The California artist had a breakthrough year lending his touch to albums by Bob Dylan, Phoebe Bridgers, and Perfume Genius, but on his own record, Mutable Set, he explored an elegant quiet that’s entirely his own. It’s a song for girls, gays, and theys leaving the club with a can of pepper spray and a prayer: an ominous reminder of the dangers of the walk home, a sonic shot of cortisol. All you can do is bask in the power of Flo Milli shit. But on “Bad Friend,” Rina Sawayama gives friend breakups their own ballad. It opens with percussion that sounds like a rapping at the door, a wake-up call. A former student of Mills College’s acclaimed experimental-music program and current member of the Kranky Records roster, which includes the likes of Grouper and Tim Hecker, Roxanne draws inspiration from classical Hindustani singing and sacred choral music in her ambient soundscapes. This is a love song at its core but, facing down the barrel of this year, its sense of longing resonates further than that. –Ian Cohen, In 2019, Charlotte rapper DaBaby bull-charged rap with 100 frenetic variations on a single song, like a jabbering, grinning, dumb-punchline-dispensing perpetual motion machine. Amid the near-constant chaos of the song’s sonic shifts, he is resolute, moored firmly by his commitment to the music that he loves and the history held within it. “We Paid” is smooth and confident: If you can’t hustle like you used to, Baby suggests, find new ways to flourish. It’s a direct line into one of music’s nimblest minds. Take direction at your own risk, but nobody can doubt their commitment. But “Yo Perreo Sola” also repeated reggaetón’s long-standing pattern of relegating female vocalists to anonymity; Puerto Rican rapper Nesi, who delivers its chorus with a passionate drawl, was uncredited upon the song’s release. Not any more than someone who manages to make jeans and a T-shirt look beautiful. –Stefanie Fernández, No man is a whole movement. It’s all ghostly ambience, groovy slap bass, and serpentine, canned electric guitar solos. With the sound of her vocals soaring over gauzy ’80s synths, even guilt gets its moment of grace. One moment the Punisher closer is a hushed acoustic ballad, the next it’s a swelling mid-tempo strummer, and then it explodes into an orchestral fanfare, and each section has its own emotional arc. Sophia Allison of Soccer Mommy nailed our constant recursion, atrophy, isolation, gall, and grief back in the early spring. As a muted instrumental flutters in the background, recalling a hollowed-out version of his anthem “Chicago,” a choir of Sufjans repeatedly asks, “What now?” Against the odds, a swell of synths finally hints at something like salvation. When it finally detonates and a seeming cast of thousands join in to shout “The end is here!” we come to understand her apocalypse as one frightening and cathartic in equal measure. –Mina Tavakoli, Yung Miami and JT of City Girls are grade-A, gold-standard shit talkers. The meaning of it all is right there in plain sight. –Sheldon Pearce, Argentine composer Beatriz Ferreyra is renowned for the disorienting spatiality and shape-shifting abstraction of her electronic and tape-based work, but it’s the human scale and raw intimacy of “Echos” that startle. Thick with reverb, Olsen’s flinty vibrato sounds worn-down and raw, as the fraught strums behind her recall the spartan folk music of her early records. –Nina Corcoran, With the touring industry stalled in 2020, it seemed like every rapper on Earth tried to make up for the loss with their very own digital deluxe reissue, padding out recent albums with extra tracks. You can practically feel a distance being bridged between her voice and the microphone, and between despondent fans across the globe. –Matthew Strauss, There isn’t a single wasted moment on “Safaera,” Bad Bunny’s epic homage to old-school perreo culture. In one moment, Yves is dragging serrated horn samples across cavernous guitars; in the next, they’re casually settling into a groove worthy of Prince. He sings “Vanishing Twin” in a double-tracked whisper over a deceptively complex arrangement of fretless bass, plucked strings, and distant percussion. The lines are delivered with a confessional vulnerability, as ghostly vocals echo her own in support. –Rawiya Kameir, Amaarae’s delicate vocals melt into a beat like butter on a warm slice of bread. The moody bassline delivers a melody to curl up in and brood, while the uptempo beat towards the end is a reminder that even loneliness ends. On “Describe,” Mike Hadreas stumbles through a depressive sludge, choked by thrashing, polluted guitars. As the track swells to symphonic levels, Hakim’s dusty timbre staggers to a halt and gives way to a haunting 10-person chorus, surrendering to a feeling that can no longer be expressed by words. “Angel” is another lovesick moment, resembling the group’s doleful rendition of the jazz standard “Body and Soul.” The melody is sumptuous, somewhere between carnal and spiritual, with bursts of distortion or horns punctuating the wobbling beat. As with all must-see serialized dramas, the guest stars are just as impressive as the main cast. As her coo whips into a snarl, Apple looks to metaphysics for solace, yet finds little: Spiritual wisdom, she learns, is no remedy for her primal desire to desire, to “want somebody to want.” For decades, Apple has penned damning chronicles of toxic romances. –Matthew Ismael Ruiz, The title track to Angel Olsen’s stripped-back 2020 album is one of her most haunting songs in a catalog full of them. So on its lead single, “Garden Song,” Bridgers is dissecting her dreams again, delving into her subconscious to understand what she wants and what it feels like to actually get it. Yet there’s power in this simplicity—it eliminates any obstacles that might stand in the way of the song’s sentiment, becoming an aural manifestation of love itself. After months of inertia, Jayda G brought the dancefloor to us. –Dean Van Nguyen, Listen: Freddie Gibbs / The Alchemist, “Scottie Beam” [ft. Rick Ross], There’s something infinitely charming about the first 15 seconds of Roddy Rich’s chart-topper “The Box,” before the song’s hi-hats, reverse 808s, and run of inescapable melodies even get going. The tension is eased by a slinky sax from future-soul artist Masego and then heightened by a polyphony of backup vocals that engulf the chorus with internal turmoil. –Calum Marsh, Perreo, as a genre, dance, and movement, has always been about power. But time and time again, his efforts to rendezvous with his digital paramour are interrupted by real-life obstacles, from locked hotel rooms to the awkwardness of online intimacy. It’s a feat that the song exists at all, encapsulating a year in which women have been leading both the statistics and conscience of rap, and even forced conservative talking heads to contend with the extraordinary power of the word “pussy.” –Clover Hope, Listen: Cardi B, “WAP” [ft. Megan Thee Stallion], The albums that got us through this chaotic year, featuring Fiona Apple, Bad Bunny, Lil Uzi Vert, Phoebe Bridgers, and more, Featuring Cardi and Meg, Bad Bunny, Perfume Genius, Christine and the Queens, and more, © 2021 Condé Nast. MY WIFE & 2 DOGS- quinn xcii FRIDAY (REMIX)- rebecca black WHEN I SEE YOU (LAMONT'S SONG)- rileyy lanez BIG (FEAT. The song climaxes with a confrontation, as the DJ shouts her out, blowing up her spot—“I still need you,” Kehlani pleads—though by the end it’s still unclear whether her dreaded trip out was worth the trouble. Porridge Radio frontwoman Dana Margolin sings as if her insides are aflame, delivering lines with nearly feral bravado. –Jenzia Burgos, On a different Taylor Swift album, “mirrorball” might have been the shining pop centerpiece. Just because it’s comfort food doesn’t mean it’s easy to cook. –Jazz Monroe, The slow-motion electronic pop of Bullion’s “Hula” soundtracks a series of vacations, recounted as pleasantly fogged memories. The beauty of the song lies in the author’s awareness of the imbalance at hand. Hearing a track this haute and juicy in 2020 is borderline rude for how much it makes us miss the rush of nightlife, but Cakes has never really been polite about his spotlight. Listen to selections from this list on our Spotify playlist and Apple Music playlist. Staring down trumped-up conspiracy charges in which his music was on trial as much as his actions, Drakeo oozes with swagger over a moody JoogSZN beat on “Backflip or Sumn.” He casually drops threats and flexes on the case he eventually did manage to beat, all the while stressing how unimpressed he is by it all. The vocal melody encompasses a range you could find under one hand on the piano, just a few notes, while her fingerpicking works its familiar, comforting magic. Warm, lo-fi keys and a loosely strummed guitar cushion the restlessness of self-work and sobriety, as she plainly states that she’ll “put on a good show for you.” Her voice crackles as she wrestles with the precarity of declaring acceptance—what it means to give it to yourself, to others—and the nerves of speaking a truth in shared company. “Hit Different” is misted with heady sluggishness, dragging drums, and Ty Dolla $ign’s honeyed voice, soft with the truth of a late-night realization. It’s the sound of the self turned into an atmosphere. With the intrigue of a story song and the intimacy of a biography, Swift delves into socialite anthropology and returns with an epitaph for a woman she’ll never meet. –Matthew Ismael Ruiz, Listen: Helado Negro, “I Fell in Love” [ft. Xenia Rubinos], Standing on the Corner have a way of capturing the wooziness of love. “Onyeka (Baby)” is an indestructibly sweet, sunny moment amid a colossal album of dancehall, Afrobeats, and pop, another of Burna’s Sisyphean efforts to compress the breadth of pan-Africanism into his person. “Bittersweet,” the opener of her eponymous third LP, envelopes La Havas’ heart-wrenching ache with production that’s as warm and inviting as a crackling bonfire. There’s a built-in reverb grounding Crutchfield’s falsetto, and it sounds like an unexpectedly early thaw, like the comforting promise that when flowers wilt and eventually die, it’s because they will soon bloom anew. Where Moor Mother speaks to battling inner and outer demons, her intoning voice echoing and relentless, woods is an ideal foil, adding drifting verses that lead to a needling concern: “What did I want?” The artful “Furies” leads listeners along its own orbit, with no easy answers to its cryptic questions. Set to walls of guitar and synth hooks, his lyrics contain a nod to the music that inspired him as a Black teenager interested in punk and indie, and to the unfulfilling jobs he worked for years to pay the bills before quitting to focus on performing and producing. The album’s first 10 songs are a litany of bullets, scars, and endless striving, but the mood shifts with the closing “I Love (Mimi, Moms, Kev),” a tribute to his wife, mother, and late friend. Outside the context of booming sound systems and late-night revelry, even the most expertly crafted club tracks have lost some of their luster, which makes the glittering elation of “For You” all the more precious. –Leah Mandel, Listen: Oneohtrix Point Never, “Long Road Home”, While Helado Negro’s Roberto Carlos Lange has been exploring experimental sounds and textures for more than a decade, his more recent work adopts more pleasant frequencies in service of space-age lullabies and healing spells. - Porn videos every single hour - The coolest SEX XXX Porn Tube, Sex and Free Porn Movies - YOUR PORN HOUSE - PORNDROIDS.COM Steady yet anxious congas, a gentle flute, and bright keys meld into an affectingly soulful plea for a kinder world. The music is seductive, almost narcotic, with synth pads exhaling in long, overlapping layers. –Paul A. Thompson, Listen: Jay Electronica, “The Neverending Story”, The Chicks dropped “Gaslighter”—the title track of their first album in 14 years—on March 4, shortly before 2020 went all the way up in flames. (Judging from the sound of the production, it’s 1983 via 2083.) –Gabriel Szatan, Listen: DJ Python, “ADMSDP” [ft. LA Warman], What makes Tame Impala mastermind Kevin Parker so compelling is how he melds the sounds of his favorite pop idols with a production style that updates arena rock for the age of microdosing. Find many great new & used options and get the best deals for 1826 King Charles Felix Kingdom of Sardinia Italy 5 Centesimi Rare Scarce Coin at the best online prices at eBay! Hopefully, for Dogleg, that future involves kids doing literal backflips into much bigger crowds. Atop a steely sequencer, Ware’s vocals swoop like the bell sleeve of a chiffon disco gown sweeping you toward the floor. –Sam Sodomsky, With “Mustang,” Bartees Strange took everything he knew about indie rock and put it into one massive song. But it works, locking listeners into one of the most curiously infectious hits of the year. On the track, the L.A. virtuoso best known for his imaginative bass lines and staggering fretwork embarks on a quixotic quest to woo a love interest with his speckled headwear. –Noah Yoo, The best part of the video for “Don Dada”—a cocky, bouncy, sexy slice of hip-house courtesy of New York rapper Cakes Da Killa and producer Proper Villains—is when Cakes, in an ice-white tennis skirt, steals the focus from a leonine model by shaking his ass in triple-time. “How much longer till December?” Yves asks at the end of the chorus. –Sheldon Pearce, Listen: Bad Bunny, “Safaera” [ft. Jowell & Randy and Ñengo Flow], The “Savage Remix” leak hit in April like an intravenous drip of caffeine and glitter, lifting the masses out of their doldrums, if only for four minutes. The soft power of this 11-minute guided dissociation holds true of any therapeutic method: The more you give in to it, the more necessary it becomes. Sweaty and cathartic, it’s the high-water mark of Lipa’s knockout second album, Future Nostalgia. It’s comforting but heavy, the weight of the world on your chest—even, as Allison reminds us, when everything is fine. “I don’t believe in that stuff anymore,” she admitted in “Funeral,” a song about being consumed by the tragedy of a classmate’s death. She swats him away handily, the diss track equivalent of receiving a long text and dismissing it with a “K.” Its opening line, delivered in her characteristic hush, reflects decades of Black radical feminist critique: “I see a demon on my shoulder, it’s looking like patriarchy.” After coolly ethering Cole—over a cascading Madlib beat, no less—Noname busies herself with more important things: eulogizing murdered activist Toyin Salau, highlighting the crisis of violence against trans women, name-checking George Floyd, and calling for a break up of Amazon. The pathos of its most powerful lyric—“No more hangin’ around”—is fitting for the way our most intense feelings are sometimes shrouded in casual language; the things that sound trivial when we say them are made concrete by La Havas’ startling performance. But as the barbed guitar riffs and methodical bass plucks give way to a chorus made for a hot-pink dressing room montage scene played at 1.5x speed, and a happy hardcore breakdown devolves into a spiky loop of unclean vocals, it becomes clear that the remix is somehow even more amazingly chaotic (and infinitely catchier) than the cyber hellscape that is the original. Freddie Gibbs floods the screen with drama—a police traffic stop that risks turning violent; warning cops about his personal arsenal—but when he repeats, “The revolution is the genocide/Look, your execution will be televised,” it feels like the perfect flip of Gil Scott-Heron’s message for an era when footage of Black death floods the news. –Jonah Bromwich, British singer-songwriter Lianne La Havas would be forgiven for simply coasting on her rich voice and its impossibly slow vibrato. “Devil hittin’ my peripherals,” Maxo mutters on “WHOLE WORLD,” over a three-minute heart-murmuring loop from Alchemist. The song is primarily a showcase for Lyman’s voice, and he fills its empty space with thrilling, wordless runs and tremulous melodies. However far away, it can’t come soon enough. And it only takes her a minute. “It’s all the same shit.” To accompany the voyage, he commands a small band in his head—“Bring in the drums/Cue fake drums,” he sighs—but the actual accompaniment refuses to follow his orders. –Cat Zhang, On “Gospel for a New Century,” Yves Tumor preaches the freedom to exist as they are. “Suite pour l’invisible,” from Roxanne’s second album, Because of a Flower, maps self-knowledge onto a soothing drone and keys that twinkle like bokeh. Recorded in 1978 but released for the first time this year, the piece is woven entirely from the voice of Ferreyra’s niece Mercedes Cornu, who died in a car accident prior to its composition. Only one artist made his album better with its deluxe edition: Lil Baby, who added a number of great songs to My Turn. –Noah Yoo, Ka’s Descendants of Cain paints a bleak picture of the Brownsville rapper’s hood, where street justice and biblical judgement go hand in hand. Maines’ admissions of vulnerability only further root her battle cries in her humanity, speaking to a righteous channel of rage, sorrow, and bewilderment at the hurt of a relationship gone to hell. She has a rare ability to connect the fragmented images passing by the window to what she feels inside: She shows us funnel clouds dropping from the sky, a slaughterhouse, and a shopping mall, and turns each into a signpost for her own confusion. That’s so 2018. –Abby Jones, The world might not need a song of triumph from Drake in 2020, but when he steps into the role of self-aware charmer, it’s hard to resist. Poet LA Warman’s wary monologue sways over a faint backbeat suffused with the kind of dread usually found in haunted dubplates. Until “Delete Forever.” Here, in the misfit of Miss Anthropocene, a loose, extremely un-Grimes acoustic guitar strum becomes the setting for an affecting tribute to friends and fellow artists who’ve died in the opioid crisis. When the song ends and the spell breaks, you can’t help but see your own loved ones with his wide-eyed wonder. Gaga’s lusty bravado and Ari’s airy coos complement each other perfectly as they sing about the restorative power of uncontrollable sobbing. –Alex Frank, Jessie Ware and producer James Ford know their disco, but on “What’s Your Pleasure?” they not only pay tribute to classics like Donna Summer’s “I Feel Love” but also to the era’s overall feeling of smoky sleaze. “Delete Forever” extends the kind of empathy no AI can. Pmvreggaetonhits è³¼èª 11 ã¡ãã»ã¼ã¸ Bounding along atop a turbo-charged filter-house template, the song gleefully reanimates the ghosts of French touch and harkens back to the days when house producers regularly (and rightfully) landed in the Top 40. But there’s also something lonely and maybe even a little spooky about the song, which the Moscow musician says was written during a difficult time. Apple shakes off the burden of expectations and demarcates her own growth, building toward a Kate Bush-worthy insistence that she’ll make it up her hill. –Matthew Strauss, Koffee’s summertime anthem opens with a question that most people have probably asked themselves at some point in 2020: Where will we go after this whole “quarantine ting” is over? –Eric Torres, Listen: Moor Mother / billy woods, “Furies”, On the deeply spiritual “River Dreams,” a new song included on Beverly Glenn-Copeland’s career-spanning 2020 compilation Transmissions, the pioneering experimental musician sings rich and soft invocations that encourage reflection, accompanied by circular piano melodies and synthetic orchestral chords. Locking listeners into one massive song backbeat suffused with the pressure that nengo flow wife! Sad ” a high, crystalline coo a groggy anthem for those days when counting the spots your... 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