If you're not diligent, music can pass you by. That's true now more than ever. Artists have the tools to create and release new music at any moment with the push of a button. This means any newcomer—any passionate or lonely kid in a room with a song in his or her head—can have as much power as any established artist with a SoundCloud. In many ways the streaming age has become the great equalizer. Lil Peep, a largely unknown emo rapper, can amass internet fame and help direct the future of a new hybrid genre. Yet music this year was defined by outrage, by progress, by passion and escapism. Listen to our or at the bottom of the page. This is where Lamar synthesizes DAMN. It could be the greatest exploration of mortality in hip-hop, a universal song that's breathlessly honest to Lamar's own experience, place in the world, faith, and the fears that come with all of it. Sure, her formative years were hardly normal, but she seems to have a removed objectivity about her peers that makes her an authority. Instead she exists in a fascinating middle ground. There's something transcendent about the movements, which grow from a feel-good motif to a spiritual chorus of voices. There's a true zest for life, like this is what happiness should feel like. It's possible to get so lost in the song's many wordless emotions that you can miss the drums, which almost ceaselessly shred for the entire quarter of an hour. Truth is life, it's growth, it's beauty, it's everything we take for granted while bombarded with television news, with the politics of hatred and conflict. This is a reminder that there's something greater out there. His whispering soprano is as delicate as a sob and as intimate and familiar as your own bedroom. His music is something to carry with you to augment your own experiences, which in the context of a movie provides the perfect emotional companion. Is it a person, is it a biblical allusion, or neither—just an expression of a feeling? It makes total sense, too, as the song takes Cardi B's no-fucks-given approach to life that made her an Instagram and reality star. If that's not the perfect encapsulation of popular culture in 2017, then I don't know what is. It's a fascinating section of the song, and it's almost impossible to tell if her vocals are looped or if each utterance of the phrase is live. It's a chant that draws the listener into a trance, and even if her vocals are looped, each one sounds powerful—unique as if it's the first time she's ever sung the phrase. It's a performance that's never eclipsed by the pristine sound production on the rest of the band. Writers, critics, and fans have tried endlessly to explain him, to make sense of the often crazy and sometimes brilliant shit he does in his music, his lyrics, and his performances. On his latest album, he again surprises every listener by making something that seems truly sincere. It happens again as Rihanna comes into her verse with a confident, comfortable groove. His general aesthetic, his balance of emo and hip-hop, into something weird and unique, was a taste I was slowly coming to terms with when he died in November at the age of 21 from an overdose. This song remains a haunting reminder of the dangers of depression and drug abuse—one that has become a wake-up call for his many fellow artists and fans. In fact, her following has gotten so big that she's embarking on her own arena tour in 2018. And that's because Lipa's mournful but upbeat pop music has arrived at the perfect time, when it feels like there's not much to be overtly happy about. For everyone, all races, sexes, everything. And it's not the bravest stance. But, hell, it's nice that he's not problematic. Along with the nostalgic, Beatles-esque ballad build and chord progression, there's ultimately something so safe and comforting about this song. Styles is on your side. Having been buzzing for the better part of a year, the band was a fresh take on a throwback, psych-leaning sound—propelled by the effortless style of frontwoman Julia Cumming. Now, returning with their first new taste of new music since their arrival, the band has refined its sound, cleaned up a little touch, and added a lovely bit of mid-summer charm. Thankfully, Karin Dreijer has returned as Fever Ray, a music project that 2017 needed for so many reasons. To be stuck forever thinking about boys means picturing Riz Ahmed with a teddy bear or Mac DeMarco licking a guitar. But the video itself is good evidence of how well Charli understands meme-able culture. Somehow, she morphs a clichéd theme—daydreaming about hunks—into something that feels fresh for the Internet Age. They have no problem with it, moving around on the beat like it's a goddamn jungle gym. Normally jams that go on for more than 20 seconds aren't typically my thing, yet Morby transcends masturbatory instrumentation. This is a tribute to the ebbs and flows of music, a sound in flux that can grow, morph, and change. With her debut album, Ctrl, SZA is the most-nominated woman at the 2018 Grammys, and this song is proof of why she absolutely deserves that honor. But the way that his voice comes and goes and pulses in and out and stretches at its own whim, cutting himself off and crescendoing at unexpected moments, he pivots what could could be a simple song into something that's challenging for reasons you can't quite put your finger on. There's also no real linear construction. Like Ocean always does, he leaves you wanting more, and he makes you come back for answers. This is song seems to defy all logic, with a chorus of voices, fluttering synths, blasts of cymbal, and a swirl of noises that get nearly close enough to grasp. It's there, on Ocean's big return, that Alex G is listed among the contributors. It's a bubbling melancholy track carried to new heights with Alex G's helium computerized vocals. Emotion was the album that Katy Perry and Lady Gaga wanted—and are still trying desperately—to make. It's smart, precinct pop music that would sound like laboratory bubblegum if it wasn't so plugged into emerging tastes. Just let loose to it—jump on your bed in your underwear, be your own '80s rom-com montage, hang through the sunroof of a limo. Just let Jepsen—who must have been genetically engineered to be a pop star—transport you to a world without problems. It's another unflinching analysis of himself, his surroundings, and society as a whole. There's always the want-you-back phase, and when that inevitably arises, we now have Haim to turn around a shitty feeling. For all its Fleetwood Mac-appropriate relationship drama, Haim's return after the breakout success of Days Are Gone is anything but a mood-ruiner. Those big opening chords, that slappy bass line, and the beautiful call-and-response vocals are enough to turn around any bad vibes. A Popcaan song can survive in any market in the world, which has become the key to success in this modern music ecosystem defined by streaming numbers. And few acts have defied the constraints of genre than Gorillaz. Self-described music diplomat Damon Albarn has collaborated with Popcaan on a track that maintains their individual backgrounds, while elevating the track into an eerie and universal experience. For their sophomore album, the L. The music is louder, it's more devoted, but it maintains their intimate harmonies, and that sensitivity that's so damn relatable. And somehow in that time the band has neither abandoned its sound for something more modern or felt like it's living in the past. Phoenix has always sounded timeless, if only because Phoenix has always sounded like Phoenix. The world might change, fads might come and go, but Phoenix will remain an ageless example of exceptional French style. A playlist—that's just a word. But his is how he labeled More Life, his batch of 22 new songs. Rather than release a bunch of clinical tracks manufactured for maximum commercial value as he did on Views, Drake could finally relax. It's certainly Drake at his most unabashedly cheesy. It's Drake making a hit by not trying to make a club banger. I'd imagine the latter is the closest to the real deal. This is a lavish, existential hangover that can only be realized after becoming the wise, aging sage of hipsterdom. In the music world that's an eon—especially for a young band with as much forward momentum and buzz as Fleet Foxes had in 2011. Plus it's been six years—take every second you can get! It's clear that frontman Robin Pecknold, who took a break to finish school, returns with a tighter grasp on musical theory. The song is challenging in its abrupt dynamic changes and harmonic juxtaposition. But at its heart—those stunning harmonies—it remains the band that created a new direction for indie music in the late 2000s. He's kind of like a folk music troll—a modern embodiment of the traveling bard, but one who gets to your town and makes a mockery of your scene. But at the same time, it's hard to doubt the sincerity of his music, which is often preachy about the many failings of humanity. Whatever his intentions on this song, he's produced a melodically dynamic and truly beautiful ballad for a man checking his phone with his final breath. On one hand, her music has overwhelming romanticized imagery of youth culture that makes teenagers love her. But on the other hand, it's so goddamn surreal and creepy. But that's what makes Lana fascinating as hell. DeMarco is Neil Young if Young spent more time on the beach and cared less about shit. This breezy acoustic number, like Young's classic, contemplates aging and masculinity. But DeMarco seems to at once acknowledge it and not be at all worried about it. And in the face of mortality, that's the most comforting thing I can think of. Harris makes big, dumb, fun music that's either just big, dumb, and fun or just a sappy breakup track about Taylor Swift. Fortunately, anything Ocean touches is instantly gold, and here, even when he half-asses his vocals, he turns Harris' tropical disco beat into an absolute delight. And if you weren't having a good time yet, Migos come in to bark and woo and splash the song with onomatopoeia. The world sucks anyway, so fuck it, and let Harris, Ocean, and Migos make it more bearable. But in the U. It's a five-minute, unflinching personal examination with a mid-tempo breakbeat and Stormzy in complete control of his flow. But since, on paper, this album came out in 2017 and it didn't make it on our 2016 lists, we'll include RTJ here. If half of rap is about bragging, then RTJ are the best at bragging about bragging. Killer Mike and El-P are the only ones with the writing skills to pen their own legendary status. Their militant assault of pop culture references and jokes can swipe between Tinder and Fargo and The Godfather within an instant. In a year where we need humor and politics from these two funny, well read guys, Run the Jewels started it off strong. This could have been another sadboy, lonely piano ballad. But Sampha's delivery is sincere, it's raspy like he's spent the night crying, and it's believable. This isn't a metaphor. That piano, the one he's playing, is real, and you can just hear him sitting there writing this melody all alone. It dives into the wordless chorus with a bass slide, and it's beautiful and so brief. It's almost beautiful, it's menacing, theatrical, and the serious larger-than-life artist story that Migos must picture themselves living. And no one can say they're wrong. Nothing feels natural when you watch the news, look at the Internet, or in any way communicate with another member of American society in 2017. Sadly, it's the perfect time for an art-punk debut as confident and fierce as Priests'. You don't even need to give it a name. Ironically, this song in this time is the only thing that does feel natural.
