Beyonce, Taylor, Charli, Kendrick, Ariana and More

Wherein one of the most innovative and influential artist-songwriter-producers of the last decade twists her musical combination of glitter and glitch into a new shape — a lurid green one, no less — and the world is finally ready for it. “Brat” is a multimedia phenomenon but it’s all based around this music, which finds Charli not only evolving her sound but also overhauling her lyrical approach with deeply personal commentary (“I Might Say Something Stupid”) as well as character studies (“Mean Girls”). And then she took the whole thing and rebaked it on the remix album with an A-list of collaborators, completely reinvents the songs musically and/or lyrically — the team-ups with Lorde, Ariana Grande and Billie Eilish add multiple new narratives to already-provocative songs. With her smart and savvy sounds and visions, Charli XCX has refined the pop-star template.

As the main songwriter and producer in the British trio the XX, Jamie was the driving force behind one of the great hopes of alternative music in the late ‘00s. But as that group splintered, he began leaning into his other gig as a DJ and producer, and released the more beat-and-sample-based “In Colour” in 2015. That album is great, but nearly nine years later, “In Waves” takes its template and turns it into something truly next level: It’s loaded with powerful beats and samples and basslines like a dance album, but unlike a lot of DJ-artists — who tend to focus on production — he comes at the music as much as a songwriter, with an ear toward melody and emotion as well as the dancefloor. The album has great guest features from Robyn, the xx, the Avalanches and a wonderfully deranged Erykah Badu, but most exciting is how Jamie creates memorable hooks out of melodically manipulated vocal bites, toying brilliantly with the concept of what a song is and can be.

If you include his incendiary guest verses on Future and Metro Boomin’s “Like That” — which contain more fire and subtext than most albums — Kendrick Lamar has dropped 18 songs this year, along with completely crushing Drake in one of the most epic battles in rap history. Lamar knows that the only artist he has to beat is himself, and while his previous effort, the daunting double album “Mr. Morale and the High Steppers,” was brilliant on multiple levels, it sometimes felt like homework. But with a dream team of collaborators including Sounwave, Mustard and newcomer Jack Antonoff, “GNX” has a clarity of songcraft that its predecessor at times lacked. Although it might go down easier, his lyrics are just as densely loaded with multiple references and meanings. Rather than loading it down with superstars (apart from two characteristically luscious features from SZA), the guests on “GNZ” are all up-and-coming rappers, bringing yet another dimension to the album’s ambition. Heavy is the crown, but Kendrick wears it like it’s his birthright.

Tyler is one of the most multi-discipline artists in the music world, and what’s most remarkable about his art is the way his absolutely unique vision is unmistakably him, whether it’s a video (Why is he rapping on top of a bulldozer?), a TV awards-show performance (Why is he rapping in a windstorm that’s blowing the set off of the stage?), a headlining Coachella appearance (Why is he starting his set dressed as a forest ranger?) and, of course, the foundation of it all, his music. There are multiple questions one could ask on every minute of this album (Why did he multitrack his voice going “Hmmmmm!” on this section?), but as always, it’s musically innovative, gloriously weird and often hilarious at the same time. Spotlighting songs is futile, but the funniest one is probably “Sticky” (“Give a fuck ’bout pronouns / I’m that n—a and that b—h”), and the most immediate might be the irresistible single “Balloon,” which includes a hilarious guest verse from Doechii. Like everything Tyler does, it’s a joyride for the senses.

If this album is truly the farewell to Donald Glover’s Childish Gambino alter ego, as he’s said, he’s going out with a bang: “Bando” is his best and most far-reaching musical project to date, with a brain-busting combination of musical styles and guests, from singers Jorja Smith and Amaarae to rappers Flo Milli and Yeat to alt-rock virtuosos Khruangbin. The album leaps between styles and moods dramatically and at times abruptly, but also surprisingly smoothly, from old-school R&B to power chords to acoustic ballads; there are even two full-on indie-pop songs with “Real Love” and the emo-ish “Running Around.” He’s also rapping much more than he has on recent albums, in a style that sometimes recalls both Kanye West’s early material and his abrasive “Yeezy” era. “Bando” is a mind-blowingly diverse and versatile album that finds him adopting a huge number of styles convincingly.

Empress Of, aka Honduran-American singer-songwriter-producer Lorely Rodriguez, contains so many multitudes that her music can be hard to process at first. With lyrics in both English and Spanish, she’s a Latin artist (“Femenine”), an alternative singer with a crisp Halsey-esque voice (“Kiss Me,” featuring Rina Sawayama), an electro artist (“Lorelei”) or a sweet pop singer (“Baby Boy”), all within one remarkable album that finds her delivering on the promise and potential of her previous releases and then some. As its title says, the album is Hollywood-inspired: “I was in love with a director and he was announcing his ‘For Your Consideration’ campaign for the Oscars,” she says. “He said he was emotionally unavailable and he kind of broke my heart.” If heartbreak has beneficiaries, Empress Of’s is us.

One of the most exciting rock bands to emerge in decades, this British-Irish quintet is a wild fusion of hardcore punk and experimental electronic skronk with a ferociously commanding frontman in Joe Talbot and two guitarists whose rancorous din shows inspiration from ‘80s indie icons Sonic Youth and Big Black, as well as a strong influence from hip-hop and electronic music. The group branches out even further on its fifth album, “Tangk,” combining slower, darkly ambient and/or rhythmic songs with the blistering roar its audience hungers for. Looking for a future for rock music? Here’s a solid bet.

Classic R&B is so easy to get wrong and so hard to get right — and the sound is only half of the battle. Cliché as it is to say, the genre is more of a feeling, regardless of production techniques, which is why D’Angelo’s 2000 masterpiece “Voodoo” has been such a template for 21st century R&B: That album is steeped in the history but updated the genre for new generations. New Orleans-born Lucky Daye has been a quiet giant of R&B for several years, with multiple Grammy nominations and collaborations with Beyonce and Mary J. Blige, but here he truly comes into his own. “Algorithm” finds him opening up his sound, adding rock and alternative, while still staying in the R&B lane — and it flows like a classic album, climaxing with the epic closer “Diamonds in Teal.” It also features collaborations with Teddy Swims and British R&B star Raye and, crucially, was created with his longtime collaborators D’Mile (Silk Sonic, Victoria Monet’s “Jaguar,” H.E.R.’s Oscar-winning “Fight for You”) and J. Kercy. Wanna get that feeling?

With no disrespect to the five fine solo albums Jack White has created in the last dozen years, it’s safe to say that “No Name” is the one fans have been lusting for: a fiery, straight-ahead, just-plug-in-and-let-rip rock ‘n’ roll album in the vein of his dearly beloved and dearly departed White Stripes, but without seeming retro or leaning too heavily on nostalgia. While bands like Idles are taking rock music into new realms, White plays it right down the middle, showing that songs, a three-piece band and his glorious voice are all he needs, and it’s all so exciting and explosive that it makes you wonder why he, or anyone else, hasn’t made an album like this recently. “No Name” shows that no matter how far White might roam artistically, he can return to the art form he’d mastered and left behind anytime he wants — and show everyone how it’s done.

Kali Uchis albums are like a sonic equivalent of one of the best date nights ever, sexy and plush and romantic, evoking visions of candlelit dinners and bubble baths speckled with rose petals — but at the same time (and also like some date nights), she brings a rapper’s attitude as a bad b—h who does not play. On “Orquídeas,” her second Spanish-language album, she sashays luxuriously through multiple genres — pop, R&B, merengue, dembow — and struts powerfully through others, while guests like Peso Pluma, Karol G, El Alfa and Rauw Alejandro not only light up the songs with their features but provide major cosigns. It’s an album that works as a lean-forward listening experience, or something to warm up the room along with the candles and flowers.

The Marias’ “Submarine” was a labor of love, despite the fact that the 14-song collection was made as its founding members – Maria Zardoya and Josh Conway – were freshly broken up. Instead of stopping the band altogether, the foursome went on to create a heart-wrenchingly honest reflection with tracks like “Sienna,” a song about the broken-up couple’s could’ve-been future child. Anchored in the theme of water, with an emphasis on its endless transformations and physical forms, the LP boasts striking imagery and impactful allusions in its production style. There are countless complimentary reports of Zardoya’s vocal skills that date back to the band’s earliest release in 2021, but she exceeds them in “Submarine.” I’ll point you to what sounds like computerized vocal fanning in “Real Life,” which is actually just her raw voice.

Kali Uchis unlocked a new level of command with “Orquídeas,” her second Spanish-language album and first to nab a Latin Grammy nomination. Boasting her usual themes of self-empowerment, lust and melodrama, Uchis’ silky vocals paint a flowery picture of elegance and luxury with 14 songs ranging from pop, R&B and merengue to dembow and reggaeton. It features a strong slate of guest stars and Latin music royalty including Peso Pluma, Karol G, El Alfa and Rauw Alejandro.

It’s hard to imagine what 2024 would’ve looked or sounded like without Sabrina Carpenter. From the success of “Espresso” to the relatable testimonies in “Don’t Smile,” or the witty ramblings of “Slim Pickins,” Carpenter asserted her place in pop history with this collection of humorous, fierce and foul-mouthed hooks. It packed just the right amount of heat – equal parts self-deprecation and self-empowerment – to resonate with an entire generation.

The ultimate sign of new life in Latin pop this year can be found in “Bodhiria” – a sprawling, semi-conceptual 12-song set from Spanish singer Judeline. After signing a record deal with Interscope in 2023, the 21-year-old released her debut with help from producers Tuiste and Mayo, Rob Bisel (SZA, Kendrick Lamar) and Rusia-IDK’s Rusowsky, Ralphie Choo and Drummie. Judeline’s voice is comparable to a whisper, but her breathy confessions pack powerful punches: she ends with a song called “Es Dios bueno o sólo es poderoso” (“Is God good or just powerful”), in which she sings, “I wanted to be where the light was the brightest, and there alone I stay,” and “I said so much that I even vomited my soul.” Though the latter is stuff of nightmares, the album is a sonic dreamscape of flamenco and electro-pop with hints of R&B and some Arabic lyricism, though it is mostly sung in Spanish.

If you were paying even an inkling of attention to pop or political culture this year, “Brat” will forever be remembered as the soundtrack. For its maker, the 15-song album became a benchmark, or at the very least, a success story for their tried and tested theories of an expertly marketed concept album. From the hyperactive “Club Classics” to the unrestrained ramblings of “I think about it all the time,” Charli demonstrates her hard-earned mastery with “Brat,” and doubles down on her dexterity in the album’s remixed release, the ever-so-clever “Brat and It’s Completely Different but Also Still Brat.”

Omar Apollo was looking for new artistic avenues in “God Said No.” Though not inherently a melancholic album, Apollo’s songwriting is purgative in nature, bringing about tropes of terminated relationships and cycles of codependency. More than his previous set “Ivory,” “God Said No” makes use of scene-setting, leaning on airy production helmed by Teo Halm, with additional inspiration from legendary producer Giorgio Moroder and ambient-music maestro Ryuichi Sakamoto. “I was in love when I wrote most of this album.,” Apollo told Variety. “I like to preserve the genuine connections I have and eventually turn them into friendships because a genuine connection doesn’t just die.”

It’s all about the melodies in Clairo’s “Charm,” the folky yet psychedelic third studio album from the bedroom-pop singer turned jazz enthusiast. Making the most of experimental instrumentation – we’re talking mellotrons, flutes and mouth trumpets – Clairo is more forward-looking than ever on warm songs like “Slow Dance” and “Terrapin.” That exploration has already been rewarded as the 26-year-old singer earns her first Grammy nom in the best alternative album category.

Tyla’s self-titled full-length debut is proudly composed entirely of her signature South African amapiano with a frothy pop-R&B twist. Her fresh and consistent take on the decades-old style has helped cement her burgeoning career after the success of her Grammy-winning breakthrough single, “Water.” On top of that, Tyla has delivered expertly choreographed dance sequences and visuals throughout much of this year, continuing to expand her world for listeners across the globe.

Young Miko’s unapologetic debut came nearly one year after the Puerto Rican breakthrough artist made her first entries on the Billboard charts with juggernaut singles “Chulo Pt. 2” and “Classy 101.” That’s most likely why Miko raps like she’s got something to prove on her futuristic debut, “Att.” In the defiant “Fuck TMZ,” she incorporates elements of hip-hop over traditional reggaeton rhythms, appearing playfully pissed when the trap beats are kicked up. In opener “Rookie of the Year,” she’s cool, calm and collected – taking full advantage of her charming “Miko Effect” to win over fresh ears.

While for some it was a “Brat” summer, for others it was a Khruangbin spring. In their fourth studio album, the Houston-based trio builds on its psychedelic sound by wholeheartedly embracing Latin influences, notably Cuban guitar progressions on songs like “Three From Two.” And while “A La Sala” is a mellow listening experience, all 12 of its songs quietly demand your attention with intentional versatility and expert arrangements.

“Never go to bed without kissing goodnight, it’s the worst thing to do,” says Nonna Grande during the final moments of “Eternal Sunshine” closer “Ordinary Things.” “Don’t ever, ever do that. And if you can’t and if you don’t feel comfortable doing it, you’re in the wrong place, get out.” Ariana gives a little chuckle, as though love were that easy. And it isn’t — it never is, really — at least not across her seventh album, “Eternal Sunshine,” where she reconciles the slicing pain of divorce with the honeymoon phase of a new relationship. Once known for her to-the-rafters belt, Grande downsizes her delivery across 13 impeccable songs (give or take an interlude) that flit between wistful introspection (“We Can’t Be Friends”) and, somehow, hopefulness (“Imperfect for You”). It’s no secret that Grande has been through it, yet she manages to contextualize it time and again like the all-seeing narrator of her own life.

There’s something familiar coded into Jessica Pratt’s fourth album, “Here in the Pitch,” like an old attic chest spangled with cobwebs that’s been refurbished. The ghosts of Laurel Canyon past loom over the record’s nine tracks, where the Los Angeles-based singer-songwriter embellishes her stripped sound with minute adjustments — the chiming glockenspiel on “Life Is,” a Farfisa on “By Hook or by Crook” — that bring subtle texture to her haunting compositions. On “Pitch,” Pratt pontificates about the passage of time and its opposing forces (sunrise vs. sunset, dark vs. light) that, in effect, only contribute to the timelessness of her artistry.

“World-building” is often bandied about to describe artists with a complete vision, yet Charli XCX seemed to redefine what it means to create a world unto itself. The release of lead single “Von Dutch” in February didn’t exactly forecast the word-of-mouth momentum that would transform “Brat” into a lifestyle — hard partying, nonchalance, slime green — and reach fever pitch right around the time that Charli tweeted that Kamala is, in fact, brat. But to craft an album so focused and year-defining, and then confect an extended universe with an entirely reworked remix album, just goes to show that it can take over a decade to fully actualize that your artistry isn’t just about what you put on a record.

They don’t really make pop stars like Sabrina Carpenter, do they? Carpenter has spent years trying to catch on after being freed from Disney prison, and something started to take hold last year after “Feather” and “Nonsense” generated as many streams as they did headlines. All of this was pushing towards “Short n’ Sweet,” her frothy, frank sixth album with a sharp tongue and even sharper songs. “Espresso” was the song-of-the-summer breakthrough, of course, but there’s variance across its tight dozen tracks — ’80s R&B here (“Bed Chem”), campfire folk there (“Coincidence”). The fact that she filters it all through innuendo and a knowing smile lets you know this wasn’t all by accident.

To emerge from one of the greatest rap battles of this century as the arguable victor, and to subsequently take a victory lap with a last-minute contender for one of the best albums of the year, shouldn’t come as a surprise for Kendrick Lamar. His vision is clear, charged and fiercer than ever on “GNX,” his surprise-released sixth studio record that continues (and succeeds in) his efforts to refocus the spotlight on the west coast. Equal parts mellifluous and fanged, “GNX” draws from Los Angeles’ classic hip-hop sounds for a blend of brash street anthems and soft R&B palette cleansers, all tied together by Lamar’s densely arranged rhymes.

On her debut mixtape “Alligator Bites Never Heal” — to be clear, not an official album — Florida’s Doechii takes a come-one, come-all approach to fusing elements of hip-hop, R&B and pop together in a breathless array. The TDE rapper’s personality is so oversized that it’s a wonder she was able to box it all into a coherent package, which she does: At once, rhymes tumble out at warp speed on “Nissan Ultima,” and the next moment she’s harmonizing over a foggy beat a la Erykah Badu. It’s a head-spinner of a project, which, of course, is all part of the master plan.

We often take for granted that Beyoncé continuously matches great ambition with even greater music. And it was easy to nitpick “Cowboy Carter” for its sprawling length and a few inclusions that perhaps could have been trimmed. But at the heart of it, Beyoncé once again completed the task she assigned herself: to illuminate the contributions and roots of Black musicians in country music, and she does it on a grander scale than a cursory listen can reveal. “Cowboy Carter” is the type of album to be explored, studied, marveled at — it reveals itself as a finely layered opus with every spin.

Picture it: a 1970s diva dripping in jewels and singing love letters to the dance floor under a gleaming disco ball. Gavin Turek has established herself as the unsung torchbearer of Donna Summer revivalism for more than a decade, and her vision comes into sharp focus on her sophomore album, “Diva of the People,” a gleaming project that invokes the glamor of a night at Studio 54. The Los Angeles native centers “Diva” on the freedom of letting music solve your problems, by using it to get over a breakup (“Disco Boots”) or distract yourself from the world’s horrors (“Outta My Mind”). Turek lets it all out at the club, and it feels good every time.

“It’s almost like a dream or fever dream,” Justice’s Xavier de Rosnay told us earlier this year about the French duo’s fourth album, “Hyperdrama.” And it plays like one, too, with the group (also consisting of Gaspard Augé) taking listeners beyond the galaxies with a dreamy, concerted dance opus. “Hyperdrama” is rife with texture, playing like a lost “Tron” soundtrack that pummels (“Generator”) and openly breathes (“Explorer” featuring Connan Mockasin). There’s a heartbeat to the record mirroring the rise and rest of a HIIT session as if they approached the project as a completed thought. After decades of pushing the limits of their bloghouse sound, they’ve managed to once again break new ground.

Jamie xx explored his experimental side on his debut album “In Colour,” which arrived nearly a decade ago. But it’s when he caters his sound to the conventions of house music on his sophomore album, “In Waves,” that he truly hits his groove. “Waves” isn’t necessarily a pop album, per se, but draws from the melodic touchstones that make pop music so instantly accessible. He corrals a crew of guests to articulate his vision — Honey Dijon on the horn-blaring “Baddy on the Floor,” Robyn on the pulsing “Life” — that channels the feel-good effervescence of an early 2000s H&M playlist without the commercial sheen.

Honorable mention: Lucky Daye, “Algorithm”; Clairo, “Charm”; Rachel Chinouriri, “What a Devastating Turn of Events”; Shygirl, “Club Shy” EP; SG Lewis and Tove Lo, “Heat” EP; Tyler, the Creator, “Chromakopia.”

Can the thing that is biggest in the world at a given moment also be the best? Critics are trained to reflexively resist the idea, but as Beatles fans can attest… it happens. “The Tortured Poets Department” found the longest streak of A-level albums in history continuing, unbroken from “Fearless” forward. And, as the Eras Tour proved is the case with all Swift albums, it’s got its own personality — musically, a bit of a cross between “Midnights”/”Lover” electro-emo and “Folklore”/”Evermore” starkness; lyrically, largely a return to breakup songs after a multi-album idyll. Heartbreak never entirely stopped being her national anthem, but it returns in full force for the first time in ages, and the return of a little traumatization is welcome when it gives us songs as bold, canny and relatable as “The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived.” Don’t listen to the doubters who said there was only a single album’s worth of strong material spread across the 31-track “Anthology” deluxe edition… in some cases the same people who’d have kept you from hearing half the White Album if they had their way. Each song brings new thematic twists, new all-time quotable couplets, new hooks… and, yes, famously, in so many of them, great bridges are being built. “TTPD:TA” is a culmination to date of Swift’s particular genius for marrying cleverness with catharsis. The alchemy is on all our sides.

Speaking of the Beatles’ White Album… In trying to come up with a definitive take on “Cowboy Carter,” it’s difficult to decide whether it really is Beyoncé’s take on country music — Black country music — as it could and should be, or whether her album stretches stylistically so far beyond that that it should really be better seen as akin to the Beatles’ famously sprawling everything-but-the-kitchen-sink double-album. Whichever way you look at it, it’s a wild, bumpy, highly gratifying ride. Some critics think it’s more of a stunt or a thesis paper than a coherent album, but the fact that you don’t know what’s coming next (at least till you’ve committed the album to memory) is part of the fun and also part of the point — Beyoncé contains multitudes even when she’s at her most high-concept. Songs as reflective as “16 Carriages” or just as wildly fun as the Shaboozey-aided “Spaghettii” or Tina-esque “Ya Ya” stand on their own, even as, sure, they are bullet points in some kind of position paper about genre and reclamation.

When I see legions of Jack White and White Stripes fans rush to acclaim “No Name” as the album they’d been waiting for from him for the last 20 years, I have a defensiveness that kicks in; those other albums that didn’t completely meet their expectations were all remarkable in their own ways, however subdued or eclectic or gonzo each one might have been. But screw it… the masses are not wrong in collectively deciding that the raw power of “No Name” is peak Jack. The test of that has been White’s ongoing tour, in which each night White sprinkles an average of seven or so new songs into the set each night. Out of context, it suddenly seems hard to be sure that these riff-o-ramas are actually fresh material and not, say, stuff that you’ve been familiar with since the turn of the century. Now more than ever, it feels like White is single-handedly keeping the glory of rock ‘n’ roll alive, a figure as potent as the singing guitar heroes of the classic rock era. To quote a nemesis: He alone can fix it.

“Subtle blockbuster” may seem like an oxymoron, but Eilish’s third full-length album took audiences down some trickier and even quieter paths than before — an integrity that has been rewarded by a seemingly permanent berth in the top 10 ever since it came out in the spring. Whatever equanimity the title promises, this one is definitely about the soft sell, not the hard one. Maybe there was one exception to that bold no-bangers policy, “Lunch,” with a big bass sound and saucy lyrics designed to cunningly linger in the 2024 pop zeitgeist. But everything else here feels about 50 shades of low-key, and always transfixingly so, in her and Finneas’ no-skips smorgasbord. “Birds of a Feather,” the rare ray of pure sunshine on one of her records, is the outlier that eventually turned into her biggest smash to date. But even the more characteristically dark songs catch you up in flight.

No wonder she’s gone from grass roots to being put on stadium stages by Zach Bryan and Post Malone. With her second Rounder release, Ferrell cemented her status as the new queen of roots music, or at least the youngest and most obvious current contender for the crown. She has an unerring voice you could languish in for days, and material to match. “Fox Hunt” skews toward her bluegrass influences; “Why Haven’t You Loved Me Yet” is pure country two-stepping material; “Wish You Well” is a heartbreakingly bittersweet farewell ballad; and “Lighthouse” is the kind of campfire love song a hepster, a toddler or a grandma could sing along to. If anyone can unite the jam-band crowd, singer-songwriter enthusiasts, Gram Parsons-loving country-rockers, hippies and hillbillies, it’s Ferrell. 

You could call this the feel-bad hit of 2024, so little hope does Father John seem to have for the human experiment, or human accident. But the cold slaps he delivers with his lyrical takedowns of mankind’s folly once again come wrapped in elegant, sweeping, haunting melodies and production that make it all go down like a fine wine. “Mahashmashana” is hardly an album for everybody; maybe Misty’s disinterest in providing a title you can rattle off to the record-store clerk is evidence enough of that. But no one has the same way of writing about subjects ranging from MeToo-ism to the Cessation of All Things. if you have an interest in rock that is both luscious and lacerating, you share a gallows sense of humor, and you relate to an anxiety and existential fatalism that only occasionally find flowers rising from amid the cracks, then you may find his latest opus as beautiful as it is unsettling.

In one of the more angrily hilarious lyrics on “GNX” — at least for those with a little biblical literacy — Lamar likens himself to one of the great figures of the Old Testament, making animal sacrifices that simply have to be done: “The Black Noah, I just strangled me a goat.” The would be GOAT in question, of course, would be Drake, whose presence as a nemesis on “GNX” stretches far beyond what you might have even expected, given that the other guy stopped fighting back a long time ago. That’s not the only grudge that pops up on the album — he starts it off complaining about an L.A. mural being painted over, which Drake probably didn’t do personally — but his inability to let things go makes for riveting art. (In that way, he’s a little like Taylor Swift, actually.) It’s weird, but wonderful when you think about it, that the album basically comes off as a sequel to a keystone song he didn’t think it was important to include. But there’s good sense and even generosity as well as pissed-off righteousness in these tracks — including the way it benefits from having SZA in for the only superstar feature amid a slew of local talents, and actually giving the most prominent “featured” time to a mariachi singer. With its wealth of ear-tickling production values, the album is even cooler as a piece of musicality than it is as a rage spiral.

When I reviewed Halsey’s latest in October, I called it “confessional pop at its most ambitious and devastating,” at least in its peak moments, which are many. And, to be honest, there is not a critical consensus that has joined me in that assessment; I have yet to notice this album on any of the dozens of other top 10s I’ve scoured up to this moment of writing. But I’m happy to stick by it. A lot of writers either just ignored the album (listen, it’d already been a long year at that point for female pop singers admitting their deepest feelings in song), or they derided the ostensible concept. On the surface, “The Great Impersonator” had Halsey working in the styles of her heroines from the last 50 years, and even dressing up as her predecessors for elaborate photo shoots. But that was really just an overlay — a kind of fakeout, if you will — to disguise the real theme of the album, one that is not nearly as inviting for social media memes: what it is like to traumatically lose love while already in the midst of debilitating chronic illness. It’s tough stuff. But I don’t only love the moving emotional core of the record; I also love the candy shell that she built around it. Give this remarkable album a chance to melt in your mouth, whenever you’re ready for it.

One of the sleepers of the year. Tasjan was once heralded more as an Americana artist, but you wouldn’t necessarily know that straight off from hearing the shiny stylistic range of “Stellar Evolution,” which veers from cheeky glam-rock to luscious, Fountains of Wayne-style power-pop balladry to funky MTV-era synth-pop. Wedding it all together is a knack for fantastic hooks and a lyrical acumen that’s witty when it needs to be (“The Drugs Did Me”), or much more serious when he’s writing anthems for the marginalized. Tasjan isn’t just writing songs for an LGBTQ+ audience, but he’s more forthright than ever in taking some of the material there, and in a year when the queer community might not be feeling the safest ever, he welcomed gay and straight fans alike with a true rainbow of a record, one that includes tracks as soberingly topical as “Nightmare” or as delightful as the androgyny-celebrating “Pants.”

After giving us her honeymoon album (“Golden Hour”) and then a divorce album (“Star-Crossed”), Musgraves came back with a record that lands in a sweet spot somewhere in the middle, with songs that paint the singer as ready to invest in love again, but appropriately seasoned and skeptical about reopening her heart. But “Deeper Well” goes truly deeper than just songs about being gunshy or re-entertaining butterflies. It’s also marked by beautiful numbers that ponder the veil between life and death, or catalog a shortlist of things that makes life on earth so precious, or question whether God is as alive as he’s cracked up to be (the Grammy-nominated “The Architect”). Gentle and full of finger-picking, the record is tranquil, anxious, and reassuringly tranquil in its anxiety. If only you could bottle an album like this up in pill form, but streaming delivery will do.

Honorable mention: Aoife O’Donovan, “All My Friends”; Lainey Wilson, “Whirlwind”; St. Vincent, “All Born Screaming”; MJ Lenderman, “Manning Fireworks”; Vampire Weekend, “Only God Was Above Us”; Tems, “Born in the Wild”; Charli XCX, “Brat”; Shelby Lynne, “Consequences of the Crown”; X, “Smoke and Fiction”; Kali Uchis, “Orquídeas”; Hanseroth Twins, “Vera”; Doechiii, “Alligator Bites Never Heal”; T Bone Burnett, “The Other Side”; Megan Moroney, “Am I Okay?”