Best Albums of 2025
Dancin’ in the Streets - Rat Heart
Something is in the water not just in Copenhagen but in the North Sea—the sonar doesn’t exist yet to map whatever made its way to Bristol in time for the Tara Clerkin Trio to make On the Turning Ground, but the next coastal city to be hit thus far is Wigan, cradle of Northern Soul, whose resident DJ and curmudgeonly stoner Tom Boogizm has stepped down from the decks and put the spliff down long enough to make the best album to emerge from the whole cloud-rock/cpn+ shebang since Suntub. My fellow critic Eli Schoop has complained of the new crop of dreamy bedroom geniuses focusing on aesthetics at the expense of craft, but when Boogizm loops the perfect sample from the perfect recording of the perfect song by the greatest artist of all time—I won’t say who due to the tendency of his fractious estate to go on the offensive—there’s no doubt he knows what he’s doing. Nor when the spoken word bit that’s obligatory on ambient albums these days is actually good this time, and funny. Boogizm already had the tools to make something like this; a scan of his Bandcamp reveals years of Burialesque rave ghosts and lo-fi singer-songwriter scratchings (this year’s DDS067 EP is fantastic). But the ineffable thing in the air, the thing somehow keeping dream pop in 2025 from being boring, needed to react with Boogizm’s experiments for him to make his best music yet.
Equus Asinus & Equus Caballus - Men I Trust
I caught Men I Trust at the top of their massive 2025 tour behind their two new albums, named after the scientific names for donkey and horse; Equus Asinus and Equus Caballus. The ass came first, in March, a steamy, jazz odyssey through an intoxicating fog of pianos, strings and woodwind instruments that find the band fearlessly pursuing the ambitious, jazzy compositions that would get swallowed up by all but the most intimate bars and small theaters. Then came the legs, 12 tight post-punk, ambient sophisti-pop tunes that drive the slinky, upbeat, instantly familiar warmth of their most popular songs to a hearty canter. It’s a savvy split; they didn’t play any of the Asinus songs live, while finding room in their jam-packed setlist for all 12 Caballus songs. It’s encouraging to see a fiercely independent band find ways to rise to their moment in their own way, bringing the crowd-pleasing, weighted blanket post-punk rippers for the tour and festivals, and the steamy, slinking, smoky piano bar odyssey for the heads.
Fragile Wings - Cave Sermon
When I interviewed Charlie Park, the Aussie master behind post-metal band Cave Sermon, we talked about teenage rituals at Christmas tree ponds, confused family lineages, and opals conferring mystical power. That sort of folk esoterica isn’t obvious at first blush with Fragile Wings. Despite its beautiful guitar lines and mystic background: this is a heavy fucking album. The rhythm section churns and prowls in time with Park’s own pained barks. But on songs like album centerpiece “Moloch” a delicate dance begins. The drums and bass roar for blood, but the guitars spiral upward into folk-inspired solos, pirouetting over stormy seas. Fragile Wings takes off and achieves flight with grace and power. (Listen to our interview)
Gift Songs/September - Jefre Cantu-Ledesma
The delicate, winding pianos and droning tones of Gift Songs sound like a flower blooming in a cup of tea, flowing in a river that is both flowing and still. September’s arid waves and chirping ambience literally sound like the month of September. What more do you want?
Gut - Baths
Sometimes you fuck an archangel so hard you melt into light and sometimes your shitty boyfriend ghosts you at a party. You dream up a new boyfriend, who everyone approves of, then have “oral sex weightless on a haunted lake.” Baths’ Will Wiesenfeld has always focused on the minutia of sex and love, but on Gut he blows up every emotion and detail to thunderous hysteria. “Carnal is a normal mode,” he sings, with a chorus replying “that’s that!” welcoming you to join the delirium. The clattering indietronica of “Homosexuals” and “Cedar Stairwell” underscores his most tentative emotions, only to hook nitro glycerin up to the instruments and let the Gabber-infused “Chaos” rip. But his most euphoric, dangerous moment comes when he’s never touched; the unrequited love that tears him apart on album closer “The Sound of a Blooming Flower.” One part Bjork tribute and another a rock opera in miniature, the song sounding like it's being torn at the seams from its own overwhelming power. But that’s what sex and love does to the body and the soul isn’t it? (Listen to our interview)
I Love My Computer - Ninajirachi
Nina really said, “Here’s a technophile’s techno files.” And it’s giving mother…board.
Jokes aside, let me tell you about a love letter to early internet nostalgia, as told through some of this generation’s most promising EDM production chops. The early days of web surfing were genuinely full of endless wonder and possibilities - something that feels less and less true as corporations shove a heavily curated feed of dystopic nonsense in our face. But growing up with a sea of infinite knowledge splashing at our fingertips reinforced that the sky actually was the limit - that anything and everything was achievable. As a result, even if we wouldn’t go so far as to “fuck our computers,” the relationships that we developed with our devices were admittedly some of the strongest we will ever have.
Ninajirachi might be the first to shine as intimate a light on this shared experience; and as a fan of EDM through the digital age, this is a dream come true. She’s captured lightning in a bottle, marrying the off-the-wall spirit of early Skrillex with the life-loving hyperpop exuberance of late Porter Robinson, demonstrating all the deftness of a savant born and raised on pirated FL Studio. The result is front-to-back bangers, a heartwarming earnestness coloring the roller-coaster-level adrenaline spikes. From club destroyers like “London Song” and “CSIRAC” to rhapsodic head-nodders like “iPod Touch” and “Delete,” Nina showcases an effortless versatility that’s turning the head, dropping the jaw, and stirring the soul of even the most dedicated disciple of the craft.
But the moment I knew this album was destined to be one of the frontrunners of the genre was the first time I heard “Infohazard.” As rose-tinted as we can be about the days of true digital freedom, we also have a universal understanding of the unique traumas that came from unfiltered searching. The juxtaposition of discussing an extremely distressing and vulnerable shock-site experience at a young age with the unparalleled elation of perfected DDR-inspired trance production is fucking INSPIRED.
A Jackal’s Wedding - Westerman
Westerman sold his gear, moved to Greece, and made his best album yet. A Jackal’s Wedding plays like Bon Iver’s 22 a Million on a 200 dollar budget and stopwatch. Will Westerman’s collection of fading electronics and shuffling percussion underpins his beautiful, flexible tenor. He lopes between emotions, like the ambiguity of “About Leaving” empowering its bitterness. The same goes for the humid, worrying beauty of “Mosquito” or the baroque grace of “PSFN.” But A Jackal’s Wedding’s best moment is its simplest. “Spring” has Westerman, a few vocal loops, and a dusty piano surveying emotional wreckage “a scream cut through the din.” But he delivers a ray of light in his delicate coo “looks like you could use a spring cleaning,” his words a friendly hand reaching out of the dark.
Lake Fire - Loscil
Loscil returns with his gravest and most burden-laden release to date. “Lake Fire” sounds and feels like a dying forest and a dystopian aftermath, each track painting the picture of a monolithic, ever-flowing, yet largely motionless presence threatening to swallow the stereo field if not for the fighting spirit of a few glints of timbral twinkling looping and drifting throughout. The interplay of these elements makes for an enthralling, soul-reverberating experience as seedling ideas blossom into nocturnal arboretums only to succumb to muffled fogs and stifling ash. The frosty swirls of panned wind noise, the gritty crackle of subtle cymbals, and the embers of faint pad layers all culminate in a static funerary march of impending doom - a very resonant setting as our environmental clock accelerates and we hurl toward the end of the world at unprecedented speeds. May this atmospheric warning be a salve as we forge the path of resistance and work to heal what's left.
Let God Sort 'Em Out - Clipse
Sixteen years have passed since Til the Casket Drops dropped, and with Pusha T's solo success and the uncertainty surrounding Malice, I was sure we'd never be here. And where is here? Here is in 2025, where we have the new and best all around highest quality Clipse album in our lucky hands.
Let God Sort 'Em Out is a miracle both in the fact that it is a front to back 10/10 classic rap album and that it even exists at all in the first place. The rhymes, the beats, the triple entendres, the style, the bravado, THE CONFIDENCE, the sequencing, yuuugh! Since its release in July, I walk around all damn day just muttering all of these masterful lines under my breath. I wake up in the middle of the night with Pusha's "So Be It" verse bobbing and weaving through my brain. "...fuck around get your body traced tryna test me, 'cause n_____ that I'm with like to draw when it's sketchy..." Are you serious?? Even the lines that aren't some insanely complex triple meaning or rhyme pattern are infectious. All of it, every single second, is just impossibly cool. "...diamonds the light show, looking like the sun in the club!" "...index yank 'till it's numb!" I've been screaming "YELLOW DIAMONDS LOOK LIKE PEE PEE" since "Ace Trumpets" dropped as the first single. I've been howling the "F.I.C.O." hook like my life depends on it. I've been spinning the ballerinas that are doing pirouettes inside of my snow globe and twirling your bitch like she in spaghetti. I've been stunting with the dior slides made of iguana and the Ferrari leather with the matching stitching, because they don't know what it is when I'm on it, and once they figure it out, I don't want it! I saw them perform live twice this year and, being that I bought Lord Willin' the day it came out, it felt like a full circle moment that I didn't think I'd ever get. Between songs the guys would banter to the crowd, bragging "Rap album of the year, EASY!"
Los Thuthanaka - Los Thuthanaka
Every so often, I am reminded of a particular nightmare I had as a child, the imagery of which I can still instantly conjure. Jagged neon outlines of mutant beasts crackle and twist in a sea of perfect darkness. Their grotesque faces contort. Saturated hues grow brighter… brighter still– as if these creatures are unable to contain their own frenetic energy and may explode at any moment. Upon waking, I was terrified. I felt that by having simply constructed the idea of these demons, my brain had opened a portal through which they could enter the waking world.
Nearly three decades later, the sounds bursting forth from the debut album by duo Los Thuthanaka have reopened this portal. However, while the alien entities emerging from it have retained their imposing appearance, they do not instill fear, but awe.
For the last 10+ years, siblings Chuquimamani-Condori (credited by their first name Elly in the album’s liner notes) and Joshua Chuquimia Crampton have carved out two interwoven yet distinct niches within the experimental underground. Chuquimamani-Condori’s work has explored blends of club music, DJ mixes, psychedelia, cumbia, caporal, and other Andean rhythms, building a nuanced contemporary reflection of their Aymara heritage. The result is densely layered and infectiously boisterous, often reminding me of stingers from an interdimensional radio station. Elly’s brother Joshua explores similar conceptual territories, but wields an electric guitar in place of his sibling’s CDJs. Josh’s output is also dense and noisy, but meditates carefully on rhythm. Delay trails stretch out to infinity; looping distorted leads cut through walls of chords like laser beams. While Josh and Elly have teamed up before, this album finds their individual stylings meshing more effortlessly than ever.
With English-translated titles like “Cat Warlock Ant”, “Tunupa the Walker”, and “Queer Grandma”, it is easy to see each of these songs as living breathing entities. In some cases, Josh’s heavy riffs create a lumbering foundation for Elly’s mercurial sonic playground to swirl around (see Huayño “Ipi Saxra”), painting a picture of some towering giant shaking the earth with its every step. But when the guitar work becomes more gestural and less distorted, the entire arrangement is lifted into the heavens, giving these song-creatures wings on which to fly (“Q’iwanakax-Q’iwsanakax Utjxiwa” and the absolutely transcendent Parrandita “Sariri Tunupa”). Josh and Elly have built a world with this album, one that dazzles and mystifies. The addictive nature of these sounds stems from their consistent ability to slip through my fingers. Los Thuthanaka is the sound of pain, power, destruction, hope, and longing all at once. I have never heard anything like it.
The spells cast on Los Thuthanaka are my reminder that fear is fueled by incomprehension. If we invite them in, even the most fearsome monster can begin to feel like a friend.