Quarter 1
Gut - Baths
Gut refers to Will Wiesenfeld allowing his impulses to direct his music. From the throbbing beat on “Eden” (which is about having sex with an angel) or the cheery vocals yelling “that’s that!” after Wiesenfeld asserts that “carnal is a normal mode,” there is an instinctive, muscular twitch to every song. Wiesenfeld sings about the grotesque and the beautiful in the same angelic coo. Queer sex is at the center of Gut as it catalogues fucking both as an annihilating, freedom giving act, but also views as a normal, even inane. Wiesenfeld’s exploration of queerness refuses anything easy, and on closer “The Sound of a Flower Blooming” (maybe his best song yet) he meditates with a stunning two part suite. His impulse was correct; he watched a thousand possible futures evaporate as unrequited love destroyed him, and he had to make a song whose gorgeousness becomes completely overwhelming, a heavenly light sharpened until it blinds. Wiesenfeld should always listen to his Gut.
Nothing - DARKSIDE
Nicolas Jaar’s very lineage speaks to American violence. His family is Chilean-Palestinian, two groups of people who can speak to the horrors the United States can inflict on a whim. His solo work has often focused on the Chilean junta that disappeared thousands, but with Nothing, he speaks more directly about empire, and terror, coming home. With guitarist Dave Harrington and percussionist Tlacael Esparza, the newest Darkside project brings things to a simmer, all nocturnal tension and implied threats. Dub, cumbia, and reggae filter through each song with snatches of lyrics jittering through the fog. On centerpiece “American References,” a chorus of Jaars, singing in Spanish, recite insults and a ritual before Esparza cuts the song wide open with a battalion of percussion instruments, reimagining House music through classic rock. “Are you tired? Keep on singing,” Jaar sighs, to the world at large and himself.
Opening Night - MK Velsorf & Aase Nielsen
Strip the Miami Vice soundtrack of all cultural context and it becomes a bleak, lonely listen. How did a collection of smoldering guitars, dampened drum effects, and muted piano become ‘80s shorthand for a cocaine-infused cool? Perhaps MK Velsorf & Aase Nielsen, being Danish, have enough distance to rediscover that sound as the truly eerie landscape it could be. Opening Night, Velsorf and Nielsen’s live score to the, yes, opening of an art venue in LA, is as eerie as it is gorgeous. The piano work is straight out of the most harrowing X Files stings, and the slices of shuddering guitar suggest an evil Durutti Column. Opening Night stands next to The Caretaker’s hauntology opus An Empty Bliss Beyond This World or any of James Ferraro’s dystopian vaporwave, haunting both in implication and sheer beauty.
Food from the Gods - Black Milk and Fat Ray
Perpetually underrated Detroit beatsmith Black Milk has strong magic. Though indebted to ‘90s boom-bap, he slathers his production with psychedelic detours and classic rock muscle. Long time co-conspirator Fat Ray delivers brickbusting, burly bars over the swirling haze, nimbly dancing between jokes and threats.
45 Pounds - YHWH Nailgun
There’s a certain strain of “experimental” rock that seems to think a few jam influences, odd time signatures, and a hurdy-gurdy makes them wacky. NYC quartet YHWH Nailgun, meanwhile, sounds like a volcano collapsing in on itself and that does make them experimental. 45 Pounds is the year’s most blistering album, rock or otherwise, its brutal foundation resting upon the mighty, calamitous drum work of Sam Pickard, and the emotional through-line woven between a mutinous amalgam of guitars and synths.
CODE NOIR - Quinton Barnes
“I’m a savage/I’m a sad bitch,” slurs Quinton Barnes. He’s more the former than the latter on CODE NOIR. The Canadian rapper blends R&B, hip-hop, house, hyperpop, and anything else that would inject his beats with color and panache. There are moments of vulnerability, but Barnes is mostly here to celebrate and giggle, comparing high philosophical concepts with his ass; “y’all can’t grasp” either.
Mindig kések, de hozzád jókor indultam - Barkóczi Noémi
It’s an absolute treat when a band you know nothing about, in a language you don’t understand, still conveys beauty and emotion. Hungarian indie-pop quartet Barkóczi Noémi dropped this lovely offering of sweet tunes that pluck influences from shoegaze, jangle pop, and straightforward radio hooks that reminds me of The Cardigan’s most plush moments.
Humanhood - The Weather Station
After years of threatening through singles, one-offs, and her live show, The Weather Station has finally made her Sophisti-pop album. And it is glorious. Sweeping arrangements with a full orchestra stuffed in Tamara Lindeman’s pocket accent her stories of longing and apocalypse. A few years ago, she crafted the perfect heel turn “Robber,” moving from folk-rock into a shimmering, disco-influenced pop world, but never fully returned to the promise that song made, until Humanhood. Every song seems to come from the view of a bird, soaring over a city, witnessing all its beauty and chaos.
!OK! - Khadija Al Hanafi
Footwork is the most fractional, fiction-filled form of dance music. Its modern masters, like Jlin, often use it as a brutal instrument, shifting rhythms made for a dancefloor being destroyed. So it’s nice, every once in a while, to have something lighter and mischievous. !OK! from Tunisian producer Khadija Al Hanafi is a lark. An immaculately produced, feverishly fun lark, but a lark none the less. The album is filled with Nintendo DS nostalgia, dirty jokes, and micro jams that leap to the next idea out of sheer, hyperactive glee.
Entre Tus Flores - Miramar
Melodrama cannot sustain itself alone. There must be moments of respite, of sweetness. The soap opera cannot be constant heel turns and evil twin brothers. Miramar flaunts this balance of outsized drama and softness with aplomb. The Virginia trio work in Latin and Cuban rhythms, a full orchestra backing their Bolero odes to lost love and friendship. The biggest moments churn and moan like a ship lost at sea, but it’s the smaller, more gentle songs that usher in new listeners, as comforting and warm as a lover offering a quilt to share.
Points of Origin - Will Stratton
A pyromaniac haunts Points of Origin. John Leonard Orr, a serial arsonist who was also a fire investigator, shambles through Will Stratton’s excellent new album as a wayward grim reaper. But fire itself does not haunt Points of Origin. How could it when it’s the blazing heart of the album? From the former conman forecasting his propane-fueled death to the eon-spanning “Red Crossed Star,” which charts thousands of years of crimes and flames carving California, fire is all matter and all that matters.
Stratton’s story telling slots between the dirtbag ponderings of Warron Zevon and Hannah Frances’ rot filled meditations. His characters are lively, flawed, always running from themselves and the flames that threaten to take everything they hold dear. Song by song Stratton’s remarkable knack for crafting empathy grows deeper and deeper, ensuring we must see ourselves in these flailing and failing coots, and the fears that hold them.