“Now death is minor, ’cause you got me livin’ life major,” he tells his wife, the key change mirroring his outlook. The video and brassy horn production are punctuated by knowing looks, swaggering “baby” ad-libs, and long overdue roses for Chicago drill legend Lil Durk. It’s a cold truth made warm in Rose’s hands, thanks to revitalizing choral harmonies that mirror the magic of self-affirmation with each swell. After years of playing in emo bands and releasing candy-coated electropop, Ela Minus splits the difference on “dominique.” The standout from her debut LP, acts of rebellion, is a depressive ode to sleeping all day and never leaving the house set to bright, buoyant melodies. Over beachy guitar riffs and bouncy hand claps, singer-bassist Emily Kempf expresses a desire to detach herself from the limitations of relationships, painting separation as a bittersweet opportunity for growth. –Emma Madden, Jockstrap spent their conservatory studies molding pop and its pleasantries like haunted Silly Putty. A torch song from Mars, “Long Road Home” is OPN with his romance meter at full gauge: romance of the very far away, romance of a car at night with a long way to go, romance of reuniting after isolation. –Emma Madden, Listen: Ana Roxanne, “Suite pour l’invisible”, Restless experimentalist Moor Mother couples her searing spoken-word delivery with New York rapper billy woods’ oblique rhymes to mesmerizing effect on this one-off collaborative single. –Stefanie Fernández, No man is a whole movement. Until the day we get to gather again in sweaty clubs, packed basements, and sold-out arenas, we’ll keep turning to these 100 tracks to soundtrack our lives. Lange’s soothing voice turns hypnotic when drenched in reverb, and Rubinos returns the energy in kind, beaming lights into the dark. Where the forlorn Arc could feel like a study in learned helplessness, Everything Everything sound more enervated than ever on Get to Heaven. You can practically feel a distance being bridged between her voice and the microphone, and between despondent fans across the globe. Partitas Part 1: BWV 825, 826, 830. –Isabelia HerreraListen: Drake, “Laugh Now Cry Later” [ft. Lil Durk], You might consider this as kind of like one of those pop-punk covers of turn-of-the-millennium hits gone spectacularly right. Marsden’s friend Pete Price—a broadcaster based in Liverpool—broke the news on … –Dani Blum, One of the year’s greatest, and most unusual, guitar solos arrives near the end of “Vanishing Twin,” when Blake Mills conjures a haunted rumble that echoes like a ghost that’s not quite ready to cross over. His American tale is one of distraction, humor, and endless curiosity. Buoyed by plucky guitar and Bridgers’ bare, delicate vocals, the song gently folds time—and the evolution of desire—on itself like a baker kneading dough. But he also sneaks in the briefest of guitar interludes, once again relying on incidental audio spliced in from our real world—the flip of a tape deck switch, the click and hiss of a needle on a vinyl record—to better bring us into his own. “Soon you will know where I’ve been.” And then he reaches for the guitar and shows you where he’s going. But then, what is a chill-out room if not a sensory deprivation tank with beanbags? They don't really let up on the lyrical desperation, but thankfully there are lighter shades on Get to Heaven, like the title track's jaunty Afrobeat guitar and nonchalant whistle, or the chorus of "The Wheel (Is Turning Now)", which erupts in warm euphoria that wouldn't shame Coldplay. The answer comes in the album’s overture, a beguiling love song of blossoming arpeggios and Philip Glass pinwheels. Take direction at your own risk, but nobody can doubt their commitment. To revisit this article, visit My Profile, then View saved stories. –Calum Marsh, Perreo, as a genre, dance, and movement, has always been about power. On one level, the song is about letting loose with the feelings you keep pent up inside. Its belt-along chorus and Natalie Maines’ post-divorce barbs make the song immediately satisfying, a dose of the band’s familiar blistering humor served with an assurance that they were ready for the current moment after so much time away. It’s ludicrous. Label: Mango - 162 537 837 DJ • Format: Vinyl 12 54 - 46* - You'll Never Get To Heaven … On “Fancy,” glistening drums and spare guitar strums set the stage, but the Ghanaian-American singer’s babyish delivery is the real draw. “I’ll love you forever,” she swears, over a rush of radiant synths, “even when we’re not together.” It’s a moving testament to a romance that right now means everything—even if it ultimately fades away. Are full of ants (repeat) Chorus . And she does it best on “Guilty Conscience,” a big, ambient pop record that tells of a lover’s remorse after catching their partner cheating, only to reveal that they cheated first. You Stay By The Sea. “I’m gonna swim for a week in warm American Water with dear friends,” he proclaims, playfully nodding to Silver Jews’ David Berman, who passed away last year after decades of tortured brilliance. 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. Atop a steely sequencer, Ware’s vocals swoop like the bell sleeve of a chiffon disco gown sweeping you toward the floor. Bob Dylan set the stage for “Murder Most Foul” three-and-a-half years ago with a winding speech in acceptance of his Nobel Prize in Literature: For nearly a half hour, he blithely mused about the songs, musicians, and books that have influenced him over muted lounge piano. Then it floats back down and alights on these days, the great borderless period of time in which we find ourselves. The song is profoundly sad because it isn’t a two-way dialogue between souls—it’s a soliloquy. –Jayson Greene, There were so very few reasons to break out in ecstatic dance this year, but Jayda G offered a sublime exception. “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. The salve of “Gaslighter” is easy to apply to almost any wound, whether or not it involves a now-ex-husband misbehaving on a boat. But the water she sings of on “Lilacs,” a stunning highlight from this spring’s Saint Cloud, comes in a bottle: Her flowers drink Topo Chico, a sparkling mineral water sourced from an inactive Mexican volcano with purported healing qualities. This tricky dance between intensity and chaos plays out on Jessy Lanza’s “Lick in Heaven”: The bounce of the bass synth and Lanza’s angelic voice are red herrings for the song’s angry underpinnings. She seems lost in the moment, like she has no one to please but herself. “How much longer till December?” Yves asks at the end of the chorus. His voice, dexterous as Prince’s, does the most in a full range of light and shade. 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. 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. The song’s rhythm is insistent and unsteady; saxophone and electric guitar spray like seafoam, wild and untamed at the edges. 2320 Followers. “No matter how much you get to have/You will still die, and that's the only fact,” she coos, sugar-coating capitalism’s alienation. Just because it’s comfort food doesn’t mean it’s easy to cook. Discography: You'll Never Get To Heaven (2012) / Adorn (2014) / Images (2017). Her stylistic shifts might seem willfully evasive, but as she puts it on "4 American Dollars," "It's not personal, it's business." Losing none of the aggression and confrontation that make her records so arresting, “Mequetrefe” is buoyed by a sweet and tender string melody that’s at odds with its twitchy surroundings but at peace with itself. “Physical” is just that, from the threatening, Eurythmics-adjacent synth line that anchors the beat, to Lipa’s soaring chorus, which pleads for human touch as much as it demands it. Get to Heaven pivots on the violent last resorts of the disenfranchised, and the false prophets who claim to save them. Embed is unavailable. –Evan Minsker, Earl Sweatshirt and Maxo have both made their homes in the rain-blurred realm where raps feel like unspoken thoughts, where beats resemble humming machinery a block away—a world of smudged loops, two or three notes long, punctured by diaristic jottings that flash like lightning. Does the Haim sisters’ embrace of simple pleasures—the bubblegum guitar riff, the easy harmonies, the big chorus—signal a lack of imagination? –Matthew Ismael Ruiz, Listen: Drakeo the Ruler, “Backflip or Sumn”, On “Sunblind,” Fleet Foxes frontman Robin Pecknold proudly partakes in the age-old tradition of memorializing one’s heroes in song. “Glad you held me, too/Though I didn’t know how to be closer to you,” Read admits at the climax, holding the last word for 20 aching seconds, an entire lungful of “you.” In an era of isolation, the song is a reminder of the simple warmth of being near. It’s comforting but heavy, the weight of the world on your chest—even, as Allison reminds us, when everything is fine. “Can you just wait here with me?” he pleads with his partner. After Megan had been shot, mocked, and gaslit, the “Savage Remix” evolved from a confident anthem to an assertion of her complex, endangered humanity. –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. “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. Only one artist made his album better with its deluxe edition: Lil Baby, who added a number of great songs to My Turn. While her earlier releases were sometimes marked by nearly impenetrable abstractions, KiCK i feels just accessible enough to draw listeners into its maelstrom of chaos. In the track’s most tender moments, the maxed-out vocal effects are toned down to center Rico’s melodic pleas for affection, capturing the unique angst of chasing love behind a screen. Sort. In the months that followed, Megan would go from joyously dancing to the track in her kitchen, to performing it on an elaborate dystopian stage in the desert, to making a heart-wrenching political statement with it at 30 Rock. The song was an international hit, reaching number 34 on the US Billboard Hot 100 and number 28 on the Cash Box Top 100. Tamara Lindeman sketches out a villain—the titular thief, silent and cool—before lifting the veil on larger forces at work: laws, banks, a rotten system that forces people to act in their own self-interest. 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