Michael's Cut

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At one point, I thought this list couldn’t get done, let alone an article about it. Though I started the re-listening period last January, I was also an undergraduate preparing for spring commencement. A dilemma approached me, one that had beaten me multiple times. I tried to balance my academics, but what about my social life, the friends I’ll never see again after this year because I absolutely hate Washington? And what about rent? Who’s gonna dress in cashmere to serve a bunch of picky 5-year olds lunch? Simply put, I had no time to finish these rankings.

Around August, I resumed the journey, and what a patient six months I indulged in. Re-listening to around 130 albums was so fun! I love when opinions about an album change; it makes me refer back to my notes and question everything I initially wrote. Feelings were hurt, all were mine and internalized. Numbers shouldn’t matter, but it didn’t stop me from making this list.

I learned how to break down each section into smaller bits. I wonder if you’ll agree with my takes, but, regardless, I hope you find a song or work you like or will check out later. Enjoy.

30. There Will Be No Super-Slave, Ghais Guevara

Years of racial trauma finally blew Ghais Guevara’s patience, igniting warfare against the white folks. A flag raises for the underrepresented (“Mimicry for the Settlers”), splurging with sampling tools and making it a mission with which everyone can familiarize themselves. He sets the standard so high on the bloodthirsty “#FREEMIR” that usurping the threshold becomes an obstacle, though I still find myself immersed in the sound design and emotions that Guevara harnesses within each passage of music.

29. 2000, Joey Bada$$

Besides an R&B-trap blunder with Chris Brown (“Welcome Back”), Joey Bada$$ returns near peak of his game. 1999 dreams of taking private jets. 2000 takes shape and buys the plane instead. These expensive liberties finally feel like a choice, and the Pro Era rapper still abides by his wits and boasts, along with a tenor molded in the heavier (“Where I Belong”) and lighter (“One of Us”) sides of hip hop. However, the final songs remind you of the cost to financial success, loved ones lost along the way and personal hardships that still couldn’t keep a Brooklyn boy down for too long.

28. Caprisongs, FKA twigs

Tahliah Barnett started the year off unlike herself. Yet Caprisongs proves to be just another facet of the FKA twigs experience. Mostly contained by its astrological identity, the mixtape roams without consideration for the aftermath, leaving us with an interesting collection of R&B, pop, rap, and Afro-Carribean music, among others. On one hand, we have “Tears in the Club” toppling over Camila Cabello’s snooze fest of a sad club song. And another, “Darjeeling”’s warping drill music with angular melodies and Jorja Smith’s honey-coated soprano. What a mess, a beautiful one at the very least, one that sees twigs turning a new leaf.

27. You Belong There, Daniel Rossen

A tornado in the form of You Belong There swells as Daniel Rossen takes shelter. But when your anxieties are about time running out, where can you go besides the present? It’s the question that leads us to a complexity of truths, stemming from the Grizzly Bear foreman’s personal experiences from uprooting to New Mexico to questioning his status as an artist. The arrangements bury themselves with acoustic instruments taking notice of the wind, swirling into waves of powerful motion that keep you wondering to where everything returns, you or the situation at hand (“Shadow in the Frame,” “I’ll Wait for Your Visit”)

26. Super Champon, Otoboke Beaver

In true punk fashion, the Kyoto quartet causes erratic misconducts in a matter of seconds. “George & Janice” barely lasts a minute but completes a full structure of choruses, verses, and an outro, all while corroding the microphone to metal scraps. For every social normative, Otoboke Beaver cracks under the pressure, first imploding, and then exploding into tangerines, glitter, and “Happy Tree Friends” animal flesh. Perhaps this manic behavior allows Super Champon to be so outrageously vivid, with its childlike spunk dishing out not salads but futile sayings with so much urgency (“Let’s Go Shopping After Show,” “I checked your cellphone.” Probably every song fits this description).

25. Dragon New Warm Mountain I Believe in You, Big Thief

People from all walks of life find a spot by the campfire, leaves dropping from the folly and the skylight flickering to the emerging soil. Dragon New Warm Mountain rarely calls for your eye on the sparrow, but it lingers around and enlivens the atmosphere through its gentle capacity. “Change,” “No Reason,” “Certainty,” and the title track embrace onto its loved ones like a giraffe asking for a head rub. Adrienne Lenker echoes out intimacy without ever suffocating you in the emotions within it. And the production serves as an entree that’s delivered not too hot nor too cold, but just right, however you prefer.

24. God Don’t Make Mistakes, Conway The Machine

Move upstream to Buffalo, NY, and you’re left for dead on streets, cold winds passing through a now-fledged vagrant. But God Don’t Make Mistakes trades some grime for a confessional with Him. The Griselda elite contemplates stainless hands for his mother one day on “Wild Chapters” yet checks in for blood oaths from his workers on “Piano Love.” Knowledge keeps you in the power position, something Conway hides in his back pocket as he remembers the days of eating ramen on the kitchen floor. Though far from those misfortunes, there’s still that sense of humility. The hustle only gets you so far unless you reflect on the process to stability, an enthralling component of his second studio record.

23. Horseshit on Route 66, The Garden

Route 66, the infamous gateway to Santa Monica, has been sabotaged, and there’s no way of entering. “Freight Yard” calls it keeping the door closed, but the subtext goes beyond just pieces of horseshit. Occupations in fashion modeling and music with a cult following leave enough understanding of the privacy (or lack thereof) the Orange County twins acquire. Before the government and the doxxes hijack cyber security, the brothers terrify their assailants with booby traps spread across the wastelands (“At the Campfire”). Even when things seem playful (“Orange County Punk Rock Legend”), an ulterior motive unfolds: the intruders aren’t the only going down. This is a suicide mission.

22. Ice, Death, Planets, Lungs, Mushrooms, and Lava, King Gizzard and The Lizard Wizard

The wizardries of jazz and rock cannot be understated on the Australian band’s latest jam session. Part of the experience involves wishing to hear the album’s creation process, the details meticulously planned and spontaneities happening in real time. Vocals sometime come second to the arrangements (“Iron Lung”’s guitar solos, “Mycelium”’s joyous instrumental midsection), but excitement evenly bleeds through the indulgence. “Gliese 710” lastly honors the album’s apocalyptic backstory with waves of guitar initiating high tide and vocal tracks striking down, like the Rapture just begun. 

21. The Ruby Cord, Richard Dawson

The battle between humanity and technological advancements continues to provoke conversations, as well as fear toward our present age. Who holds the cards for self-agency? The Ruby Cord points to those who caused the wreckage. The 41-minute opener, “The Hermit,” tracks a lonesome man crumbling to a Mad Max society, tender guitars and strings softening the blow. The rest of the album follows the toll of our survivor(s), staring at a land once blessed by a purified man’s touch, now blanketed by famine and faction. This isn’t the way to be defeated, though Dawson, weakened into submission, states otherwise.

20. Cheat Codes, Danger Mouse & Black Thought

A partnership between two widely acclaimed hip-hop artists counts as a cheat code in itself. In fact, few albums from this year compete with its simple offerings because, for the most part, the formula stays relatively the same, bar the small ripple of soul music on “Aquamarine.” Black Thought keeps his words emphatic, waterproof stamp prints on a series of thick beats hoisting him and his features aligned in unison, courtesy of Danger Mouse’s long-lived collaborations with MF DOOM, Parquet Courts, and all in between. “Strangers” disturbs the boastful pen game with Mouse luring swarms of locusts to invade the pyramids. If this is hip hop’s last leg, let it be these two be adhesive to the pillar’s support.

19. God’s Country, Chat Pile

Chat Pile teases death not tauntingly, but more so hesitantly. The decision to either conclude or continue takes a toll on our protagonists as God’s Country plunges into unforeseen horrors. First, the paranoia, the descent into animalism, then the final moments of agony. “Grimace_smoking_weed.jpeg,” “The Mask,” and “Slaughterhouse” quickly bury open wounds in salt, guitars scrambling to amplify the noise. Unlike “Pamela” and “Anywhere,” which they slowly drag the anxiety until it becomes unbearable. Screams echo into the abyss, but who’s really able to rescue you once your mind implodes, and soon enough, your body?

18. Aethiopes, Billy Woods

Aethiopes magnetizes you the way an atheist speaks about the afterlife: heavy, nihilistic, yet multifaceted. The conversation becomes not necessarily the words spoken but the ones unspoken. Interpret to your own discretion, the case that’s always been for the D.C. wordsmith. Some rules do apply, however. Blackness, colonialism, and political affairs fuel the eerie atmosphere and songwriting that lingers. Pianos rattle while Woods wonders about a political foreman hideout (“Asylum”), and a posse cut on “NYNEX” questions fate and race with chains clasping as percussions, bass filling the space of this suspenseful seminar. The record weighs more with each detail spotted, and you can continue finding a glimmer in the dust to maybe reveal Wood’s darkest thoughts.

17. NO THANK YOU, Little Simz

Last year, Little Simz released an album bigger than herself; how’s she gonna best it? Well, she’s simply not. NO THANK YOU dropped out of thin air, a lyrical firecracker restrained by its low-key production choices and gospel choirs. Here, she’s not looking for the dramatics. Coldhearted classics like MF DOOM’s Madvillainy and Genius/GZA’s Liquid Swords prove that your wits and beats push you farther from the competition. But add Simz’s own drop of compassion (“Broken,” “Control”), and the record becomes its own distinct character, able to dish out heavy shots (“Gorilla”) while also weaving personal and interpersonal struggles.

16. King’s Disease III, Nas

In times when hip-hop trailblazers crashed too early, what a privilege to witness the ones carrying the torch. Nas’ early discography continues to inspire a generation of lyricists, but this seasoned Brooklyn rapper has yet to discover his late-career threshold. Thank goodness King’s Disease III raises the margin, and with frequent collaborator Hit-Boy, he certifies himself as the comeback champion. Dust settles on this vinyl-crackle tracklist, smoldering the atmosphere for warmth, Nas’ voice maximized in these bassy mixes. Songs like “Hood2Hood” and “Legit” amplify the rhythm for celebration of the king’s return, while “First Time,” “Once a Man, Twice a Child,” and “Reminisce” scale back towards relaxed grooves and reflection about your tribe and your perseverance as the be-all and end-all.

15. Diaspora Problems, Soul Glo

Over the past decade, the same social issues’ve intensified: capitalism usurped our livelihood, and Black lives still seem to have no importance. On Diaspora Problems, the whistleblowers expose the status quo in immediate fashion. “Gold Chain Punk” interrupts a board meeting with pitchforks and phone lenses zoomed in. There’s no escape from public and personal opinion now. Pierce Jordan slurs his words as he snatches all the oxygen in the room, guitars and drums relentless in the mania. Mother Maryrose, Kathryn Edwards, McKinley Dixon, and co extend the hyper-fury, adding both charged and subtler moments of anger that make the album a memento of the fights still being fought.

14. Giving the World Away, Hatchie

Keepsake wasn’t enough to revive the ‘90s dream pop and baggy wanderlust. So Hatchie devised a plan. Giving the World Away guides you out the maze feeling joyful in the process. Not every path has been explored, and neither do they need to. Songs like “The Rhythm” and “This Enchanted” let the groove harvest and blossom into overgrowth. And others including “Til We Run Out of Air” breathe Cocteau Twin’s youthful spirit in hopes of love until we depart. Though, only Hatchie’s girlish charm echoes in the cool breeze cloaking the journey from danger, a promise she preserves every step of the way.

13. The Loser, Gospel

Amidst decades of going ghost, Gospel returns with hellfire. At times, the band’s even catapulting the flames towards space. Electric guitars barricade the stratosphere with orchestral-like instruments as second line of defense (“Hyper,” “S.R.O.”). Flashes of screamo bury themselves in “Bravo,” though post-hardcore chops compete with the multifaceted structures each track supports. And as the blaze consumes every particle in sight with each progression, The Loser slowly concedes to the calamity that is the human condition: “I wish I could tell you it that it gets better, man / but it doesn’t, it doesn’t at all” (“S.R.O.”).

12. RENAISSANCE, Beyonce

Each Beyoncé release warrants a refresher about the Houston superstar’s laurels. RENAISSANCE upkeeps tradition, hijacking club spaces with heavyset rhythms and queer-influenced assurance (“ALIEN SUPERSTAR,” “PURE/HONEY”). Amidst the highly-produced dance gambits, Beyonce asserts her charisma as the key player. “VIRGO’S GROOVE” entices late-night affairs over a Daft Punk-like beat, while “AMERICA HAS A PROBLEM” spills Atlanta bass onto a twerk-centric banger. Club-goers are given at least a piece of this hour-long set, able to explore the animal when the lights are off and the alcohol kicks in. The earth seems to be balancing on your fingertips.

11. Marchita, Silavana Estrada

Marchita unclothes into its most vulnerable layer of skin, the organs visible to the naked eye. But here’s where Silvana Estrada fortifies the body into corundum, a durable shield still reactive to life’s dealings. Accompanying her silk-pressed voice, guitars and an occasional flicker of strings and percussions, bar the gentle brass sweeping “La enfermedad del siglo.” Nowhere on the record strikes you with aggression, not even the suspenseful throbs of “Un día culaquiera” pulse with enough friction, releasing the tension through its falsettos. This observation leads us to the true intent of Marchita, a tale of heartbreak, love, and rebirth. Poetry magnifies the beauty in the dandelions, the confidence to dance with no wings but only your voice and determination.

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