This was in one ear and out the other on first listen (I remember thinking it was pretty good, fairly talky). On second listen I noticed more, on third listen I thought it was great, and after that, well, here we are now. I think the moment of this album clicking was when I tried to place who it reminded me of, and realizing it was Jason Molina. I read some of the many rave reviews of this album and each one picked a different artist from the era (Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy, Wilco, etc.). I think the success of this album is that it doesn’t sound like homage or throwback to this collection of artists, it confidently and unconcernedly arrives as a continuation to everything those artists were doing. If you like those artists, put this on, and if you’ve already put this on once, put it on a second time.

Four years later, it’s still hard to acclimate myself to having only one or two new Romano albums to dig into each year. Romano could’ve dropped a new album in one of many genres (psych folk, classic country, 60s psych pop, a prog epic, etc.) and I’d go, “ah, of course he’d converge on this style”. The style we got blessed with this year happened to be a blend of punk and heartland rock as seen in Romano’s Ancient Shapes side project and 2020’s Super Pollen (ah, of course he’d converge on this style). It’s a sadly short album at 28 minutes, but this turns out to be in proper punk fashion, as this is a barnburner that shows you don’t have choose between feisty energy and intricate musicianship and memorable songwriting.

This album opens with a spoken word introduction from Cynthia Erivo (which will certainly be remembered as her breakout acting work of 2024). “Between the years of 2001 and 2002, there simply was not enough brilliance in the world. You see, planet Earth was in dire need of bad bitch replenishment. A trio, ready to receive the baton passed on by the likes of Destiny's Child, The Sugababes, SWV, and countless other iconic baddies of the past. And thus, in the fateful year of 2019, a pact was formed, a promise was made, a movement began. Our girls found each other and meticulously prepared a feast for our ears.” An intro this hype could signal dangerous hubris, but the mission statement is completely followed through—this is exactly that album. Essential bad bitch replenishment.

There’s a few active Japanese indie groups with a similar mix of soft whispery high-pitched vocalists over electronic arrangements. Macaroom stands out for their special attention to production detail, giving a meaty, attention-rewarding level of sound design detail on both the synthpop and ambient tracks equally. Special shoutout to the utterly gorgeous “Heike” and its blend of the band’s typical sound with a classical Japanese folk instrumentation, a strong contender for my song of the year.

I caught Wand in Phoenix for this album’s tour. While Cory Hanson was signing my LP I bought, I asked if he was a Deadhead (I thought I picked up a couple title and musical nods, I also made a comparison to Robert Hunter’s lyrics in my review of Hanson’s Pale Horse Rider for BPM). He gave an honest detailed answer, saying he liked Jerry and Phil, but couldn’t stand Bob and stuck to the studio recordings. (Fair, fair.) Two weeks later he posted on Twitter “Fuck the dead, fuck phish, fuck goose. Listen to the minutemen. Thank you”. Well excuuuuse me, sorry to bother you. (Also the AI art for the videos and concert backdrop stinks!) Anyway the album’s really good. Built on top of long steady grooving, adorned with strings and horns and walls of fuzz, the whole thing maintains an eerie, malevolent air, while all staying weirdly transfixing. It’s Wand’s third or fourth major style change, and a worthy successor to Laughing Matter and Hanson’s excellent two solo albums, personal offense aside.

I’m not going to pontificate about what’s going on with the name change, but, whatever is needed to get Sturgill Simpson to put out one of his most direct, unfussed-over, and best albums. Heartfelt, romantic, soulful, and a little psychedelic, in true Sturgill fashion.

I love this mix of Bock’s deep-toned singing voice (plucked straight out of the 70s psych folk scene, à la Bridget St. John) working in a modern, inventive (and beautifully arranged) singer-songwriter context. Neither a throwback or novelty old/modern fusion, but a natural continuation.

If Fuubutsushi’s four previous albums (as “Jusell, Prymek, Sage, Shiroishi”) were gentle naps along an open window, this album is Fuubutsushi awake and sitting upright in its seat. Vocals! Fully pounding drums! What hasn’t changed, however, is their natural free-flowing drift between styles, from spare moments, lavish acoustic arrangements, ambient jazz, to field recordings—just that the climaxes build higher and noisier than before (there’s even some Pan Sonic levels of fuzz on “Spent for Light”). An exciting release from one of the most exciting new groups of the last few years (and don’t forget to check out all the solo members’ output for more).

The Korean producer and singer reunite for a sequel to their 2021 collab Miniseries. This is simply some delightfully smooth, funky R&B, and earned a lot of replays from me over the year.

Simply a great mellow indie synthpop album. I respect an album opening its first second with a Panda Bear feature, getting right to the sell.

Adorable, catchy synth-heavy psych pop. I get so much RAH Band from these guys.

This jazz quartet, formed between prolific session players (with three out of four members releasing solo albums), put out their first album (Mondays at The Enfield Tennis Academy) in 2022, and it remains one of my favorite jazz releases of the last few years. And here’s their second! Their music never devolves into free jazz formlessness or discordant wailing, and yet they find a distinct sound and a groove that I can’t make any easy comparison to. (Is that some krautrock? Post-rock? Dub? I’m starting to see the appeal of just saying “jazz fusion” and walking away.)

Fussell is an artist in love with traditional folk music, but also a believer in it as a living musical continuum, and has no qualms setting old timey Child Ballad-sounding folk lyrics to new compositions, or creating a time period whiplash by placing classic lyrics alongside (in this particular album’s case) scraps of children’s writing found on a roadside and a cover of an obscure 80s Maestro Gaxiola song namedropping Andy Warhol. To quote a Bandcamp reviewer: “Nothing better to listen to on the porch with friends”.

This shouldn’t work. Why is the Microdisney and High Llamas guy releasing an album with trap hi-hats and autotuning Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy? Why does it work? Why am I putting it on for the tenth time this year? I had to check that there wasn’t a stylistic change leading up to this album, but no, this is a Lambchop — FLOTUS level event of bonkers sound change after decades of an ultra-consistent sound, and just like that album, The High Llamas nail it on first try.

This was quickly my favorite thing from Jordana, an artist I had heard but admittedly didn’t keep strong mental tabs on before. (I may have decided this as early as the violin solo on the opening track.) Like a fair amount of recent songwriters, Jordana is dipping into a late-70s soft rock sound, but she brings a strong personality and a sardonic sense of humor (“Like a Dog”) to the formula. I don’t know if this description will help me pitch this album, but on each listen, I hone in on “Multitudes of Mystery” with its goofy-ass 80s-movie skit of Valley girls looking a party with drugs (“Chet and Brad? EW!!”) for how lovingly dumb it is, something I appreciate in a music environment filled with too many people taking themselves too seriously.

In spite of sharing two alumni from Arcade Fire, this is a focused, neoclassical string trio composition (with some spare electronics and percussion). The compositions are captivating in themselves, but I also love the sound of this recording, down to the string tone and the ambient sound of the recording space.

In the early 2010s I couldn’t forgive Mount Kimbie for becoming a different band from the one that put out Crooks & Lovers (one of my favorite electronic albums). And I definitely didn’t get what they saw in King Krule who they kept having show up. I felt forgiving (and have since “got” King Krule) and put this one on. Yes, Crooks & Lovers is long gone, a 14-year-old piece of trivia—but in an indie environment filled with 80s-post-punk-influenced bands, this is one of the best I’ve heard. The closer (“Empty and Silent”) is my favorite thing I’ve heard King Krule do, and it still puts me into a hypnotic funk whenever I hear it.

Last year I speculated if Art Feynman was converging with the normal solo Luke Temple albums. And now, here is another Luke Temple album to blow up my theory. This is on the mellower side for Temple (and if you’re new to him, I’d recommend the much higher-energy Art Feynman album from last year), but the way the songs here are built on drumming grooves give this a krautrock-like drive that will feel familiar to anyone who’s heard him from the first Here We Go Magic days.

I knew this would make my list as soon as I learned it existed. It is exactly what it looks like. Bluegrass and classic pentatonic-scale Chinese folk music are two genres that strike the bare metal of my happy place comfort music. It’s such an obvious pairing in retrospect (everyone in the world was cooking up hammered zithers), and these three musicians easily find the humanity-universal folk music roots to share in.

I’ve wrote a little bit about Akiko Yano before. This is her third live album recorded with jazz piano god Hiromi Uehara. Yano, most popular in the West as a synthpop songwriter and for her Yellow Magic Orchestra connections, could easily sustain a career as a jazz pianist, as proven by decades of outings with famous jazz players and keeping up with Uehara on dueting pianos while still taking vocals.

Musically, this concert won’t surprise anyone who’s heard the previous two concerts. It’s noticeably less pounding and flashy (though don’t worry, Uehara still strategically unleashes her jackhammer playing and “Flight of the Bumblebee”-esque runs), which will probably serve to make it the easiest to throw on of the three. Highlights include a rendition of a song from Yano’s 2023 album (setting poems by astronaut Soichi Noguchi to music) smoothly segueing into “Polaris”, an instrumental song from Uehara’s 2023 album Sonicwonderland, with new, longing (and fittingly space-themed) lyrics from Yano. There’s fun cover selections (Steve Wonder — “That Girl”, Grover Washington Jr. — “Just the Two of Us”), and, like the previous two performances, a finale of Yano’s 1984 hit “Ramen Tabetai” (newly brooding and swinging, to differentiate from the acrobatic high-energy first version and the Latin jazz flavored second version). Another great outing from two giants.

Is Andrew Bird following the aging 70s rock star path of covering jazz standards? Not really, or at least, he’s doing it way better than they all did. I expected this all to feel more novelty when I first heard about it, but it turns out Bird’s vocals make for a natural Chet Baker-like croon, and his violin (and his trademark pizzicato) work wonderfully in these songs. I don’t list this as a major artistic statement, in fact it’ll probably remain a sidenote in Bird’s own discography, but I can’t deny how often I came back to this one over the year.

I loved Orisaka’s 2021 album Shinri (心理) for its folky, jazzy arrangements, and most of all, Orisaka’s expressive soulful vocals. I can happily report that this continues all of that album’s qualities.

Two weeks is simply not enough time to parse the over-the-top maximalism of a 3776 album (two years probably isn’t enough either). This is the long-awaited follow-up to their 2019 behemoth Saijiki, a concept album mapping a calendar year evenly across a CD-length album. Not to be outdone, 3776 returns with the same time concept, except for the entire length of the universe.

One knock against this album will be the regular narration (though the download does include English translations, so we can enjoy the absurdity of framing things like “The Birth of the Atom” as high school parties). Part of me misses the frenetic DJ mix-style of Saijiki, but I also appreciate this album letting songs stand alone more, making the album feel more like the two 2020 Chiyono Ide albums (which were effectively just 3776 albums). However, repeat listens to this new album have peeled away the shenanigans to reveal many of the group’s best songs, as well as Chiyono’s continuing growth as a vocalist.

Also, I just have to love the demented choice to set the end of the universe to this cute ridiculous music, dropping narration like “Ten decillion years. Proton decay begins.” and a chipper “Bye-bye!” as the music returns to an eerie drone representing the empty universe that also opens the album.