Melisma Magazine’s 2022 Albums of the Year

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Not sure what album was your favorite of the year? Well, Melisma has a couple suggestions for you (including some you may not have heard of), courtesy of our staff writers.

Father John Misty - Chloë and the Next 20th Century

By Colin Bailey ‘25

The 1920s jazz club. A risquè space with a thick, brown tar coating the walls after years of cigarette puffing, the smell of Sazeracs, and stains of alcohol (or is it puke?) besmirching the floor. Although these days of speakeasies and swinging jazz have long since passed, Father John Misty tries to rekindle these memories with Chloë and the Next 20th Century. His first full-length LP since 2018’s God’s Favorite Customer, Misty maintains his classic sound of grand production with visceral yet melancholic lyrics. Though he does stray slightly, experimenting with swing and smooth jazz throughout the album in songs such as “Chloë, “Funny Girl,” and “Buddy’s Rendezvous,” but manages to capture that classic Misty sound in “Q4,” “Goodbye Mr. Blue,” and “Kiss Me (I Loved You).” The most divergent-sounding song, as well as my favorite, is “Olvidado (Otro Momento),” a love letter to both bossa nova and the Spanish-speaking woman in the song. The track describes how he cannot seem to communicate his feelings to her despite trying to speak Spanish himself.

Although not topping the charts or being featured on many AOTY lists, Misty’s diversion from his traditional sound on some songs but its return to home on others makes this album rank for me. During an essay grind at the CC last April, I decided I’d listen to this album on a whim to pass the time. Pleasantly surprised by its content, Chloë continued to top my AOTY list. Harking back a century to the Roaring 20s and the era of swing, the album is a distant memory brought back to the melancholic present through the sounds of muted trombone and Misty’s timeless and nostalgic storytelling.

Cruel Santino - Subaru Boys: Final Heaven

By Jack Brownlee ‘26

First published in 1993, Paul Gilroy’s The Black Atlantic proposed a shared Black culture that incorporates aspects of American, British, African, and Caribbean Black cultures, transcends nationalism, and emphasizes the varied experiences of Black people worldwide. Undersea-centric takes on Afrofuturism in line with Gilroy’s ideas are not entirely foreign within the musical realm—artists from Aaliyah to Drexciya to Jimi Hendrix have explored similar territory—but the latest release within this canon comes from Nigerian artist Cruel Santino. 

Over the past decade, Cruel Santino slowly gained notoriety as a pioneer of the burgeoning Nigerian Alté scene, influenced by early 2000s fashion, Nigerian horror films, anime visuals, and music ranging from dancehall to trap. With his debut album, Mandy & the Jungle, he cemented himself as one of its rising stars, but with his latest release, SUBARU BOYS : Final Heaven, Santino soars far beyond the local Alté scene and lands somewhere completely new.

His debut album resided rather firmly within the world of Afrobeats, featuring guest spots primarily from other Alté artists and slick, minimal production, but SUBARU BOYS takes an extremely different route. One of the most striking things about the entire record is the diversity in featured artists; contributors include grime icon Skepta, dancehall phenom Koffee, bedroom pop sensation Gus Dapperton, underground rappers Maison2500 and WiFiGawd, and Afrobeats sensation Amaarae. Cruel Santino acts as the glue that holds the album together, morphing between roles as a smooth R&B vocalist, an energetic rapper, an angsty pop-punk singer, and a magnetic pop star.

At its core, SUBARU BOYS is a new interpretation of the ideas presented by The Black Atlantic—filled with aquatic musical motifs, the record aims to bridge the gap between the musical styles and identities of Black artists across the Atlantic. Each song concludes with a brief interlude that develops the record’s fictional storyline, establishing locations and characters within an undersea “Subaru World.” Admittedly, the worldbuilding is not the strongest aspect of the album, but its correlation with Gilroy’s ideas of a Black Atlantic identity is both strong and notable.

Beyond that, though, SUBARU BOYS is just plain impressive. From the booming kick drums on opener “MATILDA,” to the dancehall-infused groove of “DEADMAN BONE,” to the catchy synthpop perfection of “BEAUTIFUL NOTHING,” Cruel Santino’s sophomore album is not only an hour of unrelenting fun, but also a celebration of sounds from across the globe.

Black Country, New Road - Ants From Up There

By Daniel Cece ‘26

Ants From Up There is full of endings. The album chronicles the end of a relationship with vocalist Isaac Wood. Days before the album’s release, Wood announced his departure from the band due to mental health issues. This means that before Ants From Up There was even brought into the world, the band that created it came to an end. BCNR announced they’d continue making music despite Isaac’s departure, but it’ll be quite the task to live up to his commanding vocal performances and brilliant songwriting.

Wood’s struggles are made very transparent through his lyrics. He’s dealing with two breakups: one with a lover, and one with the music industry. He uses strange comparisons to talk about the breakup with his lover, but the lyrics are so vivid that his ultra-specific language can still be personal to the listener. On “Good Will Hunting,” he claims that if he and his partner were on a burning starship, he’d “traverse the Milky Way” to get home to her. He also lays out his heartbreak through references to food, comparing himself to unwanted crumbs on “Bread Song.” The food motif continues on “The Place Where He Inserted the Blade,” in which Wood laments “Every time I try to make lunch for anyone else, in my head I end up dreaming of you.” This song also highlights Wood’s schism from the music industry; at the end, he cries, “Show me the fifth or the cadence you want me to play!” With the food motif appearing so often, it’s hard not to see Wood as a starving artist, sacrificing his mental health and wellbeing for art. He gives fans a full-course serving of music to enjoy, yet he continues to starve as his mental health keeps deteriorating. 

In the final moments of the album, rather than another ending, there is an opportunity for a new beginning. In the final seconds of the closing track, you can hear the exact same chords that the album begins with. Then, the instruments all crash down and a distant scream is heard. To me, this feels like the moment when Wood departs the band. But instead of a tragic ending, it’s a brand new beginning, a time to heal and relax. And after making an album this incredible, he definitely deserves a break.

Earl Sweatshirt - Sick!

By Sean Coughlin ‘25

With Sick!, Earl Sweatshirt released what I consider to be the biggest “sleeper hit” of 2022, maintaining his reputation as underground hip hop’s most exciting voice. Sick! showcases some of the best elements of Earl’s musical stylings, such as the clear and melancholy lyrics of Doris, as well as the claustrophobic and purposeful delivery of the 2018 cult classic Some Rap Songs. Irrespective of callbacks to his earlier work, Sick! is a compelling and unique part of Earl’s consistent discography. Earl and his entourage of fellow underground MCs and producers, such as Black Noi$e, The Alchemist, ZelooperZ, and Armand Hammer, are able to curate abstract, alternative hip hop that sounds equally haunting as it is captivating. With this album, Earl meditates on aspects of his life that influence his mental state. The lyrical themes on Sick! include existential dread and paranoia fueled by a worldwide pandemic, as well as the joy and satisfaction Earl has garnered from becoming a father.

On one of the album’s singles, “2010”, Earl exclaims “We got us a fire to rekindle / Redirect the fight where it's meant for / Triumph over plight and immense loss.” For an artist most well known for his depressing and cynical lyrical content, Earl perfectly balances pessimism and optimism with this latest offering.

Alvvays - Blue Rev

By Isaac Dame ‘25

Alvvays are a group I deeply respect. The description ‘indie pop’ feels very inadequate, but they aren’t very flashy in their challenges to genre boundaries. They are interesting and touching while remaining very fun and accessible. There was a time I thought I would never hear from them again, but after 5 years of COVID delays, lineup changes, and other issues, the Canadian quintet finally released their third album this October. 

In many ways, the album is a continuation of their existing style. The hooks are as catchy as ever. The vocals and the guitar are still in dialogue, flowing in and out of each other to take turns in the spotlight. Most importantly, they maintain the nostalgic warmth and lighthearted eagerness that made them such a standout group in the first place. However, the band has demonstrably grown. 

Rankin was already a very solid lyricist, but her songwriting reaches another level on Blue Rev. Her descriptions of everyday interactions and specific, relatable emotions are as witty and intriguing as they are moving. The album opener “Pharmacist” is a brief yet compelling reflection on realizing a past lover has moved on. “Velveteen” describes the realization that your partner is in love with someone else. The nostalgic warmth of the guitar and keyboard combined with Rankin’s signature understatements makes the crushing sadness of what’s being described seep into you, rather than hit you all at once. 

On their previous projects, the shoegaze influences and the more mainstream pop influences were separated into their own songs. But by upping the noise and distortion of the guitars, these two aspects of their sound have been brought into even closer harmony. Perhaps no track reflects this better than “Belinda Says.” Guitar and vocals still ebb and flow perfectly with the emotions of the lyrics, but the guitar is louder than it would have been on past projects. Lead singer Molly Rankin is almost drowned out by the noise, before it all falls away for a moment of clarity and hope, and then surges back in as she describes her fears of an uncertain future.

Blue Rev might not be the most immediately impressive or innovative or ‘most important’ album that came out this year, I will concede. But it is absolutely the one I recommend the most eagerly, and I have full confidence that anyone can find something to appreciate about it.

Bladee and Ecco2k - Crest

By Jason Evers ‘23

On Crest, Bladee and Ecco2k are the sole inhabitants of a magical world that listeners are invited to join them in. The album’s cover reveals a portal to this secret place as whispers of silver wind and shining snowscapes beckon. Bladee’s introspective verses float atop Ecco2k’s cloudy incantations to create enchanting soundscapes, and each song serves as a window into a different corner of the world of the Crest. The second track, “5 Star Crest (4 Vattenrum),” takes listeners on a nine minute tour through five different realms that comprise the world; each serves as one of the vertices of the star that the track resembles. Written in honor of late Drain Gang member Vattenrum, “5 Star Crest” is an eternal comet that sparks in the skies above Crest’s world—Ecco2k sings that “I look to the sky and it smiles back down on me.” On “White Meadow,” Bladee moves into deeper corners of the glittery, pastoral Crestworld, and on breakout hit “Girls Just Want to Have Fun,” Ecco2k’s ghostly laments free him from the past. One word encapsulates the world of Crest, and Bladee chants it throughout the album: beauty. Though the realm the album constructs is beautiful and perfect, it is equally ephemeral. We must eventually leave the realm of Crest, and face our own imperfect world—but having seen the possibility of a better place, we can face it with hope. We can make a world where nothing’s ugly, a world where beauty is our drug, a world where heaven sings. Through Crest, we can capture those feelings that come from deep in our heroic souls—and never let them go.

Alex G - God Save The Animals

By Andrew Fellows ‘23

Unique is the vigor of the cult following amassed by a kid from suburban Philadelphia named Alex Giannascoli. Equally unique is a desire to end one’s career at the tender age of 29 following a long and fruitful career of nine(!) studio albums, countless unreleased material, and even a film soundtrack. In 2022, Alex G is in uncharted territory, and his latest record, God Save the Animals, is a triumphant work of gratitude for all the beautiful things and people making up his last decade of indie-darling status.

From the opening cut, “After All'', Mr. G makes known the religious direction he has taken in his “old age.” However, his richly textured indietronica falls far from the bland dreck of most contemporary Christian music. The piano, now more prominent than ever, provides discordant interplay with the rest of the sound, which is mostly full and bright. The top single from the record, “Runner”, exhibits vaguely religious and animal-centric writing, a signature of the (Sandy) oeuvre. More notably, it shows some similarities to the anthemic pop of Soul Asylum’s “Runaway Train,” unthinkable in the early years but fitting for his artistic development. “No Bitterness” sees him exploring the realm of hyper-pop, albeit with a familiar childlike tone. This and other tracks on the record call to mind Biblical stories of all animals living in harmony, all led by a small child. To pull off these grand ideas in a sincere manner, all while playing in a style inspired by the likes of A.G. Cook, is no small feat.

Animals sees Alex pursuing a similar sound to his previous effort, 2019’s House of Sugar. This record, however, feels much less front-loaded. The tracks are more consistently enjoyable throughout and feel more intentionally sequenced. It seems Alex has become better acquainted with the tools at his disposal, having come so far along in his career without high production values and fancy studios. He handles himself like a professional when needed, even if he ends up presenting himself as a nü-metal whisperer on the lead single “Blessing.”

Throughout each new Alex G album rollout I’ve become obsessed, unable to listen to much else in the weeks following a release. Animals was no different, but also suggested a looming end to this era. Something in Animals feels more grown-up, more dismissive of the scrappy roots of his rise to fame. For that reason, I feel this workis Alex’s finest yet, matching the development of his most loyal, lifelong fans. If, as he sings in ‘Miracles’, Alex decides to “turn it off and say goodnight” after Animals, he will go down as one of the most prolific singer-songwriters of his generation.

Hatchie - Giving The World Away

By Ethan Lam MS ’23

This album review was sponsored by the Australian Council for the Arts.

I’ve been on the Hatchie – the project of Brisbane’s Hariette Pilbeam – hype train for a few years now. In fact, I saw her at Great Scott when she was touring in support of her debut record, 2019’s Keepsake. And while Keepsake and the Sugar & Spice EP that launched her career hold special places in my heart, I’d be lying if I said that they don’t feel a little one-note more often than not – fantastic in moderation, but a bit boring and underwhelming if continuously consumed in a single sitting.

Where Pilbeam’s previous work felt stifled by what felt like a self-imposed expectation to fit into typical shoegaze and dream pop styles, Giving The World Away is comparatively free and unrestrained. Yes, it is still undeniably a dream pop record, but Giving The World Away mixes and matches unexpected elements from other genres to great success. As a result, every song on this record is distinct: between the nocturnal, slinky, dance-oriented groove of the title track, playful effervescence of “This Enchanted,” and stripped back acoustic beauty of “Sunday Song,” Giving The World Away is clear proof of Pilbeam’s growth. Her songwriting and subject matter has outgrown sweet yet overplayed romantic platitudes, often reflecting Pilbeam’s ongoing journey through young adulthood, “​​If I had everything I wanted would I want more? Would I keep fighting if there's nothing left to fight for?” Her vocals similarly reflect a newfound versatility, as she employs styles other than the breathy croon she has historically favored. Both sonically and stylistically, this is the sharpest and most determined that Pilbeam has ever sounded – indeed, Giving The World Away is the sound of Pilbeam coming into her own.

Now that I think about it, Giving The World Away was the sleeper soundtrack to my year. I’d sometimes hear my best friends-slash-then-housemates playing it over the speakers in our living room, our convergent tastes a testament to the cherished bonds and home we built together over the course of our undergraduate careers. Additionally, I went to Hatchie’s show at the nearby Crystal Ballroom in May with some fellow members from this fine publication, my companionship comprised of both a fellow graduating senior and members of the current (then-future) vanguard. And although I’ll never dance in the way that the songs off Giving The World Away might inspire one to – in some fictitious tropical, gothy, neon-lit (but not in a gaudy way) nightclub until 3 a.m – that show felt like a changing of the guard, of proof that the work that the class of 2022 eboard and the eboards before us ultimately amounted to (and will continue to amount to) something beautiful. As I formally enter the next chapter of my life, these are some of the memories I will hold closest.

BROCKHAMPTON - The Family

By Andrés López ‘24

An imperfectly perfect expression of what it’s like to grow up and lose your closest childhood friends, The Family by BROCKHAMPTON is easily my album of the year. This isn’t a typical BROCKHAMPTON album though, as it is completely dominated by Kevin Abstract save for a few brief appearances by Bearface. While this makes the album different, it is not what makes the album special. What makes the album stand out is the unprecedented level of self-reflection by Abstract in regard to the personal relationships between BROCKHAMPTON members and how these dynamics led to the downfall of the band. Abstract lays every last detail out there: how he was not completely present for his friends, how he didn’t care about how his actions affected the group’s image, and how he was generally responsible for the deteriorating relationships among the members, among other things. He takes full responsibility for his selfish actions while reminiscing on the success of the group and their friendship. Ultimately, he alienated the rest of the members to the point where he was the only one trying to keep the group alive despite previous efforts to break out as a solo artist. The tracklist truly takes you on a journey through every emotion possible, from guilt to nostalgia to anger to love to remorselessness, almost exclusively on smooth chipmunk soul beats. Abstract has always had ideas and thoughts flow out of him, and it shows on this album, which is a mix of a confessional and an apology. In the end, though, he provides closure for BROCKHAMPTON fans and makes it clear how much he appreciates his friends. I cried twice while listening to this album. Bittersweet and deeply personal, The Family is exactly what everyone, from Kevin Abstract, to the rest of BROCKHAMPTON, to the fans, needed to hear for one reason or another.

Aldous Harding - Warm Chris

By Georgia Moore ‘23

“Warm Chris” is a strange little album from the mind of Aldous Harding; ten songs that I have not been able to shake since I picked them up (shamefully) from Spotify’s Ultimate Indie playlist last spring. At the time of its release in March, “Warm Chris” received Best New Music from Pitchfork with a sound 8.2/10. But the beauty of “Warm Chris” lies beyond the limitations of an antiquated numbering system and the dying art of music “reviewing” (Melisma may have its roots as a knockoff Pitchfork, but no more!), the record is a disjointed conglomerate that leaves the listener with more questions than answers. “Ennui” starts off at a clip, with a brisk piano that carries through the album, closing with “Leathery Whip”’s thesis of “I’m a little bit older but I remain unchanged” and a surprising organ that feels like the uplifting conclusion where we all leave the story a little older, wiser, and happier. There is a theatricality throughout “Warm Chris,” with its thematically and musically striking highs and lows, that is unique from Harding’s former projects. For some reason I can’t quite put my finger on I listen to it as a rather abstract concept album, but what the overarching narrative is I couldn’t begin to tell you. Some songs like “She’ll Be Coming Round the Mountain” and “Bubbles” come in as relatively straightforward folk ballads with a bit of a Joni Mitchell lilt, upturned by the strange yips and shrieks of “Tick Tock” and nasally harmony in the chorus of  “Leathery Whip.” Harding isn’t afraid to use her voice as a tool itself outside of a standard “style” of singing, she goes into almost impressionistic directions that create a cast of characters surrounding the strange fiction of “Warm Chris”s world. One of my favorite moments on the whole album is about ⅔ of the way through “Staring at the Henry Moore,” where there is a sound that can only be described as a sharp cackle. It’s such an abrupt shock to the system that it really makes you look around and think “Did anyone else hear that?” It’s moments like this, often in the blink of an eye, that keeps me coming back time and time again. 

“Passion Babe” was another standout song for me, and I was surprised to find it wasn’t one of the record’s singles. Orbiting around the nonexistent character/persona/title of a “passion babe,” the song devolves into (probably?) the perspective of a sexually unsatisfied wife seeking an affair, yet exists fully in this playful parallel world with lines like “Of all the ways to eat a cake/this one surely takes the knife.” Harding plays with common phrases, swapping words or trailing off to create a kind of abstract pseudo-nostalgic landscape. 2022 was a big year for the revival of the nonsense-lyricist, something I was struck by with tracks like Big Thief's “Spud Infinity,” reading to me as an homage to the “meaningless” lyrical humor of American folk-country songwriters like Roger Miller, John Prine, and Norma Tanega. Harding’s play with words and letters stands out against the straightforwardness of the music, making a happy marriage between “nonsense” and “sense.” There is a method to the madness, never quite settling in the melancholic valleys long enough to compromise the upbeat peaks, making it an album for the everyday, ideal for those liminal activities like riding the train (perhaps the new Green Line extension), going to the store, or walking without any particular destination in mind (coincidentally, many of my favorite activities). There may not be a profound meaning behind it, or any meaning at all, but the timeless poetry of Aldous Harding’s “Warm Chris” has rung true for me time and time again in this year, as I’m sure it will for many years to come.

Black Country, New Road - All The Missing Pieces

By James Morse ‘23

In the years and months leading up to the release of Black Country, New Road’s Ants From Up There, there was the bootleg Black Country, New Road. A collection of their live material, there were early tracks such as “Suggestions Bar” and “Kendall Jenner”, and then some of the definitive recordings of the material that became For the First Time. This was the Black Country, New Road I fell in love with, in the Lou Smith video recordings of the band filmed at the fabled Brixton venue The Windmill. My love for the band was so connected with this image of them, these grainy and miserable quality bootlegs, that when I heard For the First Time I felt betrayed. My ears couldn’t adjust. I stopped listening to the band that I had fallen so deeply in love with.

But then this year; one year after For the First Time, the album Ants From Up There was released. I fell back in love with the band. Ants From Up There is the definitive album of the year: read my review of its single, “Snow Globes” here, and read Daniel Cece’s review of the album above. But what no one can avoid mentioning when talking about Ants From Up There was the departure of frontman Isaac Wood four days before release. Fans were left scrambled. What was the future of the group? 

For a new era, there was a new bootleg. The remaining six members had been writing and workshopping songs, eventually leaving them with nine tracks that they would go on to play on tour. In July, one of their earliest shows at the Fuji Rock festival in Japan was recorded and distributed by fans, becoming the definitive recording of the newest era of Black Country, New Road. Called Under the Missing Pieces by fans, it’s not a perfect album. The quality is not bad, but not great. It’s missing a song, “Geese”. At times, it doesn’t feel all that considered. That’s ok. The first bootleg; Black Country, New Road, had its flaws too. But the same excitement that I had for the band with that first bootleg is back. It’s different now. It’s less gloomy, more like a watercolor storybook. It’s less aggressive, more loving. It’s special. It’s worth listening to, and it’s worth getting excited about.

Charli XCX - Crash

By Alec Rosenthal ‘26

From the moment Charli said this would be her “Janet album,” I knew she would release the brilliant exploration of pop music seen in “Crash.” 

In the promotion period for the record, Charli excessively leaned into irony on social media, stressing the ideas of her as succumbing to her label’s every wish and pushing away her own artistic expression. With Crash as her last album with record label Atlantic, who created creative issues for Charli’s prior albums, her pop star persona here references their creative feud. In line with this, Charli ditches her more experimental sound here and embraces more traditional forms of dance and electro pop.

Playing with the ideas of pop music and originality, Charli uses interpolation and sampling on tracks such as “Beg for You” and “Used to Know Me”. While Charli’s era thematically references ideas of creative restraint, it’s clear she’s never been freer. Her sampling doesn’t convey a lack of originality, but rather acts as a rebellion to the label placed on her as a forward-thinking pop artist.

Even as she pursues stylistic differences by creating more “formulaic” pop music, Charli remains true to herself with her lyrics, describing herself as extremely self-destructive and a bad romantic partner. This thematic consistency across her albums help make “Every Rule” and “Yuck” the most lyrically engaging moments on the album, and really hit home on why I should never date Charli.

Charli’s destruction, whether by herself or others, is the centerpiece of the album: losing her defenses and falling in love in “Lightning”, getting broken up with in “Good Ones”, and getting buried in thoughts about a former lover in “Constant Repeat”. Charli exists in stagnant turmoil here, even through the bright façades of electro-pop and dance-pop. 

Despite the romantic ups and downs Charli faces throughout the album, “Twice” acts as a beacon of hope against the previous songs of chaotic romance and instability. Her lyrics of keeping stability in the face of change are universal, and they’ve remained a pillar for me as a college freshman, newly away from home.

Charli’s vulnerability and artistic prowess interact to create a compelling retelling of pop through the ages, catering to both new and old fans as she explores her romantic relationships. Charli maintains her imperfection while releasing another near-perfect pop record. Regardless of how referential the album is, it remains distinctly within her style, with auto-tune in just the right places. But who cares what I have to say. They don’t build statues of critics.

Ethel Cain - Preacher’s Daughter

By Grace Rotermund ‘24

I’d like to start off this Album of the Year nomination by confessing that I found this album late in the game. Like, December late. Also, I usually don’t listen to this sort of music - the so-called indie darlings of the day are 9 times out of 10 a mystery to me, and my AOTYs are often from the 1970s. Both points only make the fact that I stirred out of my seasonal coma to write a piece about Preacher’s Daughter even more extraordinary.

My jaw DROPPED the first time I listened to this album all the way through. I’m not exaggerating. Putting aside the insane vocals, crazy musical theory throughout, and Ethel Cain’s uncanny ability to zoom in and out of sound, the lyrics are heartbreakingly, relatably, awfully beautiful. “A House In Nebraska” is a personal standout; as a Nebraskan myself, it’s hard not to picture the beautiful, rolling hills of the prairie with their baked-in melancholy and age-old expanses. In this astoundingly well-crafted concept album about a girl and her relationships with church and lovers alike, Cain explores themes of - well, practically everything. You name it - religion, sexuality, loneliness, love, abandonment, murder, rage - Cain’s got it and she’s worded it in a way you can only put down your coffee cup and cry about. 

“Sun Bleached Flies” is the kind of song people get tattoos about. If you see someone (me) with “God loves you/but not enough to save you” inked into their skin in a year or so, maybe give them (me) a hug. The ethereal vocals and intertwining saxophone towards the end of the song make it irreplaceable in anyone’s discography. “Gibson Girl” is like Lana del Ray’s evil cousin. It’s hard to describe “Ptolomaea,” too, the 9th track of 13 and emotional climax of the storyline, but if forced to, throwing darts into dictionary pages would probably be a good start. Cannibalism + femininity + cult + angelic all work. 

Preacher’s Daughter is in a league of its own. Somehow, in the span of 1h 15 mins, Cain has managed to distill a distinctive and yet gut-punchingly universal experience of love, suffering, and religious trauma into an absolutely captivating story of sugarspun Midwest and Southern consequences for naivety. If you don’t believe me, go find it on Spotify yourself (and do it all in one go.)

Nilüfer Yanya - Painless

By River Smith ‘24

On paper, Nilüfer Yanya’s Painless seems straightforward: a 45 minute indie rock album heavily influenced by 90’s alt-rock and 80’s post-punk, her signature four-piece band with a sax thrown in here and there. But the devil is in the details on the British singer/songwriter’s sophomore album, which sacrifices the conceptual throughline found on Miss Universe for a different kind of consistency. To start, the 12 songs on Painless boast, in my opinion, some of the best production on a indie rock record from this year: the hard vocal panning on “L/R”, the bitcrushed drums on “chase me”, the way the multitracked acoustic guitars take over on the chorus of “midnight sun”. Each song feels purposeful and dynamic in every sense of the word; polished yet gritty, loud and soft, anxious yet assured. Yanya has always walked these tightropes extremely well, but songs like “stabilise” and “the dealer” crackle with such tension and emotional intensity that it sets your heartbeat on edge just listening to it. The lyrics double down on this tautness, where everything from the changing of the seasons, daily routines, and hangups on old flings are refracted through Yanya’s unease. “I am, I am, I am happy to lose/Can I get lost here completely?” She sings on the chorus of “try” (a personal favorite) as wave after wave of sound washes over you, a chorus of sighs echoing her dejection. 

But there is relief to be found on Painless, even if Yanya has to dig on her hands and knees for the pieces. “anotherlife”, the closing track, sees her come to terms with the turbulence of the previous 40 minutes. “Guess that now/You don’t need me/It is just like the weirdest thing/I want you to believe me/That I’m alright”, she muses. Maybe she doesn’t believe it herself, but the final track brings the album to an unexpectedly bright close. For Nilüfer Yanya, that’s all she needs.

Palm - Nicks and Grazes

By Spencer Vernier ‘25

With the release of Rock Island in 2018, Palm unintentionally asserted themselves as acceptable to the average “r/indieheads” asshole. Fortunately, most of the basement dwellers who would only venture to say they liked individual tracks (let me guess, “Composite” and “Dog Milk”) decidedly reached the consensus that the album wasn’t otherwise worthy of their time. The band was therefore under no pressure to service the monotonous demands of an audience whose engagement with music criticism is limited to Halsey’s “favorite” publication. Hallelujah!

What happens when there are no expectations? Nicks and Grazes. While in Palm’s earlier work influences like Glenn Branca and The Fall are visible, on their newest full-length the band completely shatters its past. Drawing from dub and footwork as much as angular post-punk and 80s totalism, the songs on Nicks and Grazes are intricate and forceful, rapturous in their balanced yet scattered soundscapes, and find Palm at the forefront of experimental music. On the opening track, “Touch and Go,” Hugo Stanley pounds out a frantic pace, and he does the same on “Parable Lickers.” One of the album’s most forward-thinking cuts, “Glen Beige,” pairs soaring, distinct vocals from Kasra Kurt with stretched-out, distorted guitars and pointed bass, while bursts of harsh, sharp noise provide the backdrop. Melodic tones come out on “Feathers” and “On The Sly,” the former breaking down in a rare minimalist turn for the band.

However, the record’s standouts come when it dares to dream of an entirely new world. “Eager Copy” is unabashedly dissonant and otherworldly, with washed out guitars and faint vocals over erratic drums and angelic synths, and seems to suggest where alternative music will be in ten years. The album’s brightest star is “Tumbleboy,” a song so ethereal it actually merits the use of the word. The core riff is floaty and purposeful, pushing the song higher with each repeated refrain; Gerasimos Livitsanos’s bassline is powerful and punishing; the drums slot in perfectly, and as glitched-out synths rise, the song nearly screeches to a halt. It slows down, moving into total ethereality, with ambient undercurrents bathed in the warm glow of steel drum effects and backing vocals layered in glistening noise. As “Tumbleboy” ends, everything feels submerged—the band is drowning.

On Nicks and Grazes, Palm rejects evolution and embraces the dichotomy of destruction and creation. The world they present on the record is a place entirely new; imagination made tangible in transcendent soundscapes that reach for the possibility within sound itself. With Nicks and Grazes, Palm have handily made the album of the year.