![The 50 Best Songs of 2016](https://img.pastemagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/06/19035757/best-of-songs-grid-main-shield.jpg)
Sometimes it just takes a song to make a statement. Albums can be cumbersome, inconsistent; a song striking in three-and-a-half-minutes is much more concise. With social, economic, and political tensions riding high in 2016, musicians seemed to turn to their craft to comment, organize, and condemn. While not all of our top songs take political stances, we found that a higher percentage focused on current events than in previous years. From the mindless to the mindful, the poppiest to the deathly serious, here are Pasteâs 50 best songs of 2016.
50. Eric Prydz, âLast Dragonâ
Eric Prydzâs Opus was exactly thatâa 19-song masterstroke in expansive electronic arrangements, complete with new material, unreleased work from the Swedish producerâs DJ sets and a smattering of singles dating back to 2012. The entire album is worth hearing, but its crown jewel is the booming âLast Dragon,â a nearly seven-minute-long big-tent anthem replete with urgent kick-drum thumps, twinkling keys and a deadly synth hook that could set the dance floor aflame faster than all three of Khaleesiâs magical reptiles. âRachel Brodsky
49. Alicia Keys, âBlended Family (What You Do For Love)â
The inspiration behind Alicia Keysâ latest triumph was intensely personal, as the song is an apology to her stepson for all the drama that dusted up between the soul singer and her husbandâs ex. But with the addition of a cheeky guest verse from A$AP Rocky, it becomes anthemic, a call to all the children of divorce to hang tough and try to not let the problems between the grownups become their problems. Itâs a lovely sentiment thatâs carried further by the boom-bap of the beat and a wistful Edie Brickell sample. âRobert Ham
48. Wilco, âLocatorâ
âEven when the wheels are whining, something in the sky can find me,â Jeff Tweedy belts on this gnarled noise-pop dittyâa 21st century man bowing to the GPS god in his jeans pocket. Is he outrunning the satellites that track his every move, or singing the praises of a damn good data plan? âLocatorâ was the first single from Wilcoâs irreverently titled 10th LP, Schmilco, and also the least likely candidate for that role: two minutes of John Stirrattâs barking bass guitar, Glenn Kotcheâs restrained drum gallop and vibraslap, and several of Tweedyâs signature twang-punk vocal hooks, unfurl in lazy sighs. âHide, hide, hide,â the frontman half-sings, his voices layered into dissonance. The paranoia is palpable. âRyan Reed
47. Sylvan Esso, âRadioâ
Sylvan Esso didnât release a new album in 2016 (even if their self-titled debut graced the top 10 of our Best Albums of 2014 list), but the North Carolina duo of Amelia Meath and Nick Sanborn did offer this single back in November. Luckily, âRadioâ doesnât stray too far from the perfected formula of Meathâs a cappella-worthy vocals over Sanborns melodic, yet synthesized beats. Closer to the disco jams of âH.S.K.Tâ than the snide cat-calling condemnation of âHey Mami,â Meath coos that sheâs a âslave to the radio.â But if Sylvan Esso keeps this up for their next album, weâll be slaves to their tunes, too. âHilary Saunders
46. Cymbals Eat Guitars, âHave a Heartâ
âCanât believe the shit that we were promised really might exist,â marvels Cymbals Eat Guitars singer Joseph DâAgostino on what is perhaps one of the Staten Island indie wailersâ most traditional love ballads. Taken from 2016âs standout Pretty Years, the vulnerable âHave a Heartâ reveals further moments of wonderment that there might really someone who makes DâAgostino want to be a little less âyoung and evil.â Over a jangling, distressed melody, he expounds on how the relationship is changing him: âEmpathy, it never came so naturally âtil I met you.â Of course heâs still anxious that his lover may discover his âhistory of instability,â but thatâs just the risk we all take when we find someone with whom to be âout of sync.â âRachel Brodsky
45. Kevin Gates, âKno Oneâ
Kevin Gates is the horniest rapper of 2016, claiming to go for hours, preferring the floor to the bed, and pledging a finger for every booty like Herbert Hoover promising a chicken in every pot. But heâs sweet too: if your legs are on his shoulders, well, âmy attention giving all of it to you.â So call him a dog if you like, but get it right: heâs a lapdog, in every moistened sense of the term. Writes a hell of a hook while heâs down there too. âDan Weiss
44. The Hotelier, âPiano Playerâ
Thereâs a certain, cathartic kind of rock ânâ rollâanthemic and honest above all else, inspiring fist-pumps and throat lumps in equal measure, impossible to sit still toâthat gets me every single time. Massachusetts indie-punks The Hotelier (formerly The Hotel Year) achieve exactly that with their ambitious third album, Goodness, and stellar single âPiano Playerâ is a case in point. The dynamic track starts at high speed, evoking the thrill of hitting the open road and seeing the worldâitâs no coincidence thatâs exactly what takes place in its visuals. The songâs propulsive, driving guitars, humanized by lead singer Christian Holdenâs impassioned howls, are electrifying, the kind of musical kick in the ass that makes one want to get up and go live. âScott Russell
43. Lizzo, âGood As Hellâ
If I got to choose the motivational angel/devil combo on my shoulders, Iâd pick rapper/singer Lizzo without a doubt. She exudes confidence in her body and her skin (check out moving single âMy Skinâ from last yearâs Big GRRRL Small World) and suffers no fools trying to diss either. With this track off this yearâs Coconut Oil EP, Lizzo confidently walks listeners through a break-up depleted of respect. âIf he donât love you anymore / Just walk your fine ass out the door,â she commands in the melodic hook. As the beat drops, she lists off, âHead toes, check my nails / Baby how you doinâ?â before the communal response fires back, âDoinâ good as hell!â Itâs the self-empowerment anthem that we need and deserve. âHilary Saunders
42. Ages and Ages, âAs It Isâ
Ages and Agesâ Something to Ruin is an incisive, passionate but calculated album of sonically adventurous choral pop that, while not quite as joyous as their 2014 head-turner Divisionary, displays every bit of the bandâs trademark positivity. At its heart is album closer âAs It Is,â which feels quite a bit like a spiritual successor to the thunderous anthem of âDivisionary (Do the Right Thing),â the song that became the bandâs breakout hit. In an album that seems to revolve around themes of leaving behind pain and baggage and forging forward in new beginnings, âAs It Isâ feels like a beacon begging its listeners to once again leave failure and infamy behind to begin again with a clean slate. When the full choir belts out that âyouâre gonna find your peace in anonymity,â itâs a zen-like promise of peace rather than true anonymity; a starting point to forge a life worth living. âJim Vorel
41. Porches, âBe Apartâ
New York-based synthpop artist Aaron Maine, who performs as Porches, released its second LP Pool this year. âBe Apartâ the second single after âHour,â continues Maineâs synth-indebted sound and also features Frankie Cosmos (who also happens to be Maineâs partner) on backing vocals. Lyrically, the song deals with the duality of wanting to stay in, but grappling with unwavering FOMO. Itâs a feeling thatâs just little too real. âAlex Wexelman
40. Case/Lang/Veirs, âAtomic Numberâ
If Neko Case, k.d. lang and Laura Veirs had populated case/lang/veirs with album opener âAtomic Number,â followed by 40 minutes of pure, unadulterated cacophonyâdental drills whirring, infants screeching, vuvuzelas blaringâI would have bought the record without batting an eye. This song is that hauntingly beautiful. From the bewitching acoustic arpeggios and call-and-response verses to the soaring, spine-tingling chorus, âAtomic Numberâ is an arresting, even transcendent three minutes of singular indie folk from a supergroup with undeniable creative chemistry. If you feel nothing stirring inside you when Case, Lang and Veirs harmonize, âLatin words across my heart / Symbols of infinity,â you simply are not alive. âScott Russell
39. Big Thief, âMasterpieceâ
With its opening surge of brawny guitars and Adrianne Lenker âs sweetly weathered voice, the title track from Big Thiefâs debut album feels like an enveloping hug from an old friend. Lenker extends the embrace with her lyrics, which start, âYears, days, makes no difference to me, babe/ You look exactly the same to me.â Itâs a song about devotion and loyalty and nostalgia, and coming to terms with the discomfiting fact that life too often takes away loved ones before weâre ready to let them go. âMasterpieceâ mourns that fact, while celebrating whatever amount of time we were lucky enough to have had. âThereâs only so much letting go you can ask someone to do,â Lenker sings toward the end, as if we have much of a choice in the matter. The trick, the song seems to say, is never taking those meaningful connections for granted. âEric R. Danton
38. Andrew Bird, âCapsizedâ
Andrew Bird rarely marvels with groove. But the sumptuous âCapsizedâ marks a turning point for the singer-songwriter, emphasizing soul and downplaying verbosity. The first thing you notice is its sparseness: Bird croons bluesy licksâsome nabbed from Charley Pattonâs 1920s spiritual tune âJesus Is a Dyinâ Bed-Makerââ over a laid-back rhythm section that recalls the strut of Herbie Hancockâs âWatermelon Manâ or Bill Withersâ âUse Me.â His trademark violin mostly hovers in the backgroundâand even the chorus, with its spectral vocal harmoniesâfeels restrained. Birdâs protagonist is so depressed that he finds comfort spooning a pile of dirty laundry. With its bare funkiness, âCapsizedâ radiates that same loneliness. âRyan Reed
37. Parquet Courts, âHuman Performanceâ
An overflowing ashtray, empty beer bottles, a sink full of dirty dishes â thatâs the scene of quiet, domestic despair painted by Parquet Courtsâ Andrew Savage in âHuman Performance.â With sweetly sighing melodies, a deliciously bobbing bass line, and a spiraling black hole of a chorus, the track is three minutes of bleary-eyed garage-pop perfection. But dig under the sing-song rhymes and aching chord progression, and youâll find this isnât a breakup song as much as itâs a confession. Haunted by memories and dogged by doubt, the protagonist is left only with unanswered questions and all-consuming guilt. âIt never leaves me / Just visits less often,â he sings as the song winds to its uneasy conclusion. âIt isnât gone and I wonât feel its grip soften / Without a coffin.â Yikes, man. âMatt Fink
36. Whitney, âNo Womanâ
When Max Kakacek and Julian Ehrlich pulled the plug on beloved Chicago indie rockers Smith Westerns and pulled up roots for Los Angeles, there was no reason to believe that they would land on their feet, let alone do so quite so quickly. âNo Woman,â then, is a statement of liberation of sorts, albeit one that feels more accidental than defiant. âI left drinkinâ on the city train to spend some time on the road,â Ehrlich sings in his most wistful falsetto over a soft bed of acoustic guitar strums. âThen one morning I woke up in L.A.,â he continues, as if baffled by it all. The rhythms lope, the guitars twinkle and twirl, and some gauzy strings and trumpets crash around like in a Spaghetti western. As road songs go, this one is more of a slow train than a convertible with the top down. âMatt Fink
35. Hinds, âBambooâ
A confession: I donât tend to over-analyze lyrics when Iâm grooving my way through a Hinds album. This quartet of young Spanish women simply possesses an indefinable, nebulous âitâ quality, a vibrancy and potency that is both a strength of their youth and distinctly beyond their years. Or put another way, Hinds has a weird way of making catchy songs sound really, really easy. âBambooâ is that sort of easygoing triumph, an anchor of their full-length debut from this year, Leave Me Alone. The lyrics hint at fairly pedestrian relationship squabbles, but theyâre hardly the aspect that leaps out. Rather, âBambooâ and Hinds songs in general tend to be vehicles for delivering the truly unique personalities of the bandâs membersâfrom the squeaky, doll-like, wide-eyed grin of vocalist Carlotta Cosials as she sings to the wry, mischievous tone of Ana GarcĂa Perrote. Their appropriation of â60s surf and garage rock with modern indie stylings likewise feels effortless and organic, totally unaffected. They play and perform as if they have no idea anyone is listening. âJim Vorel
34. Brandy Clark, âGirl Next Doorâ
After many years of helping artists like Miranda Lambert and The Band Perry reach the heights of country music stardom as a songwriter, Brandy Clark set out to capture a little bit of glory for herself with her gritty and wise LP Big Day In A Small Town and its burning lead single âGirl Next Door.â The tune, which snuck into some radio playlists, strikes a fist pumping, borderline classic rock tone as she reminds some unlucky lover that if theyâre looking for a âVirgin Mary metaphorâ with âperfect hair and a perfect dress,â they can see themselves out. Hell hath no fury like a woman who knows how to write a catchy kiss-off. âRobert Ham
33. Vince Staples ft. A$AP Rocky, âPrima Donnaâ
Vince Staples is a genius. There is no better way to describe the man behind the bars âAll the homies say Iâm different, police say I raise suspicion / Buy a million dollar home and blow my dome to paint the kitchen / Bitches like, âIs that Venetian?ââ In three lines he acutely describes: the doom-leaden racial tenor of Americ, the price of fame (both monetary and emotional), the very real plague of mental illness and suicide in our country, especially regarding racial inequality, the anti-intellectual tide usurping public discourse; and the surreal nature of celebrity. Meanwhile, A$AP Rocky stops by to repeat one line, his voice utilized to punctuate the rant Staples inevitably goes on, and thatâs allâwhich, it should be noted, is the precise way to best use Rockyâs voice in 2016âand DJ Dahi lends elemental squees and coastal, seagull-infested found sound to a grim, feverish chronicle of existential, modern anxiety. All in service to Staplesâ brain, best left to twist and turn to its own devices until thereâs nothing left. That Staples finishes the song off with a sound byte of some home-recorded demo lyrics means that ânothing leftâ will be an impossibility for years to come. âDom Sinacola
32. Blood Orange ft. Empress Of, âBest To Youâ
Blood Orangeâs Freetown Sound was littered with notable collaborations (Debbie Harry and Carly Rae Jepsen among them), but none felt as musically symbiotic as Dev Hynesâs duet with Empress Ofâs Lorely Rodriguez on âBest To You.â Hynesâs cello lays down the canvas for Rodriguezâs main character in this push/pull love song, before a marimbaâa staple in both artistsâ productionsâdefines the beat. From there, itâs just two vocalists on top of their game, having their way with a fine composition by Hynes. The fabulous bridge, with Rodriguezâs catchy âI feel my bones, I feel my bones, I feel my bones crack in your armsâ shows the pop structure mastery that sets Hynes apart from damn near everybody making pop music today and âBest To Youâ is a proverbial match-made in heaven; a treat for anyone whoâs followed indie music closely for the past five years. âAdrian Spinelli
31. Thao & The Get Down Stay Down, âHand To Godâ
The crown jewel of A Man Alive sees Thao Nguyen bursting through the beautifully woven cathartic lament that is her bandâs fourth LP. The Merrill Garbus-produced record is Thao reconciling a life led in the shadow of the father who abandoned her and her family as a child, and on âHand To Godââthe albumâs penultimate trackâshe tears apart the final seams that hold together the rancor and pain sheâs held for her entire life. In fact, A Man Alive, is a timeline of these emotions and when âHand To Godâsâ bouncy bass line gives rise to its denouementâwith Thaoâs empowered exit over a twangy guitar and Garbusâs backing vocals hypnotically repeating the trackâs title. Thaoâs tears of resentment become tears of joy and salvation. âAdrian Spinelli
30. PWR BTTM, âProjectionâ
Although New York-based glam rock duo PWR BTTM released its debut Ugly Cherries in 2015, the band proffered joyful fans with two additional singles this year. âProjectionâ is the more upbeat of the two, compared to the somber âNew Hampshire.â While âProjectionâ begins softly, the song builds into the rollicking queercore that made folks love Ugly Cherries in the first place. With pinched harmonics and tapping solos carrying the tune, even the morbidity of lyrics like, âWhen the kids go out to play / I like to stay inside / Even though it looks like fun / Iâd probably burn and dieâ can sound like a good time. âHilary Saunders
29. Tacocat, âThe Internetâ
Whatever indifference you may have had earlier this year to a band called Tacocat doing a tune called âThe Internetâ shouldâve crumbled after November 9, when a woman howling âWhat place do you have?â at her online harassers took on new resonance. What Tacocatâs anthem against misogynist âvitriolâ lacks in trenchant criticism is made up for in the heft of the guitars, the soar of the backing vocals, and the beauty of Emily Nokesâ surprising hook. More trenchant is when the chorus changes to âWhat face do you have?â in a terrible time when the Ku Klux Klan is making a comeback. You can hate but you canât hide. âDan Weiss
28. Sturgill Simpson, âIn Bloomâ
On Sturgill Simpsonâs sophomore record Metamodern Sounds in Country Music, he dutifully reimagined When in Romeâs 1988 hit âThe Promise,â softening its synth-sharp edges with a balladeers perspective on bumbling romantic miscues. It was a bright spot in an album full of them, so it should come as no shock that Simpsonâs recast of a seminal teen-angst anthem in Nirvanaâs âIn Bloomâ achieve such rigorous and satisfying transformation. Adding the line âto love someoneâ following the lilting Cobain refrain of âknows not what it meansâ is a stroke of resolve in the face of the apathetic âmehâ of the original, turning a classic touchstone of â90s grunge into something altogether cheerier. A cavalcade of peppy horns and lap steel pad the songâs crescendo, accentuating the epiphany of compassion and patience and the importance of both while growing up in a weird, cold world. Cobain himself probably would have approved of such artistic liberty. âRyan J. Prado
27. Courtney Barnett, âThree Packs A Dayâ
We didnât get a new Courtney Barnett album in 2016, but we were blessed to still get a rogue, unexpected song from the Australian lyricist extraordinaire. âThree Packs a Dayâ was written for Milk! Recordsâ compilation album Good For You, and from the title would presumably hint at a typical musicianâs vice in tobacco, but knowing Barnett itâs hardly surprising that sheâs being significantly more clever and cheeky. One quickly finds that the song is actually about her unabashed love for sodium-laden packages of instant noodlesâMi Goreng, to be specific. She somehow finds a way to dive into detail on both popular opinion and governmental, noodle-related warnings: âThat MSG tastes good to me / I disagree with all your warnings / It canât be true that they use glue / To keep the noodles stuck together.â Her ramen fascination is so intense that it apparently even ostracizes her from polite dinner conversation: âI withdraw from all my friends / And their dinner plans, Iâm sick of lentils.â The fact that Barnett can take such a silly joke and still make a song from it that youâll be humming two days later is a testament to her innate musicality. âJim Vorel
26. Tegan and Sara, âBoyfriendâ
Itâs thrilling to really consider what Tegan and Sara accomplished with a track like âBoyfriend.â It is, somehow, simultaneously a catchy pop/dance track that sounds like it wants to be all froth and frivolity. But, like so many other great tracks from Love You to Death, the lyrics tell another story. âI donât wanna be your secret anymore,â is a powerful message to send to a lover, and an even stronger message to send to a pop culture atmosphere that loves a lipstick lesbian, or prefers those women who dabble in queernessâbut not so much as to repel the male, heterosexual gaze. Tegan and Sara are brilliant because, like a handful of artists who are in constant dialogue with their activism (who donât separate one kind of work from the other), they manage to both entertain and speak truth to power at the same damn timeâand without losing the intimacy that makes their songs so relatable. âBoyfriendâ does all of this beautifully and playfully; it insists on being both pop and political (all while telling a deeply personal story). You cannot help but dance to it, and you also cannot help but consider the greater themes of sexuality, relationships and the âotheringâ of queerness as the lyrics bop around the infectious beat. As kids today like to say, get you a pop song that can do both. âShannon M. Houston
25. Danny Brown ft. Kendrick Lamar, Ab Soul, Earl Sweatshirt, âReally Doeâ
On an album that breathes with all-out representation for a rapperâs home turf, âReally Doeâ is that boast made manifest, beaming to the brim with parochial loyalty made purely musical. That itâs produced like a lost J Dilla Christmas Carol by Detroitâs own Black Milkâthe Cityâs hardest working, beat-making cipherâis telling, because Milk is able to cater perfectly to Brownâs swerving, haute couture cadence as well as Ab Soulâs more militant backpacker flow, Earlâs bleary-eyed comedown, and Kendrickâs incessant melodicism, all the while sounding like someone never too far from his Slum Village roots. Kendrick is given the hook, as is right, but itâs Brown who sets the tone for what theyâre attempting to accomplish: âYou niggas donât even know / All that talk then no show / Cannot tell me nothinâ / Show me somethinâ I ainât seen before.â Though the East Coast / West Coast divide has long been repaired, âReally Doeâ proves two important things to hip hop in 2016: First, that regionalism has long been overtaken by the need to inject weirdness and experimentation and plasticity into radio rap, and, second, that in 2017 Black Milk should really produce some Kendrick cuts. Give us something to look forward to. âDom Sinacola
24. Hamilton Leithauser + Rostam, âA 1000 Timesâ
âA 1000 Timesâ is, for all intents and purposes, I Had A Dream That You Were Mineâs title track, opening with that confession before going on to reveal that âIâve had that dream a thousand times.â Itâs a classic tale of unrequited love (âif I had your number, Iâd call you tomorrowâ), and itâs Leithauserâs best post-Walkmen work to date.âBonnie Stiernberg
23. The Avalanches, âColoursâ
According to its creators, the sonic travelogue of the Avalanchesâ 15-years-in-the-making Wildflower was designed to capture the feeling of gradually moving from a surreal urban environment, through a pristine countryside, before ending up on a remote beach at sunset. If true, âColoursâ falls squarely in the middle of that journey. Over a soft bed of gorgeously luminescent synths, tangled back-masked vocals, and chopped beats, Mercury Rev frontman Jonathan Donahue sings glossy-eyed lines about true love and joining mermaids in the âurban surf.â This is The Avalanches at their psychedelic sun-bleached best, trading the kaleidoscopic R&B samples of their long-ago debut for full-on Beach Boys escapism. Then, as now, what remains underneath is an inimitable feeling of longing, of straining towards a hoped-for transcendence. âEverybodyâs got their somewhere,â Donahue repeats dreamily on the chorus. Where that is he doesnât say, but itâs obvious The Avalanches get there on this track. âMatt Fink
22. Savages, âAdoreâ
While Savages built their name on the unrelenting righteous fury of their in-studio and live performances, the most striking and intense moment of their sophomore album, Adore Life, actually occurs during a moment of silence. For the most part, the title track plays like a post-punk power ballad, with Ayse Hassanâs lumbering bass placing a firm choke on Jehnny Bethâs croons of carnal guilt. âIn the distance there is truth which cuts like a knife/Maybe I will die maybe tomorrow so I need to say,â Beth manages to gasp before she and her band disappear completely. âI adore life,â she suddenly declares as the rest of Savages mount a caterwauling sonic assault to claw their way out of the ether. Even at their most life-affirming, Savages canât help but smile with a mouth full of blood. âReed Strength
21. Anderson .Paak, âThe Birdâ
Itâs fitting that Anderson .Paak kicks off his excellent Malibu with âThe Bird;â itâs the kind of opening track that ensuresâdemands, evenâthat you stick around for the rest of the album, but it does so in such a smooth, effortless way that you donât even realize itâs happening until youâre already hooked and reeled in. All it takes is a few bars, maybe to the end of that first chorus or the first time that trumpet eases in, before you feel as though youâve always loved this song. That âsweetness of a honeycomb treeâ .Paak sings of is palpable, delivered with a warm familiarity. When he weaves in snippets of his life (âmy sister used to sing to Whitney, my momma caught the gambling bugâ), he ultimately draws the conclusion that âWe see the same things/we sing the same songs / we feel the same grief / bleed the same blood.â Heâs talking about a childhood friend, but the way he sings it, it feels like heâs singing it to us, welcoming us in to his inner circle, inviting us to come in, kick off our shoes and stick around for the rest of the album. âBonnie Stiernberg
20. Joey Purp, âGirls@â
âGirls@â is all chorus, a song whose cadence and couplet-ing makes for instant bliss on the backs of two emcees with a subcutaneous inkling of how integral flow and assonance are to an otherwise straightforward club track. The first emcee is Chance the Rapper, bound to be 2016âs hip-hop MVP, lending his childhood friend a cursory verse as casually brilliant as anything heâs leased other artists this year (see also Kanyeâs âUltralight Beamâ and even an otherwise unlistenable track from that Macklemore album that everyone has already forgotten because itâs such a solipsistic mess). Chance admits heâs more on the lookout for a woman in the club âreading Ta-Nehisi Coates / humming SpottieOttieDopeâ than one who prescribes to typical party life politicking, meanwhile unashamed of just how bad he is at posturing for a girlâs approval: âI got a bed, no frame, just a mattress.â The second emcee is headliner Joey Purp, Chanceâs cohort in Chicagoâs SaveMoney collective, who may or may not have âinterpolatedâ 702âs âWhere My Girls At?â into this incessant bounce of a song. Granted, Joeyâs looking for perhaps a different pedigree of partner from his pal, but heâs more than willing to celebrate all kinds of women, all kinds of folks, and itâs an absolutely refreshing take on a standard Summer jam: âWhen they hear this jam they turn the lights out.â After all, everyone looks the same in the dark. âDom Sinacola
19. Drive-by Truckers, âWhat It Meansâ
Back in Augustâbefore the Truckers declared themselves an American Band, before America somehow elected a bigoted fool to its highest officeâI saw Patterson Hood perform this song in front of a packed club in Birmingham, Ala. He was alone onstage, seated on a folding chair and playing an acoustic guitar, and he dug deep into the contradictions of race in Americaâone manâs lonely plea for his country to come to its senses. Having never heard the song, the crowd leaned in, rapt and utterly, disconcertingly silent as Hood sung his throat raw, shredding those syllables until they were bloodied and pulped. It was no musical performance, more like an exorcism. Singing those words seemed to hurt Hood, and he emerged from the song somehow smaller, not proud but exhausted and empty. There was a beat of pure quiet as the last note faded, as everyone in the audience caught a glimpse of a much better world. When we finally burst into shouts and applause, we werenât clapping for Hood or even the song, but for American potential.
Three months later, âWhat It Meansâ has shed any idealism that might have clung to it. We have made the song a eulogy for an America that can never be exceptional again. âStephen Deusner
18. YG & Nipsey Hussle, âFDT (Fuck Donald Trump)â
Produced by DJ Swish firmly in the tradition of the boiled-down G-funk heartbeat thatâs elevated YG to the same kind of âtell it like it isâ reputation thatâs vaunted the subject of his songâs ire, âFDTâ revels in the plain, unmitigated details of Donald Trumpâs incomprehensible ascension. Whenever anyone points to the need for Democrats to bridge the gulf between the âvoicelessâ rural American contingency and the urban base perplexed that it come to this, I feel the need to point to this song, a righteous anger-made anthem. There is no compromise, no patience, no âfresh startâ in this song, there is only the need, red-hot and ceaseless, to be heard: âWe the youth / We the people of this country / We got a voice too / We will be seen, and we will be heard,â YG declares before expressing his love for Mexicans and then giving Nipsey a chance to agree. They even imply that Bloods and Crips can come together in their hatred for Donald Trump. This, for a moment, and for now, is enoughâto blast our depression and fear and rage into the cosmos so that it can ignite elsewhere. âI thought this Donald Trump shit was a joke,â Nipsey exclaims, and we accept responsibility for feeling the same. âSurprised the Nation of Islam ainât tried to find you,â YG muses, and we donât wonder how any of us could ever let this happenâwe wonder how anyone could ever get over their anger that this has happened at all. âDom Sinacola
17. Lucius, âDusty Trailsâ
I first heard this song live about a year ago at Mississippi Studios in Portland. Lucius was playing a benefit show through Lagunitas and performed a number of songs off Good Grief, their second label release, which eventually came out this March. Leading ladies Jess Wolfe and Holly Laessig shared one mic and stunned the audience into silence with their gorgeous harmoniesâoften wider than those that marked 2013âs Wildewoman. But while âDusty Trailsâ is actually a semi-autobiographical tale of the bandâs ascent and subsequent frustrations and fears, the song also serves as a comforting mantra to all of us who wander, seeking solace in the large lonely world. This version of âDusty Trailsâ recorded in our very own New York studios most closely resembles my memory of that perfect Portland performance. âHilary Saunders
16. A Tribe Called Quest, âWe The Peopleâ
Whoâd have thought the most resonant protest song of 2016 would come from a 30-year-old hip-hop group that hadnât recorded together in nearly 20 years? âWe the People,â from A Tribe Called Questâs first album since 1998, clearly started out as a rejoinder to the dog-whistle campaign rhetoric of Donald Trump. After his upset (and upsetting) election victory, itâs poised to become a resistance anthem, with a snapping boom-bap beat and layers of synthesizers framing pointed, poetic lyrics that address police brutality, gender inequality and entrenched racism. The track is also an elegy for Tribe rapper Phife Dawg, one of hip-hopâs most influential MCs, who died in March of complications from diabetes. âWe the Peopleâ is a powerful endcap to a monumental legacy, and the trackâs sudden timeliness makes it all the more indelible. âEric R. Danton
15. Leonard Cohen, âYou Want it Darkerâ
Did we want it darker? Either way, Leonard Cohen took it there, and to our benefit. âYou Want It Darkerâ was one of Cohenâs most ominous songs even before his death, but now itâs impossible to hear the line âIâm ready, my lordâ without the connotation of a man accepting his mortality. Cohenâs gravelly voice only gained emotional nuance over the years, so this lyric and all of his poetic insights hit at full impact. Throughout the track he draws from classic darkness-signifiers, including a chorus of ghostly âooohs,â a soloist chanting a minor melody, and a haunting church organ. Cohen frequently wrote grim lyrics over his career, but even the relentlessly bleak list of death methods in âWho By Fireâ had a jaunty melody that made the song feel playful. âYou Want It Darker,â by contrast, jumps off the deep end and makes no attempt to surface. But itâs a beautiful descent. âMonica Hunter-Hart
14. Solange, âDonât Touch My Hairâ
In a year where discussions of identity and ethnicity in American life often turned contentious, Solange moved past the finger pointing and recriminations to offer a heartfelt call for understanding. What starts as a plea for respectâand the right not be groped and treated like a spectacleâis only the jumping off point for a much larger examination of white privilege, cultural pride, and the othering of African Americans. That alone would have been enough to make it one of the yearâs most memorable moments, but the trackâs shape-shifting mix of ethereal keyboards, gently pulsating horns, and percolating beats is what pushes the track into instant classic territory. By the time the song culminates in a swirling chorus of soaring brass and harmonized voices, it has become a statement of catharsis and empowerment, earning a seat at the table among the most poignant civil rights anthems of the 21st century. âMatt Fink
13. Rihanna, âKiss It Betterâ
There is so much mystification surrounding Bad Gal RiRiâthe kind thatâs only heightened by the tabloid headlines that make her out as some untouchable caryatid. Thereâs a reason why the pop star wears worship better than a Tom Ford jumpsuit, and it has nothing to do with the amount of times she and Travis Scott have been spotted on a veranda or how many retroactive shoe brands she can turn around (sorry, Puma). In âKiss it Better,â Rihannaâs usual mainstream credo and Don Juan-ism make room for the realist Fenty, yet. A broken relationship remains broken no matter how many times you figuratively sooth it, but has that ever stopped us from seeking the fruitless rite of âkissing it better?â Rihanna writes the universal text to an old flame that in reality, only persists in a typed-but-never-sent limbo. Itâs emotionally seismic and it hurts like hell. But to be honest, weâre pretty relieved that the baddest bitch we know finds herself in doldrums over her ex, too. âMady Thuyein
12. Bon Iver, â22 (OVER SooN)â
Justin Vernon has long seemed conflicted about the attention his music has attracted, and much of his latest album, 22, A Million, feels like his attempt to open the throttle on his creative drive without losing his sense of self in the resulting glare. Opening song â22 (OVER SooN)â sets the tone for the album, balancing moments of discomfort with sublimity as Vernon plays with sounds and musical textures. He sets glitchy electronics and cut-and-paste pastiches of instruments alongside lustrous guitar parts and his yearning falsetto vocals, building tension and then offering catharsis in a masterful way that is at once mesmerizing and understated. âEric R. Danton
11. Pinegrove, âOld Friendsâ
The opening track to Pinegroveâs debut LP encapsulates everything thatâs great about this New Jersey band of twenty-somethings. Thereâs vivid storytelling with enunciated lyrics. Thereâs SAT-worthy vocabulary and wordplay with homonyms. Thereâs poignant and nostalgic social interaction. Plus, âOld Friendsâ bookends with âNew Friendsâ (a song the band had actually written and released before Cardinal), which gives the whole record a certain deliberateness. And when singer/songwriter Evan Stephens Hall sheepishly admits, âI should call me parents when I think of them / I should tell my friends when I love them,â he delivers a kernel of wisdom that defies any ageism and genre pigeonholes. âHilary Saunders
10. Kanye West, âUltralight Beamâ
When Kanye West said he was making a gospel album, I donât think any of us really thought The Life of Pablo would feature a track with Kirk Franklin, the great Kelly Price, The-Dream and Chance the Rapper (who, according to Black Twitter, has made the greatest gospel album in recent history, with Coloring Book). But we should have known that anything was possible. With all of those features, and in less capable hands (thatâs Mike Dean and Swizz Beatz on the production), âUltralight Beamâ could and should have been an over-the-top mess; one of those tracks that tried too hard, shifted in tone too often, and couldnât quite pull off the promise of greatness. But it succeeds, as a reflection of Kanyeâs distinctive praise and worship style, his interpretation of the âGod dreamâ that moves and haunts his work. The myriad voices that contribute to the storyâfrom the child who opens the track, proclaiming, âWe donât need no devils in the house, Lord!â to Chanceâs perfectly-delivered blend of pop culture, humor and Biblical verseâserve as a reminder that Kanye craves an audience as much as he craves communion. He wants to be watched while he bears witness to his God, but he also wants to watch, while those around him bear witness to theirs. âUltralight Beamâ fits in perfectly with Kanyeâs oeuvreâmute the cuss words and you could almost play it at church; or better yet, itâs another attempt by Ye to push the doors of the church open a little wider, in hopes of making room for a slightly stranger religion. âShannon M. Houston
9. Frank Ocean, âIvyâ
Frank Ocean certainly made us wait for Blonde, but tracks like âIvyââwhich stands among his personal bestâare proof it was worth it. Singing over the electric guitar contributions of Rostam Batmanglij (who, between this and his excellent album with Hamilton Leithauser, had quite a year), Ocean mourns a young love lost in the way that only he can, tenderly admitting that âI thought that I was dreaming when you said you loved meâ before erupting into a nostalgic cry of âI ainât a kid no more/weâll never be those kids again.ââBonnie Stiernberg
8. David Bowie, âBlackstarâ
The lead title-track on David Bowieâs Blackstar sets the tone for the artistâs farewell. Itâs actually several songs in one. âBlackstarâ opens with a skittering beat and electronic adornments, as Bowieâs finally emerges layered, weathered, subdued and soulful. âBlackstarâ swells as horns creep and skronk, and then changes mood about four minutes in, like sun breaking through the clouds. Itâs an otherworldly 10 minutes that recalls Bowieâs late-â70s forays into âplastic soul,â accentuated by his love of electronic music and krautrock. Itâs an amazing piece of work that, 10, 20, or 50 years from now, will still be talked about alongside some of Bowieâs greatest material, while simultaneously still sounding thrilling and new. âMark Lore
7. Chance the Rapper, âNo Problemâ
âYou donât want no problem with me,â Chance crows again and again on Coloring Bookâs repeat button-wrecking, anti-record label anthemâeven the indie-rap rebelâs threats are joyous. Chanoâs elastic opening verse is plenty of fun, but where he really shines here is on the hook, his relentlessly melodic, autotuned boasting buoyed by a gospel choir. Seasoned veterans 2 Chainz and Lil Wayne each turn in characteristically adept, flex-heavy bars to keep the party rocking, and tick-tight instrumentation underpins the whole shebang. âNo Problemâ is a tidy microcosm of Chance the Rapperâs knack for balancing street corner swagger with roof-raising fervor fit for a pulpit, and itâs also an infectious celebration of all that independent music can be. âScott Russell
6. Radiohead, âBurn the Witchâ
As is often the case with Radiohead, itâs hard to tell whatâs actually more impressiveâthe bandâs release tactics or the music itself. Yet, the English group once again prevails in both categories with âBurn the Witch,â the first single off A Moon Shaped Pool. After erasing its entire digital presence, Radiohead returned by uploading a stop-motion animation video on its YouTube page, a vision that begins cutely Claymation-like and concludes as downright Orwellian. The song holds it own, too, even with the sawing string section seemingly at odds with the vicious thumping electronics and bass. Thom Yorkâs fluid, melodic (although usually unintelligible) voice weaves the two elements to create a return worthy of the extra-musical hype. âHilary Saunders
5. Car Seat Headrest, âDrunk Drivers / Killer Whalesâ
âDrunk Drivers / Killer Whalesâ is six minutes of self-awareness and an examination into the unnecessary importance placed on otherâs expectations. The Chris McCandles-inspired message is relatable, addressing listeners in second-person: âYou build yourself up against others feelings / And it left you feeling empty as a car coasting downhill.â Songwriter Will Toledo described it as a song about âpost-party melancholia. Wishing to either be a better person or care less about the whole deal.â The song compares drunk drivers to rebellious killer whales in waterparksâhow theyâre both pressured to perform for others but get freedom from recklessness, even if itâs temporary. Though the songâs main message is depressing, it offers a sense of hope that âIt doesnât have to be like this,â a line which repeats throughout the song. The track doesnât match Car Seat Headrestâs past low-fi discography, but it continues to find meaningful ways to reflect in the everyday through Toledoâs lyricism. âLily Lou
4. Lucy Dacus, âI Donât Wanna Be Funny Anymoreâ
The beauty of âI Donât Wanna Be Funny Anymoreâ lies in both its how-did-nobody-think-of-that-song-title before charm, as well as its barebones rhythmic foundation. Dacus levels a velvet croon to relay her contempt for the ridiculousness of social roles over single-note strums, singing, âLately Iâve been feeling like the odd man out,â lamenting the public constructs that might deem one odd in the first place. As the song blooms, Dacus similarly slowly unfurls the elegance of her powerful voice, transforming a relatively straightforward power-pop tune into a new kind of millennial anthem advocating for individualism without the bullshit stigma. âRyan J. Prado
3. Angel Olsen, âShut Up Kiss Meâ
Many of the songs on Angel Olsenâs stunning My Woman are deeply emotional and gorgeously complex, but âShut Up Kiss Meâ provides the album a little levity with its tongue-in-cheek pleas from a jilted lover and infectious chorus featuring some percussive piano that Olsen recently revealed was inspired by David Bowieâs âChanges.â Love is complicated, but it doesnât always have to beâsometimes itâs as simple as âshut up, kiss me, hold me tightââand Olsen captures that with a straightforward gem that enters your head and refuses to leave.âBonnie Stiernberg
2. Mitski, âYour Best American Girlâ
âYour mother wouldnât approve of how my mother raised me, but I do,â proclaims the primal punk poet Mitski Miyawaki, better known simply as Mitski, on âYour Best American Girl.â Throughout her album Puberty 2, Mitski reacquaints herself with the tumultuous uncertainty of adolescence, but with an unassuming wisdom attained only by time and experience. On âYour Best American Girlâ in particular, Mitski ponders over unrequited love and cultural boundaries in an angst-ridden anthem about an identity crisis. Mitski finds herself, loses herself, and starts all over again as she sings, âYouâre the one / youâre all I ever wanted / I think Iâll regret this.â Cutting the astute poetry is grating fuzz that runs throughout the album, juxtaposing aged intelligence with a vigorous rebellion. Puberty is never fun to go through, but Mitski boldly maneuvers through it all with unforeseen grace the second time around. âKurt Suchman
1. BeyoncĂ©, âFormationâ
Every once in a while, you come across a work of art that makes you wish youâd grown up in the South, or that youâd spent summers thereâthat you could, at least, claim to have some access to certain aspects of the culture. Texas in Friday Night Lights, Atlanta in Thug Motivation 101, Florida in Their Eyes Were Watching God, Oklahoma in Paradise, Mississippi in The Sound and the Fury; a great artist knows how to convey the specificities of the world they come from, making you feel both like an outsider, and a welcome voyeur, if youâre not from that world. And if you are from that world, then you feel validated, blessed in some way by the homage paid to your hometown. With âFormation,â BeyoncĂ© (backed by writers Khalif Brown, Jordan Frost, Asheton Hogan and Mike WiLL Made It) achieves the task of reclaiming her own Southern roots (a task sheâs always down forâsee âBow Down/I Been Onâ), all while translating a certain aspect of that Texas Bama/New Orleans culture to the rest of us. That âFormationâ does all of this, while also playing like an infectious New Orleans bounce/marching band/hip-hop/R&B track is the reason itâs the best song of the year. In fact, there may not be a better reflection, in music today, of the term âmelting pot,ââand as white supremacists and their associates take over the highest political offices in Americaâwe need the themes of âFormationâ more than ever.
In addition to being a celebration of BeyoncĂ©âs America, âFormationâ allows the artist to reintroduce herself. Those of us who, for many reasons, wanted her to be more outwardly politicalâbut expected that she wouldnât dare alienate her white audienceâexperienced a true and glorious shock and awe, watching her sink a New Orleans police car in her video. Anyone who ever thought to accuse her of being too pop, of playing it too safe in her lyrics (an accusation that mostly came from the casual listener) got quite a shock with the Red Lobster line that somehow became a feminist (or anti-feminist) rallying cryâa culturally specific celebration of the kind of female sexuality we still only catch glimpses of here and there. In many ways, everything we know about BeyoncĂ© has been leading to âFormationâ; but in many other ways, âFormationâ feels like a song by a former pop star who no longer cares about her image, whoâs made a record that is decidedly not for everyone. And, as if she knew that we wouldnât quite believe such a bold message coming from herâAmericaâs favorite, Pepsi-endorsing celebrityâshe enlisted NOLAâs own Big Freedia and the late Messy Mya. âWhat happened at the New Wiâlins?â and âI did not come to play with you hoes, haha/I came to slay, bitchâ carry as much weight as lyrics like, âI like my baby hair with baby hair and afros/I like my negro nose with Jackson Five nostrils.â
âFormationâ had to be our first glimpse into the world of Lemonade, one of the best albums of the year, and arguably, the most important. It prepares us for the BeyoncĂ© of middle fingers up, baseball bats, country music songs and Mothers of the Movementâthose women whose children were slain (or lynched) by American police. âFormationâ simultaneously looks to the past, and represents a future; and that future is unapologetically female and black. Like most great stories it contradicts itself, falling prey to American capitalistic ideals that inform rap, while also embracing queerness and a sexual empowerment thatâs linked to financial independence. But those contradictions also speak to the very strange America that we inhabit today. And so now, when we try to respond to Arundhati Royâs brilliantly posed question about âwhich Americaâ we live in, we have another answer: the United States of cornbread, corn rows, baby hairs, collard greens and slayage. Oh yes, you besta believe it.âShannon M. Houston