The 30 Best Pop Albums of 2023 – Paste Magazine

As 2023 comes to a close, Paste is paying homage to a number of music genres. We’ve already tackled electronic, country, K-pop and rock, and punk and hip-hop are on the near horizon. Today, we’re looking at our favorite pop projects of the year, including LPs from Cut Worms, Hozier, Amaarae, Chappell Roan, Olivia Rodrigo and many more. You can catch up on our Best Songs of 2023 and Best Albums of 2023 lists here and here. Now, without further ado, here are the 30 best pop albums of 2023, ranked alphabetically. —Matt Mitchell, Music Editor

Even though the atmosphere Alan Palomo has constructed fits squarely in a late-Cold War setting, he contextualizes his ideas in a way that feels both timeless and contemporary. Take, for instance, the discussion of late-night texts on “Stay-at-Home DJ,” allusions to “fuck, marry, kill” on “Nobody’s Woman” or the reference to a line of dialogue from the 1955 Best Picture-winning drama Marty in “Big Night of Heartache.” This balancing act between the novel and the nostalgic can be a tricky feat to pull off, but Palomo makes it subtle enough that it doesn’t feel like a glaring anachronistic distraction. Although Palomo is so evidently adept at emulating rather than sentimentalizing the past, World of Hassle does, sometimes, feel a touch pastiche-y. Especially as it enters the moody second half, the album begins to mirror what M83 did in 2016 with Junk, leaning so hard into the cheese and schmaltz of late-‘80s muzak that it almost verges on fetishistic parody. But Palomo’s sun-soaked, salt-rimmed, neon-tinged world has such an immersive, hypnotic pull that its more derivative tendencies don’t really matter. World of Hassle oozes so much personality that a two-hour vaporwave YouTube video could never replicate. Like he’s done with Neon Indian, Palomo situates the listener in a time and place that still haunts our culture, but invites us to get lost in the memory—and, as long as he’s leading the way, there isn’t much to worry about. —Sam Rosenberg

Amaarae’s second album, Fountain Baby, is a thrill ride from beginning to end, as the Ghanaian-American Afrobeats and pop singer/songwriter glides in and out of glitchy, alternative fame and multi-genre fusion. Led by singles “Reckless & Sweet,” “Co-Star” and “Wasted Eyes,” Fountain Baby is built to shine and quake with every note, and it’s stacked atop precious dance boasts and mystifying grooves that shift like tectonic plates. She explores gender and sexuality in lucid, unfurled and unabashed ways. Amaarae did something spectacular on her debut album THE ANGEL YOU DON’T KNOW three years ago, but this is her direct shot to fame. Fountain Baby is the type of pop record people will be talking about for a long, long time, and a song like “Angels in Tibet,” which pulls experimental R&B energy into a more contemporary, mainstream space, is immediate proof that Amaarae is the brightest and most unconventional pop musician working today—and she’s just getting started. —Matt Mitchell

Though My Soft Machine pleaches between numerous sonic criteria, like disco, dream pop, bedroom indie, hip-hop, jazz and—dare I say it—glam rock-infused funk, the way the album came together wasn’t as meticulous as the compositional geography it embodies. Arlo Parks made “Weightless,” “Purple Phase” and “Blades” in the same week; “Dog Rose” came to life in a random Toronto hotel room; “I’m Sorry” and “Puppy” were made in the same two-day studio session. No two songs on the tracklist sound alike and Parks doesn’t shy away from taking risks, and the result is a punchier, more-ambitious album than Collapsed in Sunbeams—which never left the orbit of traditional hip-hop, soul and R&B, three styles she has long mastered. In turn, there is no sophomore slump in sight for Parks, who’s truly made something unequivocally pleasing, brilliant and transparent. “Devotion” is a track that absolutely goes, cascading across rock riffs that don’t let up; “Dog Rose”—the best non-single—is pure dream pop that’s a benchmark in Parks’ universe; “Blades” plays with glitchy samples and fluid electronica; “Pegasus” fashions Parks’ and her longtime good friend Phoebe Bridgers’ voices into a pop pastoral fit for an early-2010s, chart-topping moment. The most-hypnotic piece of the entire album, “Impurities,” is sensational R&B down to the bone; a tactile, lyrical oracular fused with wondrous hip-hop percussion. “Dog Rose” weaves through brief, consecutive images of jumping turnstiles, drinking mezcal in Gowanus, Brooklyn, a lover’s brother’s birthday, doing dishes with their mom, dancing to Enya and finding a euphoric prettiness in Nicorette patches. Album opener “Bruiseless” achieves a similar palette of snapshots, transitioning from peonies ripped by dirt bike chains to the narrator being fed cheese to being seven years old and getting flung over the handlebars of a bicycle. Ever the literary purveyor, Parks takes on the role of a novelist and poet on My Soft Machine, coiling lyrical prose into idyllic soundscapes. —Matt Mitchell [Read our full Cover Story]

A companion piece to her 2022 album The Loneliest Time, Canadian pop star Carly Rae Jepsen unveiled The Loveliest Time on short notice. No worries, though, as I’m game to devour a new CRJ record anytime, anyplace. I’ve long maintained that she is our best pop musician, and albums like Emotion and Dedicated only solidified that after “Call Me Maybe” dominated the charts in 2012. That being said, The Loveliest Time is a joyous parallel to The Loneliest Time. Carly is brilliant in her ability to spin happiness and sorrow into the same type of danceable energy. Hearing that she wrote 65 songs during the pandemic, it might be easy to assume that these 13 tracks are simply leftovers from a year ago. That couldn’t be further from the truth, as cuts like “After Last Night,” “Shadow” and “Shy Boy” are just these electric, career-high tunes. Produced by Rostam Batmanglij and James Ford, this is one of the coolest trios to make a record in a long, long time. In a world where every artist’s catalog is a point and counterpoint, it’s lovely to see Carly Rae Jepsen approach that evolution head-on with two thematically different albums that capture one piece of a superstar’s life. —Matt Mitchell

Desire, I Want To Turn Into You, Caroline Polachek’s sophomore effort, sees her grapple with feeling limited by physical space and by our corporeal forms—she wants not only to be near someone she loves but become a physical part of them. Desire is just as esoteric musically. Its songs pull from genres as disparate as drum and bass, dembow, and flamenco while Polachek and Harle festoon them with baroque instrumentation—bagpipes, church bells, organs, and a children’s choir. Its arrangements are intricate and densely layered so that every song reveals itself to you more and more upon revisiting. Even the quiet moments split your attention, like on “Hopedrunk Everasking,” where a smoke alarm’s low battery chirp pierces the space between Polachek’s maudlin delivery. The album ends on “Billions,” an ambitious undertaking on an album rife with them. “Billions” is spindly, disjointed, and painted with psychedelic images of headless angels, pearls and a bountiful cup running over. It’s one of Polachek’s best and, as a final bow, the icy pop track ties up the record’s lone loose thread. The vast expanse she feels separated by is folded into every song on this record, whether nodded to lyrically or in the amorphous soundscapes she’s built. Though she may not ever be able to close the gap completely, as “Billions” fades to black, she gets closer than ever before. The members of the Trinity Choir play us out, repeating in angelic harmony, a conclusion: “I’ve never felt so close to you.” Desire is a massive leap forward and, for an artist so focused on orate detail, never falters under the weight of its many parts. It’s elegant, revelatory, verbose and catchy. —Eric Bennett

The eponymous fourth album from the Tokyo pink-punk and pop quartet, CHAI is hypnotizing and raked in catchiness. Between MANA’s vocals and key-playing, KANA’s slick guitar work and the rhythm and percussion duo of YUUKI and YUNA on bass and drums, CHAI are at the height of their powers here—delivering anthems on empowerment and rebelling against the oppressive restrictions of Neo Kawaii. Songs like “PARA PARA” AND “We The Female!” are massive tracks, while the even more sublime, held-back chapters like “I Can’t Organizeeee” and “KARAOKE” are just as rewarding and vibrant. With employment of everything from boogie to city pop to disco to J-pop to funk, CHAI is a daring pastiche of everything CHAI does best. It’s a living moodboard, packed to the brim with hits that solidify the foursome as one of the best—if not the very best—Japanese pop bands working right now. —Matt Mitchell

The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess opens with one of Chappell Roan’s most challenging songs, the whimsical and capricious “Femininomenon.” Inspired thoroughly by musical theater, it begins flanked by strings, as Roan echoes the romantic misfortunes of her friends. Men haven’t been cutting it, but she has a solution: a Femininomenon, whatever that may be. Before each chorus, an increasingly frustrated Roan cuts through the melodrama with a catty demand for a song “with a fucking beat.” That beat is ultimately metallic and sharp, as though she’s drumming on pots and pans. “Femininomenon” acts as a litmus test for the uninitiated listener. Does a song that features the line “get it hot like Papa John” repel you? Maybe stop now. But, if you’re sold, proceed. There’s plenty more moments of delightfully unserious pop to come. Though she is still an emerging figure, her album feels in conversation with recent works by her more established peers. Olivia Rodrigo’s GUTS, for instance, is an interesting foil to Midwest Princess. Two artists, both proteges of the same man, both unabashed theater kids. The difference is that when Rodrigo sings about her own mistakes, she does so in a way that can come across like regretful self flagellation. When Roan does the same, it’s cast off with a shrug. Olivia Rodrigo reads as a human being, while Roan comes off like a cartoon character. While she’s a long way away from reaching the kind of stardom as Lady Gaga, Chappell Roan does fill a void in the pop landscape left behind by Gaga’s distance. She’s a reminder that on some level, pop stars are supposed to be bawdy and ridiculous. Chappell Roan, the persona, feels like a drag character in the same way that Lady Gaga, the persona, once did. —Eric Bennett

Cut Worms isn’t just Clarke’s brightest entry yet, it’s also one of the best pop-rock records of 2023. I’m thankful everyday that it arrived in July, because it’s an immaculate summer project that shimmers and quakes like the night-drenched roar of a packed drive-in theater. You could throw any of its nine songs into the runtime of American Graffiti and none of them would feel out of place. But, what’s even richer about Cut Worms is how essential it will be to the zeitgeist of right now. In the wake of TikTok making the virtually unknown 1965 Daughters of Eve tune “Hey Lover” a massive hit, the sonic amalgam of Clarke’s new LP feels more urgent than ever. Many of the chapters on Cut Worms showcase various novelizations of romance, innocence and sorrow. Clarke never gives us a bounty of exposition, nor do we need it. The gift that keeps on giving from the Cut Worms universe is his ability to piece together a perfect rock track almost every time he picks up his guitar to write. Thus, Cut Worms is a melty, visceral benchmark of pop traditionalism. The guitar tone on “Is it Magic?” sounds like it oozed out of the thickest Gibson ES-345 drenched in velvet this side of the Enchantment Under the Sea dance, while “I’ll Never Make It” is one of the sweetest, Crickets-style cuts with an opening riff that conjures as much yearning as Clarke’s own lyricism does. And his vocals always arrive like a cosmic, coarser Davy Jones, as he tumbles gently through cozy arrangements fit for a tenor drunk on heart and soul. On Cut Worms, Clarke is a long way away from the Beatlemania-summoning notes of Hollow Ground. This new work is lived-in and homegrown, lamenting the paradox of a post-quarantine world. —Matt Mitchell [Read our full feature]

Working alongside producer Sammy Witte (whose resume includes SZA’s SOS and Harry Styles’ Harry’s House), S. Holden Jaffe poured everything he had into his next Del Water Gap project. The result was I Miss You Already + I Haven’t Left Yet, an intimate record brimming with passion, energy and feeling. Though Jaffe delves into difficult subject matter—vocalizing experiences with love, loss, sobriety and massive existential doubt— he sounds looser, freer and more like himself than ever before. But this authenticity doesn’t come without a struggle. As Jaffe notes on album standout “Coping on Unemployment,” a deceitfully upbeat, emotionally raw track that sounds like it came right out of the height of the Tumblr era: “It’s hard to give yourself over to something / When it could all turn into nothing.” Through all the love, madness and self-reckoning emerges Del Water Gap, an artist finally stepping into himself by embracing complexity and imperfection—both his own, and that of the world around him. He’s willing to face the struggles that come his way and is able to find meaning by basking in the sunshine today, despite the fact that it might rain tomorrow. Jaffe knows all things in life are fleeting, just like life itself. But I Miss You Already + I Haven’t Left Yet begs the question: Would there be beauty in anything if this weren’t the case? —Elizabeth Braaten

For her third album, Euphoric, Georgia brings in a co-producer for the first time and puts more of herself into her music. Rostam—the songwriter, former Vampire Weekend member and co-producer for HAIM, Clairo and Carly Rae Jepsen with his own intriguing releases—helps Georgia sharpen her longstanding proclivity for hooks and guides her toward straight-up pop, and his warbly, slightly hazy electronic programming enriches every inch of her melodies. The result is Georgia’s most consistent, ebullient album to date and an authentic representation of herself: As she dives into the life-affirming rush of pure sound, she comes off unbothered and effortless, like someone no longer interested in putting on appearances. Euphoric absolutely works in its uptempo moments, though, because, when Georgia creates giddy pop music, she fully commits. Her hooks are simple yet powerful; her lyrics circle love, dancing, and everything in between; and her music is packaged in dazzling technicolor. The album is also a testament to Rostam and Georgia’s connection: Their musical chemistry is so rich that, on Georgia’s first collaborative album, she sounds more like herself than ever before. As she stitches her own euphoria together, one thread stands out the strongest: other people. —Max Freedman

Prestige is the ultimate Girl Ray record because it, at its core, is the perfect middle ground between the indie guitar sonic they started with and the mega-pop they made on Girl. With poignant, historical disco grooves and the trio’s incomparable rock ‘n’ roll influence, it sounds timeless and the production—courtesy of Grammy Award-winning producer Ben H. Allen, who’s worked on projects by everyone from Neon Indian to Deerhunter—is complex and illuminated. Hankin, McConnell and Moss convened at Allen’s studio in Atlanta and took advantage of his wide arsenal of instruments and gadgets. They’d record as a three-piece, focusing on just guitar, bass and drums, and then overdub, layer vocals and ham everything up to an 11 in post. Though Prestige housed a lot of experimentation, the final result is a full-band, energetic space with no cracks. Normally, bands will put out a handful of singles prior to a record’s release and at least one of them is a ballad. Girl Ray careened the other way this cycle, tumbling head first—brilliantly—into four immeasurably great, candy-coated pop tracks with running legs. “Hold Tight,” I contend, is the single best dance track of the year so far that is as coastal in its brightness as it is accessible. “Up” opens with a kick/snare combo that immediately flowers into a glitzy, bubbly guitar riff. Hankin’s vocals take center-stage, airy and malleable inside the explosion of McConnell and Moss’ rhythmic cosmos. —Matt Mitchell [Read our full feature]

Now 24 years old with two widely received EPs under her belt, Holly Humberstone offers a vivid and emotionally raw coming-of-age story on Paint My Bedroom Black, illustrating her journey from being an emerging artist to one of the most captivating alt-pop sensations among her generation. Within a carefully-crafted, dreamlike atmosphere, Humberstone’s lyricism captures experiences that are deeply personal yet unflinchingly honest. Though much of the album explores coming into her own power, Humberstone doesn’t turn away from exploring the darker sides of her mind. “Cocoon” carries an upbeat tone, even as it holds some rather depressing lyrics. It’s reminiscent of that feeling every teenage girl can resonate with—looking at yourself in the mirror, attempting to convince yourself that you’re truly happy while, on the inside, you’re holding back tears. “I’ve been paralyzed for more than a week / But don’t let it scare you / This is fairly routine,” Humberstone sings. “Now I’ve become a taxidermy version of myself / The laundry’s piling up / The plants are dying on the shelf.” Paint My Bedroom Black is as much a love letter as it is a nuanced exploration of self-growth and a discomfort with love that stems from insecurities and past relationships. The album follows much of the same pacing and sound throughout, with the lack of variety occasionally making it difficult to distinguish between songs. However, offerings like “Girl,” “Antichrist” and “Kissing in Swimming Pools” are distinct standout tracks. It’s clearly a liberating piece of work, and Humberstone’s honesty and alluring delivery is bound to resonate with listeners near and far. —Alyssa Goldberg [Read our full feature]

Unreal Unearth is packed full of poetic lyricism, heavyhearted remorse, hopeful anticipation and an honest expression of the joys and sorrow of being a human. This is undoubtedly his best work. The more straightforward tracks may be too saccharine at times, but Hozier’s gravitational artistry more than makes up for any slight missteps off the path. The song order is an improbable hero, as the pacing and experience the listener goes through only accelerates the impact. There is a sharp balance across the entirety of Unreal Unearth—it’s never top-heavy nor is it ever stagnant, the sonic IV constantly dripping musicality into your body. From choir swells to poetic lines that find a way to hit you unexpectedly, the album is a tremendously soulful experience. —Sam Eeckhout [Read our full Cover Story]

When Janelle Monáe arrived on the scene in 2007 with a forbidden-love concept album inspired by Fritz Lang’s 1927 sci-fi film Metropolis and stayed in character as the android Cindi Mayweather, it was obvious she was an artist who followed her own muse wherever it took her. And her original visions have led to an enormously successful and award-laden music, film, TV and modeling career unlike any other. For her latest album, The Age of Pleasure, she’s shed her signature tuxedo wardrobe for, well, not much at all. She’s having fun and bringing sexy back, embracing her non-binary, pansexual identity, and the freedom of exploring her masculinity and femininity and everything in between and beyond. “I don’t step, I don’t walk, I don’t dance, I just float, float, float, float,” she proclaims on the album opener. “I want the rush,” she practically begs on “The Rush.” Musically she continues to pull from the past (there are more ’70s Caribbean and New Orleans influences this time) and push deep into the future with her singular post-soul vibe. There is no one else like Janelle Monáe, and we’re lucky to have her. —Josh Jackson

Despite her dance music roots, Jessie Ware’s run of albums from her 2012 debut Devotion to 2017’s Glasshouse trafficked in a trendy—if not anonymous—blend of R&B, soul and sophisti-pop. Her disco pivot on What’s Your Pleasure? was a gamble that paid off in spades, revitalizing a career that had plateaued; an inviting, undulating club-pop record that found Ware taking you by the hand and leading you into a crowd. Her new album—and its title—act as an emphatic answer. On That! Feels Good!, Ware casts aside any measure of modesty, transforming her disco den mother persona into the epitome of pleasure and excess. That! Feels Good! is a record of sterling, mirrorball-lit songs and bawdy lyricism. It’s Ware’s finest collection of work to date. The most ambitious song in Ware’s catalog, “Begin Again” seems to carry every emotion she’s felt in the last three years. “Why does all the purest love get filtered through machines?” she asks, venting through her frustrations about having had to work remotely on much of this album. It ends with repetitions of another question: “Can we begin again?” And, while she may not have known it at the time she wrote this, the answer would be a resounding yes. Time marched on, and Jessie Ware’s career has decidedly begun anew. —Eric Bennett

While Kali Uchis will set the world ablaze once again next month with ORQUÍDEAS, the Colombian-American neo-soul and pop singer made her mark on 2023 with Red Moon in Venus. Uchis has been one of my favorite musicians for a minute, ever since she put out Isolation five years ago. But Red Moon in Venus is mountains above Isolation; a dazzling addition to the psychedelic R&B canon—as Uchis reaffirms her presence as one of the most marvelous performers in the game today. “I Wish You Roses” might go down as the best lead single of 2023, and tracks like “Moonlight,” “All Mine” and Uchis’ collaboration with Summer Walker, “Deserve Me,” are some of the best dance-pop entries in recent memory. Red Moon in Venus is a timeless assemblage of songs, built up not just by Uchis’ commanding stardom, but by her innate sense of songwriting brilliance. —Matt Mitchell

It’s a trope by now, an artist’s “most personal album yet.” Often, these emotionally naked projects come from folks who’ve never been particularly elusive, making this raw framing feel fraudulent. Lana Del Rey, though, traffics in ornate, melodramatic artifice. Her ninth album, Did you know that there’s a tunnel under Ocean Blvd?, is the first time she’s truly let us in, and it’s a new peak for the artist—uncharacteristically personal, and overwhelming in its beauty. On songs like “Fingertips,” “A&W” and “The Grants” she explores her feelings about maternity and mortality, as well as her relationships with her family. For an album exploring such heavy topics, it’s notable how sonically light it sounds, with each song lifted up by sterling strings. There’s also her innate humor ringing throughout, with songs like “Peppers” and “Taco Truck x VB” flipping the seriousness on its head. Lana just gets to be Lana, singing about her own inner world, her innermost thoughts, and her vape. —Eric Bennett

The fourth record from LA singer/songwriter Molly Burch is, to put it bluntly, stunning. Daydreamer is the perfect synth-pop amalgam and that makes perfect sense, as the project was produced by Wild Nothing’s Jack Tatum—who has an electronic masterclass of his own on the way in a few weeks. A song like “Tattoo” is this stark, moving ballad that offsets the synth-driven buoyancy of “Physical,” as Burch sings about her best friend Lana—who passed away when they were 19. “I wanna bathe you in the water, heal you like I got you,” she harmonizes. “I promise forever behind you, I wanna tell you it’s okay, even though it’s crazy. You wouldn’t believe it, I think you would hate it.” On a track like “Unconditional,” Burch lets the arrangement swell from a meditative, brooding atmosphere into a glitzy, gorgeous dance climax. Daydreamer is a record that is powerful beyond belief, as she finds her spark in grief and coming-of-age stories. It’s a theatrical, personal collection of songs, the one shining testament that cements Burch as a star. —Matt Mitchell

Describing anything as “DIY”—or, God forbid, “bedroom pop”—can conjure the sound of music made minimal by necessity, with its charm derived from its limitations. Though his full-length debut under the moniker Nourished By Time was entirely made in his parents’ basement in Baltimore, Marcus Brown’s blend of ‘90s R&B and ‘80s freestyle is so impressive because it appears to have arrived fully formed. For such a bare-bones operation, its fruits overwhelm. Planting himself at the midpoint between SWV and The Blue Nile, between heartbreak and life under late-stage capitalism, between dance floor bangers and deeply-felt pleas for understanding, Brown threads all of it together to create an idiosyncratic, well-crafted collection of songs that can’t help but attach themselves to you. The melancholic guitar fog of opener “Quantum Suicide” runs perfectly into the synth-driven bounce of “Shed That Fear” and “Daddy.” By the time he’s wringing your heart out with lines like “My prayer is for our clouds to collide / But I have to face the possibility that I’m wasting my time”—delivered in lush harmonic layers on “Rain Water Promise”—you’re ready to pivot with him wherever he aims Nourished By Time’s arrow next. Loving and losing are eternal themes for a reason, but in his isolation, Brown repurposes them into something strikingly original and frequently gorgeous. —Elise Soutar

Olivia Rodrigo’s second album, GUTS, begins with “all-american bitch,” an ironic gem that arrives as a gentle, folksy ballad before making a heel turn into a pop punk kiss-off to her idolizers: “I am built like a mother and a total machine,” she sings angelically over a light, fairytale-like guitar plucking. When the full band kicks in and rocks out in the chorus, it’s apparent just how much the now-20-year-old has been holding in all these years: “I don’t get angry when I’m pissed / I’m the eternal optimist / I scream inside to deal with it,” she chants, tauntingly, before actually screaming her guts out. This is about more than just adulthood: GUTS is a brash, sobering look at the totality of fame on a young woman—how it consumes, abuses and isolates. On SOUR, Rodrigo wore her sadness and rage as armor; her emotions were intense but predictable; and the music hinted at a brighter sky beyond the stormy weather. Not so on GUTS, where bad decisions are encouraged, death is preferable over socializing and every playboy can be fixed. On the dizzy, jangly-rock “bad idea right?,” she willingly ignores her mind’s rational pleas to have one more tryst with an ex, while on the soaring ballad “logical,” she attempts to reason with her own lovesick feelings by believing the impossible: “‘Cause if rain don’t pour and sun don’t shine / Then changing you is possible / I guess love is never logical.” The stakes are higher in these new loves built on power and age differentials—and the consequences cut a lot deeper. —Rachel Saywitz

Heaven knows is a continuation of the break-beat, two-step, sample-heavy pop that PinkPantheress is known for—but with a bigger budget and a broader ambition. On her 2021 mixtape to hell with it, you can hear each individual component: the drum-n-bass beat, the keyboards that sound like they’re from an iMac booting up, PinkPantheress’ careful topline. But Heaven knows has more intricate songwriting and a wider scope. She reckons with a cruel lover on the emo-influenced “Ophelia.” “True romance” finds her crushing on an unattainable rockstar. PinkPantheress insists that she’s more than just an online hodge-podge collagist; she’s a songwriter and evocateur. Frankly, no one sounds quite like PinkPantheress, and she relishes in her unique style and killer taste across Heaven knows. Organ, guitar and big-room synths blur like watercolor across “Another life” until the Nigerian rapper Rema shows up. “Nice to meet you” hops between a DnB, a tabla beat and Jersey club patterns. R&B-in-the-club artist Kelela floats over “Bury me.” Pantheress’ if-it-fits-it-ships approach is not new for her, but it’s a joy to hear her build on her own style with momentous confidence. —Andy Steiner

Few dance albums in 2023 grabbed me quite like Romy’s Mid Air. The xx singer’s ode and celebration of her queer club days arrives in the shape of a debut project that pays swift and enchanting gratitude to the dance-pop of the last 30 years. Harkening back to a time when pop music was loved “without cynicism or irony,” there’s a deft, tangible bliss at every turn on Mid Air. From the opening track “Loveher,” it’s clear that Romy is working circles around the rest of her contemporaries. While Mid Air sings and pulses like the greatest club albums that came before it, there’s something so beautifully original about every installment. “The Sea” and “Strong”—the latter a collaboration with Fred again..—are two of the best dance songs of 2023, and Romy is our steadfast, stratospheric captain. Her work obliterates what we know or want from electronica, and Mid Air is the type of solo debut that does one thing elegantly: It promises that Romy’s stardom is still growing. —Matt Mitchell

Last year, Heterosexuality was Shamir’s raw, honest portrayal of what being a trans person in a country working overtime to erase you looks like—along with being a queer songwriter in an industry not yet ready to burst its bubble swollen with a capitalist-minded, saturated reverence for cookie-cutter LGBTQ+ anthems. Heterosexuality became an essential statement on hopelessness at a time when having hope was demanded of anyone caught beneath the blade of an unruly empire. So, to expect Shamir to return in that same mode on their next album wouldn’t have been an outlandish prediction—as their realistic, unwavering and candid approach to documenting brutality greatly matches what remains incessant beyond the confines of music at-large. But Homo Anxietatem arrives like an aftermath, a proper companion piece to its predecessor—as Shamir arises at the forefront with just as few answers as they had a year ago. There are flashes of chart-topping, mainstream architecture here, too. If you told me “The Beginning” went #1 for a week in 2006, I’d fully buy into that proposed arc. In the wake of a project like Heterosexuality, which was rid of optimism and offered some particularly brutal renderings, Homo Anxietatem is much more on a spectrum of joy—at least sonically. Shamir sounds like they’re having a whole lot of fun giving in to the Billboard Hot 100 machine in a winking way—and it’s what helps make the record so unique in their catalog. Homo Anxietatem is a stroke of brilliance not for how many different landscapes Shamir wanders across, but for how generous and relentless in the pursuit of transformation they become as the album unfolds. Anyone can hawk their soul to achieve that same fate, but I highly doubt it’ll sound as remarkable as Shamir’s. —Matt Mitchell

Nina Grollman—who performs under the moniker Softee—originally hails from the Midwest. Born in Moorhead, Minnesota, she migrated to Brooklyn with the hope of becoming an actor. After slowly becoming exposed to music made by the likes of Janet Jackson, Robyn and Little Dragon, Softee found herself pivoting towards pop music. Her debut album, Keep On, came out in 2020 and quickly established her as an electronic force. A bilingual multi-hyphenate, Softee often croons through an emotional spectrum with grace and humor. Her latest album, Natural, is a narrative powerhouse written during lockdown. Through the ashes of a breakup came a new flame, as did a next chapter for the singer/songwriter. Natural is a symbiotic, personal awakening from an artist knee-deep in her most-transformative era. In turn, every song on Natural, from “Come Home” to “Molly” to “Isn’t Enough,” is a burgeoning touchstone in synth-pop. With her spiritual and musical soulmate Jeremy Chinn by her side, Softee continues to harness a broad range of influences—both locally and heroically—and forge tunes that strike up a special alchemy of sensuality, grief and reflection. —Matt Mitchell [Read our full feature]

The Drums’ first album in four years clocks in at a sprawling, massive 16 tracks—yet you’ll never notice the length. Named after frontman Jonathan Pierce, Jonny arrives like a self-titled rebirth. Songs like “Obvious” and “The Flowers” and “I Want It All” are terrific, reflective electronica musings paired with Pierce’s enigmatic singing. I wouldn’t call Jonny a comeback album so much as it’s a reimagining of what The Drums made a name for themselves with on their debut 13 years ago. Building on the momentum of 2019’s Brutalism, Jonny is the band’s greatest statement yet—an expression of imperfect romance and daring, unforgettable soundscapes. You’d be remiss to not spend a mess of time with this one; The Drums have outdone themselves yet again. —Matt Mitchell

“Rush,” the hot-and-heavy opening track from Something to Give Each Other, is a very clear snapshot of the latter idea. On its surface, the song feels engineered to play on a loop at a WeHo bar or soundtrack an energy drink commercial, but Troye Sivan is so effective at capturing how good it feels to touch another person when you don’t have any shame around it. With football chants in the “Rush” hook and its throbbing instrumental, the usually coy Sivan is engagingly forward about his desires, playing with gay culture tropes like inhaling poppers and rendering them into tempting, almost religious rituals. The song’s music video is just as seductive and titillating: a kaleidoscopic blur of sweaty, muscular bodies in neon-soaked rooms, flashes of twinks making eyes at each other, electric choreography and hyper-masculine iconography like keg stands made homoerotic. Although Something to Give Each Other features several other upbeat songs like the strutty, spunky “What’s The Time Where You Are” and the rave-inflected penultimate track “Honey,” Sivan hasn’t completely let go of the minimalism from his past efforts. The difference here, however, is the production is much richer than before. The lovely “One of Your Girls” carries hints of Daft Punk’s vocoder melancholy, “Still Got It” is backed by a soulful, Frank Ocean-type organ, and “Can’t Go Back, Baby” makes solid use of handclaps and twinkly piano reminiscent of The 1975. These slower tunes occasionally stall the momentum of the album, but they offer quieter, more intimate counterpoints to the raunchier, more energetic material. —Sam Rosenberg

Sorry I Haven’t Called is informed, at least in part, by the death of one of Laetitia Tamko’s best friends in 2021. As with any major trauma, the grief she experienced in the aftermath provided new clarity in other sectors of her emotional spectrum. Things that once seemed utterly important are now less so—and the really crucial stuff, the companions you choose (and how you navigate life with and without them), rises to the top. The album’s opener, “Can I Talk My Shit?,” dives right in, tackling the vexed question of when is the right time to move in with a new partner. Or is there ever a right time? Next, over skittering beats, Tamko uses “Carpenter” to purr that she’s thrown away the past and is ready to commit to a new lover, while “You Know How” reflects on taking a friendship to the next level (and how no one else needs to know). “Lexicon” is a deep-sighing admission to missing somebody dear. Tamko’s lyrics contain the particular kind of honesty that comes at sunrise, after staying up all night with friends, drinking, dancing and talking. In fact, “Autobahn” addresses exactly this. “Everyone’s fast asleep,” Tamko croons. “We stayed up all night on the floor.” “Do Your Worst” finds Tamko meditating on toxic friendships amid a sound bed that recalls the mid-90s low key drum and bass of Lamb or Hooverphonic. On “Nothing To Lose,” Tamko wonders, “who am I to want something better than that? Who am I to try for something I want?” between lush vintage synth washes and the collapsing two-step breaks that typified early UK garage. It’s easy to imagine Sorry I Haven’t Called being played in its entirety at dawn on the terrace at Café del Mar in 1996. —Simon Coates [Read our full cover story]

The soundtrack for serves as a vibrant companion to writer and director Greta Gerwig’s nostalgic on-screen eye candy. Featuring new music from mainstream heavy hitters like Lizzo, Dua Lipa, Nicki Minaj, Ice Spice, Billie Eilish, Sam Smith and Charli XCX, it’s a glorified but crowd-pleasing beach playlist designed to be this summer’s must-have accessory. From its perky, polished moments to unexpected pockets of existential dread, Barbie The Album provides an answer for “What do gorgeous, gorgeous girls listen to?” while immortalizing this year’s musical zeitgeist. Soundtracks are often merely time capsules of their era, and Barbie The Album captures the bounce, bravado and occasional bad moods of 2023 in technicolor. To quote the film’s trailer: “Humans only have one ending. Ideas live forever.” So will this carefully-curated vibe. —Victoria Wasylak

Goddess Energy is a celebration of Who Is She?’s unique friendship and shared vision. After years of supporting each others’ bands, forming other groups (can’t forget Childbirth), and debuting the Who Is She? project, this is a foursome that knows how to have fun in community with others and with themselves. Between power pop hooks, witty observations about celebrity culture and jangly outros, they’ve become a band that celebrates something unique in womanhood—that incandescent Goddess Energy—and makes it accessible and appreciable to every listener. The feminism of Goddess Energy is simple: doing right by each other, collaborating earnestly and, when given the opportunity, talking smack about billionaire overlords. It’s punchy and simple, delivering hits in tracks like “MoviePass,” “Thursday” and “Goddess Energy.” Some entries get buried at the intersections of genre, coming out generically, like closer “All Mixed Up.” Overall, though, it’s a welcome return for the supergroup. They can dish out their unique spunk with wit and charm, proving once and for all that goddess energy is sustainable. —Devon Chodzin

The fourth proper album from Young Fathers is being billed as a “back-to-basics” effort, but there’s absolutely nothing basic about it. Bearing in mind that the Edinburgh trio’s full-length debut still sounds stunningly fresh almost a decade after the fact, it’s no surprise that their music remains as impossible to categorize as ever on Heavy Heavy. Five years after their last effort, bandmembers Kayus Bankole, G. Hastings and Alloysious Massaquoi can still be counted on to create a clamoring mélange of electronic experimentalism, West African rhythms, art-damaged hip hop and god knows what else. (If you can imagine The Weeknd produced by the likes of Suicide, FKA Twigs, M.I.A. and Massive Attack, whatever you imagine still wouldn’t be quite cutting-edge enough.) As the new album title suggests, Heavy Heavy roils with the weight of the world bearing down from every angle. And yet the music itself glows with a sense of spirit that refuses to be quashed. In its own peculiar way, in fact, Heavy Heavy gives off the intoxicating, celebratory allure of a party record. As alien as Young Fathers might sound to previous (and current!) generations of dance music fans, the band has a way of using brain-twisting rhythms to get listeners on their feet. Lest we forget that disco and post-punk were practically born on the same dancefloors, Heavy Heavy reminds us that the DNA of both forms was bound to yield strange new permutations for a long time to come. —Saby Reyes-Kulkarni
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