{"id":1465511,"date":"2021-12-06T14:00:00","date_gmt":"2021-12-06T11:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/analyse.optim.biz\/?p=1465511"},"modified":"2021-12-06T14:00:00","modified_gmt":"2021-12-06T11:00:00","slug":"the-100-best-songs-of-2021","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/analyse.optim.biz\/?p=1465511","title":{"rendered":"The 100 Best Songs of 2021"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Lists & Guides<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

The 100 Best Songs of 2021<\/h1>\n
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The tracks that defined an unsettling year, featuring Japanese Breakfast, Olivia Rodrigo, Caroline Polachek, Megan Thee Stallion, and more<\/div>\n
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By <\/span>Pitchfork<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

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Graphic by Callum Abbott. Yves Tumor photo by Alexa Viscius, Low photo by Nathan Keay, Megan Thee Stallion photo by Tim Mosenfelder\/FilmMagic, Japanese Breakfast photo by Bobby Doherty, Caroline Polachek photo by Pooneh Ghana.<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/header>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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In another trying year, many of the best songs\u2014from \u201cLike I Used To\u201d to \u201cPick Up Your Feelings\u201d to \u201cHard Drive\u201d to \u201cGood Days\u201d\u2014were about picking yourself up, dusting yourself off, and trying again. These tracks gave us a shoulder to cry on, but also, crucially, a kick in the pants when we needed it most. They were the soundtrack to our 2021, and we have a feeling we\u2019ll keep turning to them in better times yet to come. These are the 100 best songs of the year.<\/p>\n

Listen to selections from this list on our Spotify playlist and Apple Music playlist.<\/p>\n

Check out all of Pitchfork\u2019s 2021 wrap-up coverage here.<\/p>\n

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Capitol<\/p>\n

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100.<\/div>\n

Halsey: \u201cI am not a woman, I\u2019m a god\u201d<\/h2>\n

More than any other track on Halsey\u2019s career-best LP If I Can\u2019t Have Love, I Want Power,<\/em> \u201cI am not a woman, I\u2019m a god\u201d embodies the bitter resignation of the album\u2019s title: detachment as a mask for self-loathing. Taking the come-closer-go-away themes of previous songs like \u201cAlone\u201d and turning them post-apocalyptic, Halsey likens themself to a distant sort of god, an alt-pop Doctor Manhattan surveying their emotional wasteland of botched connections and might-have-been selves and finding nothing savable. Producers Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross deliver their late-career coldest: an implacable sequence line, a metronomic beat, and a synth riff that prickles like a crown of thorns. Halsey vocalizes like they\u2019re trying to outrun the thing they\u2019re singing about, until the final chorus: a desperate belt with an abrupt end, the sounds their last few remaining feelings make before they\u2019re soldered over. \u2013Katherine St. Asaph<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Halsey, \u201cI am not a woman, I\u2019m a god\u201d<\/p>\n

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99.<\/div>\n

Smerz: \u201cBeliever\u201d<\/h2>\n

Smerz, the electronic project of Norwegian songwriters Henriette Motzfeldt and Catharina Stoltenberg, released its debut full-length, Believer<\/em>, early this year. The album\u2019s cold, creeping title track is among the duo\u2019s finest work: The song teeters on jagged synths and rattling polyrhythms, while strings surge from behind at gale force. Stoltenberg\u2019s voice is small and slightly processed, a mechanical purr that somehow feels both vulnerable and detached. Her clipped dispatches on love are pragmatic and icy, but beguiling enough to lure you through each disorienting curve. \u2013Madison Bloom<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Smerz, \u201cBeliever\u201d<\/p>\n

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Fire Talk<\/p>\n

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98.<\/div>\n

Mandy, Indiana: \u201cBottle Episode\u201d<\/h2>\n

\u201cBottle Episode\u201d is repetition weaponized. The single by the Manchester-based Mandy, Indiana marches brusquely from pocket to pocket, its pacing urgent, its drums military. But it\u2019s Valentine Caulfield\u2019s lyrics that form the most compelling loops\u2014the ones that upend the song\u2019s tone. Each short verse ends with a single repeating line; some, when read straight, would be too grim to maintain the song\u2019s relentless groove (\u201cSous le feu et sous les balles\/Les hommes dansent quasiment,\u201d roughly translated: \u201cAs the bullets hit them\/The men dance, almost\u201d). Yet Caulfield infuses them with a perverse playfulness, allowing you to imagine, against your better judgment, how that choreography might look. \u2013Paul A. Thompson<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Mandy, Indiana, \u201cBottle Episode\u201d<\/p>\n

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Dirty Hit<\/p>\n

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97.<\/div>\n

beabadoobee: \u201cLast Day on Earth\u201d<\/h2>\n

Bea Kristi wrote \u201cLast Day on Earth\u201d soon after COVID-19 lockdowns began by imagining how she would\u2019ve spent her last \u201cnormal\u201d day. It sounds like a rom-com writing prompt, with music to match: irresistible guitar-pop jangle, a giddy wordless hook, soft backing vocals from the 1975\u2019s Matty Healy. But the song\u2019s sweet self-referentiality takes it someplace unexpected. Instead of looking for love or throwing a rager, Bea wanders around her house naked and alone, obsessing over a song that\u2019s \u201cso fucking sick\u201d even as she\u2019s too drunk to finish the lyrics. That\u2019s where the hook comes in: When you have a golden riff and a perfect melody, there’s nothing wrong with singing shoop-do-badoo<\/em> and calling it a day. \u2013Jamieson Cox<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> beabadoobee, \u201cLast Day on Earth\u201d<\/p>\n

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96.<\/div>\n

Kay Flock: \u201cBeing Honest\u201d<\/h2>\n

Bronx teenager Kay Flock has the voice of a much older man, suitable for projecting menace and hinting at relentless pain. It\u2019s reminiscent of G Herbo, when the Chicago rapper was pioneering drill nearly a decade ago. Herbo solidified this connection by showing up on a remix of \u201cBeing Honest,\u201d but it\u2019s the original, solo version of the track that gives Kay Flock the most space to express his tormented worldview. The song\u2019s verses are stark, filled with loneliness and missed calls and death, all atop a sample of the late XXXTentacion\u2019s \u201cchanges\u201d made to sound as if it were an unearthed pop relic from the \u201960s. In a year when New York\u2019s mutation of drill seemed to be stagnating, Kay Flock injected it with new life. \u2013Paul A. Thompson<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Kay Flock, \u201cBeing Honest\u201d<\/p>\n

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95.<\/div>\n

Doss: \u201cLook\u201d<\/h2>\n

A girl walks home alone at night<\/em>: There are horror films written about the sheer anxiety that scenario evokes. But on her effervescent single \u201cLook,\u201d Doss subverts the threat. Defiant in her confident solitude, she dares us to, well, look. \u201cYou see me, on my own,\u201d she sings in a robotic register, before a rubbery, slightly sinister synth counters. \u201cLook\u201d is grimy and grotesque, with wobbly basslines and EDM-style drops. Like a rave in a funhouse mirror, its rhythms are as disorienting as they are danceable. Her lyrics share that shifting perspective, transferring power between the observer and the observed. \u201cI can do it on my own,\u201d she insists, over and over again. By the end, it\u2019s impossible to tell if the dip in her voice is out of fear or excitement, but either way, we\u2019re transfixed. \u2013Arielle Gordon<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Doss, \u201cLook\u201d<\/p>\n

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94.<\/div>\n

Doja Cat: \u201cGet Into It (Yuh)\u201d<\/h2>\n

The best Doja Cat singles work their way into your brain, and then, when you least expect it, involuntarily funnel back out through your vocal cords. On \u201cGet Into It (Yuh),\u201d it\u2019s the way she bends her voice on the hook, going from a croaky whisper to a sweet-sounding chant. Then there\u2019s the light, dreamy melody that\u2019s perfect to whistle along to. The only problem is, when you sing it back to yourself, it won\u2019t sound nearly as good. \u2013Alphonse Pierre<\/p>\n

Further Reading:<\/strong>Tyler, the Creator, Doja Cat, and What It Means to Be a \u201cReal\u201d Rapper in 2021<\/strong><\/div>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Doja Cat, \u201cGet Into It (Yuh)\u201d<\/p>\n

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93.<\/div>\n

Mavi: \u201cTime Travel\u201d<\/h2>\n

Mavi\u2019s 2019 record Let the Sun Talk<\/em> was a spiritual journey of self-discovery and Black liberation that established the North Carolina artist as a leader of rap\u2019s underground vanguard. Two years later, he sounds hungrier than ever, suffering no fools. On \u201cTime Travel,\u201d he narrates the battle between his ego and insecurities. \u201cOften I be embarrassed over how brazen I be,\u201d he raps over shimmering keys, \u201cbut it beats bein\u2019 embarrassed over how lazy they be.\u201d For nearly four minutes, he breathlessly runs through references both Biblical and mythological in between nods to Nickelodeon cartoons and his beloved hometown Charlotte Hornets, painting a self portrait that feels both superhuman and achingly relatable. \u2013Brandon Callender<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Mavi, \u201cTime Travel\u201d<\/p>\n

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92.<\/div>\n

SPELLLING: \u201cLittle Deer\u201d\u00a0<\/h2>\n

Bay Area art-pop sorcerer Tia Cabral of SPELLLING reintroduced herself with \u201cLittle Deer,\u201d the surging baroque opener of her fantastical third album The Turning Wheel<\/em>. Evoking the audacious spirits of forebears like Minnie Riperton and Kate Bush, it is a fable-like tale of death and rebirth, of the never-quite-finished process of being a person. Joined by over a dozen musicians\u2014brass, strings, woodwinds, conga, a choir\u2014Cabral brings pop formalism and the questing spirit of \u201970s soul orchestration into SPELLLING\u2019s world, making a majestic entry into her sharpest album yet. \u2013Jenn Pelly<\/p>\n

Further Reading: How Dracula, Tarot Cards, and Drinking in the Shower Inspired SPELLLING\u2019s New Album<\/div>\n

Listen:<\/strong> SPELLLING, \u201cLittle Deer\u201d<\/p>\n

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91.<\/div>\n

Snoh Aalegra: \u201cWe Don\u2019t Have to Talk About It\u201d<\/h2>\n

Here\u2019s an R&B ballad for the ghosted, by the ghosted. Snoh Aalegra, whose elegant vocals and tight ponytail have inspired enough comparisons to Sade to cause a minor Twitter controversy, is trying to navigate the frustrations of a one-sided relationship. She wants to respect her partner\u2019s silence even as she\u2019s haunted by what\u2019s been left unsaid. Atop roomy production that mirrors the empty space she\u2019s wading through, Aalegra sounds both poised and vulnerable\u2014straight-faced with a single tear running down. She can\u2019t force him to talk about what\u2019s wrong. But he can\u2019t stop her from singing about it, either. \u2013Ryan Dombal<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Snoh Aalegra, \u201cWe Don\u2019t Have to Talk About It\u201d<\/p>\n

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90.<\/div>\n

The Armed: \u201cAll Futures\u201d<\/h2>\n

\u201cAll Futures\u201d introduced ULTRAPOP<\/em> as the Armed\u2019s fourth album, and also as a one-band genre: a deliberate attempt to fashion post-hardcore\u2019s most extremist tendencies into something thrillingly accessible. In a live-performance video that has become the song\u2019s definitive version, the band flexed the results of the absurd nutrition and exercise regimen they\u2019d followed for the previous year, a sort of conceptual stunt aimed at visually matching the maxed-out heroism of the music. Absolutely ripped, dwarfing their instruments, they pummel out massive hooks amid organized chaos. These facets are inseparable for the Armed, a band that has dedicated its confounding existence to highbrow myth-making on one hand, and on the other, shit that immediately sounds and looks fucking awesome. \u2013Ian Cohen<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> The Armed, \u201cAll Futures\u201c<\/p>\n

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89.<\/div>\n

Danny L Harle: \u201cBoing Beat\u201d<\/h2>\n

MC Boing, the pitched-up voice on Danny L Harle\u2019s post-trance rave-up \u201cBoing Beat,\u201d is a blobby blue cartoon character that looks like a cross between Crazy Frog and a character from a Red Bull commercial. Such absurd imagery suits the song\u2019s delirious swirl of internet-addled Eurodance refractions and pitched-up sugar-rush rapping, which is credited to the animated avatar. The euphoric, otherworldly track arrived in January, while clubs across the world were still shuttered and the long nights out that \u201cnever, never, never end\u201d were still a distant dream. Though dancefloors have filled back up, the music\u2019s yearning is still palpable\u2014few songs better capture the feeling of desperately straining for an ecstatic experience that\u2019s just out of reach. \u2013Colin Joyce<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Danny L Harle, \u201cBoing Beat\u201d<\/p>\n

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88.<\/div>\n

Dijon: \u201cMany Times\u201d<\/h2>\n

If \u201cMany Times\u201d is a song about needing space, Dijon manages to use every available inch. It unfolds in the moments after a breakup, leaving the R&B-inflected singer-songwriter grasping at straws, his multi-tracked vocals growing progressively more agitated across two verses. A series of structural pivots\u2014claustrophobic percussion giving way to a roomier chorus\u2014mirror the narrative\u2019s emotional trajectory, with a lively piano outro lending a glimmer of hope. \u2013Pete Tosiello<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Dijon, \u201cMany Times\u201d<\/p>\n

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87.<\/div>\n

Joy Orbison: \u201cbetter\u201d [ft. L\u00e9a Sen]<\/h2>\n

Presented as a mixtape, Joy Orbison\u2019s long-awaited debut full-length, Still Slipping Vol. 1<\/em>, is meant to be consumed as a complete, luscious whole, but album highlight \u201cbetter\u201d beautifully encapsulates the UK producer\u2019s timeless brand of post-dubstep street soul. Dreamily drifting along the edge of the dancefloor, the track rests atop a bed of plush deep house that recalls the pillow-soft sounds of Larry Heard; its silky, dimly lit groove centers the R&B-infused vocals of fellow Londoner L\u00e9a Sen, who delivers a heart-twisting tale of late-night longing. \u2013Shawn Reynaldo<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Joy Orbison, \u201cbetter\u201d [ft. L\u00e9a Sen]<\/p>\n

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86.<\/div>\n

Mariah the Scientist: \u201c2 You\u201d<\/h2>\n

The heartbreak Mariah the Scientist sings about in \u201c2 You\u201d is the kind that doesn\u2019t fade for years. Against a dreamy mosaic of a cappella fragments, she reminisces about a lover who drifted away, about how the only thing she regrets more than letting this one go was not leaving sooner. \u201cBut look at what we made\/Sure was beautiful,\u201d she sings, voice soaring up from a well of emotions heavy as gravity, a heaping stack of harmonies to tell you how her heart went threadbare. After all this time, she still can\u2019t quite explain it: \u201cWhenever they play our song\/Don\u2019t know why I feel ashamed.\u201d \u2013Anna Gaca<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Mariah the Scientist, \u201c2 You\u201d<\/p>\n

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85.<\/div>\n

City Girls: \u201cTwerkulator\u201d<\/h2>\n

\u201cTwerkulator\u201d fuses regions, eras, and sounds, weaving samples from Afrika Bambaataa & Soulsonic Force\u2019s foundational 1982 electro-rap record \u201cPlanet Rock\u201d and Cajmere\u2019s 1992 house touchstone \u201cThe Percolator\u201d into a beat that throws back to the blunt minimalism of Miami bass music. Incorporating all that history made it tougher to put out\u2014after a leaked version went viral on TikTok in 2020, sample clearance issues delayed its proper release for a year\u2014but it also practically guaranteed its power. \u201cPop that pussy on some Luke shit,\u201d Yung Miami instructs on the song, offering another nod to raunchy rap pioneer Uncle Luke. Even with this amalgam of references, the City Girls\u2019 stamp still rings loud and clear. \u2013Ivie Ani<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> City Girls, \u201cTwerkulator\u201d<\/p>\n

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84.<\/div>\n

Ethel Cain: \u201cMichelle Pfeiffer\u201d [ft. lil aaron]<\/h2>\n

Hayden Anhed\u00f6nia\u2019s music as Ethel Cain depicts a woman scorned by love and by society, to startlingly vulnerable, often disturbing effect. On \u201cMichelle Pfeiffer,\u201d the first single from her breakout EP Inbred,<\/em> Anhedonia recasts Cain as Florence + The Ketamine: blurry, bleary-eyed, but colossal, the L.A.-inspired breakup anthem plays like an on-stage meltdown at the Hollywood Bowl. Anhed\u00f6nia told Pitchfork earlier this year that she wants to \u201cwrite about what really happens,\u201d and the melodramatic \u201cPfeiffer\u201d co-exists on Inbred<\/em> with tracks about intergenerational trauma and abuse. Those songs thrive on pent-up aggression and tension; \u201cPfeiffer\u201d is all release, pure unhinged gothic beauty. \u2013Hannah Jocelyn<\/p>\n

Further Reading: Ethel Cain Fears No Darkness<\/div>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Ethel Cain, \u201cMichelle Pfeiffer\u201d [ft. lil aaron]<\/p>\n

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83.<\/div>\n

Leo Bhanji: \u201cDamaged\u201d<\/h2>\n

Leo Bhanji doesn\u2019t write songs so much as assemble musical Frankenstein\u2019s monsters\u2014malformed skeletal prototypes whose guts and wiring he does not attempt to polish or hide. \u201cDamaged\u201d is willfully oblique in its collage of lo-fi pop, R&B, hip-hop, church music, and UK dance, with sounds that mutate in response to Bhanji\u2019s stream-of-consciousness vocals. As the London artist’s voice shifts between King Krule mumble and Auto-Tuned croon, the beat shifts with him\u2014capturing both the anxiety and the acceptance of an intimate late-night epiphany. \u2013Bhanuj Kappal<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Leo Bhanji, \u201cDamaged\u201d<\/p>\n

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82.<\/div>\n

Shannon Lay: \u201cRare to Wake\u201d<\/h2>\n

\u201cI\u2019m longing to grow,\u201d sings L.A. folkie Shannon Lay on \u201cRare to Wake,\u201d a ballad that traces the hinge between fear of personal transformation and excitement for it. Lay\u2019s multi-tracked harmonies fall at soft angles over finger-picked acoustic guitar and meandering electric piano, until a dynamic swell announces a transition that never comes. The arrangement, like the song itself, seems to fidget with anticipation, finding beauty at an uncertain precipice. \u2013Lane Brown<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Shannon Lay, \u201cRare to Wake\u201d<\/p>\n

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81.<\/div>\n

Yeat: \u201cG\u00ebt Busy\u201d<\/h2>\n

\u201cThis song already was turnt but here\u2019s a bell,\u201d Yeat raps about halfway through this track, before firing off a massive gonging sound that\u2019s become the Portland artist\u2019s trademark. Zoom out from that moment, though, and there\u2019s a lot more to enjoy here: mini vocal freakouts full of garbled drug concoctions; Dr. Seuss references; twizzies, tizzies, and Lizzies. Cutting his teeth in the influential online rap collective Slayworld over the last few years, Yeat was always a little stranger than his peers, and consequently cast as a minor figure. But in 2021, his surrealist bent became his superpower. \u2013Mano Sundaresan<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Yeat, \u201cG\u00ebt Busy\u201d<\/p>\n

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80.<\/div>\n

Rostam: \u201c4Runner\u201d<\/h2>\n

Rostam\u2019s twelve-string tribute to the open road would make anyone swoon, but this love song may hold special significance for queer people. \u201cDon\u2019t wanna be pretty like a girl,\u201d he sings. \u201cI think I\u2019m pretty much your boy.\u201d For anyone who\u2019s ever felt like a foreigner in their own skin, being seen in the right way by the right person\u2014handsome rather than beautiful, say\u2014can feel like a homecoming. In \u201c4Runner,\u201d Rostam and his love make a new home for themselves on the highway, leaving the familiar behind and driving forward into a future that once seemed impossible. \u2013Peyton Thomas<\/p>\n

Further Reading: Rostam on How Dave Matthews\u2019 Drummer, a Book About Conflict, and Toasted Sesame Oil Inspired His New Album<\/div>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Rostam, \u201c4Runner\u201d<\/p>\n

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79.<\/div>\n

Water From Your Eyes: \u201c\u201cQuotations\u201d\u201d<\/h2>\n

Water From Your Eyes\u2019 \u201c\u201cQuotations\u201d\u201d manages to seem offhanded and rigorous at once, moving restlessly but with almost neurotic precision. As the Brooklyn art-pop duo stitches disconnected observations\u2014legs stretching on grass, something in the air flying by\u2014the music comes together as an alien collage, with errant elements meticulously arranged: bubbly synths, fractured percussive clicks, a disorienting vocal loop, a sprawling breakbeat. When the track ascends to its abrupt ending, it is as though a portal has opened up, and we\u2019re suddenly sucked back to reality. \u2013Kelly Liu<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Water From Your Eyes, \u201c\u201cQuotations\u201d\u201d<\/p>\n

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78.<\/div>\n

Dean Blunt: \u201cthe rot\u201d<\/h2>\n

Dean Blunt\u2019s music can often be sparse. He renders club rap bangers into acoustic ballads, compressing each recording to its emotional core. Black Metal 2<\/em> offers some of the most accessible music of his career, and with \u201cthe rot\u201d the artist approaches Britpop. Blunt\u2019s intimate, monotone croon is familiar, but the sweeping strings and lightly twanging guitars are disarmingly luxurious. As the song closes, he cedes ground to Joanne Robertson, whose airy and overdubbed vocals melt into a gentle, orchestral whirlpool. Call it Dean Blunt\u2019s \u201cBitter Sweet Symphony.\u201d \u2013Nadine Smith<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Dean Blunt, \u201cthe rot\u201d<\/p>\n

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Mexican Summer<\/p>\n

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77.<\/div>\n

Iceage: \u201cShelter Song\u201d<\/h2>\n

Iceage\u2019s album-opening \u201cShelter Song\u201d is a wearily triumphant reintroduction to the band: no longer the fresh-faced punks of records past, they slouch onto Seek Shelter<\/em> like hardened rockers, armed with Screamadelica<\/em> bombast and Exile on Main St.<\/em> scuzz. The song builds over a jagged riff; soon, the Lisboa Gospel Collective bolsters vocalist Elias Bender R\u00f8nnenfelt\u2019s gravelly tones. As he sings of getting kicked and knocked down, the band swells in commiseration, offering shelter where they once might have added to the melee. \u2013Daniel Felsenthal<\/p>\n

Further Reading: Iceage\u2019s Ruthless Evolution<\/div>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Iceage, \u201cShelter Song\u201d<\/p>\n

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Hyperdub<\/p>\n

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76.<\/div>\n

Foodman: \u201cParking Area\u201d<\/h2>\n

True to his name, Foodman loves to eat. Some of his favorite places to grab a snack are the michi no eki<\/em> (service stations) which dot Japan\u2019s highways\u2014often sprawling campuses with spas, caf\u00e9s, and farmers markets. Foodman pays tribute to these roadside oases on his 2021 album Yasuragi Land<\/em>, and on \u201cParking Area,\u201d he sketches a scenic view that might entice a weary traveler to pull over. His palette is more spacious than usual; a breezy, digitally altered guitar drives the melody, leaving more room for his nimble beats to ping-pong around than his often jam-packed tunes typically do. \u201cParking Area\u201d invites you to take a moment to enjoy life\u2019s simplest pleasures. Treat yourself. You deserve it. \u2013Shy Thompson<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Foodman, \u201cParking Area\u201d<\/p>\n

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Relentless \/ House Anxiety<\/p>\n

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75.<\/div>\n

Bad Boy Chiller Crew: \u201cDon\u2019t You Worry About Me\u201d<\/h2>\n

Besides standing in a wind tunnel and letting the air peel your lips back, there were few more effective ways of stretching your face into a huge, shit-eating grin this year than drinking in UK dance\/rap trio Bad Boy Chiller Crew\u2019s speedy fusion of organ house and balls-to-the-wall bass. The boys from Bradford have worked out what they do well (beers, bangers, bikes) and they\u2019re sticking with it. \u201cDon\u2019t You Worry About Me\u201d refines the formula: A whale-sized hook backed up with boisterous bars and a shot of humour to chase it down. Git up. \u2013Will Pritchard<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Bad Boy Chiller Crew, \u201cDon\u2019t You Worry About Me\u201d<\/p>\n

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74.<\/div>\n

Helado Negro: \u201cGemini and Leo\u201d<\/h2>\n

Where Helado Negro\u2019s 2019 breakthrough This Is How You Smile<\/em> was an intimate self-portrait, on followup Far In<\/em>, Roberto Carlos Lange adjusts his aperture to capture something bigger: the cosmos. The twinkling funk of lead single \u201cGemini and Leo,\u201d which was appropriately released on the summer solstice, radiates pure warmth. With each sweep of the chorus Lange\u2019s voice tilts skyward, yet the elegant bassline and assured beat remain earthbound, accompanying the song\u2019s titular star-crossed dancers as they stay locked in a groove and glide through an hour undefined. \u2013Gabriel Szatan<\/p>\n

Further Reading: Helado Negro Is Dancing Out the Anxiety of Modern Life<\/div>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Helado Negro, \u201cGemini and Leo\u201d<\/p>\n

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Saddle Creek<\/p>\n

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73.<\/div>\n

Indigo De Souza: \u201cHold U\u201d<\/h2>\n

As comfortable as Indigo De Souza is with solitude, she knows the company you keep can help further your journey to acceptance. Over the sleek, funk-lite groove of \u201cHold U,\u201d the Asheville musician proclaims her adoration for the community she\u2019s built into her own personal safety net: \u201cI want the best things for you,\u201d she coos, like a wedding vow exchange you can\u2019t help but shed a tear to. \u201cHold U\u201d is a cathartic reminder that the people you surround yourself with are often the clearest reflection of your own psyche, and if you find the type of friends that she describes, loving yourself feels less like a task. \u2013Abby Jones<\/p>\n

Further Reading: Indigo De Souza\u2019s Ultimate Indie Rock Glow Up<\/div>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Indigo De Souza, \u201cHold U\u201d<\/p>\n

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Bruiser Brigade<\/p>\n

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72.<\/div>\n

Bruiser Wolf: \u201cDope Game $tupid\u201d<\/h2>\n

Bruiser Wolf can sound like a stand-up comedian, an Adult Swim character, and the silkiest mack alive all at the same time. On \u201cDope Game $tupid,\u201d over a beat as shaky as a Jenga tower, he races through daft sex brags before getting stuck on a single point: Dealing is dumb, but it\u2019s damn hard to quit. \u201cThe dope game stupid, but the boy still do it,\u201d he repeats on the hook. In Wolf\u2019s hands, the struggle sounds almost hallucinogenic, with images of coke cooking in potholes and a potential snitch keeping as silent as an imaginary friend. He\u2019s weird and darkly funny\u2014but stupid? Like a fox. \u2013Dean Van Nguyen<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Bruiser Wolf, \u201cDope Game $tupid\u201d<\/p>\n

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Matador<\/p>\n

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71.<\/div>\n

Lucy Dacus: \u201cVBS\u201d<\/h2>\n

Lucy Dacus strolls glumly in the chasm between preteen faith and life\u2019s holy shitshow on \u201cVBS\u201d (short for Vacation Bible School). She offers a few of the expected observations\u2014blubbering worshipers, the cool pastor\u2014but soon homes in on one other student: a poem-scrawling, nutmeg-abusing metalhead from a troubled family. \u201cYou were gonna win me over from the start,\u201d she smiles, but her younger self is trying to win him<\/em>. Pinning effortless internal rhyme to the solemn strum of campfire praise, Dacus sketches her one-time boyfriend\u2014and her attempts at saving his soul\u2014with incisive resignation. \u201cAll it did, in the end,\u201d she sighs, \u201cwas make the dark feel darker than before\u201d \u2013Brad Shoup<\/p>\n

Further Reading: Lucy Dacus Breaks Down Every Song on Her Nostalgic Third Album, Home Video<\/em><\/div>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Lucy Dacus, \u201cVBS\u201d<\/p>\n

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!K7<\/p>\n

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70.<\/div>\n

Jayda G: \u201cAll I Need\u201d<\/h2>\n

Canadian house phenom Jayda G\u2019s \u201cAll I Need\u201d is dance music that feels like an out-of-body experience, untethering you from your most mundane worries. The lyrics are just empty enough to serve as an incantation (\u201cPutting up, putting up our walls\/I\u2019ve given you all my worlds\u201d) or a vessel, a container for whatever you\u2019re exorcising on the dance floor. The retro melody evokes simpler times and simpler pleasures: sweat and oblivion, body and blood. \u2013Linnie Greene<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Jayda G, \u201cAll I Need\u201d<\/p>\n

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Keep Cool \/ RCA<\/p>\n

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69.<\/div>\n

Normani: \u201cWild Side\u201d [ft. Cardi B]<\/h2>\n

Normani expresses her sensuality on \u201cWild Side\u201d as if it\u2019s simmering just beneath the surface, the promise of an explosion that never arrives. The song\u2019s allure is in its restraint, the way her voice, breathy yet commanding, matches the push-and-pull of the skittering beat. When Cardi B arrives, claiming she can \u201csuck a watermelon through a straw,\u201d it\u2019s a moment of raunch that brings balance to a curiously subtle R&B hit. \u2013Michelle Kim<\/p>\n

Further Reading: Choreographer Sean Bankhead Breaks Down Normani\u2019s Logic-Defying \u201cWild Side\u201d Moves<\/div>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Normani, \u201cWild Side\u201d [ft. Cardi B]<\/p>\n

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Roadrunner<\/p>\n

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68.<\/div>\n

Turnstile: \u201cMystery\u201d<\/h2>\n

When the return of live music started to feel a little less theoretical, two schools of thought emerged: Do we ease ourselves back in or wild the fuck out on sight? Turnstile considered all possibilities with \u201cMystery,\u201d which obliges the hesitant with an introductory 20 seconds of welcoming synth bubbles and then reacquaints Turnstile\u2019s audience with everything that\u2019s made them synonymous with \u201cYou really gotta see it live to get it\u201d hardcore: a rap-rock riff that moves to the exact rhythms of a sustainable headbang, a low-end punch capable of making people\u00a0literally lose their shit in the pit, and instantaneous quotables like \u201cAnd it\u2019s been so long!\u201d delivered in Brendan Yates\u2019 ocean-sized roar. \u2013Ian Cohen<\/p>\n

Further Reading: How Riley Gale, Go-Go Music, and Jet Li Inspired Turnstile\u2019s Glow On<\/em><\/div>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Turnstile, \u201cMystery\u201d<\/p>\n

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Beijing Cultural Communication Co.<\/p>\n

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67.<\/div>\n

Yu Su: \u201cXiu\u201d<\/h2>\n

\u79c0 (x\u00ecu) is used as an English loanword, pronounced nearly like \u201cshow\u201d\u2014it can mean \u201cexcellent,\u201d \u201celegant,\u201d or \u201cto show off, give a show.\u201d Balanced on pentatonic synths that beam like carnival lights, Yu Su\u2019s \u201cXiu\u201d feels very much like that titular exhibition. The Chinese-born, Vancouver-based musician\u2019s gentle ambient vocalizations layer like interlocking puzzle pieces over pulsating waves of drum\u2019n\u2019bass. As an opener, the song contrasts with the rest of the placidly flowing Yellow River Blue<\/em>, but it stands proudly on its own as a lush, energetic jump start. \u2013Zhenzhen Yu<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Yu Su, \u201cXiu\u201d<\/p>\n

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Merge<\/p>\n

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66.<\/div>\n

Dawn Richard: \u201cBussifame\u201d<\/h2>\n

The lead single from Dawn Richard\u2019s fantastic electro fest Second Line<\/em> opens with a brief definition of the titular New Orleans dance style. In short, it\u2019s all about the get-down. For the next four-and-a-half minutes, Richard lets the hi-hats and house rhythms swirl as she drops slick, stream-of-consciousness callouts like she just grabbed the mic at a club to amp partygoers leaving blood on the dancefloor. The record unravels into an elastic ball that invites you to move your feet and bust it, with one simple rule: close your eyes and be free. \u2013Clover Hope<\/p>\n

Further Reading: From Bad Boy to Merge Records, Dawn Richard Reflects on Her One-of-a-Kind Career<\/div>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Dawn Richard, \u201cBussifame\u201d<\/p>\n

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Backwoodz Studioz<\/p>\n

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65.<\/div>\n

Armand Hammer and the Alchemist: \u201cStonefruit\u201d<\/h2>\n

NYC rappers Elucid and billy woods have been making uncompromising music together as Armand Hammer since 2013, but this year\u2019s collab with veteran producer the Alchemist, Haram<\/em>, finds them at a rarified new level. The simple production on album closer \u201cStonefruit\u201d centers a siren synth that sits just behind the beat of a triumphant drumroll and two repeating arpeggios. ELUCID matches the production with a gruff verse about love and its pitfalls, and billy woods follows from the opposite angle, gliding through thorny rhyme schemes (regalia, bougainvillea, marginalia) before zeroing in on the image of a woman who conquers and cannibalizes his body. If Armand Hammer\u2019s brutal realism usually beats the listener into submission, \u201cStonefruit\u201d is a fantastical balm for our wounds. \u2013Raphael Helfand<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Armand Hammer and the Alchemist, \u201cStonefruit\u201d<\/p>\n

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Secretly Canadian<\/p>\n

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64.<\/div>\n

serpentwithfeet: \u201cFellowship\u201d<\/h2>\n

On this jubilant ode to friendship, serpentwithfeet\u2019s ethereal falsetto glistens like sunlight on a lake as he details the jokes and customs he shares with those closest to him: their \u201ccrafty looks when there\u2019s nothing to wear\u201d and \u201cfascination with Prosecco.\u201d He sings with generosity over warm percussion, making it feel like you\u2019re immersed in an amber-hued movie montage. \u201cFellowship\u201d is a high note on DEACON<\/em>, which celebrates supportive relationships while embracing emotional growth. It suggests we worry less, and actively embrace love in every shape it takes. \u2013Vrinda Jagota<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> serpentwithfeet, \u201cFellowship\u201d<\/p>\n

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Ugly Hag<\/p>\n

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63.<\/div>\n

Backxwash: \u201cI Lie Here Buried With My Rings and My Dresses\u201d [ft. Ada Rook]<\/h2>\n

Rapper-producer Backxwash finds clarity in rage. The title track from her latest album channels rap, metal, and industrial into a tornado of pent-up anger, world history, and potent soul-searching. \u201cThe artistry that I\u2019m giving, ghosted up in the matrix,\u201d the Zambian-Canadian artist bellows. \u201cAlmost like our ancients weren\u2019t posted up in the slave ships.\u201d Confronting sinister specters of the past, she offers an exorcism that\u2019s both aggressive and beautiful. \u2013Dylan Green<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Backxwash, \u201cI Lie Here Buried With My Rings and My Dresses\u201d [ft. Ada Rook]<\/p>\n

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Columbia<\/p>\n

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62.<\/div>\n

Lil Nas X: \u201cMONTERO (Call Me By Your Name)\u201d<\/h2>\n

Who among us could resist Lil Nas X riding a stripper pole into hell to give a lap dance to the devil? \u201cMontero (Call Me By Your Name)\u201d was his most explicitly queer track to date, and the video is undeniable proof that he is one of the most creative, unpredictable artists working today. The song itself is more familiar but still thoroughly joyful: an upbeat, desperately escalating desire-spiral towards a bad-news hookup, elevated to high drama by banjo, flamenco guitar, and lusty humming. \u2013NM Mashurov<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Lil Nas X, \u201cMONTERO (Call Me By Your Name)\u201d<\/p>\n

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Forever Living Originals<\/p>\n

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61.<\/div>\n

Cleo Sol: \u201c23\u201d<\/h2>\n

Musically, \u201c23\u201d sounds like the best part of the summer, with a harp, chirping birds, and sunny vocal harmonies. But lyrically, it\u2019s a somber reflection on UK singer-songwriter Cleo Sol\u2019s relationship with her mother, occasioned by the birth of her own daughter. It all adds up to one cathartic exhale, as Sol attempts to release her mother from the burden of failing to meet her goals while promising to do better herself. \u201cThe little stars and the locked up dreams,\u201d she sings, \u201cthe missing pieces, they\u2019re in me.\u201d \u2013Veracia Ankrah<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Cleo Sol, \u201c23\u201d<\/p>\n

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XL<\/p>\n

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60.<\/div>\n

LSDXOXO: \u201cSick Bitch\u201d<\/h2>\n

LSDXOXO cuts straight to the point on \u201cSick Bitch,\u201d an immaculately filthy statement of intent: \u201cI\u2019m a sick bitch\/And I like freak sex\/If you want to test the limits of my gag reflex,\u201d the Berlin-based producer growls coolly. It\u2019s techno for the sluts who\u2019ll emerge from all-night dick appointments with their eyeliner still looking immaculate. Over a bed of dial-tone synths, thumping kicks, and laser zaps, LSDXOXO goads someone to \u201cgo berserk\u201d and deliver on rough sex; the pi\u00e8ce de r\u00e9sistance is cut-up moans that simulate being edged, culminating in blissed-out aaaaahhh<\/em>s. It\u2019s not for the faint of heart, but \u201cSick Bitch\u201d contains so much pleasure. \u2013Cat Zhang<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> LSDXOXO, \u201cSick Bitch\u201d<\/p>\n

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Matador<\/p>\n

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59.<\/div>\n

Circuit des Yeux: \u201cDogma\u201d<\/h2>\n

A dear friend\u2019s death, a lonely artist residency, an intractable bout of writer\u2019s block: Circuit des Yeux mastermind Haley Fohr was having a hell of a hard go of things. \u201cDogma,\u201d the militantly lithe rock track on –io<\/em>, an album of otherwise pillowy orchestral dimensions, serves as Fohr\u2019s stubborn note-to-self: Keep moving and keep busy, and you might just keep it together. \u201cTell me how to feel right\/Tell me how to see the light,\u201d she commands over drums so mighty they stanch the synthesizer din creeping beneath her. Through this forward motion, she cultivates the strength to survive, at least until answers about what\u2019s next come easier. \u2013Grayson Haver Currin<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Circuit des Yeux, \u201cDogma\u201d<\/p>\n

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58.<\/div>\n

Erika de Casier: \u201cDrama\u201d<\/h2>\n

\u201cDrama\u201d isn\u2019t fights and fireworks. Against a skittering beat and guitar loop right out of one of Kandi and She\u2019kspere\u2019s late-\u201990s productions, Erika de Casier insinuates vocal lines as nimble as Craig David and coy as Aaliyah. Her voice starts off processed and digitized, as if it\u2019s coming from a clock radio, and she\u2019s mic\u2019d close to capture every purr. A fog of strings and chillout piano conjure up the pure moods, while de Casier murmurs decidedly impure propositions. Like much contemporary Y2K&B, \u201cDrama\u201d sounds dreamier and more delicate than the actual music of the past\u2014fitting for this track about woozy late-night texts and the relationship rubble left behind. \u2013Katherine St. Asaph<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Erika de Casier, \u201cDrama\u201d<\/p>\n

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Golden Child Entertainment<\/p>\n

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57.<\/div>\n

Amaarae: \u201cSad Girlz Luv Money Remix\u201d [ft. Kali Uchis and Moliy]<\/h2>\n

Nothing is sexier than a woman getting paid. \u201cSAD GIRLZ LUV MONEY,\u201d a sleek standout from Amaraae\u2019s 2020 debut The Angel You Don\u2019t Know<\/em>, indulges in the pleasure of nabbing that \u201cmula-la-la-la\u201d and going dancing; the world-conquering remix featuring Colombian-American pop star Kali Uchis\u2014which became a TikTok sensation and then hit the Billboard charts\u2014only heightens the opulent sensuality. Uchis\u2019 soft, lustrous vocals align seamlessly with Amaarae\u2019s wispy falsetto and fellow Ghanaian-American singer Moliy\u2019s airy purrs as they trade verses over the cool, rocking beat. \u201cI really want to get naughty\/I think you\u2019re such a hottie,\u201d Amaarae sings, ever so blunt and coquettish. It\u2019s \u201cfuck bitches, get money,\u201d this time for the ladies. \u2013Cat Zhang<\/p>\n

Further Reading: Pitchfork\u2019s 25 Next Roundtable: Yaeji, Bartees Strange, Amaarae, Angel Bat Dawid, and KeiyaA on the Future of Music<\/div>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Amaarae, \u201cSad Girlz Luv Money Remix\u201d [ft. Kali Uchis and Moliy]<\/p>\n

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56.<\/div>\n

Monaleo: \u201cBeating Down Yo Block\u201d<\/h2>\n

On her viral single \u201cBeating Down Yo Block,\u201d Houston rapper Monaleo is dauntless and defiant, a brat and a boss, a benevolent leader and, potentially, the last thing you see before you meet your maker: \u201cI\u2019m pretty but I\u2019ll take a n***a life and that\u2019s the tea, bitch,\u201d she raps in her take-no-shit Texas drawl. Born out of horrific struggle\u2014the 20-year-old recorded the track as a way to gas herself up after leaving an abusive ex\u2014\u201cBeating Down Yo Block\u201d is a beatific clapback. Another famed Houstonite once insisted that the best revenge is your paper, but Monaleo has another idea that could be even more effective: make a song he\u2019ll never be able to escape, no matter how hard he tries. \u2013Shaad D\u2019Souza<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Monaleo, \u201cBeating Down Yo Block\u201d<\/p>\n

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Memory Music<\/p>\n

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55.<\/div>\n

Bartees Strange: \u201cWeights\u201d<\/h2>\n

On its surface, \u201cWeights\u201d is one of countless songs about clinging to a crush. In the hands of Bartees Strange, however, that familiar theme gets a redesign worthy of the pantheon. Armed with an explosive rhythm section and guitars aimed at the cheap seats, Bartees captures the most pivotal moment of post-relationship life\u2014the decision to move on\u2014through Bloc Party-style crescendos and throat-clearing howls. Think karaoke for the heartbroken desperately seeking confidence. Taken from the deluxe edition of his breakthrough 2020 album Live Forever<\/em>, \u201cWeights\u201d is a personal victory lap that basks in an adrenaline spike so strong that listeners can feel it, too. \u2013Nina Corcoran<\/p>\n

Further Reading: Pitchfork\u2019s 25 Next Roundtable: Yaeji, Bartees Strange, Amaarae, Angel Bat Dawid, and KeiyaA on the Future of Music<\/div>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Bartees Strange, \u201cWeights\u201d<\/p>\n

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ICY \/ Warner<\/p>\n

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54.<\/div>\n

Saweetie: \u201cBest Friend\u201d [ft. Doja Cat]<\/h2>\n

Just a few years ago, mainstream collabs between women in rap were as rare as a genuine Notes app apology. Now, there\u2019s an embarrassment of riches, and \u201cBest Friend\u201d is one of those coups: two of rap\u2019s most dominant merging to hype each other up, as good confidants do. (Who hasn\u2019t spotted their Day One on the street and screamed, \u201cBeep beep, is that my bestie in a Tessie\u201d?) Over a beat that bounces like a pogo stick, Saweetie lobs bad-bitchisms at Doja Cat, whose masterful shapeshifting manifests as a bubbly, three-flow verse. As public displays of affection go, this is the kind that\u2019s perfectly admissible. \u2013Clover Hope<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Saweetie, \u201cBest Friend\u201d [ft. Doja Cat]<\/p>\n

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53.<\/div>\n

Tirzah: \u201cSend Me\u201d<\/h2>\n

Stripped to synthesizer, voice, and the occasional sullen drumbeat, Tirzah\u2019s album Colourgrade<\/em> demonstrates a self-protective restraint. \u201cSend Me\u201d is among the record\u2019s most spartan songs: A single guitar figure is looped over a rickety hi-hat pattern, practically without variation, for four minutes. Over this skeletal frame, Tirzah asks for healing. \u201cSend me sun at dawn\/Gonna let it heal some more,\u201d she sings softly, as though cooing a lullaby to her newborn; the lyrics are both tender and cryptic. Then, in the final 30 seconds, she steps on a stomp box, and all that palliative energy suddenly goes up in flames. \u2013Philip Sherburne<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Tirzah, \u201cSend Me\u201d<\/p>\n

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52.<\/div>\n

Billie Eilish: \u201cHappier Than Ever\u201d<\/h2>\n

For much of her sophomore album, Billie Eilish is subdued, rarely rising past a melodic whisper even when she\u2019s spitting venom at stalkers, trolls, and abusers. At first, the record\u2019s sprawling title track feels like more of the same: \u201cHappier Than Ever\u201d begins with wafty ukulele, twinkly keys, and Eilish\u2019s cozy vibrato, her opening salvo so wistfully delivered that you almost miss its underlying spite. But midway through, Billie\u2019s inner Alanis activates. She submits to rage and cranks the volume, summoning a torrent of fried guitar and muffled screams as she reams out an ex. \u201cI don\u2019t talk shit about you on the internet,\u201d she wails, before proceeding to talk a whole lot of shit. It can be tempting to air your grievances online, but Eilish knows that her burns make better lyrics than tweets. \u2013Olivia Horn<\/p>\n

Further Reading: The Grotesque Is No Longer Shocking in Pop<\/div>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Billie Eilish, \u201cHappier Than Ever\u201d<\/p>\n

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51.<\/div>\n

Little Simz: \u201cIntrovert\u201d<\/h2>\n

\u201cIntrovert\u201d is the opening in a chilling, fantastical score where Little Simz is the messiah tasked with preventing evil from ending the world. Rather than sheer gospel, the song plays like theme music for a champion boxer jogging into the ring before Michael Buffer announces, \u201cLet\u2019s get ready to rumble!\u201d\u2014except the match is taking place at a cathedral over the sounds of church horns and bells. Simz vigilantly defends her title\u2013over 10 years in the game\u2013with steady, precise jabs: \u201cI see sinners in a church, I see sinners in a church.\u201d Here, she embraces being a loner and continues throwing bows, even if it means bad manners in the house of the Lord. \u2013Veracia Ankrah<\/p>\n

Further Reading: How bell hooks, Hiking, and Breakfast at Tiffany\u2019s<\/em> Inspired Little Simz\u2019s New Album<\/div>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Little Simz, \u201cIntrovert\u201d<\/p>\n

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50.<\/div>\n

The War on Drugs: \u201cI Don\u2019t Live Here Anymore\u201d<\/h2>\n

Adam Granduciel is looking back at the past and man, it looks so good. \u201cI Don\u2019t Live Here Anymore,\u201d the sublime title track from the War on Drugs\u2019 fifth record, is an anthem made for being covered in tanning oil on a roof while wearing aviators, or pumping your fist in the air from the back of a pickup truck. It\u2019s iridescent, with varicolored synths and guitars as big as skyscrapers. He namedrops Dylan, and he sings about memory and how we all need to walk through \u201cthis darkness\u201d on our own. There\u2019s still a sen<\/em>se of sweet, sweet mystery in this life<\/em>, he seems to say. It might sound corny, but he\u2019s right. \u2013Sophie Kemp<\/p>\n

Further Reading: The War on Drugs Find Lightness on the Edge of Town<\/div>\n

Listen:<\/strong> The War on Drugs, \u201cI Don\u2019t Live Here Anymore\u201d<\/p>\n

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49.<\/div>\n

Grouper: \u201cKelso (Blue sky)\u201d<\/h2>\n

On \u201cKelso (Blue sky),\u201d Liz Harris chauffeurs us along the desolate road of her internal struggle. While driving home on a rural highway beside the Columbia River, Harris is consumed by fog. Between pensive hums, she expresses her discontent as the light disappears around her. The sky turns dark and so do her emotions as she sings, \u201cCan’t beli\u0435ve that I don’t get to see you one mor\u0435 time.\u201d She wants to tell us she\u2019s happy, but at night she can only tell the truth. \u2013Arjun Srivatsa<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Grouper, \u201cKelso (Blue sky)\u201d<\/p>\n

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48.<\/div>\n

Doss: \u201cStrawberry\u201d<\/h2>\n

Doss\u2019 \u201cStrawberry\u201d begins with breath. It\u2019s less like an inhalation that precedes singing and more like a sudden gasp for air, a sound befitting a track about realizing one\u2019s self-worth. \u201cMaybe this song believes you,\u201d the New York musician whispers, as if revealing a secret. As her voice entwines with a sturdy beat, fairy-light synths, and the faintest hint of guitar fuzz, her anthropomorphizing feels like more than mere metaphor. Sound becomes a conduit for self-discovery\u2014and for the revelation, \u201cMaybe I could sing too.\u201d \u201cStrawberry\u201d sits in a lineage of danceable shoegaze classics like \u201cSoon\u201d and \u201cPearl,\u201d but it feels content with being simple, ephemeral<\/em>: a refreshing morsel that\u2019s unexpectedly life-giving. \u2013Joshua Minsoo Kim<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Doss, \u201cStrawberry\u201d<\/p>\n

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DALE PLAY<\/p>\n

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47.<\/div>\n

L-Gante: \u201cBzrp Music Sessions, Vol. 38\u201d<\/h2>\n

Argentine rapper L-Gante\u2019s \u201cBzrp Music Sessions, Vol. 38\u201d is the sticky smash driving a new urbano style called Cumbia 420 that operates at the intersection of cumbia, reggaeton, and weed. Earlier this year, the fiendish track topped Argentina\u2019s pop chart, and it\u2019s easy to hear why: L-Gante\u2019s immaculately sinister croak cuts through a beat that incorporates EDM bombast and an addictive brrrrrp<\/em> sound effect that could be sourced from a Hans Zimmer movie score. He whizzes through local slang, rapping about the partying and women that make him feel powerful. You don\u2019t have to be a stoner to appreciate the song, but L-Gante\u2019s call to light a porro<\/em> with him and let go is undeniable all the same. \u2013Gio Santiago<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> L-Gante, \u201cBzrp Music Sessions, Vol. 38\u201d<\/p>\n

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46.<\/div>\n

Oneohtrix Point Never \/ Elizabeth Fraser: \u201cTales From the Trash Stratum\u201d<\/h2>\n

The original \u201cTrash Stratum,\u201d on 2020\u2019s Magic Oneohtrix Point Never<\/em>, entwined distortion and euphony in familiar Dan Lopatin fashion. This year\u2019s reinvention lovingly collages \u201980s production motifs: pizzicato string flutters as fragrant as Enya, blobs of reverb-smudged piano that evoke Harold Budd, high-toned pings of bass that could be the Blue Nile or Seventeen Seconds<\/em>. Like a bowerbird building a glittering nest, he succeeds in reeling in onetime Cocteau Twin Elizabeth Fraser. Fraser\u2019s contributions\u2014ASMR-triggering wisps of sibilant breath, chirruping syllables from a disintegrated lullaby\u2014are closer to a diva\u2019s warm-up exercises than an actual aria, and sometimes you long for her to take full-throated flight into song. But it\u2019s lovely to hear the goth goddess brought into the glitchy 21st century. \u2013Simon Reynolds<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Oneohtrix Point Never \/ Elizabeth Fraser, \u201cTales From the Trash Stratum\u201d<\/p>\n

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45.<\/div>\n

Charli XCX: \u201cGood Ones\u201d<\/h2>\n

\u201cRIP hyperpop?\u201d Charli XCX tweeted this summer, while teasing the release of this track. Charli\u2019s forte has always been her deep understanding of pop music\u2019s fickle undercurrents, and just as her sound was starting to become synonymous with vocoders and late \u201990s\/early \u201900s nostalgia, she jumped ship to deliver the kind of dancefloor banger that forcibly lifts your soul straight out of your body and into the refracted light of a disco ball. Charli has spent the last decade shape-shifting from mainstream hitmaker to avant-garde darling; \u201cGood Ones\u201d sees her embarking on yet another chapter, winking at us with a rhinestone eyelash in the process. \u2013Cameron Cook<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Charli XCX, \u201cGood Ones\u201d<\/p>\n

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44.<\/div>\n

Rxk Nephew: \u201cAmerican tterroristt\u201d<\/h2>\n

On this nearly 10-minute barrage, the rambling and unpredictable RXKNephew reels off enough nonsensical conspiracy theories to make Joe Rogan think: This guy is really onto something!<\/em> The wildest ones\u2014about the COVID vaccine causing mutations and dinosaurs discovering electricity before Benjamin Franklin\u2014might stand out at first, but keep listening. I mean, points are made here: The Bible does have a lot of plot holes! Algebra is some bullshit! And let\u2019s face it, they knew Kelly Clarkson would win American Idol<\/em> all along! You might not want to elect Nephew to any school boards, but hear him out. \u2013Alphonse Pierre<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Rxk Nephew, \u201cAmerican tterroristt\u201d<\/p>\n

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RBMG \/ Def Jam<\/p>\n

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43.<\/div>\n

Justin Bieber: \u201cPeaches\u201d [ft. Daniel Caesar and Giveon]<\/h2>\n

Justin Bieber\u2019s sixth album Justice<\/em> was a big leap from last year\u2019s Changes<\/em> because it broke out of the latter\u2019s gnawingly inoffensive R&B to embrace Bieber\u2019s multi-genre versatility. And yet, \u201cPeaches,\u201d Justice<\/em>\u2019s peak, is a pure R&B jam. At this point, Bieber has tossed so many bromides gesturing at a deep connection to faith and marital love, it\u2019s become a defining quirk. But where words and MLK quotes fail on the album, \u201cPeaches\u201d hits because he leans on the sheer feeling of those aspirations. The swing of his delivery adds a shimmer to the production\u2019s major-key bliss. \u2013Brian Josephs<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Justin Bieber, \u201cPeaches\u201d [ft. Daniel Caesar and Giveon]<\/p>\n

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42.<\/div>\n

Magdalena Bay: \u201cChaeri\u201d<\/h2>\n

Over a grumbling synth loop, singer Mica Tenenbaum asks, \u201cWas I a bad friend?\u201d and \u201cI\u2019m sorry\/Did you feel lonely?\u201d But \u201cChaeri\u201d isn\u2019t quite an apology, and Tenenbaum isn\u2019t above some finger-pointing of her own\u2014she urges her dour ally to be just a little happier. This is the hard conversation you had last year and then replayed in your head until you got it right\u2014except the song ends before that all happens. Magdalena Bay relishes in the ache of just remembering. \u2013Ashley Bardhan<\/p>\n

Further Reading: Magdalena Bay Are More Online Than You<\/div>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Magdalena Bay, \u201cChaeri\u201d<\/p>\n

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Interscope \/ UMG Nashville<\/p>\n

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41.<\/div>\n

Kacey Musgraves: \u201cBreadwinner\u201d<\/h2>\n

Kacey Musgraves\u2019 Star-Crossed<\/em> is both a divorce album and a story of tragic romance, and \u201cBreadwinner\u201d is its central cautionary tale\u2014the faint siren that divides the tracklist into two acts. With her gift for wordplay, Musgraves flips the traditional role of the \u201cbreadwinner\u201d to invent a new character, a kind of male gold digger who\u2019s flattered and then intimidated by a woman\u2019s success. As his shine dulls, she sees his motives clearly. Musgraves\u2019 roots ground her: A slight twang lingers amid her glittering synth and soft rock, more country-pop symbiosis than crossover. She\u2019s shedding a love that weighed her down, gazing through the rearview mirror and driving forward. \u2013Julia Gray<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Kacey Musgraves, \u201cBreadwinner\u201d<\/p>\n

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Hopeless \/ Snack Shack Tracks<\/p>\n

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40.<\/div>\n

Illuminati Hotties: \u201cMMMOOOAAAAAYAYA\u201d<\/h2>\n

On the lead single from her impressive second LP, Illuminati Hotties head Sarah Tudzin doesn\u2019t just sing about the disorienting whiplash of modern existence\u2014she simulates it. Shifting voices and tones like she\u2019s driving stick in the Alps, Tudzin tosses everything together at full speed: nonsequiturs about late-stage capitalism, nihilistic onomatopoeia, possibly earnest requests to be choked, trolling of customer-service representatives. She toggles between punk chords in the verses and surf-rock hooks in the chorus, the music as brazen and impudent as her dispatches from the brink. \u2013Jillian Mapes<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Illuminati Hotties, \u201cMMMOOOAAAAAYAYA\u201d<\/p>\n

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Columbia<\/p>\n

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39.<\/div>\n

Adele: \u201cTo Be Loved\u201d<\/h2>\n

On \u201cTo Be Loved\u201d Adele zeros in on a relationship\u2019s scars and scratches until there is blood. She has never controlled her vocals as precisely as on this minimal piano ballad about the end of her marriage. And, letting loose after a majestic and accusatory bridge, she pushes her voice way past the elegant restraint that is her signature, as it curdles into squalls and ragged screams. \u201cTo Be Loved\u201d feels beyond what we know an Adele song to be, because the desperation is beyond what she has ever known. \u2013Owen Myers<\/p>\n

Further Reading: 5 Takeaways from Adele\u2019s New Album 30<\/em><\/div>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Adele, \u201cTo Be Loved\u201d<\/p>\n

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AWGE \/ Interscope<\/p>\n

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38.<\/div>\n

Playboi Carti: \u201cSlay3r\u201d<\/h2>\n

Of all the rock bands Playboi Carti could have bragged that he \u201ccould\u2019ve joined,\u201d it makes sense that he chose Slayer. Many of the rapper\u2019s obsessions are reflected in the larger-than-life thrash metal group: leather-clad showmanship, a wicked mix of catchiness and confrontation, satanism at arena-scale. Ironically, \u201cSlay3r\u201d sounds downright bubbly next to the post-Yeezus<\/em> darkwave found elsewhere on Whole Lotta Red<\/em>. But Carti\u2019s vocals, which alternate between a stage whisper and a squeaky rasp, lend the ascending synths and distant chirps a slippery, even sinister, edge. If attitude is what matters, Carti is ready for his audition. \u2013Mehan Jayasuriya<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Playboi Carti, \u201cSlay3r\u201d<\/p>\n

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Madlib Invazion<\/p>\n

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37.<\/div>\n

Madlib: \u201cRoad of the Lonely Ones\u201d<\/h2>\n

\u201cRoad of the Lonely Ones\u201d is the plaintive heart of Madlib\u2019s Sound Ancestors,<\/em> spare enough to stand out from the heady rush of the rest of the album. It resurrects a mournful hook from the obscure late-1960s Philly soul group the Ethics, brightening their lost-love lament with a skittering drum break. If the task of the crate-digging producer is to convey to listeners the thrill of discovery, Madlib goes further, imbuing his dusty sample with layers of grief unanticipated by the original singer, or perhaps even the producer himself. The track\u2019s hazy melancholy plays eerily like a tribute to MF DOOM, though Madlib created it before he learned of his friend and collaborator’s untimely death. \u2013Zach Schonfeld<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Madlib, \u201cRoad of the Lonely Ones\u201d<\/p>\n

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36.<\/div>\n

Burial: \u201cDark Gethsemane\u201d<\/h2>\n

The beloved and enigmatic Burial resurfaced this year with Shock Power of Love<\/em>, his split EP with London producer Blackdown. Of its four songs, the undeniable highlight is \u201cDark Gethsemane,\u201d a cinematically sprawling track clocking in at 10 minutes. Burial opens with a subtle, searching garage beat, beneath which snakes a stream of sirens, chimes, and police radio chatter. The constant vinyl crackle has a lulling quality; not so the fiery gospel cry that follows: \u201cWe must shock this nation with the power of love!\u201d Those words loop over an incandescent choir until Burial pitches the phrase down to a darker register. Armed with bellowing horns and driving bass, the incessant sermon becomes something fiercer: a battle cry. \u2013Madison Bloom<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Burial, \u201cDark Gethsemane\u201d<\/p>\n

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35.<\/div>\n

Doja Cat: \u201cKiss Me More\u201d [ft. SZA]<\/h2>\n

\u201cKiss Me More\u201d is an ode to one of romance\u2019s greatest and simplest pleasures: kissing. This might seem a little PG-13 compared to the summer of \u201cWAP,\u201d but it\u2019s far from chaste. There\u2019s just something about a really heady kiss (or hundreds of them). And though it\u2019s their first collaboration, Doja Cat and SZA have effortless chemistry. Their bestie energy alongside a playful melody reminiscent of Janet Jackson\u2019s \u201cThe Pleasure Principle\u201d and Olivia Newton-John\u2019s \u201cPhysical,\u201d capped with a deliciously bratty hook, made \u201cKiss Me More\u201d one of this summer\u2019s funnest pop songs. \u2013NM Mashurov<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Doja Cat, \u201cKiss Me More\u201d [ft. SZA]<\/p>\n

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34.<\/div>\n

MIKE: \u201cCrystal Ball\u201d<\/h2>\n

The sampled horn that opens \u201cCrystal Ball\u201d brings to mind the euphoria of a Sunday morning free of all responsibility. Though MIKE\u2019s music has often been marked by heaviness\u2014his 2020 album Weight of the World<\/em> found him grappling with his mother\u2019s death\u2014this single from the NYC rapper\u2019s luminous Disco!<\/em> radiates with hope. \u201cSuppressive of a big smile, why I had to shave clean,\u201d he proudly raps. Even though paranoia follows closely in the song\u2019s refrain, MIKE\u2019s cheerful words freely drift between a smoky vocal chop and slow-churning drums. Nothing can stop his glow now. \u2013Brandon Callender<\/p>\n

Further Reading: Pitchfork\u2019s 25 Next List: The Artists Shaping Where Music Will Go From Here<\/div>\n

Listen:<\/strong> MIKE, \u201cCrystal Ball\u201d<\/p>\n

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33.<\/div>\n

Mdou Moctar: \u201cAfrique Victime\u201d<\/h2>\n

Those of us who speak neither French nor Tamasheq can only experience \u201cAfrique Victime\u201d at a remove, yet it\u2019s a conversation we recognize all too well. Mdou Moctar, who has carried a nomadic Tuareg tradition of electric blues called assouf \u00a0thousands of miles beyond the Sahara, inflames colonial and ancestral tongues with his spark-spitting guitar, lighting an African lament he sings so lovingly that a love song is all it could be. Above all, the iconoclast from Niger makes an aged form feel young again\u2014not just assouf, but also rock music itself, which sounds newly radical in his hands. \u2013Brian Howe<\/p>\n

Further Reading: How Eddie Van Halen, Homemade Hot Pepper, and a Simple Fuzz Pedal Inspired Mdou Moctar\u2019s New Album<\/div>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Mdou Moctar, \u201cAfrique Victime\u201d<\/p>\n

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Mexican Summer<\/p>\n

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32.<\/div>\n

duendita: \u201cOpen Eyes\u201d<\/h2>\n

On \u201cOpen Eyes,\u201d duendita sings about overcoming personal tumult, her voice trilling high and swaying low, deftly maneuvering through a jazz ensemble and the swirl of synthesizers. The New York artist\u2019s final lines are imbued with a sense of purpose and serenity\u2014\u201cI\u2019m wishing peace and stillness unto you\u201d\u2014but there\u2019s a twist ending; at the coda, the already-loose structure unfurls completely, and a phrase from earlier in the song (\u201cblind is our faith\u201d) gets caught in a loop. duendita seems to be reminding us that the path to enlightenment is never linear, never easy, and never over. \u2013Chris O\u2019Connell<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> duendita, \u201cOpen Eyes\u201d<\/p>\n

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PMR \/ Friends Keep Secrets \/ Interscope<\/p>\n

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31.<\/div>\n

Jessie Ware: \u201cPlease\u201d<\/h2>\n

A sequencer, a vocal melody with hints of KC and the Sunshine Band, and the thumpiest of thumps\u2014it shouldn\u2019t be this easy to make a banger. This postscript to last year\u2019s What\u2019s Your Pleasure?<\/em> continues the transformation of Jessie Ware from an artist who sighed elegantly at the end of relationships into a queen of the dancefloor. A line like \u201cDon\u2019t upset the rhythm tonight\u201d might have appeared as a plea on one of Devotion<\/em>\u2019s devastating ballads; in \u201cPlease,\u201d it\u2019s a giddy come-on after a couple vodka sodas. Her voice wraps around the chorus like a feather boa. \u2013Alfred Soto<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Jessie Ware, \u201cPlease\u201d<\/p>\n

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30.<\/div>\n

Noname: \u201cRainforest\u201d<\/h2>\n

\u201cRainforest\u201d is equal parts Twitter timeline cleanse and reality check. Rapper and radical thought leader Noname condemns the worship of billionaires, the emptiness of consumer culture, and rampant environmental decay, but the song isn\u2019t a biting anthem as much as a solemn lament. Over featherlight syncopations and acoustic guitar plucks, she sounds disappointed but resolute as she lays out how racism and capitalism poison the way we feel and love. \u201cI just wanna dance tonight,\u201d she raps in the hook, knowing it can never be so simple. \u2013Ivie Ani<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Noname, \u201cRainforest\u201d<\/p>\n

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4AD<\/p>\n

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29.<\/div>\n

Dry Cleaning: \u201cScratchcard Lanyard\u201d<\/h2>\n

Like a high school reunion in the midst of a personal crisis, \u201cScratchcard Lanyard\u201d was both oddly welcoming and creepingly surreal. The song\u2014a tonal burst of post-punk guitars, basslines you could hang your coat on, and lyrics about ceramic shoes and bouncy balls that resonated almost despite themselves\u2014felt like an anthem for a world knocked slightly askew. Florence Shaw\u2019s affably dry, permanently bemused tone is at delicious odds with any kind of musical convention, a key factor in Dry Cleaning\u2019s continuing journey through the indie rock looking glass. \u2013Ben Cardew<\/p>\n

Further Reading: Dry Cleaning\u2019s Everyday Surrealism<\/div>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Dry Cleaning, \u201cScratchcard Lanyard\u201d<\/p>\n

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Chaos & Glory Recordings<\/p>\n

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28.<\/div>\n

Azealia Banks: \u201cFuck Him All Night\u201d<\/h2>\n

Like the bimbo, the bitch is a classic archetype. Half self-styled genius, half-warrior, the bitch feeds cannilly on the tender meat of respectability politics, refuses to accept an L, and embraces hostility on a level so fundamental it might be cellular. Banks is a bitch with stamina. \u201cFuck Him All Night\u201d is her and producer Galcher Lustwerk\u2019s spare take on booty house: a horny, repetitive, Chicago-indebted genre of dance music that pickles her spirit like it\u2019s in a vat of vinegar. It\u2019s neither her best track nor her worst, but the vim is\u2014as promised\u2014carnivorous, dramatic, stabby. The single\u2019s cover has her nails splayed across her crotch in denim, spelling out the name of a fading rival (K-A-N-Y-E, right hand; \u2605-W-E-S-T, left) against lacquer the color of a perfect bruise. \u2013Mina Tavakoli<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Azealia Banks, \u201cFuck Him All Night\u201d<\/p>\n

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Griselda<\/p>\n

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27.<\/div>\n

Mach-Hommy: \u201cKriminel\u201d<\/h2>\n

Over the summer, Mach-Hommy talked about his inner conflict as a member of the Haitian diaspora amid the country\u2019s ongoing turmoil. \u201cA lot of our psychological energy and makeup is kind of, like, split between two places because we have to be where we are,\u201d the elusive New Jersey rapper told NPR. \u201cBut, we also\u2014we can\u2019t leave where we come from.\u201d On \u201cKriminel,\u201d the heart of his 2021 album Pray for Haiti,<\/em> he raps a haunting verse about the toll of everything sent home\u2014and what home sends back. The beat loops a spectral vocal as a parade of family members visit him in his sleep. While he\u2019s awake, another cousin reminds him to \u201csend that fucking MoneyGram before he crack.\u201d Toggling between Creole and English, Mach sounds ragged with worry as he details a life in constant commune with the tragedies of the past and an uncertain present. \u2013Ross Scarano<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Mach-Hommy, \u201cKriminel\u201d<\/p>\n

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Mexican Summer<\/p>\n

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26.<\/div>\n

L\u2019Rain: \u201cFind It\u201d<\/h2>\n

Discussion of L\u2019Rain\u2019s breakthrough album Fatigue<\/em> often focused on the Brooklyn artist\u2019s stated desire to be illegible and confusing. \u201cFind It\u201d underscores that her music can be easy to enjoy, as long as you appreciate a voyage of discovery. For much of its six-minute runtime, the song is warped, genre-mashing pop-soul not unlike early Ibeyi, as a scuffed pulse, murky low-end, and swirling vocals support an epigrammatic refrain: \u201cMake a way out of no way.\u201d The way may seem truly lost in the dizzying middle section, where cosmic jazz meets nature sounds. But all is soon found again in a field-recorded snippet of gospel song \u201cI Won\u2019t Complain,\u201d which taps into a holy fervor reminiscent of Paradise Garage staple \u201cStand on the Word\u201d or watching Summer of Soul<\/em> for the first time. When the drums cascade in the end, everything makes perfect sense. It\u2019s a sublime epiphany. \u2013Marc Hogan<\/p>\n

Further Reading: L\u2019Rain Wants to Confuse You<\/div>\n

Listen:<\/strong> L\u2019Rain, \u201cFind It\u201d<\/p>\n

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Warp<\/p>\n

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25.<\/div>\n

Yves Tumor: \u201cJackie\u201d<\/h2>\n

On \u201cJackie,\u201d the shapeshifting art-rock performer Yves Tumor ruminates on torturous love and monomaniacal obsession, singing of sleepless nights and a spoiled appetite with sincerity that turns to detachment. This hot-blooded subject matter arrives via their most familiar track to date, with brightly metallic guitars and a vocal delivery that borders on pop-punk. There\u2019s a thrilling tension between the brooding intensity of Tumor\u2019s lyrical concerns and the propulsive accessibility of their sonic palette. It\u2019s hard for listeners not to become obsessed with \u201cJackie\u201d too. \u2013Emma Madden<\/p>\n

Further Reading: Pitchfork\u2019s 25 Next List: The Artists Shaping Where Music Will Go From Here<\/div>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Yves Tumor, \u201cJackie\u201d<\/p>\n

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Parlophone<\/p>\n

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24.<\/div>\n

PinkPantheress: \u201cJust for Me\u201d<\/h2>\n

The aughts revival got serious this year. With confessional lyrics alongside crushed-out 2-step and garage beats, 20-year-old PinkPantheress soundtracked the confessional side of TikTok in 480p resolution, calling back to the halcyon days of LiveJournal. \u201cJust for me\u201d lingers in the cutely obsessive, a diary entry that indulges the kind of vulnerability afforded by the more introverted corners of the internet. \u2013Stefanie Fern\u00e1ndez<\/p>\n

Further Reading: The Zoomer Embrace of Drum \u2019n\u2019 Bass<\/div>\n

Listen:<\/strong> PinkPantheress, \u201cJust for Me\u201d<\/p>\n

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Planet Mu<\/p>\n

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23.<\/div>\n

Jlin: \u201cEmbryo\u201d<\/h2>\n

More than a decade after emerging from the Midwest\u2019s footwork scene, Jlin still sounds like she\u2019s only just getting started. Across three albums between 2015 and 2018, she proved herself capable of head-spinning abstracted beats, globe-shrinking traditional instrumentation, and even a modern-dance soundtrack of ambient minimalism. On the title track from her first proper solo record in three years, Jlin once again shows the unpredictability that has been her enduring strength. It\u2019s difficult to imagine this song, originally written for a contemporary classical group, being played by human hands; it\u2019s an exercise in controlled chaos that reveals Jlin at her most maximalist\u2014and audacious\u2014yet. Beneath a buzzing synth, the hyper-rhythms of \u201cEmbryo\u201d bounce like Aphex Twin in a corn popper and shift shapes like a life cycle with only one stage: constant metamorphosis. \u2013Marc Hogan<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Jlin, \u201cEmbryo\u201d<\/p>\n

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pgLang \/ Columbia<\/p>\n

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22.<\/div>\n

Baby Keem: \u201cfamily ties\u201d [ft. Kendrick Lamar]<\/h2>\n

\u201cFamily Ties\u201d is IMAX rap\u2014a multi-suite affair that opens with a horn fanfare and proceeds to cast a hungry upstart against his rejuvenated mentor, both eager to steal scenes. Its event status is heightened even further because this is the first major song to feature Kendrick Lamar in years. But first up is his cousin Baby Keem, just 20 years old at the time of the single\u2019s release and so excitable at the start of his verse he can hardly finish his words. Keem\u2019s elation quickly morphs into confidence as he lets off a series of playful taunts: \u201cThe girl of your dreams to me is a fan\/I netted 10 million and did a lil\u2019 dance.\u201d Then there\u2019s Kendrick, who tidily addresses social unrest and a pandemic in just a few lines, reminding Keem, the Pulitzer committee, and the rest of the world that he still sits patiently at the pinnacle\u2014a taste of fury to come. \u2013Matthew Strauss<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Baby Keem, \u201cfamily ties\u201d [ft. Kendrick Lamar]<\/p>\n

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Rough Trade<\/p>\n

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21.<\/div>\n

black midi: \u201cJohn L\u201d<\/h2>\n

black midi\u2019s debut sprawled across the barrens of outr\u00e9 rock, sporadically burping up gold from its rabbit-hole hooks. The London outfit\u2019s follow-up, Cavalcade<\/em>, explores leafier, spongier territories, but only after \u201cJohn L\u201d blows open a portal from one record to the next. Propelled by a chaotically catchy riff, the album opener arms vocalist Geordie Greep with his most audacious lyrics to date: Adopting the eerie neutrality of a disaster reporter, he populates the brass-spangled maelstrom with teeming crowds and a jingoistic leader whose \u201cgargling non-song whips throng into frenzy.\u201d His hallucinatory imagery bursts dizzyingly to life: dark surrealism scoped on the horror of our times. \u2013Jazz Monroe<\/p>\n

Further Reading: Pitchfork\u2019s 25 Next List: The Artists Shaping Where Music Will Go From Here<\/div>\n

Listen:<\/strong> black midi, \u201cJohn L\u201d<\/p>\n

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Top Dawg \/ RCA<\/p>\n

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20.<\/div>\n

SZA: \u201cGood Days\u201d<\/h2>\n

SZA unspools her anxieties over a failed relationship on \u201cGood Days,\u201d an achingly intimate song that spills out like a stream of consciousness. Over lush, glimmering guitar, she pleads for rest, to think of anything but her former lover, for her brain to empty out. In moments of strength, she can be cutting\u2014\u201cI don\u2019t miss no ex\/I don\u2019t miss no text\/I choose not to respond,\u201d she croons\u2014and the hope in her voice transforms introspection into something stunning. She wants to believe in recovery and redemption; and in SZA\u2019s world, the want is enough. \u2013Dani Blum<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> SZA, \u201cGood Days\u201d<\/p>\n

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Secretly Canadian<\/p>\n

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19.<\/div>\n

Faye Webster: \u201cI Know I\u2019m Funny haha\u201d<\/h2>\n

The stakes are low on the title track to Faye Webster\u2019s fourth album, and that\u2019s kind of the point. There\u2019s no chorus, just three quick mumbled verses, about drinking sak\u00e9 on her front porch, the bass guitar she bought for her boyfriend\u2019s birthday (\u201cthe same one the guy from Linkin Park plays\u201d), an awkward encounter with his sister. Flickers of pedal steel and drums shuffle below Faye\u2019s lyrics, as if she\u2019s taking a drunk walk home from the bar. It\u2019s funny, yes, but also quietly devastating in its portrayal of a young woman\u2019s insecurities. \u2013Sophie Kemp<\/p>\n

Further Reading: Faye Webster on How a Shade of Blue, Her Boyfriend, and This One Animal Crossing<\/em> Song Inspired Her New Album<\/div>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Faye Webster, \u201cI Know I\u2019m Funny haha\u201d<\/p>\n

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300<\/p>\n

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18.<\/div>\n

Megan Thee Stallion: \u201cThot Shit\u201d<\/h2>\n

The moment Megan starts rapping on \u201cThot Shit,\u201d the track begins to throb. \u201cBooked, but I squeeze a lil\u2019 head in my calendar\/Looking at the mirror like, \u2018Damn, I don\u2019t brag enough,\u2019\u201d she raps. With a fantastic music video designed to push back against the moral panic over last year\u2019s \u201cWAP,\u201d Megan goes from relishing her sexuality to weaponizing it; when she twerks on a garbage can steamrolling a senator or spreads her legs out on his desk, it\u2019s clear that this is combat. \u201cThot Shit\u201d is a state of mind, a no-holds-barred way of approaching the world. She snatches back a flippant word used by and for women, and turns it into a battle cry. \u2013Dani Blum<\/p>\n

Further Reading: Megan Thee Stallion\u2019s \u201cThot Shit\u201d Director Breaks Down the Video\u2019s Horror and Humor<\/div>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Megan Thee Stallion, \u201cThot Shit\u201d<\/p>\n

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Gudu Records<\/p>\n

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17.<\/div>\n

Peggy Gou: \u201cI Go\u201d<\/h2>\n

\u201cI Go\u201d was engineered to motivate. The Korean lyrics were pulled from a note Peggy Gou wrote to herself on her phone\u2014some words of encouragement after seeing just how exhausted she looked in an airport bathroom mirror. Her vocals are gentle, but her promise of persistence (\u201cI go I go, I go I go\u201d) feels powerful. Throbbing drum machines further bolster her energizing message, turning a personal pep talk into a lull-crushing banger. A six-minute \u201990s dance megamix that feels 10 minutes too short, it definitely goes. \u2013Evan Minsker<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Peggy Gou, \u201cI Go\u201d<\/p>\n

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Self-released<\/p>\n

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16.<\/div>\n

Tinashe: \u201cBouncin\u201d<\/h2>\n

There\u2019s something so pleasant and blithe about the line \u201cI been sendin\u2019 dirty pics\/Hope they make it to the cloud,\u201d that when Tinashe sings it, you can\u2019t help but want the same. The 333<\/em> highlight delivers on the star\u2019s unique ability to maneuver through sensual R&B with grace; her silky vocals and slick lyrics snake through the song\u2019s beat like a gentle touch from a deft hand. She brims with confidence, assuming the role of an alluring pop icon, and projecting the kind of joy that is impossible not to join in on. \u2013Gio Santiago<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Tinashe, \u201cBouncin\u201d<\/p>\n

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15.<\/div>\n

Big Thief: \u201cLittle Things\u201d<\/h2>\n

Where Adrianne Lenker once might have illuminated a detail like a lawn chair or a spine tattoo, \u201cLittle Things\u201d instead recounts the things she loves about someone in terms so sweeping as to be ambiguous. In turn, Big Thief blur their edges; buzzing guitar and lyrics sung in cursive smudge together like watercolors seeping across paper. Lenker\u2019s lyrical longing comes into sharp focus with the line \u201cMaybe I\u2019m a little obsessed\/Maybe you do use me.\u201d It can feel hopeless knowing someone revels in your attention without planning on giving you the same, almost like those feelings have gone to waste. But \u201cLittle Things\u201d encourages us to embrace our yearning, to let imaginations run wild. \u2013Vrinda Jagota<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Big Thief, \u201cLittle Things\u201d<\/p>\n

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Starboy \/ Sony Music International \/ RCA<\/p>\n

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14.<\/div>\n

WizKid: \u201cEssence\u201d [ft. Tems]<\/h2>\n

When it first appeared on Made in Lagos<\/em> in October 2020, WizKid\u2019s \u201cEssence\u201d barely made a ripple, but by the following summer, the song\u2019s melody broke through like the sun spilling from a bleak winter\u2019s grasp. The song thrives off of the musician\u2019s talent for slickly blending various shades of Black music, mixing Afrobeats with the sweaty R&B radio duets of the aughts. It radiates sensuality, from its beatific production to the way the track\u2019s leading pair lustfully stretch their syllables over the instrumentals. But really, this is Tems\u2019 showcase. When she sings her hot-blooded, \u201cYou don\u2019t need no other body,\u201d she wraps us all in her yearning, lovers and strangers alike. \u2013Brian Josephs<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> WizKid, \u201cEssence\u201d [ft. Tems]<\/p>\n

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Technicolour<\/p>\n

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13.<\/div>\n

Sofia Kourtesis: \u201cLa Perla\u201d<\/h2>\n

Berlin-based producer Sofia Kourtesis built \u201cLa Perla\u201d from field recordings she collected in Lima, Peru, as she cared for her dying father. Inspired by their shared love of the ocean, the song feels like a brief escape to a more forgiving world, surrounding a thumping, club-friendly beat with electronic layers that burble and sigh like soft waves. Kourtesis\u2019 tender voice develops a bittersweet edge as she sings about trying to change and forget. Like the bivalve gem, \u201cLa Perla\u201d has a soft glow, and as the opening number to Kourtesis\u2019 gorgeous Fresia Magdalena<\/em> EP, it sets the luminous tone for the songs that follow. \u2013Allison Hussey<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Sofia Kourtesis, \u201cLa Perla\u201d<\/p>\n

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Jagjaguwar<\/p>\n

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12.<\/div>\n

Sharon Van Etten \/ Angel Olsen: \u201cLike I Used To\u201d<\/h2>\n

\u201cLike I Used To\u201d embodies Angel Olsen\u2019s and Sharon Van Etten\u2019s ascensions to their thrones as two of the most important indie stars of the last dozen years\u2014a couple of icons remembering how it\u2019s done and taking what\u2019s theirs. Released in May, during the brief glimmer between the vaccine\u2019s arrival and the Delta variant\u2019s emergence, it reflects this year\u2019s sense of getting back to life and oneself, but also a more timeless pursuit of romantic newness. Short of Van Etten\u2019s \u201cSeventeen,\u201d \u201cLike I Used To\u201d is the most overtly anthemic song either artist has been involved with, full of Springsteenish hooks, silvery glockenspiel runs, and a mood that is both desperately hopeful and undeniably swaggering. \u2013Jillian Mapes<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Sharon Van Etten \/ Angel Olsen: \u201cLike I Used To\u201d<\/p>\n

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Dead Oceans<\/p>\n

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11.<\/div>\n

Japanese Breakfast: \u201cBe Sweet\u201d<\/h2>\n

Japanese Breakfast\u2019s most undeniable pop song to date was originally written to be pitched to big name stars. But Michelle Zauner and collaborator Jack Tatum (of Wild Nothing) realized that they had made something too good to give up. \u201cBe sweet to me, baby,\u201d a beatific clustered harmony urges, pointing to that boiling point when a messy argument badly needs to simmer. It\u2019s a song desperate for a warm blanket of trust and affection, and there\u2019s an inescapable feeling of bliss permeating all of Zauner and Tatum\u2019s melodic decisions. That sick slinking bassline, those atmospheric \u201980s R&B guitar stabs, and Zauner\u2019s wholehearted commitment to the kind of vocal performance and hook you\u2019d expect from Cyndi Lauper or Stacey Q all culminate in a blast-in-your-car singalong jam. Making up takes work, but through the lens of \u201cBe Sweet,\u201d the payoff sounds euphoric. \u2013Evan Minsker<\/p>\n

Further Reading: Japanese Breakfast Is Working the Pain Away<\/div>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Japanese Breakfast, \u201cBe Sweet\u201d<\/p>\n

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Geffen<\/p>\n

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10.<\/div>\n

Olivia Rodrigo: \u201cdeja vu\u201d<\/h2>\n

Olivia Rodrigo first broke through with the chart-conquering phenom \u201cdrivers license,\u201d but it was on its follow-up that she truly arrived. The endlessly screamable \u201cdeja vu\u201d is all about the brutal details we think we glean from afar, likely through screens, about people who were once the main characters of our lives. It\u2019s a psychological pop spiral, watching an ex move on, recycling the energy and excitement they sucked from you\u2014strawberry ice cream, \u201cGlee,\u201d and Billy Joel\u2019s \u201cUptown Girl\u201d have possibly never instigated such impassioned indignation. \u201cShe thinks it\u2019s special, but it\u2019s all reused,\u201d Olivia sings, rightfully bitter. From the outside, their lives might look like movies. Maybe the ex-boyfriend would get a credit. But in the drama of \u201cdeja vu,\u201d Olivia is directing. \u2013Jenn Pelly<\/p>\n

Further Reading: Who Owns the Teen Girl Aesthetic?<\/div>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Olivia Rodrigo, \u201cdeja vu\u201d<\/p>\n

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New Amsterdam<\/p>\n

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9.<\/div>\n

Arooj Aftab: \u201cMohabbat\u201d<\/h2>\n

In \u201cMohabbat,\u201d the centerpiece of Arooj Aftab\u2019s breakthrough album Vulture Prince<\/em>, the Brooklyn-based, Pakistan-born composer is accompanied by harp, flugelhorn, synth, guitar, and percussion\u2014but you could be mistaken for imagining she\u2019s the only person in the room. The arrangement coheres into a gentle cycle of the notes of a major chord, somewhere between an ambient arpeggio and the fingerpicked intro to a folk song, the kind with endless verses. As Aftab sings about grief and sadness in her calm, dusky voice, she doesn\u2019t just tell you the way those feelings can isolate and suspend you in time. She and her collaborators make you feel it with every note, with every breath. \u2013Sam Sodomsky<\/p>\n

Further Reading: Get to Know Arooj Aftab, the Defiant Singer Who\u2019s Reimagining Traditional South Asian Music for Today<\/div>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Arooj Aftab, \u201cMohabbat\u201d<\/p>\n

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Matador<\/p>\n

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8.<\/div>\n

Snail Mail: \u201cValentine\u201d<\/h2>\n

Lindsey Jordan loves hard. On \u201cValentine,\u201d the young indie rocker is spiraling in the aftermath of a breakup. It\u2019s not as if the relationship was picture-perfect: Atop a ghostly synth she describes unequal power dynamics, conflicting desires. But that insight doesn\u2019t make the notion of her ex moving on any less devastating: In fact, the intricacies of her narrative make it all the more thrilling when Jordan erupts on the song\u2019s chorus over thunderous guitars, imbuing every word with an aching urgency. Heartbreak is as old as time itself, but on \u201cValentine,\u201d Jordan transforms the feeling into rocket fuel, blowing a kiss as she blasts off. \u2013Quinn Moreland<\/p>\n

Further Reading: Snail Mail Can\u2019t Help But Confess<\/div>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Snail Mail, \u201cValentine\u201d<\/p>\n

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Dead Oceans<\/p>\n

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7.<\/div>\n

Mitski: \u201cWorking for the Knife\u201d<\/h2>\n

The saying goes that if you do what you love, you\u2019ll never have to work a day in your life. Mitski would like to have a word on that. After a long and grueling world tour supporting her breakthrough album Be the Cowboy<\/em>, the singer took time off in 2019, saying she needed a break from the \u201cconstant churn\u201d of performance. \u201cWorking for the Knife” is her brooding, melancholic first major single back from this respite, and acts as an incisive warning about how much of our identity we give to our life\u2019s greatest undertakings, and who we\u2019re giving it up for. The song unfolds as a balancing act of vulnerability and expectation, of altruistic self-expression and the vanity of wanting to be seen, or even adored. There\u2019s some humor to it all; forlorn, she recognizes that the world never stops turning, and that it\u2019s fine to lie to ourselves if it helps pass the time. It\u2019s a one-act play of existential malaise and a sardonic anthem for those who can’t help but seek out the spotlight. \u2013Puja Patel<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Mitski, \u201cWorking for the Knife\u201d<\/p>\n

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Columbia<\/p>\n

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6.<\/div>\n

Tyler, the Creator: \u201cLumberjack\u201d<\/h2>\n

We\u2019ve always known that Tyler was one of the best rappers working. And yet, for the last decade, he\u2019s seemed to delight in withholding this ability while pursuing other opportunities: orchestral pop, cherry-colored funk, songs about the Grinch. With \u201cLumberjack,\u201d he returns to hard-nosed rap, though it hardly feels like a capitulation\u2014if anything, it sounds like he\u2019s still thumbing his nose at naysayers. The beat pulls its trembling keys from a Gravediggaz song (probably a nod to critics that tried to pigeonhole Odd Future as \u201chorrorcore\u201d) and the song\u2019s chorus (\u201cRolls Royce pull up\/Black boy hop out\u201d) is delivered like a middle finger. \u201cThat\u2019s my nuance, used to be a weirdo,\u201d he deadpans at one point, reminding us that hip-hop\u2019s ultimate insider used to be an outsider. \u2013Mehan Jayasuriya<\/p>\n

Further Reading: 5 Takeaways From Tyler, the Creator\u2019s New Album Call Me If You Get Lost<\/em><\/div>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Tyler, the Creator, \u201cLumberjack\u201d<\/p>\n

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Polydor \/ Interscope<\/p>\n

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5.<\/div>\n

Lana Del Rey: \u201cWhite Dress\u201d<\/h2>\n

The pop music Lana Del Rey is making right now feels unattainable, like you simply have to cock your head and admire it through glass. Who is this person casting Sun Ra and Kings of Leon in a similar light? Who is using an Orlando business conference as a catalyst for Proustian reverie? Who is whispering these chipped-paint choruses so high in her register that they are impossible to sing along to? Who are you?<\/em> is a question that has dogged Lana\u2019s entire career, a question her songs answer mythically, cryptically, truthfully\u2014sometimes all at once.<\/p>\n

This is what happens on \u201cWhite Dress,\u201d co-written by Jack Antonoff, a delirious highlight from her album Chemtrails Over the Country Club.<\/em> Lana\u2014a goth who wears all white in an attempt to be the most<\/em> goth\u2014is our melodramatic tour guide through her past, our \u201cwaitress\/white dress\u201d near-homophone queen. Sure, it\u2019s a trip down memory lane to a simpler life before all the tabloid brouhaha, but when she sings about how waiting tables \u201cmade me feel like a god,\u201d it\u2019s as if she\u2019s staring into a swirling cauldron, casting a spell to deify herself once more. \u2013Jeremy D. Larson<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Lana Del Rey, \u201cWhite Dress\u201d<\/p>\n

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RCA<\/p>\n

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4.<\/div>\n

Jazmine Sullivan: \u201cPick Up Your Feelings\u201d<\/h2>\n

Breakup songs tend to fall into one of two categories. The first include ones that luxuriate in the aftermath of a relationship, reminiscing on what was lost and finding something like solace on the other side. Then there are those from the perspective of the jilted partner who wants to let it burn, pour a drink, and dance on the ashes. Jazmine Sullivan\u2019s smoldering \u201cPick Up Your Feelings\u201d belongs firmly with the latter. Here, whoever messed things up picked the right one on the wrong day. \u201cYou\u2019re off the lease\/Run me my keys,\u201d Sullivan demands in the opening verse, voice pirouetting through octaves. The song rightfully claims a spot in the pantheon of definitive R&B dismissals like \u201cTyrone\u201d and \u201cIrreplaceable,\u201d where specificity (\u201cNeed a ride?\/Call that bitch\/Gas way too expensive\u201d) creates a vividly relatable portrait. If you need a sign to dump the two-timing partner in your life, Sullivan is graciously here to deliver. \u2013Eric Torres<\/p>\n

Further Reading: Jazmine Sullivan on Shamelessness, Heaux Tales<\/em>, and Her Biggest Year Yet<\/div>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Jazmine Sullivan, \u201cPick Up Your Feelings\u201d<\/p>\n

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Sub Pop<\/p>\n

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3.<\/div>\n

Low: \u201cDays Like These\u201d<\/h2>\n

\u201cDays Like These\u201d is a song in the form of an eclipse: the first half made of blinding light, the second an uncanny, disembodied stillness. Singing into a static blur that sounds like wind noise on video, or like someone\u2019s sawing through the tape, Alan Sparhawk and Mimi Parker describe a vast and subtle longing, a desire for a kind of transcendence not found on Earth. \u201cKnow that I would do anything,\u201d they cry, their fried-out vocals taking on the call-and-response pattern of a hymn. But in this strange, desaturated grief, there\u2019s no action to take. Even the song doesn\u2019t end, really; it just stretches out, twinkling in the distance, a lone satellite pressing on toward the edge of space. \u2013Anna Gaca<\/p>\n

Further Reading: Low Still Don\u2019t Sound Like Anyone Else<\/div>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Low, \u201cDays Like These\u201d<\/p>\n

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Ba Da Bing<\/p>\n

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2.<\/div>\n

Cassandra Jenkins: \u201cHard Drive\u201d<\/h2>\n

\u201cHard Drive\u201d is part self-help podcast, part hero\u2019s quest, part breathing exercise. Some of the song is spoken plain like a story, some of it sung. People pass through, including a security guard and a driving instructor, all with grounding lessons to impart. Its instrumentation is dotted with wandering saxophone and guitar tones as dewy as a fall morning. The combined effect is curiously invigorating, like a perfume with an underlying note of dill pickle.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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As the centerpiece of New York City songwriter Cassandra Jenkins\u2019 album An Overview on Phenomenal Nature<\/em>, \u201cHard Drive\u201d is also a kind of mission statement. Her search for guidance to quell neuroses both philosophical and practical eventually leads her to a psychic, who advises her to close her eyes, breathe in deeply, and count to three. As Jenkins repeats the numbers like a mantra, the song\u2019s drum beat stiffens its spine and the sax starts to really blow. By the end, we\u2019re floating, if only for a moment. \u2013Ryan Dombal<\/p>\n

Further Reading: Cassandra Jenkins\u2019 Hypnotic Folk Music Turns Everyday Moments Into Monuments<\/div>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Cassandra Jenkins, \u201cHard Drive\u201d<\/p>\n

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Perpetual Novice<\/p>\n

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1.<\/div>\n

Caroline Polachek: \u201cBunny Is a Rider\u201d<\/h2>\n

Who is Bunny? In Caroline Polachek\u2019s vision, she is a figure of undeniable intrigue. Sexy and beguiling, untraceable even by satellite, she goes where she wants and is beholden to no one. You wish you were Bunny; we all do.<\/p>\n

Casting off the gossamer avant-pop of 2019\u2019s Pang,<\/em> Polachek and producer Danny L Harle opt for a sound that is both commercial and weird: a deep, juicy bassline befitting of the Top 40, a \u201cyoo hoo<\/em>\u201d whistle, a sample taken from Harle\u2019s giggling baby, even marimba plinks that conjure an island vacation with Kygo. It\u2019s a characteristic display of PC Music alum Harle\u2019s impulse to simultaneously send-up and pay homage to popular forms, with results too deliciously crisp to read as a joke.<\/p>\n

Meanwhile, as if recreating the slipperiness of Bunny, Polachek darts through various images (blazing fireworks, a wet palette, a cut check), never resting long enough for you to grasp what\u2019s next. She enters a new dimension in the chorus, switching from narrator to first-person, trading a Drake-like rhythmic delivery for her usual lithe, crystalline singing. She may be channeling the want to be immaterial, the ability to evaporate like a wisp of smoke, but when she sings \u201cI\u2019m so nonphysical,\u201d<\/em> it comes with embodied longing, as if she\u2019s aching for touch. The thrill of the song is wrapped up in how it skirts any pressure to lay out its intentions, how it moves at its own whims. Bunny keeps you guessing. \u2013Cat Zhang<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Caroline Polachek, \u201cBunny Is a Rider\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n

Source URL: https:\/\/pitchfork.com\/features\/lists-and-guides\/best-songs-2021\/<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Lists & Guides The 100 Best Songs of 2021 The tracks that defined an unsettling year, featuring Japanese Breakfast, Olivia Rodrigo, Caroline Polachek, Megan Thee Stallion, and more By Pitchfork December 6, 2021 Graphic by Callum Abbott. Yves Tumor photo by Alexa Viscius, Low photo by Nathan Keay, Megan Thee Stallion photo by Tim Mosenfelder\/FilmMagic, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[54],"class_list":["post-1465511","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-politics","tag-pitchfork-com"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/analyse.optim.biz\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1465511","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/analyse.optim.biz\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/analyse.optim.biz\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/analyse.optim.biz\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/analyse.optim.biz\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1465511"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/analyse.optim.biz\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1465511\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/analyse.optim.biz\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1465511"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/analyse.optim.biz\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1465511"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/analyse.optim.biz\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1465511"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}