50-31 | 30-11 | 10-1

30. Tenhi – Valkama

[Official site] // [Spotify]

Looking back on this year’s biggest highlights, it’s apparent to me the folk genre has resonated the loudest with a handful of truly exemplary albums — all disparate in approach, but equal in their excellence. And so, with 2023 putting a spotlight on just how incredible this genre is, it seems only fitting that the Finnish legends should return and put their two-cents in on the matter. Serendipitously, I started listening to Tenhi in the same year the band decided to break their twelve-year recorded silence, affording me just enough time to get familiar with their incredible discography. To my surprise, given the length of time the band have been away from recording new music, Valkama effortlessly slots into the canon with minimal disruptions. This is because Valkama isn’t here to ruffle the status quo, but rather astutely refine the band’s modus operandi. Ultimately, it’s a tight discussion on whether this is better than Maaaet, but regardless of the hair-splitting, a band couldn’t hope to come back with a better-sounding album. Valkama‘s lush instrumentation, poignant atmosphere and gripping arrangements make it a stellar piece of work, but add Tenhi’s inimitable personality into the equation and you’ve got a very unique offering indeed. Valkama does have a couple of conditions in order to get the most from it — being that it’s seventy minutes long, and has to be heard in its entirety in order to get the full effect — but if you’re willing to dedicate the time to listen to it, entrench yourself in the peregrination being laid before you: the rewards are simply rapturous.  –DrGonzo1937

29. Spanish Love Songs – No Joy

[Bandcamp] // [Spotify]

I’m unsure if Brave Faces Everyone dropping right as the world went into lockdown in 2020 was highly fortunate or unfortunate timing for Spanish Love Songs. After all, it’s hard to deny that the band’s sophomore album connected with a wide audience due to its incredibly bleak outlook on life presented in the form of three-minute dad-punk bangers. In any other situation, it would’ve made sense for their next project to just be more of the same; after all, the formula worked. However, the world is in a different place, and Spanish Love Songs are in a different place. The result of this repositioning is No Joy, an album that retains all the vocal quivers, pessimism and on-the-nose lyricism the band are known for, but also substitutes some of its gloom for the faint hints of colour. Cuts like “Haunted” and “Clean-Up Crew” are danceable instead of finger-pointable, while the synths on songs like “Marvel” and “Mutable” add a dimension that feels both unobtrusive and central to the project. Above all, No Joy feels patient. Spanish Love Songs are no longer in a rush to tell you how fucking miserable life is — they are happy allowing you to come to this conclusion yourself by showing you their most expansive and thoughtful selves. –JesperL

28. Hail the Sun – Divine Inner Tension

[Official site] // [Spotify]

Divine Inner Tension‘s spellbinding album art alludes to a kind of inevitable cosmic force that has been threatening to pull Donovan Melero apart at the seams for quite some time. It takes all of two seconds before the listener is introduced to the force itself, as Hail the Sun harnessed its energy this year to produce their best album in nearly a decade. The earth-shattering scream and propulsive syncopated riff that begins chaotic opener “Tunnel Vision Alibi” implies a doubling down on the group’s most recognizable tropes, but one can’t deny how absolutely infectious this number is; it rockets right out of the gate with its blistering verse, then soothes you with its sugary hook, only to drop the People’s Elbow of a lifetime on you with its punishing breakdown. Welcome to a cosmic chaos that will split your mind wide open. We’ve still got 39 minutes of runtime to go.

From here, Hail the Sun spend the majority of Divine Inner Tension bowing down to the power of this unknowable force lyrically, while experimenting with beautiful little tweaks to their formula musically. “Mind Rider”‘s galloping funk bass, the balls-to-the-wall heaviness of “Tithe”, and the stunning melodies of “60-Minute Session Blocks” are just a few examples of how the band have remained loyal to themselves while refusing to stagnate, with the lyrics of the latter and “Maladapted” fluctuating between a sort of resigned learned helplessness and a cruelly ironic existential surrender. In particular, “Maladapted” is a gem, a defeatist Jesus-take-the-wheel moment in which Melero actually has no idea who is now pulling the strings, but is experiencing nothing but relief at the thought of finally giving his arms a rest. It’s a fun microcosm of Divine Inner Tension as a whole; fuck public perception, the illusion of control, and the slow rot of all the other bands in our scene. We’re going to do what we love, and do it unencumbered. –YoYoMancuso

27. Blue October – Spinning the Truth Around (Part II)

[Official site] // [Spotify]

For many, the story of Blue October starts and ends with “Hate Me”. Its bleak prose, so steeped in an achingly genuine fugue of inadequacy, cut through radio waves with its naked sincerity. Justin Furstenfeld was bleeding out on tape, spewing insecurities like it was an urgent message for someone to receive. And that was all it took to leave a permanent, unshakeable impression: the Houston quintet became that one emo band with the sad frontman that wasn’t getting better anytime soon. That isn’t to say “Hate Me” wasn’t a uniquely compelling, depressive single the likes of which the mainstream rarely has the stomach for, but that the band’s archetype outlined a familiar tale with a familiar ending.

Listeners of 2006 wouldn’t expect Justin and co. to pen a song titled “Sobriety” in the year 2023 — a good seventeen years since Blue October’s one-hit-wonder fame supposedly expired. In that time, Furstenfeld realized he was doing all the talking but none of the walking — singing songs about coming clean, beating addiction and the whole nine yards while still regularly hitting the bottle — and the man reinvented himself. Blue October transformed from a project lost in the woods of its self-loathing lyricism to a vehicle for recovery, a platform for those healing from wounds, patching up scars, or fighting internal battles that an outside facade could no longer hide. It leads to the aforementioned tune: an artfully restrained number staged in the midst of angelic, cascading ambience and gentle strumming that gradually rises into a glorious explosion of raucous, garage-band-like antics that sounds more like a party than a funeral march.

The modern iteration of Blue October still faces its personal demons, but not in the self-defeating manner it once purveyed. There’s the acoustic-led ballad “A Better Man” — an echoing, melancholic soundscape that spotlights Justin’s resonating baritone and Ryan Delahoussaye’s spellbinding violin, all while surrounding lyrics about rebuilding from past mistakes and growing stronger from the ruins — or “1222 Bay Oak Street”, a similarly pensive, patient tune that rises from graceful strumming into a crescendo of radiant strings, with Justin reminiscing upon his parents’ marriage, idolizing the love he witnessed while eulogizing its finality. Beyond those forays, Spinning the Truth Around (Part II) features a tantalizing variety, ranging from the back-to-back pop earworms “Magic Isn’t Real” and “Leave Room for a Miracle” to the uplifting, static-infested rocker “Sideways” and the piano-dominant, ’80s-esque love song “Slow Down”. Across any tune, there’s a captivating atmosphere of tranquility that’s aided greatly by the band’s enhanced focus on soft textures, soothing ambience, and hopeful prose.

Reconfiguring themselves into an unbending force of positivity has undeniably given the collective a second wind that few anticipated. If anything, the Blue October of the 2020s have achieved another creative peak, having debuted their arguable magnum opus in This is What I Live For and then immediately orchestrating an ambitious double-LP release. For perhaps the first time, Justin Furstenfeld seems comfortable here, prancing about through tunes like “Down Here Waiting” — a glowing, upbeat pop romp that gleefully cruises off a sparkling synth line and anthemic chorus — and offering trademark tell-all confessionals a la “Goodbye to the Old Days” while keeping his gaze locked on the future. It’s further proof that the story never ended in 2006; the plot’s changed a bit, but each new chapter is as exciting as the last. –MarsKid

26. Avenged Sevenfold – Life Is But a Dream…

[Official site] // [Spotify]

Talk about a surprise! I’ll be one of the first to admit that I’ve never been a huge Avenged Sevenfold fan, and quite honestly, I wasn’t even a fan when “Nothing” dropped as a single. Reluctantly, I gave this album a shot — and what a journey it was. From the opening acoustic passage of “Game Over” to the final somber notes on the piano of the title track, Life Is But A Dream… is an experimental endeavor that establishes itself as one of the band’s best efforts. While the one-two punch of “Nothing” and “We Love You” hits a bit of a rough patch, everything else elevates the record to an immense high. The aggression behind “Mattel” and “Beautiful Morning” is simultaneously heavy and catchy, while the serene moments of “Easier” and “Cosmic” feature a more progressive and experimental side. The mixture of these two styles creates a unique effort within Avenged Sevenfold’s discography, and one that stands out among their contemporaries in a powerful way. However, the true highlight lies in the G(O)(D) trilogy, as the band experiment with numerous genre changes and pacing shifts that craft something different for Avenged Sevenfold and bring Life Is But A Dream… to a wonderful conclusion. It might be vastly different from everything the band have done before, but that’s exactly the reason why it succeeds in its execution. –tyman128

25. Crisis Sigil – God Cum Poltergeist

[Bandcamp] // [Spotify]

O how blessed are we that Ada Rook found time for grindcore on her ongoing mission to cannibalise every angst-adjacent genre of heavy music into a spasming wreck-heap of dismembered robot girls. God Cum Poltergeist (say it with me!) places Rook’s trademark exterminator-vocals front and centre, and is unique amongst 2023 grind highlights for its eagerness to sustain a manic digital onslaught (counterbalanced to great effect by drummer Melody Marrow’s corporeal chops). Rook flexes one of the most inventive and chaotic approaches to an augmented production arsenal and contorted guitar textures since, say, Melt-Banana or The Locust, but unlike those acts, her glitched-out fuckery finds itself reflected on the level of individual song structures: there ain’t a track here that doesn’t demand you hold on for dear life.

This is, uh, a lot at first — it’s rare to find a record that demands such keen listener engagement while also presuming the absolute minimum of their attention spans! As someone who typically likes his grind to kick off without fanfare and pound him into a pancake-y mess for however long isn’t too long, God Cum Poltergeist‘s pacing is so rife with whiplash that its primary appeal is inextricably bound up with self-destructive relish (there’s an endearing aptness as such to this list sandwiching it between Avenged Sevenfold’s merriest effort yet to alienate half their fanbase, and blink-182’s latest puddle-deep aping of their own crippling Peter Pan syndrome). Still, the likes of “9 Moon Damage” and the ballistic “Halo Generator Breaking Down” reward every derailment of their own momentum with an approachable(!) tangible(!) contour to hold onto, and the album posits a deceptively accessible package as such. Clear that hurdle, and this thing is a twisted delight in all its jagged edges and hexen adrenaline. It spits on the good names of taste and continuity, yet packs enough gratification that you’ll find yourself sharing its sneer: I hate narratives, messages, and themes, so this album is completely hollow. There is absolutely nothing inside of it, claimed Rook in support of her world-beating industrial deathfuck UGLY DEATH NO REDEMPTION ANGEL CURSE I LOVE YOU last year. Whether or not you take this at face-value, you’ll struggle to find anyone else screaming into the void with quite the same zeal. –JohnnyoftheWell

24. blink-182 – One More Time

[Official site] // [Spotify]

Like it or not, One More Time… is probably exactly what it should have been. The serious contemplations about tragedy bringing Blink-182 together again and this seventeen-track beast being the band’s best record ever were saved for promotional videos — the actual album itself is an all-caps-catchy-chorus-dick-joke fest that is admirably “nanana”-less. It might be a play on nostalgia, it might be a refusal to acknowledge pushing 50; who cares? If any band have earned the right to be as unserious as they want, it’s Blink – and as long as I can nod-sing-shout along to these shitposts, I’m more than okay with it. –JesperL

23. Great Falls – Objects Without Pain

[Bandcamp] // [Spotify]

Heartbreak is a special kind of hell when confined to the personal realm. Separations are monumental shifts; memories are painful episodic footnotes of the mundane made magical by hindsight; and loss, thought at one point to be easily brushed aside, turns into a lurking phantom that one can’t shake off. The internal drama is heightened to a point where every facet of a broken relationship erupts into hyperbole — an untraceable tale no one could possibly understand unless they lived it. On Objects Without Pain, Great Falls do their darndest to trap their audience in that personal hell, throwing open the doors to force unsuspecting listeners inside while locking the exit and tossing the key. If you didn’t understand that aforementioned level of hurt before, the ensuing 53-minute torture chamber will ensure beyond a shadow of a doubt that you do.

What follows is a monument to the ugliness of a break-up magnified to a monolithic, unrelenting wall of pure dissonance and crackling static. It’s equal parts a patient, lumbering beast that allows crushing sludge metal treks to take the reins, and an uncontrollable force of pure aggression that lashes at out random, creating an unholy cacophony of darkened metalcore that swerves through serpentine riffing and crushing beatdowns that recall genre classics of old. In the case of the titanic closer “Thrown Against the Waves”, the unbridled noise assault becomes overwhelming, with a snarling bass and tuned-down-to-hell guitar intertwining in a celebration of discordant chaos, painstakingly marching through subtle shifts, menacing grooves, terrifying breakdowns and throat-ripping screams that epitomize the utter despair of a severed relationship.

Objects Without Pain occupies this joyless space with precision and remarkable songwriting integrity — a credit doubtlessly attributed to the band’s deep roots in metalcore’s nascent years in the ’90s and early 2000s. This is the sound of a veteran act that have fine-tuned their sonic violence in the most calculated and volatile manner possible, both in the massive scope of the record’s imposing atmosphere and its destructive all-out strikes. There’s no escape from the massacre; once captured by Great Falls, you’re getting dragged to the end, dead or alive. –MarsKid

22. Fireworks – Higher Lonely Power

[Bandcamp] // [Spotify]

One way to ensure your new album won’t make it onto many year-end lists is by surprise releasing it on New Year’s Day after almost a decade of radio silence, but Fireworks are just built different. Once the shock of the return of pop punk’s most celebrated underdogs wore off, Higher Lonely Power started showing its true colours: it’s massive, it’s thoughtful, and it’s a little weird. From the hard-hitting screams that introduce the album to the pensive closing cut that ranks among the year’s best songs, this thing is an absolute experience that refuses to stop unfolding. Fireworks might be easy to miss, but thankfully they are hard to forget. –JesperL

21. Caroline Polachek – Desire, I Want to Turn Into You

[Official site] // [Spotify]

For her second album, Caroline Polachek went out of her way to create one hell of a vivid experience. She delivered a beautiful record, pouring all her emotions in one rather insular effort. Blending New Age elements with pop sensibilities is just one side of a varied array of sounds and features that make Desire, I Want To Turn Into You feel akin to a summer daydream. We get trip hop beats, bagpipe solos, flamenco guitar licks and beautiful ballads, all enhanced by her powerful, expressive voice. There’s smooth restraint where needed, yet she knows when to let loose as well. Quite the immersive listen, once you finish this journey, you realize how far it wanders. From exciting poppy cuts like “Welcome to My Island” or “Sunset”, it gradually enters personal territory with a dreamy atmosphere (see “I Believe”, “Fly to You”), ultimately ending on late night slow burners such as “Hopedrunk Everasking”, “Butterfly Net”, and “Billions”. Caroline keeps you on your toes all the way through, whether she comes across as childish or mature and sensual. The LP sure is a highlight of the year, if not decade, so far. –insomniac15

20. Panopticon – The Rime of Memory

[Bandcamp] // [Spotify]

There are those that appreciate nature, and then there’s Austin Lunn. The man’s unwavering passion for all-things-outdoors has given an authentic feel to Panopticon for years; The Rime of Memory is no different, albeit in a frostier setting. While I wouldn’t ever expect an accessible, straightforward experience from Lunn, this is easily the most demanding album of his career. Aside from “I Erindringens Hostlige Dysterhet” — ritualistic scene-setter of gentle strums and howls — each track here is filled with a level of passion that must have been eating Lunn alive to hold in. The overwhelming “Cedar Skeletons” is unlike anything he’s done; with no distinguishable start or finish, the massive track manages to feel both dense and naked as several storms pass. The midpoint is particularly evocative: a welcome break from the pummeling crescendos where we get a muted spoken word section topped off with some gorgeous guitar shimmer.

I could go on and on here and talk about how “Winter’s Ghost” fills the Agalloch-shaped hole in my heart, but much of Panopticon’s weight in this land speaks for itself. Had the overpowering “The Rime of Memory” been released earlier in the year, I’m sure it would have landed even higher. Nevertheless, Austin Lunn makes this insanely passionate songwriting look too easy. He’s a reliable force to be reckoned with, and it’s simply moving to witness him continue to outdo himself. Not a moment is wasted; no emotions are spared. The only thing that would possibly stop Lunn from pushing himself further through the entangled branches would be his final breath. His peak? Nah, not just yet, but The Rime of Memory is a transcending moment for Panopticon indeed: powerful enough to mimic a religious experience, with a chill that pierces deep through bone to the marrow. –Atari

19. Ben Howard – Is It?

[Official site] // [Spotify]

Between DreamWeaver’s blue garden (#33) and Ben Howard’s lovely, zany, perambulating Is It?, it seems that my lot this year is to appraise the great records of the summer. Both albums bring an introverted spirit to the extrovert’s high season: blue garden is practically a reclusive sprite custom-conjured to turn the centre of any heatwave into the depths of a luxury refrigerator, whereas Is It? smacks of more stoic qualities, its breezy cool matched with a quiet resolve to take life in its stride and bask in the here-and-now. The where-and-how? From who now? Is it? This record’s basics are lovely and intuitive: look beyond the frisky opening pair and “Interim of Sense”‘s erratic feint, and the prevailing tone here is of vast inner peace: fan favourite “Days of Lantana” exudes a carefree saunter like it’s a one-song publicity campaign for your next country retreat, while the likes of “Moonraker”, “Richmond Avenue” and “Spirit” are among the most sublime daydreamers you could ask of any given year.

This is all the more remarkable given the misfortune underpinning the whole album. The intimate relationship between the album’s inception and the two mini-strokes Howard suffered in 2022 has been widely circulated by now, but it cannot be overstated how profoundly the impact of the latter ripples through every one of the album’s umpteen reversed modulations, shimmering delay effects and goonish vocal inflections (I’m a personal sucker for Oo-nun-unnOOOn-raker if y’know the one), finding its epicentre in the warped miniature “Total Eclipse”‘s appropriately muddling reconstruction of the fateful event(s). Howard cheerily exorcises the gloom of his experience without underplaying its significance: his take on (*gulps*) ischaemic aesthetics is playful yet earnest to the effect that the entire album lands as a hugely flattering testament to his apparent good nature.

The growth here is palpable: Is It? shows a self-assured Howard whose confidence and sagacity are miles removed from, say, the awkward relationship with fame that surrounded his debut-of-the-moment Every Kingdom or the dark nights of the soul that precluded his finest hour I Forget Where We Were, while on the other hand it succeeds where 2021’s Collections from the Whiteout faltered in tying together a ragtag bag of oddities with even-handed composure. Howard’s artistic scope once seemed to start and end with his platform as a folk singer-songwriter, but Is It? shrewdly acquits itself with an electronic toolkit, playing with folk more than it commits itself to wholesale folksongs. I’ve seen comparisons with everyone from Arthur Russell to the Durutti Column, and while these are all fair and auspicious, Is It?‘s core attraction ultimately owes much more to the good grace Howard brings to such disorienting territory in his own voice. –JohnnyoftheWell

18. Lankum – False Lankum

[Official site] // [Spotify]

Traditional Irish folk has always attracted me. I think my main draw to it is the wholesale and unabashed embrace of whatever mood a song aims for, whether it be the wild abandon of a drinking bout, the lonesome pathos of lost love, or some blood-soaked tale of tragedy and war. False Lankum might not be traditional, exactly, given its drone-folk tendencies, but that familiar soul is present. Lankum’s songs here are mostly grim, but full of life — stories told unsparingly, but with vigor.

The best thing to be said about this album is that it can utterly transcend on either end of its personal dichotomy — just see its twin highlights (in my eyes) “Go Dig My Grave” and “Newcastle”. The former is thoroughly unconventional, a clanking and ominous drone-dirge which seems to move forward relentlessly of its own volition, while the latter is as gentle and delicate as can be, an utterly melodious Irish folk tune delivered with maximal emotional impact. That both can be so memorable and striking demonstrates Lankum’s admirable range. False Lankum is a must-listen for fans of Irish folk, sure, but really, its dark and cinematic storytelling could probably pull in most humans who happen to read this. Bottom line: there’s nothing false about it. –Sunnyvale

17. Horrendous – Ontological Mysterium

[Bandcamp] // [Spotify]

Progressive death metal is a genre so well-trodden that its game trails are fucking ravines. Dead are the days when enlightened paganism was a fresh look for a band, and oh-so-alive is the new era of Ontological Mysteriums and Rejecting Obliterations and The Enduring Spirits wherein bandnames, aesthetics, and lyrics are entirely interchangeable in a crowded scene. It’s hard to be remembered when you’re a shredhead collective in 2023, but Horrendous have the distinct advantage of sounding like Horrendous.

“Chrysopoeia (The Archaeology of Dawn)” (yeah) opens Ontological Mysterium by running a clean and harmonious gamut of styles against a seven-minute backdrop of pure progression, and the rest of the album keeps the carousel spinning, pitting spacey dual guitar leads in a song bereft of power chords in the brief and lovely “Aurora Neoterica” back-to-back with the vaguely Vikingish meanderings of “Preterition Hymns”, and then laying a spinning back kick into your teeth with neck-snapping anthem “Cult of Shaad’oah” just when you’d forgotten you came here for death metal. Even a track named “The Death Knell Ringeth” is performed with enough piss and vinegar to have you screaming out bullshit like “Time is too fucking short!” like you actually mean it.

If all this sounds risky in a rather familiar way, worry not! Damian Herring’s in-house production is the all-purpose adhesive that keeps this Barad-dûr from crumbling, hitting a rare sweet-spot between clean and organic, effectively moulding a solid half-century’s worth of disparate prog influences in with the mandatory snarling Deathisms, retaining the grit and spit of the performances, string scraping and all, effectively showcasing the talent and chemistry of a band whose current hot streak is starting to feel like the stuff of legacy. –MiloRuggles

16. Sampha – Lahai

[Official site] // [Spotify]

There’s a lightness here, both sonic and thematic, that just wasn’t there on 2017’s Process. Let’s not mistake that lightness, that feeling of floating, for a lack of depth: Lahai is as deliberately composed as its predecessor, as thoughtful lyrically. But still, there’s something to be said about the album’s lightness, its almost gossamer front. This is especially so given the six-year wait since the comparatively heady Process, whose frenetic buildups and glittering climaxes made it an album of big epiphanic moments. This new album is, by contrast, an album of small epiphanies: a collection of songs that grapples with big themes like love and time and spirit, yes, and which indeed comes to some fascinating conclusions about these things, but more often than not is dreamlike and impressionistic in its exploration, zooming in and out of its subject matter with little to no warning. This is reflected sonically in the repetitiveness of some of the album’s instrumentation — particularly its flitting piano — and discordantly in the way the songs move between moments of peace and panic, nosedive and glide, nosedive and glide. It’s interesting stuff, but there’s also a seamless beauty to it — a sense of weightlessness that denies us the feeling of earth-shattering realisation that came with the first album, but instead gives us the feeling of flying, the feeling that at any moment everything may come crashing down, a vantage point from up on high to a beauty and clarity as hard to ignore as it is to describe in words. –BlushfulHippocrene

15. The Tallest Man on Earth – Henry St.

[Official site] // [Spotify]

Page upon page has already been written about Kristian Matsson’s soulful vocal delivery, his earthy lyricism, and his effortlessly pastoral aesthetic, but if Henry St. indicates anything, it’s that Matsson has reached otherworldly levels of talent and ability on stringed instruments of many a variety (lutes, even!). He’s absolutely received his flowers for his gift over the years; any self-respecting folk enthusiast has watched a video of him performing life with that cool apparatus that attaches his guitar pick to his thumb and reacted like Kawhi just sent the Sixers packing. That’s all well and good, but the man has ascended to another plane of acoustic existence on Henry St., an album where it seems like every other song on the tracklist contains the most astoundingly technical yet melodically mature riff you’ve ever heard, an offering directly from the heart that also contains an undeniable subtext of “By the way, I’m the best at this.”

The jaw-dropping “Major League” is the most notable example of this type of structure, a hyper-nostalgic barnburner that features Matsson attempting his strongest yeehaw vibe yet. His banjo playing on this song is the stuff of legend, bobbing and weaving through obscenely fast runs and shifting meters as though nothing significantly challenging has occurred at all, while still maintaining enough musicality and dynamic awareness to make every change sound natural and inevitable. His effortless swing between major and minor scales on “Every Little Heart” is equally impressive, as are his patient rhythmic climbs and use of harmonics on gorgeous closer “Foothills”.

Even when Tallboi’s prodigious musical knowledge is not the focus of his songwriting, Henry St. delivers through its sincerity and healthy incorporation of all angles of Matsson’s sound; though he’s never delivered a complete reinvention of his musical identity over nearly twenty years in the game, his latest offering represents a crystallization of his legacy, a breezy evening out on the lake, an oasis of peace in a dry musical desert. –YoYoMancuso

14. Ne Obliviscaris – Exul

[Official site] // [Spotify]

While I still revisit some of the classic Genesis records fairly regularly, my once-thriving interest in modern prog has faded so severely that it’s a bit surprising I even bothered to check out Ne Obliviscaris’ latest, despite my fond memories of the collective’s previous outing, 2017’s Urn. I’m glad I did, though. Turns out these Aussies haven’t lost a step in the intervening six years.

You might assume from the last paragraph that Exul lays the groundwork for some new direction within the genre or something impressive along those lines, given someone who has completely lost interest in the contemporary scene loves it. But, fundamentally, I don’t think that’s the case. This album impresses, but its impressiveness lies within the realm of strong execution of the usual bag of tricks present within Ne Obliviscaris’ chosen sphere of prog-meets-extreme meal. It revels in a sense of the grandiose, balancing the bellicose and the sublime, but rarely strives for the truly new. In this case, this mastery, if conventional, is still enough even for these jaded ears. Perhaps the trick is that Ne Obliviscaris have simply exercised just enough restraint, throwing in all their tasty tricks into a relatively slim runtime for the genre (under fifty-three minutes), while still making the finished product feel like an epic journey. Brevity is the soul of prog, as they say? Regardless, highlight tracks like “Equus” and “Graal” have had me jamming out as much as any song in the genre in recent years.

Will 2024 see Sunnyvale triumphantly return to join the ranks of the prog metal aficionados of Sputnik? Who can say? Regardless, Exul stands proudly as a showcase for the style’s strengths, executed near-flawlessly and with taste. For this listener, every spin feels like reconnecting with an old friend. –Sunnyvale

13. Enslaved – Heimdal

[Official site] // [Spotify]

Enslaved walk through Midgar like they are on a mission. On their 16th album, the Viking prog and black metal hybrid of their last albums prevails and even expands their brand of thunderous drumming, earth-shattering riffing and quasi-mystical vocals as part of both a natural and unstoppable need to evolve. Like lava down a volcano, the Norwegians don’t seem to be able to stop this constant departure from the orthodox black metal crusade they started in the ’90s with albums like Frost or Eld. Instead, they have blissfully abandoned themselves to the progressive rock currents of fellow countrymen like Motorpsycho, and have, I would say, masterfully infused it with their own ethos. The results might not please everyone — especially the old guard — but it’s been a while now, and it’s safe to say that Enslaved have gained more than they have lost with every new release. Few bands can stay this consistent, fresh and diabolically galvanizing after 30 years of steady warmongering against the odds, and if Heimdal doesn’t grant them safe passage to Valhalla (hopefully not soon), nothing else will. –Dewinged

12. Dodheimsgard – Black Medium Current

[Bandcamp] // [Spotify]

It’s a hopeless endeavor to try and comprehend a Dodheimsgard album in a day. Since their pivot into the realm of weird with 666 International, the Norwegians have delighted in crafting avant-garde soundscapes that tease cohesion, make a mockery of expectations, and joyfully cruise through grand arrangements that unfurl over expansive runtimes, opening up a window to unreachable cosmos that a smattering of biting industrial synths, arching, ethereal tremolos, blast beats and deranged vocals attempt to colorize. It takes at least three attempts to grasp whatever the esoteric black metal pioneers are concocting: one to let that sense of awe sink in as a ghostlike journey into an intimidating, unknown frontier unravels; a second to try and piece the puzzle together, tying furious riffs to eerily tranquil post-punk intervals; and a third to do nothing except listen sans-thinking, simply internalizing the odyssey and taking in all the sights through that open window.

Black Medium Current is another reinforcement of that crazy-yet-indecipherable modus operandi. It’s impossible to predict where the cosmic journey’s headed, be it the gothic-meets-industrial vibe-out that kickstarts “It Does Not Follow” or the unrestrained full-on assault of “Det Tomme Kalde Morke”, with all instruments set to kill on sight in a dizzying vortex of black metal aggression. There’s a seemingly infinite variety to how Dodheimsgard manage to stupefy any travelers embarking upon this odyssey, which makes it all the more rewarding to unpack, analyze, and fall head-over-heels in love with. Once the puzzle comes into form and all those disparate influences start to connect, few things are better than stepping back and appreciating the beguiling mixture that comes into view. Maybe three listens is what it takes, but Black Medium Current guarantees a listener will be back for many, many more trips into the unknown. –MarsKid

11. Tujiko Noriko – Crépuscule I & II

[Official site] // [Spotify]

Warmth and meadows. Deep tissue massages and empty swimming pools. Elevators, escalators and air-conditioning. Awe-inspiring nebulae and claustrophobic float tanks. Oneiric dehumidifiers. The aqueous chill of sliced cucumber on your eyesockets. Vacancy as a stand-in for the unbearable melancholy of being. Liminal imagery and ideas of “wellness” have an unfortunate relationship with ambient, in that they pair far too effectively far too often. Tujiko Noriko’s latest departure from her (wonderful!) glitch-pop origins is indeed music for resting heart rates delivered at tectonic pace over a sprawling expanse, but its lens is wide, its vocalist is present, and it’s willing to stretch the already ample malleability of ambient into a Warp Room’s worth of distinctive emotive atmospheres that probably wouldn’t cut it at a day spa.

Cr​é​puscule I & II is[/are?] more destabilised than a quick appraisal might suggest. Airier fare is often offset with lackadaisical examinations of unsteady harmony and unsettled textures. It’s leagues away from a bad trip, but it’s emotionally complex in a way that few ambient records achieve this convincingly [quick and relevant shoutout to Laurel Halo’s Atlas, which might’ve made this list if Mercury wasn’t in retrograde during the voting process]. One minute, some kid is screaming something akin to the 20th Century Fox theme to herald the arrival of the fucking sun in “Golden Dusk”, and soon after “Roaming Over Land, Sea And Air” traverses doldrums gloomy and skittish enough in its opening minutes to have you clutching your pillow in mild discomfort.

This emotional mutation, alongside the artfully spaced and delicately delivered vocals from Tujiko, makes the Cr​é​puscules unusually active company for an ambient release. It’s a record I’ve revisited often, and I’ve found that it’s as capable of absorbing hopes and heartbreaks as it is of exuding its own. It’s the kind of music that frequently distends time — three minutes feels like an eon in “Cosmic Ray”; nineteen minutes evaporate in one cleansing exhale during “Don’t Worry, I’ll Be Here”, a farewell lullaby that provides a finality of peace that I can only imagine the surging release of DMT before your imminent death would supersede. The unlikely intimacy that Cr​é​puscule I & II supplies invites you to be the dream’s companion, to help augment its beauty with your own, and to face the challenges of innumerable dreary days with another hand to hold in your own. –MiloRuggles

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