Moody

DIIV’s latest offering reveals an adventurous experimental side to the band who weave shoegaze-inspired textures and shadowy atmospherics amongst taut, polyrhythmic beats and smoldering guitars. The album’s tempered pace allows for each song to breathe and unfold, revealing layers of intricate melodies and moody textures. The album’s introspective and melancholic themes are balanced by moments of beauty and hope—as heard on standout tracks “Raining On Your Pillow” and “Soul-net”—making it a captivating and unforgettable listening experience. By Matt the Raven

In something of a return to form, St. Vincent’s All Born Screaming toes the line between existential celebration and existential dread. It’s a career-defining record, one where Annie Clark follows up the acclaimed Daddy’s Home with strong tracks in every corner. If the album’s first single “Broken Man” was any indication, All Born Screaming would be a fierce, often tongue-in-cheek, exploration of her very being, with songs that reflect a “post-plague world.” By Ben Jardine

There is a tangible synergy between the strife in Mdou Moctar’s home country Niger, and the virtuoso’s mesmerizing guitar playing. This is heightened on the group’s second album (and seventh overall) for Matador, Funeral for Justice. Their Tuareg roots inform Mdou Moctar’s captivating sense of rhythm, at the same time bringing a fresh approach to their performance. Politically charged topics, most significantly colonialism, drive Funeral for Justice, which makes the unavoidable urge to dance to its enthralling Berber blues feel (almost) wrong. By Lily Moayeri

It’s easy to talk about someone’s potential but not so easy to determine how or when that might be realized. However, in the case of Brooklyn quintet GIFT, the progress they’ve made between 2022’s Momentary Presence and this year’s Illuminator is nothing short of astounding. Sure, there’s elements that follow on succinctly from its predecessor, but by and large Illuminator was an elevation in ideas, structure and execution. Taking the psychedelic blueprint carved out by the likes of Sonic Boom, Animal Collective, and Tame Impala, GIFT manage to infuse pop sensibilities while retaining their strictly left field ideology to create one of 2024’s most breathtakingly gorgeous albums that hints at an even brighter future. By Dom Gourlay

Several albums in, MJ Lenderman continues to tweak the mix. Perhaps more downcast and subtle than 2022’s Boat Songs, Lenderman’s latest feels more mature but with touches of his signature humor. The title song and “Rip Torn” bring an old school country sound, while “Wristwatch” provides a brilliant coupling of loneliness and modernity—not to mention one of the catchiest choruses of the year. And Wednesday bandmate Karly Hartzman provides her own stamp in several spots, including a punctuated end on the heartrending “She’s Leaving You.” By Mark Moody

Rose Main Reading Room features a beguiling blend of indie pop, classical minimalism, and dreamy psychedelia. With a title that somehow perfectly matches its contemplative appeal, the album’s lush, carefully constructed arrangements evoke nostalgia and museum-worthy beauty. Joseph Stevens and Olivia Babuka Black’s gentle, intertwined vocals simply float over these songs, which flow with a sense of comfortable grace. Throw this album on the headphones next time you visit a library or an art gallery. By Scotty Dransfield

Small Changes is a bit of a misnomer as Michael Kiwanuka’s fourth album over the course of a dozen years marks big shifts for the singer/songwriter. His maturation, even from the mainstream integration of his “Cold Little Heart” Big Little Lies era, is palpable on Small Changes. Kiwanuka has always sounded like he is from a long ago past. On Small Changes, he brings a timeless feel to modern interpretations of classic sonic touchpoints. The album is mellow, with every word and note spare and considered, even as orchestral elements fill out the breathing spaces. An absolute stunner. By Lily Moayeri

Until I heard “It’s Rough on Rats (If You’re Asking),” I had no idea an electric guitar could cough up a lung! Here, White manages to manipulate his instrument through wheezes and roars, recapturing something of The White Stripes’ audacity without a hint of nostalgic guitar hero sentimentalism. Just killer riffs and southern, anti-empire bombast all the way through. By Chris Thiessen

After an almost decade-long wait, Jamie xx returned with his sophomore solo album this year, In Waves. The record is a dizzying sensory rush, touring through British electronic subgenres as Jamie xx pens an ecstatic paean to the pleasures of 3 a.m. club nights and unbridled movement. Bleary house beats, infectious sampled hooks, and triumphant horns make for euphoric highs on highlights like “Baddy on the Floor” and “Life,” all delivered with unabashed sincerity. It is dance music written about dance music, for those who love dance music. By Caleb Campbell

After a detour through feelings of optimism, new love, and self-acceptance on 2020’s As Long As You Are, Future Islands returned this year to their familiar well of heartbreak and grief on People Who Aren’t There Anymore—albeit with fresh wisdom and a new perspective. This is the Baltimore synth-pop crew’s best-produced album ever, filling out their familiar blend of hooky bass lines and drippy synth work with vocal harmonies (“The Sickness”) and driving, dark atmospheres (“Give Me the Ghost Back”). With the songwriting and performances more confident than ever, somehow, 20 years in, Future Islands continue to get better and better. By Scotty Dransfield

In an era of unparalleled easy access to music, Cindy Lee’s Diamond Jubilee stands out immediately for how it withholds itself. It was famously originally available only through a Geocities website or a single YouTube upload. Its presentation made it feel like a product of a bygone era where music discovery felt more intuitive and surprising, one before streaming services siphoned the process of digital crate-digging down into curated algorithms. Moreover, the album itself is one of the year’s truly singular listening experiences. Each of its 32 tracks plays through a misty vintage haze, with Cindy Lee touring through shambolic and treacly takes on the sounds of girl group pop, Motown soul, and lo-fi sunshine pop. The album feels like a forgotten record pulled out of a subconscious memory. It is bleary, otherworldly, and uncompromising, but also hauntingly beautiful. By Caleb Campbell

A quarter-century into their career, Camera Obscura deliver their most affecting album to date, fashioning scenes from mid-life—ones informed in part by the terrible loss that necessitated their hiatus, pandemic-induced existentialism, and even fan gratitude—into a typically smart and tuneful collection.

Jari Haapalainen, who helped the band reach such great heights with two wall-of-sound affairs in the mid- to late-aughts, dials back the reverb in favor of a clarity that serves the non-fiction feel without sacrificing the production-as-ear-candy he is so adept at making. By Gary Knight

Confidence Man’s third record is maybe the band’s most sophisticated offering so far. The beats are tighter, the lyrics ever so slightly more earnest, the concept more focused than their previous albums. That doesn’t mean they’ve become any less fun, though. 3AM (LA LA LA) is Confidence Man as giddy and hyperactive as always. Filled with colourful stories about breakbeats, sickos, and late nights, 3AM (LA LA LA) is a total riot. By Alfie Verity

Mannequin Pussy hit hard once again this year with I Got Heaven, a record that contains some of the band’s most light and dreamy material and some of their heaviest. There is a tender warmth and aching vulnerability that colors “I Don’t Know You” and “Sometimes,” a delicate touch that is nowhere to be found with a rager like “OK? OK! OK? OK!.” Marisa Dabice embodies both sides of the record, opening up to love in “Split Me Open” while offering a defiant warning on “Loud Bark”: “Not a single motherfucker who has tried to lock me up / Could get the collar round my neck.” I Got Heaven blazes at glorious extremes, inhabiting yearning, rage, fear, and power all at once. By Caleb Campbell

Perhaps the most haunted-sounding record in recent history, Lucas Frank composed Ink & Oil while wrestling with debilitating nightmares. These songs, backed by a full orchestra, were part of Frank’s path to healing; that such pain produced such an uplifting sound is testament to both the songwriter’s resilience and talent. By Austin Trunick

Over the course of five albums, saxophonist and bandleader Kamasi Washington has already earned his place among the greats of contemporary jazz. He comes into his sixth full-length album, Fearless Movement, with nothing left to prove, leaving space for a new record with an electric collaborative energy. He describes Fearless Movement as his “dance album,” and a rotating list of musicians—including Thundercat, George Clinton, Taj Austin, Ras Austin, Terrace Martin, and André 3000—all get in on the party.

Washington and his collaborators’ palpable creative chemistry allows them to turn the studio into a playground for sprawling fusions of jazz, funk, hip-hop, and rock. They play with hip-hop on “Asha the First,” “Together,” and “Computer Love,” while “Dream State” finds André 3000 and Washington locked into a dizzying flute and sax jazz funk duet. Fearless Movement takes the listener on a joyous, eclectic journey, all led by a group of master instrumentalists let loose to experiment. By Caleb Campbell

There will always be space for Beth Gibbons. The Portishead vocalist withholds her very necessary voice for years at a time, and when she does let it come forth, it is hiding behind collaborators (Rustin Man, Kendrick Lamar, the Polish National Radio Symphony Orchestra). Lives Outgrown is just Gibbons, raw and real, just as heart wrenching as she’s always been. It’s less the wretched misery of Portishead and more minimalist and folky, but the purity of her delivery is intact. That delicious, tortured grief we love Gibbons for is present and perfect on Lives Outgrown. By Lily Moayeri

London-based producer and composer Sam Shepherd spent the last few years collaborating with the late legendary saxophonist Pharoah Sanders, releasing 2021’s ambient orchestral jazz masterpiece, Promises. This makes his latest effort Cascade somewhat of a homecoming, with Shepherd returning to his club roots and delivering a record full of meticulously crafted tech house. Shepherd’s compositions are propulsive and entrancing, full of hypnotic grooves that would feel transcendent at a festival and detailed textures that dazzle on headphone listening. Above all, Cascades proves that Shepherd’s esoteric experimentation hasn’t dulled his talent for a compulsively danceable club mix. By Caleb Campbell

The title of Hinds’ 2020 album, The Prettiest Curse, could be considered prescient. Since that release, the Spanish duo lost its musical infrastructure: musicians with whom they performed, their management, their record label, and their tour dates. Hinds turned those curses into blessings, focusing on themselves, on songwriting, on collaborators who wanted to work with them, and on their fans. This is apparent on its undeniable comeback album, VIVA HINDS. Exuberant and cheeky, the joyful party album is the sonic representation of resilience and self-belief, particularly on key songs “Boom Boom Back” featuring Beck and the Spanish-sung “En Forma.” By Lily Moayeri

Caribou’s Dan Snaith joins the group of electronic composers who this year bypassed cerebral adventurousness to head straight for the club. Honey contains Caribou’s most direct and bright music since at least 2010. Utilizing digital effects to simulate other voices, Snaith’s vocal samples enliven songs dedicated to moving on from heartache (“Broke My Heart,” “Dear Life”) and shaking off the pain by moving your body (“Climbing,” “Do Without You”). By Scotty Dransfield

Harm’s Way finds Toronto’s Ducks Ltd. iterating on the jangly indie pop of their 2021 debut, charging forward atop barrelling drums and sugary guitar licks. The record’s chiming tones and irrepressible hooks do belie a sense of yearning melancholy running underneath the lyrics. However, rather than dampening the duo’s charms, that ennui gives them a dose of scrappy, restless energy, best captured in the record’s highlight, “Train Full of Gasoline”—“There’s always another dagger hidden in the sleeve / Another bullet in the magazine / A way to get yourself set / Up to roll back down the same long track / Set up to explode like a train full of gasoline.” Whether you relate to the band’s simmering anxieties, or you just have a love for late ’80s college rock, Harm’s Way is for you. By Caleb Campbell

In true Cheekface fashion, “America’s local band” dropped It’s Sorted near the top of the year with little announcement or fanfare, so you’ll be excused if it flew under the radar. The band seems to be fine with that, declaring on the opener that “Success is cringe / I wanna be on the fringe.” Fortunately, It’s Sorted also shows the band at their most wry, self-deprecating, and infectiously catchy. Greg Katz’s deadpan and instantly quotable lyrics, Amanda Tannen’s wiry basslines, and Mark “Echo” Edwards’ punchy rhythms all make their expected appearances, and the band once again shows a preternatural talent for dissecting and lampooning millennial angst. They are continuing to do their thing and nobody else is doing it like Cheekface. By Caleb Campbell

Check out Part 2 (#51-100 plus honorable mentions) here.