50-31 | 30-11 | 10-1 | EP/Live/Compilation

10. The Ocean – Phanerozoic II: Mesozoic | Cenozoic

[Bandcamp] // [Spotify]

The modern era of The Ocean Collective — a settled aggregate as opposed to the revolving door era of the early 2000s — forced audiences across the metal world to pay attention with Pelagial. Unlike the prior -centric series, it was a record that combined the band’s growing emphasis on atmosphere with their crushing post-metal soundscapes, threatening sludge background, and emerging vocal talent in Loic Rossetti. No longer did an identity crisis plague the group; their newfound individuality, birthed from the novel ambient and progressive leanings, had been solidified in perhaps the crew’s best flowing and paced output in a titanic discography. Striving to succeed such a laudable effort with yet another concept release dual threat seemed like a second chance, correcting the criticism of years past. Armed to the teeth with members that had now begun to cooperate at a high level, the run began with the promising Phanerozoic I: Palaeozoic, which was designed with consistency in mind — a goal that the record, what with its stunning sonic environments populated by massive riffs and evocative moods, certainly excelled at reaching. Per the band’s own admissions, cliché as it may be from a marketing perspective, a treasure trove of surprises awaited in the anticipated second part. Eyes were predictably rolled in anticipation, yet what emerged precisely as advertised: a product that aimed to test those interested. It is as much a music experience as it is a thought exercise.

Stacked against its prior entries, Phanerozoic II: Mesozoic | Cenozoic lacks the outward pacing brilliance and commendable adherence to progression between tracks. By all accounts, it immediately presents itself as unbalanced, distributing hefty tunes to only the forefront, leaving shorter cuts to the finale. What manages to tie these disparate moments together is a tangible temper that unravels over an album that, in its instrumental and lyrical content, delves directly into the collapse of humanity and the animals that preceded us. There’s nothing ambiguous about inarguable highlight “Jurassic | Cretaceous”, what with its prose intertwining the fate of the dinosaurs with that of civilization today; The Ocean foresees a demise in fire and ash, where the life is slowly choked out of unfortunate survivors. The inevitable termination announces itself in a cataclysmic meteor strike, the expectancy of which came about in the mysterious aura of “Triassic”. Beyond that point of destruction, the record spirals into pensive, somber depths as the aftermath must be reckoned with, as well as the oncoming surge of hominids. This is painted as less of a triumph and more of a melancholic certainty, the encroachment of cold synths embodying this sensation seamlessly. It’s as if the band become more detached by the reality they observe, silently slipping into morose string compositions and apathetic vocals. Leaving behind one last warning siren in the ominous “Pleistocene”, Phanerozoic II crumbles under the weight of its implications. There is no glory or bombast in the conclusion following in “Holocene”; all that remains is a crushing truth to be glumly accepted.

Much like how Pelagial descended further into the nadirs of the Earth’s waters, incrementally increasing the pressure imposed by the heightening sludge passages, Phanerozoic II finds itself on a profound journey, only in reverse: rising to an apex, only to unceremoniously descend from the pinnacle, progressing further in time while aspirations conversely crumble to the dust of conflict and industry. The tracks produced for this eighth effort are as dense as ever, inviting return trips to unearth their moody interiors, plunging into a foreboding existentialism punctuated by a varied singing exhibition, haunting ambience, and thrilling post-metal riffs. By doing so, The Ocean finally threaded the needle that had formerly been so elusive on the -centric LPs, combining a daunting atmospheric approach with a biting metal framework. Attaching this to a narrative that depicts the extinction of morality, spirit, and life as a whole, makes for a captivating adventure capable of invading a listener’s conscious for days on end. These impactful sensations amount to a record worthy of belonging in the collective’s impressive catalogue, inspiring contemplation and profound appreciation for the pursuit of music in a deeply relatable manner. There’s no difficulty in feeling divided in a year that forced populations to shelter themselves for a greater good. This is the soundtrack to a crumbling state of existence as has been previously understood. As soon as the first note plays, it’s hard not to dwell on the thought — do you feel disconnected? –Mitchell D. W.

9. Jeff Rosenstock – NO DREAM

[Bandcamp] // [Spotify]

8. Hum – Inlet

[Bandcamp] // [Spotify]

For all its expansive nuances, Inlet crashed into 2020 with the weight of a thousand bricks. After it quietly appeared on streaming services in late June, it initially didn’t feel quite… real. Surely a new Hum album couldn’t actually exist? Surely it had to be one of those Spotify mix-ups where some random Drake rip-off using the same moniker ended up on the band’s page?

Yeah, no.

The first seconds of opener “Waves” confirmed that this very much was the one and only Hum, with the sludgy, echoing riffage solidifying the album’s first gut punch. Yet, experiencing Inlet in full turned out to be imperative to the consolidation of its full impact: somehow, the record is able to weigh up against the band’s classic ’90s output by drowning all the familiar gaze-grunge elements in an even hazier, more voluminous approach. Moving at a consistently slow, firm pace, the sheer quality of each song manages to make the album feel like a breath of fresh air and an absolute wrecking ball at once. Hum have always been dynamic songwriters, showcasing this to a great extent as every moment appears constructed to allow the next to shine even brighter. When “Desert Rambler” sees fit to focus on a quiet twinkling for two uninterrupted minutes, it makes perfect sense not only through its solitary beauty, but also in the way it amplifies the force with which the full band crashes back into focus moments later.

“The Summoning”, the centerpiece of Inlet and potentially the band’s best song, exemplifies Hum’s destructive beauty most clearly. The first six minutes are propelled by a massive, scenic stoner-esque riff that crushes anything in its path before the song collapses on itself and a quiet, lingering echo is all that remains. As vocalist Matt Talbott returns for the finale, wistfully exclaiming “Just a twist and I’m gone / Through the ether and on to home,” the towering climax feels like that of a distant memory. The soaring distortion has left its fresh, shimmering marks, yet Hum are moving on: persistently and delicately pushing through the atmosphere, sacrificing neither density nor grace. –Jesper L.

7. Phoebe Bridgers – Punisher

[Official site] // [Spotify]

My dad was always lukewarm on Michael Jackson. I remember him saying that he liked him “before he was Michael,” as if the name itself was what poisoned the well. It’s easy to see why he thought becoming a brand changed Michael’s sound. But your name becoming more than just that changes things permanently — either it gets to your head or everyone else’s.

In 2020, Phoebe Bridgers became a brand. Her image now is a far cry from when her 2017 debut Stranger in the Alps plopped into the indie pond like a medium-sized rock. Back then, she hadn’t co-founded a supergroup, scored features with The 1975 and Kid Cudi, or earned four Grammy nominations. Her name didn’t yet warrant an eyeroll from those who like better music than you. Listening to Punisher, I get the feeling she knew this album would push her over that edge, not just in the confidence behind her performance and songwriting, but in the very fabric of her narratives. Bridgers often casts herself as highly self-aware, and on Punisher she grapples with the change that her rising fame could bring to her life.

“Kyoto” gives us a sneak peek of her intentions early on — it’s a half-hearted fist-pump of a victory lap that recalls her previous hit “Motion Sickness” both in its upbeat sound and lyrical bite. It embodies frustration as much as it does celebration — a Phoebe Bridgers on top of the world without binoculars — held back by her recurrently messy relationships. The majority of the album is spent processing these connections, much like her debut did years before. However, unlike that album, these songs attack her problems of the moment. There’s something particularly devastating about the way “Moon Song” highlights a friendship fracturing in real time, rather than lingering on something past. This newfound focus on the present is a refreshing change of pace from an artist known for relying on failed romances and old mistakes as a main source of inspiration.

This focus goes further: whereas Stranger in the Alps packaged nostalgia and regret in a haze of folky guitars and shimmering ambiance, Punisher looks to the future with dread. This is clear from the bookends of each album’s cycle. Stranger in the Alps looks backward in its coda — closer “You Missed My Heart” bows out on a dying man realizing his final resting place will be just downstream of the creek he used to play in as a boy. As his revelation repeats, the song fades out, and the twinkling guitar chords from the album’s wistful opener “Smoke Signals” echo briefly until the close. For an album fixating its insight on the past, this makes sense, but Punisher does the reverse. Setting the stage with the menacing “DVD Menu”, the track’s eerie strings prophecize the apocalyptic culmination of the album by hinting the melody of its thunderous closer, “I Know the End”. Punisher feels like a ticking clock, buying time before the apocalypse strikes.

Every track of the record carries this dread inside it. The ballads are even more stripped back than before, despite drawing on a more varied palette. On the title track, Bridgers uses vocal effects like surgical gloves, afraid to disrupt the quiet beauty of the arrangement. Even wide-screen moments like the climax of “Chinese Satellite” feel strangely distant — instruments scattered like stars across the soundscape — mirroring the uncertainty she exhibits in the lyrics. On “Graceland Too”, she finally finds a friendship that has no ‘but’s. The sheer amount of adoration pumped into this song should be nauseating, but compared to the pain on either side of it, it becomes freeing — and essential. Between delicate fiddle bows and banjo plucks, “I will do anything for you” becomes a celebration, and a stark opposite to her resigned delivery of the mirroring line “I’ll be whatever you want” on “Halloween”. By the time we reach the former, her willingness to change has become genuine and independent, rather than a helpless sacrifice for the sake of a friendship.

This kind of change is key to Punisher. The album as a whole is about seeing it coming and the dread that comes with it, as we rush to make peace with a life on the verge of irrevocable change. We all understand what it’s like to stand on the edge of that moment and to fear it, just as Phoebe did when she crossed the threshold where her very name became a brand. For her, the most important thing in life is the people that surround her. In her constant awareness of them, herself, and her own journey, she paints a vivid picture of accepting change on your own terms. By “I Know the End”, she faces it with a straight face. As the song builds and builds, she’s joined by a chorus of screaming friends as she runs headfirst into the next chapter of her life — which is the best possible way to not lose who you are when you get to the other side. –neekafat

6. Nothing – The Great Dismal

[Bandcamp] // [Spotify]

Something happened to Nothing. It would be trite to tie yet another record to the oft-described unpleasant circumstances of the prior calendar year, yet the spirit of despondence flows through The Great Dismal in every conceivable manner. This is not the comparatively pleasant exterior and interior of Dance on the Blacktop. The overpowering misery of both the cover and title of the band’s fourth effort is smothering, imbuing a sense of dread before a single second of music is heard. The stage is set in minimal lighting, a bare setting, and no fanfare to speak of. A quiet despair overtakes the audience like a disease, transforming the outwardly pleasant aesthetic of shoegaze into a conduit for a crushing burden of emotion that only expands as the album proceeds. It’s a sound not entirely unfamiliar to the group — Guilty of Everything featured a palpable detachment from reality, dwelling in a state of mounting emptiness — yet the fourth effort by the Philadelphia quartet, released on the tenth-year mark since the project’s formation, encapsulates existentialist dread to a wonderfully disturbing extent. Not only is it a return to form, but simultaneously the greatest output the collective have currently inserted into a disc.

Consistency is what propels the latest work by the Pennsylvania crew to the forefront of their discography. That crippling sense of dread endures from the very first to the last note, embodying itself in tracks that never advance past a mid-tempo pace. More often than not, Nothing are imposing the vast scope of their melancholy in brutal fashion, abusing the haziness of shoegaze to create devastating riffs, their strikes powerful as they approach with no remorse, almost apathetic to the dispositions of their audience. The thick atmosphere that overtakes the record is unrelenting in its assault; not a single jarring moment occurs in the duration of the creation. What this equates to is an LP that causes contemplation as much as it instills fear. Consider the dynamic between the opening duo of “A Fabricated Life” and “Say Less”, with the former applying gentle, albeit dramatic string arrangements as the song swells to a cathartic climax. Following in the latter is an intimidating dose of pessimism, a shockingly heavy, haunting riff invading the increased tempo, the space filled to the brim with static, coarse guitars, and pounding percussion. Separate as they may be, they are two sides of a rusted, decaying coin that slowly withers over the dreary 46-minute expanse that is The Great Dismal.

The fuzzy shoegaze reigns supreme, commanding those that fall under its spell to receive their lot in life, climb into the processional, and file neatly into mental crisis. From the promotional materials to the content itself, Nothing have engineered an album that is utterly unadorned in its presentation; a hidden meaning is not tucked behind vague phrasing. An audiophile recognizes exactly what debilitating journey they’re undertaking from the very beginning, the veracity of which only becomes augmented as the distant, eerie vocals continue to drift about the bleak environment, their lamenting barely decipherable above the clamor. Letting The Great Dismal take up residence in the heart is a surefire way towards headbanging sessions dedicated to figuring out life’s complexities — or succumbing to the rising tidal wave of static. Either way, Nothing will ensure that they tangle up a given listener in their robust songwriting and impeccable atmosphere construction. Once the play begins, that quiet despair is a potent force impossible to escape from. It would hurt if it wasn’t so damn exciting. –Mitchell D. W.

5. Fiona Apple – Fetch The Bolt Cutters

[Official site] // [Spotify]

My greatest hope here is that nobody is convinced to listen to this album solely because of this list. Fetch the Bolt Cutters is undoubtedly the defining album of a historic year, an album that details and celebrates what it is to be a woman in a patriarchal society. It has achieved an almost unheard of level of critical acclaim and has already entered the cultural zeitgeist. The brilliance and importance of the album should speak for itself, especially in terms of its connection to cultural movements such as #MeToo. Let that convince you, not its high ranking on a list curated largely by men in a male-dominated space. It is promising that Fetch the Bolt Cutters did land so highly on this list, however, because the burden of explaining their experiences and oppression should not fall on women alone. Men need to take an active role in approaching/normalising this dialogue within male spaces. However, if the dialogue and discussion that follows its inclusion here does not include some sort of meaningful gendered perspective, then a crucial aspect of Fetch the Bolt Cutters will be missed. Listening solely for the sake entertainment is, essentially, missing a large part of Fiona Apple’s whole message.

With that said, Fetch the Bolt Cutters is undoubtedly a masterpiece of an album outside of its cultural impact. The musicality is just as crucial to the album’s storytelling as the lyrics, with the compositions enhancing the emotions of each song. “Shameika” starts with a driving piano line, chaotic drums and distorted guitar, perfectly painting a young, oddball, and oft-ignored Fiona. That background drops out as Fiona exclaims, “But Shameika said I had potential,” punctuated by a series of staccato piano chords, emphasizing the impact that this first instance of female empowerment had on her. This is a constant throughout the album: the lyrics tell the story, but the music creates the setting. The way that Fiona plays with percussion is fascinating, with it being the primary instrument through the album. It often plays in tandem with the vocal melodies, with every single measure being unique and based on not only what the vocals sound like, but also what they are saying. There are certainly a number of quirks throughout the album, from dolphin-like yelps to dogs barking, but each one serves a distinct purpose in the context of each song and the album concept as a whole. Fetch the Bolt Cutters was created meticulously without ever losing its humanity. It shares an important and topical message, yes, but the vehicle that carries it is also incredible.

Again though, if you are looking for a deeper critical perspective to explain why you should listen to Fetch the Bolt Cutters, I believe there are much better voices than mine that can and have already provided that lens, as my voice and this list are just a microcosm of the cultural prestige that Fetch the Bolt Cutters already holds. There are not many albums that tackle specific societal issues while also being as musically masterful as this. Those that do often go down in musical history, although it is worth noting that much of that canon has been written by men and often excluded other gendered voices. In spite of that, Fetch the Bolt Cutters seems to be well on its way to joining that list, making it a potentially transformative piece when it comes to the demographics of musical criticism in the future. That alone is a reason to listen to it, but again, the musical packaging that it comes in is brilliant, fun, interesting, as well as every other positive adjective that you can bring to mind. So, as Fiona sings on the opening track: “Blast the music! Bang it! Bite it! Bruise it!” –Mathias

4. Ulcerate – Stare Into Death and Be Still

[Bandcamp] // [Spotify]

Ulcerate are exhausting — or, rather, the band’s ability to keep unleashing this sheer amount of quality year after year is exhaustingly good. Not many have a grasp on death metal like these New Zealanders, and Stare Into Death and Be Still assiduously signifies Ulcerate’s continued ascension into the highest of metal’s standards.

It wasn’t enough for the likes of Vermis or Shrines Of Paralysis to ‘be enough,’ highlighted by the fact we’ve been graced with another dominating release. As technically brutal as those releases are, they didn’t quite manage to achieve the levels of accessibility the group would achieve on their 2020 opus. Comparatively, Stare Into Death and Be Still is a more fluid, transferable release than the rest of the catalog, but nonetheless still as technically proficient. For newcomers to the band it’s a welcome change, but for those who’ve been on this ride for almost two decades, the added musical dimension opens a new sonic maturity — one to which we didn’t realize we needed.

Make no mistake: Ulcerate are still doing what Ulcerate unreservedly do, but it’s the caliber to which the group holds themselves that turns a typically-excellent release into a potential classic. Sometimes hyperbole is unavoidable when writing little snippets like these, but occasionally there’s a release that justifies the hype, adding dignity and gravitas with every repeated listen. Stare Into Death and Be Still is a portrait of sound, as beautiful as it is uncompromisingly heavy. –Robert Garland

3. Run the Jewels – RTJ4

[Official site] // [Spotify]

RTJ4 is a Run the Jewels record released in 2020 which, much like the Run the Jewels records released in 2013, 2014, and 2016, is a very good Run the Jewels record. El-P hasn’t missed a step — still churning out wonky, bombastic beats by the dozen — whilst both halves of the duo remain as iconic as ever on the mic, continuing to flip flop seamlessly between dick jokes and cutting political musings with every rhyme scheme in the book. Little about Jamie and Michael’s artistry has changed, to be honest; what’s different is 2020. The context in which “yankee and the brave” find themselves has shifted dramatically since RTJ3, such that “ep.4” feels more striking and vivid by comparison, forming a part of something markedly larger. Enough ink has been spilled on the topic already, far more eloquently than my writing capabilities allow and with greater insight than possessed by a white, middle-class Brit such as myself, but the point still stands: Run the Jewels, more so than ever before, feel important.

“walking in the snow” feels important. “a few words for the firing squad” feels important. “holy calamafuck” feels, erm, not all that important, but I suppose that’s the magic of it right there. That balance between big, boisterous bangers and goosebump-inducing penmanship is at the heart of Mike and El’s roaring success, and it shows up in spades on RTJ4. The silly springboards off the serious and the playful plays off the poetic in an ebb and flow that just works somehow — and whilst the duo have left the wheel far from reinvented, it’s spinning faster than ever on the fourth time round. The circumstances fuelling the fire of their fiercest moments will hopefully become a thing of the past, but I sincerely hope the RTJ flame refuses to dwindle. Their now iconic ‘gun and first’ emblem has been a comforting constant throughout a turbulent decade — a symbol of fighting the good fight with a stubborn smile, speaking when not spoken to and preaching the opposite of bullshit — and whilst Mike and El don’t owe us shit, wouldn’t it be great if the same could be said in 2030 when RTJ8 drops? Here’s to hoping. –Asleep

2. clipping. – Visions of Bodies Being Burned

[Official site] // [Spotify]

Having already given birth to an album centered on horror in 2019 with There Existed An Addiction to Blood, the experimental Californian rap group and Sputnik champions (#7 last year) conclude here a diptych drawing heavily on horror films, while contextualizing its message in the meantime. Pushing forward the vision of its creators, Visions of Bodies Being Burned extends the macabre universe already created on the previous album by applying the conventions of cinema to current social issues.

These cinematographic influences can be felt as early as “Intro”, where the sounds of distant cars are wrapped in a disturbing layer of synthesizers. Rapper Daveed Diggs suddenly arrives out of nowhere to bark out a succession of rhymes before returning to the darkness.

Silence.

The attack starts again on “Say the Name”, its trap beats mixed with cold synths creating a terrifying atmosphere, but with enough bass to make it bounce. Borrowing a Geto Boys phrase to turn it into a house loop, the band uses a furtive synth bassline as well as industrial sounds to complete the atmosphere instigated by the lyrics. “Say the Name” tells the story of the Candyman, a supernatural being who appears when his name is repeated in front of a mirror. The Candyman is an African-American painter, mortally lynched by his white stepfather. Returning from the dead, he sets out to haunt his executioner.

The thematic analogy between rap and horror cinema goes beyond mere script considerations. Like a film like Halloween, Visions of Bodies Being Burned must be appreciated viscerally. The album operates on the same two main stimuli as horror movies: the atmosphere and the jumpscares. The dark atmosphere is distilled throughout the course of the record, working as much through the oppression of the music at work as through Daveed Diggs’ salvos. It’s when these two elements are at their most intense that we find the album’s most exhilarating passages, like during “Something Underneath”. In the same vein, “Pain Everyday” uses EVP recordings, devices that are supposed to capture the voices of the ghosts surrounding us. These recordings, succeeded by strings and an electronic structure a la Aphex Twin, pushes the group’s aesthetics to their climax, made of revenge from beyond the grave and social commentary. Anyhow, if there is only one piece meriting the “aesthetically perfect” crown, it’s got to be “Enlacing”. Borrowing a loop of Kendrick Lamar’s “Swimming Pools”, the track is tinged with vaporwave to pit the voices and acts as the psychedelic counterpoint of the previous tracks. “Enlacing” also offers a conclusion to his story, as the Candyman struggles against the acceptance of his own death in vain. In addition to these moments bringing a dark atmosphere, the album is full of jumpscares due to the experimental touches incorporated by the two DJs. Whether it’s the sudden industrial explosions, the abrupt arrival of Diggs on “Say the Name” or a sheep’s cry in “Drove”, the album is manufactured to surprise. The biggest surprise might be that, despite offering such an uncompromising approach, they managed to release the most Sput-lauded 2020 hip-hop album. In your face, RTJ. –Erwann S.

1. Deftones – Ohms

[Official site] // [Spotify]

Deftones make for unlikely culprits as ‘surprise favourites’ on any list. Our familiarity with them some thirty-three years into their career is more than thorough. The mystique has subsided, the band are human. The biggest surprise that Deftones have pulled on us since the iconic sidestep that was Diamond Eyes in 2010 was releasing an album that wasn’t all that great in Gore. Pretty shit trick, really. Otherwise, it’s been business as usual for the Deftones brand. Chino Moreno could still croon a heterosexual man turgid, Sergio Vega’s colourful bass work continues to elevate Deftones’ now frequent dreamy excursions into lucid territory, and Stephen Carpenter continues wax dabbing his way toward incontinence while adding even lower strings onto his guitar. What’s new?

Not much, but this is where Deftones sneak up on ya. We know for a fact that if they manage to get through recording without edging members out of the songwriting process that the results are consistently great albums. Ohms is one such album. With White Pony producer Terry Date back in the mix — and with Gore as the most recent point of comparison, flaunting production as flat as the horizon Carpenter miraculously sees out of presumably hundreds of airplane windows annually — it’s a wonderful-sounding album with enough meat on its bones to top this prestigious list (I’ll always be part of the Sputnik proletariat at heart, comrades).

In the interest of doing our own research, let’s dig a little deeper. Let’s ask ourselves a simple question that less of the world’s laypeople (20% of this band, for instance) should be asking of contemporary medical science in the midst of a pandemic:

Why?

Why does Ohms deserve to be acknowledged as the best album that was released last year? Disregarding the monochromatic rabbithole that is discussing user demographics on this website, we can start by eliminating a few possibilities. Unless you’ve had enough Phantom Bride IPAs to translocate your consciousness back to 1997, you’d have to concede that Deftones are no longer lovable underdogs, that their recent artistic output does not challenge established musical conventions in any profound way, and that they have not exactly dramatically reinvented or redefined their band with this release.

Ohms‘ most immediate quality is simple: it’s a return to form. This differentiates Ohms from, say, Fear Inoculum, which simply marked a return (bazinga). Ohms is leagues better than the album that preceded it, and easily goes toe-to-toe with Koi No Yokan. I’d imagine Ohms might even crack some longtime fans’ top three Deftones albums, which is a pretty remarkable feat considering that they formed the band an entire lunar-solar cycle ago (don’t tell the guitarist, he’s kinda anti-space).

So why does Ohms deserve to top this list? Because nobody can beat Deftones at their own game. Nobody seems to even understand the rules. As influential and iconic as Deftones are, there is still a dearth of successful copycat bands, and the ‘why’ of it is written all over this album. It’s in the slowly surging wave of heavy fuzz that resurfaces and slowly subsides again in the click-and-ghost-snare-dominated second half of “The Spell Of Mathematics”. It’s in the discordant guitars ringing out while Abe Cunningham gets his nu-metal groove on early in “Error”‘s verses, and the way the track seamlessly shifts in tone to a crushing yet beautiful dreamscape not long after. It’s in the wild one-two punch of “Pompeji” and “This Link Is Dead”, rejuvenating a harsh edge that some presumed had been abandoned with Gore. It’s in the rangy, melodic, and powerful vocal performance that Chino weaves through “Ohms”, perhaps one of the most underrated singles of the year, closing out this album with spiralling, cathartic bombast. It’s in all these moments and more. Our familiarity with this band is not a reason to deride this release, it’s a reason to celebrate it.

I promised myself I wouldn’t do this — as I’m sick to death of hearing this shit — but unpredictable and terrifying woes persist in striking the world at large in what feels like an unceasing barrage. If people crave nostalgia, who can blame them? Ohms is comfort, security, escape, and home in equal measure. It is a safe shore. It is a panacea for the soul in a time of great unrest for a great many people. Drink it in. And get vaccinated. –MiloRuggles

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List of contributors who stepped up (alphabetical order): AsleepInTheBack, dedex, Dewinged, dmathias52, JesperL, MarsKid, MiloRuggles, neekafat, Nocte, TheNotrap

As is tradition, cheers to Willie and SandwichBubble for designing the artwork

Total [valid] ballots submitted this year: 113

Number of invalid ballots that were made valid (AKA “The number of users who couldn’t spell ‘Phanerozoic’ or add to 100 [or 30?!] correctly” Award): too many of you : (