Can it be? Everyone’s favorite year-end list is finally here! Yes, it may be deep into June of the following year, but I wasn’t going to let these fantastic artworks go unnoted as I begin culling my list for 2025. As always, these one hundred artworks are not ranked but are arranged in a diverse yet overwrought combination of art styles, shapes, and colors. As exhaustive as I attempt to be each year, there are always excellent covers I miss, so feel free to share them in the comments. Scroll to the bottom for the full 10×10 collage.
Enjoy the eye candy!
– <3 Neek
Charli XCX // BRAT Rapsody // Please Don’t Cry Middle Kids // Faith Crisis Pt. 1 Geordie Greep // The New Sound Rosie Lowe // Lover, Other Crippling Alcoholism // With Love from a Padded Room London Grammar // The Greatest Love Tides from Nebula // Instant Rewards Ana Tijoux // Vida Allie X // Girl with No Face Everything Everything // Mountainhead Dora Jar // No Way to Relax When You Are on Fire Tzompantli // Beating to the Drums of Ancestral Force Frail Body //Artificial Bouquet DIIV // Frog in Boiling Water No Cure // I Hope I Die Here Brume // Marten …
Let me be honest: it’s actually very hard to describe this album in words. Oak Lace Apparition often feels more like a journey through time and space than it feels like music — and with regard to atmospheric quality, this album stands almost second to none. I could come up with a million different metaphors or similes in a poor attempt at describing the tapestry that Oak Lace Apparition weaves, but it would not do Toby Driver and Alora Crucible justice. I don’t have a better option, though (sorry, Toby, I’ll try to be as poetic as possible about this), so here goes:
Oak Lace Apparition ranges from being as spacious as the universe to being as naught as gossamer passing over your fingertips. The sonic textures are so rich you can practically feel them — like the sharpness of Oregon air when you live in Los Angeles or the softness of fine velvet. At times it is as desolate as being stuck inside on an icy winter morning, and other times it is as stunning as the view of the city from that one secret spot that only you know about. If you can think of a concept with how to describe music — whether that be melancholy, beautiful, isolated or magnificent — all of it can be found on this album.
Brittany Howard’s name alone carries enough weight to make Alabama shake. What Now finds the genre-hopper in a surreal dalliance with soul-adjacent stylings, melding her voice into the music in a way that will affect you even if you struggle to get soulful without a lump of peyote percolating in your gut. No matter where in the stereo field her voice erupts from, no matter which spacious avenue of her range she’s occupying, no matter how her vocals are masked, processed, and extensively multi-tracked, they have an urgent and emergent quality that will sound familiar to anyone who has dabbled in the subconscious warp of improvising. Her voice manages all this while effectively emoting a primal ache for love, a history of heartbreak, and a desire for unity, without ever upstaging or even slightly stepping outside the bounds of each track’s atmosphere. The theatrics come natural, and the production shapes every sound and colour into a precisely sculpted whole.
This is further streamlined by the way Howard only writes the best parts of songs, skipping past languid contextualising and slow builds: the first big Musical Moment of the album, wherein Howard falls into a reverie picturing her name falling from the mouth of somebody that might as well embody love itself, comes a mere minute into the album, 20 seconds of which was basically just chimes. Many such…
Listening to Cindy Lee feels like stepping into a lucid dream where past and future blur together, where nostalgia and invention mesh into a vivid hallucination. Diamond Jubilee is a massive, two-hour-long psych-pop suite that sounds like a transmission from a lost VHS of a world that never was. This lo-fi haze isn’t just aesthetic; it’s the emotional core, draping everything in a bittersweet fog of memory and longing. Cindy Lee (a.k.a. Patrick Flegel of Women) manages to transcend this retro-nostalgia by performing in drag, embodying a non-binary persona that disrupts the rigid norms of the eras the music evokes. Here, drag bridges retrofuturism and modernity — a way to revisit and reclaim the past while reshaping it through a transgressive, forward-thinking lens. This duality makes Diamond Jubilee feel timeless and impossibly new, tethered to the past but endlessly forward-reaching. It’s a sonic time machine for a world that only exists in dreams — and in Cindy Lee’s singular vision. –dedex
49. Vijay Iyer, Linda May Han Oh, Tyshawn Sorey – Compassion
It may only take three people to form a jazz trio, but the likelihood that three virtuosic musical egos powered by academic rigour and already-bustling careers will have genuine, equilateral chemistry when they start playing together is slim. Enter Vijay Iyer, Linda May Han Oh,…
It’s been a long, long year of compiling tracks — some obvious selections from albums I rated very highly, some one-off singles, and others that were merely gems buried on practically unheard-of releases. Those who know my tendencies on Sputnik may be aware that while I certainly have my genre preferences (indie/folk/rock/pop), I’ll listen to practically anything. This list is at least somewhat reflective of that, with selections from all over the genre spectrum. Rather than ranking all 100 tracks — which (1) is always way more difficult than it seems and (2) I unfortunately don’t have the kind of free time to accomplish — I decided to alphabetize the songs with the hope that you’ll pop this on shuffle (or play it alphabetically if you’re built for 6 straight hours of sowingcore) and either relive some of the best moments of 2024 or otherwise discover music that you otherwise wouldn’t have known existed. They’re not the definitive objective “top” 100 songs, but simply my favorite 100 of the year. Give it a spin and feel free to discuss in the comments anything you love, hate, or have discovered thanks to this list. Happy holidays, and see you all in 2025!
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…
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…
At the start of this decade, The National went through a rough patch, struggling with the new material they were working on. Perhaps those difficult times led to the placidness of First Two Pages of Frankenstein, but in hindsight, it was a necessary step in order to shake things off. As a result, Laugh Track, whose songs were mostly finished and recorded on tour at a much faster pace, ended up more diverse and energetic. The album doesn’t carry the heavy load its predecessor got almost crushed under. It’s the most alive The National have felt in years, and it feels like the members are excited again to work together on new music. –insomniac15
Frenetic tremolo picking, shotgun-sounding snare alongside cataclysmic blast beats, and guttural malevolence are ubiquitous throughout Fossilization’s premier LP. A logical progression from the Brazilian duo’s first EP and subsequent split release with Ritual Necromancy, those favoring the ‘death doom’ side of the spectrum will enjoy “Once Was God”‘s hostile opening deluge and the equitable balance of melody and malice found in “Oracle of Reversion” and Leprous Daylight‘s title track. Meanwhile, listeners preferring a ‘doom death’ alignment will appreciate the sludgy dissonance heard in “Eon” and especially “Wrought in the Abyss”‘ closing moments. An…
On March 2, 2018, the heavy music/core-sphere collectively lost their minds over Rolo Tomassi’s coming-of-age release Time Will Die And Love Will Bury It — an album that purportedly elevated them from cult status to masters of their genre-spanning scene. I say ‘purportedly’ not because there is any doubt in my mind that this is true, but because on that same day, I was re-reviewing Bon Iver’s For Emma, Forever Ago for probably the third time, somehow unaware of Rolo Tomassi’s existence — let alone the fact that they were exploding in my backyard. Despite several interventions over the next few years by friends-who-care in an attempt to turn my attention towards this magnificently mathy/metallic/hardcore act, it was somehow 2022’s Where Myth Becomes Memory that marked my first real introduction to the band — and finally, I’d like to join my cohorts in saying: holy fucking shit. In other words, Rolo Tomassi has a new disciple.
Where Myth Becomes Memory represents the ideal intersection between beauty and aggression. Listeners who can rightfully declare themselves fans already know this, but I’m still marvelling at the way the band effortlessly swivels between the shimmering and resplendent (consider “Almost Always”, replete with its breathtaking pianos and rapturous crescendo) and the nakedly aggressive (those blood-curdling shrieks in “Cloaked”). Rolo Tomassi have reached a point in their songwriting where these…
In spite of my overwhelming and undying appreciation for single-paragraph reviews, few things are more stressful than having to explain why an album is good in one sentence. Of course, you could just say: “it’s good”… but that’s boring and, frankly, unconvincing. You could go the opposite route and use fancy words like “enchanting” or “grandiose”, but that’s just…too much. You could, instead, simply repeat the album title: “and in the darkness, hearts aglow”…but that’s…ugh, fine, that’s kind of perfect here. Weyes Blood’s music may be good, enchanting and grandiose, but Natalie Mering’s latest record adds some surprising splashes of darkness to her palette. The album’s themes of loss and loneliness construct a sense of cohesion the slightly subdued theatricality more than welcomes. It’s an experience best experienced more than once, twice or thrice until each note subtly assumes the moment in the spotlight it deserves.
Even though this spotlight may be dim due to the surrounding darkness, “It’s Not Just Me, It’s Everybody” and “Twin Flame” present wonderfully memorable choruses that demand attention and repeated listens alike. However, the album’s most impressive cut comes in the form of “God Turn Me Into a Flower”: a subdued number that bathes Mering’s gorgeous voice in equally gorgeous doses of ambience, and takes its time unfolding into a truly magical meditation on loss. While I…
2022! What a year, huh? It feels like the tide has finally washed ashore all those records that were created during that long hibernation period that was the Covid pandemic. Crippled Black Phoenix are no different, and Banefyre‘s one hour and a half running time is good proof that the British squad have done their homework. Now with full-time singer Joel Segerstedt sharing vocal duties with Belinda Kordic instead of featured singers (which was a great idea by the way!), the band struck back this year with a behemoth of an album. Banefyre sounds BIG and mighty, all without losing the Phoenix’s prowess for mesmerizing melodies and suspenseful build-ups that have become the band’s seal. This is, no doubt, an imposing album — but also an incredibly rewarding experience if you have the time and the will to let it flood your senses. And I know you do; otherwise, why would you be reading this list in the first place?! –Dewinged
“Consensus” means that I have to write about my personal album of the year as if it belongs in the 49th spot. Bronco sands down the weirder edges of Orville Peck’s debut album in favor of grandiose songwriting that makes full use of…
How did we get here, to The Killers dropping one of the most conceptually sound, consistently affecting albums of 2021? If the solid-but-safe Imploding the Mirage was a whisper of a shift in their sound towards a revitalised version of their classic-rock worship, Pressure Machine is a whole fucking sea change, a tidal wave reshaping the entire geometry and geography of The Killers’ landscape.
God only knows what Brandon Flowers has been through in the intervening years. It’s hard to believe the man whose lyrics seemed like they were written with fridge magnets is the same one sculpting the journey of Pressure Machine. With a semi-self-aware Springsteenian eye for detail, he shifts his focus to the imperfect lives of damaged people in a small town that resembles the one he was born in, a gambit that pays off in the form of a portrait that will be achingly recognisable to anyone from a similar place. The album wanders along discursive paths, touching on the glamourisation and demonisation of teenage beauty (“the chute opens, bull draws blood, and the gift is accepted by God”), the opioid crisis (anyone who thinks Flowers narrates this album from a remove missed the righteous anger that creeps into his voice singing “somebody’s been keeping secrets, in this quiet town”) and the sacrifice it takes to simply get up day…
Toby Driver is still the most reliable Renaissance man of our times, and his latest project a majestic netherscape of translucent haze and dreamless sleep. In many ways, it’s been a while coming: while Driver’s albums as Kayo Dot play out as vivid forays into esoteric fantasies, there’s something out of time and almost ritualistic in his sparser solo outings. They Are The Shield is an obvious touchstone, but his rather overlooked dance piece Ichneumonidae sums up the quality in question, too: something graceful and expansive unto itself, but so clearly estranged from familiar reality that it carries a distinct sense of claustrophobia. It’s cleansing and alienating in equal measure, “ritualistic” in steady rate at which it metes out demands and dividends for a patient listener, and eerily beautiful and meticulously detailed each step of the way. As far as Sounds go, that ain’t too shabby a foundation.
Alora Crucible does a marvellous job of taking the most palatable side of this atmosphere along with Driver’s exemplary solo violin arrangements, transposing both over a delicately synth-padded, dryly guitared new age palette. Primarily instrumental and never more than understated, its composition retains obvious depth, but the subdued (and quite lovely!) tones of Driver’s chamber arrangements together with his serene dynamics make for the closest thing to easy listening he’s put his name to. Don’t get hung up…
Multiple Personalities — and, well, Coevality in general — came out of nowhere and hit me like a ton of bricks at the beginning of the year. The first release of an otherwise unknown band, Multiple Personalities harnesses big Cynic energy sans robot vocals and with more of the wandering cosmic spirit you see in the album’s artwork. A wholly instrumental experience curated and performed by only the trio comprising Coevality — guitarist Jon Reicher, bassist Derrick Elliott, and drummer Andy Prado — all of whom move boulders in terraforming a composite prog landscape on Multiple Personalities.
While that’s feat enough on its own, it really is worth hammering home just how tactfully interwoven and interlaced Multiple Personalities is without becoming an immemorable headache. In fact, it’s quite the opposite — with theme and melody always blazing the trail and making it a memorable journey that’s easy to recall and revisit. And with so many exciting variations strung along in each piece of the composition, there’s always something new and interesting to uncover on each return trip as the unconscious mind follows the familiar and the conscious digs into sidewinding paths of fretless bass, frenetic drumming, and fascinating guitar. –AtomicWaste
After taking a year off thanks to some asshole bats, the SMA’s have returned to provide you with coverage of 2021 in the world of music. It is here – not Pitchfork or some other cheap imitation – that you will learn what the best and worst albums of the year were. Honestly, I’m not even sure what you all did in 2020…did you trust Spotify’s most-streamed or something? I feel terrible that I left such a large void in your collective understanding of music last year, not to mention your 2020 holiday dinner table talks, so I’m going to attempt to make up for it by making this the best SMA’s ever!!! With a record TEN award categories, this just might be the most memorable online, music-related, year-end, blog-formatted, categorized, award-ceremony-styled thing that you read this November/December!
Alright, alright. I know this is a very exciting development for everyone, so let’s pause and take a moment to rein in your excitement, collect yourself, and continue reading. I completely understand if this might take a while, so to help you catch your breath let’s review all previous SMA Album of the Year winners:
2014 - Low Roar: 0
2015 - Sufjan Stevens: Carrie & Lowell
2016 - Yellowcard: Yellowcard
*2017 - Manchester Orchestra: A Black Mile to the Surface
