Best Fit editors and writers reveal their lesser-known personal favourite records of the year, from Basque to Computer Science and more.
1
Howl by Daisy Rickman
There are musical antecedents to Daisy Rickman’s brand of hypnotic folk, but it’s easier to say: if you’re a fan of The Wicker Man or the writing of Shirley Jackson, you’re going to love this. While Rickman’s second, self-released album isn’t horror-coded, it’s steeped in an all-natural weirdness (or, indeed, wyrdness). “Bleujen an Howl” is a sprawling, hypnotic thing, chiming guitars twisting themselves around cooing vocals like gnarled oaks. Rickman’s decision to sing in Cornish – making her one of circa 2,000 speakers – adds to the out-of time feeling.
Her voice is often mesmerising, particularly when she explores its depths on “Sunflowers Of Your Mind”. Scraping the floor of her range, what she loses in power only benefits the song; you can’t help being drawn in. The reverb wash and sitar-like strings give a lush psychedelic feel, but there’s a dark undercurrent here, like a photonegative “Sunshine Superman”.
Best of all is “Feed The Forest”. With a souped up BPM and a pile up of acoustic instruments, including an invasive drone, harmonicas, even a sprightly whistling section, it’s a racket, relatively speaking. Rickman can make one chord or note go an incredibly long way, and what the track lacks in harmonic variety, it makes up for and then some in texture. Everything swirls, overlaps, regenerates – the lifecycle in song.
Aside from self-releasing the record, Rickman – a noteworthy visual artist – designs the cover art and plays every note, and that singular focus makes for a singular record. JOSH MILLS
2
A Lonely Sinner by Samlrc
The soft-loud dynamics of Sadness and Deathcrash. Droney metal tilts a la Godspeed You! Black Emperor. Textured shoegaze courtesy of such bands as Parannoul. And the beguiling vocals of Grouper’s Liz Harris. Such are the building blocks for Brazilian composer Samlrc. With A Lonely Sinner, Sam dives into and reconfigures this broad range of templates, forging her own striking gestalts. The result is a compelling project that offers transcendent highs and frightening lows.
The 12-minute “Philautia” exemplifies Sam’s leanings and compositional MO. The track opens with pulsating synths, segueing into a murky folk-rock segment, then a hardcore sprawl with serrated guitars undergirded by jackhammer drums, Sam facilitating a Dionysian crescendo. “Storge” launches with a voice straight out of a horror flick: “I want you to teach me how to be a scary wolf”; think Pan’s Labyrinth meets Grimms’s Fairy Tales. On the 8-minute “Sinner”, Sam repeats, “I am a sinner”, simultaneously proud and self-deprecatory, the track built around a hallucinatory mix of distorted guitars, pounding drums, and celestial background vocals.
“For M”, in contrast, is Sam’s most buoyant piece, crystalline notes and on-again, off-again strums contrasted with spry drum beats. A flurry of classically intoned strings conjures a Victorian dance hall, people swirling in elaborate garb across a spacious room. “The Beauty of the Present Moment” concludes the project on a promising note, bubbly strings pointing to blue sky, the glimmering beyond. A Lonely Sinner is a multifaceted project, and yet, the album is singular, cohesive, each part contributing to a potent whole. JOHN AMEN
3
Pain Without Hope of Healing by Basque
Canadian rock band Basque’s Pain Without Hope of Healing is an audacious exploration of grief, alienation, and fragile hope, a harrowing testament to the band’s mastery of emotional excavation. Known for blending post-rock atmospherics with crushing alt-rock crescendos, Basque expands their sonic palette within the realm of screamo violence, producing an ambitious and thematically cohesive work far beyond it being their debut album release.
Tracks such as “Stillness” and “Worry About Everything” juggle shimmering, delay-soaked guitars with guttural, anguished vocals that feel like diary entries set ablaze. “All Good Things Will Crumble” retains the unrelenting intensity but feels more introspective building from a plaintive start into a monolithic wall of sound that threatens to engulf the listener before clawing its way back in the dying moments. The cyclical motifs and unguarded peaks and troughs of each track conjure stark imagery as singer Nick Couture paints fragmented portraits of loss and isolation, without succumbing to melodrama aided by bandmates Alexandra Garvin, Nathaniel Murray, and Jakob Dodge.
On the beautifully rendered final track “Funeral For A Mouse,” the band soars the highest, heart-wrenching chords, and screams are broken by a hushed spoken word sequence that is followed by vocals of such catharsis and anthemic devastation that the song’s decaying amplitude feeling like a dying light. Pain Without Hope of Healing is an album that challenges, and ultimately, leaves an indelible mark on the listener long after the ferocity ceases. MATT YOUNG
4
FEE FI FO FUM by Dactyl Terra
If you’re already a fan of Goat's self-titled and Thee Oh Sees' SORCS 8 – two impactful albums to come out of the last year – you might be interested in this next one. Harnessing an experimental, improvised approaching space-groove sound across both guitar and synth, South Wales rock band Dactyl Terra explore the vibrant and otherworldly, winning them Green Man Festival’s rising competition back in 2022. Their long-awaited 2024 debut album FEE FI FO FUM is packed with the same twists and turns they’ve become associated with within their local scene. "Mountain Shaking" is just one example, barely a minute in and you’re faced with a hypnotic groove change up. Similarly, "Swordfish" has a luscious change of heart, with all the fuzzy guitars your heart might desire. "Universe Of Cat" has a bluesy feel, tribal-like even, while utilising a gorgeous mix of harmonies that soak into each other, something also showcased within the soaring "Let’s Go Climbing". Lead single "Cheeseburger" is the perfect riff-buster, packing in driving bass lines, heavy rhythm guitar, and hallucinogenic 70s solos, and of course a catchy chorus to boot. You just can’t go wrong with a band that incorporates the best parts of jazz, psychedelia, metal, funk, and krautrock into their own little package. EMMA WAY
Listen to/buy FEE FI FO FUM on Bandcamp
5
sentiment by claire rousay
We know claire rousay as an experimental multi-instrumentalist who spins field recordings into emo ambience, resulting in tracks that are long in length and thin in structure. Pivoting to the conventional, sentiment is no less impressive, but its songs are tighter and more immediate.
Across 37 quiet minutes, rousay recalls the solitude of a night spent behind a closed door. On the standout, “head”, a melodic, sedate guitar line coils around anxious confessions: "Spending half of my whole life giving you head / Just in case you need to forgive me / One day for something that I did." It’s exciting to hear rousay so directly, but the album never strays too far from the sort of music we’d expect.
“iii” is the most directly ambient moment, as we’re flattened with a long, low rumble of fuzzy cello. And even in the busier tracks, rousay has retained her same sense of space and peace – like all great ambient music, her sounds are, out of necessity, never front-and-centre. This is music that lingers and fills idle corners of your mind.
Vocal hooks might appear – the end of “it could be anything” is her furthest lurch towards ‘pop’ – but the lyrics are heavily auto-tuned, often to the point of obscurity. And behind the new melodies are many rousay staples of old: birds chirping from another day, voices mumbling from another place. On “sycamore skylight”, grainy keys and wide strings swell behind pavement ambience, as if she’s playing with the window open. In its pursuit of something more direct, sentiment sacrifices none of claire rousay’s distinct melancholia: music that reminds you of the everyday, and how far away you can feel from it. BEN FAULKNER
6
Chastity by Chastity
Growing up, Brandon Williams had to find his people. His Canadian hometown cared more about power plays than power chords, but anyone who's ever downloaded a Tony Hawk's Pro Skater soundtrack off of Limewire will understand where Chastity comes from. Hot-button genres such as shoegaze and melodic hardcore churn through the mix right from the opening punch of "Jaw Locked". "Offing" even sneaks in a country lick. But like a good self-titled album, Chastity fully commits to the vintage brand of 120 minutes alt-rock that his band has been grinding out for a solid decade.
For the uninitiated, Chastity sounds like Third Eye Blind if Stephan Jenkins had never grown out of sniffing magic markers. Stifler would need to think long and hard if forced to spin just one of these songs at a house party, and good luck getting "Summer All Over Again" out of your head. The chorus catches major air, and across the record, he even shouts the verses at the top of his lungs. Still, the generous dose of reverb can only shield Williams so much from the comedown.
Though Williams set his previous three albums against the familiar trappings of suburban upbringing, Chastity dwells more on his childhood demons. His death lust reaches Morissey-esque peaks of flirtation on "Electrical Tower Dive" ("If I survive / I'll shower / Your house with flowers"). But Chastity aren't stuck living in the past. While the scars are a reminder, the rush that I get every time I revisit this album is sustained by the friendships that helped bring it into being. Old pals from Ontario's DIY scene pad the liner notes, including Stefan Babcock from PUP, who christened the converted barn where Williams cut his teeth.
"Drawing the Sun Back in the Corner of the Paper" is the last song and also the outlier. There's no pulse-pounding D-beat, no headbanging distortion; just a slight trace of melody that comes into focus slowly but surely, like a Polaroid. "And I can be myself / That's who I'm trying to be". As this album attests, he's already there. WILL YARBROUGH
7
The Clearwater Swimmers by The Clearwater Swimmers
The Clearwater Swimmers debut eponymous album is an instant classic: a bold addition to the new American rock canon. If at first glance they seem just another indie-twang band, frontman Sumner Bright’s metaphor-laden songwriting sets them apart from the rest. The Clearwater Swimmers have a sound both prescient and timeless, less a caricature of Americana than the logical next step in the lineage of the genre, assimilating aspects of grunge and country. Many of the songs include florid descriptions of landscape alongside those of human relationships, indicating a kinship between the two understood by Bright. The guitars never reach a fury and the tempo never exceeds a lumber, the energy of the instrumentation matching Bright’s soft, falsetto voice. Album standout “River” has a strong dose of Neil Young in the After The Gold Rush years, invoking the pastoral and rugged mystery of the borderlands between woods and the town. Described by the band as “a collection of field notes exploring gratitude,” the lyrical style of the record spans from poetic to colloquial, never quite touching subjects but rather revealing meaning obliquely, like light casting a strong shadow. One could imagine The Clearwater Swimmers as the house band in a townie bar, rousing the sullen patrons one by one, capturing their attention with undeniable talent. AMAYA LIM
8
Daylight by Hi-Fi Sean and David McAlmont
What started off as a one-off collaboration between ex-Soup Dragon / The Hi Fidelity leader Sean Dickson, and David McAlmont – one of the UK's most underrated singers – for the former's 2018 solo debut, has birthed two subsequent long players with a third due early next year.
Their debut album, last year's Happy Endings, was sumptuous exploration of acid soul and luscious soundscapes, which, clocking in just under an hour, wasn't afraid of a slow build. Daylight is the direct flip of this, 35 minutes with songs mostly clocking in around three minutes, there's no hiding place for potential error when you remove the fat from the meat. Luckily, we have two artists hitting that sweet spot of an imperial phase, a no-nonsense collection of new wave synth-pop bangers which nods its cap towards the production prowess of Martin Rushent’s work, particularly with the Human League, and with the silky tone of McAlmont unlocking maximum diva-mode, its charms are impossible to resist.
There's tear-stained disco on "Sad Banger", a lysergic rush of euphoria with "Sun Come Up", and on "USB – USC" you will never find boredom in creating a to-do list in advance of going on holiday ("Tickets.... Passport.... Swimwear.... Night Shorts").
From a spark to the most glorious flame, on this showing the pairing has flourished. They’ve said the follow up, Twilight, is the cold response to this summery pop album, and with recent turns of world events a long cold winter is ahead. Their next step will be everything we need until the sun starts to shine once more. CHRIS TODD
9
Impossible Light by Uboa
Australian noise-adjacent artist Uboa recently told New Noise Magazine that “Detransitioning", the opening track of her 2019 cult-classic album The Origin of My Depression, was named after “a word I bumped into online, and the concept was so confrontational I had to make it into a song title.” Now, far from a niche internet term, “detransitioners” have been paraded around constantly by conservative politicians as supposed examples of the invalidity of transness altogether. It’s a scary time to be trans in this world.
Origin – with its psych-horror-esque lurches between ominous ambient and industrial noise – communicated that truth better than any piece of art I’ve ever experienced. But it sounds downright two-dimensional compared to the sprawling opus that is Impossible Light. The noise on this album is punchier and more cinematic, the songs more structured and diverse in influence: purely pummeling excerpts of noise are interspersed with glitched-out darkwave, electro-industrial synths, and ritualistic drones. But overall, the greatest thing about Impossible Light is its front-to-back insistence that a better world is possible, no matter how difficult it appears.
As far as I’m concerned, the entire album is a buildup to the behemoth ten-minute closing track “Impossible Light / Golden Flower”, which just keeps building and building, piling more and more sounds onto itself – cathartic screams and vocal runs and wind chimes and glitches and warm synths – like being bitch-slapped so repeatedly by hope that you have no hope but to pay attention. This album isn’t particularly a positive one: it’s angry, depressed, and horrifyingly realistic. But nothing feels better than the realization that, even after all that, there’s a light at the end of infinity.
10
Girl by Coco & Clair Clair
Coco & Clair Clair first burst onto the aptly titled “fairy-pop” scene with their breakout single “Knife Play” in 2015, but it wasn’t until 2017’s “Crushcrushcrush” and “Pretty” that they truly gained the recognition they deserved. Despite being released half a decade earlier, “Pretty” (featuring Okthxbb) gained its fame as a TikTok trending track which catapulted the duo into electro-pop fame. Since, they’ve released two records, (Posh and Sexy), but its perhaps their most recent release that moves away from the more delicate sounds of their seminal debuts to push boundaries into more cheeky, nonchalant yet often brash attitude that Charli XCX’s Brat made key this summer.
While the promo for the album may have lacked due to focusing on their upcoming world tour, the impact it had was not. Their third full-length record, Girl was preceded by a handful of teaser tracks, the woozy and eclectic “Aggy”, and the hypnotic tribute to the inimitable fashion designer “Kate Spade” (their second to be named after runway icons (“Naomi & Kate”)). Girl itself is structurally, and lyrically, Coco & Clair Clair’s most succinct and mature offering to date, boasting lush lo-fi beats and introspective lyrics.
Girl may have fallen below the radar and been overshadowed by blockbuster releases this year, but their brazen and luxuriant sounds still leave a lasting impression. LANA WILLIAMS
11
Cleaver by Computer Science
Computer science's cleaver holds a special place in my heart when it comes to 2024 releases. I first came across Andzia Brzozowska’s music on the now defunct yet once leading underground Slovak dream-pop label, Z-Tapes (now Start-track): happy summer and Burial Club became permanent fixtures in my headphones as I scoured the internet for more of the sweetest lo-fi pop music I could find. Despite losing touch with computer science over the following years, my shifting music taste was indicative of Brzozowska’s former hold over me and to this day I attribute my penchant for the dreamy vein of guitar music to her.
Fortunately, I saw this year that the new (and final) computer science record was out. I hadn’t listened to Brzozowska’s project in five years, and I was curious as to where it was. To say I was stunned is an understatement. Not for a long time had I listened to an album mouth agape, utterly transfixed by, not just the beauty of it, but by the ambition that’s on display.
Personal highlights include "handshake" and "cloud white cloth" (along with the rest of the album, really), these soaring masterpieces – truly remarkable stuff. It could be so easy to mourn the computer science project, especially since this could have been a taste of what’s next. However, when listening to cleaver, it comforts me to know that it’s finale was a spectacular display of what DIY passion is capable of. CALLUM FOULDS
12
No Hero by Desperate Journalist
Looking for music with a little more depth and some real conviction to blow the cobwebs away? No Hero may be what you need. Desperate Journalist have succeeded where many latter-day post-punk bands have sadly failed. They've been building an impressive back catalogue while managing to escape the shadow of their forebears via reliably intense and incendiary live shows, even gaining fans like Robert Smith of the Cure along the way.
With this fifth album they turn the dial ever so slightly towards a subtly synth-inflected sound. A development that feels entirely natural and emphatically not one of those painful electronic ‘makeovers’ certain bands try in last-ditch creative desperation. Here there’s no unwelcome smoothing of the edges, the gothic undertones remain – there’s still plenty of grit and grime in Desperate Journalist’s sometimes claustrophobic world.
What really sets them apart from the endless imitators and post-punk tribute acts littering the world, is the sense that vocalist Jo Bevan actually has something pressing to say about the human condition. A desire she fulfills with a welcome kitchen sink drama wit (remember, this is a band who with a knowing wink called their last album Maximum Sorrow!). Combine that with Caroline Helbert and Simon Drowner’s mercilessly unrelenting rhythm section then add a ceaselessly inventive guitarist in Rob Hardy and the end result is some genuinely serious music for pleasure. SIMON HEAVISIDES
13
Chasing Moving Trains by Roy Blair
Roy Blair left a lengthy five-year gap between Chasing Moving Trains and his last effort, though perhaps this time was absolutely necessary for finding his feet on solid ground without sprinting and consequently tiring – gradually working upwards from teenage nostalgia-prompted bedroom pop (2017’s Cat Heaven achieved the correct objective for the correct audience indeed), to ultra-modern demonstrations of intellectual production. We’re fortunate enough to witness Blair reach for something all the more striking, capturing magic through a fine selection of nocturnal indietronica flavoured, wonderfully engineered pop, adorned with ample doses of alternative R&B and crisp drum and bass.
Even recognising Chasing Moving Trains as a record which truly asserts Blair as his own individualistic artist, comparisons to the likes of Dijon and Frank Ocean’s Blonde might cross one’s mind. His durability has allowed him to outlast his contemporaries and industry pals from the previous decade, though Blair still ensures to acknowledge their pivotal role in his come-up: “Ian gave me a platform and I used it / No one believed, I had to go out and prove it” – voicing a thanks to the former BROCKHAMPTON frontman that somewhat ties into the homesickness embedded within the veins of Blair’s creations, always exhibiting a melancholic expertise on the emotional weight of recollecting one’s past.
It’s a crying shame that Blair won’t share his romantic, genre-challenged discoveries and accomplishments on a more regular basis – it’s forgivable, however, when the music he does decide to dish out packs such a timeless, substantial punch. AMY PERDONI
14
Endlessness by Nala Sinephro
There’s a
moment in Endlessness when time seems to vanish. Nala Sinephro’s
electric harp draws you into a space where sound becomes emotion, and
everything outside the music just dissolves. It’s not just an album;
it’s a sanctuary, an experience that holds your feelings without
judgment. It's an album that makes sarcastic and cynical writers like me
get all soppy and mystic.
Each
track, titled “Continuum 1", "Continuum 2", etc., feels like a step in a
broader journey – a meditation on life’s ebb and flow. Sinephro's harp
repeats patterns until they become a pulse, grounding you in a way that
feels both calming and inspiring. By the time Nubya Garcia’s saxophone
blooms on “Continuum 2”, the album has shifted into something profoundly
human, her melodies aching with beauty and introspection. It’s the kind
of collaboration that elevates everyone involved, with Morgan Simpson’s
drumming adding rhythms that feel like the heartbeat of something
cosmic. Jazz music in London is becoming a beacon for the rest of the
world and we're so lucky none of these musicians can record anything
without getting the whole gang getting involved.
What makes Endlessness stand out this year isn’t just its ambition – it’s how effortlessly it bridges the ethereal and the grounded. There’s a spiritual quality reminiscent of Alice Coltrane, where every note feels like a prayer, yet the album remains accessible, never self-indulgent – no matter how stuck up I sound. It's a rare sense of peace in a noisy world. MAX GAYLER
15
Amen by Joy Guidry
The ‘radical acceptance’ Joy Guidry celebrated on her debut album of the same name bears substantial fruit on its follow up AMEN, a record that’s been under my skin since the summer. “I wanted to give a voice and give power and provide community to the people I love and truly care,” Guidry has said of the record. As a Black trans woman from the South who grew up in the church, AMEN takes us on a journey through the music she grew up with and the communities that she’s built around her. It’s a collection of songs that explores ambience and space – moving between gospel, jazz, and classical – but Guidry’s mastery of the bassoon in all its drone-like glory really ties the whole thing together. Taking in her Louisiana, Texan and Creole roots, Amen is flush with history and heritage but never collapses under the weight of its themes or the hypnotic clash of electronics and voice. PAUL BRIDGEWATER
16
Orion by orion sun
Orion sun’s self-titled Orion is an intimate alt-R&B and indie soul record that has been on repeat since I discovered it this fall. Tiffany Majette’s warm, delicate touch, smoky vocals, and striking production make the album a quiet revelation – each track an honest portrait of an artist who continues to refine her craft with each release.
Standouts like “These Days” and “Take My Eyes” showcase Majette’s talent for pairing striking melodies with axioms both simple and profound. On “These Days”, she reflects, “That’s life, too bad / you flew a little too close to the sun / You’re trying to get it back but it’s gone,” while on “Take My Eyes”, a ballad so tender it aches, she reveals, “Here we are just bettin’ on a dying star / after all, lookin’ up is staring in the past."
Majette builds her reflections with lush, understated arrangements that radiate warmth. Even the album art by Malene Reynolds Langesen balances “softness and strength,” as orion sun describes it, in a way that echos the music inside.
More than a collection of songs, Orion feels like a layered self-portrait, unfolding in shared confidences that remind us of our own longings. For newcomers, it’s the perfect entry point to her work. MICHAEL HOFFMAN
17
angeltape by Drahla
After a couple of tantalising EPs, Leeds-based art punks Drahla dropped their debut album in 2019, then just bounced. For a band whose sound seemed custom-made for the pandemic (look at the rise of Dry Cleaning and the whole wave of shiny new post-punk bands in the last five years), their presence was sorely missed.
Thankfully, the comeback was better than anyone had any right to hope it would be. A masterpiece of claustrophobic, anxiety-riddled art punk, angeltape showcased a band with seemingly limitless potential.
With songs like “Under the Glass”, “Default Parody”, and “Concrete Lily” all using the same basic tools – thunderous bass, wailing sax, Luciel Brown’s haunting voice – to sculpt wildly different results, Drahla demonstrated that time away had done them the world of good. These songs feel crafted and powerful in a way that they only hinted at on their debut Useless Coordinates.
Take “Second Rhythm” as the best example of their abilities, if you like. Riffs that could pass for metal, a bass and drum mix that's clear and powerful, and that voice… The textures are engaging, and the flavours versatile; this is a band that could conceivably drop into a bit of King Crimson-esque prog or Black Flag hardcore and nobody would bat an eyelid. “Talking Radiance” does the same trick, but uses gothic rock as its base. For a band that work so hard to sound so dour, they're remarkably colourful.
This is clearly one of the most underrated albums of the year, and one that deserved much more of a fanfare upon release – but for those who cottoned on early enough, it has soundtracked the wildest of years with ease. ROSS HORTON
18
Critterland by Will Carlisle
Critterland feels like the most complete illustration of Willi Carlisle’s talents on record to date. The Ozarks-dwelling artist has built a reputation as one of today’s best songwriters since he grabbed listeners’ attention with breakout track "Cheap Cocaine", though his studio material had never quite matched the wild-eyed vividity of his live shows (many first saw "Cheap Cocaine" performed for GemsOnVHS). At last, on Critterland, the recordings live up to Carlisle’s fierce and fearless writing, which elucidates an idiosyncratic, queer, anarchic politics with just the right balance of romanticism and realism. It could be easy to write off songs like "Critterland" and "Higher Lonesome" as rehashing the pleas of Dylan, the folk singers before him and the psychedelic bands after. Yet Carlisle responds to such inspirations with a perfectly pitched nuance and irreverence that regenerates their messaging for the 21st Century, leaving thoroughly written songs to be referred to again and again.
Among flashes of fantasy and idealism, a sense of personal accountability adds a necessary grounding to Critterland. "When The Pills Wear Off" addresses our responsibilities to ourselves and others, which we may or may not neglect, providing something of a matured response to a track like "Cheap Cocaine". Then to close, after jerking us through the ups and downs of this record, Carlisle unravels the showstopping closer "The Money Grows On Trees", a vivid a capella crime thriller in verse which updates the outlaw ballads of bygone eras of American folk music for the late capitalist age. LLOYD BOLTON
19
Beach Day by Another Sky
The London indie rock quartet Another Sky have, until now, laboured over their trauma and existentialism, viewing them in invariably elusive lights, expending more pain and time and effort than demons deserve, and yet never conquering them (see 2020’s I Slept On The Floor for this approach). But Beach Day, a more fun and also more profound album, burns with a sense of liberation – “I don’t have to be anyone,” vocalist Catrin Vincent realises in her one-of-a-kind timbre. At times that liberation manifests in bouts of maniacal mischief, as on the chanty, loutish “Uh Oh!”. Elsewhere, it’s an exhausted but restful acceptance, that ran-a-marathon-and-came-last-but-still-finished feeling (see the opening track). And, my favourite, when they decide, “No, sadness. Not today!” and wield this formidable, energetic euphoria – their temporary second wind – something that will get you out of bed on the worst day of your life. The most striking example of the latter is “The Pain”, a fantastic-beyond-words, truly inimitable song – one of the year’s best; certainly Another Sky’s best – with its epiphany that you can wring life and renewal out of your pain if you live as yourself, for yourself. HAYDEN MERRICK
20
The Cool Cloud of Okayness by Tara Jane O'Neil
It’s been seven years since Tara Jane O'Neil’s last song-based record. If it doesn’t feel that way, it’s because she’s given us plenty of side dishes in the interim – collabs, demos, soundtracks, experimental sketches, a covers LP, live stuff, and deluxe reissues of her Peregrine and A Ways Away albums – but The Cool Cloud of Okayness stands apart as the follow-up ‘proper’ to 2017’s self-titled. In many ways it’s a continuation of that record, offering nine spooling tapestries of gorgeous, gently windswept instrumentation. There are moments of stridency – the propulsive drone jam of “Curling”, the locked groove that emerges in “Fresh End”, the churning, circular bassline of “Seeing Glass” that dissipates into shimmering ambience – but mostly it’s a pretty understated listen, tugging at the heart on your sleeve rather than trying to steal it.
Written in the years following the devastation of O'Neil’s home in a 2018 California wildfire and recorded in the home she built in its place, there’s a full circle subcurrent to …Okayness that takes us on a transformational journey through the ashen lands of grief and cautiously into the light. And it really is almost always ‘us’ or ‘we’. ...Okayness is an album that carries a torch for togetherness, and it feels meaningful that the whole ensemble here – O'Neil, Meg Duffy, Walt McClements, Sheridan Riley, and Marisa Anderson – all share in a queer identity. Joy as an act of resistance has never sounded as lovely as “We Bright”. ALAN PEDDER
21
Um by Martha Skye Murphy
When I first encountered Martha Skye Murphy, it was in her operatic, traumatized wailing at the end of Squid’s phenomenal 2021 single “Narrator”. Picture my surprise when her debut record Um features no nautical creatures and next to no apocalyptic climaxes, instead swapping them out with a strangely joyous mix of Ichiko Aoba, Portishead, and arthouse ambiguity. Her singing is at times emotionally withheld, in that Thom Yorke way, minus the odd affinity for supporting Israel with every waking breath. Murphy is an artist of moments, latched somewhere between serenity and terror, never letting one angel fully kick the other off her shoulders.
Um makes the case over its tight runtime that the world should trust Murphy’s process: a feat muddled by a critical response more akin to a nod and a wave in the supermarket than generational praise. If you’d like to order a ballad, she’ll connect them in a suite; if you just want her to put the indie-pop tunes in the bag, you’ll have to wait until the final leg of the record. While a different course of events wouldn’t have replaced 2024’s brats with people calling themselves “um’s,” her market was handicapped by a critical and commercial following unwilling to let banal beauty run its course into the extraordinary. Maybe as fascism encroaches on us all, we’ll learn our damn lesson and appreciate minute beauties. Put up your top comment, Murphy, because you were there first. NOAH BARKER
22
Water by Fie Eike
Copenhagen-based singer/songwriter Fie Eike finds inspiration in the breathtaking
beauty of Scandinavia’s landscapes in her debut album, Water.
The 12-track release sees the artist explore her profound bond with
nature, investigating the multifaceted properties of water – from its
healing powers to its transformative qualities. As she plunges head
first into this mesmerizing, life-sustaining force, she details its
ever-changing abilities and magnificent allure.
Fie Eike kicked off the unveiling of Water in January this year with “The Nile”. Offering listeners the first taste of the album’s ethereal soundscapes and reflective themes. This track is about venturing into uncharted territories and confronting our fears. That unfamiliar, looming feeling is mirrored through deep, echoing piano keys and haunting vocals, which build to create a mysterious atmosphere. “The Nile” is a stunning introduction to the album, setting the tone for what’s to come and providing a glimpse of its themes.
Written, produced, and mixed by Fie Eike over a span of four years, it’s clear that the songwriter meticulously planned and executed every detail. From its unique theme, to the hypnotic amalgam of sounds and textures, Water is an incredible listening experience. The thought-provoking, introspective release encourages listeners to connect with both nature and our emotions, self-reflect and embrace the transformative power of water. JOE BEER
23
Imposing On A Hometown by Sofia Wolfson
It’s likely not an understatement to say that Sofia Wolfson’s Imposing On A Hometown was one of this year’s best under cover gems. Self-deprecating by nature, I couldn’t quite resist when I saw someone had been clever enough to recreate Edward Hopper’s “Soir Bleu” for their own album cover. And though I may first have judged the record by its cover, I certainly feel I judged correctly.
Imposing On A Hometown feels like a helping hand for being in your own head. There’s something about a solo city walk accompanied by “Donuts (Everyone Reminds Me Of You)” or “New Year’s Eve” that makes you feel both not alone and valid for your own self-professed foolishness, though that foolishness was never really that foolish at all. On this record, what Wolfson really gives you is permission to indulge in your own yearning. One of life’s simplest and greatest pleasures. With a thoughtful touch, Wolfson knows how to spin mundane moments into sympathetic narratives. Its instrumentation is cozy and tight, evoking Samia and Christian Lee Hutson skillfully.
As winter comes on strong, my wish for you at the end of this year is that you get to spend a night in alone, curled up after a day in the cold air outside, with a cover-to-cover playthrough of this record. You won’t regret it. LAURA DAVID
24
Is There Love In Outer Space? by Jimi Tenor with Cold Diamond & Mink
Since his debut as a solo artist in 1994, Jimi Tenor has exemplified how the low commercial expectations of a miniscule musical marketplace such as the multi-instrumentalist’s native Finland can lead to exhilarating creative freedom.
Industrial noise-rock on stapled-together junkyard instruments, coolly spartan techno, lush orchestral epics, retro-soul workouts, big band jazz, even collaborations with the legendary engine room of Afrobeat Tony Allen (on 2009’s superb Inspiration Information Vol. 4): the one thing Tenor hasn’t had a go at is standing still in one place long enough for constraining labels to be applied.
It's rare for such a tirelessly shape-shifting artist to ultimately arrive at a perfectly tailored sound they’ve been reaching towards throughout the preceding decades. Is There Love in Outer Space? is exactly that kind of a rare late-blooming creative peak, and a culmination of all that Tenor has sampled before.
Infused with the warm organic throb of Finnish psych-funk trio Cold Diamond & Mink, the cosmic soul glow of Is There Love In Outer Space? fits naturally with the ongoing retro-soul implosion. Tenor and co, however, spike the proceedings with warped psych vibes, wide-eyed interstellar floating (attuned in spirit to Sun Ra) and unhurried, luxuriously textured jazz-influenced expansiveness to keep derivative pastiche at a comfortable distance. Concluding with the sweaty avant-funk gyrations of “What Are You Doing” (the album’s second unfairly overlooked smash hit alongside the truly celestially gorgeous title track), Is There Love In Outer Space? is a distillation of multiple reference points, but it’s ultimately a genuinely unique one-off – and a total triumph. JANNE OINONEN
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