Music

Then and Now: Best Albums of 1997

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Then:

  1. Ben Folds Five, Whatever & Ever Amen
  2. Blur, Blur
  3. Jill Sobule, Happy Town
  4. Pizzicato Five, Happy End of The World
  5. Depeche Mode, Ultra
  6. Steve Wynn, Sweetness and Light
  7. Morphine, Like Swimming
  8. Sarah McLachlan, Surfacing
  9. Indigo Girls, Shaming Of The Sun
  10. Paul McCartney, Flaming Pie

Snarky American alt-rock and Britpop were my mainstays in the 1990s, so it scans that my top two albums of 1997 were from Ben Folds Five and Blur. As with 1996’s I’m With Stupid, Whatever & Ever Amen hit instantly upon its release early in the year, the soundtrack to a life in transition as I graduated from Marquette University in my hometown and moved across country to Boston to pursue a master’s in film studies at BU. Weeks before this sojourn, I saw Morphine at the H.O.R.D.E. Festival’s stop at Alpine Valley and bought their latest CD Like Swimming the next week. Incidentally, Ben Folds Five also played that festival, focusing heavily on some odd new songs that would surface on their divisive next record in 1999.

As an Anglophile deep into the Beatles, XTC and (to a lesser extent) the Kinks, Blur were ostensibly crafted in a lab specifically for me. Compared to Parklife three years before, their self-titled fifth album was a departure, throwing aside past homegrown influences for American indie bands like Pavement and Guided By Voices. Riding high on a surprise US hit (“Song 2”), I saw them with a friend live at The Rave in Milwaukee early that summer which might’ve elevated my initial, somewhat confused impression of Blur.

Weeks after arriving in Boston that September, my first purchases from Newbury Comics were the just-released Happy End of The World and Sweetness and Light. I played Sarah McLachlan’s “Angel” on repeat long before it became a hit or forever associated with sad animal shelter ads. Jill Sobule’s Happy Town was a continual background presence, revealing her as a strong voice in it for the long haul even if it wasn’t as immediate as her  1995 self-titled breakthrough, home to the immortal “I Kissed A Girl”.

Now:

  1. Ivy, Apartment Life
  2. Ben Folds Five, Whatever & Ever Amen
  3. Jen Trynin, Gun Shy Trigger Happy
  4. Ani DiFranco, Living In Clip
  5. Beth Orton, Trailer Park
  6. Sleater-Kinney, Dig Me Out
  7. K.D. Lang, Drag
  8. Morphine, Like Swimming
  9. Pizzicato Five, Happy End of The World
  10. Steve Wynn, Sweetness and Light

As with 1996, another 1997 album eventually surpassed my original number one although I didn’t hear it until years later. It’s a testament to the solidity of Whatever & Ever Amen (and I’m With Stupid) that both remain in second place of their respective years to this day but picking up a used copy of Apartment Life weeks after 9/11 was a revelation; it’s also one of the few records I’ve ever purchased the demos of (on vinyl, no less), a 2023 Record Store Day release.

Although one of their better records, Blur wasn’t as enduring. Lead track “Beetlebum” remains their greatest Beatles rip, but I don’t ever have to hear “Song 2” again (save for Emm Gryner’s version) and the rest is uneven compared to Parklife. I’d also now rather play many Jill Sobule and Depeche Mode LPs other than Happy Town or Ultra. Surfacing proved the beginning of the end for McLachlan, a real drop after the genuine mystery of Fumbling Towards Ecstasy and its predecessors.

Throughout 1998, as Ani DiFranco’s Dilate and Little Plastic Castle became the soundtrack to my new life, double LP Living in Clip completed the triumvirate and served as a neat primer of highlights from her first five records, rendered in definitive live power-trio versions. Early that year, I also picked up a used copy of Jen Trynin’s second (and final) record, now a lost gem from the start of an era far less welcoming to female singer-songwriters from the electro-folk genius Beth Orton to the riot-grrl adjacent Sleater-Kinney who weren’t popping on commercial alt-rock radio anytime soon.

Go here to read about my 1997 playlist.

Halfway Through 2026

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The Love That Remains

To list favorite films and albums at a year’s midpoint is to assess what I’ve consumed and what’s sticking; it’s also a speculative game of sorts—which titles will remain near the top of my eventual year-end lists?

Since prestige films both big and small tend to surface during the year’s last quarter (i.e. Awards Season), this is somewhat a lopsided exercise. Occasionally, I’ve seen my top film early in the year (Do Not Expect Too Much From The End of The World, Quo Vadis, Aida?); four films I listed at last year’s midpoint made it into my year-end top ten. Half of the 2026 releases below were seen at IFF Boston in April plus two more at that organization’s Fall Focus last October (The Love That Remains, Sound of Falling). Silent Friend also played the latter but even a recent viewing in one of the Coolidge’s smallest theaters didn’t diminish its impact for me. That leaves surprise hit (by indie standards, anyway) Pillion and Nadav Lapid’s hilarious and incendiary Yes, which I just watched and may write about at another date.

As release schedules go, albums are more luck-of-the-draw situations. At last year’s midpoint, I had already heard what would end up my year-end number one (Doves’ Constellations For The Lonely) and very much expected it to end up in that place (or close to it). Still, most of my other midyear selections ended up honorable mentions outside the top ten, so you never know. Six months in, 2026 seems pretty average for new albums; most of what’s included below are the latest efforts from artists I already love—many of them good (Gonzalez, Ware, Parks, Robyn) rather than great (the Orton just came out but I’m already feeling strongly about it.) I need to spend more time with Lu’s first release in seven years and Harding’s latest, but the key is I want to keep listening to them. The closest to a standout here is the second album from Brit RAYE (and its irresistible single “Where Is My Husband!”), which positively gives off Janelle Monae-circa-The ArchAndroid-theater-kid–vibes minus the sci-fi pretensions. With new releases to come from beabadoobee, Nicole Atkins, The Tubs, Carly Rae Jepsen and more, as usual, we’ll see where things measure up in another six months.

Favorite Films of 2026 so far (alphabetical by title):

  • Blue Heron
  • Cookie Queens
  • I Love Boosters
  • The Invite
  • The Love That Remains
  • Pillion
  • Remake
  • Silent Friend
  • Sound of Falling
  • Yes

Favorite Albums of 2026 so far (alphabetical by artist):

  • Aldous Harding, Train On The Island
  • Arlo Parks, Ambiguous Desire
  • Beth Orton, The Ground Above
  • Boards of Canada, Inferno
  • Jessie Ware, Superbloom
  • Jose Gonzalez, Against The Dying Of The Light
  • Kelsey Lu, So Help Me God
  • RAYE, This Music May Contain Hope.
  • Robyn, Sexistential
  • Tori Amos, In Times of Dragons

Ranking 1970s Paul McCartney Albums

Chris Kriofske2 Comments

For years I’ve listened to a single artist’s or band’s discography (often in its entirety) an album a week on my morning commute. I’ve gone my way through the back catalogues of everyone from Led Zeppelin and solo Paul Simon to Alison Moyet and Neil Young (at least through the 1970s.) For whatever reason, it never occurred to me that I should write about these audio journeys until now. Since I just finished listening to the first decade of Paul McCartney’s post-Beatles career, on his 84thbirthday, here’s how I would rate his studio albums from the 1970-79. At some point, I’ll also do this with his output from McCartney II to the just-released The Boys of Dungeon Lane.

I considered going best-to-worst, but it’s better to get the lesser stuff (actually, much less of it than boomer critics at the time suggested) out of the way.

9 – Red Rose Speedway (Paul McCartney & Wings, 1973)

When the excessively syrupy and lame ballad “My Love” is your best choice for a single, you know you’re in trouble (“whoa, whoa-whoa, whoa”, indeed.) At 18, I first delved into Paul’s solo career with his 1987 hits comp All The Best! and the best thing about it was that it placed this track at the very end of it, thus making it easier to skip. The rest of RRS is not bad, necessarily, just relentlessly unmemorable (although the instrumental track is pleasant.) He’s supposed to be a melodic genius, but precious little here sticks.

8 – Wild Life (Wings, 1972)

Initially, Paul’s “Let’s start a new band with my wife and some dudes” proved more novel in theory than in practice. This is the only McCartney studio pop album devoid of any top 40 hits until the 1990s. While his originals don’t live up to the adorably ramshackle cover of “Love is Strange”, they’re pleasant tunes that could’ve benefited from some trimming (“Dear Friend”) and others that barely justify their brief durations.

7 – Back To The Egg (Wings, 1979)

Similarly, a lack of both focus and a killer hit single tarnishes the final Wings album. Side two meanders on and on, dribbling to a close with his umpteenth “When I’m 64” knockoff (“Baby’s Request”). Fortunately, side one’s compactness and energy both suggest he’s at least aware of punk/new wave even if the results veer (encouragingly!) closer to Fleetwood Mac (“Old Siam, Sir”) and Steely Dan (“Arrow Through Me”).

6 – McCartney (Paul McCartney, 1970)

His “let’s-get-this-one-out-before Let It Be” home-recorded solo debut famously has three good-to-great songs (“Maybe I’m Amazed”, “Every Night” and Beatles leftover “Junk”) and numerous little sketches not meant to be anything more than that. The whole DIY approach has aged well compared to a lot of rock and roll bloat from that period but if asked, I couldn’t hum any of the other tracks except for “Man We Was Lonely”.

5 – London Town (Wings, 1978)

The most diverse Wings album? Not much here resembles the competent (if tepid) middle-of-the-road hit, “With A Little Luck”. While making room for such odd bedfellows as “Strange Groupies” (which could’ve been sung by hobbits) or the rockabilly “Name and Address”, it somehow coheres (unlike Back To The Egg), even if it should’ve been a tight ten tracks instead of fourteen. Finale “Morse Moose and the Grey Goose” is one of his most peculiar mini-epics and also his most thrilling.

Always remember, Paul is a Weirdo

4 – Wings At The Speed Of Sound (Wings, 1976)

This has a bad reputation for including written (and sung) contributions from all five Wings members. While Linda’s “Cook of the House” is admittedly fluff, it’s charming fluff and some of the others (Denny Laine’s “The Note You Never Wrote”) could’ve come from Macca himself. Happily, Paul’s own tunes are top-notch: the deathless, hypnotic “Silly Love Songs”, the so-straight-faced-it’s-probably-subversive “Let ‘Em In” and the almost majestic “Beware My Love”.

3 – Venus and Mars (Wings, 1975)

Making the most convincing case for Paul-as-rocker (“Rock Show”, “Letting Go”, the exquisite “Call Me Back Again”) of the entire Wings era, it’s nearly as strong as its predecessor (see below), with the lovely “Love in Song” this period’s least silliest love song. To be a fan is to appreciate both the effortless hook of “Listen to The Man Said” and the utter daftness of “Magneto and Titanium Man” and Paul can ably pull both off when he’s this focused.

2 – Band On The Run (Paul McCartney and Wings, 1973)

His most widely loved solo album, I once thought it was overrated, not much to admire beyond the singles and propulsive closer “Nineteen Hundred and Eighty Five”. “Let Me Roll It” showing up as an effective needle drop in Licorice Pizza changed my mind somewhat, then came the proto “Hey Ho’s!” of “Mrs. Vanderbilt”; now, I like all of it except for the meandering “Mamunia”. Rather than fussing over his craft, Paul seems to be trusting his instincts here and it makes a big difference.

1 – Ram (Paul and Linda McCartney, 1971)

A less controversial take than it might’ve been decades ago, but I think Ram is the best Beatles solo album, period (and it’s co-credited to one of their wives, no less!) Not to disparage the previous entry or even John Lennon/Plastic Ono Band or All Things Must Pass, first hearing Ram in the mid-90s was akin to finding a lost Beatles album, not so much in sound as in sensibility. Think of it as an all-Paul version of The White Album, his stoner humor translating into a mostly non-linked suite of often eccentric (“Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey”) and occasionally insane (“Monkberry Moon Delight”!) but always impeccably crafted, infectious miniatures. I can sense its division (chances are it will either irritate or engage with little middle ground) but when a new generation of listeners discovered and fell for it in the early 21st century, I felt vindicated.

Additionally, McCartney released a slew of non-album singles through the decade. Here’s how I’d rate them best to worst (with notable B-sides also listed):

  1. “Live and Let Die” (1973)
  2. “Goodnight Tonight”/”Daytime Nighttime Suffering” (1979)
  3. “Junior’s Farm”/”Sally G” (1974)
  4. “Helen Wheels” (1973)
  5. “Give Ireland Back to the Irish” (1972)
  6. “Another Day”/”Oh Woman Oh Why” (1971)
  7. “Hi, Hi, Hi” / “C Moon” (1972)
  8. “Mull of Kintyre”/”Rock School” (1977)
  9. “Maybe I’m Amazed (Live)” (1977)
  10. “Mary Had A Little Lamb” (1973)

Then and Now: Best Albums of 1996

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I’ve always looking back on my own best-x-of-the-year/decade/etc. lists and thinking about what changes I’d make if I were to compile the same list today. I began making album-of-the-year lists at the end of 1996 and posted them annually online as of my first blog in 2002. Thirty years on, I’m looking back at what I liked then vs. now.

One caveat: until streaming and the adoption of Friday as a global release day in 2015, the occasional record release would often fall by country in different dates and in some cases, years. A few beloved albums on my lists were not available in the U.S. until the calendar year after their original UK/European release. For the most part, I’m sticking with those US release years for point of comparison, only using original release dates on the rare occasion when I bought the import instead of waiting for a release here.

My pre-blog best-of lists were always recorded in handwritten journals I kept as of 1995. No list for that first year, so we begin with ’96.

Then:

  1. Aimee Mann, I’m With Stupid
  2. Cibo Matto, Viva! La Woman
  3. Everything But The Girl, Walking Wounded
  4. Soundtrack, Trainspotting
  5. R.E.M., New Adventures In Hi-Fi
  6. Pet Shop Boys, Bilingual
  7. Luscious Jackson, Fever In Fever Out
  8. Cowboy Junkies, Lay It Down
  9. Suzanne Vega, Nine Objects of Desire
  10. Beck, Odelay

I’m With Stupid defined my 1996. A UK release the previous summer, it was delayed here until January. Not long after finally getting my hands on it, I wrote a review of it for my Critical Writing class at Marquette; the professor liked it enough to make copies and share it with the entire class (are teachers still allowed to do this w/out the author’s permission?) We didn’t have iTunes or Spotify back then and thus no easy means of keeping track of spins but I’m almost positive I listened to it more than anything else at the time.

Kooky Japanese-America duo Cibo Matto I discovered via their video of “Know Your Chicken” on MTV’s 120 Minutes. A week later, I found a freshly used promo CD of it at my regular used-record store, Second Hand Tunes. Along with Everything But The Girl’s full-on dive into club music shortly after the success of the remixed “Missing”, it was my soundtrack going into summer between Junior and Senior years; the Trainspotting soundtrack, R.E.M.’s final classic lineup release and late-in-the-year additions from Pet Shop Boys and Luscious Jackson would take over for the fall and winter.

Now:

  1. Belle and Sebastian, If You’re Feeling Sinister
  2. Aimee Mann, I’m With Stupid
  3. Morcheeba, Who Can You Trust?
  4. Tori Amos, Boys For Pele
  5. Soundtrack, Trainspotting
  6. Cibo Matto, Viva! La Woman
  7. Ani DiFranco, Dilate
  8. Amy Rigby, Diary of a Mod Housewife
  9. Luscious Jackson, Fever In Fever Out
  10. Fiona Apple, Tidal

Only something I hadn’t heard at the time could possibly knock Mann off the top spot; I’ve written at length about Belle and Sebastian’s near-perfect record here. Morcheeba and Ani DiFranco would become favorites in 1997 (and the former still gets plenty of spins from me in 2026.) I also bought Boys for Pele when it came out (two weeks before I’m With Stupid) but had difficulty absorbing all 70+ minutes of it, returning to some tracks often (“Hey Jupiter”, “Putting The Damage On”) while ignoring others altogether (“In The Springtime of His Voodoo”?) Only after a decade or two did I come to love it nearly as much as Little Earthquakes. A dense, demanding labyrinth, Pele is worth living with for the long haul as was 2002’s similarly sprawling Scarlet’s Walk (and, though too soon to tell, potentially this year’s In Times of Dragons.)

The only post-2000 discovery here is Rigby’s now-classic debut, as accomplished an introduction as Little Earthquakes (or perhaps Fiona Apple’s Tidal, which I also likely first heard in ’97.) I hemmed and hawed over including Diary of a Mod Housewife and/or Viva! La Woman in my 100 Albums project but already had six entries for 1996 and wanted to spread the wealth around to adjacent years. I still listen to Nine Objects of Desire and Bilingual regularly; Odelay, not so much. Walked Wounded is a good EBTG album but perhaps not one of the greatest in a fairly stacked discography.

Speaking of which, is 1996 one of the *best* years for music? I haven’t even mentioned Stereolab’s Emperor Tomato Ketchup, Pulp’s Different Class, Gillian Welch’s Revival, DJ Shadow’s Endtroducing…, George Michael’s Older or Fishmans’ Long Season. We’ll see if even 1997 measures up to it.

Go here to read about my 1996 playlist.

Vince Guaraldi Trio, “A Charlie Brown Christmas”

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Reposting this piece originally written in 2014 in honor of this special’s/soundtrack’s 60th anniversary.

I cannot emphasize enough the impact Peanuts has had on my life. Charles Schulz’s comic strip is as important to me as any of the albums or films I’ve ever written about here. His sense of humor and highly singular yet relatable way of observing the world has resonated with me for as long as I can remember. In childhood, instead of playing with Star Wars figurines or watching Transformers after school, I dutifully collected Peanuts reprint books and watched every half-hour animated television special whenever it aired. Those shows, always preceded by that CBS Special Presentation logo with the thrilling percussive roll and orchestral fanfare, must have been my introduction to Schulz’s work. From an early age, I can recall sitting on the floor with my mom right in front of our TV set, watching the charmingly low-budget animation, hearing the identifiable soundtrack of children’s voices (a rarity at a time when adults providing cartoon character voices was the norm), the muted trumpet standing in for all parents/teachers, and of course, Vince Guaraldi’s jazz score.

In recent years, “Charlie Brown Music” has become one of my favorite phrases to utilize in music criticism because it is so obviously made-up and hyper-specific: if you’ve seen one of the fifteen or so Peanuts specials that Guaraldi scored or have even heard “Linus and Lucy” in isolation, you know exactly what that three-word term implies—mid-century instrumental piano jazz exuding equal amounts childlike whimsy and grown-up melancholy, performed with gentleness but also agility. Although Guaraldi had been recording for nearly a decade and had an actual crossover top 40 hit with “Cast Your Fate to the Wind” three years before, his soundtrack for the first Peanuts special, 1965’s A Charlie Brown Christmas exposed him to a considerably larger audience. From then on, until his death from a heart attack at age 47 in 1976, he was known less for his status as one of his era’s most idiosyncratic and talented West coast jazz pianists and more as the man who created “Charlie Brown Music”—a role he obviously relished, as he spent his final decade working primarily with Peanuts.

A Charlie Brown Christmas received instant critical and public acclaim on its first airing and quickly became a perennial, rerunning on prime-time network TV at least once every year since. Nearly a half-century on, the soundtrack album is just as iconic, although this wasn’t always the case. Released a week before the special first aired, it initially missed the Billboard Album chart (not uncommon for a jazz record.) Over the next twenty-five years, it’s hard to say how well it sold as it was not certified Platinum or Gold during that time. However, after a CD reissue in 1988, it began popping up in more store displays every December. Since 1991, when Billboard started using Soundscan (which relies on computer data to track record sales), the album has sold over five million copies—the tenth best-selling Christmas/holiday album in the U.S. during that time period. In 1992, I bought the album on CD and it immediately became a seasonal listening staple in both my parents’ home and practically everywhere I’ve lived since.

As a soundtrack album, A Charlie Brown Christmas is somewhat peculiar. Whereas the special begins with that beautiful, evocative scene of the kids ice skating to the vocal take of “Christmas Time Is Here”, the album kicks off with “O Tannenbaum”, which doesn’t appear until the special’s second half. Not only does the entire album fail to follow the special’s chronology (“Hark, the Herald Angels Sing” which concludes the special, seems randomly dropped in as track eight), it includes a few selections not heard in the special at all (“My Little Drum”, “The Christmas Song”) and misses some of the stuff actually in it—most notably the lounge-y, upbeat incidental music playing when Charlie Brown frets over Snoopy’s participation in a “lights and display contest” for the latter’s doghouse. Of course, only obsessives and completists worry about such things, but after having heard this album about one hundred times in the last 30-odd years, I can’t help but notice its imperfections.

Fortunately, very little else about A Charlie Brown Christmas is less than perfect. I’d like to think one major reason why it has endured for so long and arguably grown in popularity is that it doesn’t sound like much holiday music that preceded it. Guaraldi was far from the first artist to make a Christmas jazz record—everybody from Louis Prima (the swinging “Shake Hands With Santa Claus”) to Duke Ellington (“Sugar Rum Cherry”, a sly takeoff of a song from The Nutcracker) beat him to it—but his melodic, accessible version of cool jazz proved ideal for capturing a very specific hue of the holiday season. These mostly instrumental songs, with their simple piano-bass-drums arrangements emanate as much comfort and joy as they do wistfulness and poignancy. Depending on your own present state of mind, they have the tendency to shift heavily towards either end of this emotional spectrum. However, Guaraldi has no use for grandiose melodrama: nearly every song here bespeaks understatement and intimacy and collectively, the album provides a balm of sorts to what is for many the most stressful time of year.

A Charlie Brown Christmas has its share of covers of holiday standards, roughly split between swing-trio versions of “O Tannenbaum” and “What Child Is This” and more liberal readings like “My Little Drum”, which modifies the melody of “The Little Drummer Boy”, sets it to a shuffling bossa-nova, and adds in some kiddie onomatopoeic vocals. Guaraldi’s original songs, however, have become the album’s real standards over time. Presented in both instrumental and vocal versions, “Christmas Time Is Here” is nearly as well-known as any carol you can name and possibly the epitome of the album’s equation of the season with a kind of sweet sadness. “Skating” is a lovely little tune where Guaraldi’s descending piano trills mimic gently falling snowflakes, only to follow them with ascending chords before they return and the natural cycle repeats itself. “Christmas Is Coming” has an irresistible, up-tempo momentum to it, right from Guaraldi’s opening rhythmic piano licks to its swing interlude mid-way through.

And then, there’s “Linus and Lucy”, as recognizable from its era as “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction” or “Strangers in the Night” and the closest thing Peanuts ever had to a theme song. It’s not a Christmas tune, and it wasn’t even written for this special but for a documentary about Schulz made two years before that never aired. It appears in the special during the rehearsal scenes where most of the cast would rather get down to Guaraldi’s catchy number than prepare for the Charlie Brown-directed Christmas pageant. The song’s instrumental primary melody is an instant earworm while the rumble of the bass melody adds complexity without distracting from the main hook. It alternately rocks, swings and sighs (those elongated chords Guaraldi occasionally throws in) and has no precedent as strictly jazz or pop—it’s a true hybrid, much like the rest of Guaraldi’s “Charlie Brown Music”.

Those interested in exploring more of his work should head directly to The Definitive Vince Guaraldi, a comprehensive two-disc career overview, and Vince Guaraldi and the Lost Cues, two volumes of music mostly from the early-mid ‘70s specials, revelatory for being unexpectedly funky, and proof that Guaraldi kept pushing himself creatively to the end. Since originally posting this essay, we’ve seen the release of multiple soundtracks from later Guaraldi-scored specials; most essential are It’s The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown (1966), A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving (1973) and It’s The Easter Beagle, Charlie Brown (1974). Still, A Charlie Brown Christmas remains Guaraldi’s most culturally significant achievement: as each holiday season passes, it feels more timeless, ensuring that it will be heard for many Decembers to come.

2025: The Dead Don’t Die

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Since art can be a necessary distraction, I did not take music for granted this year. Although I spent much of its second half listening to 100 previously unheard albums saved to my streaming library, I also kept up with new releases. To encapsulate 2025, I’ve included selections from all of my top ten albums and fifteen honorable mentions plus twenty more that run the gamut from one-offs (Romy’s declaration of free love, veteran Eurodisco producer Cerrone’s energetic collab with Christine and the Queens) to album cuts (Japanese Breakfast conjuring convincing 90s shoegaze vibes, Alison Goldfrapp leading off her second solo album with her fizziest song in at least 15 years) and isolated miracles like Natalie Bergman’s Nancy Sinatra-meets-Shelby Lynne songcraft or Jamie xx sampling/transforming my favorite old discovery of this year, Terry Callier’s beguiling 1972 gem “Dancing Girl” (itself also featured heavily in the film Sentimental Value.)

The average artist age here likely mirrors my own Gen-X soul, which is not to say I was resistant to the Millennial charms of Chappell Roan’s horny take on Shania Twain, Brooke Combe’s dance apocalyptic or Yves Tumor and NINA (of Bar Italia) aesthetically smashing together to create a joyful noise. Still, when someone as established or venerated (or just plain old) as Tunde Adebimpe (of TV On The Radio), Andy Bell (of Erasure) or even ex-Go-Between Robert Forster puts out a first-rate track, I take notice. You don’t have to be an aging music geek to love Wet Leg’s snark-punk and My Morning Jacket’s gleaming Supertramp pastiche (granted, not everyone will); reheated nachos or not, few could deny the monumental, glorious nonsense of “Abracadabra” as an entirely necessary distraction amidst a world coming apart.

You’ve likely heard the Lady Gaga song without even seeking it out, so instead, I’ll highlight a choice cut from the lead singer of Wilco’s 30-track triple album. I almost can’t not like a song for this title alone but I also love how succinctly it sums up the primal allure of rock (or punk or rap or “insert genre here”) without being pretentious about it. In these messy times, we don’t need reverence or pensiveness but raw, loud, unfiltered emotion and release—“I wanna feel everything,” indeed.

2025: The Dead Don’t Die

  1. Brooke Combe, “Dancing At The Edge Of The World”
  2. Wolf Alice, “Wild Horses”
  3. Cut Copy, “Belong To You”
  4. Ivy, “Fragile People”
  5. Stereolab, “Melodie Is A Wound (Edit)”
  6. FKA Twigs, “Girl Feels Good”
  7. Lady Gaga, “Abracadabra”
  8. Romy, “Love Who You Love”
  9. Mekons, “Mudcrawlers”
  10. Perfume Genius, “It’s A Mirror”
  11. Patrick Wolf, “Jupiter”
  12. Jeff Tweedy, “Lou Reed Was My Babysitter”
  13. Bartees Strange, “Sober”
  14. Hatchie, “Sage”
  15. The Weather Station, “Mirror”
  16. Jamie xx, “Dream Night”
  17. Blood Orange, “Mind Loaded”
  18. Destroyer, “Hydroplaning Off The Edge Of The World”
  19. Jens Lekman, “With You I Can Hear My Own Voice”
  20. Japanese Breakfast, “Honey Water”
  21. Saint Etienne, “Glad”
  22. Natalie Bergman, “Gunslinger”
  23. Pulp, “Got To Have Love”
  24. Andy Bell, “Dance For Mercy”
  25. Cate Le Bon, “Mother of Riches”
  26. The Tubs, “Narcissist”
  27. Matt Berninger, “Inland Ocean”
  28. Cerrone & Christine and the Queens, “Catching Feelings”
  29. Maria Somerville, “Stonefly”
  30. Suzanne Vega, “Flying With Angels”
  31. Anna Von Hausswolff, “Struggle With The Beast”
  32. Haim, “Down To Be Wrong”
  33. David Byrne, “What Is The Reason For It?”
  34. Yves Tumor & NINA, “We Don’t Count”
  35. Chappell Roan, “The Giver”
  36. My Morning Jacket, “Everyday Magic”
  37. Wet Leg, “Catch These Fists”
  38. Robert Forster, “Tell It Back To Me”
  39. Yola, “Amazing”
  40. Florence + The Machine, “The Old Religion”
  41. Pearl Charles & Tim Burgess, “Gone So Long”
  42. Tunde Adebimpe, “Somebody New”
  43. Alison Goldfrapp, “Hey Hi Hello”
  44. CMAT, “Euro-Country”
  45. Doves, “Southern Bell”

Top Ten Albums of 2025

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An exceptional year for new music, even if much of what follows are late-career triumphs by long-adored artists. Fortunately, there are two entries from singer-songwriters mostly new to me and another by a young Irish musician who seems poised to take over the world. 

10. Suzanne Vega, Flying With Angels

I’d be shocked if Vega in her mid-sixties scored another surprise hit like “Luka” or “Tom’s Diner” but I also never would’ve guessed that she’d put out her best album in nearly twenty years. It helps that she’s not content to rest on her laurels, essaying new-to-her sounds like jaunty post-punk/new wave (“Rats”) or blue-eyed soul verging on yacht rock (“Love Thief”). Her signature sound is as spirited as ever whether it’s pop (the single “Speakers’ Corner”), folk (interpolating classic Dylan on “Chambermaid”) or something in between (the electric, spare title track.)

9. Florence + The Machine, Everybody Scream

Just I began losing faith in Florence Welch, she came roaring back with her most interesting album in a decade. It may not have a single track as immediate as her best (from “My Love” to the immortal “Dog Days (Are Over)”) but she appears to be playing the long game, retaining an ever palpable drive but locating and cultivating a sharpened focus that has often eluded her. She acknowledges her elder status but makes artful, witty, candid sense of it: “It must be nice to be a man and make boring music because you can,” she quips in “One of the Greats”, and she’s only half-joking.

8. Hatchie, Liquorice

On her third album, this Brisbane-bred musician dives even further into lush, heavily-reverbed and multitracked guitar-centric dream pop influenced by the Cocteau Twins and an array of 90s shoegaze bands (especially The Darling Buds, who split the difference between those two genres most successfully.) Arguably, she already perfected this balance on her effervescent (and to-date, still best) song, 2022’s “Quicksand”.  However, her songwriting and arrangements still feel fresh rather than frozen in amber, their sparkling hooks cascading on by in one breathless, euphoric rush, especially on “Sage”, “Lose It Again” and “Only One Laughing”.

7. Cut Copy, Moments

Like fellow Australian Hatchie, this quartet primarily draws from a distant past—in this case, early 80s synth-pop (vocalist Dan Whitford has always resembled The Human League’s Philip Oakey) but they’ve gradually outgrown coming off a tribute act with pop’s aesthetics across the past few decades slowly melding into a timeless, genre-bending whole. Their latest has some of their catchiest and tightest songs in years (“Belong To You” even manages to fold in some pedal steel!) but it also makes room for experiments like the seven-minute title track which thrillingly transforms midway into a hypnotic, Krautrock (or maybe Kraftwerk?)-derived groove.

6. Blood Orange, Essex Honey

Aware of but not really familiar with Dev Hynes’ long-running musical project, his first release in seven years got my attention with its ultra-specific tone (elegiac 80s British sophisti-pop such as Prefab Sprout and Scritti Politti) and unusual song structures (tracks are often broken up by fragments of seemingly unrelated tunes and melodies.) The likes of Lorde and Caroline Polachek make guest appearances but they’re unflashy and as fully integrated into the sonic textures as samples from The Durutti Column and Ben Watt. It unfolds like a melancholic dream, evoking scattered childhood memories as it processes longing, loss and grief.

5. Jens Lekman, Songs For Other People’s Weddings

Released in tandem with a David Levithan novel of the same title (featuring Lekman’s lyrics), both the book and this album spin a narrative of “J”, a wedding singer-for-hire based on this Swede’s own side hustle (itself running parallel to being one of the more distinct singer-songwriters of his generation.) Clocking in at eighty minutes, this first solo release in eight years is easily his most ambitious to date, alternating trademark orchestral pop with electronic breakbeats and scene-setting interludes, pulling off a ten-minute epic (“Wedding in Leipzig”) as nimbly as he does impeccably conceived short stories in half that time (“A Tuxedo Sewn For Two”).

4. Anna Von Hausswolff, ICONOCLASTS

Another Swedish musician, Von Hausswolff’s gothic, cathartic wall of sound couldn’t be further from Lekman’s wistful reveries, even though her first album in five years is nearly as long (and twice as epic) as his latest. Only fleetingly aware of her past output, I immediately took to these loud, dramatic soundscapes (if only she had had the opportunity to work with the late Jim Steinman!) Kindred spirits Ethel Cain and an ever-warbly Iggy Pop show up but the album’s guest MVP is saxophonist Otis Sandsjö whose melodic riffs and raucous squawks unlock seemingly limitless possibilities in Von Hausswolff’s approach, especially on the slippery, startling, propulsive “Struggle With The Beast”.

3. CMAT, Euro-Country

Ciara Mary-Alice Thompson’s third album is this year’s great leap forward. I could sense it from the delightful videos she put out for its pre-release singles and as a whole, it’s only collectively grown on me over the past few months. One could deem her an Irish Chappell Roan but she’s closer to a Gen-Z Kirsty MacColl—clever, cheeky, impassioned, someone you can’t help but root for. She excels at tunes not only packed with memorable choruses but verses and bridges, too, plus a deeply felt perspective all her own, suffused with carefully considered snark (“The Jamie Oliver Petrol Station”) cunning wordplay (“Janis Joplining”) and eloquent heartbreak (“Lord, Let That Tesla Crash” and the sweeping title track.)

2. Saint Etienne, International

When this venerable British trio announced their 13th album would be their last, it was unexpected and bittersweet (they’re not breaking up per se but rather “drawing a line in the sand” and recording no more.) Unlike nearly all of their previous long players, International doesn’t really push their sound anywhere new, exactly, serving more as an “Oops! All Bangers” victory lap. Still, even without that added sense of finality, these twelve solid songs are both triumphant and poignant from opener/lead single “Glad” (as fresh-faced and euphoric as anything on Too Young To Die: Singles 1990-1995) to the cumulative resolve of closer “The Last Time”. A lovely bow on top of a singular discography.

1. Doves, Constellations For The Lonely

It’s awfully rare, but occasionally, upon first listen, you just know you’ve heard what could potentially become one of your all-time favorite albums. After a long absence, this active-in-the-aughts band returned with 2020’s The Universal Want; five years later, they’ve followed it with an astonishing full-length that almost eerily anticipates the chaos and anxiety of how 2025 would play out (or likely was in the air to begin with.) One of the more cinematic, post-Britpop guitar bands to emerge after Radiohead’s OK Computer, they’ve never lacked for ambition, their power-trio dynamics enhanced by their expansive arrangements. Beginning with the supposedly Mad Max-inspired single “Renegade”, each song matches a solid rhythmic foundation with a sense of awe and reaching for transcendence. Even though vocals are now shared between all three members, lead singer Jimi Goodwin still defines them as does the searching and humaneness in their lyrics (“Be careful of those stupid schemes… never let them fill your mind,” Goodwin tenderly warns.) The momentum flows steadily throughout, expertly building in final track “Southern Bell” as it shifts from a mournful lament to a declaration of purpose in its exhilarating, near-apocalyptic second half.

Favorite Albums of 2025: Honorable Mentions

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It’s likely a coincidence, but years ending in the number 5 have personally proven fruitful for new music as of late. 2025’s no exception and while I considered doing a top 20 albums list, I’m relegating it to a more digestible top 10. First, however, fifteen additional titles that didn’t make this top ten but would still wholeheartedly recommend (in alphabetical order by artist.)

Cate Le Bon, Michelangelo Dying. Fitting that this Welsh weirdo got John Cale, the biggest Welsh weirdo of them all to appear on her seventh album. Perhaps not as fine as her beguiling sixth full-length but she remains so convincingly herself that Cate’s always worth the wait.

FKA Twigs, EUSEXUA. Sticking with the original version of this released in January as the November redo somehow nixes its best song, “Girl Feels Good”. Quirky, surprising, genre-defying—if she still hasn’t made something as galvanizing or definitive as Brat or Ray of Light, she’s getting closer.

Ivy, Traces of You. A post-Adam Schlesinger effort (though it works his demo recordings into every track), my skepticism vanished upon hearing those inimitable “do-do-do’s” from the apparently ageless Dominique Durand on the opener and also some of the near Apartment Life-level stuff that follows.

Jeff Tweedy, Twilight Override. Not yet ready to say this 30-track is the best pop triple LP since 69 Love Songs but Tweedy is nothing if not a consistent songwriter and I’m unable to detect any real throwaways here. The charming, rocking “Lou Reed Was My Babysitter” sports the song title of the year.

Maria Somerville, Luster. In these times, I lean towards gauzy, meditative dream-pop for comfort. This Irish musician’s third album courts the more ethereal side of this genre. It blurs together for sure but you’re not left wanting for hooks, just blissfully immersed in her soundscapes.

Matt Berninger, Get Sunk. Haven’t recently heard The National’s two 2023 albums in full but my gut says this new solo one from its vocalist is better than both since it can’t deny the arresting sonic palette of “Inland Ocean” or solid melodies of “Bonnet of Pins”, “Frozen Orange” and “Little By Little”.

Mekons, Horror. After nearly 50 years together, it’s fair not to expect anything new from these beloved underdogs but they haven’t seemed so assured or impassioned since 2002’s essential OOOH! (Out of Our Heads). As they’re a band only a curmudgeon would hate, more of the wonderful same is most welcome.

Patrick Wolf, Crying The Neck. Only faintly familiar with his past work but others have cited his first album in 14 years a welcome return. It got my attention from its first spin: expansive, timeless baroque pop in the tradition of Rufus Wainwright, Owen Pallett and other queer singer-songwriters, including…

Perfume Genius, Glory. With each album, Mike Hadreas’ ongoing project finds new ways of expressing and developing his worldview, resulting in hard-to-classify songs like “It’s A Mirror” and “Clean Heart”: pop songs, for sure but full of doors leading to other rooms, not dead ends but open and free.

Pulp, More. A reunion album from Jarvis Cocker & co. shouldn’t work, but this cheekily-titled one mostly does. Sounding positively involved and inspired, Cocker has gracefully grown into wizened elder he’s always aspired to be, from bangers (the tremendous “Got to Have Love”) to ballads (“Farmers Market”).

Robert Forster, Strawberries. A scant two years after The Candle and The Flame, Forster forges some new paths here from the title track’s Donovan-esque bubblegum to tender character studies (“Foolish I Know”, about queer (!) longing) and epic prose poems (the Go-Betweens worthy “Breakfast On The Train”.)

Stereolab, Instant Holograms On Metal Film. One of the most unexpected of 2025’s many returns-to-form. Granted, they sound exactly like they did in 2010 (and 1995, for that matter) and it proves more a blessing than a curse as they’re still capable of crafting sublime melodies and incomprehensible song titles.

The Tubs, Cotton Crown. Call it The Tubs Leave Home which is to say, a twinge more refined than their debut and ever-so-slightly more accomplished (Johnny Marr would kill for the erudite lead riff on “Narcissist”.) A substantial effort but I anticipate seeing how their Rocket to Russia will turn out.

Wet Leg, Moisturizer. Rhian and Hester would like you to know that they don’t wish to be one-hit wonders (lead single “Catch These Fists” affirms it) and that they’re possibly in it for the long haul while keeping their irreverence in check on playful confections with titles like “Mangetout” and “Pokemon”.

Wolf Alice, The Clearing. These indie-rocking Brits diving headfirst into lush 70s-inspired AOR was not on my 2025 bingo card, nor was the crisp, catchy “White Horses” which resembles a woodsier B-52’s, of all things. Call it their pop sellout move but also call it for what it is: an uncommonly good one.

An Album A Day: # 81-100

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Fifth and final round of this music library listening exercise finds solace in bop-jazz, goth, power-pop and weirdos from France, UK and even Bulgaria.

81. George Russell, “New York, N.Y.” (1959): Cool east coast orchestral jazz with peppy spoken interludes from Jon Hendricks, Rodgers’ &Hart’s “Manhattan” fitting in seamlessly alongside the “East Side Medley” (“Autumn In New York/How About You”), ideal for cocktails or strolling through any city.

82. Kendra Smith, “Five Ways of Disappearing” (1995): This surveys the hypnotic drone you’d expect from an ex-Dream Syndicate member so the relatively jaunty stuff (“In Your Head”, “Maggots”) are welcome surprises. Has a bit of that mid-90s CD-era bloat but given her absence since, I’ll take it.

83. Siouxsie and The Banshees, “A Kiss In The Dreamhouse” (1982): They’re more of a singles-than-albums band than even The Cure. This one’s fine but it’s the only place to easily find the great “Fireworks” (as a bonus track) which led off the now deleted singles comp that was my introduction. 

84. The Chills, “Kaleidoscope World” (2016): 24-track version. Early singles comp runs the gamut from DIY postpunk (“Bite”) to lush janglepop (“Doledrums”) and occasional nods to kindred spirits the Soft Boys (“Dream By Dream”) and Go-Betweens (“Pink Frost”). In other words, essential 80’s indie.

85. Bob Dylan, “Rough and Rowdy Ways” (2020): After years of wheezing his way through the standards, he drops this about-face as if to say, “I’m still Dylan, and you’re not.” He does, in fact, contain multitudes & even has something worth saying about JFK. Does he have another one of these in him?

86. Redd Kross, “Redd Kross” (2024): Endearing sloppy, impassioned power pop’s what they’ve always excelled at; a self-titled 18-track edition of it risks being seen as calculated, but whatever, it works to a degree where by the time it reaches “Born Innocent” most listeners should be all grins.

87. Mel Torme, “Mel Torme’s California Suite” (1957): Mel’s in excellent voice here & the whole thing emits a dry-martini cool that renders its earnestness even more palatable. Gets a little snoozy in the second half, perhaps, but I’ll play it whenever I think of Palm Springs & cruising on the PCH.

88. Trio Bulgarka, “Best Of” (2008): They collaborated with Kate Bush & their appearance in Leah Kardos’ 33 1/3 book on Hounds of Love moved me to hear more. The a cappella tracks best display how unique their voices blend but the rest is unobtrusive until going too heavy on synths near the end.

89. Beyonce, “Cowboy Carter” (2024): I long for the restraint of a super-tight single album instead of this CD-length behemoth, but it showcases her range arguably better than “Renaissance” did with inspired covers & at least a half-dozen classic originals (why wasn’t the zippy “Ya Ya” a single?)

90. Gruff Rhys, “The Almond and The Seahorse” (2023): Was expecting a primarily instrumental/orchestral soundtrack (there’s plenty of the former stuff at the end) but the excess of songs w/vocals renders this not far off from yer usual LP from the guy, only flabbier (it’s a soundtrack, after all.)

91. Julie Byrne, “The Greater Wings” (2023): Takes as much strength to sing quietly, like another instrument within the arrangement as it does to be the engine powering the song. She’s understated by nature but never overpowered by the music even if it takes a few spins for the whole to connect.

92. Miles Davis, “A Tribute to Jack Johnson” (1971): More compact, accessible & fun than “Bitches Brew” (which I do love.) I tend to pick rock over jazz given the choice but this suggests one doesn’t need to choose just one. Also liked the snippet of “In A Silent Way” from my most listened to Miles LP.

93. Michel Polnareff, “Polnareff’s” (1971): My kind of weirdo: psychedelia w/out trying to be “trippy”, sudden shifts in tempo, many out-of-nowhere diversions (galloping “…Mais Encore” could’ve been arranged for Tom Jones.) He’s nearly a French Os Mutantes & if that odd combo appeals, jump on this.

94. Marine Girls, “Lazy Ways/Beach Party” (1983/1981): Best known as Tracey Thorn’s pre-EBTG band, their two albums of skeletal DIY pop startle for their effort & ingenuity: amateurish but charming, not linked to a scene, emulating the Ramones’ approach w/out sounding like anyone but themselves. 

95. Mark Hollis, “S/T” (1998): As with the last two Talk Talk LPs, this defies categorization & discourages casual listening; it follows that a solo project would feel even sparer although the quantity of ideas present doesn’t render it minimalist. An inevitable farewell but I wish he’d done more.

96. Ghost of Vroom, “Ghost of Vroom 1” (2021): This Mike Doughty project’s the Soul Coughing equivalent of “Garfield w/out Garfield”. A novelty for longtime fans even if so much of it could’ve come out 30 years ago, though towards the end (“John Jesus Angleton”) it begins transcending such confines.

97. Oranger, “Everyone Says You’re A Lot of Fun” (2023): Twenty years after the great “Shutdown The Sun” (I was assigned to review it for a website), their uber-melodic power-pop’s still intact but less dynamic & driven as if to say, “We can still do this (if not as robustly as we once did.”)

98. The Dandy Warhols, “Odditorium Or Warlords of Mars” (2005): Tailored (Taylor-Taylor-ed?) to appease hardcore fans & repulse everyone else. I’m more a periodic admirer & might’ve hated it 20 years ago, but it’s solid except for the lengthy closer & the one where Courtney emulates Robert Smith.

99. Scritti Politti, “Early” (2005): The process of finding one’s self in their art as compiled juvenilia. Skanking bass, angular guitars, a snatch of glockenspiel and Gartside pre-falsetto vocally resembling a post-punk George Harrison. Fairly rough whereas his later output seems endlessly smooth. 

100. Flat Duo Jets, “Introducing” (1993): Neko Case raved about ‘em  in her memoir, the White Stripes arguably wouldn’t exist w/out ‘em & admittedly, 20 tracks in 40 minutes is pretty punk. I can get with their reverb-heavy garage rockabilly though I prefer it was wilder & much weirder than this.

An Album A Day: # 61-80

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Round Four includes the usual blend of indie pop, classic jazz and disco camp, plus an album from over 50 years ago that may end up my favorite discovery of 2025.

61. The Felice Brothers, “From Dreams to Dust” (2021): I’ve played the heck out of the sly “Jazz on the Autobahn” but never checked out the rest & it’s strong, nearly an American Weakerthans more influenced by folk than punk. Dry humor & wordplay are also constants from “To-Do List” to “Celebrity X”.

62. Duke Ellington, “The Ellington Suites” (1976): Of the three (rather loosely-themed) suites this collects, The Queen’s Suite (1959), made just for QEII is the warmest and most realized (esp. “The Single Petal of a Rose”); the others, recorded in the 70s are fine but decidedly post-peak Duke.

63. Kid Creole & The Coconuts, “Fresh Fruit In Foreign Places” (1981): I suppose the best 8 (out of 12) songs here are as good as the 8 (out of 8) on their next album even if this is more varied. August Darnell sure pivoted from disco to new wave without diluting his essence or breaking a sweat.

64. Roger Nichols & The Small Circle Of Friends, “S/T” (1968): Always a sucker for late ‘60s sunshine pop so of course I was won over by the first trumpet solo (on track one!) A flop at the time, this studio project has enough nifty hooks and harmonies to render the two Beatles covers superfluous.

65. Jason Falkner, “All Quiet On the Noise Floor” (2009): A Japan-only release, it nearly rivals “Can You Still Feel” (1999), at least until peters out a little near the end. Still, Falkner should be a national treasure for having an identifiable sound and executing it better than anyone else.

66. James Brown, “Soul on Top” (1970): If it’s perverse for him reverting to big-band arrangements while he was made career-defining vamp-heavy funk, note that this came out the year he began work with the JB’s. Being at his peak, the music’s secondary to Brown himself (though it’s still great.)

67. Susanne Sundfor, “Blomi” (2023): Was expecting far less English (after glancing over the song titles) and weirder song structures as well. We know she’s capable of bangers but by continuing withholding them she offers something unexpected and perhaps more novel in a world of Robyn wannabees.

68. Bill Callahan, “Gold Record” (2020): Spotify’s algorithms kept throwing his stuff my way and I see why although he’s more a personality-and-vibes guy than a man with hooks to spare. Rhymes Mel Torme with Kid and Play & that’s clever but his character sketches (“Ry Cooder”) are actually smart.

69. The Czars, “Best Of” (2014): Less goofy & synthy than his solo work, John Grant’s old band’s still defined by his baritone & lyrics. “Killjoy” & “Paint The Moon” might’ve been fluke hits like “Float On” & “Stacy’s Mom” in an alternate universe; all one could ask of this comp is a better title.

70. Thee Headcoats, “The Kids Are All Square, This Is Hip!” (1990): I’ve nothing against & mostly embrace garage punk of all stripes even as I can detect all the obvious influences from Kinks to Cramps. This could use more feminine energy so I’ll have to put Thee Headcoatees in my listening queue.

71. Daniel Rossen, “You Belong There” (2022): Did not realize how much Rossen contributed vocally to Grizzly Bear; isolated, his Garfunkel resemblance is unignorable but Garfunkel rarely had such heady material to sing over. I suspect this requires dedication and patience to unlock its secrets.

72. Madvillain, “Madvillainy” (2004): Sampledelic hip-hop that’s lean & economical (only 3 of 21 tracks exceed 3 minutes) while also exuding a limitless range of ideas & possibilities. Closer to Since I Left You than Operation: Doomsday although a deeper dive down the rabbit hole than either.

73. Silver Convention, “Madhouse” (1976): Christgau designated this “Protest Disco” but it’s not far from “Fly, Robin, Fly” (“Magic Mountain” affably recalls it). Pales a bit compared to Donna Summer’s concept LPs of the time, except when it’s transcendent camp (“Breakfast In Bed”, not a cover).

74. Terry Callier, “What Color Is Love” (1972): Turns out soul-folk is completely my thing (his resembling a male Dionne Warwick at times also helps.) Everything here is a marvel of warmth, grace and urgency, genuine instead of a grand statement and hopefully a portal to similar records/sounds.

75. The Coral, “The Coral” (2002): Only familiar with this decade’s output, their debut’s far rougher than expected, more beholden to primal boogie than the Beatles-esque touches of Super Furry Animals & their ilk. I guess one had to be there for it didn’t register much on this side of the pond.

76. Sofia Kourtesis, “Madres” (2023): Deep into the night at the club, everything’s kicking in, the music’s a bit of a blur but still registers if only as background noise, it only feels secondary yet you can’t imagine it not being there, it adds something vital even if you can’t articulate it.

77. Laurie Anderson, “Amelia” (2024): A typically idiosyncratic spin on Earhart’s story, embodying both the external & internal chaos that has remained her specialty since “O Superman”. ANONHI’s a welcome addition even if relegated to the mix; still prefer Joni Mitchell’s *song* of the same name.

78. Bee Gees, “Odessa” (1969): Long-praised as their pre-disco magnum opus, I was relieved it turned out to be more than lachrymose ballads like single “First of May”. The orchestral stuff conjures up a Beatles trying to top Sgt Pepper’s while a dozen other left turns legitimize their weirdness.

79. Matt Berry, “Gather Up (Ten Years On Acid Jazz)” (2021): He’d be better known for his music if he sang as well as he spoke but at least he doesn’t half-ass it (as L. Cravensworth might remark.) A magpie devoted to post-Beatles, pre-Nirvana pop & this comp’s enough to make me want to hear more.

80. AHI, “The Light Behind The Sun” (2025): If his rousing 2021 single “Danger” was reminiscent of prime Seal, this is closer to the later, adult-contemporary version: tasteful, understated & sadly, bland. The simple song titles also don’t help distinguish this pleasant but unmemorable product.