50-31 | 30-11 | 10-1

10. Young Fathers – Heavy Heavy

[Official site] // [Spotify]

Young Fathers have never shied away from jubilation — see “Nest”, “Only God Knows”, and even Tape Two‘s cover art — but it’s never been as transparent as it is on Heavy Heavy. This album is joyful, heartfelt, affirming, powerful, and overwhelmingly sincere, miles past the conversation of irony at this point. It’s the sound of your second wind as you near the end of the longest hike you’ve ever been on, a mix of accomplishment, vigor and encouragement. Like their previous work, it incorporates a variety of genres and styles, a sort of psychedelic, noisy, and spiritual pop. It seems this may be a pivotal moment in their artistic evolution, as the bleeding and passionate heart of their music is no longer just being used to create a beautifully contrasting emotional dichotomy, but has taken over entirely, spinning all their previously identifiable influences into an even more unclassifiable tornado of percussion, keyboards, and particularly the human voice. Even their hooks have gotten stronger, with each song demonstrating masterful pop instincts, filled with rhythms that you’ll wish were stuck in your head for even longer.

None of this means that they have lost their edge. Just because this is the Young Fathers project you could probably play in front of your parents with the least complaints doesn’t mean the music isn’t fighting for something. What it means and who it stands for is resistant on its own, pushing against a greater power that has been trying to pigeonhole, diminish, ignore and at times even attack the group for their refusal to back down. Excitement, motion, and triumph are not the only or even necessarily the main themes here (their lyrics are as intentionally multifaceted as ever), but even if they were, for a band as inherently political as this one, a band that will presumably always have enemies merely for existing, pride and optimism are both offense and defense in and of themselves.

With a year this dark, as so many of our systems seem to accelerate in their devolution, one of the best ways to fight those shadows is with light: the light that Heavy Heavy represents. It’s not an artificial lamp or a fading star, but a beating, moving sun, stretching into every corner of the room we all live in, taking each of our hands and helping us up, dusting off our shoulders, patting us on the back, reminding us that our energy can be kinetic. Dance, fight, yell, cheer, keep getting up over and over again — whatever it is that you need to do, this is how Young Fathers remind you that you can. –granitenotebook

9. Sincere Engineer – Cheap Grills

[Official site] // [Spotify]

It’s been a rough year for me: I’ve been feeling out of touch and behind in basically every aspect of my life. Trying to pick up the pieces feels futile; at times, it’s gotten so bad I feel like an imposter around these parts. There’s a silver lining, though. Had I been in a different headspace, I’m not sure if Cheap Grills — the emotionally-charged underdog of the year –- would have the same jump-start effect on my psyche.

There’s a giddy moment on Cheap Grills that keeps surfacing in my mind. Playing out like a wonky scavenger hunt, vocalist Deanna Belos tries her best to locate her will to live — frantically searching in cupboards, drawers, and under her bed. It’s playful and intentionally over the top: a take-a-look-in-the-mirror moment that reveals bloodshot eyes and grime. Even at her darkest moments, there’s some demented joy to be had. “Fireplace” reminds me of a certain woodchipper scene from Fargo, as Belos hilariously — erm, questionably — admits to getting high while fantasizing about another’s transformation from chopped limbs into ash and smoke. With its charged guitars and sing-along chorus, it’s an earworm that embeds in your brain with ease.

Despite checking all the boxes for cathartic emo, Cheap Grills is much more versatile than you might expect. Closing on a perfect pairing of delicate acoustic guitars and strings, “Blind Robin” is probably one of the best ballads to ever exist. It has its tragic moments that touch on the loss of life, but also takes the time to appreciate the little things: conversations shared over a baseball game, friendship, shitty beers. Is this really the same songwriter who was going on about incinerating someone to ashes on “Fireplace”? There’s something unpredictable and fierce about Sincere Engineer, but beneath all the tongue-in-cheek antics and empty beer cans is a tender, extraordinary band that’s gaining momentum faster than most can catch on. –Atari

8. Chepang – Swatta

[Bandcamp] // [Spotify]

Che-pang! Were it onomatopoeia, Chepang’s name would be the sound produced when some unfortunate sod steps on a rake (che-) and gets clocked in the face (-PANG!). Swatta presents itself as one singular LP, but in actuality, it is four rakes to the face. Rake A consists of a whole grindcore album’s worth of no-nonsense grindcore; Rake B introduces some nonsense via creative guitar soundscaping, noise manipulation, and  Zorn-esque meltdowns courtesy of one Patrick Shiroishi molesting a saxophone; Rake C is a return to nonsenseless basics feat. (I lied) smatterings of nonsense via billions of cross-continental collaborators; and Rake D is (you guessed it!) pure nonsense, except this time it’s the spasmodic demise of an entire genre. In concept, this all sounds wildly exhausting (and painful!), and it is(!), but fortunately, four grindcore albums only stack up to 49-minutes of your precious time.

It’s worth munching your way through the mess, though, for therein lies the gooey, primordial magic. Turn Chepang’s morbid monolith upside down, prod at it from different angles; it delights in fucking with momentum, with pacing and space and time, so why not fuck back? Hop straight to Side C, rejoice in bloody face extraction via collaborative chainsaw shudders. Pair the tight typhoon of A and jazz-deth-scuzz-ascension of B. Whatever ordering best reveals the spirit of grind to you — buried as it be beneath these tangled spasms — shift it so! Save D for dessert, though: its AI amalgam is a fitting farewell, a frayed LP medley, cutting lights via a disintegration loop of metallic ghosts. In doing so, the curtain is pulled, revealing the variety, scope and brilliance of the preceding meltdown it pulps to fuck.

Of course, sternly sitting through the chronological entirety of the most uncompromisingly batshit grind release this side of Crisis Sigil in 2023 isn’t essential to enjoying what’s on offer — flipping back and forth between these soiled pages will provide all the lip-chewing catharsis of a Mills & Boon romp — but any masochist fortunate enough to possess both a microscopic focus for GridLinkian detail and an attention-span long enough to inhale Ken Burns documentaries like oxygen should step on this fucking rake pronto. –MiloInTheBack (MiloRuggles x AsleepInTheBack)

7. Katatonia – Sky Void of Stars

[Official site] // [Spotify]

Sometimes you learn to appreciate something once it’s too late. When it’s finally gone, you reflect and realize just how much you missed while it was present. Luckily, this wasn’t the case for fans of Katatonia — but it almost seemed like it was. After the band went on hiatus in 2018, it seemed like it was the end of the road for the band, yet they returned with City Burials — a sigh of relief knowing the band was still alive, although with a slight loss of light. I had only heard a little bit of Katatonia here and there, but had never dived into their discography, so I wasn’t one who knew about the hiatus. However, the resurgence following the hiatus caught my attention and encouraged me to dive deep into their music, becoming a fan even 30 years beyond their initial endeavors. With Sky Void of Stars, Katatonia continue to expand upon what City Burials established while also regaining the spark of their earlier years. It’s a revitalization of their sound, moving forward and evolving their style while bringing in the easily recognizable moments of their past efforts.

From the fast-paced opening of “Austerity” to the somber guitar/piano conclusion of “No Beacon to Illuminate Our Fall”, Sky Void of Stars is built around its pace. In the first minutes of the album, tracks like “Colossal Shade” and “Birds” maintain a quick tempo full of energy and passion that feature catchy, distorted guitar passages and soaring vocals. In the latter sections of the record, “Sclera” and “Impermanence” take the reins, relying heavily on reverb-laden leads and slow-burn drum grooves that create a beautifully building atmosphere. Where the band excels is when they allow the pacing to highlight climatic moments within songs. “Drab Moon”, though a rather slow song, hits a powerful moment of proggy riffdown that brings an intensity to the album, albeit only for a short time. “Atrium”, arguably the best song, is amplified by its energetic and catchy chorus that accents the entirety of Sky Void of Stars. Even closer “No Beacon to Illuminate Our Fall”, with its darker ambience and solemn tone, is highlighted by its heavier middle section that brings a ferocity that illuminates the back end of the album.

However, what truly makes Katatonia’s newest release stand out is that it just sticks. I don’t really know what it is, but there’s something about this album that keeps you coming back. Maybe it’s the earworm instrumentation that digs deep with its memorable leads and catchy progressions; or, maybe it’s the beautiful vocal passages filled with emotion and passion. More than anything, I think it’s a newfound appreciation for something that was nearly lost. With Katatonia almost gone once, Sky Void of Stars is a truly beautiful thing, knowing that it could have not existed. Whatever it is to you, Katatonia’s newest effort is one of the most memorable of the year. –tyman128

6. Sufjan Stevens – Javelin

[Official site] // [Spotify]

Without give, we are not permitted to take. Without mutuality, a hug is just a restraining order in disguise. In other words: some music only opens up to those who are willing to open up to it. A vague, pretentious, pointless musing that doesn’t do much of anything to articulate what actually makes good art good? Probably, but this is my AOTY write-up dammit, so sit down. Example time: take Javelin. Roll your eyes at its back-to-basics songcraft, overt melancholy, and penchant for uncomplicated niceness, and it will give you diddly shit in return.  Respond to its hug with a hug, however, and things start to get all warm and fuzzy inside.

I like the gorgeous electro-choral plink plonks of “Goodbye Evergreen”. I really like the pastel campfire fumes billowing from “My Red Little Fox”. I really really really like the literal career epitome that is “Shit Talk”.  My affection finds roots not just in pretty guitar chords and gleaming gospel arrangements, though, but in awkward, pathetic, human attachment.  Stevens is a stranger who I genuinely know, or, perhaps more accurately, someone whose artistic embodiment — a decade-long tangle of strings and keys and elation — has fooled me into thinking I have such a companion, convinced by a parasocial hand sleight of pseudo connection; because of course I don’t know him, of course of course of course, but fuck man it sure feels real. With Carrie & Lowell, it was the blunt honesty with which those grief-stricken confessions were delivered; with Javelin, it’s the generous optimism and brave earnestness that resonates, soundtracked by halos and lily petals and starlight.

Far from unique to Sufjan, it’s a quality inherent to all artists divided from their audience by as few barriers as possible — literally, in the case of folk, by a battered chunk of tree, alone — but, and to his credit, it is a quality that I have only experienced this year, at least to this degree, from Javelin. It sure helps that the LP is so damn spinnable! ‘Coda-cum-intro-cum-fuck is this album over already?!’ has been my endlessly looped experience of 2023, consistently lured back to Stevens’ pillowy embrace again and again, stuck gladly by the Javelin and the beating heart beneath. It may be built like a ham sandwich — simple, modest, and with butter — but there’s joy to be found in the small things; in the company of a man and his guitar; in the warmth of an embrace; in the give and take. –AsleepInTheBack

5. Billy Woods and Kenny Segal – Maps

[Bandcamp] // [Spotify]

Billy Woods is a Sophoclean prophet made of vapor on the prickly Maps, a hazy travelogue of dimly lit green rooms, the harsh ambience of EasyJet flights, contaminated city water, and the ruins of that same EasyJet flight in a forest where no one hears the trees fall. On an endless journey with a beginning he can’t even remember, he’s acquired a certain set of skills; he evades the Feds with cunning despite their consistent surveillance of him, outdoes Harry Houdini at his own game of escape artistry, and acquires a tongue silver enough to convince his new neighbor to poison himself to death with carbon monoxide. Kenny Segal’s next-room-over drum loops and uneasily tiptoeing pianos stalk Woods as he spits about the unmoored isolation of his touring experience, prophesying about the endless march of time, the physical and emotional toll of travel, and the dizzying day-to-day of a jet-lagged consciousness. The machine marches forward — to what end no one knows — and Woods is mercilessly dragged along with it, finding humor, respite, despair, and characters beyond human comprehension along the way.

It may seem like a back-half afterthought at first, but I’d argue that Maps‘ centerpiece is a 1 minute, 46-second cut called “Agriculture”. Segal’s instrumental evokes the feeling of nurturing beams of light warming your skin as the sun rises, or the feeling of arriving in paradise and resting your tired bones. Woods spins the yarn of a routine day’s work on a farm, living off his own land and sustaining his own mental as he carries an oil lamp to and from the chicken coop. It’s a powerful emotional sketch that seeks to fulfill Woods’ innermost wishes of being permanently settled and secure, yet also remains aware of the underlying dread that will rule over him if he ever stops moving. For now, it can simply remain a wish, a calming daydream where everything is in order. Your enemies will never come knocking at the door. Grandma went to heaven. Bad dreams are only dreams, and you can tell yourself that good dreams will always come true. –YoYoMancuso

4. yeule – Softscars

[Official site] // [Spotify]

I have long held the belief that things/music/life gets a lot better when more gaze is added. Yeule fully embracing the holy gospel of drem on Softscars seems like a prime example of this: it’s a notably brighter project than anything they’ve done before, without sacrificing any of their unique intricacies or glitchiness. However, while this record is more accessible and ethereal on the surface, it does not merely add a layer of fuzz to Yeule’s sound for the hell of it: in the context of the artist’s discography, this progression makes perfect sense in the most uplifting way. Serotonin II and Glitch Princess often felt dark, dense and consequently daunting; where these projects are rooted in uncertainty and trauma, this third album feels like a resolution of sorts. There’s still plenty of uncertainty and trauma to be uncovered here, but Softscars shows that Yeule has accumulated the necessary tools to tackle and expand upon such devastating topics in a wonderfully positive and productive manner. Every bit of reverb shimmers with reminders of progress, allowing an album with multiple references to artificial intelligence, pierced tummies and blood (so much blood) to form one of the most wholesome experiences of the year. Things/music/life might get better when more gaze is added, but in certain cases, improvement might just need to precede the addition of gaze for everything to fully bloom. –JesperL

3. Wednesday – Rat Saw God

[Official site] // [Spotify]

Allow us to introduce ourselves — we’re the fearsome foursome: Jesper, Sunnyvale, Tyman, and YoYo.

To me, the word ‘Wednesday’ has always simply meant the “hump day”, that glorious twenty-four hours when the seemingly unending grind of the first half of the workweek turns into the slowly accelerating slide into the weekend (wait, Sunny, that’s what ‘hump day’ means to you? I had a very different interpretation of that particular word, but I guess I’m not a native speaker). Now, it’s unclear why this North Carolinian collective picked the Wednesday moniker (it’s very Google-able!), but with Rat Saw God, they’ve produced a statement of intent powerful enough that their existence merits a note every time the calendar flips to that sacred third day of the standard workweek.

While Wednesday’s fusion of alt-country and shoe-starin’ has been at the forefront of a lot of discourse-capital-d surrounding Rat Saw God, this genre of “bootgaze” is hardly what makes the album such an achievement. Rather, it’s the impressive flexibility of mood and lyricism showcased here — ranging from blunt force trauma at one moment (“The race car driver died on TV”) to poetical and delicate the next (“Memory always twists the knife /  Nothing will ever be as vivid as the darkest time of my life”). The fact that these extremes can come together as a cohesive artistic creation is enough to merit Rat Saw God a place on this list, nevermind the existence of multiple song-of-the-year contenders on the tracklist.

“Multiple song-of-the-year contenders? Like what?” Well, honestly, take your pick; those aforementioned lyrical excerpts are from “Got Shocked” and “What’s So Funny”, both of which pack so much emotional energy into their short two-minute skeletons that I wouldn’t be inclined to disagree with anyone who chose either track as their champion of 2023. What’s especially impressive is how diametrically opposed their approaches are; “Got Shocked” springs to life like a fuse box being reset before bludgeoning its audience with beautifully cacophonous feedback and woozy chord changes, while “What’s So Funny” dances along its listeners’ brain stems with its spidery arpeggios and silently creeping percussion. However, you can’t really discuss Rat Saw God without addressing the elephant in the room: its absolutely titanic second track, “Bull Believer”. One could even call it the bull in the room. Its lyrics alone are top-tier enough, deftly mixing its central metaphors of a bleeding-out bull as a sort of sacrificial lamb with a gutting narrative of the traumatic aftermath of losing a loved one to substance abuse, and recounting all the lies one believed that pockmarked the road to this preordained and fatal conclusion. As a final product, though, “Bull Believer” simply needs to be heard to be believed as the rancorous buildups and oscillating feedback of its initial sections eventually give way to an unforgettable denouement. I won’t spoil it for you if you have not yet heard the record, but this song’s conclusion may be the single most impactful recorded moment from any artist this year.

Anyway, yes, “Bull Believer” is goated with the sauce, and, eh, where were we? Sigh. If Wednesday can place eight tracks after their nine-minute opus, I’m fairly confident we can figure out a way to finish this highly succinct blurb. One of the most uncontroversial statements of all time might just be “Music brings people together,” and isn’t this one of the most beautiful examples of that? Right, Sunny? YoYo? Ty…? Where… where did you guys go? Ah, shit, here we go again. “Hot rotten grass smell / ‘Fuck all y’all’ down the wishi–” –The Fearsome Foursome (JesperL x Sunnyvale x tyman128 x YoYoMancuso)

2. There Will Be Fireworks – Summer Moon

[Bandcamp] // [Spotify]

A few years back, There Will Be Fireworks gave an update on their status, remarking in particular that they were behind schedule “even by our own glacial standards.” Oddly enough, it was one of the more relatable things the Scots had penned; it was an honest admission that, “Hey, we’re doing this recording thing at our own speed and this is how it’s going.” Because that’s as real as life can get — that pressure to get on with it, figure things out, line all the ducks up in a row, all that jazz. It’s the stress of growing older and the passage of time seemingly accelerating at a rate where cherished memories rapidly turn to blurs. In the face of those daunting phenomena, the Glasgow gang relaxed, buckled down, and decided they’d tackle whatever life tossed at them at their own pace, expectations be damned.

There’s something special about that kind of understated adventure — a decade’s-long endeavor precisely linking serene guitars, elegant string arrangements, echoing piano notes, magical ambient soundscapes, and carefully-orchestrated, revelatory post-rock eruptions — all while only offering the briefest glimpses behind the curtain. There’s something inherently exciting about waiting patiently under the metaphorical Christmas tree, eagerly anticipating the arrival of a gift that’s bound to be on the way. It could be said that, given the context of its considerable journey and consequently high expectations, Summer Moon was bound to impress regardless of how exactly it sounded, but doing so feels like a hand-wave of the incredible achievement There Will Be Fireworks have attained. Out of their so-called glacial pace, the Scots have unveiled an immaculate present, and one that doubtlessly lives up to the decade of hype preceding it.

Like a true sequel, it is equal parts The Dark, Dark Bright and novel pieces, establishing new ground on top of an already phenomenal foundation. There’s the sublime acoustics that effortlessly drift along, the brooding guitar chords that yearn for a memory long since passed, and the steady beat of the percussion as the gang haphazardly stumble through newfound responsibilities. An elegant piano follows in tow, decorating the scenery with an air of melancholia or reverberating behind graceful arpeggios and the subtle rhythmic motions of the bass, imbuing proceedings with a delicate sense of nostalgia. It’s a comforting, familiar territory meticulously designed to develop gradually, widen subtly to include rollicking guitars and soaring strings, and emerge in a tantalizing mixture of climactic instrumentation. One can find it in full swing in the likes of “Our Lady of Sorrows” or “Something Borrowed”, with the powerful, emotive tones of frontman Nicholas McManus leading the charge through the group’s trademark poignant lyricism.

Those immense rockers and crescendos remain a central component of the band, yet it’s the journey guiding to those moments that commands the storytelling. It allows “Holding Back the Dark” to settle in on a melodic lead while quietly orchestrating subtle build-ups, finally pirouetting into a gorgeous swell of radiant strings, or for “Dream Song” to patiently wind through ethereal ambience and fuzzy, twangy guitars, creating an indecipherable reverb-infused haze buoyed by McManus’ distant voice. That atmosphere seems appropriate for a record defined in part by its extensive recording process. There Will Be Fireworks aren’t intrepid indie rockers here; they’ve aged, much like their audience, and with that comes different careers, priorities, marriages, families — a whole bunch of stuff that tires out the youthful exuberance of yesteryear, replacing it instead with a reflective atmosphere that looks lovingly back to olden days while remaining concerned about a now-imminent future. In true There Will Be Fireworks fashion, they’ll figure out those concerns at a glacial pace — but hell, who among us figures out life that fast anyways? What matters is the end goal, and Summer Moon is a beautiful realization of reaching that stage. –MarsKid

1. JPEGMAFIA and Danny Brown – SCARING THE HOES

[Official site] // [Spotify]

Cut the shit, empty the mop buckets, pay the call boys: SCARING THE HOES is album of the year, and, to be perfectly honest, you have all been dealing with it for months already. This certified victory(?) isn’t really a reflection of the frankly abusive margin by which it topped our aggregated score chart, or the fact that it appeared on the greatest number of ballots cast, or even its success in generating more discourse than any album not made by a gang of masked faux-cultist shills, but because this is our first AOTY since How I’m Feeling Now that dominated and defined the year in its own inimitable way — so much so that its inclusion here is moot and any clambering webnerd’s opinion about whether or not it is truly the year’s finest record (or even a desirable listening experience in the first place) is frankly irrelevant. While separate debates have flared and subsided over who best encompassed The Year That Was, a steady posse of die-hard ingrates have been spinning and respinning SCARING THE HOES, a nasty excess of tequila slammers past being good company, half-cut and half-aware that it would take something pretty fucking special to knock this gloriously wonky crapshoot off its perch.

Put less charitably, in a year otherwise defined by (*skims all major-publication lists including this one*) a scrawny hodgepodge of mysteriously depressing poptimism, legacy releases that Fosbury flopped just clear of a low-lying bar, and a hot streak of amicable product-facing from a number of placid and steady-handed applecart merchants, SCARING THE HOES is the only contender that has a) convincingly held down a major platform, and b) been almost shockingly its own thing. Whatever whacko sauce it’s brought to the table has been entirely unbeholden to anyone or anything else: Brown spitting that he’s “got her taco drippin on the floor” over a wholesome sampling of Michael Jackson’s “Dear Michael” probably didn’t stamp anybody’s 2023 bingo card. The hole this album’s brand of irreverent chaos has punched through the wall puts the rest of the year into context better than just about anything: given such a dearth of Major Events, the crown comes down to a no-holds-barred pissing match between terminally online reprobates; the racehorse-grade pelvic floor flexed by our champions JPEGMAFIA and Danny Brown leaves no room for competition.

Questions of wider coherence and narrative can up sticks and hike it: this thing’s balls are bigger than your favourite ancestor’s broadest horsecart, and doz nutz are just as likely to instruct you to mend your defects as they are to demand that you go fuck yourself. Is JPEGMAFIA crossing his fingers harder when he identifies as Black AOC or as Black Marjorie Taylor Greene? The man’s fixation on extremes is too funny to be shocking and too ridiculous to be provocative, and there’s yet more dissonance in how these hot-button controversies sit side-by-side with whatever other bullshit about WWE or taking a shit or getting top on the phone — and then the scent is lost — wait, is Danny Brown okay?! It’s both a thousand times smarter and dumber than any expectations you care to throw at it. Burn your textbook. Pash the person sitting next to you. DDT your grandma and doxx your local MP. It makes you want to fucking move, to yell, to take beer pong frighteningly seriously, to ingest substances and expel them at your leisure. The collateral damage is deliciously steep: get through “Steppa Pig”‘s cosmically portentous brass refrain (practically the Imperial March for net-addled ratbags), and the volley of callouts in JPEG’s final verse shoots down foes and fans alike for the incorrigible keyboard dogs they are. It doesn’t matter who’s in the firing line; Peggy and Brown are simply content to take turns feeding the ammo belt and pulling the trigger, cackling at their shared destructive energies all the while.

Then they press their advantage, courting and aborting one creative goldmine after another: SCARING THE HOES packs any number of substantive genre cross-pollinations that could have easily have sustained an entire project, from gospel (“God Loves You”) to soul (“Orange Juice Jones”), jazz (“Jack Harlow Combo Meal”), anison (“Kingdom Hearts Key”) etcetcetc. — and yet, fate and Peggy being the minxes they are, it commits to not one of these, or anything at all save for its own fickle temperament! To draw a tongue-in-cheek comparison liable to give Sputnikmusic’s hip-hop credentials an undue bruising, if To Pimp a Butterfly‘s landmark status stems in part from Kendrick Lamar running the gamut of traditionally black genres in an earnest affirmation of heritage, then SCARING THE HOES flicks through the playbook cover-to-cover and, respectfully, throws the whole thing in the toilet. It tries everything once and outgrows it instantly — it takes everything on a strict ethos of slash ‘n’ burn. It won’t call you in the morning.

Meanwhile, when I’ve clawed the crust from my eyes at the sparrow’s fart and contemplated another morning devoid of serotonin, I’ll still call you — in a state of genuine surprise concerning the perennial receptivity of hip-hop fans to unpredictable parades of genres (thanks again, OutKast) soundtracking artists willing to dissect themselves alongside an entire world of injustice, cruelty, love, and joy. Rap remains a fearless cultural touchstone of our time, a language that provides an expansive canvas for intimate and generous art that truly connects with people en masse. And then Danny Brown says “dook chute” and I’m like, “Damn, this might be AOTY.“

And it fucking is, despite the noise. Even with Twitter (shut up) sitting behind a paywall, many a pesky keyboard unburdened their typists of the quarrelsome opinion that they didn’t like the mixing on SCARING THE HOES, which seems pretty fucking silly when you consider the art here is leagues more aesthetic than substantive, is called, well, SCARING THE HOES, and its ethos, if it has one at all, is the words FUCK YOU chopped and screwed and served with a firm slap in the face. SCARING THE HOES is at every moment a fierce display of artistry from two pairs of experienced hands who refuse to drop the ball for a single track on 2023’s best album as voted by a cadre of dilettantes and vagabonds (the titular antagonists themselves!), who should damn well put palm to grass as mandated by this pair of reprobates, regardless of how clearly they themselves might benefit from doing the same. Competition may have been dubious, but this is still a triumph of chaos none of us deserved — and if you ain’t happy with that, you can spend the next twelve months praying that your bloodless noodle-jerking go-tos get their face out of their flannel long enough to make something more vitalised next time around. Until then, sever yourself from the cerebral, the sensible and the considered, join your clammy hands in blissful blackout, and howl until you feel better about something/anything. This ain’t what you want? Better luck next year. –JohnnyoftheRuggles (JohnnyoftheWell x MiloRuggles)

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List of participating writers (alphabetical order): AsleepInTheBack, Atari, BlushfulHippocrene, dedex, Dewinged, DrGonzo1937, Frippertronics, Gnocchi, granitenotebook, insomniac15, JesperL, JohnnyoftheWell, Kompys2000, MarsKid, MiloRuggles, mynameischan, robertsona, Rowan5215, Sowing, Sunnyvale, TheNotrap, tyman128, Voivod, Willie, WinesburgOhio, YoYoMancuso