The Best Songs of 2025, From Hayley Williams to Bad Bunny

No one did true confessionals in 2025 like Lily Allen, with her “West End Girl” concept album, which had this bracing pop gem as its uneasy centerpiece. But If you listened to the song only for its splendid melody and arrangement, and not Allen’s comically horrified words, you could almost imagine that “Pussy Palace” was a song of rapture, rather than emotional wreckage. Of course, there is no overlooking these lyrics, in which the singer visits her husband’s secondary apartment and comes across love letters, hundreds of condoms and other fairly certain signs that the “dojo” has been rented for one very singularly horny reason. Yet, after the sin-cataloguing revelations of the verses, why is there such a weird feeling of uplift in Allen’s grand sing-along of a chorus? Maybe it’s because even when these kinds of realizations are that rough, there can still an underlying relief, if not elation, in the understanding that the truth shall set you free. Even if the truth arrives via tell-tale butt plugs. —Chris Willman

Kendrick Lamar and SZA can build a bridge across hip-hop and R&B in a way that recalls the magic of the turn-of-the-millennium pop, when an R&B hook rarely felt out of place on a rap song and vice versa. Yet they’ve redefined that approach regularly over the past decade with their growing discography of collaborations, making space for each other on duets in ways that rarely feel formulaic. “Luther,” their chart-topping single from late 2024’s “GNX,” pingpongs from one artist to the other as they sing of giving someone the world they deserve. It’s lush and lovely, a true ballad for the ages in a way that only Lamar and SZA can deliver. — Steven J. Horowitz

Love it, hate it, will projectile-vomit if you hear it one more time in this or the next lifetime — whichever describes your reaction, you can’t deny “Golden,” the most gigantic pop song in memory. It was practically genetically engineered to be a hit (with seven songwriters and four producers on a song that lasts 3:14) and, as on-the-street evidence from parents, elementary schools and block parties will attest, it’s a bullseye for the same spot in the brain as irresistible candy; not since “Let It Go” has a song so enraptured the under-12 set. Yet that appeal belies its deep songcraft: From the celestial reprise that begins and ends the song to its slalom-like verses leading inexorably to the tease of the “No more hiding” pre-chorus and then into the release of the sky-scraping chorus — which is really, really difficult to sing on key — it is a deceptively complex song that never stays in one place for long. Yet most of all, the indestructible optimism of the lyrics — with their emphasis on self-belief, overcoming obstacles and togetherness, and verses in Korean, no less — dovetails with the music to create a song that’s as powerful as its message. — Jem Aswad

“Vanish Into You” has the emotional propulsion of a great ballad and the cathartic singalong potential of a great dancefloor anthem. So Lady Gaga, in a stroke of pop genius, gave us a taste of the former before committing to the latter. (Performing live, she has occasionally stripped away the disco-funk flair in favor of a slower vocal showcase.) In the verse and pre-chorus, Gaga sings of faraway lovers separated by time and space. He’s high on a hill, she’s been waiting for him, cryin’ out. Then, suddenly, she’s next to him, their faces side by side in a photograph on her bedside. A surge of dance-pop bliss snaps the song into place as Gaga asks, longingly, “Can I vanish into you?” It’s a primal sort of song about how there’s no such thing about being too close to the one you love. —Ethan Shanfield

Carpenter is the best comedienne, or light satirist, that we have going in pop music today. She had already evidenced an inclination to explore the battle of the sexes in a somewhat comic way in her past work, but “Manchild” found her topping herself in that regard. Some men saw her derogatory attitude toward doofuses as a kind of misandry, but boys, I’m here to tell you, after untold millennia of indeed subjecting women to “stupid(ity), slow(ness) and useless(ness)” — and, historically, that was on some of our good days — we ought to be able to take a joke. Of course, Carpenter (writing with Amy Allen and Jack Antonoff) includes herself as a target of the gags, admitting that she may be destined to fly off with these alluring Peter Pans again and again. Marry this wit to a track that recalls the synthy wonders of the Pointer Sisters or Doobie Brothers in their prime and you’ve got a recipe for an irresistibly cheeky chart-topper. —Willman

There’s something timeless about Kehlani’s “Folded,” not just because the primary theme — packing up a relationship into a box and giving it back to your ex — is so common, but because it calls back to the glistening simplicity of early 2000s R&B. “Folded” plays as though it’s directly inspired by Faith Evans’ “I Love You,” a guitar lick reverberating against rich drums and topped with voluptuous harmonies. The song already felt like a hit before it took off, so it’s no surprise that it did, eliciting remixes featuring Toni Braxton, Brandy and JoJo. The community-powered smash these days is rare, yet with “Folded” it was inevitable. — Horowitz

It shouldn’t be considered a subversive act to have to remind citizens and even leaders that Puerto Rico is an American territory, but that is where we find ourselves with the bizarre controversy over Bad Bunny being booked for the Super Bowl. As if he saw it coming, the artist put together a remarkable album, “DeBÍ TiRAR MáS FOToS,” that spoke to Puerto Rico’s independence, interdependence and pride through both its bold lyrics and fascinating musical hybrids. There was no better example of all of this coming together in rich fashion than “‘NuevaYol,” a salute to Puerto Ricans starting new and different lives in NYC in the past and present — with a nod in the music video, as you see in the image above, to the 1977 unfurling of a flag from the crest of the Statue of Liberty. Meanwhile, the sensitive combination of old-school salsa and contemporary reggaeton allowed for a spirited showcase that made room for actual callouts to Willie Colón, Washington Heights, “Un verano en Nueva York” by El Gran Combo, Frida Kahlo, Jamaican dancehall, rappers El Lápiz Conciente and Big Pun, and Juan Soto. And, oh yeah, to Donald Trump, with a vocal imitator heard on a faux radio broadcast apologizing for his attitude toward immigrants. As if! Bad Bunny’s massive popularity even among non-Spanish speakers means you didn’t have to catch all this backstory to find something thrilling in the way “‘NuevaYol” moves back and forth between traditionalism and sounds that more predictably tickle the ears of today. —WIllman

Her “The Life of a Showgirl” album took on a generally happier tone than anything she’s done before, with songs like “Opalite,” which seems bound to be Swift’s next smash. But she’s not so moved on to Kelce World that she couldn’t use the record to bring up some beefs… or, in the case of “Ruin the Friendship,” to go all the way back to school days to feel rueful. Getting the call to come home to attend the funeral of a classmate she hasn’t seen in forever is occasion to reminisce and think that she should have made a move to kiss the boy in question, rather than spend the rest of her life wondering “what if.” Of course, the butterfly effect of such a brave move might have resulted in her present personal satisfactions never existing, so she can’t regret it too hard., But most of us have been there, in thinking back decades to the times we took the coward’s way out, even if virtually none of us could write an acoustic ballad about it as hauntingly gorgeous as “Ruin the Friendship.” —Willman

Clearly, the world is falling for Olivia Dean right now. Nothing has been able to knock her debut album, “The Art of Loving,” out of the top 10 lately — not even December’s traditional influx of charting Christmas albums. “Man I Need” has been the big hit to date, but “Nice to Each Other” goes even further in showing why we feel confident in counting Dean as a keeper among this season’s Grammy best new artist nominees. It includes the kind of writing about an “it’s complicated” romance that is so specific in its complications, you know it can’t have been made up out of whole cloth. Specifically, Dead sings about a relationship that is on the casual side, and being fine with accepting that probably tentative status, even as the partners still seem to have some issues to work out that aren’t entirely clicking. It’s not clear whether Dean is writing with a little bit of ironic detachment or is really trying to talk herself into accepting this situation. But regardless, what is most remarkable about the tune is her vocal, which sounds just a little different from anyone else’s out there right now. It’s a voice so appealing smooth that you just want to keep riding it like a gentle wave. If she has the ability to make great singing sound so effortless, you may be thinking, why does her relationship have to be such hard work? —Willman

Paramore’s lead singer seems drawn to stirring up a little trouble now and again, whether it’s in the occasional statements she offers on current events or singing about being in a “racist singer’s bar” in the title track of her latest solo album, “Ego Death at a Bachelorette Party.” She starts off “True Believer,” one of the highlights of the 20-song release, by singing about how rampant development has led her native Nashville to go to hell — a sentiment so widely shared by the locals that it may not count as controversial. But she has more universal stuff on her mind, like what she views as hypocritical Christianity — something she frequently has something to say about, as an ex-vangelical. In the choruses, she presents her version of faith as something more sincere, that doesn’t involve exiting church through the gift shop: “I’m the one who still loves your ghost / I reanimate your bones with my belief.” She gets into the politics as well as religion of the religion, saying “the South will not rise again till it’s paid for every sin,” referring to Nashville as “Southern Gotham” (seemingly a reference to the so-called “Batman building,” seen in the image above). She’s not going to win any Miss Tennessee pageants with that kind of talk, but it makes for good, smart-mouthed pop at a time when most musicians are content to avoid the divisive elephants in the room. —Willman

No one made any bigger of a big-picture album in 2025 than Rosalía, who took an interest in actually addressing God in a serious fashion rarely found outside of the genres exclusively devoted to faith. Her “Lux” album was in no way easy to boil down, though, even with (or maybe especially with) its recurring spiritual focus. As the greatest evidence of that, take its leadoff single, “Berghain,” which lasts barely more than three minutes yet requires more unpacking than most artists’ entire careers. I’m still not entirely sure how or why, in that short length, it goes from Rosalía singing quite operatically about her troubled relationship with the divine to the climactic appearance of guest star Yves Tumor, who repeats the phrase “I’ll fuck you till you love me”… oh, and with a brief stop for a few plaintive bars of Björk in-between. I can have my theories about what the song really means, but in the meantime I can just enjoy the sheer maximalism of a composition that includes a symphony orchestra and choir blasting so loudly you’d think they were soundtracking an especially beautiful “Omen” reboot. (The music video plays up the horror angle a bit, with bleeding critters… after the first funny jump-scare of an entire orchestra appearing inside Rosalía’s kitchen.) Here’s to a Spanish artist who had every reason to play it safer and sexier, to overtake the international market, and instead kind of scaled that commercial peak by biting off more God than she could chew. —Willman

With a range of influences that span from shoegaze to Latin music to jazz, the Marías don’t sound like anyone else — and their breakthrough single “No One Noticed” sounds like absolutely nothing that’s been on the mainstream charts in decades, if ever. The group’s most recent single, “Back to Me,” continues in that vein and expands on it: Both songs are brimming with longing but also a tentativeness and uncertainty — more of a wish than a promise — that is communicated in the song’s gauzey mixture of sounds, which center around the ominous, booming bass synthesizer that opens the song and implies daunting odds. Yet from there the song builds and swirls, with an elaborate arrangement and a dreamlike middle eight, climaxing with triumphant countermelodies and a shower of celestial sounds that leave little question as to the outcome of the song’s yearning. — Aswad

To include or not to include on best of ‘25 lists? That is the question when it comes to “Love Takes Miles” by Geese frontman and new indie-rock savior Cameron Winter. Yes, Winter’s debut solo record “Heavy Metal” was technically released on Dec. 6, 2024 – but most year-end lists come out before this date anyway and, spiritually, 2025 was the Year of Winter. The most commercial track from “Heavy Metal,” “Love Takes Miles” combines jazzy instrumentals reminiscent of Vince Guaraldi with a simple yet profound message beyond his 23 years: “Love takes miles / Love takes years.” Despite the debate, it’s an earworm that we’ll have trouble shaking even in 2026. — Ellise Shafer

Admittedly, yes, this was released as a single in November 2024, but it’s still being included since its parent album, “So Close to What?” arrived this past February. Tate McRae has been edging towards Main Pop Girl since she shrugged off the sad girl vibes of her first album and dove directly into millennium-era pop, evoking Nelly Furtado and Timbaland on her breakthrough singles “Greedy” and “Exes.” And while much of “So Close to What” pulls from the same palette (“Sports Car” and “It’s OK, I’m OK” get honorable mention here), “2 Hands” embodies pop perfection — or, at least, is so close to it. With verses that speed across pattering drums, the track hits its stride on its undeniable chorus, a siren blaring in the background to create a sense of tension as her vocals stretch towards the skies. Much criticism has been lobbed at McCrae for lacking personality in her songs, yet it’s of little consequence when a banger like this sticks the landing so well. — Horowitz

Tyler’s “Don’t Tap the Glass” is ostensibly a dance-music album, but it’s really just vintage Tyler with bouncier beats. “Sugar on My Tongue” is the set’s standout track and also a showcase for Tyler as a producer, with an irresistible Pharrell-esque elastic beat, plinking synth lines and an increasingly busy arrangement that morphs as the song progresses, even incorporating some synthesizer tones we last heard from the Human League — not to mention (conceptual link) what sounds like someone tapping on glass. — Aswad

Picking between Chappell Roan’s “The Subway” and “The Giver” is like playing favorites, and yet the latter tipped the scales this year in terms of its more genre-specific appeal. Roan is a powerhouse vocalist, gifted in her ability to belt with raw emotion and dial it back to a sensitive murmur, and on “The Giver,” she completely recontextualizes it for a hoe-down throwdown romp into country. Not many pop artists can pull off a country pivot so convincingly, yet Roan marches right down to the rodeo and plants her flag promptly. And in classic Roan fashion, she infuses it with personal flair — she calls it “cuntry,” and the song could very well be about how she navigates relationships (particularly in the bedroom) — making a compelling argument for a viable backup gig if this whole pop thing doesn’t work out. — Horowitz

The perfect introductory track for her third album “Cover Girl,” “My Best Step” has all the hallmarks of what makes the record such an epiphany for Lady Wray. Her aching vocals over tinkering piano keys recall the rawness of Aretha Franklin’s earlier work as she celebrates the joy of romance in the face of the inevitable hardship it brings. Throwback soul can be gimmicky when it pushes too many of the right buttons — the recent critical reappraisal of Silk Sonic contended with this school of thought — yet Wray is far too seasoned and authentic to code as pastiche. — Horowitz

Returning to her solo career after a stint with Boygenius, Dacus seemed to have a whole different attitude — an honestly romantic one that found its full culmination in this beautiful ballad. Befitting someone who doesn’t necessarily jump into passion easily, it expresses the cautiousness of a woman who knows how fragile and temporal relationships can be, but has decided to lay all her chips on this one anyway, because — based on a calculated assessment of evidence and odds — “you are my best guess” for a salvation that might actually last. Yes, there’s a tentativeness to that sentiment, but describing that doesn’t really get at just how moving and heartwarming the song is, as Dacus takes that gorgeous voice and uses it not for the deadpan tone she’s sometimes had in the past but something deeply and openly delirious. It might be the best and/or innately truest love song of 2025. —Willman

With age comes wisdom, as does the looming threat of our own mortality and how we cope with it. Clipse’s Pusha T and Malice haven’t always been particularly emotional in their raps, but they tap into something deep and real on “Let God Sort Em Out” opener “The Birds Don’t Sing,” a mournful meditation on what it was like to lose both of their parents just a few months apart. That pain is communicated in a way that only Clipse can: with precision amid distress, and they reflect on that sorrow with a vulnerability we’ve yet to see from the brothers Thornton. Their bars linger with you long after the song fades — the final line on Malice’s verse, “‘I love my two sons’ was the code to your phone, now you’re home,” ricochets like a shot to the heart. — Horowitz

The Addison Rae experiment has become impossible to deny following the release of her debut album “Addison,” a tightly written and sharply produced collection of pop songs that confronts the nature of celebrity while unabashedly embracing it. What’s given Rae’s discography so much weight hasn’t just been the conversation around it — Stan Twitter sure had its fair share of hyperbole this year — but rather Rae’s framing of the concept of celebrity in the TikTok age. “Tell me who I am, do I provoke you with my tone of innocence?” she asks at the song’s onset, a synth chirping beside her like a sound effect from “Super Mario.” Is Rae here to entertain, she suggests, or does fame’s artificiality merely entertain her? “Fame Is a Gun” concludes that both can be true: We’ve got a front row seat, and she certainly has the glamorous life. — Horowitz

Taylor Swift was right when she said that Charlie Puth should be a bigger artist, because the breadth of his musical expertise and ability to put that knowledge into action continues to go unmatched in contemporary pop. After leaning a bit on overly polished pop on 2022’s “Charlie,” Puth went into full dad mode with the Phil Collins-indebted “Changes,” the first single off his upcoming fourth album “Whatever’s Clever.” “Changes” exhumes the ’80s touchstones of Peter Gabriel and Bruce Hornsby and repackages them for 2025 tastes, making for a propulsive, exuberant tune about accepting and acknowledging the sometimes uncomfortable shifts that come with the end of a relationship. But boy, when that gospel choir kicks in during the last chorus? Few artists can pull that off so naturally, and of course Puth is up for the task. — Horowitz

Wet Leg has an image for songs that are either arch (the debut album’s “Chaise Longue”) or aggressive (the latest release’s “Catch These Fists”). But if lead singer Rhian Teasdale can devote herself on the excellent “Moisturizer” album to defensively singing “Mangetout” — as in, “man, get out” — she can also disarm herself and invite a new partner to come inside in an honestly love-besotted rock song like this one. Of course, she and the band have to come at it from an odd angle, which is naming this song of devotion for a TV presenter in London, singing, “I’ll be your Davina… never gonna let you go.” What exactly that connotes, us Yanks can only guess, but it sure sounds flattering. And it sure is sweet to have a few love songs that rock as hard as the handful on their sophomore effort. —Willman

In many ways, Dijon’s impressive sophomore album “Baby” rejects songwriting conventions while constantly reminding you that, if he wanted to, the R&B singer-producer could make a helluva pop song. Hooks are buried under glitchy drum samples, and catchy melodies are tossed aside in sparse sonic landscapes. So when, midway through the album, Dijon belts out over steady drums and sparkling ‘80s synths in “Yamaha,” it sounds like soaring: “Baby, I’m in love with this particular emotion.” It’s a perfect example of Dijon’s ability to mix studio sorcery with the timeless power of a good chorus. —Shanfeld

In 2025, the Baltimore hardcore quintet continued introducing new sounds in their work, and their audience grew alongside them. While other songs from their most recent album, “Never Enough,” had more buzz, “Sole” is a hard-charging blend of the band’s classic sound with a layer of their newly-found dreampop sensibilities. With a syncopated central riff that shows off drummer Daniel Fang’s dexterity, a near-wordless chorus melody from singer Brendan Yates that evokes a football hooligan chant, a spacey bridge and a walloping outro breakdown, headbanging is unavoidable. — William Earl

Where were you when Lorde revealed the first single from her long-awaited fourth album to a crowd of screaming fans in Washington Square Park? Even if you didn’t experience it in person, if you pay attention to pop, it was one of the most defining music moments of the year. I happened to be in New York City at the time, and the song came to define my trip — it was blasted every morning, with its hammering synths and electrifying chorus (“MDMA in the back garden, blow our pupils up / We kissed for hours straight, well, baby, what was that?”) setting the tone for the day. At night, my friends and I played it in the streets, walking from bar to bar, shouting “This is the best cigarette of my life” as if we’d written the lyrics ourselves. It marked a return to form for Lorde after the acoustic, down-to-earth “Solar Power,” and — from a singular artist of our generation — served as a reminder that growing up doesn’t have to be so scary. — Shafer

Carlisle has been known to do an epic album-closer before (see “Party of One” from her breakthrough “By the Way, I Forgive You”). She really goes all-out with the conclusion to her “Returning to Myself” album, offering bits and pieces of her own easily identifiable history, as well as passing anecdotes about other people’s fates, on her way to offering a lovely lesson in how fleeting life is and how much we need to seize love by the reins while we have them to grasp. The first verse recounts her very first plane trip outside of the Seattle area to nearby Idaho, having an epiphany as she eyes the ancient flood plains in Washington beneath her; the second tells the tale of people dying in suicide or accidents, and how “we’re all just a broken heart away from making a promise that we’re forced to keep.” In the final stretch, she invokes the bonds of her own marriage and children, even as she’s aware — in the spine-tingling coda — that all the interactions are part of a “long goodbye.” A small masterpiece of macro and micro philosophizing, it’s heartwarming and sad, and there are jokes embedded, too; what more could you want out of a song? —Willman

Doja Cat can often get in her own way when it comes to giving into her more pop predilections, which can be frustrating for those of us who didn’t see her breakthrough records as “cash grabs” (her words!). On “Vie,” an album that strikes a healthy medium between slick pop and sharp rap, she lands in a space where she sounds the most like herself, particularly on “Stranger,” an absolutely seamless front-to-end bop. Like much of “Vie,” “Stranger” is an ’80s-kissed ode to finding someone who matches your freak. There’s a warmth to the tune as she sings of striking connection with another misfit, chipped tooth with a broken nose and all. — Horowitz

If there’s one line from the “Swag” universe that’s going to stick to your brain, it’s “That’s my baby, she’s iconic / iPhone case, lip gloss on it.” It’s a mundane detail that emphasizes just how high a pedestal he places his wife Hailey, the subject of much of his pair of “Swag” albums, and how easily impressed he is with her accessorizing. Yet “Go Baby,” perhaps the best song on “Swag” for its yearning chorus and hypnotic melody lines, is less about valorizing his wife than it is about protecting her, encouraging her to turn her face into his shoulder to shield herself from the world’s woes. “You better believe I can hold all the weight that you feel inside” is romance at its purest, and R&Bieber sells it. — Horowitz

It’s a universal experience to fall into the same patterns across romantic trysts, and relationship burnout is a real thing. That’s what the Haim sisters bemoan on the plainly titled “Relationships,” a song that’s stitched together by old school breakbeats, schoolyard chants and cherry-sweet piano stabs. Haim zigzags between sound and style, yet it’s here where the trio thrives in making sense of musical chaos, particularly when it’s matched with ruminations on the equally chaotic nature of romance. Danielle, Este and Alana have become creatures of reinvention (or, perhaps more accurately, refinement) over the years, and “Relationships” is Haim at their best. — Horowitz

Moroney, one of country’s hottest rising stars, allows herself a moment of wondering whether she made the right move in breaking up with a no-account guy. But as the sprightly music suggests, it’s really just a moment, because she knows that he will be dialing her up for a reconciliation months down the road, if she needs that as a safety net. Which, apparently, she does not. This uptempo song about how “what doesn’t kill you calls you six months later” is another fine example of how Moroney and her co-writers continue to be able to take the seemingly exhausted subject of breakups and wring new life and wit out of it. It’s a highly promising teaser for her third album, due in early ’26. —Willman

Clocking in at just over two minutes, Jai’Len Josey’s “New Girl” instantly thrust open the doors of a more-than-promising new era for the former Broadway star. Now signed to Def Jam after releasing a few EPs, Josey sidles up to a U.K. garage beat on “New Girl” with R&B flair, making for unexpected yet consistently satiating musical turns. Synths cartwheel behind her as she welcomes come-ons from a suitor — “Closed mouths don’t get fed ’round here,” she sings — as the track whips and careens towards a chorus where the instrumentation pulls almost entirely back, leaving her harmonies exposed. It’s one of the most unexpected yet alluring songs this year, just a taste of what Josey has to offer on her upcoming debut album, “Serial Romantic.” — Horowitz

cross-Atlantic fling has never seemed so fun in PinkPantheress’ ode to American boys, “Stateside.” Her unbothered facade is cracked by a new love interest abroad, as she plots in that cool British monotone: “It sounds insane, right? / I’ll take the same flight / Wait at your bedside / I’ll land right next to you.” With a producing assist from the Dare, the song is a collage of wobbly bass lines, club drums and Y2K guitar stylings. But the most fun part is a play on the Estelle and Kanye West classic, as Pink floats cheekily: “You could be my American — ha, ha — boy.”

Twenty-year-old wunderkind Shane Boose rode in on bedroom pop but began branching into something else with his first major hit, “Back to Friends.” But on “12 to 12” he (almost literally) kicks the door down with a swaggering pop song that packs all of the punch it promises. The song has all the trademarks of his sound — the soaring chorus, the intricate instrumental hooks — but this time with a strutting, powerful beat and, most of all, attitude. The video features a steamy Addison Rae splayed across a “Saturday Night Fever” style dancefloor, but “12” is more of a stomper than a groove. — Aswad

From what has been hailed by critics as the year’s strongest rock album, one could pluck basically any song for this list. Many have spotlighted “Taxes,” the warbly, jangly first single that may or may not be a protest song, or the twinkly “Au Pays du Cocaine,” about desperately trying to hold onto a fleeting relationship. But the most striking and under-discussed entry on “Getting Killed” is the title track. Over a heavy-blues guitar riff, chaotic drums and what sounds like tribal chanting, Cameron Winter wails and screams about how he can’t even hear himself talk or taste his own tears. None of it should work, and yet it does, as the song morphs between a soft and skittering croon and a relentless force of sound. “I am taking off my pants / I’m getting out of this gumball machine,” Winter sings, convincingly. In an album full of songs about breaking free, no other song so perfectly describes the feeling of rejecting the oppression of normality. —Shanfield

This song about the ups and downs of hailing from a place as “red” as Alabama takes its title from all the ways that the area earns that shade, not all of which have to do with the electoral map, although there’s that, too. “Red clay under my nails, deep crimson on my skin,” sings the troubadour who in no way will be mistaken for a redneck, even though he grew up around a lot of them. Having long since moved to a metropolis where inclusiveness is taken for granted, Isbell still has a deep sympathy and affection for those like him who may not fit in to their tiny burgs: “Guess the small town didn’t suit me after all / There’s still so many lonely kids surrounded by the rest of y’all / And I can’t seem to keep myself away / So I head back to the crimson and the clay.” Like the rest of his “Foxes in the Snow” album, it benefits from being given the intimacy of the solo-acoustic treatment; we feel like we can almost hear the crimson coursing through his veins. —Willman

Rose Gray’s “Party People” is the main character theme song blaring in your brain as you step into the club. Almost like a spiritual sonic cousin to Annie’s “Heartbeat,” the Sega Bodega-produced single is a song of surrender, consumed by the idea of giving in to the quick pace of city life and flash of strobe lights across a dark room. But even as an admitted party person, Gray sings as an enchantress, finding focus in a world of distraction, pulled by the yarn of romance towards a longtime lover. “In the city of strangers, you’re the only one that I want / And it feels like it’s the first time,” she sings, seductive and confessional all at once. — Horowitz

Sasha Keable spent 2025 planting the seeds for what’s sure to be a bountiful new year, particularly on the back of her one-off singles (her cover of Jill Scott’s “Gettin’ in the Way” was striking) and latest EP “Act Right.” That project brought her mellifluous alto to new R&B corners, a much more mature and revealing look into the inner workings of the heart. The title track is as much a gold standard for Keable as any on the EP, yet it stands out for its confrontational tone underwritten by pain and frustration. “If you loved me, you would never hurt me / That’s to put it simply, whether we were lovers or just friends,” she sings, her vocal runs cascading like a waterfall. Keable is conversational to a point that you can feel her singing directly to you — a gift as valuable as her capacity to translate her emotions into song. — Horowitz

Langley, a big winner at the CMAs and ACMs as a freshman artist, has thankfully stretched out far beyond being a one-hit-wonder with her “You Look Like You Love Me” breakout last year. She got a pretty big co-sign on this one from no less a co-writer and backup singer than Miranda Lambert (Luke Dick and Joybeth Taylor also got in on the writers’ room). There is a long history of country classics about people who are either headed into or out of the Lone Star state — there should be a royalties checkpoint at the eastern and western borders — and the lyrics to this one actually reference another transitory tune: “He always loved ‘Amarillo By Morning’,” she tells herself, rationalizing why she knows her beau is going to fall for, and and follow, a Texas-based rival. But with the rich vocal tone Langley brings to the song, it’s hard to imagine a mere two-step champion luring her guy away. —Willman

Kesha coronated the latest phase of her career — full independence, a victory after the very public conflicts she endured both personally and professionally — with “Joyride,” one of the most bizarre yet provocative tunes to impact last year. She followed with the compulsively listenable album “Period,” released on July 4 (naturally) this year, which featured the under-heralded “Love Forever” that asks the question: What would Kesha sound like if she made a Daft Punk song? On “Love Forever,” French touch suits Kesha well, playing like a track that could have comfortably soundtracked an H&M dressing room in the early 2000s (for an even French touchier version, try DJ David Michael’s remix). Kesha has been known to embrace her inner chameleon, and this color looks very good on her. — Horowitz

On Wednesday’s latest album “Bleeds,” Karly Hartzman sings about false teeth, Four Lokos and fruit flies as if from a bingo card of her daily observations in North Carolina. The most fun-to-sing  item arrives in “Wound Up Here (By Holdin On),” in which Hartzman wails, in tongue-twisting fashion, “You saw a pitbull puppy pissin’ off a balcony.” Borrowing a refrain borrowed from Evan Gray’s book of poetry (“I wound up here by holdin’ on”), Hartzman relays a friend’s story about pulling a dead body out from a creek. Guitars and pedal steel spiral upwards until Hartzman is swept away by the sound, screaming into siren-like distortion. The song reaches its gloriously noisy climax when Hartzman’s voice cracks and wavers — barely holding on. —Shanfield

After co-writing many of the songs on childhood friend Gracie Abrams’ blockbuster album “The Secret of Us,” Hobert stepped out with her strong debut record, “Who’s the Clown?” Over a big, bright synth, Hobert quickly tosses off a waterfall of lyrics about hooking up with an ex and not feeling guilty. The topic, the delivery, her witty attention to detail (“Just me or does he look amazing / When he’s all in his Amazon Basics?”) and quirky songwriting feels fresh, and is a fitting introduction to her unique style. — Earl

On the collaborative John/Carlile album from early this year, Elton took the lead on a track paying eloquent homage to one of the legendary piano-pounding rockers who preceded him as the artform was born. The lyric by Bernie Taupin is about Little Richard being torn between believing he had a call to the ministry and his rather more obvious call to be his flamboyant self as a rock ‘n’ roll pioneer. Implicitly tied in to that is Richard being gay and closeted — and it’s interesting that John and Carlile start their joint album with two tribute songs devoted to gay musicians who came before them, the other one being a salute to Laura Nyro. In any case, examining the curious case of Little Richard and his angels and demons is an excuse for Elton to do one of the most flat-out rockers he’s written and performed in a very long time, as seen in the “SNL” clip included above. His roadhouse piano solos are still a thing of wonder; thank you, Sir Elton, for not being similarly tempted by the ministry. —Willman

The teenage daughter of Sofia Coppola and Phoenix frontman Thomas Mars delivered this sly ode to love and fame that mixes the keen observations of her mother and the indelible hooks of her father. “I met an actor last night, he called me a star / Said he hates the spotlight, I hate his big red car” is the wry opening of one of the year’s most hypnotic choruses, a sweet and sour ode to Hollywood dreams. — Earl

Sabrina Teitelbaum’s second full-length album as Blondshell, “If You Asked for a Picture,” proves that she’s one of the best singer-songwriters in indie-rock right now. No song better exemplifies this than “T&A,” a friends-to-lovers-to-strangers anthem full of disdain for the actions of a man and self-loathing in equal measure. Amid fuzzy guitars and a driving drumline, the reason for the title is revealed — “I asked him why he had these feelings / He said your tits and ass don’t really hurt” — just ahead of an explosive chorus, with Teitelbaum asking in a controlled wail: “Letting him in / Why don’t the good ones love me?” It’s punchy and relatable, the kind of song you want to scream in a crowd full of other women scorned. — Shafer

On her riveting “Nobody’s Girl” album, recently divorced singer-songwriter Shires wrestles with plenty of unresolved questions — like whether she can count herself reasonably healed or is still in the thick of more pain than she realizes… and whether to spill the details of what went down in the split or demurely move on. In “Piece of Mind,” she’s embracing the anger and the tea-spilling, knowing she’s got a full album to also ensure we know she’s moving closer to whatever closure will come. For a few fiery minutes, at least, she’s taking no prisoners… and ending each chorus with the line “wherever you are tonight,” to let listeners know that she is still standing her ground, now as a newly liberated true solo artist. It’s rough stuff, but Shires was too candid before any of this stuff publicly went down to suddenly go shy on us now. It’s the very model of how to balance vulnerability and fierceness in the confessional. —Willman

“Mercy” is the second collaborative record between NYC rap duo Armand Hammer and legendary producer the Alchemist, and “Scandinavia” has the trio operating on all cylinders. Over a minimalist, sinister beat, Billy Woods and Elucid trade verses while expertly modulating flows to deliver complex storytelling and poetry (“Might sell you a bridge, but it’s no regrets when you examine the metalwork / Just say he’s best, the arch like a lover’s neck”). A standout track in a year of strong underground hip-hop. — Earl

Members Sarah Jarosz, Aoife O’Donavan and Sara Watkins, all heroines of roots music, have worked on very worthy solo projects since they last convened for a supergroup album as the collective I’m With Her back in 2018. But their reconvening as a trio did not come a moment too soon, for those of us who look to vocal harmony as some kind of substitute for the kind we’re missing in the outside world. The opening song on their first album back after the break, “Ancient Light,” isn’t just about being in the company of one another again. It’s about basking in the kind of shared history that goes back before their births, and taking joy in communing with figurative (probably?) spirits of the past, whether you take that to mean gatherings of women or of musicians or both. “Thinkin’ of who camе before / I hear them knock at the door / They’ve been a long time comin’ / Mmm, when I let ’em in / I feel their breath on my skin.” If you’re a ghost, you should be so lucky as to get to haunt these three when they’re making magic. Barack Obama just had this at the top of his 2025 songs list, and he’s got great taste. —Willman

Indie Rock Dudes had a great 2025, and what’s better than a collab between two of the genre’s reigning champions? On this track from the deluxe edition of This Is Lorelei’s stellar 2024 record “Box for Buddy, Box for Star,” dad-rock torchbearer Lenderman strips down the original song’s hyperpop disposition in a way that gives it a brand-new meaning. Played acoustically, “Dancing in the Club”’s lyricism stands out, anchored by a subtle yet brilliant metaphor: “And I know it’s only cards / But love I feel your heart in spades / While you were dancing in the club / I gave my diamonds all away.” Lenderman’s crackly voice and penchant for yearning give those words the quietly heartbreaking delivery they deserve. — Shafer

Alt-country superstar Tyler Childers is a man of many unusual extremes. For instance, his latest album, like some of his sold-out concerts, includes elements of a Hare Krishna chant and other Indian influences, which would seem to be a long way from his Appalachian origins. But he hasn’t gone total peacenik on us, at least not when it comes to “Bitin’ List,” which became a viral hit off the “Snipe Hunter” record. “I just don’t like you,” he announces in the song, “and if there ever come a time I got rabies, you’re high on my bitin’ list.” It’s meant playfully, naturally, but it would not have become one of the year’s defining Americana songs if there weren’t a lot of folks out there able to identify someone they’d like to take down with them if they contracted a communicable disease. So sing or growl along, and then atone with 20 Hare Krishnas. —WIllman

Much has been made of the fusion of hip-hop and country in recent years, from Nelly’s groundbreaking collaborations to the fact that many of the biggest singers to arise from Nashville in the past decade, from Morgan Wallen to Jelly Roll, started as would-be rappers. But more than most, 20-year-old Jessie Murph has hip-hop in her DNA — she can be singing a ballad and her phrasing still has rap rhythms in it — and nowhere is that more obvious than on “Blue Strips.” The song has a wildly intuitive chorus where the alliteration leads the melody — “Boy I ain’t mad, boy I ain’t mad, boy I ain’t mad at you / I had to get back at you / Got a new man, got a new damn mansion in Malibu” — and unexpectedly slots perfectly with the slinking trap beat that kicks in after the chorus, which opens the song, has grabbed your attention like a lap-dancer pushing their client into a chair. — Aswad

Not-quite-twin singers Jess Wolfe and Holly Laessig blend their voices nearly full-time as the frontwomen of Lucius, and hearing the blood-leavel harmony they continually pull off is as sweet a treat as any you can regularly count on in modern music. It’s so easy to focus on the miracle of their preternaturally paired singing that it can be easy to forget that Lucius is a great band, too, and not just a chosen-sister act. You won’t lose sight of that, though, listening to what for them is an unusually gnarly mid-tempo rocker with a wonderfully cutting guitar lick. The “rush” they describe may be down to the singers’ partners or to their respective infants, but you believe them when they swear “I’ll never leave, I’ll never leave,” since Laessig and Wolfe have already proven so steadfast at not leaving each other’s sides, even for a few notes. —WIllman

Ratboys are experts in making the simplest rock songs sound vast and atmospheric. The latest single from the Chicago alt-country four-piece warms its engine on a three-chord runway, then a four-on-the-floor drumbeat kicks it into gear. Listening to “What’s Right” feels like speeding down an open highway, one where the telephone lines “go forever, they go forever.” Julia Steiner sings of a relationship on the fritz, reassuring in the chorus: “You know what’s right / You know what’s right this time.” The mystery is whether she’s talking to her partner or herself. —Shanfeld

The emo-punkers returned in 2025 with their bold fourth album, “The Sound a Body Makes When It’s Still,” and this lament about a loved one dying while you’re a world away on tour is a highlight. Per usual, the band offsets deep emotions with an outrageously silly song title, and lead singer Tades Sanville pushes his vocal cords to the brink with plainspoken lyrics that go straight to the gut: “It’s 5 AM in Tokyo, and half a world away / I’m sitting in a parking lot, you’re lying in your grave.” The rest of the band nails a busy, tuneful backdrop, with Brandon Blakeley’s drums adding a palpable tone. It’s a collision of beauty and grief, gorgeous chords and screaming, and the result is unforgettable. — Earl

If you’ve seen the Apple+ documentary “Come See Me in the Good Light” — and everyone should — you already know the unusual providence of this song. It started as Bareilles’ way of incorporating some poetry from the late Andrea Gibson into a song that would be part of the ending of the doc about her, and then Bareilles sweetened the deal by asking Carlile to write a verse and sing co-lead and harmony. What they came up with was a love song, for Gibson and her partner Megan Falley, spearheaded by the singer-songwriter who once claimed she was’t going to write anything of the sort. Both the documentary and the song are shortlisted in their respective Oscar categories, quite deservedly, with the first historic recorded collab between Bareilles and Brandi, baked in a beautiful pie.—Willman

Greek-Welsh singer Marina Diamantis — previously known as Marina and the Diamonds and now just Marina — opened a new chapter in her 15-year career with this arch and urbane song and its parent album, which combines deliciously pulsating electronic rhythms with hilarious and risque lyrics that contrast startlingly with her intentionally mannered singing style, which can vault suddenly into a sky-scraping soprano. This track combines a world of musical influences — ABBA, Queen, Madonna, a string quartet, bubbling electronic rhythm and celestial synthesizers — with a taboo title, F-bombs and comically droll lyrics like “We go to Lake Como / And take over a château / Do people still say YOLO?” — Aswad

One of the great modern folk, Americana or alt-country singer-songwriters (however you want to look at it), Fulks set his frequent trademark humor aside for a beautifully earnest memory song about experiencing childhood bliss on family vacations growing up in the ’70s. Now, quite a long time later, he writes about reexperiencing those happy trips in unsettling dreams, whether neither he nor the family ghosts he sits in with quite understand why they’re such different ages now. The bittersweet split between cheerful reminiscing and sadness about old times being gone is born out by a song that jumps from minor to major chords to exquisite and haunting effect. You can’t listen to it and not know you’re in the presence of one of acoustic-oriented music’s modern mastes. —Willman

Clairo’s side project with her Syracuse University classmates, the band Shelly — also consisting of Claud, Josh Mehling and Noa Frances Getzug — reappeared for the first time in five years in July with a two-track EP. “Cross Your Mind,” with its lo-fi production and jangly guitars, harkens back to Clairo’s early EPs. Its nostalgic sound and lyrics instill a longing for suburban teenage summers: Biking around the neighborhood, having no plans, trying to make eye contact with your crush at the pool. “Hard to recreate / The way I felt when I was 17 / I’ll keep trying if it kills me, baby,” Clairo croons in a soft and sweet tone. — Shafer

London post-rock trio Bar Italia have long been bubbling in the underground, and this year’s release “Some Like It Hot” proved to be their most commercial project yet. Though critics were divided on the band’s cleaner, more-produced sound, “Cowbella” — the first single released from the album — is undeniable. The call-and-response singing the band has become well-known for is in top form here, with Nina Cristante’s sharp and seductive ad-libs layering over Sam Fenton’s chorus and Jezmi Tarik Fehmi adding his angry growl in the bridge. At nearly four-and-a-half minutes, it’s one of the longest songs Bar Italia has ever released, but it proves that they have staying power, allowing time for a piercing guitar solo to cut through the crunchy wall-of-noise, and for an outro worthy of getting lost in until the track ends with a thud. — Shafer

French experimental artist Oklou broke through in a big way this year with her first studio album, “Choke Enough,” and single “Take Me by the Hand” sees her team up with Swedish rapper Bladee for a track that feels like floating. A steady twinkling synth takes us seamlessly through several beat switches, with Oklou’s tranquil voice contrasted by Bladee’s Auto-Tuned delivery. As the song continues, all of the elements layer and combine, leading to a kind of electronic ecstasy that just scratches the brain. — Shafer

Co-dependency reaches its poignant extreme in “Long After Midnight,” a song about being a perennial sucker in the service of a partner or loved one who is destined to just be a time-suck and money-suck for the rest of their lives. Perhaps you know someone in either of the situations described by Wye Oak singer-guitarist Jenn Wasner, who has Flock of Dimes as her recurring solo project. The music video puts a more quietly humorous spin on it, as friends or movers pack up Wasner’s entire department as she sings to her unseen benefactor: “All the money I gave to you / I know I will never get it back / Don’t be sad and don’t be sorry…. / Please take the keys to my car.” It’s almost to the point of being played for laughs, but Wasner is describing an all-too-serious and real one-way dynamic that may bring up some painful recognition in her audience. —Willman

It’s true, “Slide Away” came out more than 30 years ago. But the fan-favorite Oasis anthem took on a different meaning in 2025, when the Gallagher brothers laid down their arms and reunited, embarking on the year’s most triumphant tour. On “Slide Away,” a highlight of the greatest-hits setlist, Liam snarls and Noel shreds. It’s the best either of them have sounded in decades. In footage from an infamous gig one month before Oasis broke up in 2009, Liam is seen sitting down and sulking as Noel takes over his vocal part: “I don’t know / I don’t care / All I know is you can take me there.” And sixteen years later, at stadiums across the world, the brothers finally sang it together. —Shanfeld