Sometimes the smallest things can represent everything. In a year that could be described as so many things — unrelenting, overwhelming, nonsensical — I think it can be best summed up by my failing molar. It started simply enough — I noticed a dull ache in the back of my mouth several months ago. Nothing too painful, just a persistent awareness of something I’d typically ignored. I went to the dentist for a checkup and they said to keep an eye on it, that I must be exaggerating since they didn’t see anything wrong. The weeks went on, the ache remained, and a pressure started building on the left side of my head. My jaw started throbbing like I’d been clenching it for hours. I went back to the dentist, did several more tests — we’re still not seeing anything, this must just be an anomaly.
More weeks, the aches grow to headaches, my gums get infected and need to be lanced. I go back to the dentist, they run several more tests — still nothing. Are you sure you’re not fixating on this and making more of it than it is? More weeks, my jaw remains locked, my gums a puffy balloon. My cheek starts swelling like I was a squirrel stocking nuts for the winter. Go back to the dentist, more tests, and finally they find the cause — my little molar. Turns out the root canal I’d had several years ago hadn’t completely worked and decided to come back to cause problems. They said it’s not common, but sometimes these things can seem fine for years and then suddenly crop up again and demand attention. I hadn’t been imagining things — things were messed up, just like I’d been saying — and now they agreed and could take action.
I tell this story because of how emblematic it felt of the entire year — the dull, steady ache constantly throbbing in the background, things getting slowly and steadily worse and no one doing anything about it, the questioning of your sanity as you keep getting told everything’s fine/normal, that this improbable event has happened at all, let alone consumed so much of your time/energy/mind. One tiny, diseased thing — painful and annoying before, worse now — that slowly poisons and overwhelms everything around it. 2025 was a failed root canal that refused to be fixed and fu#$ed up your days (and head) for months on end.
The whole tooth ordeal actually made me think of another analogy as my head throbbed daily and I tried to figure out if I was nuts or slowly dying — it was the Bastogne episode from the classic Band of Brothers. For those who are unfamiliar that one tells the tale of the Battle of the Bulge, Hitler’s last ditch attempt to turn the war around and beat back the Allies’ ongoing advances after D-Day. It took place this exact time 81 years ago and lasted until a few weeks after Christmas, consisting of an almost non-stop barrage of artillery in freezing cold temperatures.
The episode (and the battle it’s based on) is a harrowing, searing depiction of what that must have been like for our troops — stuck in their foxholes in subzero temps without proper clothing, getting bombarded for days on end from the sky, surrounded and outnumbered while short on food, ammo, and the ability to fight back. It was the single biggest and bloodiest battle of the war for the US and the third deadliest in American history — and that’s what I thought of repeatedly as this year wore on, of an unending nightmare of bullsh#$ and misery raining down on us as we hunkered in our holes and desperately tried to keep our sanity (and dignity) while we waited for it to end.
It was relentless. In last year’s recap I wrote about gutwrenching tsunamis of anger and despair and a patchwork of prolonged punishment and temporary reprieve that characterized the previous year. And as bad as that was, somehow this year ended up being faaaaaaaaar, far worse… This was a year where time stood still and the limits of human imagination, integrity, and empathy were shown in brilliant, bewildering detail. Imagination because as bad as folks felt like things could be, those predictions proved woefully insufficient compared to what we had to actually confront. Integrity because of how little the folks tasked with doing something about it actually did, and empathy because of how little everyone else seemed to care as long as it didn’t happen to them. (Though as the aforementioned war taught us, that’s probably not the most advisable strategy…)
Based on the number of things being redefined this year (bodies of water, buildings, what it means to be a criminal), I confirmed years still contain just the usual 365 days, but this one felt like it packed 10 times that amount into our gleeful trip around the sun. Days were weeks, weeks were months, and months were interminable exercises in arduous endurance. If last year was symbolized by “burn it down and start all over” temptations, this year cranked the itch for cleansing fire and annihilation to 11. (RIP…) Disgust and disgrace danced up and down the hallway, anger was automatic and almost became autonomic, and the anxious impatience over what to do in response clouded the brain like the fog filling the attic of our Dear Leader.
There were a few glimmers of hope — both massive protests and smaller acts of resistance to combat the efforts to tear us apart. The kindness and generosity shown to help those needing food. The numerous efforts to help those who lost their jobs or humanitarian funding to the callous, clueless wrecking balls in charge. There were enjoyable distractions on the page (There Will Be Fire, Martin McDonagh’s plays, the Year in Provence series) and on screen. (Sandman, 100 Years of Solitude, Rise of the Nazis and its 53 destructive days, the excellent adaptation of Say Nothing or La Trinchera Infinita, which has haunted me for months.) And there were the usual spread of fantastic shows (MMJ at Red Rocks, the gigantic singalong that was the Oasis reunion, the belated Underworld and Rapture bliss fests and Orwells farewell, another patented Raveons fuzzbomb) and even better albums to keep us company. As always, your payoff for sitting through this preamble is my running you through my favorites of the latter bits below.
Similar to last year there were a lot needed to dull the pain and grab onto for some relief — 34 total this year vs 38 the year before — and the split of old faces vs scrappy newcomers continued its annual trend of seesawing back and forth. Last year we leaned more heavily on the familiar faces to get us through the days (22 old, 16 new), while this year we went the other way, looking for succor and solace more from strangers. (19 noobs vs 15 vets) Similar to previous years they break loosely into three tiers in terms of time spent with them and penetration into my icy inner layers. The first eight slots are more like flings, things I went hot and heavy on for awhile before getting bogged down by the year’s events or otherwise needing a new distraction. The next six were more steady affairs, things I came back to time and again and that held up longer against the howling winds. The last three were ongoing obsessions, things that drove their nails deep into my back and never let up and I suspect will be around for years to come.
As usual, you could pick either of those for the top spot and I’d be able to make the case for them — just as I could for several of those lower tier ones, too. If we lived in normal times and my brain hadn’t been broken by the repeated assaults, maybe they would have. As it is, they’re still my favorite things I listened to this year no matter where they fell and they valiantly tried to help however they could. I hope you find a fraction of what I did in them as you dive through the list and that some of them land on yours — enjoy!
17. Milky Chance — Trip Tape III; Spiritual Cramp — Rude; Ghostwoman — Welcome to the Civilized World; Clipse — Let God Sort em Out: we’ll begin with a bang and a quartet of albums that serve up a mixed bag mix tape for us to start the list. First of the four is the slot’s inspiration and a literal mix tape, the third of its kind from the quirky German duo Milky Chance. Meant to serve as the soundtrack to a road trip as the title implies, the pair started doing these in between studio albums several years ago, a move seen more frequently in the social media era as an easy way for acts to keep their names in people’s minds (and feeds) while working through the often more arduous process of writing original material. (Josiah and the Bonnevilles is one who’s done it effectively, showing up here for one of his Country Covers albums just last year in between regular outings.)
It’s been three years since the Germans’ last mix tape and a pair since their last studio affair, 2023’s Living in a Haze, so seems fitting they’d have some songs stacking up that they’d want to get out into the open. As before they deliver a mix of originals and covers with the biggest surprises being the latter, which catch you off guard with their reinvention. (Perhaps not as much as on the first edition, which landed at #16 on my year end list back in 2021, but still…) They’re balanced with a handful of good to great originals that are catchy enough to keep the party rolling through the next rest stop. Tracks like “Million Dollar Baby,” “Wonderful Life,” and “What Did U Mean by Love” represent the former (originally by Tommy Richman, Black, and Theo Katzman, respectively), while we’ve got winners like “Camouflage,” “Naked and Alive,” and “Jasmin Skin” for the latter.
Of all the albums on this list this one probably proves my assessed listening age of 17 from my Wrapped recap the most, and while I get that on paper this is not normally what I’d be expected to go for, a) I’m a sucker for a well crafted pop song and b) I defy anyone to not get sucked into songs as catchy as the aforementioned “Camouflage,” “Million Dollar,” or “Naked.” (Or “What Did U Mean,” which is pure club bliss.) Road trip tunes aren’t meant to change your life, they’re just meant to keep things light and enjoyable while you get to your destination and this one, like its predecessor, does more than an admirable job of living up to the task. This one’s a bright, poppy blend of tunes to tap along to while the mile markers flash by — pop this one on and fire up the engine…
We’ll follow that with another album that feels like a mix tape in miniature, hopscotching across a number of inspirations and genres over its thirteen tracks. It comes courtesy of San Fran’s Spiritual Cramp, back with their third album (their last, 2023’s eponymous affair, landed at #3 on my list) and while that one was an extension of the traditional punk deployed so effectively on their debut, this one finds them mixing things up a lot more. Rather than stick with a winning recipe, this time the Bay brats branch out to try a range of other sounds to varying degrees of success.
It starts strong, racing from the gates with a trio of songs spotlighting them at their best — brash, hooky punk songs guaranteed to get you moving. It then starts to take a bit of a turn, offering the first of several that find the band diving up and down the jukebox, mimicking a number of bands from the early aughts. It works well enough, at first — they channel a combo of Bloc Party and the Bravery on “Automatic” before turning to a mix of Kings of Leon and Killers on “You’ve Got my Number” as frontman Michael Bingham duets with Sharon Van Etten over a “bah dah dah dah dah” style chorus.
There’s a brief return to their core sound with the self-eviscerating “I Hate the Way I Look” before marching back to their parade of parroting, which is where things start to wobble a little — there’s the reggae-inflected echoes of the Clash on “Violence at the Supermarket,” another pair of synth-tinged Bloc Party tunes “True Love (Is Hard to Find)” and “People Don’t Change,” there’s even a Peter Bjorn and Johnish one with whistles, “New Religion.” They’re all relatively catchy, but the longer the album went on the more I found myself wanting to listen to the original bands (or this one’s early albums) and not these homages. (Imitation may be the most sincere form of flattery, but it’s also an easy way to get folks to lose interest in you — just see bands like Wolfmother or Greta van Fleet for evidence.) I have nothing against the aforementioned acts and have written about all of them at some point over the last 15-20 years — it’s just not what I come to the Cramp for. It’s sorta like your favorite greasy spoon suddenly deciding to become a fine dining restaurant (or the show about such a story calling itself a comedy rather than a drama) — it’s probably still pretty good, but it’s also a tad ridiculous and makes you wish they’d just left well enough alone and not fiddled with things. Same thing applies here — this is a plate from that reimagined restaurant when all you wanted was a classic beef…
For the back half of the slot we’ll shift to a pair of albums whose sound is stable throughout their respective outings and a key component of any self-respecting mix tape. As any connoisseur can tell you, the best tapes can be counted on to have a couple garage rock and hip hop tunes, as they’re failsafe ways to boost the energy and rejuvenate the party atmosphere. Alberta’s Evan Uschenko, half the Ghostwoman duo, gives us a solid sampling of the former on their fourth album, which I wrote about last month. It’s stayed in rotation since then with its balance of fuzzed up rippers and bluesier psychedelia dancing delightfully between early BRMC and Brian Jonestown Massacre. The title track, “Song for Sunny,” “Levon,” and “When You All Were Young” are great examples of the former influence, while “that Jesus,” “From Now On,” “Anhedonia,” and “Who Are You?” are equally solid echoes of the latter. This one’s a shimmering, slithering mix of mystery and menace…
As for the hippity hop, that comes courtesy of one of the list’s biggest surprise returns, the rather unexpected resurrection of Virginia legends, Clipse. As I recounted this summer, it’d been 15 years since the brothers released anything, a time during which half of them ditched the game and their name and dedicated themselves to the church. (The other brother continued his characteristic coke chronicling, releasing a couple solo albums and periodically swooping in to deliver crushing cameos on other rappers’ singles.) After years of teasing a possible return they finally made it happen this year, releasing their fourth album that was even better than you hoped. Sporting guest appearances from Kendrick and Tyler, the Creator and produced by Pharrell (whose Neptunes became famous largely based on their work on the brothers’ debut) this one was full of bangers. From the beastly “Chains and Whips” and the jaunty, jewel-encrusted “POV” to the wrecking ball run of tracks like M.T.B.T.T.F.,” “Inglorious Bastards,” and business school buddies “E.B.I.D.T.A” and “F.I.C.O.,” this one was a return that’s far better than it had any business being.
16. Wilder Woods — Curioso; Charley Crockett — Lonesome Drifter / Dollar a Day: this slot’s for a country-fried ride on the range (modern/urban edition) and a pair of artists I wrote about earlier in the year. The first is South Carolina’s Bear Rinehart, better known as Wilder Woods, who released his third solo album early this year. As several in the previous slot did it was a bit of an eclectic mix as Rinehart jumped from sound to sound — there was traditional country pop (“Love Last”) and blues (“Devil in my Eyes”), as well as Wilderado-style indie (“Hide Anymore”) and Strokes-style shredding (“Swimming in the Ocean”), but it was the handful of softer songs that made this one worth coming back to. Breezy beauties like “Kind of Magic” were joined by a pair of killer duets (“Wild Fire” with Maggie Rogers and the lights out “Offering” with Anna Graves) that really showcased Rinehart’s powerful voice and sense of melody. This one was a candy-colored blend of pop, sweet and addicting like a nice slice of pie.
Joining Rinehart is the prolific Texan Charley Crockett, back with another tandem of albums after dropping the same on us last year. (Both landed on my list at #6.) The first one I wrote about in March as it found Crockett adopting the guise of the titular “Lonesome Drifter” again, one of his many well-worn personas. It was a good-not-great album that leaned a little too heavily on the softer side for my tastes, but there were enough tunes with a little giddy up and grit that kept me coming back throughout the year. (The title track, “Game I Can’t Win,” “One Trick Pony,” “Never No More”)
The second album extends the metaphor of the first with Crockett drifting from town to town and back again — there’s Denver twice, Austin twice, Crystal City, El Paso, Santa Fe — and that’s just the first seven songs! He also offers his usual mix of down the barrel country with some soul-style showtunes mixed in again. (The title track, “Woman in a Bar,” and “Ain’t that Right” for the former, “Crucified Son,” “Lone Star,” and “Destroyed” for the latter.) He throws in a few wrinkles to throw you off balance — there’s a little flamenco (“Age of the Ram (Theme)”) and some 70s-style funk (“Alamosa”), but for the most part this is exactly what you expect from the Dallas cowboy. Crockett is one of the last true road dogs — equal parts raconteur and rambler, seemingly at his best as he roams from place to place with a suitcase full of stories. And while these two may be a little less captivating than earlier affairs, blending together like the town names as you blaze past them on the highway, there’s still enough vivid tunes to get you to slow down and pay attention.
15. Meric Long — Kablooey; Saintseneca — Highwallow and Supermoon Songs: this slot’s for the echoes of another and a pair of albums that remind me of some former faves. One’s from an act that’s showed up here several times before (albeit in a slightly different guise), the other’s from an artist I’ve listened to in passing, but never dove too deep on until now. We’ll start with the former and the latest solo outing from singer/guitarist Meric Long. Those of you who’ve been here awhile might know him better from his band the Dodos who have shown up here a number of times over the years. (Their beloved fourth album No Color landed at #3 on my list way back in 2011 and their debut Visiter remains one of my favorite road trip selections.) It’s been four years since they released an album (2021’s Grizzly Peak) and seven since he did one on his own (2018’s Barton’s Den under the moniker FAN) and in that span Long has been putting more and more time in as a sound engineer at an Oakland recording studio. It sounds like this has been enjoyable for him, allowing him to throw himself into other people’s music rather than worrying about his own, but in the midst of that the creative itch seems to have continued to tickle him, causing him to give it another go in his off hours.
And so with one or two minor exceptions, Long began to assemble this album totally on his own — laying down the vocals, playing every instrument, and building the songs piece by piece after his shifts at the studio. And somewhat unsurprisingly what it ends up sounding like is his old band — a totally natural result for something you’ve spent eight albums and nearly 20 years of your life inhabiting — but this is not to say it sounds like a cheap imitation. The band’s albums had become increasingly hit or miss in recent years (at least for my taste), lacking some of the frenetic energy and gleeful urgency of their earlier outings. Long managed to capture both those elements here, though, more than living up to his stated expectations. (In the press release he said his intention was for the album to be “fun and not too purposeful,” allowing him to follow his “more amped up, kid in a candy store impulses.”)
He delivers on those fronts so successfully I actually thought this WAS a Dodos album at first and a great return to form, similar to the late stage resurgence of bands like the Hives and Raveonettes. (More on them in a bit…) This one explodes from the gate like a furious bull, trampling any resistance like a poorly placed rodeo clown with possibly the most irresistible opening trio of the year — “Split Decision,” “Exit Forward,” and “A Small Act of Defiance” are just under ten minutes of pure thundering delight. Like most of the best Dodos songs, they’re driven by the drums — normally these are knotty, polyrhythmic wonders built layer by layer by drummer Logan Kroeber until they’ve burst into your brain and run amok there unrestrained. This time it’s far simpler — just bludgeoning, unrelenting kick drum delivered with the force of the aforementioned animal, pummeling your ears and defying you to try and remain still.
It slows down slightly with the synth-flecked, mildly melancholic “Maybe I Forgot” and its follow on, the squawking, moodily melodic “1+1” before ramping right back up with another rampager, “Closer.” (Which may also have a thinly veiled message to the critics — or himself and any doubts he may have about going it alone — with its diffident line, “fu&% off with your reinvention.”) Long toggles between the two modes from there on out — more subdued, synthy songs (“Rinse and Repeat,” “Slowburn”) followed by rambunctious, raucous killers. (“Is This It”) At nine songs and a brief 31 minutes Long definitely leaves you wanting more, but he also shows he’s still got plenty of powder left in the cannon if/when he gets back together with Kroeber.
Joining Long is singer/songwriter Zac Little, better known for his work under the auspices of indie folk outfit Saintseneca. Similar to Long, Little has been recording under that umbrella for nearly 20 years, releasing a handful of albums and EPs, including his fifth full length a month or so ago. It had been seven years since their last one (2019’s Pillar of Na) and it sounds like Little ran into a years-long case of burnout, depression, and writer’s block in that span. (“I got crushed under the weight of something I couldn’t sing myself out of,” he admits with crushing honesty in the liner notes.) What ended up breaking him free was a chance discovery and the act of illustration it subsequently inspired. Apparently Little found a green pen on the side of the road that he felt compelled to pick up and start drawing with once he got back to his house. This impulsive act of drawing helped him start reconnecting with his creative side and eventually got him back into making music, leading not only to one of the album’s many excellent songs (“beautifullllll GREEEEEEEEEEEEN iiiiiiiiiink peeeeeeeeeeennnnn”) but its equally eye catching cover — one of many Little created with his found treasure.
This latest album is an atypical, amazing thing, one that gives off strong echoes of Neutral Milk Hotel (or more modern incarnations like Devarrow) with some ALT-J squeakiness sprinkled in for good measure. The latter only shows up sporadically (most notably on tracks like “Non Prophet”), but the ghost of Jeff Mangum is everywhere here — in the lyrics about serpents, eagles, cuckoos, calico, and clover, in the barrage of instruments more at home at a Renaissance fest — ie dulcimer, mandolin, flugelhorn, flute, etc (as well as more regular/modern things like banjo, recorder, and the occasional trumpet…), in the everything plus the kitchen sink approach to the album and its sprawling 15 songs. (The deluxe version has an additional six for a whopping 80+ minute runtime.) It seems like it could be too much and possibly overwhelm the listener, but for the most part this is a winning mix of off-kilter tunes that slowly endear themselves to you, like a gang of oddballs at the corner bar that end up becoming some of your best friends.
Like those oddballs (and the beers you might be drinking) they work their effects on you gradually — it may be the guitar riff on songs like “Hill Still Nameless,” or maybe the harmonies on songs like “Infinity Leaf Clover” or “Sweet Nothing” (or songs like “You Have to Lose your Hat Someday,” which grabs you with both). Slowly you feel the glow in your cheeks and the warmth curling round your shoulders and you lean into the feeling more readily. And once you do, you can’t stop — there’s the subdued folk of songs like “Escape Artist,” “Holy Hock,” and the aforementioned “Green Ink Pen” that shine in their simplicity, while others like “May Day” and “Battery Lifer” grab you with their mixture of Mangum and Washed Out’s dreamy, funky shuffle. It’s those echoes of the former’s motley misfits that glue everything together and make this such an enjoyable journey. You’re never sure which way you’re going, but it’s one heck of an enjoyable ride.
14. Madi Diaz — Fatal Optimist; Ken Pomeroy — Cruel Joke; SG Goodman — Planting by the Signs: this slot’s for some heartfelt heartbreak and a trio of females set to slay you with their songs. Each of them are first-timers here on the year end list — two of them I wrote about earlier, but they’re joined by a third who’s every bit their equal. We’ll start with the former, just because they’re familiar and likely still fresh in your mind. As I recounted last month, Diaz was a new discovery for me, but one who I’m definitely late to the party on. (She’s released seven albums, toured/recorded with Waxahatchee and Kacey Musgraves, and been nominated for a pair of Grammys, among other highlights.) Her latest is a staple of any good singer/songwriter, the introspective sifting through the wreckage of a shattered relationship.
For the bulk it’s just Diaz and her acoustic — hushed, damaged, but not yet defeated, as evidenced by the solid lines she scatters throughout — “Go on, do what you do best — leave me alone” in “Lone Wolf;” “You’re a lover, but you are not my friend — here for the party, but never the ending” on “Ambivalence;” “My toxic trait is hanging on, your toxic trait is showing up” on “Why’d You Have to Bring me Flowers.” Her voice and the melodies she delivers with it are consistently lovely and the naked sense of delicateness she shows makes your heart ache.
Joining her is Oklahoma’s Ken Pomeroy who recently released her second studio album. In the four years since her debut she’s been riding a rising tide of celebrity sparked by her and her songs showing up in TV and the movies (Lowdown, Reservation Dogs, Twisters), as well as a string of festival gigs and musical collabs (she worked with fellow Tulsans Wilderado on the latter’s soundtrack). Those experiences have given her songs a more cinematic feel than ever, chock full of coyotes and wolves, dogs and calves, (flannel) cowboys and (rodeo) clowns. It’s also stuffed with some understated introspection — songs about abuse (both from herself and others), vulnerability, heartache, and betrayal — all delivered with the dispassionate ease of an old timer scattering seed for the pigeons in the park. That she’s only 20 years old makes it all the more impressive — just a lovely mix of quiet devastation, subdued sophistication, and unrepentant optimism. Really lovely stuff.
The final panel of the triptych belongs to the aforementioned newcomer, Kentucky’s SG Goodman who just released her fourth album a few months ago. It’s her first since 2022’s Teeth Marks, and in that time she’s suffered the loss of her close friend and mentor, as well as her dog, things that caused her to pause her relentless touring schedule (she’s opened for folks like Tyler Childers and Jason Isbell and played everywhere from the Opry to Red Rocks) and reconcile with her former bandmate and partner Matthew Rowan. As part of the recovery process Goodman and Rowan began working on the eleven songs presented here, healing both their friendship and professional relationship, as well as Goodman’s overall outlook.
The album has elements of early Cat Power — the warm, mildly accented voice and early morning bleariness, the scat-style coos and “ooh eeh oohs” (“Nature Child,” “Solitaire,” “Fire Sign”) — while also veering towards Hurray for the Riff Raff’s Alynda Segarra on others. (“Satellite,” “I Can See the Devil,” “Snapping Turtle”) Her lyrics have vivid bits of imagery — of Goodman singing into a spoon in “I’m in Love,” of beating a bunch of kids with a stick in “Turtle” — and despite commanding your attention more than enough on her own there are two instances where she brings in a pair outsiders to bolster her already alluring voice.
They’re both on the back half of the album, ensuring things hit the finish line strong. One is a duet with Bonnie Prince Billy, the other one with Rowan, and they’re both really solid songs, their voices contrasting nicely with Goodman’s raspy drawl. She closes the album with the stately showstopper “Heaven Song,” which lives up to its name — a nine minute vamp that smolders and blooms like a campfire catching wind. It’s a fantastic closer — she can and should close her sets with this one as it’d bring down the house every night — and an excellent exclamation point on a really solid album.
13. Todd Day Wait — Letters From the Road; Patton Magee — Last Cowboy on the Prairie: this slot’s for another pair of gentlemen whose albums I wrote about before and another country-fried ride on the range, only the last edition was focused on two albums whose sound was more modern and whose imagery focused on the life of a city dweller. This one’s for a set that’s much more retro and rural, calling to mind artists/songs from the 50s or 60s and the landscape of the wide open west (think rumpled juke joints and dusty panoramas). The first album comes courtesy of Nashville’s Todd Day Wait, the peripatetic artist who left his possessions by the side of the road and started wandering the country a few years back. Since then he would occasionally record singles or video performances, scattering them like a sonic Johnny Appleseed to bloom in his wake. And a number of those songs took root in this album, one that found its way into regular rotation multiple times over the course of the year.
Part of the allure was the fact that he sounds just like Willie Nelson, calling to mind those early albums from the late 60s when Willie was still baby-faced and beardless, but also because of its transportive effect, conjuring scenes of sipping a long neck at the bar of some sleepy honkytonk or hitting the flask in the front of your beat-up truck as this music crackles out of the radio. It was like a trip back in time every song — and when the present was as persistent a nightmare as it was this year, getting away (even if only in your head) was a constant aim. They’re all rather fantastic — from uptempo tunes like “That’s Not my Pal” and “Just Because I’ll be Gone” to the many slow, glowing swayers he sprinkles in between (“Oh Don’t Tell Her,” “Lie to Me,” “Time Will Let You Know”), this one’s a blissful trip down memory lane.
Joining him in the back half of the slot is the surprise debut of Nude Party frontman Patton Magee who sauntered out of his North Carolina homeland earlier this year in the guise of the titular Last Cowboy on the Prairie. It was an under the radar affair — there’s still next to nothing written up about the album or its conception on the intertubes — and it found him moving beyond his customary Exile-era Stones sound to paint with a new range of colors. There’s dusty singalongs for the saddle or saloon (“Ballad of Rusty Iron,” “Ragtime Cowboy Joe”), there’s swamp water boogie and a Sergio Leone-style cinematic sweep (“Floodwater Risin’,” “Be on Time,” “Wild Coyote Keeps his Skin”), and there’s still songs from his wheelhouse. (“Variety (Is the Spice of Life),” “Country Brat,” the title track) The strongest image for me overall, though, is still the late great John Prine (“That’ll be That,” “Always Keep the Exit Sign in View,” “Waiting for Jesus,” and “To Love You is Good (Not to is Better)”), which helps give this one some extra charm and chops. I’m excited Magee’s main act’s got a new album coming out this spring, but also hoping he doesn’t treat this as a one and done as there’s plenty more you feel he can do.
12. Guided by Voices — Thick, Rich, & Delicious; Jeff Tweedy — Twilight Override: this slot’s the first of a little series — KDWYD, Pt I: The Relentlessly Prolific edition — and a couple of old stalwarts who are living proof that if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. (Or to put it another way, “Keep Doing What You’re Doing…”) I’ve written about these entities nearly a billion times over the years — Tweedy’s made the year end list for each of his previous three solo albums, his band Wilco’s made it six times the last 20 years, while GBV has made it the last six years in a row! They even showed up sharing a slot together two years ago, so there’s a certain familiarity that comes with seeing these guys releasing music (and expectation of where they’ll end up come this time of year…)
It almost didn’t happen for one of them, though. When Dr Bob and his boys released their first album Universe Room back in February, it was the first time in a looooooooong time I found myself underwhelmed. (Those six years on the list account for a whopping FOURTEEN albums and who knows how many songs, so we’re talking about a ton of material here…) There were a few decent tracks scattered among its 17 song span, but overall I found myself uninterested in going back for further listens — something that really hasn’t happened since the band came back from its breakup in the early aughts. Thankfully the streak remains intact for an incredible seventh straight year as the deities of Dayton dropped a second album on Halloween, one that rebounded from their disappointing first one and was everything the title promised it would be — thick, rich, and oh-so-delicious.
This one is prime GBV — big meaty hooks, bright nostalgic melodies, and the occasional oddball tune or lyric just to keep you off balance. (See “Mother John’s” method of stirring his breakfast items for one example…) It bursts from the gate with some of their best tunes in years — “(You Can’t Go Back to) Oxford Talawanda,” “Lucy’s World,” and “Our Man Syracuse” all slay, while back half tracks like “Siren,” “Xeno Urban,” “A Tribute to Beatle Bob,” and the Who-homage “Replay” keep the hits coming. Overflowing with all the hooks its predecessor strangely left out, this thing is so solid even the three instrumentals sizzle. And while I still can’t come around to that one (I gave it another try thinking maybe I’d missed something, but nope…) this one shows unequivocally why these guys rule. (A statement I’ve made about a billion times by now, but it’s no less surprising or impressive this deep into the game.) All killer, no filler, this is one hell of a return to form after a very minor miscue. Get your air guitar and karate kicks ready, Dr Bob and the boys are back!
Joining them is hometown hero Tweedy who returns to the list with a different type of flex. Dr Bob and the boys have made the list a couple of times for three albums released over the course of the year, but Tweedy looks to one up them by releasing all three at once. In the spirit of the Clash’s Sandinista! or George Harrison’s All Things Must Pass, Tweedy continues his relentless release schedule and offers us thirty songs spread across three mostly excellent albums. Despite being written in part as an exercise to beat back the darkness bombarding us on a daily/hourly basis in the news (aka overriding twilight), overall we find the Wilco frontman in a more upbeat mood than you’d expect.
Whether it’s playfully rebelling with the songs’ sequencing (putting “This is How it Ends” not at the conclusion of any of the three albums, for example), drolly throwing off a deadpan “look out” before unleashing an increasingly feral roar in “Lou Reed Was my Babysitter,” or unspooling loose, sunny solos as on “Enough” or “Forever Never Ends” (which recounts a wonderfully vivid, decades-old prom night gone bad), he’s clearly having fun. Don’t get me wrong, there’s still plenty of muted, some might say dour ditties to be found. (Tweedy’s demeanor often conveys a mix of having just been woken from a nap and just asked about Uncle Tupelo for the nine thousandth time…) Songs like “Blank Baby,” “Saddest Eyes,” and “Over my Head (Everything Goes)” come across that way both lyrically and tonally, but overall there’s more rays of sonic sunshine than on his previous outings. “Caught Up in the Past,” “Out in the Dark,” and “No One’s Moving On” are borderline bouncy, while jaunty “Western Clear Skies” and “Betrayed” strut around with their chest puffed out. Tweedy remains a man with an impeccable ear for melody (songs like “KC Rain (No Wonder),” “New Orleans,” and “Stray Cats in Spain” are achingly lovely) and an output that is WAY more hit than miss. Similar to his slotmates, this one achieves its stated aim and lives up to its title.
11. Flyte — Between You and Me; Bones of J.R. Jones — Radio Waves: this slot’s for the second in our miniseries, KDWYD, Pt II: The Lipstick edition, and another pair of artists who’ve a) shown up here multiple times on year end lists and b) already been written about earlier in the year. We’re calling this one the lipstick edition because it mostly finds both acts in their comfort zone, cruising down the highway in their usual fashion. There are a few moments, though, where you find them trying something new, adding a touch of color subtly like a new shade of lipstick. It’s not jarring (hence this not being the Purple Mohawk or Face Piercing edition), but it’s enough to make you notice and see things in a new light.
The British duo Flyte are up first and back with their fourth album. (Their third landed at #10 in 2023.) While that one found them almost entirely in a bright, sunny place, this one finds them balancing the dark with the light much more frequently. (A trend borne out in the wider world on an hourly basis, as well…) For these two the lipstick shows up as the 90s style grunge they throw into some of the thornier songs like “Alabaster,” a smoldering song about infidelity sung with Aimee Mann, and “If You Can’t Be Happy,” which gives off an REM and Counting Crows vibe as it tries to buck up a beleaguered beloved. That accompanies the more customary Simon and Garfunkel vibes the pair is known for, as on “Emily and Me,” “Hello Sunshine,” and “I’m Not There.” The closing trio of songs, which mix Elliott and the Beatles, remain a highlight (“Cold Side of the Pillow,” “Can’t Believe We’re Friends,” and “Everybody Says I Love You”), putting an emphatic exclamation point at the end of another album full of beautiful harmonies and lovelier songs.
Filling the back half of the slot is upstate NY’s Jonathan Linaberry (aka Bones of J.R. Jones) and he’s also returning from an album that was on my 2023 list. (Slow Lightning, his fourth, landed at #5.) Of the two acts here, Linaberry employs the boldest shade of lipstick and applies it the most liberally, leaning heavily on the 80s sounding elements he experimented with on his last one with its drum machines and shimmery studio polish. The overall effect still reminds me of a Springsteen album from that era, an amalgam of thinly contained emotion and bleary, bullheaded optimism, but it gradually wins you over with Jones’ earnestness and its melodies. Tracks like “Car Crash,” “Savages,” and “Start Again” all call to mind that version of the Boss, while the aching “Waste Some Time” and “The Devil” with their subdued country notes, or the plaintive porch tunes “Heart Attack” and “Hills,” also shine. I still prefer that latter mode most, but these other shades work their way into your heart over time too.
10. The Hunts — Hibernating Heart; the Lumineers — Automatic: this slot forms the final part of our triple feature, KDWYD Pt III: The Light and Dark edition. As with the previous two iterations, it’s for a pair of artists who’ve shown up here multiple times in the past and who haven’t changed their approach in that span. (I also wrote about them earlier in the year.) The juxtaposition this time is with which end of the telescope they’re looking through and how the world looks as a result. We’ll start with the light and the seven singing siblings from small town Virginia, the Hunts, who are back with their third album and their first in seven years. (That one landed at #2 in 2018, as well as on my “best of the last 15″ list…) Since then there’s been some family illnesses and hardship (including a sick child), but none of that has tempered their unrelenting optimism or positivity in the slightest.
As I wrote before, “these guys specialize in something that scarcely exists in the divisive, malicious modern world — it is pure, unadulterated heart — painfully earnest, beautifully crafted, and so openly loving it’s almost too much to bear, like a puppy who’s whimpering because he just wants to sleep on your lap.” These guys look through the telescope the normal way, with everything looking sun-soaked and massive as they spin around their surroundings — so there’s songs about spreading your wings and flying (“Sparrow”), soaring, stately professions of love (“Always”) and their semi-delirious affirmations (“I Do”), there’s even Brady Bunch Family Band levels of positivity (“Life is Good”), exploding like a double rainbow across the sky. And despite my bitter, disbelieving heart, they’re so earnestly convincing you can’t help but succumb to the spell. This is lovely, touching stuff, the kind of thing you’d imagine your grandparents waltzing around the living room to during wartime.
Contrasting that are frequent faves the Lumineers who are back after three years with their fifth studio album. (Their last landed at #9 on my 2022 list.) If their slotmates see the world as all sunshine and soaring positivity, these guys look at things through the other end of the telescope where everything is left seeming dark and suffocatingly small. Things start out bleak and devolve from there — the protagonist (whether frontman Wesley Schultz or a fictional avatar) sings of killing the mood (“Same Old Song”), being a prick (“Asshole”), a spineless, superficial shapeshifter (“Plasticine”), and a toxic, substance-abusing saboteur. (“Ativan”) He also sings of non-chemical dependence and the desperate need for another. (“Better Day,” “Keys on the Table”) It’s still something of a surprise, but these guys have quietly become one of the most reliable downers out there over the years, going from sunny “Hey! Ho!” delirium to driving a self-described “black sedan of depression” here. It may not be uplifting, but it sure is pretty — another solid album from the pair.
9. Counting Crows — Butter Miracle: The Complete Sweets!; Mike & the Watt Gives — Mike & the Watt Gives: this slot’s for the surprise returns and a pair of albums I wrote at length about earlier, so we’ll keep it relatively brief here. (It also starts the second tier of albums, the more steady sidekicks throughout the year…) Suffice it to say both of these were massively unexpected appearances on my list — one because they’d largely stopped making new music ten years ago (and had arguably passed their peak ten years before that), the other because he had disappeared into the darkness at about the same time — but once they appeared I spent a ton of time with them in the ensuing months (and still find myself going back).
The Crows are probably the bigger overall surprise because I’d long since written them off as nostalgia circuit stalwarts, ones that would maybe write a new song here or there, but only to give the gray hairs a reason to turn up at the retro fests, not because they were still trying to make serious albums. And while you can debate the seriousness of an album whose title and cover are as ridiculous as this one’s, you can’t scoff at the quality of the songs it contains. There’s frontman Adam Duritz’s customarily quirky characters and vivid images — fading queens wearing “feathers stale with sex and beer” or fishnets and diamond tiaras in (“Spaceman in Tulsa,” “Angel of 14th Street”) — as well as allusions to their previous hits, which serve as Easter eggs to long-time fans such as myself. (“The Tall Grass”) Musically the band sounds great, too, flexing their muscles on songs like “With Love, From A-Z” and “Elevator Boots” or getting downright frisky on ones like “Boxcars.” Duritz’s trademark melancholy may mostly be missing this time (“Under the Aurora,” “Virginia Through the Rain” being two exceptions), but despite the absence there’s still plenty of prettiness to delight in here.
Joining them is the return of former Features frontman Matt Pelham who unexpectedly released his solo debut this year under the moniker Matt & the Watt Gives. As with Duritz’s, this was another band I absolutely LOVED back in the day — three of their last four albums landed on my year end lists (at #11 in 2013, at #2 in 2012, and at #8 back in 2009) so it was really sad to see them disappear after their disappointing last album in 2015. (There were label issues, which forced them to Kickstart/self-release that one, as well as a cancer scare that seems to have kept Pelham occupied until now.) Thankfully it sounds like one if not both of those issues have been put out of commission, so with the strong encouraging of his family (for his sanity and theirs, according to his daughter’s hilarious statement in the release notes) Pelham reemerges sounding every bit as good as during his band’s heyday.
There are glimmers of his predecessors in the rock world (“Stand by Me” at the start of “Strange Devotion,” “Soul Man” at the start of “Wilder Days”), but more than anything it sounds gloriously like his old band. This makes sense because not only does bassist Roger Dabbs show up (“‘Til You”), so does the rollicking Rollum Haas on drums on a trio of songs. (“Half the Fight,” “The Chemo Blues,” “Cutting Ties”) Aside from those two, the most unmistakable and necessary component here is Pelham’s singular voice — that unmistakable roar that can scorch the heavens one moment and warm your heart the next as it toggles from untamed bellow to unguarded croon — and it shines brightly throughout. (“Castles,” “Natchez,” “The Shade”) This album’s mere existence made me happier than most this year — that it came filled with such an irresistible batch of songs made it all the better. Let’s hope he’s got more for us in the coming years…
8. The Dead Bolts — Beau Monde; Them Coulee Boys — No Fun in the Chrysalis: this slot’s for some southern rock…straight from the heart of midwest. Despite sounding right at home south of the Mason-Dixon line, one of these bands is from my beloved city by the lake, the other from a few hours north, and while both are first timers here on my year end list, I suspect this will not be their last. Let’s start with the hometowners and the scrappy Dead Bolts whose sophomore album spun in rotation for good chunks of the year and was every bit as strong as their debut four years ago. Then as now, the band assumes the mantle vacated by early era Kings of Leon — the raucous and rowdy version that would melt your brain with some of their hooks and your face when you saw them perform live. Kings haven’t been in that mode for a while now, so it’s only fitting someone step into the void and remind us how fun hooky, high energy rock can be.
Frontman Eddie Hennessy leads the charge, singing as if his life depended on it and every refrain he delivered had to be heard by his slotmates way up in Wisconsin. The urgency is appreciated, though, demanding your undivided attention as it transforms even a simple walk home into a high stakes proposition. From that face blast in the opening “For the Night” there’s one full-throated winner after another — the menacing swagger of “Breaks,” the fiery, propulsive “IDCIYDC,” the sparkling “Crosses,” and the killer single “Blood and Water,” which the band had in its arsenal for a couple years before making the album. The debt to Caleb’s Kings is almost everywhere (minus “Promised Land” and the title track, which give glimmers of the Hives and U2, respectively) and they do their forebears proud. This one’s another catchy, high octane winner for the boys from the south side.
Keeping them company are the aforementioned Coulee boys, which I know sounds like an antiquated name for a bunch of bank robbers or a street gang from a Seinfeld episode, but is actually for a pretty winning band of Wisconsinites. This was another I was late to the party on as it was their sixth album that got me tumbling down the rabbit hole earlier this year, but its blend of bluegrass, country, and a boatload of heart made it a top to bottom winner. The band packs a lot into the album’s eleven songs, balancing upbeat hoedowns with more sentimental swooners, along with an absolute arsenal of instruments. There’s fiddle on songs like “Change, etc,” piano on “Mountains,” swooning slide guitar on “Tomorrow, Tonight,” trumpet on the mini-epic “Ghosts (In 4 Parts),” mandolin on “I Need a Friend,” and enough banjo to make Earl Scruggs proud. Frontman Soren Staff’s booming voice soars above it all, giving things a sincerity that resonates for miles. None do so more than the bleeding heart love song “As Long As You Let Me,” which is easily one of the best songs of the year. Just try resisting either of these bands…
7. The Hives — The Hives Forever; The Raveonettes — Peahi II: this slot’s for the Scandis and some energy and fun from a set of elder statesmen. Both are long-time faves, one on something of a late stage hot streak, the other hopefully starting one after a spell out in the cold. We’ll start with the one I never got around to writing about this year (which in NO way is a reflection of how much I loved this album) and the return of the beloved band of black and white suited Swedes. That’s right, Howlin Pelle Almqvist and his mighty gang of impeccably dressed misfits are back for the second time in as many years after having spent the previous decade-plus lost in the wilderness.
The cracks had first started showing back in 2007 — the band started branching beyond their previously unimpeachable punk sound and experimenting with other, more cinematic sounds. But people don’t come to the Hives for sonic breadth and sophistication — they come for sweaty, snotty, turbo-charged tunes delivered with delirious disdain by one of rock’s all-time frontmen. Like a good roll in the hay or phone call with your family, none of the songs ideally last longer than two to three minutes and they should require as many brain cells as it does to keep up with the Kardashians. So while the songs on 2007’s The Black and White Album and 2012’s Lex Hives weren’t necessarily bad, they just weren’t what you were looking for — like getting an oven mitt when you asked for a gaming console. The albums were more inconsistent as a result and their impact more diluted, so that plus some health issues and personnel departures left the band in a bit of disarray twelve-odd years ago.
Just when they could have faded into obscurity like hundreds of lesser bands, they rather unexpectedly managed to emerge stronger than ever, delivering the glorious return to form that was The Death of Randy Fitzsimmons two years ago, which landed at #3 on my list. They thankfully appear to have retained the lessons of those aforementioned outings and decided to just give the people what they want — another album chock full of bangers that stand toe to toe with their early classics — and boy do they deliver.
This one opens with an unapologetic shotgun blast to the face and what might be the banner-sized slogan of the year — “everyone’s a little fucking bitch and I’m getting sick and tired of it” on the aptly named “Enough is Enough.” (Preach, Brother Pelle!) They follow that haymaker with a breathless 30 minute sprint through 11 songs and another unabashed party starter of an album. The band pulls out all the stops and uses every trick they’ve acquired over the years in the process — there’s the classic DJ move of the muffled slowdown to build suspense before snapping back into focus at the end of the opener, the rapid fire 2-3 note “solo” at the end of “Hooray Hooray Hooray,” the deranged cat call chorus and over the top bluster (two of their trademarks) on “Bad Call,” the stop/start stomps of “Paint a Picture,” the balls to the wall punk on “O.C.D.O.D.” and “They Can’t Hear the Music,” the honorary Gene Frenkle flourishes on “Legalize Living” (I got a fevah!) and “Born a Rebel” (I need more cowbell, baby!), which also sports some Steve Miller echoes of “Abracadabra.” It all works.
This was easily one of the most reliable firestarters of the year, something I put on when I was in a rare good mood or (more likely) wanting to burn off the bullsh#$ of the broader world and shut out reality for a bit. That it delivered as many times as it did is remarkable (and incredibly appreciated) and seeing it performed in person is even more enjoyable. (These guys remain an undeniable powerhouse live, whipping the crowd (and themselves) into a sweaty, frenzied mess — miss them at your own peril…) Call this what it is — their second straight top to bottom winner and an absolute blast.
Joining them are their Danish neighbors, the dynamic duo the Raveonettes, who last appeared here thirteen looooooong years ago when their seventh album landed at #4 on my 2012 list. It’s been a rather tumultuous time away — guitarist Sune Rose Wagner suffered the sudden death of his father and the even more unexpected murder of his girlfriend a few years later, which is enough trauma to drive anyone underground and to stop making music. (I’m hoping bassist Sharin Foo had nowhere near as hard a time as her bandmate…) Eventually Wagner started surfing and picking up the guitar again and for some reason that led him to want to revisit their 2014 album Pe’ahi, which was recorded in the wake of his father’s passing and dealt with “[the] fragility of life, death, longing, and…vulnerability.” (Some people run from the flames, others run straight to them, I guess…)
This strange form of therapy has yielded the band’s strongest material in years, giving us something of a “greatest hits” compilation as its songs emit flickers of former faves. Like their slotmates they’re not beating around the bush, either in terms of what they’re delivering (a fantastic return to form after some sonic meanderings) or its brevity (it, too, is just a whisker over a half hour), and it’s thankfully every bit as good, packed with their proprietary blend of angelic vocals, wildly distorted guitars, and simple, primal drums. There’s the strong dissonance of their first album on tracks like “BLACKEST,” “LUCIFER,” and the aptly named “DISSONANT,” as well as more melodic Lust Lust Lust vibes as on “STRANGE” and “KILLER.” The pair’s harmonizing above the noise remains irresistible, and when Wagner rattles off some of his signature runs as on “SPEED” and “ULRIKKE” you can’t help but succumb to the destruction. Hopefully a sign of much more to come from these two…
6. Dean Johnson — I Hope we can Still be Friends; Lord Huron — The Cosmic Selector Vol I: this slot’s for impossible expectations and a pair of albums that never stood a chance, but somehow managed to shine in spite of that. They’re both for returning acts — ones whose albums claimed the top spot in their respective years and were big, big faves — which is precisely why their follow ons stood such a high likelihood of being disappointments. I spent hours with the previous albums, obsessed over them for months on end, and recommended them to anyone I thought was worth the time — so even though logically I knew there was no way they could deliver that magic again and that I was unfairly setting them (and myself) up for failure, the impact of those albums was too deep to ignore completely.
The bar wasn’t quite as insurmountable for the slot’s front half, Seattle’s soft-spoken troubadour Dean Johnson. He’d only released his debut album two years ago and while I adored its songs almost as much as its origin story (it took him 20 years to record, he sat on it for 5 years after that because he was too bashful to release it, and even then his friends had to convince him anyone would want to listen) it wouldn’t be surprising to fall a little short of that mark the next time. (Sophomore slumps, like the chupacabra and menstruation attracting killer cocaine bears are terrifyingly real…) Thankfully he proves he wasn’t capturing lightning in a bottle on the debut and that there’s plenty more prettiness in his miraculously mustachioed head.
Johnson leans on the same pristine harmonies and nostalgic lyrics as he did the first time around, mining the time-honored tandem of love and loss again as he deploys them on a new cast of characters. “Carol” and “Perfect Stranger” are about a pair of female huntresses (or the same one attacking twice), while “So Much Better” and “Hang Youie” are sung from the victim’s side of things. Whether a reflection of his personal life or just the jubilant times we live in, Johnson lets a little more darkness in this time around, as with the veiled danger of “Painted Smile” or the surprisingly scathing “Death of the Party,” which is as lovely a take down as you could ever hope to hear. There’s still plenty of light, lovely songs channeling the beloved Everlys, though — whether the stately country of “Winter Song,” its hymn-like sibling “Shake Me,” or the beautiful opening track “Before you Hit the Ground.” The album may not soar quite as high in the sky as its predecessor (comets only cruise by so often), but there’s still plenty of beauty to behold while surfing the jet stream.
As for Johnson’s slotmate, they had a much harder task — not only did they have more than just the one datapoint speaking to their quality (their four albums and handful of EPs are all rather bewitching), but their last one not only landed in the top spot four years ago, it also made it onto my “best of the last 15” list in my big anniversary post. So if expectations were in the stratosphere for Johnson’s follow up, the ones I had for these guys were orbiting Mars. In fact, I had so much brain space invested in this one I did something I haven’t done in 15+ years — I wrote about the same thing two separate times. Within five weeks of each other. And had zero recollection of doing so until I started doing my research for this post months later… (This is either a sign of how deep the expectations were burrowed or how damaging this year’s been to my brain. That or early onset Alzheimers. Maybe all three — it is 2025!)
As a result I won’t bombard you a third time and will just say that the album’s conceit about one’s life choices and experiences being akin to selections made on some mystical jukebox (and the resulting landscape of confusion, ghosts, and regret that come in its wake) works its spell over you slowly, but effectively. Perhaps it’s a result of the year we’ve just experienced where nothing seems to matter — norms, logic, virtue, fairness — that frontman Ben Schneider’s overarching sense of fatalistic ambivalence seems to resonate as strongly as it does. It’s a bit bleak and may not pack the emotional punch the last one did, but this is another undeniably pretty album worthy of your time.
5. Lou Hazel — Riot of the Red; Mo Lowda & the Humble — Tailing the Ghost: this slot’s for two of my favorite discoveries and a pair of fresh faces I went deep down the rabbit hole on. The one for the former was a little shallower as he’s only got a pair of offerings under his belt, but I spent many an hour with them in spite of the surfeit of material. Similar to the previous slot’s debut this one’s conception was a bit tortured, as he recorded it a full four years ago but only released it this early this year. (It sounds like he was working as a guitar tech for another band and had some label issues compounding things…). As with Johnson’s, though, it was more than worth the wait, giving us ten really solid songs to sink our teeth into.
Hazel’s voice flickers between Dylan and Paul Simon while his lyrics explore similar inspirations as those legends, being filled with images of nature and the working man’s world — nothing fancy or forced, just simple slices of regular life. From the easy, swaying swoon of “Real Good Time,” “Little Peace,” and “Heat Wave” to the stately shuffle of “Riot of the Red,” “Bulldog,” and “Phone Calls with Mom,” Hazel unspools simple sketches of the everyday nestled in a warm, cozy fog. This was an early front runner for my top spot — great voice, great songs, great debut.
Joining Hazel is the Humble, the Philly phour piece back with their phifth album, their first since 2022’s self-titled affair. I came to them thanks to their lead singer’s solo outing that came out last year (Jordan Caiola’s excellent This Could be Everything) and its combination of his voice, which reminds me of a mix of Noah Kahan and Kings’ Caleb Followil, and its laidback vibe sent me deeeeeeeeeeeep underground. I plowed through everything these guys had released — the scattered EPs and one offs, Caiola’s solo stuff, each of the band previous albums. It was all on repeat in the rotation and just kept rolling through for months on end. They were unsurprisingly my artist of the year as a result in terms of total listens (my Wrapped had me in the top .2% for them globally!) and their atmosphere of calm, quiet beauty was just what the doctor ordered in the land of chaos and cruelty we now call home.
This one’s of a feather with their previous stuff — they interestingly open and close the affair with a little darkness (the moody, smoldering “Fitzroy” and the slightly ominous title track), but fill the middle with their customary blend of songs that shimmer like heat waves off the sand as you stare at the water from your hammock under the palms. The bright, plinking guitar of “Canary” and the triple shot of “The Painter,” “7.31,” and “Sara’s Got Big Plans” exude a nice island vibe, while tracks like “25 Years,” “Take the Bait,” and “Northside Violet” give glimmers of Sir Elton, the Cure, and Kings, respectively. It all adds up to another feel good vibe machine from the Mo and a nice, melodic mist for you to lose yourself in.
4. Mt Joy — Hope we Have Fun; My Morning Jacket — is.: this slot’s for another pair of frequently appearing acts (they’ve appeared here four times on my year end lists, two times for each) and bands I traveled over state lines to go see this year. The first was not by design, but rather a byproduct of doing so for the latter, but that still didn’t stop me from taking advantage. (Those who travel with me know my mantra is always #MAXIMIZE, whether in reference to items on the menu, cultural sites to visit, or bands to see while I’m there…) So it was something of a happy accident that when I booked my trip to see MMJ it just so happened that Mt Joy was playing the night prior — and also at an outdoor ampitheater — so I grabbed a ticket and headed to the largest outdoor amphitheater in the area. (Which surprisingly was not the one I’d traveled there to see — turns out Red Rocks is only HALF the size of this one, despite its iconic allure and breathtaking views…)
What I ended up seeing was both the biggest show in the band’s history (a fact they announced during the first of their two full sets that night) and a glimpse of a band in transition. When I wrote about the album they were touring earlier in the year I noted how the band was leveling up their sound, experimenting with several new, unexpected elements this time around. This was even more evident in person as the watchword for everything was “bigger” — bigger in terms of size (both of band and venue), bigger in terms of sound (both of inspirations and volume), bigger in terms of aspirations and pretentions. This was not the charming, folksy band sparking feel-good singalongs with a couple acoustic guitars like they used to be — this was a band whose numbers on stage now grew to six or seven, depending on the song, if not more. Guitars and drums that used to be strummed and deftly blended into the background now became flashier, more ostentatious, and aggressively attacked in an attempt to show “we are a rawk band!” (Cue devil’s horns and air guitar wailing…) Albums that relied mostly on a mix of the aforementioned folk and indie now came loaded for bear with everything from those to punk and disco as well. And while I think the new approach to the material live does it all a bit of a disservice, the more restrained presentation of the songs on the album works much better.
The missteps I called out before still annoy like a shoe-born pebble (the punky “Scared I’m Gonna Fuck You Up,” the glammy “She Wants to go Dancing”), but others like the slightly menacing “Coyote,” the sashaying “Lucy,” and the slinky “In the Middle” work much better (perhaps because they’re not as radical a departure as the former two.) More traditional tunes like the slightly soaring opener “More More More,” the killer combo with fave (and recent tourmate) Nathaniel Rateliff “Wild and Rotten,” and the feel good giddy up of “Highway Queen” are all highlights that stood out among the career-spanning setlist. The softer songs pack the biggest punch, though, as is so often the case — naked little affirmations like “God Loves Weirdos,” the swaying “You Are Who She Loves,” and the restrained beauty of the closing title track each hit you in the heart and remind you why simplicity can be a virtue and a strength.
The back half of the slot was the main reason for my trip, specifically so I could cross “go to Red Rocks” off my music lover’s “must do” list and see one of my favorite bands in the process. My much loved shamans of the stars were promoting their first album in four years (their self-titled seventh landed at #4 on my list in 2021) and if the last album was supposed to be a reintroduction to what the band is (and does) now as late stage self-titled albums are meant to, this one reemphasizes those points once more to make it even clearer.
It’s got the sprawling opener “Out in the Open,” which continues their trend of opening albums with a song that soars. It’s got singalong-sparking lyrics and moody, groove monsters. (“Time Waited” and “River Road,” respectively.) It’s got their modern incarnation’s more eccentric experimentation, with tracks like the hurky jerky “Half a Lifetime” and the “Maneater”-boosting “Lemme Know.” And it’s got more of their signature feel-good flights through the stratosphere on the backs of both frontman Jim James’ angelic voice and guitarist Carl Broemel’s under-appreciated runs. (“Everyday Magic” and “Die For It” are instant winners with their easy, infectious grooves and feisty finishes, while “Beginning from the Ending” and the skronky “Squid Ink” go even harder with their ferocious fireworks.). I saw these guys four times in all this year, blissing out on another three night run here at home after seeing them between the boulders, and per usual they never disappoint. This is another solid mix of winners that get even better live, as the songs get stretched to occasionally epic lengths. Pop this on and get ready to unwind…
3. Clover County — Finer Things: we’ve made it to the final tier and the three albums I listened to far more than any others. They each represent a distinct part of my year and feed a different part of my psyche, but collectively helped keep Humpty Dumpty together. (Or as close as was possible in this disaster of a year.) The first happens to be the most recent and the one that fed my poppy inner teen and his romantic beating heart. This album has consumed my fall, causing me to wake up with a new song strolling through my head every couple of days, and when I put it on it’s an instant singalong, causing me to crow along to each of its tunes.
Singer/songwriter AG Schiano just released her debut Porch Lights EP late last year, but rather than let the dust settle and wait she rattles off another dozen songs for this album, bringing none of the previous ones along for the ride. It’s a bit of a bold choice as that was a solid six-pack of songs that showcased her voice and way around a hook, but remarkably this one is even better, marking a significant leveling up for her. There’s definitely no sense of rushing in half-cocked, though, as the album overflows with excellent tunes, ones filled with sharp lines and lethally catchy melodies that will implant themselves deep inside your brain.
As I wrote before the album explores several motifs in the well-trodden realm of the heart — building a home, sweetness and destiny, birds and booze — and a range of aspects regarding love’s myriad manifestations. There’s songs about its complicated nature (“Anywhere,” “Angels”) and its powerful pull when unrequited (“Whiskey Cherry”), there’s songs about rejection (“Sweeter”) and about remembering. (“Yours Too,” “Midnight Crow”) And there’s songs about its bitter aftermath where Schiano sarcastically or savagely slips the knife into an ex. (“Good Game” and “Cadillac,” respectively)
Schiano is something of a chameleon, splitting her time between a traditional Southern belle with the accent and typical country flourishes, but she’s also reminiscent of acts like Lana del Rey and Chappell Roan with her naked emotions and big, beautiful choruses. (The latter echoes are particularly strong on songs like “Blue Suede Eyes” and the closing trio of tunes.) As with Roan’s album last year (which landed at #8 on my list), I know I’m not the target demographic here, but I couldn’t care less. Then as now I enjoyed nothing more than singing along to these irresistible songs like I was some lovelorn teen morning after morning. (I joked before that Milky Chance’s album probably got me my listening age of 17 on the Spots, but this probably didn’t help much either…) I did it again this morning, in fact, as I woke up with “Paradise Rd.” in my head and then had to listen to the rest of the album too. (“Oh I seeeeeeee itttttttttt when I get too close…I’m hiiiiiiiiiding in the life I choooooooooose…DIIIIIIIIIstance makes the heart grow fooooooonder doooooooon’t you knooooooow…..”) Just a great, poppy album full of catchy, catchy tunes — this one should keep you company for a good long while…
2. Small Paul — I Was Love, I Was Light: the second layer in my trinity of obsession came out this summer and captivated the middle third of my year as I repeatedly blissed out to an album exuding every ounce of that span’s customary warmth. If the last album spoke to my romantic, teenaged heart, this one is emblematic of the comfy sense of joy, hope, and optimism that engulfs you when it’s finally reciprocated. It comes courtesy of a first timer, though not an unknown — singer/guitarist Kevin Murphy may be best known as the frontman for another pocket fave, the Moondoggies, but this side project is proving to be every bit as enjoyable as his main affair. It’s only the band’s second album (their aptly named first, Come Alive & Live Again, emerged shortly after the world started crawling back to life in 2023) but they’re already taking significant leaps forward in terms of solidifying their sound and overall irresistibility.
The band is a product of the aforementioned pandemic as its four members were living in lockdown together and started jamming to pass the time. (Murphy is joined by two members of Chris King and the Gutterballs — the titular King and bassist Malcolm Roberts — as well as Seth McDonald from All Star Opera on keys.) And while their debut was a solid, winning listen holding the seeds of what we hear here, those elements have grown into mighty oaks on this one, towering over us majestically.
Case in point — there’s a moment 56 seconds in where the band momentarily hesitates, harmonizing for the first time as they sing the bridge, their voices climbing exquisitely towards the sky. They sing a line almost tied with the Hives’ in its applicability to the year, admonishing the listener “don’t you get so souuuuuuuuuuur…” and then the song erupts in jubilation that’s as scarce as the reasons to defy the instruction. It feels amazing no matter how many times I listen to it, releasing a flood of joyful endorphins that instantly changes my mood. (“If we can make it thru the summer maybe we can make it through it all,” indeed!)
They do something similar at about the same point four songs in, holding the release 40 seconds in on “Long Dark Night” as they build the tension with a martial snare beat before exploding into a chorus filled with the love and light they sing about. (It reels off a short fuzzed up beauty of a solo later, too, that’s almost as ebullient.) These are just two examples out of dozens available across the album’s thirteen songs. As a result this was the album I put on whenever I was in a good mood and wanted to revel in the reverie a bit — or as was more often the case when I was in a terrible one and needed its help to wash it all away. That it worked as well as it did as many times as it did is nothing short of miraculous and a testament to how good an album it is.
Aside from the aforementioned buzz bombs, there’s a slew of other highlights — there’s the jazzy, dreamy “Rain Harder” with its Doors-y keyboard flourishes and the aptly titled “Sunshine,” which shimmers and gleams like the sun off the water. There’s their bluesier cousin “Seems to Me,” the proto-soul of “Prove my Love,” and “Spinning Ships” with its smoldering guitar solo at the end. Even the sock hop era sound of “I Don’t Wanna Know” eventually works its charms on you after initially seeming slightly out of place.
This thing is pure atmosphere, conjuring positive vibes as improbably as oil from a stone. Take the bleary, woozy haze that blankets everything and aptly captures the titular feel in “Weariness Together” before the sun bursts through the fog with another warm, ebullient refrain. (One whose nifty wordplay turns the title’s downer into one of upbeat solidarity and another of the album’s positive affirmations — “we’re in this together…”) Or “Blown Away,” which spreads that big, booming heart across its entire duration with nary a cloud in sight. Or the two unvarnished love songs that surround the glimmering “Heaven on Earth” in the final trio and close things on a blissful note. (“Rolling Down the Lane,” “Gravity”)
The first is the more upbeat of the two, letting loose a litany of testaments to a beloved — “I wanna be the fire that keeps you warm inside someday…l wanna be the past you know so well…” When they start singing “gooooooooodniiiiiiiiight, saaaaaaaaaad eeeeeeeeeyes” in the refrain you can hear the ache and feel the hope. The final song is even simpler, just the guys harmonizing over a softly strummed guitar in yet another excellent homage to the Everlys. (Can you tell I’m a sucker for this move yet?) It’s a beautiful close to the year’s most reliably calming and enjoyable listen — a big warm hug of an album, as cozy and comforting as the fireplace in a cabin. Just lay back as they sing in that last one and let their current take you home…
1. Devil Makes Three — Spirits: the final tier in our layer cake of love was both the first thing I knew would be on this list, earning endless repeats when it came out in February and locking down the first third of my year, and also the most appropriate for the year it emerged in. If the last two represented the heart and happiness that were possible in a normal world/year, this was the fiery protest and anger that resulted from them so frequently being drowned out in this one. In a year that overflowed with indignities and stupidities, this was one of the few things that dared speak out against them directly — unequivocally, unabashedly, and unrepentantly. That it comes from a band known for filtering folk through a punk prism seems only fitting. (Who cares less what you think about them than a bunch of antebellum-inspired punks?)
Making their majestic return after seven years away, the California trio came packing a “back to basics” album that ditched some of the flourishes of their last few and stripped everything back to the more spartan three-part harmonies and acoustic/bass/drums recipe of their early stuff. In addition to the tumultuous events of the wider world, lead singer Pete Bernhard suffered a trio of heavy personal losses while making the album, losing his mother, brother and closest childhood friend in short order. Any one of those would be enough to shake someone severely, let alone all three, so it’s no wonder the album is filled with songs about specters and strife, the devil and darkness, as Bernhard works through his grief. Memories of the past show up on tracks like “Fallen Champions” and the closing “Holding On,” while phantoms and the devil show up in the title track, “Ghosts are Weak,” and the opening “Lights on Me.” (And both show up in the aptly named “The Devil Wins.”)
Since anger was the most abundant commodity this year, though, the threads of protest and determination rang truest and run through the majority of the album — from images of angry mobs and tombstones in “The Dark Gets the Best of You” to torches and hurled stones in “Divide and Conquer. ” From the futility felt sometimes fighting back in the title track (“I wanna go back, but the page has been burned…”) to the animal resilience shown in songs like the aforementioned “Lights.” (“This ain’t the last life I will lead, aoooooooooooh — I’ll be free…”) There are a few lighter moments (“Half as High” and the hilarious ode to escapism “I Love Doing Drugs”), but make no mistake, this is an album of turmoil.
In a year that was full of it, this one dealt with it all head on — the bullsh*$ (“when they said it was gonna trickle down, you know that they were lyin’” on “Hard Times”), the demonization (“hey, everybody, bring somebody to burn — if it isn’t you now, then you’re waiting your turn” on “Divide”), the ineptitude (“keep on swimming for the bottom, you clowns — congratulate each other on your way to the ground” in “Ghosts”), the corruption (“give my regards to the monarchy” on “Half”), and betrayal. (“We are here to help now like the wolves to the sheep…they just want to see what it looks like when the dark gets the best of you” on “Dark.”) It’s a fiery, unforgiving push back against a range of wrongs (of which we had plenty), all done with the band’s characteristic mix of old time atmosphere and killer, catchy melodies. Let’s hope folks find some inspiration amongst the rebelliousness and start shaking themselves free of what’s poisoning us at the bottom of the well. I like this one — “This is a story we all know by heart — this is the end, this is the start. We wanna move like the birds in flight, not to wander on this road all night…”
