Now that we’re safely into 2025, I hope you’ll permit me one last list-based lookback into the musical year that was.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, how do all those lists start appearing in October and November? Shouldn’t we wait until all the releases of a year are…released before we chime in on what’s best. To be fair, not much came in under the wire this year, but what happens if an epic masterpiece is released in early December? It won’t end up on any list if we follow the current music critic model.
After paring down my ten picks for 2024, I was admittedly a little taken aback. The Cure? Underworld? That dude from Radiohead and the bass player from The Pixies? To just read the names, it smacked of too much nostalgia. Given a glimpse of this list, the younger me would probably have said something like “Yeah man, you’ve still got it!” But the current me was worried I hadn’t evolved as far as I thought I had.
Of course, everything is a bit more nuanced than that. We’re all a product of where we come from, and it steers us to where we’re going.
To be clear, I’m not trying to sell you on the notion that these are the “10 Best” of last year or whatever. But these are rather ten albums that held my attention upon repeated listens from the opening note to the last.
In no particular order:
Camera Obscura Look To The East, Look To The West (Merge)
Nobody would have faulted Camera Obscura for opting not to reform after the tragic passing of Carey Lander back in 2015, and any comeback recording would be labeled a success just for the sheer willpower of getting through it. But not only did the “twee” Glasgow band successfully record, they released gem of an album that rivals any in their catalog. Vocalist and songwriter Tracyanne Campbell has lost none of her knack for sly wordplay, winking mischief and lush, lush arrangements. This is a triumph from start to finish.
Michael Kiwanuka Small Changes (Geffen)
The welcome fourth full-length from Michael Kiwanuka was hands-down my “airport album of the year.” I spend a fair amount of time in the skies for work and the rich, gentle comfort of Small Changes was the perfect traveling companion. It drowned out the inherent anxiety built into every major airport, and helped me drift off to dreamland on long haul flights. Produced by Danger Mouse, this 11-track, zero-skips opus is sensuous, soulful and seasoned with the tiniest pinch of surrealism. And its quiet reflections on domesticity and family remind me why coming home is the sweetest part of the journey.
Brijean Macro (Ghostly International)
There was a time in the early aughts where downtempo dance acts like Zero 7, Air, Bent, Weekend Players and others were all the rage, and while Brijean doesn’t particularly sound like any of them, their growing profile gives me hope that the vibe-y genre will reemerge from the underground. Uber percussionist Brijean Murphy and producer Doug Murphy channel exactly what it feels like to be deep inside a beautiful lucid dream, the sort you don’t want to wake up from.
Ducks Ltd. Harms Way (Carpark)
I sincerely can’t believe nearly three years have passed since Ducks Ltd. released their debut (2021’s Modern Fiction), largely because it was still in my rotation when the follow-up arrived this past October. Harms Way picks up exactly where it’s predecessor left off: a handsome selection of sharp, fat-free singalongs that defy you not to be uplifted by the harmonies and jangly guitars, all in less than 30 minutes. Efficient, concise, catchy…they may be Canada’s finest export.
The Smile Cutouts (XL)
Thom Yorke has dialed so deeply into progressive avant-garde pop songcraft that he could cough into a microphone for 45 straight minutes and the recording would probably still end up on lists like this one. Thankfully, Cutouts is a lot more ear-pleasing than an album of phlegmy hacking. He and Johnny Greenwood offer plenty of the dreamy fruit that hasn’t fallen too far from their Radiohead tree, but my favorite part of this album—and this band—is they seem to be having…fun? It’s borderline shocking when you first encounter it, but it draws you all the way in on repeated listens. I’m here for it.
The Cure Songs Of A Lost World (Fiction)
Critics fell all over The Cure’s first album in 16 years with the predictable “best album since Disintegration”-based praise—and maybe it is--but the old heads know: this is the band in all its archetypal goth glory. At least Disintegration had some lighter moments like “Lovesong” and “Pictures of You” to unburden the listener on their heavy journey. There are no such reprieves in Songs Of A Lost World, a uniformly dark set of mortality meditations that bears more resemblance to early masterpieces like Faith, Pornography and Seventeen Seconds. In other words, this is peak Cure. And peak Cure features hella songs where the vocals don’t even start until halfway through a seven-minute build (*chefs kiss*).
I’m not saying I couldn’t have used another album or two from the band in the intervening decade and a half, but the in our current lost world moment, this release seemed to arrive precisely when I needed to hear it.
Khruangbin A La Sala (Dead Oceans)
Any new release from Khruangbin is a cause for celebration, and A La Sala is no exception. My Spotify Wrapped for the last several years would expose me as a top 1% listener to the Austin, Texas band, due in large part to a playlist I keep running that features most of their catalog…a playlist that welcomed this new album with open arms. Regardless of where I find myself during my day, they complement most anything I’m doing. In fact, I have a hard time thinking of a musical act whose music rewards both the active and the passive listener equally. Whether you’re putting on the headphones, hosting a party or working on spreadsheets in a cubicle, Khruangbin is happy to be along for the ride.
A La Sala translates pretty much to “In The Living Room,” and that’s what you get here: the warmth and soul of the original trio and the musical love language that made them great in the first place. It’s Khruangbin bringing it all back home.
Sunshy I don’t care what comes next (MakeOutMusic)
Evidence that not all my 2024 selections were tinged with nostalgia is the debut album from Sunshy. Shoegaze is a genre that can be difficult to stand out in, but this Chicago band manages to do precisely that across 10 shimmering tracks. The giant, brittle, icy wall-of-guitar deftly interplays with the warm male/female co-lead vocals, and where too many bands of their ilk rely on the drone as an amorphorous crutch, Sunshy is a model of structural and sonic efficiency. The whole release clocks in at under 35 minutes, and there were numerous times I didn’t hesitate to hit repeat. It may be called I don’t care what comes next, but in truth, I absolutely do. Hope this is the first of many from Sunshy.
Kim Deal Nobody Loves You More (4AD)
More than four decades into one of the most esteemed indie-cred careers that exists, the singular Kim Deal is still finding ways to surprise, as evidenced here on her first solo joint. There are flourishes of her genius past work with The Breeders, The Amps and of course, The Pixies, but across 11 tracks, this is Deal as you’ve never heard her before. There’s some brass horns here and there, some doo-wop and the dreamy loud/soft/loud crunch she practically trademarked, all while maintaining a distinct air of intimacy; almost as if you were sitting alone with her in a kitchen while she debuted these songs.
Underworld Strawberry Hotel (Smith Hyde Productions)
Since their first studio album in 1988 (!) Rick Smith and Karl Hyde have always set their sonic gaze firmly into the future, and much of this album is no exception. But the first time I heard “denver luna” from Strawberry Hotel I admit I was magically transported back to the halcyon days of the Trainspotting soundtrack, the sinister writhing of “Dark and Long,” and a bygone era where music like this was more likely to be found in old warehouses than dayclub pool parties. It’s all here: the cut-up beatnik poetry, a throbbing 808-style drum machine and the visceral thrill that the cops are on the way to bust up the party. Do DJs still drop “Born Slippy” at peak hour these days? Dear God, I hope so.
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