{"id":1518290,"date":"2017-12-11T06:00:00","date_gmt":"2017-12-11T03:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/analyse.optim.biz\/?p=1518290"},"modified":"2017-12-11T06:00:00","modified_gmt":"2017-12-11T03:00:00","slug":"the-100-best-songs-of-2017","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/analyse.optim.biz\/?p=1518290","title":{"rendered":"The 100 Best Songs of 2017"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
Lists & Guides<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

The 100 Best Songs of 2017<\/h1>\n
<\/div>\n
\n
From Lorde\u2019s ecstatic emotional cleansing to Frank Ocean\u2019s ode to cycling to Cardi B\u2019s rampaging banger of bangers, these are our picks for the best songs of the year.<\/div>\n
\n
\n
By <\/span>Pitchfork<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

\n
\n
<\/p>\n
\n
<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

<\/span><\/p>\n

Graphic by Patrick Jenkins<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/header>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n
\n

This year, music was all about context: artists addressed a tumultuous world or created a new one, pushing boundaries in voice and instrument. Pop stars parsed love and heartbreak, electronic producers found inspiration around the globe and in their backyards, and hip-hop morphed and changed at light speed. As voted by our staff and contributors, here\u2019s our list of the 100 Best Songs of 2017.<\/p>\n

Listen to selections from this list on our\u00a0Spotify playlist\u00a0and our\u00a0Apple Music playlist.<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Maggie<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Capitol<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

100.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Maggie Rogers: \u201cOn + Off\u201d<\/h2>\n

As a humble music student from Maryland, Maggie Rogers rose to fame after catching Pharrell’s ear with her enigmatic pop song \u201cAlaska.\u201d The upbeat electro track showcased Rogers\u2019 keen intuition as a songwriter and arranger.\u00a0Now\u00a0\u201cOn + Off\u201d finds her a brilliant alchemist, joining styles from across the sonic spectrum under a swooping arc. Brittle synth pop, heartland folk, quiet storm R&B, deep house, velvety dream pop, even a trace of gospel choir: They\u2019re all here, in the brilliant stained glass mirror through which she sees the world. \u2013Zoe Camp<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Maggie Rogers, \u201cOn + Off\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Interscope<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

99.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Kamaiyah: \u201cBuild You Up\u201d<\/h2>\n

Between signing with Interscope and landing a spot on XXL<\/em>\u2019s Freshmen class of \u201917, Kamaiyah Johnson made plenty of power moves over the past 12 months. Her greatest may be \u201cBuild You Up,\u201d a punchy neon pep talk that repurposes Tony! Toni! Ton\u00e9!\u2019s 1990 chart-topper \u201cFeels Good\u201d into a burst of R&B optimism.<\/p>\n

Kamaiyah has said she wrote \u201cBuild You Up\u201d to empower young women within a cultural landscape where such anthems are scarce. True enough, in her catchy track, the Bay Area\u00a0MC lifts up her peers as she stresses their right to love and respect. \u201cIf he don\u2019t show you love, then he\u2019s less than\/Never stress it, tell that brother get to steppin\u2019,\u201d she instructs. Words to live by. \u2013Zoe Camp<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Kamaiyah, \u201cBuild You Up\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Barsuk\"<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Barsuk<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

98.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Charly Bliss: \u201cPercolator\u201d<\/h2>\n

The 2001 film version of Josie and the Pussycats<\/em> was a commercial failure, but many of us grew to love its power-pop soundtrack anyway, and some even formed bands. Charly Bliss stand out among them by favoring pop over force: \u201cPercolator\u201d offers a few moments of grimy guitar before attacking the listener with hooks instead. Eva Hendricks\u2019 voice has the capricious shape of an inner monologue, squeaking out each wry line: \u201cSwimming in your pool, I am pregnant with meaning\/Could I be more appealing, writing slurs on the ceiling?\u201d It\u2019s sardonic, self-deprecating, and utterly serious all at once. Satirizing the music industry as a psy-ops conspiracy, Josie and the Pussycats<\/em> also suggested how much fear and disdain youthful ardor can provoke. Call it power\u2014something \u201cPercolator\u201d has. \u2013Chris Randle<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n

Listen:<\/strong> Charly Bliss, \u201cPercolator\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Epic<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

97.\u00a0<\/div>\n

DJ Khaled: \u201cWild Thoughts\u201d [ft. Rihanna and Bryson Tiller]<\/h2>\n

\u201cWild Thoughts\u201d is proof that DJ Khaled\u2019s sheer determination to engineer Top 40 hits can actually pay off. Strategic in his appeals to nostalgia, Khaled essentially recreated Santana and the Product G&B\u2019s 1999 hit \u201cMaria Maria,\u201d retaining its shuffling Latin percussion and seductive guitar lines. Perhaps Khaled knew a Latin-tinged pop song could rule the U.S. charts for the summer\u2014but only if an English-speaking superstar jumped on it, as evidenced by Justin Bieber\u2019s remix of Luis Fonsi and Daddy Yankee\u2019s \u201cDespacito.\u201d<\/p>\n

After eight years of trying to get Rihanna on a track, Khaled finally landed an elusive feature, and her ability to exude carefree sex appeal proved a perfect match for the slinky beat. Confident and restrained, Rihanna dips to the lowest parts of her range to make playful phrases about temptation sound as sensuous as possible. Bryson Tiller contributes a just-fine verse that expectedly mentions D\u2019usse and not-so-expectedly references The Waterboy<\/em>. Add in the occasional over-exuberant ad-lib from DJ Khaled, and you have the recipe for a great summer bop. \u2013Michelle Kim<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> DJ Khaled, \u201cWild Thoughts\u201d [ft. Rihanna and Bryson Tiller]<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Gotti<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Gotti Made-It \/ Empire<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

96.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Yo Gotti: \u201cRake It Up\u201d [ft. Nicki Minaj]<\/h2>\n

For decades, strip clubs in the South have served as a testing ground for hip-hop songs, and Yo Gotti handcrafted \u201cRake It Up\u201d as a pole-friendly anthem. But instead of the usual \u201cmake it rain\u201d tropes centered around the power of the patron, the Memphis rapper shifts the energy to the dancers raking up wads of cash after a successful night on the job. Producer Mike WiLL Made-It finesses hi-hats and big bass into a spacious beat that\u2019s filled out by Gotti and Nicki Minaj, who makes rhyming the word \u201cChina\u201d five times in a row sound ingenious on one of her most showstopping features in recent memory. Here, the women are moneymakers, and Nicki is center stage. \u2013Kristin Corry<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Yo Gotti, \u201cRake It Up\u201d [ft. Nicki Minaj]<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Sub Pop<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

95.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Downtown Boys: \u201cA Wall\u201d<\/h2>\n

Earlier this year, as the White House bungled the implementation of its \u201cMuslim ban,\u201d sparking airport protests and civil rights lawsuits, Downtown Boys were holed up in Steve Albini\u2019s Chicago studio cutting their Sub Pop debut, Cost of Living<\/em>. Vocalist Victoria Ruiz and guitarist Joey DeFrancesco earned their activist stripes organizing for labor and civil rights in their home base of Providence, Rhode Island; they\u2019re not used to watching from the sidelines. But the record they cut will endure long after the current administration has left office, and \u201cA Wall,\u201d its opening salvo, perfectly captures their righteous rage. In between the driving bassline and soaring sax melody, Ruiz and DeFrancesco shout down jingoistic imperialism. It\u2019s an extension of the band\u2019s live shows, which are equal parts dance party and discourse. Ruiz confronts and challenges her audience, encouraging us to decolonize our minds while examining our own complicity in oppressive structures rooted in white supremacy. On a record full of defiant statements, \u201cA Wall\u201d is among the most forceful. \u2013Matthew Ismael Ruiz<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n

Listen:<\/strong> Downtown Boys, \u201cA Wall\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Father \/ Daughter<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

94.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Vagabon: \u201cThe Embers\u201d<\/h2>\n

L\u00e6titia Tamko never says anything about fire on \u201cThe Embers,\u201d the opening track of Vagabon\u2019s debut album, Infinite Worlds<\/em>. In a rougher version, at the end of Vagabon\u2019s 2014 EP Persian Garden<\/em>, the same song was titled \u201cSharks.\u201d You could argue the original title made more sense, because Tamko sings here\u2014laconically, unforgettably\u2014about being \u201ca small fish\u201d in a sea of voracious predators. But \u201cThe Embers\u201d fans her artistic statement of self-belief into a glowing, quiet-loud opus that evokes both classic Modest Mouse and recent Hop Along. It\u2019s proof that there are other seas for small fish, particularly the New York D.I.Y. community that nurtured Vagabon. And yet, in showing how someone made to feel marginal can transform that sense of vulnerability into strength, the song also reveals determined souls can set any situation brilliantly ablaze. \u2013Marc Hogan<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Vagabon, \u201cThe Embers\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Man's<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Island<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

93.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Big Shaq: \u201cMan\u2019s Not Hot\u201d<\/h2>\n

It was a banner year for grime-related humor, first seeing Roll Safe achieve meme-level fame, and then Big Shaq\u2019s \u201cMan\u2019s Not Hot\u201d proving itself the most quotable British product since Lethal Bizzle\u2019s \u201cRari Workout.\u201d Casual observers might wonder if grime parodies are better than grime tracks, but \u201cMan\u2019s Not Hot\u201d renders that distinction moot by being an excellent example of each. Indeed,\u00a0it joins in a tradition of songs (e.g., the Darkness\u2019 \u201cI Believe in a Thing Called Love\u201d) that so expertly lampoon their chosen genre they become part of its firmament.<\/p>\n

\u201cMan\u2019s Not Hot,\u201d which originated as a freestyle on BBC Radio 1Xtra, is the brainchild of British comedian Michael Dapaah, who builds the track around one wry observation\u2014why are young toughs always mugging in parkas?\u2014and withholds the punch line long enough to practice his gun noises and turn \u201cdonut\u201d into an insult. He also brags about his deodorant and ups the stakes (\u201cMan can never be hot\/Perspiration ting\u201d), wrapping the track so tightly in patois and bravado that it hardly matters whether you\u2019re doubled over laughing or marring your search history with \u201cuckers.\u201d \u2013Andrew Gaerig<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Big Shaq, \u201cMan\u2019s Not Hot\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Island<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

92.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Jessie Ware: \u201cMidnight\u201d<\/h2>\n

\u201cMidnight\u201d is the sound of walls tumbling down, the kinds used to shield a heart from love. Upon its release, Jessie Ware described the song as one she\u2019s \u201calways wanted to be able to sing\u201d and it exudes a newfound confidence, shining with every note. Ware sounds powerful and poised as she embodies the full force of falling for someone. \u201cCan I miss you in the daylight?\u201d she sings, underscoring the question\u2019s idyllic naivety. But for all the vulnerability contained within these lyrics, Ware\u2019s vocals are the grandest revelation here, capturing the beautiful discomfort of such a feeling. She employs her higher register to stunning effect, and this iteration of old soul-tinged pop is Ware at her most impressive. \u2013Briana Younger<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Jessie Ware, \u201cMidnight\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

DFA<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

91.\u00a0<\/div>\n

CCFX: \u201cThe One to Wait\u201d<\/h2>\n

\u201cThe One to Wait\u201d begins quietly, with a wash of guitar and a gentle breakbeat. And then Mary Jane Dunphe, a singer who always sounds like she\u2019s announcing herself to the world, announces herself to the world, and CCFX sounds for a moment like the type of brilliant post-punk act that arrives like a summer storm to reorganize your thoughts about rock music.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n

The end result isn\u2019t quite so dramatic, thankfully. CCFX is Dunphe\u2019s collaboration with Trans FX\u2019s Chris McDonnell, and the dream pop they conjure is the most luxurious environ she’s inhabited yet. On \u201cThe One to Wait,\u201d her voice swoops and eddies through a tale of longing and indecision, her phrasing and tone almost sculpture-like in its exaggerated poses. The lyrics and puddled guitars suggest sadness, but the song\u2019s melody seems to slope ever upward, never quite cresting. It creates a fidgety, nervous energy that carries the track as you wonder if Dunphe is going to let loose. She doesn\u2019t, because some storms just drizzle all day long. \u2013Andrew Gaerig<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> CCFX, \u201cThe One to Wait\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Epic Records<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

90.\u00a0<\/div>\n

J Balvin \/ Willy William: \u201cMi Gente\u201d [ft. Beyonc\u00e9] (Remix)<\/h2>\n

It is a strange sign of the times that after a hurricane struck Houston in late summer, there was a faction of the internet mad at Beyonc\u00e9 for not responding quickly enough to help her hometown, as though she were a public servant or president (oh were it so!) and not a Pepsi-sponsored pop star. Of course, Beyonc\u00e9 always answers her detractors with statements so powerful, no further comment is needed\u2014and so, not only did she personally go to Houston herself to hand out food to those in need, she later dropped a remix of Colombian singer J Balvin\u2019s massive Latin hit \u201cMi Gente\u201d to benefit hurricane relief all around the hemisphere in Puerto Rico, the Caribbean, and Mexico. Balvin is about as big as B in Latin America, and his track was already massive globally without her help. But the Beyonc\u00e9 charity co-sign put reggaeton on the speakers of kids in America who might never have heard it before, and made her as effective\u2014if not more\u2014at helping to fix the world\u2019s ills than some actual heads of state who shall remain nameless. \u2013Alex Frank<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> J Balvin \/ Willy William: \u201cMi Gente\u201d [ft. Beyonc\u00e9] (Remix)<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Dirty<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Domino<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

89.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Dirty Projectors: \u201cLittle Bubble\u201d<\/h2>\n

Camouflaged as a breakup album, Dirty Projectors\u2019 self-titled, eighth full-length was a reinvention for songwriter Dave Longstreth, and nowhere more so than on the empty-bed lament \u201cLittle Bubble.\u201d Featuring Longstreth, a string quartet, and a heroically minimalist drum part by Michael Johnson, \u201cLittle Bubble\u201d bypasses the deeply specific references that dot many of the album\u2019s songs and aims for something more universal, straightforward, and ambitious. The self-harmonized verses take about half the song\u2019s length to achieve its central, sad thought. En route, Longstreth finds a new mode for his nearly decade-and-a-half old project via a gently glitching keyboard, barely perceptible bubble-shaped bleeps, and the barest of rhythm tracks. The moody dynamic, casting the music with the song\u2019s \u201ccold October light,\u201d frames his R&B vocal tendencies in a way both legitimately poppy and true to his weirdness. Downsized but still intricate, Longstreth\u2019s return to mostly-solo recording manifests as self-resolution on \u201cLittle Bubble,\u201d pointing to a future with new paths to discover, but no less filled with loss. \u2013Jesse Jarnow<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Dirty Projectors, \u201cLittle Bubble\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

ATO<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

88.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Hurray for the Riff Raff: \u201cPa\u2019lante\u201d<\/h2>\n

The phrase \u201cpa\u2019lante,\u201d meaning \u201cforward,\u201d was a rallying cry for the Young Lords, a Puerto Rican civil rights group that took to the streets of Spanish Harlem in the late 1960s. On Hurray for the Riff Raff\u2019s album The Navigator<\/em>, leader Alynda Segarra makes \u201cPa\u2019lante\u201d into a powerful ode to perseverance. Starkly swaying piano chords meet Segarra\u2019s raw-throated musings about work, romance, gender identity, and, yes, post-colonial assimilation. There\u2019s a brightly affirmative midsection (\u201cAny day now, I will come along,\u201d Segarra promises) and a searing poetry reading before the itinerant Nuyorican folk-rock bandleader widens her gaze further \u201cto the ghost of Emmett Till\u201d and beyond. In a year of Hurricane Maria, of tragic headlines for so many who were historically marginalized, Segarra\u2019s repetition of \u201cpa\u2019lante\u201d sounds like an intersectional \u201camen\u201d: a universal prayer to be something, feel something, move forward. \u2013Marc Hogan<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n

Listen:<\/strong> Hurray for the Riff Raff, \u201cPa\u2019lante\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Columbia\"<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Columbia<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

87.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Harry Styles: \u201cSign of the Times\u201d<\/h2>\n

The saddest shift of youth arrives the day your favorite tousle-haired boy-bander leaves your daydreams and abruptly needs to get off your lawn. More depressing still are the stabs at trendiness that eclipsed teen heartthrobs often take: mealy-mouthed EDM sex ballads, hammy Broadway residencies, Xeroxed pop-soul trifles. Harry Styles was one of the rare ones who hopscotched neatly over all these awkward phases once One Direction went on hiatus. Instead, on his debut solo single, \u201cSign of the Times,\u201d Styles embraced the musical forms that his peers might deem uncool, from Elton John ivories-melting pomp to Glen Campbell\u2013style lurid balladry. Grim lyrics that could seem fatalist (or given his age, just a bit emo) are delivered with earthy insight, Styles showing his true crooner abilities as he warns of bleak times to come. Well, maybe for everyone else\u2014this golden child seems to have blue skies ahead.\u00a0\u2013Stacey Anderson<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Harry Styles, \u201cSign of the Times\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Game<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Game Grumps<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

86.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Baths: \u201cDream Daddy\u201d<\/h2>\n

\u201cDream Daddy\u201d was not presented to the world as Baths\u2019 new masterwork. There was no PR blast announcing its arrival, and it\u00a0can\u2019t be purchased on vinyl like his impressive new album, Romaplasm<\/em>. It lives primarily as the opening title music for its video game namesake, and although the 96-second song\u2019s primary function is to transition us into a world of scrumptious virtual DILFs, it\u2019s so much more than a throwaway sonic blurb. Will Wiesenfeld weaves an earworm for the ages, a melody so beatific that the term \u201cdream daddy\u201d transcends its meme status and becomes a universal idyll. With only a handful of words and some celestial vocal effects, he paints an impressionistic portrait of fresh crush elation. The beat makes it danceable and heightens the euphoria\u2014a mood that\u2019s easy to consume again and again, making it perfect for pre-game repetition. Maybe one day, it\u2019ll get a good, long 12” dance mix\u2014but until then, that title screen will just have to stay on repeat, postponing gameplay indefinitely. \u2013Evan Minsker<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Baths, \u201cDream Daddy\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Goldmine \/ Atlantic<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

85.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Missy Elliott: \u201cI\u2019m Better\u201d [ft. Lamb]<\/h2>\n

It\u2019s been a staggering 12 years since Missy Elliott, still the grande dame of hip-hop, released her last studio album. As such, any morsel of music she releases is a blessing, and for the past few years, she has been slowly but surely teasing a full-blown comeback. So far, the syrupy-slow \u201cI\u2019m Better\u201d is the apex of these new tracks, and one that is quintessentially Missy: a lean, funky beat coupled with mind-bending wordplay in her iconic half-bar drawl. The song shows a subdued maturity that separates it from the classic Missy tracks we know and love, without holding back on her sense of innovation. Before, Missy was eager to show us the impressive range of tricks in her arsenal, from groundbreaking production work with Timbaland to her legendary music videos. Here, she\u2019s more thoughtful and controlled, but just as impactful, and her lyrics just as witty (somehow managing to rhyme \u201cI\u2019m from VA\u201d with \u201cthe car that I drive be Ferrari\u201d). The core tenets of Missy\u2019s persona\u2014body positivity, black female empowerment, Afrofuturism\u2014have only become more prescient with time, and while awaiting her true second coming, she is still demanding we get our freak on\u2014but on her terms, and in her own time. \u2013Cameron Cook<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n

Listen:<\/strong> Missy Elliott, \u201cI\u2019m Better\u201d [ft. Lamb]<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Arts<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Arts & Crafts<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

84.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Broken Social Scene: \u201cHug of Thunder\u201d<\/h2>\n

Looking back at a scribbly teenage journal, decades later, can be bittersweet: Here is, word for word, who you were and will never be again, all rendered in the glorious freedom of youth. For her first star turn on a Broken Social Scene song in 11 years, Leslie Feist revisits her own adolescent musings\u2014the Syd Barrett surrealism, the broken teeth, the days when \u201cthe bus stop was the size of the entire world\u201d\u2014with a sense of awe. This isn\u2019t nostalgia for nostalgia\u2019s sake; there are layers of remembrance, half-memories, creases made up of meaning. Lilting through her past over a gently surging backbeat, she fills \u201cHug of Thunder\u201d with the wisdom of a sentimentalist. Each line, old and new, is memorable enough to feel real, with blank pages to spare. \u2013Ryan Dombal<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Broken Social Scene, \u201cHug of Thunder\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Interscope \/ AWGE<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

83.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Playboi Carti: \u201cLocation\u201d<\/h2>\n

Playboi Carti\u2019s self-titled breakthrough album is best known for charismatic singles like \u201cMagnolia\u201d and \u201cwokeuplikethis*\u201d\u2014songs that sharpen the Atlanta rapper\u2019s hypnotic languor into trunk-rattling bangers. But in many ways, album opener \u201cLocation\u201d is more true to form, a mood piece that\u2019s equal parts triumphant and narcotic. The song is built around a sample of Allan Holdsworth\u2019s jazz fusion classic \u201cEndomorph,\u201d which producer Harry Fraud treats like Silly Putty, pitching it up and slowing it down until the soaring synths become smears of sound. Carti matches Fraud\u2019s impressionistic beat with a heavy-lidded, laconic flow, rapping like he\u2019s being taxed per word. His bars are snapshots that slowly dissolve through repetition, just another texture in the neon haze. Like all of Playboi Carti\u2019s best songs, \u201cLocation\u201d is an exercise in economy, a vivid picture painted using a limited palette of colors. \u2013Mehan Jayasuriya<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Playboi Carti, \u201cLocation\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Sacred<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Sacred Bones<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

82.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Zola Jesus: \u201cSiphon\u201d<\/h2>\n

The songs on Zola Jesus\u2019s Okovi<\/em> contain a lot of straight talk, and \u201cSiphon\u201d is one of its bluntest. Writing about a real-life friend\u2019s second attempt at suicide, Nika Danilova avoids couching the event in metaphor or stand-in characters. Instead, she talks directly to her friend, insisting that everyone wants him to stay alive and will do everything they can to make sure that happens. Such earnest lyrics, filled with references to dark nights and warm blood, could venture into sentimental cliches. But the boldness of Danilova\u2019s vocal delivery, the gathering storm of her synths, and the hard industrial pound of her beat give \u201cSiphon\u201d the urgent sonic edge its words deserve. Danilova sounds sure that matters of life and death deserve direct action, and that conviction makes \u201cSiphon\u201d sound like a siren blaring toward an emergency. \u2013Marc Masters<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Zola Jesus, \u201cSiphon\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"The<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

4AD<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

81.\u00a0<\/div>\n

The National: \u201cThe System Only Dreams in Total Darkness\u201d<\/h2>\n

The National don\u2019t do guitar solos. Across the band\u2019s first six albums, they favored an inward emotional gaze, a reflective austerity that limits such sudden, shrieking outbursts. But halfway into \u201cThe System Only Dreams in Total Darkness,\u201d guitarist Aaron Dessner rushes in to relieve Matt Berninger, who\u2019s so vexed by the world around him that he can only shout out his confusion on repeat, his steadfast baritone splintering at its oaken edges. Dessner dives headlong into the bridge, bending the song\u2019s snarling lead riff with the rhythmic acrobatics of Robbie Robertson and the irascible tone of Neil Young. Berninger inveighs against something he can\u2019t quite define here, a world of inadequate faiths, power vacuums, and \u201clonely secrets.\u201d Dessner\u2019s star turn, though, puts a knife point on this frustration, weaponizing the song. Guitar solos work like curses; overuse them and they lose their rhetorical power. The National smartly saved this\u2014a bona fide rock\u2019n\u2019roll rip through time\u2014for an anthem that admits even trying to articulate the mess we\u2019re in can be goddamn tiring. \u2013Grayson Haver Currin<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n

Listen:<\/strong> The National, \u201cThe System Only Dreams in Total Darkness\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Jagjaguwar<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

80.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Moses Sumney: \u201cQuarrel\u201d<\/h2>\n

Moses Sumney has said that his songs tend to hover somewhere in the interstice between sleeping and waking. The cinematic harp rolls and floating vocal embellishments that outfit \u201cQuarrel,\u201d from his debut album, Aromanticism<\/em>, certainly seem like snippets of dream language written into reality. Sumney could be speaking from within the kind of early-morning fog that lets dreams linger, clouding out everything but personal truth from the subconscious mind\u2014which would explain his brutal honesty in addressing the emotional distance between him and his lover. After singing most of \u201cQuarrel\u201d in an icy falsetto, Sumney slips into a lower, more conversational register to deliver its stinging final couplet: \u201cWe cannot be lovers\/Long as I\u2019m the other.\u201d He\u2019s referring to the implicit power dynamics that wreak havoc on relationships\u2014from class disparities to less obvious differences, like preference of attachment type\u2014and make it impossible for lovers to negotiate as equals, dooming their prospects from the start. His cynicism could rattle the most die-hard romantic. \u2013Olivia Horn<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Moses Sumney, \u201cQuarrel\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"The<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

We Still Believe<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

79.\u00a0<\/div>\n

The Black Madonna: \u201cHe Is the Voice I Hear\u201d<\/h2>\n

In the handwritten liner notes to this single by Marea Stamper, aka the Black Madonna, the \u201cHe\u201d in the title is legendary Paradise Garage DJ Larry Levan, answering a prayer by the \u201cI\u201d that was the equally iconic Frankie Knuckles. Stamper adds more names to shout out\u2014Arthur Russell, Patrick Cowley, Sylvester, Loleatta Holloway\u2014and underscores the tribute in the structure of the song, which starts with the ghost-jazz piano of Christoforo Labarbera and builds from its mournful intro into a string-sweetened old-school Moroder pulse that blurs history into a cyclical continuum of euphoric remembrance. Gripes about \u201cpastiche\u201d miss the point. You can hear snatches of \u201974 soul or \u201979 Italo or \u201985 house or \u201988 acid in certain rhythms and chord progressions, but it\u2019s all refracted into a greater whole, where the most important history is emotional. It\u2019s ultimately about all the connections that people make through decades of music, of finding a path to old feelings and remembering how your heart connects to your feet. \u2013Nate Patrin<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> The Black Madonna, \u201cHe Is the Voice I Hear\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Young<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Young Turks<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

78.\u00a0<\/div>\n

The xx: \u201cOn Hold\u201d<\/h2>\n

The typical xx song plays like a conversation between best friends\u2014lovers, if you use your imagination\u2014confiding their innermost secrets to each other. That intimacy among singers Romy Madley Croft and Oliver Sim casts a powerful spell, but it can also leave producer Jamie xx in a tough spot, like a guy trying to lure his friends onto the dancefloor while they stubbornly insist on standing in the corner. On the group\u2019s previous albums, Jamie\u2019s overtures usually amounted to a gentle tug on the sleeve, but \u201cOn Hold\u201d\u2014the first taste of I See You<\/em>\u2014 marks the moment he finally just grabs his bandmates by the arms and pushes them under the bright lights.<\/p>\n

Powered by a strobe-lit bass and a showy Hall & Oates sample, the song forces Madley Croft and Sim to relinquish the comfort of their insular safe spaces and hash out their issues as if yelling over a neighbor\u2019s car stereo. It\u2019s a therapeutic exercise that draws their pent-up feelings to the surface, an emotional cleansing by way of the beat. \u2013Evan Rytlewski<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n

Listen:<\/strong> The xx, \u201cOn Hold\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Stormzy<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

#Merky<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

77.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Stormzy: \u201cBig for Your Boots\u201d<\/h2>\n

Hands down the best childhood sound is that winded, rubbery \u201cOOEEHH<\/em>\u201d gasp that comes in the wake of a cheap plastic soccer ball being thwacked across a field. By some feat of vocal magic, grime ambassador Stormzy captures that exact noise every time he repeats the word \u201cboots<\/em>\u201d on this song about kicking down pretenders. It is incredibly satisfying. \u201cBig for Your Boots\u201d is regal, gothic, brutally cheeky, dexterous, and utterly assured: Stormzy can pull off schooling wannabe bad boys and<\/em> nicking meat out of his mum\u2019s stew pot in a single breath. The song tethers the pitched-up vocal samples of grime\u2019s past to a pop present where its creators no longer have to compromise to break the mainstream in their native UK. Because, finally, they are the mainstream. \u2013Laura Snapes<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Stormzy, \u201cBig for Your Boots\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Smalltown Supersound<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

76.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Kelly Lee Owens: \u201cAnxi.\u201d [ft. Jenny Hval]<\/h2>\n

There was a strong current of techno-feminism flowing throughout 2017, from UMFANG\u2019s playful, scrappy Symbolic Use of Light<\/em> to Kelly Lee Owens\u2019 meditative self-titled debut. Owens\u2019 album reminds us that techno doesn\u2019t always have to be stark or severe, and she makes the best use of her gentle touch on \u201cAnxi.\u201d The track coaxes you into its orbit with delicate, reverberating percussion before guest artist Jenny Hval and her lullaby-like vocals meet sunny synths\u2014it is both a restorative balm and minimalist mover. But a deeper listen proves to be less light: \u201cAlways failed at the romantic\/I did baroque badly,\u201d Hval sings, with her characteristically calm caution, as the brightness subsides and coldness sets in. It is a somber reminder that things aren\u2019t always what they seem or what we want them to be; that tranquil places can still be disrupted by our own muddy minds. \u2013Claire Lobenfeld<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Kelly Lee Owens, \u201cAnxi” [ft. Jenny Hval]<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Slaughter<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Slaughter Gang \/ Epic<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

75.\u00a0<\/div>\n

21 Savage: \u201cBank Account\u201d<\/h2>\n

Until this year, 21 Savage had succeeded mostly as a specialist, someone whose thin, sneering deadpan was best suited to short bursts over Metro Boomin\u2019s sparsest, most ambient production. Issa Album<\/em> revealed the Atlantan as something more, someone capable of mining rote consumption or clawing survival to find its psychological crevices. That album\u2019s breakout hit, \u201cBank Account,\u201d which 21 produced, gives trips to the mall and to Wells Fargo a crushing weight, like 21 is going to buckle under all those millions. He\u2019s become a deceptively slippery vocalist, sliding in and out of cadences that have dominated Atlanta rap for last half-decade, leveraging a limited vocal range for maximum effect. There\u2019s also a delightful absurdity to how specific the references get: at\u00a0times, 21 references a character from the movie Shottas<\/em> and warns that \u201cthe Draco make you do the chickenhead like Chingy.\u201d It\u2019s grim and impossibly fun. \u2013Paul A. Thompson<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> 21 Savage, \u201cBank Account\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Warner<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Warner Bros.<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

74.\u00a0<\/div>\n

SahBabii: \u201cPull Up Wit Ah Stick\u201d [ft. Loso Loaded]<\/h2>\n

It\u2019s fun now to think about how the simplest of melodies changed SahBabii\u2019s life, but the Atlanta rookie once considered the catchy riff on \u201cPull Up Wit Ah Stick\u201d too basic to be released. Recorded in his brother\u2019s bedroom using a broken microphone, his breakout track narrowly made the cut for his S.A.N.D.A.S.<\/em>\u00a0mixtape last year; after snippets of the song went viral online, Young Thug hopped on the remix this summer.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n

Throughout \u201cPull Up Wit Ah Stick,\u201d SahBabii and Loso Loaded make multiple references to firearms\u2014\u201cDraco with a drum\u201d and, of course, \u201ca stick\u201d\u2014without once using the most colloquial terms. The song\u2019s controversial and incredibly popular video features an unholy amount of weaponry, and is thus more direct in its messaging\u2014but even without it, the track scores as both a street anthem and an irrepressible shot of confidence. With this song blaring, anyone can pull up to the function and feel like the most important person there. \u2013Vanessa Okoth-Obbo<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> SahBabii, \u201cPull Up Wit Ah Stick\u201d [ft. Loso Loaded]<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Domino\"<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Domino<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

73.\u00a0<\/div>\n

(Sandy) Alex G: \u201cBobby\u201d<\/h2>\n

\u201cBobby\u201d is not the first song that (Sandy) Alex G has quite longingly named for a boy, but it\u2019s so lovely and lovesick that it\u2019s the one you\u2019re likely to return to when your next relationship rips apart and you\u2019re left all alone. Alex had been better known for a sound that pulled from emo and indie, but\u00a0on his 2017 album,\u00a0Rocket<\/em>, he was seemingly inspired by one of his heroes, Lucinda Williams, to make work that sounds almost Appalachian at times. With violin and lazy guitar, \u201cBobby\u201d is a worn-out country duet between him and frequent collaborator Emily Yacina, her voice soaring when his collapses. Alex\u2019s talent has always been an almost adolescent capacity for wonder and intimacy, and this song is either a tender tale about a bisexual love triangle or a metaphoric marvel in which he personifies his own crippling self-doubt as a kid named Bobby. The subject maybe doesn\u2019t matter: His voice crackles with feeling, as though he had picked his bruised self off the floor and struggled through the words with tearstained cheeks and clenched fists. You could say you hear his heart breaking right there in the music, but \u201cBobby\u201d is so powerful, it might just be your own. \u2013Alex Frank<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> (Sandy) Alex G, \u201cBobby\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Columbia\"<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Columbia<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

72.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Haim: \u201cWant You Back\u201d<\/h2>\n

Listening to a Haim song is kind of like getting a disjointed lesson in contemporary music history. In their distinct strain of left-of-center pop, sisters Danielle, Alana, and Este simultaneously revere disparate genres through their ages, from soft-focus \u201970s rock to doo-wop group vocals to thoroughly of-the-moment pop tropes. Delivered a week after a fakeout of a lead single, \u201cWant You Back\u201d was the first proper taste of the trio\u2019s second album, Something\u00a0to Tell You<\/em>. True to form, it compiles a playful assortment of sounds: power ballad\u2013worthy piano chords, pitch-shifted vocal riffs, and what sounds like a horse neigh. Within the space of two lines in the chorus (\u201cI\u2019ll take the fall and the fault in us\/I\u2019ll give you all the love I never gave before I left you\u201d), Danielle achieves a rhythmic flow that simultaneously flexes her strengths as a lyricist, vocalist, and percussionist. That dexterity, paired with a healthy dose of idiosyncrasy, had us singing the chorus right back at Haim. \u2013Olivia Horn<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Haim, \u201cWant You Back\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Matador\"<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Matador<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

71.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Perfume Genius: \u201cDie 4 You\u201d<\/h2>\n

The precision of Mike Hadreas\u2019 singing is a perfect fit for balladry. But the invention of his songwriting often makes for surprises that are even more affecting. Here, during the mournful, rubato feel of the opening verse, you may wonder about his description of this tune as a \u201clove song\u201d (even if the breathy singing style delivers lyrics that reference erotic asphyxiation). Yet the underlying aim is unmissable by the song\u2019s hinge point. As one conflicted couplet\u2014\u201cEach and every breath I spend\/You are collecting\u201d\u2014is cut off, unfinished, the composition moves to a new melodic line, driven with mid-tempo swagger. When Hadreas sings \u201cOh my love, take your time,\u201d the song\u2019s new air of pleasure has all the license it needs to stick around for the remainder of the track. \u2013Seth Colter Walls<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n

Listen:<\/strong> Perfume Genius, \u201cDie 4 You\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Black<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Black Butter<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

70.\u00a0<\/div>\n

J Hus: \u201cDid You See\u201d<\/h2>\n

East London rapper J Hus\u2019\u00a0Common Sense<\/em>\u00a0is an album that sidesteps another false start of an American grime crossover, preferring to survey everything from Afrobeats to turn-of-the-century Roc-A-Fella instead. Its lead single, \u201cDid You See,\u201d starts off like so many radio pop songs from the last handful of years: delicately, with a sound palette imported from West Africa.\u00a0Throughout the track, Hus stays in a comfortable pocket, showing off his skills as\u00a0an evocative and often hilarious writer: At one point, after comparing his changing cars to a magic trick, he remarks that the girls in the club have never seen such a skinny guy in such a big puffer jacket. \u2013Paul A. Thompson<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> J Hus, \u201cDid You See\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Brian<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Adult Swim<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

69.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Brian Eno \/ Kevin Shields: \u201cOnly Once Away My Son\u201d<\/h2>\n

Since commissioning avant-garde guitarist Sonny Sharrock to write the theme song for \u201cSpace Ghost Coast to Coast\u201d in 1993, Cartoon Network has occasionally served as an unlikely patron of experimental music.\u00a0And this track from the Adult Swim Singles Series plays like a cartoon superhero reboot with the unexpected, fully welcome, and deliriously successful pairing of professional ex-glam sound genius Brian Eno and his new sidekick, My Bloody Valentine noise sculptor Kevin Shields. Begging to be listened to on noise-canceling headphones or very, very loud speakers, the duo blast off with a drum track that is instantly, almost comically subsumed into a nine-minute sound-cleanse of bells, drones, and a soaring rocket flare that may<\/em> be a guitar. Ambient but hardly static, its tones and\u00a0textures return throughout, as if tracing long and inaudibly developing melodies. Not immediately identifiable as either Eno or Shields\u2019 work, \u201cOnly Once Away My Son\u201d is a rich, enveloping piece of music\u2014and the cartoon superhero franchise we never knew we needed. \u2013Jesse Jarnow<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Brian Eno \/ Kevin Shields, \u201cOnly Once Away My Son\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Warp\"<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Warp<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

68.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Oneohtrix Point Never: \u201cThe Pure and the Damned\u201d [ft. Iggy Pop]<\/h2>\n

At the end of the tightly wound modern noir Good Time<\/em>, the film\u2019s metallic score melts away as sumptuous piano chords begin to rumble, a moment of clarity finally washing over the film. Then Iggy Pop utters the word \u201clove,\u201d and the elegiac \u201cThe Pure and the Damned\u201d blooms in full. \u201cEvery day I think about untwisting and untangling these strings I\u2019m in\/And to lead a pure life,\u201d he confesses in a croon that brings to mind Ian Curtis\u2019 wistful delivery on Joy Division\u2019s \u201cAtmosphere.\u201d He\u2019s singing of that foolhardy quest to turn the turbid reality of our world into something exquisite, giving voice to that all-too-human notion where, in the face of imminent doom, we still somehow hope for the ideal. \u2013Andy Beta<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Oneohtrix Point Never, \u201cThe Pure and the Damned\u201d [ft. Iggy Pop]<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Empire<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

67.\u00a0<\/div>\n

BROCKHAMPTON: \u201cGUMMY\u201d<\/h2>\n

The opening track of BROCKHAMPTON\u2019s\u00a0Saturation II<\/em> sounds like a combination of the young rap collective\u2019s favorite turn-of-the-millennium artists, calling to mind the Neptunes\u2019 off-kilter production, Timbaland\u2019s affinity for Eastern melodies, and M.I.A.\u2019s brash attitude. Despite the m\u00e9lange of influences, each member that appears on \u201cGUMMY\u201d offers a distinct verse that stands out from the others\u2014and saves BROCKHAMPTON from being dismissed as mere copycats. De facto leader Kevin Abstract sounds incredulous, gasping for air; Merlyn rages in a short and effective post-hook section; Ameer Vann contributes his laid-back Houston flow. With each new track, BROCKHAMPTON seem to be getting more daring, more willing to experiment with vocal deliveries, and just smarter. As individual personalities emerge, BROCKHAMPTON continue to build their own identity. It\u2019s thrilling to watch.\u00a0\u2013Michelle Kim<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n

Listen:<\/strong> BROCKHAMPTON, \u201cGUMMY\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Def<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

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

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

66.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Vince Staples: \u201cBagBak\u201d<\/h2>\n

Vince Staples recently\u2014and possibly, facetiously\u2014maintained that his second studio album, Big Fish Theory<\/em>, should be awarded the Grammy for electronic album of the year. It\u2019s not an entirely silly thought. Trading in the swampy sonics of his debut for brighter hues and faster tempos, Big Fish Theory<\/em> finds the Long Beach rapper taking a hard left into club music. It still bears\u00a0his fingerprints, though, especially in its lead single, \u201cBagBak.\u201d<\/p>\n

Here, atop synth arpeggios and an aqueous bassline, Staples offers sharp stream-of-consciousness insights on sex, justice, race, and power\u2014all converging in the moment he insists, \u201cWe need Tamikas and Shaniquas in that Oval Office.\u201d When his frustration finally boils over, Staples\u2019 directive for his president, the government, and the one percent to all \u201csuck a dick\u201d feels less like a sophomoric taunt and more like a protest chant: heartfelt, direct, cathartic. \u2013Mehan Jayasuriya<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Vince Staples, \u201cBagBak\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Wilsons RC<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

65.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Sheer Mag: \u201cNeed to Feel Your Love\u201d<\/h2>\n

When we first encounter Tina Halladay on Sheer Mag\u2019s debut full-length, Need to Feel Your Love<\/em>, she\u2019s taking to the streets on Inauguration Day with \u201cbottles and bricks.\u201d Then, a few tracks later, she\u2019s upgraded her anarchist tool of choice to bayonets. But en route,\u00a0the singer tiptoes out of the protest and dips into a basement disco to recharge her batteries and remember who and what she\u2019s fighting for. With its gleaming, glitter-balled jangle, ghetto-blaster groove, and VHS-tape patina, Need to Feel Your Love<\/em>\u2019s title track doesn\u2019t just introduce a dramatic change of scene for the Philly raunch-rock rebels; it\u2019s a disarming expression of desire and vulnerability from a band that normally exudes swagger and fury. It\u2019s also a necessary reminder that romantic surrender and organized resistance are two sides of the same burning heart. \u2013Stuart Berman<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Sheer Mag, \u201cNeed to Feel Your Love\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Blue<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Blue Flowers Music<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

64.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Nil\u00fcfer Yanya: \u201cGolden Cage\u2019\u2019<\/h2>\n

It only happens a few times during the year in music, and sometimes it doesn\u2019t happen at all. We wait for\u00a0a song from some total newcomer that just wrecks you, grabs you by the lapel, and beckons you to listen over and over again. \u201cGolden Cage,\u201d\u00a0by Nil\u00fcfer Yanya, is one of those songs. At 22, Yanya has\u00a0the nonchalant vocal prowess of Amy Winehouse singing over a King Krule-style\u00a0jazz-pop beat.\u00a0And \u201cGolden Cage\u201d is\u00a0an attractive blend of jagged guitar riffs and blasts of saxophone bliss played by\u00a0Yanya\u2019s friend, the amazingly named Jazzi Bobbi. It all comes together\u00a0on a track that\u2019s effortlessly cool, infinitely playable, and too special to sleep on. \u2013Kevin Lozano<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Nil\u00fcfer Yanya, \u201cGolden Cage\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Matador\"<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Matador<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

63.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Julien Baker: \u201cTurn Out the Lights\u201d<\/h2>\n

Loneliness isn\u2019t just an emotion\u2014it\u2019s a physical sensation, often a debilitating one, and nobody captures it quite like Julien Baker. The title track from\u00a0the songwriter\u2019s aching second album finds her once again feeling numbed and powerless, almost paralyzed by the bum hand the world has dealt her. There she is, staring at a hole in the drywall she\u2019ll probably never fix, trying to convince herself she prefers it that way.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n

But \u201cTurn Out the Lights\u201d ends with a twinge of hope, building to a rare eruption of sound. At that moment, it\u2019s as if a stray twinkle of her guitar connects with an open gas line, setting off a combustion that engulfs the song and shakes her from her funk. Nothing\u2019s solved, of course\u2014she\u2019s still terrified of being alone\u2014but she sounds determined to do something about it. She\u2019s still got some fight left. \u2013Evan Rytlewski<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Julien Baker, \u201cTurn Out the Lights\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Bad<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Bad Boy \/ Epic<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

62.\u00a0<\/div>\n

French Montana: \u201cUnforgettable\u201d [ft. Swae Lee]<\/h2>\n

After two albums and a walloping 22 mixtapes, it seems like French Montana is finally coming into his own. He\u2019s always had the makings of a pop-rap icon, from his litany of exotically-set music videos and his heavily documented lavish lifestyle. Too often, though, his musical output has paled next to his Versace-bathrobe-and-Gucci-flip-flops persona, but that trend ostensibly ends with \u201cUnforgettable,\u201d an ultra-catchy, radio-friendly track that features an arresting turn from Rae Sremmurd\u2019s Swae Lee.<\/p>\n

Amid rolling waves of steel drums, Lee\u2019s vocals sound murkily echoed, as if he\u2019s delivering his lines from right under the surface of his and Montana\u2019s aqua green swimming pool. In contrast, French sounds fresh and crisp, riding a reggaeton beat around atmospheric keyboard swells. Reportedly, the rapper was so confident that \u201cUnforgettable\u201d would be a hit that he paid $300,000 out-of-pocket to clear the rights to the song, which started off as a demo by Jeremih. Evidently, his intuition paid off, and \u201cUnforgettable\u201d may very well mark the moment he became an altogether different kind of artist. \u2013Cameron Cook<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> French Montana, \u201cUnforgettable\u201d [ft. Swae Lee]<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Girlpool<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Anti-<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

61.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Girlpool: \u201c123\u2019\u2019<\/h2>\n

Girlpool rose to acclaim making anthems that weren\u2019t particularly anthemic<\/em>\u2014no swollen guitars, no reverbed drum rolls, no broad lyrics. And this track seemingly continues that trend as it starts off with Cleo Tucker and Harmony Tividad\u00a0whispering over viscous guitar. But then big guitars, bigger drums, and full-throated vocals crash the quiet. Their (and our) world\u2019s gotten a lot louder in the two years since their debut, and this song goes big to meet the surrounding noise. The emotions are still ambiguous, but they\u2019re now rendered all-consuming, like a giant, bolded question mark. \u2013Ian Cohen<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Girlpool, \u201c123\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Warp\"<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Warp<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

60.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Mount Kimbie: \u201cMarilyn\u201d [ft. Micachu]<\/h2>\n

Squalls of punk noise, industrial haze, and churning rhythms jut up throughout Mount Kimbie\u2019s third album, Love What Survives, but \u201cMarilyn,\u201d the record\u2019s most hushed song, resonates the loudest. Recalling the gentler moments of post-punk icons like This Heat and the Raincoats, the UK duo bring a filigree of thumb piano and buzzing melodica to flutter around the track. Alongside them, Micachu and the Shapes\u2019 Mica Levi provides the song\u2019s murmuring heart with disorienting lines that ultimately reveal a quiet, secret space shared by two people. \u2013Andy Beta<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Mount Kimbie, \u201cMarilyn\u201d [ft. Micachu]<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Ba Da Bing \/ Basin Rock<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

59.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Julie Byrne: \u201cNatural Blue\u201d<\/h2>\n

\u201cBeen a long time since I\u2019ve been moved,\u201d Julie Byrne sings in \u201cNatural Blue,\u201d the slow, captivating centerpiece of her breakthrough album,\u00a0Not Even Happiness<\/em>. It\u2019s a disquieting realization in a song about touring life\u2014an existence shifting between thoughts, moods, and state lines. But \u201cNatural Blue\u201d doesn\u2019t wallow; it arrives in a clear-eyed moment of understanding. The title could be read as a commentary on accepting one\u2019s emotions, though Byrne doesn\u2019t focus too long on her own state of mind. Her thoughts wander to the world around her until she\u2019s left speechless, expressing wordless gratitude for the intangible things that hang above us, wherever we go. \u2013Sam Sodomsky<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n

Listen:<\/strong> Julie Byrne: “Natural Blue”<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Top Dawg \/ Interscope \/ Aftermath<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

58.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Kendrick Lamar: \u201cLOYALTY.\u201d [ft. Rihanna]<\/h2>\n

The moment Kendrick Lamar heard the sample that became the backbone of \u201cLOYALTY.\u201d\u2014a warped, reversed sliver of Bruno Mars\u2019 \u201c24K Magic\u201d\u2014he made a declaration: He needed Rihanna in the studio. Perhaps it was the sample\u2019s high-pitched whinny, strangely suggestive of Rihanna\u2019s most languid hooks, that inspired his decision. Or maybe it was the stuttering drums, so suited to her seemingly effortless melismas. But on their first collaboration, the duo\u2019s voices become lock-and-key, tongue-and-groove, perfect complements for a casual chorus with an ironclad grip.<\/p>\n

Rihanna and Kendrick don\u2019t tell us what kind of loyalty to have, making no judgments on whether romantic, communal, or material faithfulness is best; having risen through hip-hop\u2019s ranks, they simply celebrate the virtue itself, of maintaining relationships and prerogatives that existed before superstardom. Indeed, \u201cLOYALTY.\u201d feels like an unearthed gem from the heyday of Timbaland or Jermaine Dupri, with a high-end music video of fast cars and special effects to boot. It puts two of the world\u2019s biggest stars in conversation; their fun sounds natural, their chemistry real, their loyalty earned. \u2013Grayson Haver Currin<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Kendrick Lamar, \u201cLOYALTY.\u201d [ft. Rihanna]<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Total<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Sub Pop<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

57.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Father John Misty: \u201cTotal Entertainment Forever\u201d<\/h2>\n

Technology promises us so much: efficiency, independence, enlightenment. But in the end, it\u2019s most reliable function has been to facilitate the cheap and plentiful distribution of pornography. According to Father John Misty, it won\u2019t be long before we\u2019re all strapping on headsets to enjoy a little virtual hoo-hah with our favorite pop stars after supper, just as we once congregated around the TV on Thursdays to watch \u201cFriends.\u201d But \u201cTotal Entertainment Forever\u201d is more than just a cheeky commentary on the disassociating effects of our wired world: It\u2019s a postmortem on the entire history of human civilization and a despairing indictment of a society in which the pinnacle of progress is a guy sitting in an easy chair, wearing robot goggles, and jerking off. We\u2019ve spent an inordinate amount of time this past year worrying about whether the president\u2019s next tweet will trigger World War III, but \u201cTotal Entertainment Forever\u201d reassures us that we\u2019re already well on our way to the apocalypse, and it won\u2019t be the bombs that do us in. \u2013Stuart Berman<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Father John Misty, \u201cTotal Entertainment Forever\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"True<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

True Panther \/ XL<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

56.\u00a0<\/div>\n

King Krule: \u201cCzech One\u201d\u00a0<\/h2>\n

\u201cCzech One\u201d operates within its own dream logic. Filled with eerie, screwed-down voices, subterranean beats, and distant keyboard lines, the song was inspired by Archy Marshall\u2019s Eastern European ancestry as well as a trippy dream sequence from \u201cThe Sopranos,\u201d from which he also pulls an errant line of dialogue. Amid this woolgathering, Marshall packs his production with plenty of negative space\u00a0in order to\u00a0explore his thoughts. His King Krule project has always seemed to have a striking self-awareness to it, but on \u201cCzech One,\u201d Marshall gives that same insight a new, gripping dose of strangeness. \u2013Eric Torres<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> King Krule, \u201cCzech One\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Text<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

55.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Four Tet: \u201cPlanet\u2019\u2019<\/h2>\n

Four Tet\u2019s ninth album, New Energy<\/em>, is shot through with a gossamer optimism, making it a dance-music outlier in a year understandably lacking in high spirits. But Kieran Hebden\u2019s hopefulness is carefully measured, and in keeping with this tone, standout \u201cPlanet\u201d concludes the album on an even keel, but also with arresting intricacy. Atop a familiar 4\/4 beat, samples are layered one-by-one: a four-note bell melody, a breathy female coo, and then the bright, classical finger-picking that ultimately defines the melody. He surfs smoothly between analog and digital, and while it seems like he\u2019s barely doing anything to meld these elements, they cohere in a lovely textural harmony. Noted for his slippery moves between electronic styles genres, Hebden asserts a streamlined language that\u2019s distinctly his own. \u201cPlanet\u201d is a gentle escape, but to a place that\u2019s not altogether implausible. \u2013Thea Ballard<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n

Listen:<\/strong> Four Tet, \u201cPlanet\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Western Vinyl<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

54.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith: \u201cAn Intention\u201d<\/h2>\n

The music of Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith has always felt interlocked with nature, evolving like plants that sprout up and curl back into the ground. The Kid is her most elemental album to date, filled with physically affecting music that verges on catchy synth-pop, and on \u201cAn Intention,\u201d that physicality manifests as a heartbeat rhythm. The song is about early stages of life, and grappling with being born into a name; her looping synths and expansive lyrics circle around as she contemplates discarding the ego and merging with the universe. That\u2019s a lot for one four-minute song to contain, but in Smith\u2019s hands, vast expanses get boiled down to just a few powerful words and notes. \u2013Marc Masters<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith, \u201cAn Intention\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Atlantic<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

53.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Kehlani: \u201cUndercover\u201d<\/h2>\n

An undeniable highlight from Kehlani\u2019s major label debut, \u201cUndercover\u201d is a tropical jet stream of a track. The burgeoning 22-year-old star sings with a brash confidence, her vocals effortlessly gliding across the effervescent beat, as if Aaliyah were covering a monumental trap song from the future. But \u201cUndercover\u201d sets itself apart with its clever mishmash of stylistic influences; for example, when a crystal-clear guitar riff opens the song, it reads much more \u201cNo Scrubs\u201d than \u201cNo Flex Zone.\u201d \u201cUndercover\u201d is proof that a steadfast vision and stylistic precision are more than enough to create a forward-thinking hit. \u2013Cameron Cook<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Kehlani, \u201cUndercover\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Epic<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

52.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Future: \u201cIncredible\u201d<\/h2>\n

The stories around Future\u2019s soulful rap have always been dramatic and borderline melancholy. Nuclear breakups, clinical depression, copious amounts of codeine\u2014these are the themes that often serve as a window into his consciousness. So what makes \u201cIncredible\u201d so remarkable is its ecstatic happiness. On the song, Future finds himself steeped in a budding relationship so pure that his past demons drift away like purple haze. Extolling the virtues of both hot yoga and recreational Vicodin, he raps in a warbled Auto-Tune over a rubber-band bassline and a keyboard riff that is part present-day Rihanna, part Afropop-era Peter Gabriel. As he repeats the track\u2019s title like a mantra, Future sounds like a man reborn. \u2013Cameron Cook<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Future, \u201cIncredible\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Fueled<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Fueled by Ramen<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

51.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Paramore: \u201cHard Times\u201d\u00a0<\/h2>\n

Perky and despairing, \u201cHard Times\u201d maps the chasm between a generation\u2019s sunny online personae and the gaping existential holes within. It introduced a vibrant new sound for the former emo band, though the song is not as nuclear as it could be: Zac Farro\u2019s percussion sounds like it\u2019s played on old milk bottles, Taylor York\u2019s guitar is a last nerve cajoled into funky discipline, and singer Hayley Williams exposes the effort of sustaining her rictus grin. That\u2019s what makes \u201cHard Times\u201d so satisfying\u2014it\u2019s not hollow empowerment pop, but a bittersweet dispatch from a year that felt like a punch line to some cosmic prank. \u201cI still don\u2019t know how I even survive,\u201d Williams despairs. But this is how: Paramore always remake, remodel. \u2013Laura Snapes<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Paramore, \u201cHard Times\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Brainfeeder\"<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Brainfeeder<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

50.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Thundercat: \u201cShow You the Way\u201d [ft. Michael McDonald and Kenny Loggins]<\/h2>\n

Yacht-rock icon Michael McDonald has shown up on newer artists\u2019 songs here and there in the past few years, but\u00a0he\u2019s never met a younger\u00a0foil as well-suited to his legacy as Thundercat. Over plush production here, McDonald\u2019s monolithic baritone is the perfect counterbalance to Thundercat\u2019s upper register\u2014no surprise when you recall McDonald\u2019s wealth of iconic duets alongside Kenny Loggins. And therein lies the other ingredient that makes \u201cShow You the Way\u201d full-on magic: Loggins shows up\u00a0too, and the contrast between those two voices together still sounds fresh and vital decades later. The three behemoths of smooth invite us on a journey into the unknown, and while they warn about darkness, \u201cShow You the Way\u201d is inherently joyful. Thundercat affects a smarmy lounge persona to introduce his cohorts, while Loggins and McDonald slip into their soulful, familiar tones to reassure us that things are easier than they might seem. With music this effortless, it\u2019s easy to believe them. \u2013Evan Minsker<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n

Listen:<\/strong> Thundercat, \u201cShow You the Way\u201d [ft. Michael McDonald and Kenny Loggins]<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Saddle<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Saddle Creek<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

49.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Big Thief: \u201cMythological Beauty\u201d<\/h2>\n

On this finger-picked origin story, Big Thief frontwoman Adrianne Lenker addresses her mom\u2014and her own nativity\u2014in the most unromantic terms possible: \u201cSeventeen, you took his cum\/And you gave birth to your first life.\u201d Such matter-of-factness runs throughout \u201cMythological Beauty,\u201d as Lenker details the traumatic events that shaped her upbringing, including an older brother given up for adoption and a devastating head injury suffered from a railroad spike falling from her makeshift treehouse. The singer\u2019s autobiography tempts histrionics, but Big Thief opt for mesmerizing understatement instead, allowing the nuances of her vocals to show which parts of the story are still raw. While it\u2019s nearly impossible to relate to \u201cMythological Beauty\u201d on a literal level, Lenker carries it through with a quiet determination that anyone can aspire to. \u2013Ian Cohen<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Big Thief, \u201cMythological Beauty\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Interscope<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

48.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Selena Gomez: \u201cBad Liar\u201d<\/h2>\n

The Selena Gomez song that was everywhere this summer was her collaboration with Kygo, \u201cIt Ain\u2019t Me,\u201d yet another exercise in EDM guys reducing female vocalists to anonymities. The Selena Gomez song that should<\/em> have been everywhere is \u201cBad Liar,\u201d the best recreation of a hopeless crush since \u201cCall Me Maybe.\u201d It has songwriter Julia Michaels, who is well-experienced at turning songs into monologues. It got the OK from Talking Heads to strut to \u201cPsycho Killer\u201d\u2019s bassline, the most poised sample major-label cash can buy. And as it has Selena singing\u00a0syllables\u00a0that trip over one another, would-be flirtations about your king-size bed turning into awkward tangents about rental amenities and the Battle of Troy that trail off, abashed, to nothing. The bridge is the last-ditch confession: an impassioned yelp, an over-earnest confession, a hasty retreat. Maybe it was never meant to be. \u2013Katherine St. Asaph<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Selena Gomez, \u201cBad Liar\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

RCA<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

47.\u00a0<\/div>\n

GoldLink: \u201cCrew\u201d [ft. Brent Faiyaz and Shy Glizzy]<\/h2>\n

On his debut studio album, At What Cost<\/em>, GoldLink proudly held up a mirror to his hometown of Washington, D.C. So when the single \u201cCrew\u201d snowballed into a smash, it felt like an inclusively feel-good celebration. On the song, GoldLink manages to distill his city\u2019s amorphous hip-hop scene into a single sound, throwing it all on the same canvas without any overspill. He tucks into the beat so fluidly that his warm, slurring mumble clutters the music by burrowing into its nooks. Fellow D.C. rapper Shy Glizzy darts around with a shouted giddiness, stealing the show with his fist-pumping momentum. Their game is bookended by Brent Faiyaz\u2019s monotonous, elegant chorus, the type that could appear on the song two more times and not be enough. But like the best summer hits, \u201cCrew\u201d instead begs to be repeated in full. \u2013Jay Balfour<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> GoldLink, \u201cCrew\u201d [ft. Brent Faiyaz and Shy Glizzy]<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Dead Oceans<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

46.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Slowdive: \u201cStar Roving\u201d<\/h2>\n

The big risk of taking 22 years to release new music in the genre you helped codify: sounding like a copy of a copy of a buzz band. The somewhat smaller, even likelier risk: getting the schtick done just good enough to have some cursory content for the inevitable reunion tour. Undoubtedly, this was on Slowdive\u2019s mind\u00a0upon their return this year, but any worries were misplaced. There are innovations in \u201cStar Roving,\u201d chief among them a notably beefier guitar line. But what\u2019s here is largely what you know and missed: Neil Halstead and Rachel Goswell\u2019s vocals trailing sculpted paths like air currents, lyrics like snapshots of fleeting moments of love. It doesn\u2019t seem implausible, given a little reshuffling of history, that 500 bands might have lived and breathed off this<\/em>.\u00a0\u2013Katherine St. Asaph<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n

Listen:<\/strong> Slowdive, \u201cStar Roving\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Matador\"<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Matador<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

45.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Perfume Genius: \u201cSlip Away\u201d<\/h2>\n

The title promises something demure, even shy, but the music generously reneges. \u201cSlip Away\u201d is a rapture of excess, layering drums atop each other as if daring the tower to crumble. Mike Hadreas allows himself to get swept up in it; compression gives his singing a disembodied intimacy, his voice seeming to hover between various frequencies. The transcendence \u201cSlip Away\u201d describes is fleeting and overwhelming, concluding nothing, a reverie in the midst of survival: \u201cIt\u2019s singing through your body\/And I\u2019m carried by the sound.\u201d \u2013Chris Randle<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Perfume Genius, \u201cSlip Away\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Rabid<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Rabid \/ Mute<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

44.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Fever Ray: \u201cTo the Moon and Back\u201d<\/h2>\n

On its own, \u201cTo the Moon and Back\u201d\u00a0passes for mindless hedonism. \u201cI want to run my fingers up your pussy,\u201d Karin Dreijer sings, sounding merry, almost, her litany of come-ons recited in sing-songy groans over a cartoonish hook. The song trades her 2009 debut\u2019s surrealism for something more sensual, the naked thrill of fuzzy lips and creamy kisses, and it sounds euphoric. But considered as part of her second album,\u00a0Plunge<\/em>,\u00a0this song assumes a new, insurrectionary subtext. \u201cThis country makes it hard to fuck,\u201d Dreijer cries on \u201cThis Country,\u201d another of the record\u2019s queer anthems declaring that liberation begins in the bedroom. \u201cEvery time we fuck we win.\u201d \u201cTo the Moon and Back\u201d is the sound of that victory. \u2013Jazz Monroe<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Fever Ray, \u201cTo the Moon and Back\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Double Denim \/ Polyvinyl\u00a0<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

43.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Jay Som: \u201cThe Bus Song\u201d\u00a0<\/h2>\n

Is there anything romantic about a city bus? It\u2019s cramped and loud and lurching and, as a companion of Jay Som\u2019s Melina Duterte protests here, often smells. But it\u2019s also a public place where you can be alone with your thoughts, even if you\u2019ve got someone\u2019s elbow in your face, as you stare out the window and slowly roll toward your destination.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe Bus Song\u201d moves at that same unhurried pace. Its route is circuitous, meandering lazily through Duterte\u2019s restless mind. A one-woman band in her bedroom studio, she strums and drums with a light but steady hand while unfurling her sleepy croon over plainspoken expressions of frustration. She is observant enough to know her relationship is a car about to break down, and she\u2019s doing the mature thing\u2014giving the other person space\u2014even as she stews in desire and suspicion. There is nothing romantic about a city bus, which makes it the perfect vehicle for letting go of your sentimental attachments so you can keep creeping forward. \u2013Judy Berman<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Jay Som, \u201cThe Bus Song\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Republic \/ Lava<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

42.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Lorde: \u201cThe Louvre\u201d<\/h2>\n

The emotional precision of \u201cThe Louvre\u201d is overwhelming. It bottles the ecstasy of a beginning, when you still float with the conviction that your nascent love is, or could be, an artwork of \u201cMona Lisa\u201d proportions. It\u2019s as if Lorde devised each line of \u201cThe Louvre\u201d so that we might have a more perfect language for this state of mind\u2014lines to tweet and put in captions and type, all-caps, into a sacred group text (i.e., \u201cI AM YOUR SWEETHEART PSYCHOPATHIC CRUSH\u201d). Nothing could better capture the unruly, self-possessed feeling of chasing your heart when you know it\u2019s wrong than \u201cblow all my friendships to sit in hell with you.\u201d No line more readily or immaculately transfers the anxiety of text-based infatuation, the fundamental imperfection of a DM, than \u201cI overthink your punctuation use.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n

Formally, \u201cThe Louvre\u201d contains a sly inversion: winding all of its tension and bombast into its verses and then letting them slowly unravel in the anti-chorus. \u201cMegaphone to my chest,\u201d it goes, \u201cBroadcast the boom, boom, boom, boom\/And make \u2019em all dance to it.\u201d It\u2019s an elegant description of putting your own vulnerability on blast, one that could just as easily apply to tweeting your feelings as to releasing the best breakup album of the year. \u2013Jenn Pelly<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Lorde, \u201cThe Louvre\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Sister Polygon<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

41.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Priests: \u201cNothing Feels Natural\u201d<\/h2>\n

Katie Alice Greer is not the kind of lyricist who hides behind abstractions. On early releases, the Priests singer called out Barack Obama and cited the number of slaveholders who signed the Constitution. But the Washington, D.C. rock quartet\u2019s first proper album, Nothing Feels Natural<\/em>, is partially an object lesson in the impossibility of communicating clearly\u2014as an artist and as a human\u2014while you\u2019re buried under personal and political crises, and its\u00a0title track is a mess of pronouns and negatives that feels purposefully disorienting.<\/p>\n

When Greer finally makes a concise statement here, it\u2019s one of disillusionment: \u201cTo people in sanctuaries\/All I can say is\/\u2018You will not be saved.\u2019\u201d The clarity comes from the texture of the music itself, like a dream that captures a feeling the conscious mind can\u2019t articulate. Equal parts surf rock and the Cure, Taylor Mulitz\u2019s bassline slithers through a dense forest of rumbling drums and clanging guitar. Greer\u2019s wail sounds uncharacteristically remote, as though she\u2019s in breathy pursuit of a melody forceful enough to tame her unruly thoughts. The words \u201cnothing feels natural\u201d never come up in the song, but that sense of altered perception is present in every sound. \u2013Judy Berman<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Priests, \u201cNothing Feels Natural\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Columbia<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

40.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Tyler, the Creator: \u201c911\/Mr. Lonely\u201d [ft. Frank Ocean and Steve Lacy]<\/h2>\n

In some songs, loneliness is a nagging undercurrent or the trigger for a moment of deep regret. For Tyler, the Creator, it\u2019s an emergency. Wiping out in the supercars that he buys to fill an emotional void that\u2019s grown massive since his early outsider skater days, the Tyler of \u201c911\/Mr. Lonely\u201d is blunt to the point of honesty about his isolation\u2014even when that isolation\u2019s in front of a sold-out crowd of thousands. It all pivots on the song\u2019s narrative shift, from sweating his thirst levels in the\u00a0first half to\u00a0admitting\u00a0that so much of what he does is an attempt to break a feeling of detached alienation. Sure, he\u2019s got other people to rely on\u2014Steve Lacy from the Internet and singer Anna of the North weave in and out of Tyler\u2019s voice on the hook, and Frank Ocean\u00a0evokes early-morning and late-shift restlessness in the same short bridge. But Tyler opens up so much\u00a0about his own deep ennui that\u00a0the song still feels like you\u2019re being situated between one man\u2019s set of headphones, sinking into the meditative space. \u2013Nate Patrin<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Tyler, the Creator, \u201c911\/Mr. Lonely\u201d [ft. Frank Ocean and Steve Lacy]<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

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

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

39.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Kendrick Lamar: \u201cLOVE.\u201d [ft. Zacari]<\/h2>\n

Kendrick Lamar has made his name on an intense type of endlessness. His ability to stuff so many words and meanings into a song, verse, or even a single line constantly astounds, burnishing his reputation as a genius who is mesmerizing in his density. In this light, \u201cLOVE.\u201d\u2014the most straight-ahead pop song of Lamar\u2019s career thus far\u2014sounds utterly radical. Amid Kendrick\u2019s furious lightning storms, this blissful rap ballad is a blue-diamond sky punctuated by the puffiest of clouds.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n

\u201cLOVE.\u201d glides like an update on every great R&B slow jam of the \u201990s, nodding to simpler times. In between spaced-out beats and utopian synths, Kendrick\u2019s flow matches the simplicity of the song\u2019s message: He\u2019s not cracking skulls with triple entendres, but he\u2019s not phoning in a sappy Valentine\u2019s card, either. Currently engaged to his high school sweetheart, the 30-year-old is familiar with commitment and the ease that can come along with it. \u201cI\u2019d rather you trust me than to love me,\u201d he attests on the hook, offering wisdom beyond infatuation. His word is his bond. \u2013Ryan Dombal<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Kendrick Lamar, \u201cLOVE.\u201d [ft. Zacari]<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Because\"<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Because<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

38.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Charlotte Gainsbourg: \u201cDeadly Valentine\u201d<\/h2>\n

It seems fitting that this song comes from one of modern cinema\u2019s most compelling actors. Charlotte Gainsbourg\u2019s \u201cDeadly Valentine\u201d drips with dramatic tension and celluloid fantasy, wrapped up in a perfectly attuned blend of mournful melody and disco production. The latter is courtesy of producer SebastiAn, who marries the well-loved traits of French house\u2014foot-stomping disco beats, filter sweeps, pulsating synth harmonies\u2014to electrifying string rushes. To this, Gainsbourg adds the kind of infuriatingly simple vocal melody that destroys the heart and gets stuck in the head, her understated delivery adding mystery to the song\u2019s dramatic sweep, like an actor subtly raising an eyebrow. Her twists, turns, and contrasts make \u201cDeadly Valentine\u201d both instantly satisfying and enduringly rewarding, a tour de force of musical storytelling that you can still bug out to on the dancefloor. \u2013Ben Cardew<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Charlotte Gainsbourg, \u201cDeadly Valentine\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

XL<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

37.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Ibeyi: \u201cDeathless\u201d [ft. Kamasi Washington]\u00a0<\/h2>\n

French-Cuban twins Naomi and Lisa-Kaind\u00e9 D\u00edaz are no strangers to death. Their 2015 debut as Ibeyi is haunted by the ghosts of departed kin, including their father, the famed percussionist Miguel \u201cAng\u00e1\u201d D\u00edaz. But \u201cDeathless\u201d turns their elegiac songwriting inside out, trading mourning in for triumph. Singing lead, Lisa-Kaind\u00e9 recalls an incident from her teenage years when a Parisian police officer harassed her in the subway, and though her normally dulcet voice is streaked with the jagged scars left by that episode, she turns the story into a statement of solidarity with \u201ceverybody that feels that they are nothing.\u201d The D\u00edaz twins push back against the epidemic of police brutality via assists from Kamasi Washington, whose turbulent saxophone licks feed off the urgent tone set by Naomi\u2019s drumming, and the raucous cries of a gospel choir. Ibeyi may not be able to fix one of the most prevalent issues facing people of color around the world, but they sure as hell won\u2019t stay silent about it. \u2013Olivia Horn<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Ibeyi, \u201cDeathless\u201d [ft. Kamasi Washington]<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Cover<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Warp<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

36.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Moses Sumney: \u201cDoomed\u2019\u2019\u00a0<\/h2>\n

Moses Sumney\u2019s ghostly falsetto has the ability to raise hairs and tingle spines, and \u201cDoomed\u201d features one of his finest vocal performances yet. Minimally accompanied by sighing synths, his expressive flutter swoops and soars, always precisely calibrated in service of emotion, with a creaking timbre that reminds us this amazing instrument is part of an actual human body. That Sumney is using it to convey an existential void, born from lack of love, only renders the overall impact more devastating. The prospect of impending doom has rarely sounded so purely beautiful. \u2013Marc Hogan<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n

Listen:<\/strong> Moses Sumney, \u201cDoomed\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Famm<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

35.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Jorja Smith: \u201cOn My Mind\u2019\u2019\u00a0<\/h2>\n

Jorja Smith\u2019s feature on Drake\u2019s More Life track \u201cGet It Together\u201d made her a name to watch on both sides of the Atlantic. In the past, this might have seen the 20-year-old UK artist funneled into a music industry strategy where her Englishness was watered down in the name of broad transatlantic appeal. On the contrary, though, \u201cOn My Mind\u201d feels utterly, quintessentially British. A kiss-off to a former lover that\u2019s done her wrong, it\u2019s a collaboration with Preditah, whose productions trace lines between grime and its immediate predecessor, UK garage. The skippy beat is a perfect canvas for Smith, whose voice carries bruised wisdom and a budding defiance. \u201cNothing sweet about my misery,\u201d she sings. But this track\u2014a rapturous hymn to love, heartbreak, and getting over it\u2014begs to differ. \u2013Louis Pattison<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Jorja Smith, \u201cOn My Mind\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"LCD<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Columbia \/ DFA<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

34.\u00a0<\/div>\n

LCD Soundsystem: \u201cHow Do You Sleep?\u201d\u00a0<\/h2>\n

As a keen student of rock music, James Murphy must be aware of John Lennon\u2019s 1971 track \u201cHow Do You Sleep?,\u201d a scathing attack on Paul McCartney. Murphy also likely knows \u201cDead Souls,\u201d a Joy Division B-side from which LCD Soundsystem\u2019s \u201cHow Do You Sleep?\u201d cribs its rolling drum rhythm. But Murphy has always been adept at remodeling rock history to his own means and he proves it again on this savage character assassination.<\/p>\n

Lyrically, the song is a pin-sharp takedown of Murphy\u2019s former DFA Records partner Tim Goldsworthy, poetic and even funny without dropping its predatory intent. Musically, it marries funereal drum patterns to a synth line so monolithic, it might crack your speakers. But what makes the track really pulsate is Murphy\u2019s vocal, a wild howl into the void that sounds as if he\u2019s trying to reach Goldsworthy\u2019s UK headquarters all the way from Brooklyn without the distraction of a microphone. It\u2019s furious, intense, and borderline unpleasant\u2014and it opens up new emotional territory for LCD Soundsystem, right when they need it most. \u2013Ben Cardew<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> LCD Soundsystem, \u201chow do you sleep?\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Blonded<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

33.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Frank Ocean: \u201cBiking\u201d [ft. JAY-Z and Tyler, the Creator]<\/h2>\n

Everyone has a secret obsession. Not necessarily a passion, just a fascination that you can\u2019t shake\u2014the static thoughts that lull you to sleep after a long day. For Frank Ocean, this preoccupation appears to be riding his bicycle, and \u201cBiking\u201d is about a feeling of freedom and solitude, the moment of mindless solace between life\u2019s challenges. JAY-Z and Tyler, the Creator frame the track, respectively playing the out-of-touch uncle who fails to relate and the gearhead who can\u2019t grasp the substance beyond the wheels. But the key perspective comes from Frank, whose musings on the weather and heavy thoughts about love and commitment flit by with equal levity; it\u2019s all the same when he\u2019s on his bike.\u00a0\u2013Matthew Strauss<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Frank Ocean, \u201cBiking\u201d [ft. JAY-Z and Tyler, the Creator]<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Planet<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Planet Mu<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

32.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Jlin: \u201cNyakinyua Rise\u201d<\/h2>\n

At first, Indiana producer Jlin\u2019s \u201cNyakinyua Rise\u201d feels like a prelude: It sounds as if a half-dozen component parts are restlessly arranging themselves, waiting for a climax that never comes. In the meantime, they riff and fight and are enjambed on one another until a rhythm emerges. Djembe patterns are punctuated by chanted vocals, auxiliary percussion is panned frantically left and right. In the song\u2019s latter half, the pace picks up and the sound bed grows thicker\u2014skewing closer to traditional footwork\u2014and those vocals, which first were allowed to breathe, start to get triggered and shortened like the sample clips they are. And then it\u2019s over. \u2013Paul A. Thompson<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n

Listen:<\/strong> Jlin, \u201cNyakinyua Rise”<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Artium \/ Blacksmith \/ Def Jam<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

31.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Vince Staples: \u201cBig Fish\u2019\u2019\u00a0<\/h2>\n

Vince Staples likes to leave his work up for interpretation, and his\u00a0refusal to dictate the meaning of his music has a marked effect on the way you receive a song like \u201cBig Fish,\u201d the quasi-title track on his bracing LP, Big Fish Theory<\/em>. At a bare minimum it\u2019s a club-rap slapper, one that feels like it never stops ascending thanks to its thick, tinny production. Staples slots in two economic verses, while Juicy J\u2019s hook lets the good times roll. It\u2019ll do wonders for you on a workout playlist.<\/p>\n

But, if you dig a little deeper, you\u2019ll notice \u201cBig Fish\u201d is pockmarked with the same anxiety and guilt that colors so much of Staples\u2019 work:\u00a0The margins between cruising around town in a foreign supercar and ending up broke or dead are slim.\u00a0The rapper pays his debts by working hard and keeping kids on the straight and narrow, but he can\u2019t shake the darkness in his rearview mirror. It\u2019s in this context that Juicy\u2019s introductory promise\u2014\u201cYou can get anything you want, know what I\u2019m saying?\u201d\u2014starts to sound less like a celebration than the start of some devilish bargain. The world might be your oyster, but you can never really leave your past behind. \u2013Jamieson Cox<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Vince Staples, \u201cBig Fish\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"School<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

School Boy \/ Interscope<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

30.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Carly Rae Jepsen: \u201cCut to the Feeling\u201d<\/h2>\n

You know the feeling: sinking, stomach-twisting, life-consuming longing\u2014the kind that seems to grow from the earth and take hold of your whole self, cell by cell. It sits at the very edges of total euphoria, and \u201cCut to the Feeling\u201d is crucially about that pull toward the ecstatic. Carly Rae Jepsen wants<\/em> to cut to the feeling; she\u2019s not there yet.<\/p>\n

How is it possible that this perfect pop song didn\u2019t spend 2017 hovering at the top of every chart in existence? Who let her keep it off E\u2022MO\u2022TION<\/em>? Jepsen\u2019s best single since \u201cCall Me Maybe\u201d was allegedly axed from her 2015 album for being \u201ctoo cinematic,\u201d but the song will now soundtrack millions of lives that feel like movies for the rest of time. It is the dark and glittering sound of running full speed on a boardwalk at night, of sitting on a roof under the stars, these perfect places with proximity to the infinite. \u2013Jenn Pelly<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Carly Rae Jepsen, \u201cCut to the Feeling\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Young<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Young Turks\u00a0<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

29.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Kamasi Washington: \u201cTruth\u201d<\/h2>\n

Kamasi Washington, a composer of largely vocal-free songs, nonetheless stands among the most politically articulate artists around. On his I EP, the saxophonist uses broad titles\u2014\u201cIntegrity,\u201d \u201cKnowledge\u201d\u2014to root his warm, communal jazz in concepts that are at once timeless and urgent. \u201cTruth\u201d is a nearly 14-minute suite comprising six movements, each entangled with the knotty conflicts of the last, surging toward a collective redemption. When his sax finally arrives, it sounds soft and assuring; in successive phrases, his solo grows sprawling arms and beckons the rhythm section into them. He\u2019s soon greeted by a gospel-choral motif that sounds like a sigh contorted with hope. Like many feelings aroused by Washington\u2019s work, the harmonic mesh has the feeling of something lost so long ago, you begin to wonder if you dreamt it. \u2013Jazz Monroe<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n

Listen:<\/strong> Kamasi Washington, \u201cTruth\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Polydor\"<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Polydor<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

28.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Lana Del Rey: \u201cLove\u201d\u00a0<\/h2>\n

Lana Del Rey seemed less like an old soul when she emerged from the shadows of internet novelty six years ago. In fact, she seemed like something entirely new. But over the course of four albums,\u00a0she has evolved into the poster child for all things vintage\u2014an aesthetic evolution that\u2019s paired nicely with her increasingly world-weary wisdom.<\/p>\n

\u201cLove\u201d is not simply a song about being in love; it reflects on the thrilling possibilities of the heart and asks the kids not to squander the moment. This deliberate, mid-tempo ballad is not something a 19-year-old starlet could get away with singing. The signature LDR blend of the future and the past is present, as muted gunshots and swirling sirens\u00a0fly over warm mellotron, Phil Spector-style drums rendered in slo-mo, and a touch of tenderness borrowed from the Beach Boys. \u201cDon\u2019t worry, baby,\u201d she deadpans, never quite promising that everything will turn out all right. \u2013Jillian Mapes<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Lana Del Rey, \u201cLove\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Young Turks<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

27.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Sampha: \u201c(No One Knows Me) Like the Piano\u201d<\/h2>\n

Sampha\u2019s gripping debut album, Process<\/em>, is\u00a0a record full of anxiety and mourning around\u00a0his mother\u2019s death, and on \u201c(No One Knows Me) Like the Piano,\u201d he spins that pain into a stunning piano ballad. It is ostensibly an ode to the instrument he has played since he was 3, but the detail that rings loudest is its location: in his mother\u2019s home. The song serves as a way of addressing Sampha\u2019s profound loss, and the resilience needed to survive it, by praising the instrument that helped him cope. The warbles of\u00a0the London artist\u2019s\u00a0vibrato glide like melting butter over sparse keys as he unearths feelings that he kept close while serving as his mother\u2019s primary caretaker. Before Sampha\u2019s voice begins, and after he fades out, we are left with just notes and chords, a reminder that sometimes words pale in comparison to the quiet comfort of a piano. \u2013Vrinda Jagota<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Sampha, \u201c(No One Knows Me) Like the Piano\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Warp<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

26.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Kelela: \u201cLMK\u2019\u2019\u00a0<\/h2>\n

The immediate pleasure of \u201cLMK\u201d lies in its hook\u2019s uncomplicated message: Just let me know how you feel already, because otherwise, what the hell are we doing here? It\u2019s transparency delivered to a new flame in order to receive the same in return, simple and easy yet crying out. Kelela\u2019s divine debut album Take Me Apart<\/em> examines plenty of these kinds of back-and-forths, especially ones between strangers on dark dancefloors, but \u201cLMK\u201d winnows\u00a0such interactions down\u00a0to their essence.\u00a0The singer conveys her death blow to indecision through exacting yet playful kiss-offs and an elastic mix of deep bass, booming handclaps, and low synth lines.\u00a0But ultimately, it\u2019s\u00a0her uncontrived candor, no-nonsense and vulnerable at once, that makes \u201cLMK\u201d such an effective floor-filler. \u2013Eric Torres<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Kelela, \u201cLMK\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Run For Cover \/ Poison City<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

25.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Camp Cope: \u201cThe Opener\u2019\u2019\u00a0<\/h2>\n

\u201cThe Opener\u201d is a manifesto of survival. It\u2019s built around the gendered criticism that has been leveled at Camp Cope during their years in Melbourne, Australia\u2019s indie scene: that their success is just dumb luck and not the outcome of\u00a0hard work, that women can\u2019t sell out venues,\u00a0that bookers often see them as a box to tick off.\u00a0Mimicking a clueless promoter, songwriter and guitarist Georgia Maq seethes, \u201c\u2018Yeah, just get a female opener\/That\u2019ll fill the quota.<\/em>\u2019\u201d Despite her fury, \u201cThe Opener\u201d never explodes into a chorus of rage. Instead, Camp Cope maintain a measured, hookless guitar-drum-bass chug throughout, their consistency emphasizing their formidable chops. The song\u2019s only\u00a0real dynamics come from Maq, whose jagged voice lands with force while still revealing a profound hurt. When she bellows, \u201cWell, see how far we\u2019ve come not listening to you\u201d at the end of\u00a0the song,\u00a0it\u2019s a triumphant reminder that their persistence has paid off. \u2013Quinn Moreland<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n

Listen:<\/strong> Camp Cope, \u201cThe Opener\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Loma Vista\u00a0<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

24.\u00a0<\/div>\n

St. Vincent: \u201cNew York\u2019\u2019\u00a0<\/h2>\n

The literary genre of \u201cWhy I\u2019m Leaving New York\u201d essays had a moment a few years back before becoming a full-blown clich\u00e9. It remains difficult not to roll your eyes at coast-swapping writers wistfully denouncing downtown filth (and not just because they\u2019re friends you hope don\u2019t become Hiking People). But somehow, Annie Clark escapes our skepticism. She positions her move west around a conundrum also faced by those who\u2019ve never stepped foot in Manhattan: What do you do when everywhere you go reminds you of the one you loved and lost, when city and significant other blur into one aching mass?<\/p>\n

The question at the heart of \u201cNew York\u201d is more direct than those typically addressed in Clark\u2019s songs, underscored by a pared-back but still palpable piano melody and a heart-swelling combo of strings and synths. \u201cIt is easy to see the beginnings of things, and harder to see the ends,\u201d Joan Didion famously began when she said goodbye to all that. But \u201cNew York\u201d offers a counterpoint as it perfectly articulates a moment when the city suddenly seems a lot less interesting. \u2013Jillian Mapes<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> St. Vincent, \u201cNew York\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"This<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Godmode<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

23.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Yaeji: \u201cDrink I\u2019m Sippin On\u201d<\/h2>\n

Yaeji flits between genres and languages with quiet self-assurance. Throughout \u201cDrink I\u2019m Sippin On,\u201d she raps and sings in both\u00a0Korean and English, always sounding calmly centered over an 808-anchored trap beat with a nebulous house vibe. It\u2019s a song of and about repetition, ostensibly a swaggy night-out anthem as outlined in the title, but actually agnostic to booze or drugs. On the chorus, she softly sings a phrase in Korean\u2014translation: \u201cThat\u2019s not it, no, that\u2019s not it\u201d\u2014over and over, refusing to be pinned down and sounding almost spiritual in the process. It\u2019s often tempting to describe a house singer\u2019s voice as \u201csoaring\u201d because of the way the genre creates space on top of the beat instead of inside it. But on \u201cdrink\u00a0i\u2019m sippin on,\u201d Yaeji\u2019s actually floating in the middle of the mix, levitating on her own gorgeously meditative mantra. \u2013Jay Balfour<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Yaeji, \u201cdrink i\u2019m sippin on\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

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

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

22.\u00a0<\/div>\n

SZA: \u201cThe Weekend\u201d\u00a0<\/h2>\n

\u201cThe Weekend\u201d details a mind-blowing, part-time affair, but it largely comes from a Sunday perspective, that feeling of leaving and lacking. SZA\u2019s man has an arrangement that\u2019s all business, weekday 9-to-5 stuff: one girl clocking in, one girl clocking out, dirty deeds scheduled to the exact hour and minute. She uses a sample of a Justin Timberlake track about setting the mood, transplanted into the moment when that mood\u2019s slipped away, seen off by a wistful sigh of guitars and keys. SZA slips between the perspectives of girlfriend and girlfriend-in-waiting, neither of whom are exactly satisfied, neither of whom quite commit to bragging or complaining or wanting much more. The situation is just a rigged game, one you can only win for a couple days at a time. \u2013Katherine St. Asaph<\/p>\n

Listen<\/strong>: SZA, \u201cThe Weekend\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"300<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

300 Entertainment \/ Quality Control\u00a0<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

21.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Migos: \u201cT-Shirt\u201d\u00a0<\/h2>\n

Given their utter triumph over the mainstream this year, it\u2019s become easy to forget that Migos have been doubted every step of the way: by traditionalists, competitors, even followers. And more than any other song on their crossover opus, Culture<\/em>, \u201cT-Shirt\u201d feels like a riposte to those naysayers who said\u00a0the trio would never make it this far.\u00a0<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n

Did you write off Migos as a triplet-spitting one-trick pony? Behold as they effortlessly wield a variety of flows over a disorienting, codeine-slow beat. Thought the other members would never emerge from Quavo\u2019s shadow? Watch Takeoff steal the show with his staccato delivery, and Offset flash a vocal range and command of melody previously unseen. Accused them of not paying due respect to their elders? Well, here\u2019s an entire hook built around a lyric by the late Southern rap ambassador Shawty Lo, just to remind you how deeply rooted in Atlanta the\u00a0group remains. But the best thing about \u201cT-Shirt\u201d might be the fact that you don\u2019t need to know a single thing about Migos\u2019 long journey to the top to enjoy it. It\u2019s a lean rap song that places the emphasis where it belongs: on a group of certified hitmakers who are only now hitting their stride. \u2013Mehan Jayasuriya<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Migos, \u201cT-Shirt\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Side<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Sony<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

20.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Calvin Harris: \u201cSlide\u201d [ft. Frank Ocean and Migos]\u00a0<\/h2>\n

There is, at once, everything and nothing calculated about the magic of \u201cSlide.\u201d The song\u00a0is built around not just the idiosyncratic sound effects of Migos\u2019 Offset but also Frank Ocean, a vocalist so talented and yet so seemingly bored with singing normally\u00a0that his go-to aesthetic\u00a0tic is now a balloon-sucking yelp. And yet, set against Calvin Harris\u2019 graceful disco piano lines, relaxed-fit funk grooves, and soft-focus \u201980s drum machines, Frank\u2019s pitched-up nonsense rhymes give \u201cSlide\u201d an edge\u00a0of newness.\u00a0The summertime hit\u00a0cements Frank\u2019s\u00a0guest\u00a0spots as the main course of whatever friend\u2019s dinner party he deigns to attend. \u2013Jillian Mapes<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Calvin Harris, \u201cSlide\u201d [ft. Frank Ocean and Migos]<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Rabid<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Rabid \/ Mute<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

19.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Fever Ray: \u201cIDK About You\u201d<\/h2>\n

The synths Karin Dreijer uses sound like blades being sharpened. They are present on \u201cIDK About You,\u201d the thrilling center of her second album as Fever Ray,\u00a0Plunge<\/em>, and the vein-busting beat, made by the young Portuguese producer N\u00eddia, make them\u00a0seem covered in blood. Listening to Dreijer interrogate some mortal plebe over whether they are worthy of her is exhilarating\u2014and intimidating: \u201cAnybody\u2019s coming with me\/Gotta love my tracks\/And swing an ax.\u201d Got half of that covered; just\u00a0let me check on Amazon\u2019s ax-shipping policy. \u2013Jeremy D. Larson<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Fever Ray, \u201cIDK About You\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Blue Flowers Music \/ ATO<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

18.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Nil\u00fcfer Yanya: \u201cBaby Luv\u201d<\/h2>\n

Last month, at her first American show, the London-based singer-songwriter Nil\u00fcfer Yanya closed with this song. She stood alone onstage, gently pulling chords out of her electric guitar. \u201cBaby Luv\u201d\u2019s subtle dynamic shifts, little revs within the verse, tease out its wistful nature before the confrontational chorus hits: \u201cDo you like pain?\u201d But the real marvel is in Yanya\u2019s indie-pop precision, her preternatural ear for something both dramatic and effortless, as if the act of kicking puddles were turned into a song. She dives and alights on her words like Young Marble Giants by way of Joni Mitchell, and her voice can light candles and snuff them out in the same breath. Surely one day there will be a band behind her, and a full album with bells and whistles, but an indelible pop song like this needs no ornaments to improve it. \u2013Jeremy D. Larson<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n

Listen:<\/strong> Nil\u00fcfer Yanya, \u201cBaby Luv\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Atlantic<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

17.\u00a0<\/div>\n

The War on Drugs: \u201cThinking of a Place\u201d<\/h2>\n

In\u00a0the War on Drugs\u2019 music, you\u2019re never quite sure where the road leads, but you have faith it\u2019s safe to travel. Bandleader Adam Granduciel\u2019s romantic, mysterious vision of America is at its most expansive on the 11-minute \u201cThinking of a Place.\u201d It\u2019s a slow, loping epic that takes familiar elements from Granduciel\u2019s discography\u2014gauzy synths, wheedling harmonica, a guitar solo that stumbles around the beat\u2014and stretches them into unfamiliar positions. And like much of his work, it doesn\u2019t tell a love story in any traditional sense. Instead, it approaches the idea of transcendence from multiple angles: Love is a ghost just beyond our grasp; lovers melt into each other entirely; and thinking of a place is enough to make it real. Meanwhile, melodies blur and stack like thin clouds on the horizon, and the knockout hook lands after you\u2019ve long since passed into a meditative state. Granduciel once titled an album Lost in the Dream<\/em>, and \u201cThinking of a Place\u201d feels like the culmination of that idea: You can lose yourself in this\u00a0song forever, moving through a twilight that never fades. \u2013Jamieson Cox<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> The War on Drugs, \u201cThinking of a Place\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Interscope \/ AWGE<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

16.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Playboi Carti: \u201cMagnolia\u201d<\/h2>\n

\u201cMumble rap\u201d has become somewhat of a loaded term, criticized by both appreciators and detractors of the style. But when it works, it works. Twenty-one-year-old Atlanta rapper Playboi Carti\u2019s \u201cMagnolia\u201d raised the standard for infectious, mainstream hip-hop this year, using a blend of perfect production and slurry rhymes. Tumbling across \u00a0the fattest, shakiest, dirtiest bass to ever be blasted from a Maserati, Carti\u2019s droning cadence hypnotizes\u00a0as he cycles through the same images: crack dealers, police altercations, careening through New York decked out in Rick Owens. It\u2019s a lilting loop of a song, repetitive to the point of delirium. \u2013Cameron Cook<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Playboi Carti, \u201cMagnolia\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"One<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

One Little Indian<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

15.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Bj\u00f6rk: \u201cThe Gate\u201d<\/h2>\n

For all the playfulness she can conjure with her videos and stage shows, Bj\u00f6rk approaches creative renewal seriously. It\u2019s one of the traits her hardcore fans treasure, but this unpredictability can go both ways; when you want bangers, she may give you chamber-music abstractions. On \u201cThe Gate,\u201d she splits the difference. The first minutes are devoted to whispery trails of sound, before an arpeggiated motif teases a new momentum. When the low-end eventually hits, a sense of release is tied to a pair of refrains: \u201ccare for me\u201d and \u201ccare for you.\u201d As she alternates between those chants, the song\u2019s arrangement turns its most galvanizing percussive figures loose, and reciprocity becomes a reality. \u2013Seth Colter Walls<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Bj\u00f6rk, \u201cThe Gate\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

P.W. Elverum & Sun<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

14.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Mount Eerie: \u201cReal Death\u201d<\/h2>\n

Taking place a week after the death of Phil Elverum\u2019s wife, Genevi\u00e8ve, \u201cReal Death\u201d describes his failing, grief-stricken mind and body. It culminates in an unforgettably harrowing scene where Elverum collapses in tears on the front step of the house they once shared. The song is at once a negation\u2014art about death that addresses the futility of making art about death\u2014and an affirmation. Like the gift from his wife that arrives at his doorstep in that pivotal scene, \u201cReal Death\u201d is a sign of love, one that can bring you to your knees even if you know exactly what\u2019s coming. \u2013Sam Sodomsky<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n

Listen:<\/strong> Mount Eerie, “Real Death”<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Roc<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Roc Nation \/ UMG<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

13.\u00a0<\/div>\n

JAY-Z: \u201cThe Story of O.J.\u201d<\/h2>\n

On \u201cThe Story of O.J.,\u201d JAY-Z repeats the ugliest epithet in American history with relentless purpose. The track\u2019s sample source is Nina Simone\u2019s\u00a0haunting 1966 classic \u201cFour Women,\u201d which dramatized\u00a0how the legacy of slavery encircled\u00a0black women, and the mogul\u2019s point here is similar: America will always see him, first and foremost, as black. With self-deprecating intimacy that\u2019s rare for Hov\u2014and exaggeration-prone cleverness that\u2019s not\u2014he\u00a0argues for his empire-building as a step forward for racial progress. Provocative? Of course. But it\u2019s also a brilliant anthem for the era of Black Lives Matter, as complex and irreducible as an individual. \u2013Marc Hogan<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> JAY-Z, \u201cThe Story of O.J.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Young Money Entertainment \/ Cash Money<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

12.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Drake: \u201cPassionfruit\u201d\u00a0<\/h2>\n

Throughout Drake\u2019s segue from sad-boy rap architect to world music ambassador over the last few years, few songs have nailed the universal sound he\u2019s coveted as much as this one. Throughout the track, Drake\u2019s\u00a0tone, as genteel as it is unfussy, is hypnotizing as it wafts over\u00a0dancehall-lite\u00a0rhythms.\u00a0It\u2019s the most assured he\u2019s seemed in this direction since \u201cOne Dance,\u201d playing up a struggle for control with a long-distance lover. There\u2019s still some angst\u2014this is a Drake song\u2014as he sounds put off by the prospect of not being the center of\u00a0someone else\u2019s universe. But amid this song\u2019s smoothness, such troubles feel easy to sweep aside. \u2013Sheldon Pearce<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Drake, \u201cPassionfruit\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Aftermath \/ Interscope \/ Top Dawg<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

11.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Kendrick Lamar: \u201cHUMBLE.\u201d<\/h2>\n

Kendrick Lamar has long exhibited the masterful ability to dip his toes in the mainstream while keeping one foot firmly planted on the street. \u201cHUMBLE.,\u201d his first-ever solo Billboard No. 1, cements that legacy. Mike WiLL Made-It\u2019s production deserves equal praise; the sinister piano melody that dominates the song strikes with as much percussive force as the drum beat itself, instantly recognizable as it thundered from car windows and storefronts all summer. But Kendrick\u2019s bars still take center stage. He remains comfortably in the pocket, right through the moment he summarily executes the ubiquitous \u201cayy\u201d flow, as a bevy of lesser rappers fight over who started it. Despite its name, \u201cHUMBLE.\u201d is a righteous exercise in braggadocio. \u2013Matthew Ismael Ruiz<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Kendrick Lamar, \u201cHUMBLE.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\"Atlantic\"<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Atlantic<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

10.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Charli XCX: \u201cBoys\u201d<\/h2>\n

Charli XCX\u2019s most effective bursts of bubblegum pop take place in a sphere all their own: not in the club, not in the street, not in the hotel room, but dreaming while at all three. \u201cBoys,\u201d her sparkling ode to male objectification, is a party song that\u2019s about missing the party altogether: Her friends are blowing up her phone, and she\u2019s ignoring them, lost in a daydream that doesn\u2019t fixate on any romantic interest in particular so much as \u201cboys\u201d the plural noun, the natural resource, the element.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n

The chiptune squiggle that punctuates the word in the song\u2019s chorus makes it sound like Charli\u2019s racking up boys like coins in Super Mario Odyssey<\/em>\u2014a shower of boys in each city, boys raining from the heavens, boys streaming through the gutters, boys like tokens redeemable for oversized stuffed animals. Note that Charli isn\u2019t idly contemplating her chosen currency: She\u2019s \u201cbusy<\/em> thinking \u2019bout boys.\u201d This is work, and she reaps the rewards every time she names her prize. \u2013Sasha Geffen<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Charli XCX, \u201cBoys\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Warp<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

9.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Kelela: \u201cFrontline\u201d<\/h2>\n

Throughout her debut album, Take Me Apart<\/em>, Kelela built on all the strengths of her previous mixtapes and EPs: meticulousness, emotional clarity, and those stunning, bold vocals. \u201cFrontline\u201d is the acme of this careful practice; as Kelela recounts her decision to leave a relationship, a sense of resolve washes over the listener in a luminous wave. The song is an invitation to view the entire R&B landscape from Kelela\u2019s vantage point\u2014to understand how she looks to both the past and future with limitless possibility. This isn\u2019t easy to do. With each passing year, as R&B gets gradually subsumed by other genres, Kelela insists that the influence of the cherished artists that came before her still deserves its spotlight. \u201cFrontline\u201d proves that she is the right person to make sense of R&B today and lead the charge. \u2013Vanessa Okoth-Obbo<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Kelela, \u201cFrontline\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Epic \/ A1 \/ Freebandz<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

8.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Future: \u201cMask Off\u201d<\/h2>\n

When Future released two albums within a week of each other early in the year, he was banking on a song called \u201cDraco\u201d to push him over the top. But \u201cMask Off\u201d had other ideas. The song\u2019s buttery-soft flute lick\u2014lifted lovingly by producer Metro Boomin from Selma<\/em>, a late-\u201970s musical about the life of Martin Luther King, Jr.\u2014quickly mesmerized #FutureHive, spreading alarmingly from there. Fan tribute versions flooded the banks of social media; the loop was recreated with flutes, violins, alto saxophones, trumpets, and hilariously off-key caterwauling. Grover got in on the action, as did SpongeBob. It spawned its own dance. It was maybe the most deathless doodled bit of music of the year, the sound of the entire internet whistling to itself. \u2013Jayson Greene<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Future, \u201cMask Off\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

True Panther \/ XL<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

7.\u00a0<\/div>\n

King Krule: \u201cDum Surfer\u201d<\/h2>\n

How ugly can you make a song without sacrificing its groove, its swagger, its sex appeal? That question lies at the heart of King Krule\u2019s \u201cDum Surfer,\u201d a track so sullen, so contorted with disgust, so miserly with its compassion, that it can\u2019t even bother to spell its own title right.<\/p>\n

As a deeply British snapshot of a drunken night out, the song is as unsparing and brutal as photographer Dougie Wallace\u2019s portrayal of the nation\u2019s pub crawls and stag parties. A post-punk bassline sounds like it\u2019s ricocheting down a back alley, and that implied distance only reinforces the sense that there\u2019s no warmth here, no belonging\u2014just wasted bodies dodging disaster on unforgiving streets. You can practically smell the desperation: The lyrics reek of puke and warm piss, \u201cskunk and onion gravy,\u201d potato mash. Musically, though, the song makes something nearly beautiful out of all that damage, as jazz guitar and baritone sax drip like red velvet curtains. Archy Marshall\u2019s feral snarl sounds like self-laceration with a dull knife, but it\u2019s also strangely seductive. When he warbles, \u201cNow my brain\u2019s diluting with blame and guilt and hash,\u201d it\u2019s almost enough to make you sidle up to the bar and order a shot of whatever he\u2019s having. Almost. \u2013Philip Sherburne<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n

Listen:<\/strong> King Krule, \u201cDum Surfer\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Self-released<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

6.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Frank Ocean: \u201cChanel\u201d<\/h2>\n

Given the drought that preceded Blonde<\/em>, the handful of singles Frank Ocean released this year felt nothing short of a blessing. The first and most potent of these songs, \u201cChanel,\u201d quietly reveals a new era. Though the track is built on a melancholy piano phrase, it ultimately trades the wistful air that marked Blonde<\/em> for an attitude that\u2019s present and self-possessed\u2014speaking not as the Frank of relationships past, but as the Frank of now.<\/p>\n

Its musical flourishes\u2014a winding flute, muted percussion, the occasional cash-register click\u2014represent another understated step forward for Frank\u2019s future-leaning pop, which drips with easygoing cool. His wordplay is dense, though, as it meanders through locales and references, from Tokyo to that recurring swimming pool, from provocative director Gaspar No\u00e9 to 21 Savage. These are, of course, all secondary to the French fashion house and its double-C logo: \u201cI see on both sides,\u201d he sings. Locating oneself on both sides of a dichotomy is, for Frank, a source of strength and even opulence: His guy is pretty like a girl and<\/em> he\u2019s got fight stories to tell. \u201cChanel\u201d flexes a muscular sense of self, redefining what it sounds like to assert power. \u2013Thea Ballard<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Frank Ocean, \u201cChanel\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Atlantic\"<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Atlantic<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

5.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Lil Uzi Vert:\u201cXO TOUR Llif3\u201d<\/h2>\n

The unlikely story of this song began when Lil Uzi Vert took a stage dive into a Geneva, Switzerland crowd in February, losing two phones filled with unreleased material amid the throng. Instead of fretting, he simply leaked everything he recorded for his debut album, including \u201cXO TOUR Llif3.\u201d With no marketing and no artwork, the song gained traction on SoundCloud before becoming one of the most ubiquitous hits of the year, garnering more than 1.3 billion streams worldwide.<\/p>\n

This unlikeliness extends to the song\u2019s sound, which blends trap production with Uzi\u2019s emo lyricism about his now-ex-girlfriend and substance abuse issues. Channeling the goth-tinged emotion of some of his favorite rockers, including Marilyn Manson, the Philadelphia rapper turns a morbid hook\u2014\u201cPush me to the edge\/All my friends are dead\u201d\u2014into a delirious sing-along. \u2013Kristin Corry<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Lil Uzi Vert, \u201cXO TOUR Llif3\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

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

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

4.\u00a0<\/div>\n

SZA: \u201cLove Galore\u201d [ft. Travis Scott]<\/h2>\n

\u201cLove Galore\u201d is the perfect introduction to the compelling character that SZA inhabited on her debut album, Ctrl<\/em>: the petty, sexy, confused, high, confident, complicated, dismissive, cool twentysomething unafraid to air out her business (and yours). There is something cinematic about the way SZA paints her scenes in this tale of toxic romance, the way she is able to write language as it is actually spoken, the way she draws you into her world, like all of the best protagonists. By the time Travis Scott shows up for a verse that\u2019s basically a booty call, everyone who is listening knows that she deserves better; let\u2019s hope, by now, she does too. \u2013Alex Frank<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> SZA, \u201cLove Galore\u201d [ft. Travis Scott]<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Lava \/ republic<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

3.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Lorde: \u201cGreen Light\u201d<\/h2>\n

From the ashes of burnt romance rises \u201cGreen Light,\u201d 2017\u2019s most defiant expression of pop euphoria.\u00a0Lorde\u00a0has said that the song channels the spirit of a drunk girl dancing herself clean, calling bullshit on her ex, and waiting for\u2014no, demanding<\/em>\u2014a new reality. Like its spiritual and sonic predecessor, Robyn\u2019s \u201cDancing on My Own,\u201d \u201cGreen Light\u201d demonstrates that emotional self-discovery does not follow a straight path but yo-yos between extremes. While opening herself up to new sounds,\u00a0the New Zealand singer jumps from whispered intimacies to ecstatic, explosive choruses that encourage denting the roof of your SUV while wearing a gown and Adidas Superstars. It is an anthem of fluorescent catharsis that gave a dark year some much-needed brightness. \u2013Quinn Moreland<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n

Listen:<\/strong> Lorde, \u201cGreen Light\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Aftermath \/ Interscope \/ Top Dawg<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

2.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Kendrick Lamar: \u201cDNA\u201d<\/h2>\n

On \u201cDNA.,\u201d Kendrick Lamar dances breathlessly on the head of a pin, unwinding a single idea about origins, nature, nurture, and destiny. \u201cI got power, poison, pain, and joy inside my DNA,” he declares in the first verse. This animating thought\u2014that we carry the seeds of our greatness and our undoing inside us at all times, that we are forever just one breath from our most exalted and debased behavior\u2014runs like a vein of gold beneath Lamar\u2019s catalog, and he\u2019s never before drilled into it with the fierceness and precision of \u201cDNA.\u201d Over its escalating and spiritually replenishing three minutes, he doubles down and subdivides this notion so many times, from so many angles, that there is almost no interpretive work left for his listeners. He\u2019s lived the life, done the work\u2014\u201cBorn inside the beast\/My expertise checked out in second grade\u201d\u2014and we simply receive his story.<\/p>\n

In this way, Kendrick is maybe our closest modern analog to Chuck D\u2014like Chuck, Kendrick doesn\u2019t beg you to see the world through his eyes, or ask that you enter into his mind. He proclaims. But where Chuck\u2019s messages and voice were crisp and clear, Kendrick\u2019s isn\u2019t here to offer you slogans. He\u2019s hoping that his all-devouring intelligence, his actorly control of inflection, and his sheer technician\u2019s ability to dart around, inhabit, or smother the beat will help him devour the world, in all of its impossible contradictions. You can almost feel his imagination thrashing itself apart: \u201cI know murder, conviction, burners, boosters, burglars, ballers, dead, redemption\/Scholars fathers dead with kids\/And I wish I was fed forgiveness.\u201d What is there to do with this tidal wave of information except to simply stand in front of it, letting it envelop you? \u2013Jayson Greene<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Kendrick Lamar, \u201cDNA.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n
\n
\n
\"Image<\/span><\/div>\n
<\/p>\n

Atlantic<\/p>\n

<\/span><\/div>\n<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

1.\u00a0<\/div>\n

Cardi B: \u201cBodak Yellow\u201d<\/h2>\n

Cardi B is not just a rapper; she\u2019s everything we needed, just when we needed it. And \u201cBodak Yellow\u201d is not just the banger of the year; it\u2019s an unignorable antithesis to a political landscape built around xenophobia, racism, and sexism.\u00a0The first solo female rap track to hit No. 1 in nearly 20 years, it emboldened many of the people\u2014especially women of color\u2014who\u00a0were marginalized for the very things that anchor\u00a0the\u00a0Afro-Latina star\u2019s impenetrable pride. It let them\u00a0lift their middle fingers a little higher\u00a0and shout a little louder over the voices that wished them silent.\u00a0All year long, Cardi B was a mesmerizing display of what it looks like to win without having to code-switch or shrink, and \u201cBodak Yellow\u201d was her blaring\u00a0anthem\u00a0of purpose.<\/p>\n

By now, the story of Cardi B\u2019s rise is legend: A fed-up grocery store cashier quits her job to become a stripper, then parlays Vine and Instagram notoriety into\u00a0reality TV\u00a0stardom\u00a0before achieving ubiquitous fame with her first single for a major label. Could there be a more modern depiction of the American Dream? That \u201cBodak Yellow\u201d was the flash point makes the victory even sweeter: It\u2019s full of charismatic bravado, endless flex, and abundant joy. Cardi\u2019s cadence, inspired by Kodak Black\u2019s \u201cNo Flockin,\u201d is injected with her unfuckwithable energy, as authentic as it is contagious, igniting a blend of enraptured aggression and bona fide club\u00a0hysteria.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

\n
\n
\n
\n

Her voice is fiery and insistent, her Spanish-hued Bronx accent clipping and languishing as she offers clever wordplay about getting head and getting paid; even without knowing her hard-hustling rise, the celebration in her voice has an inclusive edge. Her braggy lines also belie a thoughtful core. Cardi may be on top, shuffling through praise, diamonds, and dudes at her whim, but in her glee she\u2019s opening the door to her listeners, her sisters: This lifestyle, or any triumph they so choose, feels like it may just be in their reach, too.<\/p>\n

On and off wax\u2014in a wholly demoralizing year that still became, indisputably, hers\u2014Cardi B owned who she was. Her confidence, which disallows shame and silence, spilled into \u201cBodak Yellow\u201d and created a perfect storm: a song that\u00a0feels<\/em>\u00a0good from someone who rose to dominance at a time when women and their stories were simultaneously under attack and given more cultural space.\u00a0At its heart,\u00a0Cardi\u2019s\u00a0breakout\u00a0demands that its listeners reclaim their power, jumping over all barriers of race, class, and gender. She did it. And\u00a0while there\u2019s still a long way to go for many like her, her existence and this song\u00a0served as beacons across 2017, liberating us from our own realities, four minutes at a time. \u2013Briana Younger<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Cardi B, \u201cBodak Yellow\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\/the-100-best-songs-of-2017\/<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Lists & Guides The 100 Best Songs of 2017 From Lorde\u2019s ecstatic emotional cleansing to Frank Ocean\u2019s ode to cycling to Cardi B\u2019s rampaging banger of bangers, these are our picks for the best songs of the year. By Pitchfork December 11, 2017 Graphic by Patrick Jenkins This year, music was all about context: artists […]<\/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-1518290","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\/1518290","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=1518290"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/analyse.optim.biz\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1518290\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/analyse.optim.biz\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1518290"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/analyse.optim.biz\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1518290"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/analyse.optim.biz\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1518290"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}