The 100 Best Albums of 2023

Parks’ 2021 debut album, Collapsed in Sunbeams, which came out when she was months away from turning 21, was a Mercury Prize-winning blend of bedroom-pop sensibilities and intricately detailed lyrics delivered in her supple, soothing voice. My Soft Machine expands that sonic palette, from the groove-forward “Blades” to the grunge-soul of “Devotion,” while also digging in deeper emotionally. She has a skill for inviting listeners not only into her mind, but into her immediate environment. “I radiate like a star … when you embrace all my impurities,” she sings on “Impurities,” thrilling in the idea of being seen as a full human. —M.J.

Melancholy has long been an important part of the Depeche Mode experience. So it’s not surprising that the group, whose two members are now in their sixties, named their 15th album Memento Mori, a title they picked before the death of founding member Andrew Fletcher. Acknowledging mortality defines much of Memento Mori, but it never feels heavy-handed or even all that sullen. Some of the tracks even sound upbeat. As always with Depeche Mode, everything counts in large amounts, and on Memento Mori, the stakes feel bigger than ever. —K.G.

If a streaming-targeted playlist of 30 songs can be considered an “album,” then so can an EP — especially when it has such a clear narrative over its six tracks. Kelsea Ballerini released her most personal album yet with this succinct post-divorce diary, leveling up her songwriting in the process on brutal confessionals like “Just Married” and “Blindsided.” The Tennessee native expanded the project with the addition of the singles anthem “How Do I Do This” and rereleased it as Rolling Up the Welcome Mat (For Good), but we hope that parenthetical isn’t really true. Because Ballerini is at her best when she’s this raw. —J.H.

“Army of Non,” a highlight on Godflesh’s Purge, sounds like a radio stuck between stations, picking up the sound of a guitarist tuning up, some Nineties hip-hop break beats, and an angry trucker growling into a walkie-talkie. But the cacophony works together to create a gorgeously brittle whole. The industrial-metal champs used the formula on their celebrated 1992 album, Pure, but they’ve perfected it with simpler guitar riffs and even more opaque lyrics. It all works best on “The Father,” which marries a moaning guitar riff with drum-machine stabs that resemble a haywire nail gun, as Justin Broadrick sings, “No one can be trusted.” Try using it as your alarm. —K.G.

New York singer-songwriter Keba Robinson has her own style of experimental DIY rock cool. She began Crosslegged in an indie-folk spirit, with a gentle acoustic sound, but on her breakthrough, Another Blue, she expands her sound with synth waves and electro percussion. Her guitar is full of postpunk jitters, taking inspiration from the likes of Joy Division or Television, yet the expansive sound focuses on her powerfully soulful voice, which can range from Bjork to Stevie Wonder in the same song. She hits a gospel-style fervor with the irresistibly open-hearted guitar groove “Only In The,” where she pleads, “I ride on or I die with you/It’s in my blood.”—R.S.

Rae Sremmurd were back in full force as a united front for Sremm4Life, a tight statement from the two that sees them continue to grow and expand the unique sonic world they’ve invented. The songs on their latest continue to showcase the interplay between the two sides of the brothers: Slim Jxmmi’s tougher edge continues to mingle well with Swae Lee’s softer, sung-rap delivery. It kicks off with the hazy “Origami,” which asks the extremely apt question, “How you have a party/And not invite us?” It’s something we’ve all wondered in their absence. —B.S.

Jorja Smith probably could’ve done anything she wanted after 2018’s Lost & Found established her as one of R&B’s finest young stars. But she bucked convention: Smith returned to her hometown, bought a farmhouse, and slowly crafted songs with a relatively unknown production duo she’d known since adolescence. The result is Falling or Flying, a collection of immaculate, retro-futuristic songs that fuse R&B with everything from acid jazz to spunky pop-rock to Bond-movie intrigue. Holding it all together is Smith’s voice, cool and shady, draped over each fine song like silk. —C.P. 

On their 12th full-length album, Metallica remember their formative years of going “full speed or nothin’,” a lyric James Hetfield reuses from the band’s 1983 debut, Kill ’Em All, on “Lux Æterna,” and also feeling “broken, beat, and scarred,” a line from 2008’s Death Magnetic that shows up on the lumbering “Room of Mirrors.” Metallica have always been masters of corpulent, groove-heavy riffs and labyrinthine song structures, but now, with more than 40 years of experience, they play with more purpose than in their speed-demon days. —K.G.

“You failed me/Karma will make you pay,” Argentine singer-songwriter Nicki Nicole warns in Spanish over a coolly foreboding track on “Se Va 1, Llegan 2.” The 23 year-old singer-rapper’s latest is at once a versatile musical flex and a heroic post-breakup journey. Nicole channels her very real romantic struggles into music that swerves from reggaeton (“qué le pasa conmigo?”) to hip-hop soul (“NO voy a llorar”) to bolero (“Tuyo”) to EDM (“Caen Las Estrellas”). The sound moves between decades and moods with grace and ease. And moments of rage notwithstanding, this is no pity party. It’s a record about finding resilience and healing in a vivid world of sound. —J.D.

“I didn’t need no record deal to touch my first million,” claims San Francisco rapper Larry June on “Summer Rain.” It’s the kind of mythical, impossible-to-fact-check boast that defines the luxury rap demimonde, and June excels at the practice as well as anyone. His languid, deep-voiced flow draws out the narcotic qualities inherent in the Alchemist’s production style, making The Great Escape sound like the equivalent of a Seventies soft-rock jam. But it only takes the album’s guests — from Big Sean to frequent ALC collaborators like Action Bronson, Curren$y, and Boldy James — to demonstrate how June’s ability to settle into a low-altitude groove is unlike any other. He only makes it sound easy. —M.R.

The 19 year-old sad sierreño wunderkind from Palm Springs cooked up an extraordinary third album filled with intriguing choices and hooky love songs. A duet with maye, “Mi Hogar” is a silky bachata tempered with a dash of bossa languor, while an arena-rock interlude adds gravitas to the orchestral haze of “Zafiro,” with Camila singer Pablo Hurtado. Fans of DannyLux’s música mexicana roots will cherish the gorgeous guitar lines in the Eslabón Armado collaboration “Me Cambiaste.” In an admirable display of sonic mischief, the party ends with “House of Lux,” a congas-heavy EDM anthem that brims with the sweet melancholy of youth. —E.L.

Bully’s Alicia Bognanno waits until the final song of her band’s fourth to fully her express her ennui: “I’m tired of waiting for change and debating/What else is there to do when you can’t escape the news?” Those lyrics, delivered in a scream at the end of Lucky for You’s “All This Noise,” encapsulate the anxiety, uncertainty, and grief of the previous nine numbers, written after the death of Bognanno’s pup Mezzi. Some songs lean punky (“A Wonderful Life”), some poppy (“All I Do,” “Hard to Love”), but what connects them is a raw sense of anticipation. And it’s in that waiting where beauty and brutality of Bully’s music sounds best. —K.G.

On this characteristically wise and inviting set, the Chicago poet pivots from the jazzy ancestor-channeling of her 2019 Legacy! Legacy! to more immediate matters of the heart. At the core, it’s a cheat book for cultivating sustainable relationships — a startling approach in an era where most pop rises from flames of lust, revenge, or heartbreak. Here, Jamila Woods is about the slow-burn work of thoughtful love. The arrangements mirror that, a mix of smoky R&B and soul folk, punctuated by spoken-word bits that never feel gratuitous. A record that might just make you a better person. —W.H.

Yves Tumor’s always been a synthesist, mashing up genres and tones with abandon, and part of the fun of Praise a Lord is hearing them chew up but not consume far-flung sonic touch points. Here’s buzzsaw Filter guitars, some Echo and the Bunnymen shimmer mixed with kicky Prince-like preening, and is that a hint of Max Martin in there? But Tumor does much more than mash up all these sounds. In the heat of each song, these pieces assemble into towering cathedrals of sound, with Tumor at their center preaching a sort of sensory gospel. Salvation never sounded so good. —C.P.

The Americana legend’s 15th album celebrates the power of survival by performing with and honoring the friends she’s made through her lengthy career. Williams co-wrote all of Stories’ 10 tracks with her husband and longtime collaborator, Tom Overby; Nashville session guitarist Travis Stephens and downtown New York rock fixture Jesse Malin also assisted. “Let’s Get the Band Back Together” sets the tone, its hard-won reflection (“We were just another bunch of stupid kids/Staying up all night playing poker and pool”) melding with the sort of defiant jubilance that powers great rock & roll songs. It’s an “I’m still here” declaration that’s backed up by the music that follows. —M.J.   

Nigerian singer Adekunle Gold made his debut in 2014 with a love song called “Sade” that sampled One Direction, and he hasn’t stopped making innovative, romantic Afropop since. Tequila Ever After is a triumph for its coolness and cohesion, running from top to bottom with the type seamlessness repopularized by Beyonce’s Renaissance. Rather than a disc of dance music, though, Tequila Ever After is more R&B. At points it’s jazzy, like the sensual “Tio Baby,” and at others it’s drum-driven, like the triumphant Pharrell-Nile Rodgers collaboration “Falling Up,” but there’s always an edge of calm, maturity, and grace that makes it an easy listen. —M.C.

After a five-year hiatus for the beloved Brooklyn band, First Two Pages of Frankenstein is a remarkable reassertion of their potency and shared commitment. It’s their shortest LP in 15 years, a cycle of patient and often quiet songs, completely stripped of the sharp-angle production flourishes that enlivened their recent LPs. “Eucalyptus” rejects the terms of a breakup on account of the shared possessions that it would unduly distress, and the album hits its peak with the dazzling Taylor Swift collab “The Alcott,” a late-night locking of eyes between two old flames. Nine albums deep, the National found new energy by conjuring not just a great, suffocating fog but also the far light that guides the way out. —C.P.

At the center of Raven, Kelela’s magnificently dense third album, are a suite of tracks that help define her vision of Black, queer sensuality as hard-won expression. Her voice flutters on “Holier” as she sings, “So I go where they hold me down/And you’re not going to take my crown.” She calls herself a raven reborn on the title track even as “they tried to break her,” and dances through the pain society can inflict on “Bruises.” Her producers augment her with glistening electronic textures. It all sounds like the result of processing the past few years of socio-political tumult, yet warm and tempting, an invitation to enjoy an hour of thoughtful pleasure. —M.R.

The U.K. dance collective Jungle write songs that sound like they could’ve appeared on forgotten soul and disco LPs, with emphasis on groove and mood. Volcano from 2023 is their best album yet, sharpening up their attack with heavy low end and guests like Channel Tres and Roots Manuva. There are jams galore: “Us Against the World” sounds like the stripped-down thump of Sault, “Every Night” features spirals of West African-style guitar atop a four-on-the-floor beat, and “Don’t Play” calls up the filter-heavy sounds of French house. It’s all over the place, and yet it’s perfectly coherent for a straight-through listen — a testament to its creators’ melodic and aesthetic sensibilities. —J.F.

Joanna Sternberg’s second album solidifies the singer-songwriter as a generational cult-folk talent on par with forebears Daniel Johnston and Elliott Smith. The melodies are richer and the songs more carefully plotted out than their impressive word-of-mouth 2019 debut from the singer-songwriter whose knack for classic American songbook melody and plainspoken confessions on bruised heartbreak, self-doubting introspection, and woozy prescription-drug elation make these dozen songs feel like they’ve always existed. That they play every single instrument on the record, namely stately Randy Newman-influenced piano, is merely a bonus. —J. Bernstein 

Most Latin music these days relies on the Machiavellian planning of addictive hooks, but Dominican producer Diego Raposo finds pleasure in the freshness of spontaneous combustion. The most riveting plot twist of this wonderfully chaotic mini-album is how deeply romantic it is — even with all those blips, digital stutters, and wacky beats. From the confessional, avant-urbano minimalism of “Normal” and the Nirvana meets Plastilina Mosh electro-grunge of “A&R” to the drum and bass with guitars of “Al Contrario,” Raposo mixes ingredients with abandon, like a young chef eager to impress. —E.L.

“I’m a song and dance man!” Low Cut Connie’s Adam Weiner declares in “Tell Me Something I Don’t Know,” the leadoff track to the Philly band’s latest studio album. And he ain’t kidding: Art Dealers is a celebration of both surviving the pandemic and managing to stay creative during its darkest days. “Whips and Chains” and “Sleeze on Me” are equal parts sweaty and inspiring, while “Are You Gonna Run?” asks what you do when the chips are down. Weiner looked to the career of Lou Reed for direction while making the album, and he gets as vulnerable as Lou on the LP’s standout, “King of the Jews.” —J.H.

Puerto Rican singer Gale made a name for herself in Miami writing hooky hits for Christina Aguilera and Selena Gomez. Her debut album aims for a deeper catharsis — a breakup record so candid and vulnerable that it almost feels as if no one had written about such turmoils before. Sonically, Gale limits the expected urbano influence to a faint undertone. Instead, her ruminations on freedom and self-love inhabit a musical comfort zone anchored on hyper-pop choruses, grungy guitars, and oceanic electronica. On delicately crafted gems like “Triste” and “La Mitad,” her voice sounds gorgeous and triumphant. —E.L.

“Last night I got higher than a satellite,” Bebe Rexha sings on her third album. The new-look California pop queen lit up a dance-floor inferno on Bebe, mixing Eighties synth grooves, Stevie Nicks lyricism, bright melodies, and Seventies disco flourishes to make her best album yet. The LP is a stark contrast from the darker energy of her earlier music. That optimism shines through on every track — from her smash hit “I’m Good (Blue)” with David Guetta to the string-soaked Studio 54 throb of “I’m Not High, I’m In Love” and the Dolly Parton-featuring acoustic detour “Seasons.” —T.M.

Sampha’s 2017 LP, Process, was a near-perfect debut: 10 tracks so richly imagined they felt more like ecosystems you entered than songs you listened to. It took six years to craft a successor, and Lahai sounds like it: meticulous, lived-in, dense with ideas and embellishments and life. Interweaving topics as varied as fatherhood and time travel, the music, somehow, stays light, full of airy pianos and pointillist drum programming. Of course, the centerpiece of Sampha’s art remains his voice, burred and tremulous, as expressive and textured as any in contemporary R&B. —C.P. 

The latest release from Palehound, the brainchild of queer singer-songwriter El Kempner, was inspired by the “apocalypse road trip” across the U.S. that the Boston band took mid-tour to get safely back home as the pandemic hit in early 2020. The songs can be big rockers (“The Clutch” is driven by bracing riffs that echo the “punch in the gut” feeling Kempner sings about as they describe a blistering breakup) or more subdued and acoustic. But every song is imbued with a sense of resilience that makes Kempner one of the most compelling indie-rock artists around. —M.G. 

Upon its release in March, 100 Gecs’ major-label follow-up to their hyper-pop classic 1000 gecs drew industry acclaim as well as pushback from fans dismayed over their seemingly corporate (de)evolution. But what did anyone expect? Yes, 10,000 gecs is brighter, louder, and slicker, but it still has plenty of inventive tweaks on the emo formula, like the shift in “Dumbest Girl Alive” from THX Deep Note to late-aughts-styled glitch, replete with headbanger guitars. Meanwhile, “The Most Wanted Person in the United States” — a nod to member Laura Les’ transgender identity — and “I Got My Tooth Removed” make clear that there’s political stakes in the way she and Dylan Brady challenge our notions of who gets to thrive in the pop marketplace. —M.R.

Wilco delivered a welcome change-up on Cousin, working with avant-pop artist Cate LeBon, the first time they’ve brought in an outside producer. LeBon and Jeff Tweedy are a good match. Maybe because we’re all swimming in strangeness lately, even Cousin’s more abstract fusions feel utterly natural. On the opener, “Infinite Surprise,” tick-tocking percussion clocks a cardiac bass drum, as Tweedy freeze-frames two souls gazing into each other’s eyes (or maybe one nonbinary soul and a mirror) in a moment of uneasy, helpless communion, guitar noise, and synth detritus thickening and receding like wildfire smoke. Like a number of Wilco jams, it’s a perfect song about imperfection. —W.H.

Along with contemporaries like Olivia Rodrigo, Gracie Abrams, and Maisie Peters, Humberstone is part of a generation of young women influenced by diaristic pop goliaths Taylor Swift and Lorde, who are fearlessly putting their hearts on their sleeves to create compelling ear worms. On Paint My Bedroom Black, Humberstone doubles down on her voracious honesty, laying bare her deepest regrets, doom scroll nights, and drinking habits. But while the 23-year-old’s outward aesthetic is dark and gothic, her catchy pop songs are bright, upbeat, and radio-ready, while still managing to depict her neediness in a way that feels authentic. —M.G.

A victory lap of sorts for the first African artist ever to play a U.S. stadium, the Nigerian pop star’s latest further affirmed his global status. I Told Them … is a delectably crafted Afropop album, from the warm, smooth “On Form” to the street-pop flex “Giza” to his bonus-track remix of Byron Messia’s excellent song “Talibans.” The album opens with the samba-inspired “I Told Them,” an audacious track that sees Burna boasting over soft guitar strumming and mid-tempo drums. But the LP’s moments of braggadocio (and there are more than a few) that feel less like gloating than the return on a promise made. —N.C.

The very existence of Blur’s first new album since 2015 feels nothing short of miraculous. “St. Charles Square” is a sharp-toothed, Bowie-esque rocker (“I fucked up/I’m not the first to do it”). Elsewhere, songs like lead single “The Narcissist” and the deceptively bouncy pop bummer “Barbaric” are striking in their open, emotional tone. Some songs on The Ballad of Darren call back clearly through the band’s history — perhaps none more than the opening track, “The Ballad,” which is based on a 2003 solo demo by Damon Albarn and dedicated to the band’s longtime head of security, Darren “Smoggy” Evans. Twenty years after that demo, there’s still no one who does a bittersweet mope quite like Blur. —S.V.L.

D-DAY, the third release BTS’ Suga has put out as Agust D, is a tight 10-track collection that lyrically and musically probes the concept of freedom — what it means, whether it’s a blessing or a curse. Take the double-entendre title of the thundering “Haegeum,” which wraps around a drone from the two-stringed traditional Korean instrument of the same name. “Haegeum” also can be translated as “liberation,” and Agust D unpacks that idea in knotty, spat-out rhymes that take aim at conformity, the trappings of “success,” and information overload. Meanwhile, “Life Gets Better” hints at a brighter future, or at least one where life’s big questions loom a little less ominously. —M.J.  

While this is technically only his second album, Skrillex has hardly been away from the spotlight. Quest for Fire shows us that he continuously expanded his sonic palette through his productions, remixes, and other work, particularly when it comes to finding beats. He wrangles a constellation of guest stars (from Four Tet to Missy Elliott). The British grime MC and producer Flowdan offers the most satisfying match for Skrillex’s world-swallowing beats; his low-slung voice towers over the ricocheting rhythm of the Fred again..-assisted “Rumble.” Like the mosh pits and dance floors that have thrilled to his music, Skrillex knows that perpetual motion is crucial. —M.J.

Barbie the Album is like a night on the dream-house dance floor, channeling the playful feminism of the movie into a musical experience with something for everyone. A Barbie album without Nicki Minaj simply wouldn’t make sense, and “Barbie World,” her track with Ice Spice, effortlessly brings Aqua’s classic “Barbie Girl” from the Nineties to 2023. Dominic Fike shows a brighter, summery side than usual on “Hey Blondie.” Gayle plays a grungy Barbie on “Butterflies,” and Billie Eilish’s “What Was I Made For?” mirrors the existential, tear-jerking moment Margot Robbie’s character goes through in the film. Not many soundtracks get it as right as this one. —T.M.

The internationalization of pop is largely about homogenization. But the success of this rootsy Tex-Mex crew proves it can go both ways. The sexy trot of their Hot 100 cumbia norteña collab with Bad Bunny, “un X100to,” unspools its dying cellphone heartbreak over straight-up accordion and acoustic guitar. And the pedal-steeled “Cuídala” is bittersweet balladry that would fit perfectly between Lainey Wilson and Luke Combs on country radio. Credit is due wingman Edgar Barrera, the Texas border kid turned superproducer who has become regional Mexican music’s great international emissary. This is why you don’t build walls. —W.H.

The last time the Rolling Stones bequeathed us with an album of fresh material was during George W. Bush’s presidency. If they were going to drag themselves (and us) through the process again, they must have known they’d have to make it worth everyone’s while. Shockingly, they have. Hackney Diamonds isn’t just another new Stones album, but a vibrant and cohesive record. Toward the end of “Live by the Sword,” one of two tracks they made with drummer Charlie Watts before his passing, Mick Jagger snarls as the guitars tear it up around him, and “Depending on You” could have been one of those draggy ballads that have made their way onto later Stones albums, but Jagger wails as if he wants the whole world to hear him. —D.B.

PinkPantheress’ long-awaited official full-length debut has a more expansive sound than the short, Tik-Tok-abbetted tracks she built her success on. The songs on Heaven Knows hover comfortably between two and four minutes. The album also marks the first instance in which the 22-year-old singer-songwriter-producer recorded outside of London. Songs deal with the wages of fame, romantic anxiety, and real-life fears of mortality; the serenity of “Ophelia” is interrupted by police sirens, while “True Romance” is a play on Lady Gaga’s “Paparazzi.” But whenever when PinkPantheress hits a dead end, she just builds a new road forward from scratch. —L.P. 

Mr. Eazi has been a leading figure in the world of Afrobeats for years, and he’s always had an expansive definition of that ever-rising music’s possibilities. On his official full-length debut, Eazi imbues local sounds with global purpose, from the palm-wine-guitar shimmer and high-life horns of “Fefe Ne Fefe” to the tough, moody Afro drill of “Advice” to “Exit,” a joyful stunner with an assist from the Soweto Gospel Choir. On the swaying banger “We Dey,” which was inspired in part by protests against police brutality in Nigeria, he sings the song’s title phrase (which means “we are here”) with prayerful gravitas, turning pain and struggle into an elegant musical win. —J.D.

On her stunning debut, one of pop music’s most promising new stars sticks the landing in more ways than one. Proclaimed as “Gen Z’s melancholy maven” in a Rolling Stone feature earlier this year, Gracie Abrams harnesses the emotions of the rising generation into a unique sound full of soft-spoken, simple melodies that are steeped in sadness but still pack a punch. Abrams might have a delicate voice, she might even sing about blocking an ex on the internet, but the way she can deliver seething lines in an angelic whisper sets her apart from her bedroom-pop peers. —M.G.

Joy Oladokun’s second major-label LP is probably the only record this year that’ll feature Houston rapper Maxo Kream, Chris Stapleton, and jam band Manchester Orchestra. A Black, queer artist, this singer-songwriter makes what she calls “helpful anthems.” Proof of Life swerves from the existential toughness and distorted guitars of “We’re All Gonna Die” to “Changes,” a roots-country tune that references the L.A. riots, to “Revolution,” which features Kream and evokes Eighties Afropop. Oladokun graciously flows this diverse mix together, creating an open-ended and satisfying whole. —J.D.

Nearly a decade on from his debut hit, “Take Me to Church,” the Irish balladeer keeps building on his previous success with an LP that follows a to-hell-and-back personal journey full of greed, insatiability, desire, and euphoria. Hozier leavens indie-rock songwriting with sensual funk and soul. As always, he’s deep in his feelings: On “Unknown / Nth,” he sings, “You know the distance never made a difference to me/I swam a lake of fire, I’d have walked across the floor of any sea.” The earnest intensity of lyrics couples beautifully with a sound that can feel at once ancient and brand new. It makes Unreal Unearth his best album yet. —C.J. 

The Endgame of the long-running Alchemist Cinematic Universe, Voir Dire arrived with years of expectations, a summit between one of our greatest living lyricists and a runic, minimalist beatmaker of legend. Impossibly, the LP does not disappoint, Earl’s focus steady and unbroken, slashing absurdist rhyme schemes into the loops. A mid-album stretch is the most fun either artist has had on record in years, full of schmaltz, soft-rock, and sly basketball references. It all climaxes with the magisterial “Caliphate,” a “Verbal Intercourse”-tier link-up with Vince Staples that spirals like smoke in a black-lit room. —M.R.

“Let there be music/Let there be love,” Bonny Doon proclaim. The Detroit folk-pop band goes all-in on well-adjusted sad-guy sweetness, “la-la-la” whimsy, and bucolic beauty. Tunes like “Naturally,” “San Francisco,” and the title track can suggest a Midwestern version of Belle and Sebastian, or Stephen Malkmus as an early-Seventies mustache-pop poet. They weave guitars, they plunk pianos, they let their kind little melodies ease them through epiphany and crisis, and come out the other end with a genuinely wonderful record. —J.D.

Just in case anyone wanted to reduce Peso Pluma’s back-to-back global hits to luck, the breakout Mexican star released Genesis, a smash album that fully laid out the Peso phenomenon. Knotty, nettlesome 12-string guitars and chugging tubas fill almost every corner of the record, offering an open testament to the musicianship and arrangements at the heart of música Mexicana. And each song lets Pluma plunge deeper into the idiosyncrasies that have made him the movement’s leading ambassador: He lets out his signature, grit-filled rasp on “Lady Gaga” and toasts to the luxuries in life, now that he’s a full-fledged star — with a charting LP that broke música Mexicana records, to boot. —J. Lopez

The L.A. dark-pop artist finds a new muse: a pink-skinned, four-eyed fairy creature that’s stuck between Earth and the afterlife. And she uses that character to deliver her most introspective lyrics and music that move outside her sonic comfort zone. Musically, Melanie Martinez strays from the alt-pop sounds of her past to explore pop-rock songwriting, driving drumbeats, and voice filters. The music backs intense declarations such as, “Like a priest behind confession walls, I judge myself/Kneeling on a metal grater.” It makes for an effortlessly inventive, mature record that reintroduces her as an artist unafraid to start from scratch and tackle complex, difficult ideas. —T.M.

The full-length debut from Mean Girls and Secret Life of College Girls star Reneé Rapp is a series of emotional rollercoasters in miniature, with the 23-year-old Rapp’s versatile voice dipping low and soaring high when the mood demands. The title track chronicles post-breakup depression with knotty metaphors and well-placed pomp-rock fireworks, while “The Wedding Song” is a worthy entrant into the power-ballad canon. Throughout the album, Rapp channels her larger-than-life emotions into twisty pop songs that take big swings while being keenly aware of the human at their core. —M.J. 

Naming an album after three of Toni Morrison’s greatest literary masterpieces is, in its way, a statement as bold as any you’ll find on an album released this year. Good thing McKinley Dixon intends to live up to it. The Chicago-based rapper’s fourth album is full of urgent lyrical performances and rich, organic instrumentation. On “Tyler, Forever,” Dixon translates his grief for a late friend into upside-down bluster; on “Run, Run, Run,” he finds beauty in the tragedy of gun violence; on “Live! From the Kitchen Table,” he wrestles with a choir. It’s the kind of inner world you’ll want to get lost in, and an album that deserves to be a major breakthrough. —S.V.L.

Jordan Ward has developed from a talented backup dancer into a promising R&B artist, touring with acts as big as Justin Bieber. As a former theater kid with an atypically normal charm, Ward taps into a gift of subtle storytelling on his debut album, Forward. He molds the typically romantic genre into a more personal one, performing songs about normalized violence, financial hardship, and complicated family dynamics — each with a unique bounce. In an interlude that’s as gentle and pensive as it is chaotic, he explains his drive to make music as memorable as this: “I’m the only child. I’m the last ward. Everything I’m doing is forward.” —M.C.

Last year, Ice Spice went viral with “Munch (Feeling U),” a coldly efficient putdown of the opposite sex that earned her a million-dollar deal and the global spotlight. Lyrically, her debut EP, Like..?, serves as a testament to the politics of attraction, and Ice Spice expresses it all with preternatural confidence. She has a smooth, deep voice that glides over producer RIOTUSA’s beats, and her chopping delivery feels effortless. Though only seven songs, Like..? was studded with breakout moments like “In Ha Mood,” “Princess Diana,” and “Bikini Bottom,” each performance feeling visceral and exciting. —M.R.

On Militarie Gun’s debut LP, frontman Ian Shelton isn’t afraid to turn his innermost fears and doubts into straight-up ear worms. The Seattle musician and his newest project have taken everything that’s uniquely cathartic about hardcore and lacquered it with insanely catchy melodies, infinitely clever guitar riffs, and the kind of call-and-response energy that actually landed them a Taco Bell sync. That last detail might be enough to lead some of the more strident members of the punk community to dismiss Life Under the Gun entirely, but those folks would be missing out on an album that uniquely captures what it is to live in a world that’s seemingly out to get you at every turn. —B.E.