Earl Sweatshirt, \u2018Gamma (need the <\/p>\n\n\t\t\t![\"Earl](\"https:\/\/www.rollingstone.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/earl-sweatshirt-album-review.jpg?w=300\")
\n\t\t\t\t\tImage Credit: Sugar Sylla*\t\t\t\t<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\t<\/p>\n
\n\n\t\u201cI need the love, gang,\u201d Earl announces in his jovially baked bongo-jam tribute to the family-man life. For a rapper who once called an album I Don\u2019t Like Shit, I Don\u2019t Go Outside<\/a><\/em>, it\u2019s a kick to hear him get so inspired by marriage and fatherhood, reveling in his spaciest wordplay.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/h2>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n- \n
\nWet Leg, \u2018Mangetout\u2019<\/h2>\n\n\t\t\t![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.rollingstone.com\/wp-content\/themes\/vip\/pmc-rollingstone-2022\/assets\/public\/lazyload-fallback.gif\")
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.rollingstone.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/11\/wet-leg-mangetout.jpg?w=300\")
\n\t\t\t\t\tImage Credit: youtube\t\t\t\t<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\t<\/p>\n
\n\n\tIf you thought Rhian Teasdale and Hester Chambers might catch a case of the sophomore slump, you guessed wrong. With \u201cMangetout,\u201d from their excellent Moisturizer<\/a><\/em>, Wet Leg prove they\u2019ve been partying harder, traveling faster, caring less, and meeting sexier idiots. \u201cMangetout\u201d is a damn-near perfect dance-punk jam, all brazen confidence and raging hormones. \u201cYou wanna fuck me? I know \u2014 most people do.\u201d Now that\u2019s one way to make a strong introduction.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n- \n
\nGelli Haha, \u2018Pluto is Not a Planet It\u2019s a Restaurant\u2019<\/h2>\n\n\t\t\t![\"Gelli](\"https:\/\/www.rollingstone.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/12\/GelliHaha_3_bySophiePrettymanBeauchamp.jpg?w=300\")
\n\t\t\t\t\tImage Credit: Sophie Prettyman Beauchamp*\t\t\t\t<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\t<\/p>\n
\n\n\tA riotously weird piece of disco grandeur from L.A.-via-Boise avant-pop prankster Gelli Haha, the centerpiece of her excellent debut Switcheroo<\/em>, inviting one and all to hang in outer space (\u201cWe\u2019re all out of stardust, tragically\u201d) as if heaven is a place anywhere but earth.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n- \n
\nOlivia Rodrigo and Robert Smith,\u00a0 \u2018Just Like Heaven (Live at Glastonbury)\u2019<\/h2>\n\n\t\t\t![\"GLASTONBURY,](\"https:\/\/www.rollingstone.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/legend-collabs-olivia-robert-smith.jpg?w=300\")
\n\t\t\t\t\tImage Credit: Samir Hussein\/WireImage\t\t\t\t<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\t<\/p>\n
\n\n\tDo you get d\u00e9j\u00e0 vu? For the heartwarming cherry on top of this year\u2019s total lack of sundae, Olivia Rodrigo teamed up<\/a> with Robert Smith at Glastonbury to duet on one of the saddest songs in goth history, and Robert was beaming all the way through it. (I have never, ever seen him smile like that. It did things to my teenage heart that I\u2019m still processing.) Olivia did a lot of high-profile duets this year \u2014 she did \u201cBuddy Holly\u201d with Weezer, and damn, the sight of O-Rod singing \u201cyou need a guardiaaaaan<\/em>\u201d to Rivers Cuomo is definitely a sign o\u2019 the times \u2014 but this one truly deserved to be a single, on vinyl no less. It\u2019s just like a dream.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n- \n
\nzayALLCAPS, \u2018MTV\u2019s Pimp My Ride\u2019<\/h2>\n\n\t\t\t![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.rollingstone.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/zay-image0.jpg?w=240\")
\n\t\t\t\t\tImage Credit: Kach Offor*\t\t\t\t<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\t<\/p>\n
\n\n\tI think we\u2019re alone now.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n
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\nNoah Cyrus feat. Bill Callahan, \u2018XXX\u2019<\/h2>\n\n\t\t\t![\"noah](\"https:\/\/www.rollingstone.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/07\/noah-cyrus-album-review.jpg?w=300\")
\n\t\t\t\t\tImage Credit: Hannah Khymych*\t\t\t\t<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\t<\/p>\n
\n\n\tI definitely did not have this on my 2025 bingo card \u2014 a tender love ballad duet between Noah Cyrus and Bill Callahan, the grizzled indie-rock misery goat who released his classic Dongs of Sevotion <\/em>the year Noah was born. But their voices mesh beautifully, for atmospheric acoustic melancholy. Preach, Bill: \u201cI don\u2019t contain multitudes\/I can barely contain anything.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n- \n
\nBlood Orange with Eva Tolkin and Liam Benzvi, \u2018Westerberg\u2019<\/h2>\n\n\t\t\t![\"dev](\"https:\/\/www.rollingstone.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/DevHynesGeneral_-Jade-Boulton.jpg?w=300\")
\t\t\t\t\t<\/figure>\n\t<\/p>\n
\n\n\tSo much of this year\u2019s deepest music was about grief \u2014 the emotion AI can\u2019t feel and the algorithms can\u2019t simulate. After losing his mother, Dev Hynes sings about traveling through time with music, revisiting songs he forgot he loved, to commune with ghosts of his past. \u201cIn your ears there\u2019s Paul Westerberg,\u201d he sings, over moody late-night trip-hop keyboards. \u201cI\u2019m in love with that song.\u201d He sings about the Replacements singing<\/a> about Alex Chilton, turning it into his own deeply personal meditation on those moments when your pain is so raw, a song buried in your memory can sneak up on you and tell you who you are right now.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n- \n
\nHotline TNT, \u2018Julia\u2019s War\u2019<\/h2>\n\n\t\t\t![\"Hotline](\"https:\/\/www.rollingstone.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/11\/hotline-tnt-julias-war.jpg?w=300\")
\n\t\t\t\t\tImage Credit: youtube\t\t\t\t<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\t<\/p>\n
\n\n\tMy Bloody Valentine in the streets, Gin Blossoms in the sheets \u2014 nice trick. The \u201cna na na na\u201d rocker of the summer. (It makes a neat pair with Horsegirl\u2019s equally great \u201cJulie.\u201d)<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n
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\nBryan Ferry, Amelia Barratt, \u2018Cowboy Hat\u2019<\/h2>\n\n\t\t\t![\"Bryan](\"https:\/\/www.rollingstone.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/12\/Bryan-Ferry-Amelia-Barratt-Press-Shot-Credit-Albert-Sanchez.jpg?w=300\")
\n\t\t\t\t\tImage Credit: Albert Sanchez*\t\t\t\t<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\t<\/p>\n
\n\n\tA strangely beautiful collaboration from the dashing Roxy Music glam-rock legend and the writer\/painter Amelia Barratt, inspiring the Divine Bryan to finish his first album in a decade. On Loose Talk<\/em>, she recites spoken-word vignettes over his music \u2014 some of it new, some from demos going back to the Seventies. She visits a tailor in \u201cCowboy Hat,\u201d over his eerie piano and wordless crooning, as the music travels across the decades and the smoke gets in his eyes.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n- \n
\nJiD with Ciara and Earthgang, \u2018Sk8\u2019<\/h2>\n\n\t\t\t![\"JID](\"https:\/\/www.rollingstone.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/JID-album-review.jpg?w=300\")
\n\t\t\t\t\tImage Credit: Neri Mastriani-Levi*\t\t\t\t<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\t<\/p>\n
\n\n\tThe best roller-skating utopia song\u2026 ever? JID makes this a heaven-is-a-rink love song to Atlanta\u2019s skating culture, with hometown goddess Ciara listing the names of revered roller palaces like a Homeric catalog, from Skatetowne to the Golden Glide to Cascade to the Sparkles Family Fun Center. (Plus there\u2019s Skate Zone, which she\u2019s never been to, so she ends the song deciding to take the girls tomorrow.) It\u2019s got the ATL love of Metro Boomin\u2019s excellent A Futuristic Summa <\/em>packed into one song, with a trunkload of bass to remind everyone why Atlanta remains the forever home of forever stories. Pick-up line that would totally work on me: \u201cGirl, you Nineties fine, got me using my Nineties eyes.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n- \n
\nTate McRae, \u2018Siren Sounds\u2019<\/h2>\n\n\t\t\t![\"tate](\"https:\/\/www.rollingstone.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/02\/tate-mcrae-album-review-2.jpg?w=300\")
\n\t\t\t\t\tImage Credit: Charlie Denis*\t\t\t\t<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\t<\/p>\n
\n\n\tTwo mismatched lovers in a burning house, but they don\u2019t have the sense to be afraid of the flames \u2014 they\u2019re dancing to the siren sounds. This underrated gem should have been a monster hit from Tate\u2019s blockbuster So Close to What<\/em>, but it didn\u2019t even make the album. It\u2019s a bonus track on the deluxe edition, which is such a bizarre move it just enhances the song\u2019s hot\/crazy aura, since hot\/crazy is definitely Tate\u2019s musical sweet spot. \u201cSports Car\u201d is a great hit and I briefly considered listing it here instead of \u201cSiren Sounds,\u201d but it\u2019s not quiiiite<\/em> as good, and when I slacken my quality standards, who suffers? That\u2019s right \u2014 we all do.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n- \n
\nJeff Tweedy, \u2018Feel Free\u2019<\/h2>\n\n\t\t\t![\"Jeff](\"https:\/\/www.rollingstone.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/09\/Jeff-Tweedy-album-review.jpg?w=300\")
\n\t\t\t\t\tImage Credit: Shervin Lainez*\t\t\t\t<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\t<\/p>\n
\n\n\tI\u2019m the kind of Jeff Tweedy fan who comes for the the endless guitar-solo reveries (\u201cImpossible Germany\u201d at Jones Beach this summer, with the seagulls screeching along \u2014 what a moment) and gets around to the verse\/chorus\/vocal tunes later. So when he dropped a triple solo album<\/a> I took a look at the track list, and decided to start with the longest song, figuring that must be the guitar epic, then took it out for a walk in the woods. Turns out \u201cFeel Free\u201d was six and a half minutes of Tweedy singing words \u2014 not even a guitar solo at all \u2014 for a midlife spiritual that\u2019s one of the warmest, funniest, wisest things he\u2019s ever done. Not at all what I was looking for, yet I love it. Good advices:\u00a0\u201cFeel free\/Plant yourself like a seed\/And take your time being buried\/Feel free.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n- \n
\nJustin Bieber, \u2018Butterflies\u2019<\/h2>\n\n\t\t\t![\"Justin](\"https:\/\/www.rollingstone.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/07\/jb-story.jpg?w=300\")
\n\t\t\t\t\tImage Credit: Renell Medrano*\t\t\t\t<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\t<\/p>\n
\n\n\tThe comeback kid has so many left-field successes on Swag<\/em> \u2014 \u201cYukon,\u201d \u201cZuma House\u201d \u2014 yet I love \u201cButterflies\u201d for how it meanders through Nineties yacht-grunge guitar until those massive drums kick in. If I\u2019m not mistaken \u2014 and when it comes to Bieber, I usually am \u2014 \u201cButterflies\u201d is his brightest pure pop shot ever.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n- \n
\nThe Tubs, \u2018Strange\u2019<\/h2>\n\n\t\t\t![\"The](\"https:\/\/www.rollingstone.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/12\/TheTubs_PhotoCredit_RobinChristian2.jpg?w=300\")
\n\t\t\t\t\tImage Credit: Robin Christian*\t\t\t\t<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\t<\/p>\n
\n\n\tI\u2019ve been a fan of these Welsh indie kids since their great band Joanna Gruesome, who I saw a million times in the year or so when they were constantly playing New York. But \u201cStrange\u201d is something new, with Celtic dread in Owen Williams\u2019 voice and the folk-punk guitars, like a mix of Richard Thompson and the Wedding Present. He mourns the death of his mother, back when his band was first taking off, facing grief with the baffled chorus, \u201cHow strange it all is.\u201d He wonders why he\u2019s still too scared to discuss it, while he feels so helpless to mourn, for a gorgeous elegy. If you\u2019re looking for a lighter lift, the one to start with from Cotton Crown<\/em> is \u201cOne More Day,\u201d with its urgent H\u00fcsker D\u00fc guitar. It\u2019s probably an even better song than \u201cStrange,\u201d and it\u2019s the one I play more often, but \u201cStrange\u201d is such a rare and unexpected gem it\u2019s the one I can\u2019t get out of my head, and for better or worse I already know it\u2019s a song I\u2019m stuck living with from now on. Favorite moment:\u00a0Some stranger at the wake suggests he could write a song to honor his mother. Williams sings, \u201cWell, whoever the hell you are, I\u2019m sorry, I guess this is it.\u201d How strange it all is.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n- \n
\nSabrina Carpenter, \u2018Manchild\u2019<\/h2>\n\n\t\t\t![\"Sabrina](\"https:\/\/www.rollingstone.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/11\/sabrina-manchild-1.jpg?w=300\")
\n\t\t\t\t\tImage Credit: youtube\t\t\t\t<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\t<\/p>\n
\n\n\tSometimes the test of a great singer is how they attack the world \u201cstupid.\u201d Sabrina sings it with a thrilled sense of discovery, like she\u2019s unwrapping a surprise gift. (If you\u2019re a connoisseur of 1980s synth-pop trash, it sounds like Julie Brown in her immortal hit \u201cI Like \u2018Em Big and Stupid,\u201d<\/a> which Sabrina must have studied like a sacred text.) \u201cManchild\u201d is the Dolly Parton\/Mae West fusion we needed, and even though I loved it right away, it just kept growing on me all year long \u2014 that Wham! synth intro is such an automatic \u201chey, this one.\u201d Such a big year for \u201cI choose to blame your mom\u201d songs, as in Jensen McRae\u2019s excellent \u201cPraying for Your Downfall,\u201d where she\u2019s \u201cdowning Stellas and blaming your mom.\u201d (But in defense of all these mankids\u2019 Gen X moms, they were probably into Liz Phair and \u201cWhipsmart\u201d is still a hell of a song.)<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n- \n
\nCameron Winter, \u2018Love Takes Miles\u2019<\/h2>\n\n\t\t\t![\"Cameron](\"https:\/\/www.rollingstone.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/12\/cameron-winter-love-takes-miles.jpg?w=300\")
\n\t\t\t\t\tImage Credit: Griffin Lotz\t\t\t\t<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\t<\/p>\n
\n\n\tA modern standard \u2014 hearing a stranger croon this at the karaoke bar was when it really strolled away with my heart. Let\u2019s pray for Willie Nelson to sing this one at least once.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n
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\nAmaarae, \u2018S.M.O.\u2019<\/h2>\n\n\t\t\t![\"Amaarae\"](\"https:\/\/www.rollingstone.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/08\/Press-Exclusive-AMAARAE2912-Photo-by-Salome-Gomis-Trezise-1.jpg?w=300\")
\n\t\t\t\t\tImage Credit: Salom\u00e9 Gomis-Trezise*\t\t\t\t<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\t<\/p>\n
\n\n\t\u201cScream and shout, slut me out\u201d is the dance-floor chant of the year, over an eruption of Ghanian highlife and Southern African gqom and Nu Shooz synth-stabs and the Black Star<\/a><\/em>\u2019s sultry musings on the erotic taste of Lexapro. If a prospective romantic partner corners you in the club, stares you in the eye,\u00a0 and says \u201cI wanna meet the god that made you,\u201d you have done at least one thing (and probably only<\/em> one thing) right with your life.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n- \n
\nSnocaps, \u2018Wasteland\u2019<\/h2>\n\n\t\t\t![\"Snocaps\"](\"https:\/\/www.rollingstone.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/11\/Snocaps-Photo-by-Chris-Black-1.jpg?w=300\")
\n\t\t\t\t\tImage Credit: Chris Black*\t\t\t\t<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\t<\/p>\n
\n\n\tThe Crutchfield sisters \u2014 Katie from Waxahatchee and Allison from Swearin\u2019 \u2014 reactivate their wonder-twin powers for Snocaps<\/a>, the first project they\u2019ve done together in years, in a delightful surprise album, with MJ Lenderman and Brad Cook as (mostly) silent team players. \u201cWasteland\u201d is an adult break-up song with years of anguish behind it. They played one of the year\u2019s best gigs in NYC, dipping into songs from their teen years when they were playing DIY gigs as P.S. Eliot. \u00a0\u201cWe\u2019d like to take it back to the days of 2012,\u201d Katie said, adjusting her guitar. \u201cThe higher the capo, the older the song.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n- \n
\nPinkPantheress, \u2018Illegal\u2019<\/h2>\n\n\t\t\t![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.rollingstone.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/11\/PinkPantheress-Fancy-That-announce-press-photo.jpg?w=300\")
\n\t\t\t\t\tImage Credit: Charlie Engman*\t\t\t\t<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\t<\/p>\n
\n\n\tThe summer she turned \u201cBorn Slippy.\u201d Pink pops that vintage Underworld techno-perv loop into the CD changer \u2014 \u201cDark & Long (Dark Train),\u201d from the druggiest scene in Trainspotting<\/em> \u2014 and presses play, panting and puffing and twirling across the beats, capturing a late night in the club that turns into something more, as she dances with the ghosts of raves past and future. Tell her why her heartbeat\u2019s in a rush?<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n- \n
\nDijon, \u2018Yamaha\u2019<\/h2>\n\n\t\t\t![\"Dijon,](\"https:\/\/www.rollingstone.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/11\/Dijon_ZacharyHarrellJones.jpg?w=300\")
\n\t\t\t\t\tImage Credit: Zachary Harrell Jones*\t\t\t\t<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\t<\/p>\n
\n\n\tThe year\u2019s most reliable \u201ctoday sucked until I put this song on\u201d song. Like everything Dijon did all year long, \u201cYamaha\u201d can disorient you and caress you at the same time, especially when he croons, \u201cBaby, I\u2019m in love with this particular emotion.\u201d He manages to pack the entire Side Two of Sign o\u2019 the Times <\/em>into one song.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n- \n
\nRyan Davis and the Roadhouse Band, \u2018New Threats From the Soul\u2019<\/h2>\n\n\t\t\t![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.rollingstone.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/11\/RyanDavis_MusicVideo_5_16_25-20-1.jpg?w=300\")
\n\t\t\t\t\tImage Credit: Justin Murphy*\t\t\t\t<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\t<\/p>\n
\n\n\tA reading from the gospel according to Ryan Davis: \u201cI left my wallet in El Segundo\/I left my love in a West Lafayette escape room.\u201d The mangy underdog Kentucky rogue travels the dirt roads of American country-rock, finding losers and drifters down every byway, in a nine-minute travelogue full of twisted poetry. He does right by the legacy of the Silver Jews\u2019 late great David Berman, baptized in the same American water.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n
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\nAddison Rae, \u2018Headphones On\u2019<\/h2>\n\n\t\t\t![\"addison](\"https:\/\/www.rollingstone.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/06\/addison-rae-album-review.jpg?w=300\")
\n\t\t\t\t\tImage Credit: Ethan James Green*\t\t\t\t<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\t<\/p>\n
\n\n\tEver have one of those \u201cnobody in this world understands me except Addison Rae\u201d moments? Yeah, me neither, except OK, maybe every single time she modulates to the chorus of \u201cHeadphones On\u201d and deals with emotional turmoil the only way she knows how: She listens to her favorite song. (It\u2019s always cool when the pop girls sing about their headphones \u2014 here\u2019s a shout-out to Stacey Q\u2019s Eighties new wave classic \u201cWalkman On.\u201d<\/a>) Addison whispers \u201ccome and put your headphones on\u201d to the mirror, dancing with herself, loving this song more than she\u2019ll ever love that backseat boy from \u201cDiet Pepsi.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n- \n
\nKehlani, \u2018Folded\u2019<\/h2>\n\n\t\t\t![\"Kehlani,](\"https:\/\/www.rollingstone.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/11\/kehlani-folded-1.jpg?w=300\")
\n\t\t\t\t\tImage Credit: Youtube\t\t\t\t<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\t<\/p>\n
\n\n\tLove, lies, and laundry. A misty-blue break-up slow jam where Kehlani can\u2019t decide if the door is locked or open for another shot (\u201cI\u2019ll let your body decide if this is enough for you\u201d) but always leaves you wondering what happens next.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n
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\nMJ Lenderman, This Is Lorelei, \u2018Dancing in the Club\u2019<\/h2>\n\n\t\t\t![\"MJ](\"https:\/\/www.rollingstone.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/11\/mj-.jpg?w=300\")
\n\t\t\t\t\tImage Credit: Griffin Lotz for Rolling Stone\t\t\t\t<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\t<\/p>\n
\n\n\tRock-a-bye, Sweet Baby Jake. MJ Lenderman keeps singing \u201cI\u2019m my own worst enemy,\u201d but nobody understands him except his guitar, and in this song, even his guitar has doubts. He takes a great This Is Lorelei<\/a> song and transmutes it into a stoner-country ramble, with the honey-slides ache in his voice and the mellow-gold dirtbag soul of his guitar. One of the millions of things I love about \u201cDancing in the Club\u201d is how it goes on so long \u2014 it starts out as a stranger on a barstool telling you his story until you\u2019re looking around for the exit, then you realize there is<\/em> no exit because it\u2019s your story too. Thanks Nate Amos for this immortal couplet: \u201cI was singing Steely Dan, crying \u2018shake it\u2019 in the wind\/A loser never wins and I\u2019m a loser, always been.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n- \n
\nTaylor Swift, \u2018Elizabeth Taylor\u2019<\/h2>\n\n\t\t\t![\"Evoto\"](\"https:\/\/www.rollingstone.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/12\/Taylor-Swift-Has-Top-Album.jpg?w=300\")
\n\t\t\t\t\tImage Credit: TAS Rights Management*\t\t\t\t<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\t<\/p>\n
\n\n\t\u201cShe was, in short, too bloody much.\u201d That\u2019s what Richard Burton said the night he met Elizabeth Taylor. No wonder Taylor Swift can relate \u2014 just her kind of girl. This is the kind of ingeniously crafted melodramatic bombshell that Swift specializes in, serenading the Hollywood legend she calls \u201cthe ultimate quintessential showgirl,\u201d an orchestral torch banger about a movie star living the sequins-are-forever lifestyle. The showgirl yearns for true love, but on her own fiercely independent terms, with tears in her violet eyes, ice in her veins, and a cloud of scandal swirling around her. (Great line: \u201cThey call me bad news, I just say thanks.\u201d) The louder the song gets, the lonelier it sounds. It\u2019s a garish mess of a song, but I love the bombast of it, the sparkly overkill of it, the too-bloody-muchness of it. That\u2019s what Taylor Swift was born for. Tell me for real, do you think it\u2019s forever?<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n<\/ul><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div><\/div>\n
\t<\/p>\n
\n\t\u201cI need the love, gang,\u201d Earl announces in his jovially baked bongo-jam tribute to the family-man life. For a rapper who once called an album I Don\u2019t Like Shit, I Don\u2019t Go Outside<\/a><\/em>, it\u2019s a kick to hear him get so inspired by marriage and fatherhood, reveling in his spaciest wordplay.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/h2>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n \t<\/p>\n \n\tIf you thought Rhian Teasdale and Hester Chambers might catch a case of the sophomore slump, you guessed wrong. With \u201cMangetout,\u201d from their excellent Moisturizer<\/a><\/em>, Wet Leg prove they\u2019ve been partying harder, traveling faster, caring less, and meeting sexier idiots. \u201cMangetout\u201d is a damn-near perfect dance-punk jam, all brazen confidence and raging hormones. \u201cYou wanna fuck me? I know \u2014 most people do.\u201d Now that\u2019s one way to make a strong introduction.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n \t<\/p>\n \n\tA riotously weird piece of disco grandeur from L.A.-via-Boise avant-pop prankster Gelli Haha, the centerpiece of her excellent debut Switcheroo<\/em>, inviting one and all to hang in outer space (\u201cWe\u2019re all out of stardust, tragically\u201d) as if heaven is a place anywhere but earth.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n \t<\/p>\n \n\tDo you get d\u00e9j\u00e0 vu? For the heartwarming cherry on top of this year\u2019s total lack of sundae, Olivia Rodrigo teamed up<\/a> with Robert Smith at Glastonbury to duet on one of the saddest songs in goth history, and Robert was beaming all the way through it. (I have never, ever seen him smile like that. It did things to my teenage heart that I\u2019m still processing.) Olivia did a lot of high-profile duets this year \u2014 she did \u201cBuddy Holly\u201d with Weezer, and damn, the sight of O-Rod singing \u201cyou need a guardiaaaaan<\/em>\u201d to Rivers Cuomo is definitely a sign o\u2019 the times \u2014 but this one truly deserved to be a single, on vinyl no less. It\u2019s just like a dream.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n \t<\/p>\n \n\tI think we\u2019re alone now.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n \t<\/p>\n \n\tI definitely did not have this on my 2025 bingo card \u2014 a tender love ballad duet between Noah Cyrus and Bill Callahan, the grizzled indie-rock misery goat who released his classic Dongs of Sevotion <\/em>the year Noah was born. But their voices mesh beautifully, for atmospheric acoustic melancholy. Preach, Bill: \u201cI don\u2019t contain multitudes\/I can barely contain anything.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n \t<\/p>\n \n\tSo much of this year\u2019s deepest music was about grief \u2014 the emotion AI can\u2019t feel and the algorithms can\u2019t simulate. After losing his mother, Dev Hynes sings about traveling through time with music, revisiting songs he forgot he loved, to commune with ghosts of his past. \u201cIn your ears there\u2019s Paul Westerberg,\u201d he sings, over moody late-night trip-hop keyboards. \u201cI\u2019m in love with that song.\u201d He sings about the Replacements singing<\/a> about Alex Chilton, turning it into his own deeply personal meditation on those moments when your pain is so raw, a song buried in your memory can sneak up on you and tell you who you are right now.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n \t<\/p>\n \n\tMy Bloody Valentine in the streets, Gin Blossoms in the sheets \u2014 nice trick. The \u201cna na na na\u201d rocker of the summer. (It makes a neat pair with Horsegirl\u2019s equally great \u201cJulie.\u201d)<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n \t<\/p>\n \n\tA strangely beautiful collaboration from the dashing Roxy Music glam-rock legend and the writer\/painter Amelia Barratt, inspiring the Divine Bryan to finish his first album in a decade. On Loose Talk<\/em>, she recites spoken-word vignettes over his music \u2014 some of it new, some from demos going back to the Seventies. She visits a tailor in \u201cCowboy Hat,\u201d over his eerie piano and wordless crooning, as the music travels across the decades and the smoke gets in his eyes.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n \t<\/p>\n \n\tThe best roller-skating utopia song\u2026 ever? JID makes this a heaven-is-a-rink love song to Atlanta\u2019s skating culture, with hometown goddess Ciara listing the names of revered roller palaces like a Homeric catalog, from Skatetowne to the Golden Glide to Cascade to the Sparkles Family Fun Center. (Plus there\u2019s Skate Zone, which she\u2019s never been to, so she ends the song deciding to take the girls tomorrow.) It\u2019s got the ATL love of Metro Boomin\u2019s excellent A Futuristic Summa <\/em>packed into one song, with a trunkload of bass to remind everyone why Atlanta remains the forever home of forever stories. Pick-up line that would totally work on me: \u201cGirl, you Nineties fine, got me using my Nineties eyes.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n \t<\/p>\n \n\tTwo mismatched lovers in a burning house, but they don\u2019t have the sense to be afraid of the flames \u2014 they\u2019re dancing to the siren sounds. This underrated gem should have been a monster hit from Tate\u2019s blockbuster So Close to What<\/em>, but it didn\u2019t even make the album. It\u2019s a bonus track on the deluxe edition, which is such a bizarre move it just enhances the song\u2019s hot\/crazy aura, since hot\/crazy is definitely Tate\u2019s musical sweet spot. \u201cSports Car\u201d is a great hit and I briefly considered listing it here instead of \u201cSiren Sounds,\u201d but it\u2019s not quiiiite<\/em> as good, and when I slacken my quality standards, who suffers? That\u2019s right \u2014 we all do.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n \t<\/p>\n \n\tI\u2019m the kind of Jeff Tweedy fan who comes for the the endless guitar-solo reveries (\u201cImpossible Germany\u201d at Jones Beach this summer, with the seagulls screeching along \u2014 what a moment) and gets around to the verse\/chorus\/vocal tunes later. So when he dropped a triple solo album<\/a> I took a look at the track list, and decided to start with the longest song, figuring that must be the guitar epic, then took it out for a walk in the woods. Turns out \u201cFeel Free\u201d was six and a half minutes of Tweedy singing words \u2014 not even a guitar solo at all \u2014 for a midlife spiritual that\u2019s one of the warmest, funniest, wisest things he\u2019s ever done. Not at all what I was looking for, yet I love it. Good advices:\u00a0\u201cFeel free\/Plant yourself like a seed\/And take your time being buried\/Feel free.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n \t<\/p>\n \n\tThe comeback kid has so many left-field successes on Swag<\/em> \u2014 \u201cYukon,\u201d \u201cZuma House\u201d \u2014 yet I love \u201cButterflies\u201d for how it meanders through Nineties yacht-grunge guitar until those massive drums kick in. If I\u2019m not mistaken \u2014 and when it comes to Bieber, I usually am \u2014 \u201cButterflies\u201d is his brightest pure pop shot ever.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n \t<\/p>\n \n\tI\u2019ve been a fan of these Welsh indie kids since their great band Joanna Gruesome, who I saw a million times in the year or so when they were constantly playing New York. But \u201cStrange\u201d is something new, with Celtic dread in Owen Williams\u2019 voice and the folk-punk guitars, like a mix of Richard Thompson and the Wedding Present. He mourns the death of his mother, back when his band was first taking off, facing grief with the baffled chorus, \u201cHow strange it all is.\u201d He wonders why he\u2019s still too scared to discuss it, while he feels so helpless to mourn, for a gorgeous elegy. If you\u2019re looking for a lighter lift, the one to start with from Cotton Crown<\/em> is \u201cOne More Day,\u201d with its urgent H\u00fcsker D\u00fc guitar. It\u2019s probably an even better song than \u201cStrange,\u201d and it\u2019s the one I play more often, but \u201cStrange\u201d is such a rare and unexpected gem it\u2019s the one I can\u2019t get out of my head, and for better or worse I already know it\u2019s a song I\u2019m stuck living with from now on. Favorite moment:\u00a0Some stranger at the wake suggests he could write a song to honor his mother. Williams sings, \u201cWell, whoever the hell you are, I\u2019m sorry, I guess this is it.\u201d How strange it all is.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n \t<\/p>\n \n\tSometimes the test of a great singer is how they attack the world \u201cstupid.\u201d Sabrina sings it with a thrilled sense of discovery, like she\u2019s unwrapping a surprise gift. (If you\u2019re a connoisseur of 1980s synth-pop trash, it sounds like Julie Brown in her immortal hit \u201cI Like \u2018Em Big and Stupid,\u201d<\/a> which Sabrina must have studied like a sacred text.) \u201cManchild\u201d is the Dolly Parton\/Mae West fusion we needed, and even though I loved it right away, it just kept growing on me all year long \u2014 that Wham! synth intro is such an automatic \u201chey, this one.\u201d Such a big year for \u201cI choose to blame your mom\u201d songs, as in Jensen McRae\u2019s excellent \u201cPraying for Your Downfall,\u201d where she\u2019s \u201cdowning Stellas and blaming your mom.\u201d (But in defense of all these mankids\u2019 Gen X moms, they were probably into Liz Phair and \u201cWhipsmart\u201d is still a hell of a song.)<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n \t<\/p>\n \n\tA modern standard \u2014 hearing a stranger croon this at the karaoke bar was when it really strolled away with my heart. Let\u2019s pray for Willie Nelson to sing this one at least once.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n \t<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cScream and shout, slut me out\u201d is the dance-floor chant of the year, over an eruption of Ghanian highlife and Southern African gqom and Nu Shooz synth-stabs and the Black Star<\/a><\/em>\u2019s sultry musings on the erotic taste of Lexapro. If a prospective romantic partner corners you in the club, stares you in the eye,\u00a0 and says \u201cI wanna meet the god that made you,\u201d you have done at least one thing (and probably only<\/em> one thing) right with your life.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n \t<\/p>\n \n\tThe Crutchfield sisters \u2014 Katie from Waxahatchee and Allison from Swearin\u2019 \u2014 reactivate their wonder-twin powers for Snocaps<\/a>, the first project they\u2019ve done together in years, in a delightful surprise album, with MJ Lenderman and Brad Cook as (mostly) silent team players. \u201cWasteland\u201d is an adult break-up song with years of anguish behind it. They played one of the year\u2019s best gigs in NYC, dipping into songs from their teen years when they were playing DIY gigs as P.S. Eliot. \u00a0\u201cWe\u2019d like to take it back to the days of 2012,\u201d Katie said, adjusting her guitar. \u201cThe higher the capo, the older the song.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n \t<\/p>\n \n\tThe summer she turned \u201cBorn Slippy.\u201d Pink pops that vintage Underworld techno-perv loop into the CD changer \u2014 \u201cDark & Long (Dark Train),\u201d from the druggiest scene in Trainspotting<\/em> \u2014 and presses play, panting and puffing and twirling across the beats, capturing a late night in the club that turns into something more, as she dances with the ghosts of raves past and future. Tell her why her heartbeat\u2019s in a rush?<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n \t<\/p>\n \n\tThe year\u2019s most reliable \u201ctoday sucked until I put this song on\u201d song. Like everything Dijon did all year long, \u201cYamaha\u201d can disorient you and caress you at the same time, especially when he croons, \u201cBaby, I\u2019m in love with this particular emotion.\u201d He manages to pack the entire Side Two of Sign o\u2019 the Times <\/em>into one song.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n \t<\/p>\n \n\tA reading from the gospel according to Ryan Davis: \u201cI left my wallet in El Segundo\/I left my love in a West Lafayette escape room.\u201d The mangy underdog Kentucky rogue travels the dirt roads of American country-rock, finding losers and drifters down every byway, in a nine-minute travelogue full of twisted poetry. He does right by the legacy of the Silver Jews\u2019 late great David Berman, baptized in the same American water.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n \t<\/p>\n \n\tEver have one of those \u201cnobody in this world understands me except Addison Rae\u201d moments? Yeah, me neither, except OK, maybe every single time she modulates to the chorus of \u201cHeadphones On\u201d and deals with emotional turmoil the only way she knows how: She listens to her favorite song. (It\u2019s always cool when the pop girls sing about their headphones \u2014 here\u2019s a shout-out to Stacey Q\u2019s Eighties new wave classic \u201cWalkman On.\u201d<\/a>) Addison whispers \u201ccome and put your headphones on\u201d to the mirror, dancing with herself, loving this song more than she\u2019ll ever love that backseat boy from \u201cDiet Pepsi.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n \t<\/p>\n \n\tLove, lies, and laundry. A misty-blue break-up slow jam where Kehlani can\u2019t decide if the door is locked or open for another shot (\u201cI\u2019ll let your body decide if this is enough for you\u201d) but always leaves you wondering what happens next.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n \t<\/p>\n \n\tRock-a-bye, Sweet Baby Jake. MJ Lenderman keeps singing \u201cI\u2019m my own worst enemy,\u201d but nobody understands him except his guitar, and in this song, even his guitar has doubts. He takes a great This Is Lorelei<\/a> song and transmutes it into a stoner-country ramble, with the honey-slides ache in his voice and the mellow-gold dirtbag soul of his guitar. One of the millions of things I love about \u201cDancing in the Club\u201d is how it goes on so long \u2014 it starts out as a stranger on a barstool telling you his story until you\u2019re looking around for the exit, then you realize there is<\/em> no exit because it\u2019s your story too. Thanks Nate Amos for this immortal couplet: \u201cI was singing Steely Dan, crying \u2018shake it\u2019 in the wind\/A loser never wins and I\u2019m a loser, always been.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n \t<\/p>\n \n\t\u201cShe was, in short, too bloody much.\u201d That\u2019s what Richard Burton said the night he met Elizabeth Taylor. No wonder Taylor Swift can relate \u2014 just her kind of girl. This is the kind of ingeniously crafted melodramatic bombshell that Swift specializes in, serenading the Hollywood legend she calls \u201cthe ultimate quintessential showgirl,\u201d an orchestral torch banger about a movie star living the sequins-are-forever lifestyle. The showgirl yearns for true love, but on her own fiercely independent terms, with tears in her violet eyes, ice in her veins, and a cloud of scandal swirling around her. (Great line: \u201cThey call me bad news, I just say thanks.\u201d) The louder the song gets, the lonelier it sounds. It\u2019s a garish mess of a song, but I love the bombast of it, the sparkly overkill of it, the too-bloody-muchness of it. That\u2019s what Taylor Swift was born for. Tell me for real, do you think it\u2019s forever?<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/li>\n<\/ul><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div><\/div>\nWet Leg, \u2018Mangetout\u2019<\/h2>\n
Gelli Haha, \u2018Pluto is Not a Planet It\u2019s a Restaurant\u2019<\/h2>\n
Olivia Rodrigo and Robert Smith,\u00a0 \u2018Just Like Heaven (Live at Glastonbury)\u2019<\/h2>\n
zayALLCAPS, \u2018MTV\u2019s Pimp My Ride\u2019<\/h2>\n
Noah Cyrus feat. Bill Callahan, \u2018XXX\u2019<\/h2>\n
Blood Orange with Eva Tolkin and Liam Benzvi, \u2018Westerberg\u2019<\/h2>\n
\t\t\t\t\t<\/figure>\nHotline TNT, \u2018Julia\u2019s War\u2019<\/h2>\n
Bryan Ferry, Amelia Barratt, \u2018Cowboy Hat\u2019<\/h2>\n
JiD with Ciara and Earthgang, \u2018Sk8\u2019<\/h2>\n
Tate McRae, \u2018Siren Sounds\u2019<\/h2>\n
Jeff Tweedy, \u2018Feel Free\u2019<\/h2>\n
Justin Bieber, \u2018Butterflies\u2019<\/h2>\n
The Tubs, \u2018Strange\u2019<\/h2>\n
Sabrina Carpenter, \u2018Manchild\u2019<\/h2>\n
Cameron Winter, \u2018Love Takes Miles\u2019<\/h2>\n
Amaarae, \u2018S.M.O.\u2019<\/h2>\n
Snocaps, \u2018Wasteland\u2019<\/h2>\n
PinkPantheress, \u2018Illegal\u2019<\/h2>\n
Dijon, \u2018Yamaha\u2019<\/h2>\n
Ryan Davis and the Roadhouse Band, \u2018New Threats From the Soul\u2019<\/h2>\n
Addison Rae, \u2018Headphones On\u2019<\/h2>\n
Kehlani, \u2018Folded\u2019<\/h2>\n
MJ Lenderman, This Is Lorelei, \u2018Dancing in the Club\u2019<\/h2>\n
Taylor Swift, \u2018Elizabeth Taylor\u2019<\/h2>\n